#he still has wounds he has to heal and he has to go through withdrawal and he has two fingers that arent gonna come back

[melmedarda]

I’m sorry to jump in your inbox with that long af rant, but I’ve been lurking and loving every Meljay post of yours since day one and I need to scream in the void.

I’m inconsolable over how bad the writing of acts 2 and 3 was, it literally feels like it was written by a completely different team. What even was that conversation, it sounded like they asked ChatGPT to write a scene based on top 50 tweets about Mel and Jayce after 1x05 aired back in the days.

I’ve never in 15 years seen a ship so cruelly ruined, because how are people supposed to continue at all tolerating Jayce with that idiotically out of character dialogue in 2x08 between him and Mel? What a fucking bad way to treat fans, having them invested all the way until literally the last moment, it already was bad with how the majority of people (fandom, reactors, obviously the artists too) were “interpreting” Mel (if you can even call it that, cause interpretation requires media literacy), but now they have left us so burnt that I'm betting there aren’t even going to be fix-it fics because they. Just. Ruined. Jayce, so bad. And I still love the well written (still flawed tho!) Jayce from 3x01 (setting up a way more natural conflict-to-be-resolved path when he made those weapons five minutes after Mel vowed to protect his dream), but damn, I love Mel so much more, I really don’t know how to cope with all that. Only people who’ve had the luck to not have been treated as that husk of an AU Jayckass treated our girl can’t see the amount of PTSD that scene can trigger in a woman. I am so frustrated with how the creators treated her trauma and slashed the wounds wide open with both that and “You are the wolf”, I genuinely don’t know how to cope.

And the worst part is all of this could have been resolved with a single touch and him being open to her – like he always have been – just tell her he’s doomed instead of showing us a highly specific and unrelated two frames of the voidy-looking infection on his forearm spreading every time he is on screen. Even if that is one of their “yes we meant that all along we just wanted to show not tell it” like with the whole idiotic Sky/Viktor backstory that Overton “spilled” the other day. Jayce has been able to see through Mel’s shields the moment he saw her painting and was always shown to admire her intellectual prowess, he’d never leave her hanging like that.

If they wanted to write a Shakespearean tragedy so bad they made this intro scream “look at us, we gave you Greek last time, now it’s all about good ol’ Billy” why not have Jayce make the same impossible choice (as they brilliantly and am starting to think accidentally?) made Silco do in 1x09, having him choose between his love for Zaun and his love for Jinx, drawing one final parallel between the two men and closing that loop with Jayce/Silco carrying Viktor’s/Jinx’s body and infusing them with the deus ex machina. It was right there staring them at their faces, have Jayce choose between his love for Mel and his love for his brother.

What a spectacular failure of writing, what an even more monumental failure of the artists to come out with those comments, so now I don’t even want to praise their talent, because they should have kept their mouths fucking shut and stuck to drawing.

Sorry to dump this in your ask, can you tell I’m still reeling.

Please, please, do you have any headcanons, I need crumbs, I need to heal my soul and Mel’s.

Lovely anon you've but into words what all Meljay fans are feeling, I think. I cannot lie, I've been trying to let go of the ship. Withdraw sort of, especially since that was the ending we got. But I've had them for three years, and they've sunk their claws too deeply to me. I'm still thinking of them even now. I'm going to make the most of their divorce era, and I'm going to make them return to each other in ever single AU ever. Because Arcane S2 act #3 is not my Meljay. Also, AU Jayckass had me bursting out in laughter!

On the topic of headcanons. I have one in which when Vik tells Jayce to go back, Jayce does. He returns to Piltover but too much time has past, Mel has already burned his name and departed across the waters to Rokrund. Jayce knows he's done her wrong, realizes he's been blinded, and he does his best to atone in Piltover and Zaun, writing letters to Mel. Letters that go unanswered. And then eventually, he goes to Rokrund, and finds a different woman, one stronger and colder than he had known. He loves her anyways, and spends his years winning her back. And when he has groveled sufficiently, Mel takes him back. He sort of grounds her, so that she does not remain the wolf all the time. So that she does not become her mother.

[pear1ridge-a]

I just think. I think more violence. More horror.

[houserautha]

These Destined Ends

Part Sixteen

Summary: Jessica fulfilled the wishes of the Bene Gesserits to produce a daughter. You’re now burdened with the task of not only marrying the na-Baron, but also bearing his child — the Kwisatz Haderach. Will you take your fate into your own hands? Or will it always belong to those who control you?

Pairings: Feyd-Rautha x F!Reader

Warnings: there’s a Fremen orgy, Chani joins in with Feyd and reader, oral sex f receiving, oral sex m receiving, Feyd gives you a facial

Word Count: 4.8k

A/N: Yes, I’m still alive and updating, I promise😭(Also Chani really just pulls a Peeta in this part)

When Feyd wakes in the night, wrenched from his slumber by nightmares, you’re there to bring him back to reality. The wild look in his eyes stays with you, though, even after they close and he returns to a restless sleep.

“What are you doing?” You hiss at the healer one night after a particularly bad nightmare.

Feyd whimpers as you pass your hand over his smooth brow. The healer is at his side, collecting the slightly blue-tinged sweat that glistens his skin and bottling it in a glass container.

“The Water of Life,” the healer says in way of explanation, then slips away.

Ignoring your mother’s advice to assimilate with the sietch, you’ve stayed by Feyd’s side most days. But you seek her out now, presiding over a small group of Fremen who kneel at her feet. Her mouth purses unhappily as she realizes who has stolen the attention from her.

“What do you want?” She demands when you pull her aside. Her voice reverberates through the halls, a side effect to the hollowed out caverns.

You curb your annoyance. Jessica won’t tell you anything if you snip at her. “Tell me about what they’re giving Feyd-Rautha.”

“More poison,” she says after a pause, “there had to be a way to counteract the poison in his veins. What kind of paranoid —”

“I dosed on the poison too,” you snap. “Why don’t I take the same thing?”

Jessica’s eyes flash. “The poison has been in his system longer. He almost died because we couldn’t figure out why he was going through withdrawal. Without know what he dosed on, we used the only thing strong enough to save him.”

“Why do they collect it? His sweat.”

“They use the recycled poison for…recreational reasons,” she says.

You frown. “What do you mean?”

“I suspect you’ll see soon.”

You keep careful watch over Feyd’s injuries and his care, semi-grateful that he phases in and out of consciousness. Your stomach revolts against any food you eat and morning sickness plagues you constantly — he hasn’t noted it, yet, but you’re afraid for when he recovers and reverts to his usual observant self.

From Jessica’s prying gaze you can tell she’s judgmental of your decision not to let Feyd know of the pregnancy. You don’t owe her an explanation, though, so you keep it a secret, which is all fine and well until the supposed Water of Life quickens his already heightened healing.

Feyd perches on the edge of the makeshift bed, the hint of a smile on his mouth as you approach. You swallow your surprise. A healer is adjusting the bandaging around his middle, and you catch a glimpse of the wound before they finish. It’s still pink and raw but mostly healed, just another mark to join the hundreds of others crisscrossing his muscled form.

“Are you ill?” Feyd asks.

“I’m fine,” you say quickly. “How are you?”

“Better now.”

You send away the healer and cross the room to his side. “Did they mention anything…weird?”

Feyd frowns, brow creasing. “No. I know what you’re referring to, however, there’s a strange tension in the air.” He clears his throat. “I was hoping to take a walk with you.”

We need to talk alone.

“Of course.”

You move to help him to his feet but he waves you away. Without giving a certain destination, you just lead Feyd through the winding tunnels of the sietch until you reach a small outing. The duel suns beam down on you. “I didn’t miss this,” you remark as he beckons you up an incline.

“I need to ensure that we’re alone,” Feyd says.

“I doubt we ever really are.” You sweep the sandy horizon. “They don’t trust us.”

“Understandably.”

“Listen, Feyd —”

He cuts you off. “Tell me everything that’s happened. I feel inadequately prepared. I-I don’t know what’s real or not.”

“Are you sure you don’t want to talk to me about that first?” You press, risking his irritation.

“No.”

You bite down on the inside of your cheek. What did you expect exactly? You take a moment to gather your thoughts. “Nothing…much. I spoke to them on our behalf. Upon Jessica’s request.”

“Jessica?” His head swivels. “Your Mother?”

You nod, somewhat somberly. “She survived Rabban’s attack and has become the Sayyadina. A sort of…spiritual mother.”

Feyd grunts a reply. Not for the first time, you wish that you could pry open his skull and peer into his thoughts. He’s lost weight since the crash, his cheekbones standing out starkly in his face. Although he still cuts an imposing figure, aided certainly by his sharp tongue, his body is not as powerful as it once was. You realize he’s been covertly trying to catch his breath since your short climb up the sandy incline.

“You almost died, Feyd,” you say quietly. “Recovery is going to be —”

His jaw feathers. “You should’ve let me die.”

“What?” When he doesn’t explain himself, you continue, “What are you talking about?”

“I told you not to sacrifice yourself for me. By trying to keep me alive you were opposing my wish and risking your life.”

“I have no life without you,” you whisper furiously.

Feyd’s dark eyes flicker. A look of conflicted torment crosses his face and he finally pulls his gaze from you, back to the desert. “One of us must stay alive to get revenge on our enemies.”

“Oh, that’s why?” You bitterly ask.

“I can’t be worried about you jeopardizing yourself for my sake,” he says, softer. “Obviously that is my top priority. But we are the only ones who can dismantle the Emperor.”

“This is what you wanted to talk to me about?”

“We need to figure out our next steps.”

You exhale a stream of air. “Fine. What are you thinking?”

“The Fremen haven’t heard anything from The Baron?”

“Not that they’ve deigned to share with me.”

“They must believe us dead,” Feyd mutters.

“Like my mother.”

“She will certainly be an asset in this war.”

The word war sends a chill down your spine. Of course you knew that it was happening, but to hear it explicitly said is something different. “They underestimate us again and again,” you say to him, offering him a grim smile.

Feyd picks up your hand and presses a kiss to your knuckles. “Their greatest mistake.”

The both of you sit there for quite some time, discussing strategy, before commotion within the sietch draws you back. You don’t miss the way that Feyd walks behind you possessively, hovering, your dark shadow.

“What’s going on?” You ask one of the passing Fremen.

They shake off your hand but appear too excited to give you a reprimand. “The Water of Life ceremony. We must make preparations.”

“They keep saying that — Water of Life,” Feyd comments lowly.

“I’m afraid to ask,” you reply. Does he know that it’s made of his own perspiration?

You’re still not quite accustomed to the winding tunnels of the sietch and this is Feyd’s first time navigating, so you’re both helpless. You end up just following a large group of Fremen into the center of the sietch, curiosity leading you. The music pumping through the space reminds you of a heartbeat, making the hollowed out walls the ribcage that it rattles.

You can feel Feyd’s skepticism from behind you just by the stiffness of his limbs. “Would it kill you to smile?”

“Yes,” he rasps. His breath on your neck makes your toes curl in your boots.

You find a place on the outskirts of the celebration to stand and observe, watching as more and more Fremen cram into the room. The music lifts and circles around you, impossibly loud, joined now by the sound of drums. Duel suns begin their descent and it’s not until darkness has shut like a curtain on the outside world that the chorus of feminine voices begin. It’s quite beautiful, really, chilling. Moonlight pools into the sietch from a hole in the ceiling and illuminates the women singing, lilting and ethereal, passing the container of blue liquid.

You bristle slightly at the sight of it.

“What?” Feyd asks. His gaze is still fixated on the crowd, enraptured with the strange ceremony.

“Nothing,” you say.

You can tell he wants to press the matter but the words die on his tongue — like a breeze rippling over water, starting in the center and moving outward, Fremen begin to dance. It’s like nothing you’ve seen before, strangely elegant and moving, tanned limbs flashing in the light. And as soon as the dancing begins so does the sounds of flesh on flesh, of mouths meeting, bodies tangling together. Surprise flares through you.

Orgies are, of course, nothing new to you. There were plenty on Giedi Prime. But you didn’t expect the Fremen to engage in such indulgences, yet it made sense the more you watched. Sharing your waters with someone was deeply personal, which inevitably happened during sex in some variety. The Water of Life appeared to be the catalyst to this behavior, entrancing the Fremen and loosening their inhibitions.

Feyd pushes his front to yours, cock hardened already. One hand encircles around your waist while the other goes to your throat, thumb pressed to your fluttering pulse.

“You look ravishing tonight, jewel,” he whispers, his lips on the shell of your ear.

You suppress a shiver at his words, your cunt contracting in anticipation. His mouth travels just below your ear now, brushing over the sensitive skin there.

“We’re not welcomed here yet,” you remind him, “I don’t know if we’re exactly invited to…join.”

“Of course you are.”

You turn your head, still entrapped in Feyd’s embrace, who doesn’t seem the least bit guilty to be caught in such a promising position. In the dark it’s hard to tell who spoke but you notice the delicate features off the glint of torchlight, contrasted by the hardness in her eyes. Chani hovers nearby, wavering slightly and clearly under the influence of the Water of Life.

“It would be rude not to,” she adds.

“You’re very generous but we really should be going —”

At the same time, Feyd asks, “Do you want a taste?”

Silence throbs between the three of you. She steps closer. Feyd, hard and muscled behind you and Chani, lean and beautiful, in front of you. Desire nips at your more reasonable senses, with teeth sharp and wanting. Feyd keeps his hands on you as Chani closes the distance.

“This can be a lot for an outsider,” she says.

There’s no mistaking the challenge in her words. Feyd bristles slightly, clearly ready to intervene no matter your answer. You appreciate this, and paste a smile to your face. “Hopefully after tonight I will no longer be one.”

“We’ll see, na-Baroness.”

Chani grabs you with both hands and slots her mouth over yours.

The kiss is so different compared to Feyd’s — even the way she spit out your title instead of saying it in awe — that shock seizes you, rendering you motionless until Chani parts your lips and her tongue slips inside.

She tastes of cinnamon, fresh dew, the heat of the desert slipping into the coolness of night. You want to ask how her opinion of you had changed so drastically but it’s clear that she’s testing your tolerance of Fremen traditions, more probing than lustful. Feyd’s fingers dip below your waistband and your breath hitches.

“I don’t usually share,” Feyd says to Chani, voice low and rasping, “do you realize how lucky you are?”

Chani snags your lower lip with her teeth, voice dripping with sarcasm, “Oh, certainly.”

“I urge you to respect what’s mine,” he retorts. Although your eyes are closed, your body limp and fluid-like between the both of them, you can imagine the wicked glint in his gaze.

“Fremen don’t believe in possessing others,” Chani challenges. She bows against you as Feyd finds your clit, provoking a moan from you.

Feyd inserts a digit into your cunt as he says, “Then you’ve never known anyone you’re afraid of losing.”

Chani works to remove your shirt while Feyd pleases you with his fingers, nimble and skilled. He grinds his hips against your ass and holds you to him as Chani captures one of your nipples with her mouth, your head lolling back in response. The familiarity of Feyd’s warmth mixed with Chani’s touch is almost too much for you to handle, her wet mouth hardening your nipples as she releases them to be exposed to the air.

“Now get your taste,” Feyd says to Chani.

She sucks your juices from his fingers but there’s no pleasure in the act, only the burning sensation of her eyes on you as she licks him clean.

Exhilarated by the two, you wiggle free of Feyd and give Chani a light push. “Allow me.”

Obediently, she falls back onto a flat surface of rock. It’s tricky, at first, to remove the stillsuit but you’re emboldened by Feyd’s presence in your peripheral. He murmurs encouraging words to you as he strokes himself, large hand sliding up and down his length. Finally you free Chani of the lower part of her stillsuit and, in a single, swift movement, part her legs.

A patch of dark, curled hair greets you at the apex of her thighs. Her skin is soft, body slender, hipbones earning two open-mouthed kisses. She writhes eagerly. Admittedly, you’ve never been with a woman before but you know your own cunt well enough to hopefully be of service to her. She releases a breath of surprise when you lick a stripe up her center.

Determined to show her just how adaptive you can really be, you guide her legs over your shoulders as you settle. You explore, at first, testing what would invoke the most reaction from her, running your tongue through her folds. Once you understand exactly where it is she wants you to suck and lick and pamper, you use your mouth to give her exactly that.

And you realize that you enjoy it — enjoy her — despite the implications of the act. Sure, you’re trying to prove yourself but now you can think of nothing but bringing Chani to orgasm. You want to draw from her the shuddering delight, to feel her squirm as you pin her with your hands and your mouth, to show her that you are a force to be reckoned with.

Curiously, sensing that she’s close, you release one hand from her to tease her entrance with your fingers, gathering the wetness there. You revoke, slightly, to admire your work. Her juices coat your lips and chin. She bucks her hips in protest at the absence of you and you extend your apology in the shape of your fingers sliding into her cunt, curling, beckoning for her.

Chani’s thighs clench around you. It’s enough to invite you back to her, press your mouth to her, joining together with your fingers as you start to coax her to orgasm.

“You’re so wet for me,” you murmur to her, hoping the vibrations of your voice transfer.

Chani lifts her head to glare at you, though her eyes are lidded blissfully. “I hate you,” she says through gritted teeth. She shudders at the change in pace of your ministrations, responding to her words with renewed passion.

“Say it again,” you order her.

Her head falls back and her body bows. “I hate you.” Chani swallows, throat working as she fights the inevitable. “I hate you. I hate you.”

Chani’s cry of release mingles with those of others around you, seeking their own pleasures. A spike of triumphant stabs through you. You’re hopelessly horny now, your own thighs slick, and you’ve just conceived the notion to give yourself attention when there’s movement in the corner of your eye. Feyd undresses quickly, looking like some sort of malicious phantom in the moonlight, paler and taller than most of the Fremen.

“I will take care of you,” he says, words drenched with lust, “so that you can continue to take care of her.”

“Don’t you dare touch me,” Chani warns to him.

Feyd positions himself behind you, sinking to his knees. His touch is gentle as it descends down your spine, affectionately grazing over each knob until finally he presses a kiss at the nape of your neck. “Will you tell her that I would never dream of touching anyone but my beloved?”

You open your mouth to say as much, breaking from your sentry at Chani’s cunt, but Feyd effectively stops you from getting out the words. There’s a moment of temporary discomfort as he thrusts his cock inside you but the friction that you’ve so badly needed feels excruciatingly wonderful, and you back out in surprise.

“By all means, don’t stop on my account,” Feyd rasps as he snaps his hips up into you.

He keeps you secured with one hand around your waist while the other grabs hold of Chani’s ankles. She struggles against his grip but ultimately relents as you draw her clit into your mouth and suck, the force of Feyd’s thrust rocking you forward ever so slightly. It doesn’t take very long until you’re slick enough that he can push into you without resistance, and the feeling of being cleaved in half melts into complete bliss.

It’s a moment of transcendency, floating to a higher plane as your pleasure crests. Feyd’s cock fills you so thoroughly — you missed it over the few weeks of his recovery, missed the feel of his powerful body against yours. And he’s clearly enraptured at the sight of you between Chani’s legs, each buck of his hips accompanied by whispered praises.

Your mind reels as you struggle to grasp your situation, so beyond anything you could’ve ever imagined. Chani grinding against you and Feyd fucking you from behind, both of them working in tandem to fill you with inexplicable ecstasy.

“Fuck, jewel,” Feyd pants out. His fingers dig into your side, keeping you steady.

You wiggle back against him appreciatively.

There’s an unspoken rhythm in this dance, this strange, wonderful dance, reminding you of the tides. If you break from Chani to kiss Feyd over your shoulder, she replaces her hand where your mouth was, and if you break from Feyd to properly lavish Chani, he pumps into you rapturously. And then there’s you, torn between them both, lost in your own place of existence.

Time stretches and broadens, one moment melting into the next. The wailing sound of drums and voices joins with the crowd of bodies, the air smelling distinctly of spice and sex. You swear that you feel strange hands graze across your skin, reach out to grab you, touch your hair. There’s no telling where your body begins and someone else ends and the only anchor to reality is Feyd’s presence behind you, the rasp of his breath as he fucks you.

Feyd doesn’t have to alert you to his climax, you recognize the familiar tautness of him, and then he’s spilling inside you, effortlessly lifting you up so that he can expel his seed. Chani watches this, chest heaving, mouth parted. If she notices the excess of black cum on your thighs, she says nothing, just tilts her head back and smirks.

“That was a good start,” she says.

The next morning, you’re surprised to find that most of the sietch has roused from their stupors. Not having indulged in the Water of Life, you and Feyd have no difficulty rising from your makeshift beds, besides your distinct soreness.

“Could it be that easy to get accepted?” You ask him as you both dress.

He makes a small noise. “Mm. A few orgasms and you think they’ll forget my family’s bloodshed?”

“It certainly helped in my case.”

Feyd casts a glare in your direction, lips twitching with reluctant humor. He says, infuriatingly casual, “I didn’t know you were interested in taking more than one partner.”

“Well, she didn’t give me much of a choice,” you reply, face burning slightly. The memory of Chani’s long legs over your shoulders flashes through your mind, how Feyd had held them in place. “If I refused her she would’ve taken it as reluctance to join their customs.”

His brows quirk.

“Okay, I didn’t hate it. But I’m not interested in other partners. You’re all I need.”

“That’s good to hear.”

“Did you doubt it?” You ask.

“I only wanted to hear it out loud.”

There is something in his voice that hooks behind your navel and pulls, the invisible tether between you both. “You could’ve just asked.”

“Ask you what?” He muses, stepping closer. “To prove that I’m the only one who can fuck you? That you belong, first and foremost, to me?” His proximity reminds you of the crackle of electricity before a lightning strike, a dangerous charge of energy. “Do you suggest I ask you to get on your knees and demonstrate your devotion?”

Your eyes dart traitorously to his plush lips. “You know I would do anything you ask of me.”

“Then kneel.”

Your knees hit the ground. You ignore the sharp bite of pain in favor for admiring the deft motion of his fingers at his buckle, eager to see what’s underneath. There’s yet to be a time that the sight of his cock hasn’t made your mouth water and your thighs slicken — your gaze runs up his shaft, threaded with veins, to the pale underside of his head. A gleam of pre-cum is visible near his slit that he smooths over with his fingers, transitioning it into a loose grip and drawing your attention back downwards.

“I don’t have to ask you to take my cock, do I?” He all but sneers at you.

It’s enough of an invitation for you to reach out and replace your hand with his. The blood in his veins, dark as ink, stands out against his skin. Giving into your impulses, you trace your tongue over each vein, flicking his head. You swear you can practically taste him, know the way that his blood would flood your mouth, imagine the rush of his seed down your throat.

And suddenly you can’t wait any longer to wrap your lips around his cock, subsequently forfeiting your control as Feyd gasps and, in response, thrusts deeper into your mouth. You gag. There’s a sick pleasure in the way he slides in and out, pushing himself past your lips and grabbing hold of the hair at the base of your skull, snapping his hips in short bursts.

You thought that he wanted you to prove your loyalty by lavishing him with your mouth but clearly he intends to challenge you — judge how well you will open and take his ruthless appraisal. Tears burn behind your eyes and saliva, having nowhere else to go as he fucks your throat, dribbles from the corners of your mouth, effectively coating his cock. Never one to be outdone, however, you manage to reach up between you and cup his balls, holding them tightly in your palm. Feyd inhales sharply.

It’s a brutal game of back and forth now, him bucking into you and you matching each thrust with your own touch, firmly squeezing and massaging him between your fingers. Oh, how you would love to pull his balls into your mouth. But the force with which he buries himself allows no room for any other action, just the quick, steady intrusion of his cock. You know already that tomorrow — hell, this afternoon — your throat will ache wonderfully. And while he always satisfies you, there’s something extra pleasing about the physical marks of his work, the proud artist signing his masterpiece.

And you, his canvas.

It’s not long before you feel the familiar warning shudder of him before he comes, the tightening in his balls that you’ve kept forcefully in your grasp. Feyd paints you with his cum then, warm ropes shooting across your face and tongue. He jolts once, twice, then stills, stroking himself until the end. Feyd surveys you, searching your face, then swipes at the seed from your cheek and pushes it into your mouth, thumb pressing down on your tongue.

You eagerly lick and suck from it, a satisfying suction sound resulting from him as he pulls out. “Just for me,” Feyd says approvingly. He glances over you again and adds, “You might want to clean up before we join the others.”

Glaring, but unable to hide your grin, you dart your tongue out to capture the residual cum near your mouth. “You think?”

The rest of that afternoon is helped pitching in wherever you can in a continuation of your test of worthiness. Feyd, still healing, is relinquished to minimal labor errands like ferrying messages but when the Fremen discover that he’s not exactly sociable, decide that he can tend to their subterranean garden. It makes you laugh to see him rooting through the weeds and hardy plants able to grow without much water, muttering.

You, on the other hand, have convinced the others that you are more than capable of handling yourself despite your “delicate condition”. This probably has to do with your mother’s influence but you frankly don’t care — at least you can leave the suffocating odor and closeness of the sietch, venturing out for shorts stints to hunt small desert animals and perimeter checks.

Of course, neither of you are left alone. Chani has delegated herself to be your perpetual guardian, which you don’t know whether to take as a compliment or an insult. Either way, she refuses to acknowledge it, and you’re under the impression that she wants to make your life as difficult as possible.

This goes on for two months, Chani driving you to your limit in order to prove yourself. The man named Stilgar urges her to give you a break, in which you’re grateful that Feyd is never around, but she staunchly refuses. Every time Stilgar mentions the Messiah, you’re struck with panic; in an effort of self-conservation you’ve successfully ignored your pregnancy despite the occasional boughts of nausea. But as time goes by it gets harder and harder as the life inside you grows and forces your attention to it.

There’s still no physical indication of your pregnancy, but you’re starting to fear that someone will tell Feyd or he’ll notice the bloat of your belly and say something. Stillsuits aren’t exactly fantastic maternity wear. How will you do your part in the Sietch if you can’t work?

These thoughts plague day in and day out, especially when Jessica preaches your contribution to their society, the sacrifice you’re making to bear them their savior. It makes you uncomfortable and furious but you let her as long as their false hope keeps you and Feyd safe.

It’s morning when everyone gathers to break their fast together, and you catch snippets of gossip about The Baron. He’s taken over Arrakis, which you suspected, but apparently has been sending out hits into the desert in hopes of eradicating the Fremen. This is met with collective hatred, of course, and you express your interest in joining a team of fighters in response to this.

“I want to fight,” you tell them sternly.

Chani lingers nearby, never too far. “Absolutely not. How do we know that you won’t just sabotage our mission?”

“And why would I do that? I hate them just as much as you do,” you snap back.

“Clearly,” she says, glancing at your abdomen.

Frustration takes root inside you. “Feyd hates them just as much. We have tried to prove ourselves to you for months now. Let us actually make a difference besides gardening and petty perimeter patrols.”

“No.”

“What? We’re only needed when it involves your own self-interest?” You bite back. “Just when I can make you come?”

Her upper lip peels back in a snarl. “Bitch.”

“What’s going on?”

The small crowd that’s gathered all turns to watch Feyd saunter into the room. He’s looking much healthier now and returning to his former strength, which might make or break your case in this instance.

You purse your lips. “Nothing.”

“The na-Baroness wants to join us in a responsive ambush against the Harkonnen strikes,” Chani says over you. She crosses her arms over her chest and you catch a triumphant look on her face that irks you to no idea.

Feyd looks to you, then back to Chani. “Do you deny her this?”

“Of course I deny her this,” Chani says, “I don’t care what everyone else thinks. I don’t trust you.”

“Then you are stupid,” Feyd remarks.

There’s a gasp of surprise from several of those around you and you grit your teeth. Feyd, I hope you know what you’re doing, you think.

Chani’s face twists in anger. “Why would I trust you to join us in an ambush when you so spectacularly failed your last one?”

Feyd opens his mouth to speak but you beat him to it, cutting your gaze to Chani. “Fine. Forget it.”

“Y/N —” Feyd starts to say.

“Besides,” Chani sniffs, “how would I forgive myself if anything happened to the baby?”

Your blood runs cold.

Feyd’s entire body stiffens at this and you force yourself to turn away from him. It feels as if your heart might burst from your chest, your stomach twisting with guilt and regret. When he finally does speak, Feyd’s voice is soft, imploring:

“What baby?”

Part Seventeen

Taglist:

@moonsoulk @heartarianagran @torchbearerkyle @unicoreads @mamawiggers1980 @jovialeggsbailiffsoul @harkonnin @avidreader73 @unicorntrooper @beebeechaos @kamcrazy123 @wo-ming-bai @m-indkiller @kpopnstarwars @dacreshoney @stopeatread @therealslimshady-1 @aoi-targaryen @psychoffin @lauratang @austinswhitewolf

[blackkatmagic]

Barriss Offee!

There are scrolls on bloodbending hidden deep in Archives, in the back areas restricted to senior padawans and above, where Madam Nu carefully monitors any withdrawals or changes to the catalogue.

Barriss hadn’t expected to actually find any, even knowing that the Jedi have studied plenty of other Sith bending variations. Something about this one just feels…different.

She stares down at the scroll, at the carefully-laid sketches of positions and stances, hand motions and foot placements. Some ancient Jedi wrote everything down so that the Order could combat the ability in the future, could recognize it. Not so that they could use it.

Barriss wants to use it, though. That’s the only reason that she’s here.

She hasn’t decided yet. Not really. But—the thought is there, tucked away in the back of her mind. The war is going badly, and so many millions of people are dead. So many millions of clones are dead. Barriss is a Healer, and she’s always wanted to be a Healer, but this isn't something she can fix by treating wounded, by patching up soldiers who end up on a pyre twelve hours later. Something needs to change, and the war needs to stop, and the how is getting harder and harder to care about.

Bloodbending will help. The Sith used to use it because its control makes it impossible for a target to use the Force. If Barriss has to do something drastic, the Jedi will try to stop her, so she needs a way to just…make sure they can't.

It doesn’t have to be permanent. She’s not going to kill Jedi. Just…keep them out of the way.

“Commander Offee?” a voice says in surprise, so sudden that it makes Barriss startle. She whirls around, heart in her throat, and freezes at the sight of clone armor, painted with blue like teardrops, battered in a way she hast seen before.

“Tup,” she says, startled, and takes a step forward with one hand already raised, the water pouch at her waist uncorking itself with a snap. “Are you all right? You look like you got dragged through a swamp.”

Tup smiles, maybe a little sheepish, putting a hand up to rub at his armor. “Umbara,” he says in explanation. “Does that count as a swamp?”

“With Master Kolar and Commander Faie to lead you through it? I would think so.” Barriss hesitates, then carefully tucks the scrolls under her arm and reaches out, water flowing up to cover her hand. When she brushes one of the deep scratches on Tup's cheek, the water shimmers, and Tup closes his eyes, leaning into the touch in a way that makes Barriss’s chest feel tight.

“I missed this,” Tup says, and he sounds…tired. Exhausted, like he’s on the verge of collapse. “Your healing. It’s—” He stops short, eyes flying open, and jerks back with red flushing his cheeks. “Sorry, Commander! I just meant—”

Barriss smiles, not able to help it. “It’s all right, Tup,” she says, pitched gentle. “Master Luminara is out with Master Gallia tonight, so I was a little lonely. Would you like to come back to our rooms and keep me company? I already made food.”

The relief Tup feels is heady and bright, and his smile almost matches it. “If I won't get in the way, sir. You're sure?” His gaze flickers down, to the worn old scrolls, and he hesitates. “If you were planning to study, I can just go back to the barracks.”

Barriss’s heart turns over, drops even as it accelerates. The wash of emotion is something like shame, or maybe terror, and she turns, shoves them back into their slot on the shelf before Tup can see the contents. Adrenaline makes her feel shaky, like she’s been caught, and it flickers for an instant, an image of horror on Tup's face if he found out. They met in the aftermath of a bad mission, with a Sith ghost who still had a trace of her old power, and Tup had been so scared of that ability.

Bloodbending is useful, but—if Tup finds out, Barriss can imagine his reaction, and it makes shame twist tight in her stomach.

“Just distracting myself,” she says quickly, turning back. “Master Luminara didn’t leave me any preparation work for the next mission, so I was just poking around in here. Shall we go?”

Tup smiles, and—it’s probably only because he’s so tired that Barriss gets away with the lie. “If you're sure, Commander. I was dreaming about those cakes you made the whole time we were deployed. I think I stayed alive just for those.”

There’s a knot in Barriss’s throat, but she still manages to smile. The traditional Mirialan sweets were a last-minute gift, something she was able to bring Tup right before he was released from medical. A small thing, but—

I stayed alive just for those.

One life, just a little bit brighter, even with the war raging. That’s something. It has to be.

“I’ll make a whole batch just for you,” she promises, and takes Tup's arm to lead him out of the Archives, leaving the bloodbending scrolls behind. At least for now.

[cheolsfae]

☾ Enhypen Sensitive S/O!

Notes:

Long post ahead! Some of these surprised me more than they should have. Keep in mind these guys are still pretty young they are trying to get it together in front of the world!

Tarot Reading

Request: Hiiii your readings are so good I just binge-read all of them (I think thats a word) Is there any way you do a reading on how enhypen would be with an s/o thats more sensitive? Like one that constantly needs reassurance kind of thing. If you can't do all the members that's fine I understand. 🤍🤍

*Disclaimer: solely for fun! Please do not take this seriously. For entertainment purposes only!*

Heesung

Past: ace of swords, the empress

He may have been ready to comfort this type of person. Willing to do what he could to help his sensitive partners. I feel like he was pretty empathetic with them. They were crying? He was also crying. They were mad at someone at work? So was he! He really might have been good at this. He felt like he was able to be that support system for his partners. Someone they could rely on. Dependable.

Present: the high priestess (reversed), queen of wands

I keep hearing the cats out of the bag. Not really sure what that is about? Maybe that's important to him in some way. Anyway, He may choose to withdraw from a sensitive s/o if he had/has one right now. I don't think he could provide any emotional stability for them. He might be nice and friendly with them but I think it would wear off quickly. His emotions are focused elsewhere at the moment (most likely work). He could be dealing with this type of person right now, things just aren't working out. This person might be his soulmate but he's not giving it much thought.

Future: 5 of pentacles (reversed), king of swords

If another person were to enter his life, an emotional one, I think he would have to turn them away. He's not in a place to handle that right now. He's fully aware that he cannot give another person the affection that they are seeking right now.

Bottom of the deck: the emperor

He's trying to be more stable. He's trying to balance his personal life with his work life. I don't think he wants to add another person to the mix at this point in time. Seems like he's stressed enough.

Jay

Past: 8 of pentacles, 2 of swords

He could have ignored the issues and distracted himself with other things and tried not to over think anything his partner was saying. He's also someone who is sensitive so it could have really affected him deeper than he was letting on. He may not have been looking at the bigger issues at hand. Just focusing on the comments that may have seemed like personal attacks when they weren't.

Present: temperance, the fool

He doesn't want to keep doing that with his partners anymore. He feels like he's more patient with them, like he's willing to listen and take into account about what they are thinking and feeling. It feels like he's willing to trust them more than he previously had. He's being warned to not make any foolish mistakes with the next person. He's being cautious with the next person to make any sort of approach on him.

Future: knight of cups, 10 of cups

He knows the type of relationship he wants in the future and the type of trust and love he wants to be able to give to that person. But I think he's working on becoming a better person. For that future person. So they can have that stable connection for that total happiness. He's willing to be more submissive and listen to them and trying not to take the whole thing as a personal attack.

Bottom of the deck: 3 of swords (reversed)

He's trying to heal past wounds. He's trying to be that person that's healed so he doesn't hurt the next person he's involved with. The healing process feels like it's something that is never going to end but it will. He will be a better person by the end of it. It's a bit of a tough journey but he will get through it just fine.

Jake

Past: king of pentacles (reversed), 4 of wands

In the past, I don't think he reacted very well to his partners being "overly emotional". He may have been quick to dismiss them and write them off as no big deal, which clearly it was, to that person. He was not one to take it too seriously. He may have been guided to pay attention to what he was doing to this person. He knew what he was doing was wrong to do but it was like he couldn't get his head out of his ass long enough to straighten his act out.

Present: ace of swords, the sun

It seems like he came to some kind of wake up call to this. He's realizing that you need to listen to what the other person is feeling even if you don't necessarily like it. They need to be felt like they are being heard, like they are genuinely cared for. He knew he was the main issue in that past relationship. He knew what he was doing. He's wizened up since then, at least a little bit. But he's still stuck quite a bit.

Future: page of swords, page of pentacles

He could have recently heard something about this past person. The one who was "overly emotional" and he's not liking what they are saying about him. They could be gossiping about him. He's being guided to speak to friends or family about this situation. See what they have to say about the situation. He's trying to come to some type of acceptance of the person he once was. He knows he screwed up and he knows this person has every right to say what they said but it still hurts.

Bottom of the deck: 2 of swords

He's debating if he should approach this person about this or not. One one hand, he wants to move on and live his best life but on the other this person is testing him with all of the negativity they are spreading about him. He doesn't want to because he knows whatever he says could affect his job but at the same time it still sucks to know that someone you once trusted is now just shit talking about you.

Sunghoon

Past: 7 of cups, the moon

He's a runner, he's a track star. I feel like he took the easy way out of this. He may have thought about his options before leaving but ultimately he would always leave them when they became too much for him to handle. It may have been a while before he left but he still left without a second glance.

Present: 6 of pentacles, 5 of cups

Now, he might be more willing to help out more. To do things that can help his sensitive S/O. But I think to him, it's draining. Like it's hard for him to keep a positive attitude. He's doing better but still kind of in a selfish vibe. He's stuck in his masculine vibe. He's not really wanting to move out of it. Someone may view as weakness.

Future: ace of swords, 6 of swords

He's going to be moving to more stable waters. He's trying to better himself so he can keep a healthy relationship. He doesn't want to keep this cycle going. He wants to be better than that! He wants to do more things to help out and such. Acts of service may be his love language.

Bottom of the deck: ace of pentacles

He's slowly moving toward a new person. They might be like that and he is going to be trying to be better. I don't know how successful he's going to be. Considering he isn't trying to fix it all that much. . .

Jungwon

Past: 9 of pentacles, 3 of wands

He might have valued his own independence in the past. He was more interested in furthering his own career goals. I don't think a person was even on his radar. He was more so following his own intuition more than anything else. I think he knew he was nowhere near ready for any type of commitment.

Present: the sun, 5 of cups (reversed)

He might feel like he can handle someone more sensitive but he could hold a lot back. Kind of like muting himself or shutting down because he doesn't know how that person might react. It's more out of fear than anything else. He doesn't want to make them upset. He needs to look at how he handles/carries himself over all. Rather than looking at the bigger side of the issue (with his sensitive S/O), he's looking at the fine details. Little things that do not matter in the bigger scheme of things.

Future: 5 of swords, king of swords

He might even cause fights. Not intentionally but accidentally, frequently. He might be a bit guarded with this person because they are so sensitive, he might feel like he has to watch his own emotions too much to not set off his partner. This would end up being a bit of a habit. Again, not intentionally.

Bottom of the deck: knight of swords

He would foolishly do things without thinking. Kind of reckless behavior. Having a sensitive partner would make him think more about his actions but I don't think he would really want to.

Seonwoo

Past: 3 of cups, the chariot

He may not have cared for a sensitive partner in the past. He might have just tossed the whole idea of a partner aside, he might have just wanted to have fun and play the field a bit. He most definitely knew he was not in any sort of mental space to deal with a partner. He knew he was not capable enough to handle anything so serious at that point in time.

Present: knight of pentacles, 4 of pentacles

Now, I think he could handle the situation a bit better. He would definitely be taking a slower approach to them though. He might even be a little protective of his own energy. Like trying not to take their over flow of emotion to heart. Like trying not to take it as an attack on him. Again, would be protecting himself and really hesitant to make a deep connection with an emotional person.

Future: the wheel of fortune. ace of swords

He might even feel blessed/lucky to have someone like that is good for him. I think this would help him grow as a person. I feel like his spirit guides might be sending him signals to let him know that his person is near. They are close to him but he needs to grow up a bit more before he meets them, so he is able to be that emotionally available partner.

Bottom of the deck: 5 of wands

Again, he's trying not to take things as a personal attack. He knows in doing so it would only cause chaos and a huge argument. It would do more harm than good in a relationship. He needs to go through some rebirth before anything like a relationship can happen for him. He needs to break some habits.

Ni-ki

Past: king of pentacles, 8 of swords

He might not have been ready to take on this type of relationship. He probably felt like he couldn't be the person they may have needed him to be. He might have been too much in his head about this. It might have caused some anxiety about this whole thing. He was looking at the bigger picture of things. Like he knew this was something he needed to get together before he entered any relationship. He wasn't stable in any regard.

Present: 6 of pentacles, 4 of cups (reversed)

Now, I think he feels he has more to give to an emotional/sensitive type of person. He feels like he can do so unapologetically. He might feel like he's more ready to do that. he's since changed. He feels like a brand new person. Someone more capable and emotionally available. So I think he could handle this better now than he could back then

Future: 7 of cups (reversed), 9 of wands

He might feel like he's ready for a relationship overall. Yea, he's a little scared of getting hurt but he feels like he can handle it. It's something he might be needing in his life or he feels like he needs right now. He feels like he can give more. More than he could in the past. He would value this person like the world depended on it!

Bottom of the deck: 6 of wands

He's feeling pretty good over all, he feels like he has his shit together. He thinks he can handle anyone the universe brings him. It's just a matter of someone coming along for him lmao.

*Oracle deck was also used!

[fortheloveofwonderland]

Darkness Declares Glory | Chapter 23 FINAL | S.R

Previous Chapter

A/N - final chapter! This one skips forward a couple of months.

Chapter Summary - Spencer’s friends join him celebrating a milestone in his sobriety and Luke has a special surprise in store for him to commemorate the occasion.

Pairing - Spencer Reid / Fem! Reader

Category - dark angst | smut | eventual happy ending.

Warnings - rehab, swearing, making out, lots of fluff. WC - 3k

Chapter 23 - Long Promised Road

Crescent Oak Rehabilitation Facility was more or less exactly what Spencer imagined a rehab centre to be like. It was almost eerily calming, his first few weeks here he’d almost been on edge by just how serene it was. 

There was always some kind of soft music playing from speakers he often couldn’t even see. Meditation was highly encouraged, as were walks in the zen garden. Patients were required to wear all white linens and white canvas shoes. The only good thing was that he was here voluntarily, so if he wanted to leave he could. And a few times he almost did. 

At first Spencer couldn’t help but wonder what the fuck he’d done. He felt more as though he’d joined a cult than checked into a rehab facility. For at least a week, maybe longer he considered leaving every single day. But he just kept telling himself, give it one more day, it will get better. Just one more day.

Around the middle of his second week Spencer found he woke up one day and didn’t hate it here. He didn’t begrudge getting in his white linens, he hummed along to the soft music playing through mysterious speakers and he actively joined in a meditation session. And ever since then he’d felt oddly at peace at Crescent Oaks. 

He met with a therapist once a day, one on one, no group sessions thank god. He ate his three meals, he showered every day without fuss. He partook in arts and crafts, read in the library and went on nature walks. And not only did he tolerate it, he actually liked it. 

Thankfully he’d gotten over the hardest part of his recovery in comas and catatonic states. He still had the occasional withdrawal and of course there were still days when he wanted to use. But they were few and far between these days. 

He’d initially checked himself in for three months - he wanted to reach his six month milestone before he even considered going it alone. After those three months he had the option to stay for as long as he thought he needed. It was comforting to know he wouldn’t be on his own. 

His old team visited every chance they could. Crescent Oaks allowed visitors every day between the hours of six pm and nine pm and he had a visitor at least four times a week if not more. Usually it was Garcia when the team were on cases and they would take walks together and chat aimlessly amongst themselves. 

His wounds were slowly starting to heal, both the mental and physical ones. Of course his scars remained and always would but Spencer now looked at them like they were badges of honour, proof he survived the worst life had to throw at him. He was proud to wear them for the world to see. 

Luke continued to see Y/N. He hadn’t told Spencer at first but Spencer could just tell. And once he got over his initial jealousy he had actually been pleased that you had someone like Luke in your life. 

He didn’t let himself ask about you, despite the fact he was always thinking about you. Sometimes Luke would say, “I saw Y/N yesterday,” and Spencer would nod and smile and change the subject. 

It wasn’t that he didn’t want to talk about you, because he did. But talking about you often left Spencer feeling miserable with how much he missed you and right now he only had the brain capacity to focus on one area of his life. And that had to be his recovery this time. 

He still wore your bracelet. Maybe one day he’d take it off, but for now he found comfort in it. It made him feel connected to you in the way he hoped having his one year sober chip felt for you. It was some kind of reminder that the two of you were still entwined, bound to each other in ways even he didn’t truly understand. 

When Luke had told him a few weeks after he checked into Crescent Oaks that you’d been to visit him while he was catatonic, he’d been at a complete loss for words. He must have disassociated by the point as he had absolutely no recollection of you being there. 

He hated that he couldn’t remember something so important but maybe it had been a blessing in disguise. If he’d been conscious of you being there while he was trapped inside the shell of his body that wouldn’t move to his command, he would have hated Luke for bringing you there. 

But knowing you had been there was comforting in a way, it meant you still cared. Maybe one day he’d get the chance to thank you.

***

Spencer was mildly overwhelmed at all the eyes that were on him, shrinking in on himself a little and wrapping his arms around himself. He’d never liked to be the centre of attention, but there was no getting out of this. He’d asked his therapist if they could just make it a lowkey affair but she simply smiled and shook her head.

“Trust me, Spencer, in the months or years to come, you will be glad you marked this milestone with all your closest friends.” 

He rolled his bottom lip between his teeth, averting his gaze to the floor as his therapist stood and addressed the room. 

“Thank you all for being here, this is a big day in Spencer’s recovery and having all his friends here means the world to him. Even if it doesn’t seem like it.” Jessica laughed slightly as did the others in the room. All except for Spencer. “He’s told me all about his long struggle with drug abuse and his mental health and I for one am so proud of him for getting here. The first six months are the hardest on the road to recovery and so I am overjoyed to be able to present him with his six month chip.”

Jessica cleared her throat when she finished speaking and Spencer tentatively glanced up at her, still chewing frantically on his lip. She was holding out his new golden chip, motioning for him to stand and join her. He swallowed thickly, pushing himself up to his feet and shuffling over to her.

“Uh, thanks.” His cheeks burned as he took the chip from her hand and rolled it between his fingers.

“Speech!” Luke hollered with a chuckle. 

“Come on kid, we didn’t come all the way out here for nothing.” Rossi goaded him. 

“After all we’ve done for you, it's the least you can do.” Tara teased. 

Spencer finally looked up, glancing at the seven faces in the room. The seven people he loved most in the world who had gone to the ends of the earth to help him on every step of his recovery. These seven people were the reason he was still standing, the reason he was able to stand here today and proclaim that he was six months sober.

“I hate being the centre of attention. And I hate public speaking.” he scuffed the toe of his converse on the worn carpet. “But I guess I do owe you, honestly I don’t think I will ever be able to put into words just how much. Without each of you, I know for a fact I wouldn’t be here, I would most likely be dead. I know I’ve been difficult to be around, I know I’ve given you all a hard time but for some reason you’ve stuck by me and I am so grateful for that, you have no idea. 

I don’t know how exactly I got so lucky as to have you all in my life. And I certainly don’t tell you all enough just how much I love and appreciate you all. To be able to stand here and say I am officially six months sober, I wouldn’t have made it here without each and every one of you. Emily, Luke, the two of you probably got the brunt of my frustrations and anger and I am really very sorry for that. But between the two of you, uh, you…” He got choked up and swallowed, closing his eyes as he finished the sentence. “The two of you saved my life. And I don’t even know how to begin thanking you for that.”

When he opened his eyes his tears overflowed and he noticed several of his old team had also gotten teary eyed. JJ and Garcia were holding hands, both crying as they looked at him. Luke’s eyes were glossy with unshed and Emily turned her head to wipe her eyes. 

“I, uh, I guess that’s it.” Spencer sniffed, running his thumb over the chip’s engraving. “I still don’t know what normal feels like but I, uh, feel decent.” 

The seven of them, plus Jessica, started clapping loudly, cheering and Matt even whistled. Spencer smiled, wiping his eyes with his free hand while his cheeks flushed pink. One by one they came over and hugged him tightly, congratulating him on this huge achievement. 

“What are your plans, Reid?” Matt was the one to ask the million dollar question while they all crowded around him. 

“I think I’m gonna stay here, just a little longer. I don’t think I’d relapse if I left now but I just wanna be sure.” He pocketed the chip but kept his hand wrapped around it. 

“I think that’s both smart and brave of you to admit.” Tara smiled at him.

“We are so, so proud of you Spence.” JJ still had tears in her eyes. 

“Yeah, yeah alright.” He rolled his eyes with a soft chuckle. “Can we turn the attention on someone else now?” 

The seven members of his old team looked between each other, slightly guilty looks on their faces that weren’t lost on Spencer. He frowned, looking between them in turn while he tried to figure out what was going on.

“What’s happening?” He asked no one in particular. “I’ve missed something.”

“I mean now you’ve mentioned turning the attention onto someone else, we do kinda have a surprise visitor for you.” Luke spoke, giving him a sheepish smile. 

But Spencer could tell exactly what he wasn’t saying. His brain was so much clearer these days, it was almost working back at its full capacity and he knew what, or rather who Luke was referring to.

“No.” Spencer shook his head, his stomach coiling into knots and more tears flooded his vision. “No way.”

Penelope smiled brightly, tottering over to the door on her too high heels and slowly gripping the handle. Spencer stared at the closed door, tears rolling silently down his cheeks and he inadvertently held his breath. 

Garcia leisurely opened the door, clearing trying to build the suspense, which admittedly worked. Spencer’s heart hammered rapantly against his chest, causing him to feel a little nauseous. His hands were shaking, he worried his knees might buckle beneath him.

When the door was finally all the way open, you stepped into view, teeth digging heavily into your bottom lip and your hands stuffed deep inside of your pockets. As soon as you locked eyes on him, your own tears overflowed but you found yourself frozen to the spot.

When Luke had told you over coffee one afternoon that Spencer was due to celebrate his six months sober and invited you to come, initially you’d quickly declined and shut the conversation down. You were doing well in the outside world, still living at the halfway house and enjoying your job at the diner. 

You were keeping yourself afloat but the idea of seeing Spencer again was too much for you to even contemplate. Not now. Maybe not ever. You were eleven months sober, you couldn’t risk any bump in that road.

You still weren’t sure, as you stood here now, what changed your mind. Luke hadn’t pressured you to come, he’d never mentioned it again after the first time. But the overwhelming need to see him with your own eyes, to confirm he was in fact alive and ok had driven you to be here today. It had only been yesterday when Luke popped by the diner for dinner that you’d told him you would come. 

And now as you stared at Spencer from the doorway, you knew you’d made the right call. Seeing him looking healthy and happy filled you with pride and the last thing you wanted to do was ruin your sobriety. You wanted to be sober alongside him. 

“Y/N.” He croaked out your name, wobbling a little on his feet. 

“Hi Spence.” Your voice cracked. 

“We’ll give you two a minute.” Emily spoke on behalf of her team and the seven of them, and Jessica, left the room as you took a few steps inside. 

The door was closed behind you as you cautiously approached Spencer. He didn’t move, seemingly frozen to the spot. You noticed the frayed end of your purple and gold bracelet poking out the sleeve of his sweater and it filled you with joy to know he still wore it.

“I, uh, I hope you don’t mind me coming. Luke invited me and at first I didn’t think it would be a good idea but…” you trailed off, sniffing back your tears. “But I really wanted to see you.”

“Are you really here?” Spencer choked. “I’m not imagining things?”

You smiled at him, cautiously stepping closer to him. You were steady in your movements as you reached out and took hold of his hand. You brought his hand to your lips and pressed them against his knuckles softly. The action caused Spencer to whimper slightly, even more tears now falling from his eyes.

“Do you believe me? I’m really here, Spence.” You were still holding his hand and he used it to pull you closer to him. 

Your chests crashed together, and he used his free hand to wrap around your waist, his large hand taking purchase on your lower back while he kept hold of your hand in his other. You looked up at him and he was smiling down on you. You could feel his heart beating against you and you were sure he could feel yours. He bowed his head closer to you, resting your foreheads together. 

“I might need a little more convincing.” His lip tugged into a smirk and before you knew what you were doing, you were crushing your lips together.

Spencer hummed into your mouth, holding you firmly in place while parting your lips with his tongue. The kiss was like nothing the two of you had ever shared before. It was a new beginning, a fresh start. It was hope and it was home all in one. 

It didn’t last particularly long, but the passion between the two of you was clear. When he pulled back he kept his arm around you, but let go of your hand in lieu of cupping your cheek.

“I think…I think I’m bound to you.” You whispered shakily. “I probably have been since the moment we met. I think I meant what I said before about us, at least at the time I did. But I can’t imagine my life without you in it, Spence.” 

“You don’t have to.” He stroked your cheek with his fingertips. “I think we were meant to find each other, Y/N. I think in some kind of fucked up way, the two of us are perfect for each other. On paper, two addicts shouldn’t work together, but I think we can be the exception to that. I don’t believe we will pull each other down, I think we’ll only raise the other up. Our sobriety is so important to both of us, I truly believe we can aid each other through recovery.”

“I think so too.” You nodded. “Spence, I love you.” 

He felt his heart swell to double the size and he held you tighter, almost impossibly closer to him.

“I feel like I’ve loved you my whole life.” He confessed, brushing his lips over yours. 

“I may not have loved you for my whole life, but I know for a fact that I will love you for the rest of my life.” You breathed him in, knowing that you only had a limited amount of time together for now. 

“The minute I get out of here I am taking you to dinner. The most incredible dinner you’ve ever had in your life.” He smiled at you, chuckling lightly.

“I will hold you to that.” You laughed too. 

He kissed you again, somehow more passionate than the last which seemed impossible but yet here you were. You wrapped your arms around his neck, fingers grazing the hair at the base of his neck. He moaned softly into your mouth at the sensation but tried to keep himself from getting too riled up. There would be plenty of time for that once he left Crescent Oaks. For now he had to keep it PG13.

When the kiss broke he looked you deep in the eyes, right through to your soul. It caused your knees to buckle a little and Spencer smiled, helping you remain upright. His other hand joined his first on your face, cupping it lightly and wiping at your tears with his thumbs. 

“For so long all I’ve seen is darkness,” he whispered, staring deep into your eyes. “But you, angel, you are and always have been my guiding light.”

With that he kissed you once more, all his love and adoration for you communicated without the use of words. You’d gotten used to your life being shrouded in darkness, almost grown accustomed to it in a weird way. 

But Spencer had shined a light on you that was so bright it had banished all of your demons to the shadows. It wasn’t to say they would never rear their ugly heads, but as long as Spencer was by your side fighting them with you, it didn’t seem so daunting anymore. 

“The darkness declares the glory of light.” - T.S Eliot

@tiredmilky @thatsonezesty13 @1mechanicalalligator @elle-28 @academiareid

[vincentvalenfine]

am a sucker for hurt comfort or angst to happy ending. do you have more thoughts of vincent and reader but he still being hung up over lucrecia? >:)

When the planet is saved, Meteor vanquished, and everything can begin heading towards some semblance of normalcy, Vincent withdraws from your life like he was never there to begin with. A ghost of a bygone era.

You had hoped, perhaps in vain, that after everything the group had been through... maybe he would finally open up just a little for you, begin to trust you with that bruised and bleeding heart of his. Instead, he leaves you with nothing to show for all your efforts except a fresh bruise on your own heart that aches even as you try to rebuild your life in Edge.

Having friends to distract you helps; Tifa helps you find a place to live that isn't so far from the bar that you can't walk home even in the most drunken aftermath of celebrations, Yuffie loves dragging you into misadventures of all sorts, and sometimes Cloud even allows you to drag him on adventures of your own whenever you need a lift from that beautiful bike of his.

It's all just that, though: a distraction from the subtle emptiness Vincent left behind. In the quiet hours of the night, before you would have sought his company while the others slept and coaxed him into letting you curl up against him with his cloak for a blanket, the deep velvet of his voice murmuring nothing of real importance a cure for your insomnia. Now all you have is the silence, too loud and too little all at once. You miss his embrace, the warm thick cloth of his cloak, the scent of him lingering on you, the glow of his eye lighting up the darkness as if just for you. You miss his near-invisible smiles and the way they would make the corners of his eyes crinkle, the soft looks he cast your way when he thought no one was looking.

Dammit it all, you miss him.

The bruise fades slowly and Edge soon becomes a bustling little city. Then the Geostigma grows rampant, trouble brews, and having found yourself drawn into the mess when Cloud needs backup - there's Vincent again.

He's just as beautiful as when you first saw him, just as dramatic as always when he steps into the fray, and suddenly the bruise is a laceration that bleeds raw agony even as you help to fight off the monsters, and then Bahamut SIN.

You can hardly stand to look at him, can feel him trying not to look at you himself, and the distance hurts worse than ever. Does he hate that he ever gave you room to grow close? Would he rather have stayed hidden away if it meant never being confronted with his mistake? You torture yourself endlessly while tensions ride high in the airship, and you stand as far apart from each other as possible despite the many side glances from the others.

Cloud wins, almost gets killed (or maybe actually does, but Aerith has yet to let anyone down even from the Lifestream), everyone is saved, and once all is said and done... Vincent is gone again. You hate that he's gone, you feel relieved that he hasn't stayed to try and torment you further just by existing near you, you take to the shelter of your miraculously still standing apartment and scream into a pillow until your voice gives out.

More time passes, another chance to let your wound heal.

The WRO has done a lot of good work and Reeve proves to really have been one of the few good hearts in the upper echelons of Shinra - you strike up a tentative friendship with him, and Cait Sith keeps you informed of the latest news whenever you drop by.

That's how you learn about Deepground, and about Vincent's most recent endeavors. It stings even now to hear about him, and you almost can't stand the sympathetic look Reeve has for you even as he lets you know where Vincent is going next. You can't be blamed for not saying anything, right? Not after being ghosted by the man.

Vincent can handle whatever trouble is going on and you can stay well away from it all - yeah right.

Cloud and the others end up dragging you along as backup during the final assault on Deepground, and it helps that you don't see Vincent at all the entire time, right up until Omega erupts from the ground. Its massive bulk is almost too much to take in at once, but your attention instead settles on the crimson dot that soars around it before diving in - instinctively, you know it's Vincent. Your heart aches, both for him and because of him.

For the first time, you're afraid he could actually die for real, and you regret the distance more than ever. This could be it, and you won't even get to say goodbye to the man who stole your heart and never came back.

Omega erupts into pieces far in the sky, and Vincent has vanished. You feel your wounded heart tear open anew, and can't bring yourself to pull away from the comfort of Reeve's embrace when the floodgates finally burst.

Almost a month later, there's a knock at your door.

You don't really want to get up, and you haven't wanted to get up for a while now. The others have their own keys to get in if they think they need to (and these days they always think they need to). They'll let themselves in, do whatever caretaking they feel you need most in the moment, then either leave you to your numbness or try to drag you outside for a while...

There's another knock, and you rouse with confusion. No one ever knocks twice.

Sluggishly, you get up from the couch and shuffle to the door, bleary eyes and foggy brain barely willing to do the work it takes to unlock your door and open it enough to see-

Vincent.

Your legs give out on you before you can process what's happening, mind lagging far behind your body's reaction, leaving you even more confused when you find your face pressed gently to the very same red fabric you had missed so much before, to the broad and steady shoulder beneath it. He's - alive, he's here, he's holding you and petting the back of your head as your body betrays you, refusing to do anything other than shake like a leaf in the wind. How fucking dare he come back after all this time and hold you like you mean the world to him?

"I should have never left," he murmurs in your ear. "I'm sorry."

You can only start crying as you cling to him. Sorry shouldn't cut it after what he's put you through, but... you still love him. You can't do anything but love him. And all you ever really wanted was him to come back - now here he is, and here you are.

When the tears subside, you lift your head and kiss him for the first time.

[dangerpronebuddie]

Buddie - “There are people who love you, you know”

For you, Inell! <3 (I am so sorry this took me so long).

Buck withdraws his hands as Eddie stands, wincing as the movement aggravates his sore muscles. Buck’s shoulders drop and he tosses the ice pack he’d been pressing to Eddie’s shoulder blade onto the bench. “There are people who love you, you know,” Buck says firmly. He feels like he’s having an argument with himself. Like he’s looking for a fight he has no right to chase. It wasn’t Eddie’s fault the ceiling caved in. It’s not Eddie’s fault Buck blames him anyway. Like Eddie tried to leave him. Eddie scoffs and continues to rifle through his locker. “Are there?” “You know there are,” Buck says, moving to stand beside Eddie. The scratches across his face look better after his shower, but they won’t heal for a few days. Buck is more concerned about the wounds he can’t see.  The fear from watching Eddie disappear in the rubble has faded. He’ll have a new nightmare to add to the rotation but he doesn’t care as long as Eddie is here.  “My son hates me,” Eddie says. He slams his locker closed and turns to face Buck. “My parents hate me. My sisters won’t speak to me. Hen and Chim have their own shit going on, so does Bobby, and I…” He swallows thickly and ducks his head. “What do I have left?” The helplessness in Eddie’s voice breaks Buck’s heart in two. How could Eddie not know?  Maddie’s words from their talk yesterday echo in his head.  “How does he not know, Maddie?” Buck had cried after Eddie had confessed he was afraid he’s doomed to be alone, even after Buck had told him it wasn’t true. Because he always had Buck. “Because you haven’t told him,” she had said in her best Big Sister voice.  Buck opens his mouth to speak, but he finds he doesn’t have the words to express it all. Instead, he gingerly cups Eddie’s cheek, tilting his head up.  Eddie looks up at him, tears shining in the warm brown. Buck leans down and presses a careful kiss to the scrape across his cheek, then the bruise beneath his eye. Eddie’s breath catches in his throat.  “Buck,” he whispers, his voice trembling.  “You have me,” Buck says, more certain than he’s ever been before. He presses a featherlight kiss to the corner of Eddie’s mouth and swipes his thumb there as he meets Eddie’s eyes again. “You’ll always have me.” “When you tell me there are people who love me…” Eddie trails off.  “I mean me,” Buck confesses. It’s not the best time, but it may be the perfect time. “I love you, Eddie. Chris does too, and you know that. It’s gonna be okay. We’re gonna be okay.” Eddie sighs and nods as best he can with Buck still cupping his cheek. He presses into the touch and Buck’s heart swells. “We’re gonna be okay.”  When Eddie cups the back of his neck to draw him into a soft kiss, Buck starts to think Eddie believes him.

Send me a sentence for a buddie drabble!

[diminuel]

Not to keep yapping about my thoughts, but, to throw some actual comfort into the angst. Prev post 1 Prev post 2

I don’t think Dragon could ever stop caring about Crocodile. Partly because of his guilt and shame, but also I think after a while he starts to realize he loved Crocodile for more than the escapism he offered. I don’t think he could after forget that. But he would probably resign himself to “Crocodile hates me, I’ve hurt him enough. He’s living a different life now. I can’t disturb that, I have no right to.” So just accepts he lost Crocodile and his chance at a family.

So I think Dragon would be more than willing to start a healing journey with Crocodile. But it’s all up to Crocodile whether it happens. Crocodile has a lot of pain to process and heal from. He has a lot of things he has to change his perspective on. He needs to see Dragon is willing and able to take accountability.

I truly think Marineford changed everything. I think it would have give Crocodile a new opportunity to really grow, and unpack his past. To finally truly heal instead of running away from and ignoring it. To see his baby.

I am really unsure how much Crocodile ever let himself truly feel, he probably just coped with it all through anger and shame. Never really wanted to process or understand, just push away and forget. I do also think no matter how much he shames himself for it, I can see him still admiring Dragon or at least not forgetting those cold quiet nights of them being together, loving each other.

So Crocodile has his heart-to-heart with Iva after Marineford. Iva punishes Dragon for his past choices. After sometime of them both moping, Iva suggests that it might be helpful if they both start talking. It doesn’t even have to be about any of the past. Just a simple, how are you. And if that can be good, maybe they can both finally address everything together. Iva probably has to take up the role as mediator, as he sees both sides and knows this can be good for them. Looking over Dragon’s shoulder, making sure he’s behaving.

It's definitely going to be a long, exhausting time before anything is truly better. But I can see them working it out. I’m sure Crocodile would be anxious to EVER make an intimate promise like before. So I don’t see it happening unless he can truly heal, and it’s what he wants and things will be good for him.

I don’t think Dragon would try to initiate any sort of like “hey I think we should talk again, or be partners again.” As that’s not really his call. Crocodile needs to feel he’s respected and in control here to build back trust. So I think Dragon would be pleased with anything Crocodile is wiling to give him. Whether that’s with the label “Partners” or not. I can definitely see them working something out.

(But I can def see them having long nice calls of just taking and being in each other presence. And or meeting up occasionally, and just fucking LOL!!)

Yeah, I think the perspective that distance and age brings might take some of the edge off of Crocodile's anger. He might be more understanding of what both of them got out of the relationship and he might also come to understand just how vital it to stay dedicated if you're leading an entire (sort of secret) organization. He understands how some things, even the most important and most precious things, will have to wait. Because they could wait, no matter how much it sucked to be pregnant and alone there weren't the lives of thousands at stake. (Crocodile was probably also isolated with only the midwife there to keep him infrequent, professional "company". Of course he withdraws into himself and stews in all the discomfort and loneliness and bitterness). But Dragon could not communicate that and Crocodile could not see it.

He does now. And maybe he does at times wonder how it would have been if they had overcome that. Because he did feel good with Dragon before everything crashed and burned around them.

But Marineford tore up a lot of wounds and despite it all, how is he able to cope with the choice Dragon made? A dead baby might have been a loss to put behind them and eventually move on. But a very much alive baby, that lie, the abandonment of it to the whims of Garp and Mountain Bandits?

The talking with Iva there as mediator would definitely help (especially since Iva will just be obnoxious and push and not let them sit on their resentments. He needs Dragon focused and it's in Crocodile's best interest to also figure this out.)

But yessss, phone calls and conversations and fucking. Hey, they've got a lot of pent up energy. And both of them probably haven't gotten laid in years. What's the worst that could happen?

[aebi12]

"Resentment" - Chapter 21 [AemondxRhaena]

Summary

He is the cause of her sufferings. He took her dragon, her betrothed, and her father. Now, he will also take away her future by having to marry him.

With so much history and bad blood between Rhaena and Aemond, their forced union has everything to fail, except that the proximity will make them discover that perhaps they have more in common than it seems.

AU - the Greens win the war.

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 4 - Chapter 5 - Chapter 6 - Chapter 7 - Chapter 8 - Chapter 9 - Chapter 10 - Chapter 11 - Chapter 12 - Chapter 13 - Chapter 14 - Chapter 15 - Chapter 16 - Chapter 17 - Chapter 18 - Chapter 19 - Chapter 20

Masterlist of my other works.

Read on AO3

Tags: enemies to lovers, slow burn, romance, angst, drama, eventual smut, hurt/comfort

Please remember that english is not my first language, so I'm sorry for the mistakes...

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Aemond does not return to the arena.

It is obvious the prince has left the tournament as the minutes tick by and he doesn’t show up, so the competitions resume, and in the end a minor lord from the Riverlands is the winner.

Not that Rhaena has been paying much attention, her mind on the tents where Aemond and Corwyn are surely being tended to.

“Congratulations, ser, and good fortune,” she says mechanically as the knight approaches to pay his respects, thus signaling the end of the tournament.

Finally.

Rhaena doesn’t wait long to step off the platform and cross the grounds on her way to the competitors’ tents. Though the common folk call her name, wanting her attention, she barely raises a hand in their direction, uncaring of the snub. She has to…

She pauses.

Where should she go first?

The two directions open before her. She knows the prince’s tent is to her left, separate from the ones for the other lords’. Eventually, she takes the right direction, moving through the tents and checking the banners, in case any of them give her an indication of who are inside.

“May I help you, my lady?”

A young man looks at her curiously. Rhaena stops and looks at him, “Are you a maester?”

“Indeed, my lady.”

“Are you tending to the wounded knights?” When he nods, she continues, “Have you tended ser Corwyn Corbray?”

“Just recently, my lady.”

“And how is he?”

“He will survive,” the young man frowns, “The only serious wound is the one on his side, but it will heal well with proper care. Would you like me to take you to him?”

There is a moment of hesitation on her part, “No. There is no need, I merely wanted to hear from him,” she sighs, “I imagine he will be taken to the castle to continue his recovery.”

“When he awakens from the sleep of the milk of the poppy, yes, my lady.”

Rhaena nods, “Thank you, maester. You have been very kind.”

She is about to turn away, when the young man speaks again, “Should I… should I let Ser Corwyn know that you asked for him?”

“No, as I said, there is no need.”

Without waiting for an answer, she turns and strides to Aemond’s tent.

***

“At least you had the good sense to withdraw before killing someone.”

His mother’s voice – or rather her complaints – only worsen the headache he feels throbbing in his temples.

“We can still attribute your behavior to some sort of… need to prove yourself or your worth as a warrior in a tournament being held in your honor,” the dowager queen continues, looking at him with a mix of disapproval and anxiety.

“It is irrelevant what the Court think,” he says quietly, the pain in his jaw beginning to show. That fucking Corbray had managed to hit him hard before he could push him away, “They wanted a good show and that’s what I gave them.”

“And since when do you insist on pleasing the common people?”

“Isn’t that what you wanted? For me to get more involved?”

“Not like this!”

His mother sighs, clearly exasperated with his attitude. The prince thinks there is a certain tone of suspicion in her claims, as if Alicent somehow sensed that something else motivated him to participate in the ridiculous tournament, but she does not press for answers. Still, she approaches the improvised bed where he is sitting and takes the clean cloth that the maester has left while he prepares an infusion for Aemond, and wets it in water, approaching her son and delicately placing her hands on his cheek.

The prince wants to murmur a thank you as he feels the cloth clean his wounds, but he cannot. He only limits himself to observing his mother’s still beautiful face, expression concentrated, cleaning the traces of blood, dirt and sweat that are surely stuck to his skin.

“If only you could see yourself!” sighs the queen, “The bruises will soon appear, how will you enter the Great Sept tomorrow in this state? Your handsome face is…”

“You are the only one who finds me handsome,” he interrupts her.

His mother’s response is interrupted by the arrival of his betrothed.

“Queen Alicent,” she greets, walking to a stop a few feet from them. His mother puts aside her task to turn to Rhaena, “Cousin, how are you feeling?”

Their eyes meet for a brief moment, but he doesn’t respond. It’s his mother who speaks, “The prince only suffered superficial wounds, thank the gods.”

“Thank the gods,” Rhaena repeats.

An awkward silence falls between the three of them. Aemond, who can’t speak freely, not in front of his mother, is about to say something when Rhaena intervenes again.

“Your Grace, do you think I can talk to my cousin? Alone.”

His mother, clearly intrigued, looks at both of them, searching for an answer, “I don’t know how appropriate that is.”

“Mother, go find the maester. Our conversation won’t take long,” Aemond’s voice is almost an order.

Alicent grimaces, but doesn’t protest, “I will be back soon.”

Rhaena murmurs a thank you and watches the dowager queen leave the tent before turning to him.

“You took your time before coming and fulfilling your duty to ask for my health.”

The bitterness, much to Aemond’s irritation, is clear in his voice. So is the insinuation and suspicion in his words, which is not lost on Rhaena.

“I assure you cousin, I did not visit him, if that is what you imagine.”

“You did not? Were you not crying at the foot of his bed?”

Rhaena presses her lips into a thin line and tilts her face to the side, clearly annoyed, but ultimately just shakes her head.

“No, though I admit I did inquire about his injuries.”

“Ah,” he smirks at her, “Of course.”

Rhaena takes a tentative step toward him, her hands fiddling with the hems of her dress, “I wanted… I wanted to thank you for not killing him.”

“I was tempted to.”

“But you did not, and I appreciate that.”

Her voice sounds so full of relief, Aemond hates to hear it, so he looks away and down at his hands still red and sore from this morning’s effort, his knuckles cracked from the force with which he had delivered the last blow.

“I imagine you did not enjoy the show as worried as you were for the life of your lover?”

“He was never my lover. And my concern was not exclusively for him.”

“Was it not?”

“No,” she answers almost fiercely, taking a step closer to the prince

“Well, I do not need you to worry about me,” he replies harshly.

No. You don’t need it, but you crave it. You desperately crave for her to… care about you, that voice whispers in his mind.

“Too bad I do. I care what happens to you.”

Aemond only shudders at the words that until a moment ago echoed in his mind.

“Out of obligation?”

“No,” Rhaena takes another step and they are now very close, so close that her dress brushes the destroyed fabric of his pants. She positions herself between his legs and, since the prince is tall, their faces are almost at the same height, “Because I was beginning to enjoy your company and our time together.”

At that, Aemond does not know what to say. Their gazes remain locked for a moment, until Rhaena takes the cloth that Alicent has left, wets it and looks at her cousin, asking with her eyes if she can continue cleaning him. He nods, hating himself, but longing for her touch.

“Does it hurt?” her question is almost a whisper, her small hands delicately fulfilling their task.

“Nothing I cannot handle.”

He is tempted to make a sardonic comment about Corbray’s lack of strength, but prefers to remain silent.

Rhaena nods, and for a moment he closes his good eye and enjoys her ministrations, her fingers brushing the skin of his cheeks, her familiar scent washing over him as they are so close that if he leans forward a little further, he would be able to touch her lips.

“And here?” The prince opens his eye when he feels Rhaena’s hand rest on his chest, over his heart. He looks at her with a confused expression, “Are you happy after taking out your anger on him?”

It doesn’t escape Aemond’s notice that his cousin hasn’t mentioned Corbray’s name out loud. And that, in a way, pleases him, so he decides to be honest.

“Partly, yes,” he answers in the same low tone of voice, “Though I would have been more satisfied if I had gone all the way. At least he got what he deserved and paid for his crime.”

“There was never a crime to pay for.”

“Mmm,” Aemond watches her expression, trying to find some trace of a lie in her eyes, something to betray her words, “Even if I was tempted to believe you, you too must pay for your audacity in meeting him. And him for even suggesting it, for dancing with you, for wrapping his arms around you, for almost kissing you and touching you.”

Rhaena shudders upon hearing this, and the prince wonders if she can detect the possessive tone in his voice as he tells her all these things, “I apologize, cousin. I know I acted in a way that does not befit my position. I am aware of that.”

“Well,” Aemond places his hand over the one Rhaena still has on his chest, slowly stroking her fingers, “It’s good that you have that clear now that you will be my wife.”

“Your wife and therefore you are the only one with the… right to do all those things?”

“Mmm.”

Rhaena smirks, “Well, cousin, that remains to be seen,” she replies, surprising him by noticing her hardened gaze, “Tomorrow you too will become my husband. And I expect the same as you ask of me,” his cousin steps back so suddenly that he can do nothing to prevent it, and only their hands remain joined. She gives him a gentle squeeze before breaking free from his grip and standing at a safe distance, “You know what I mean.”

Yes, Aemond knows what Rhaena is talking about, but he doesn't say anything because Alicent returns at that moment with the maester and she takes the opportunity to leave the tent.

***

Lady Johanna's gaze is on her, watching her with a mix of curiosity and pity?

“I am sorry, my lady, I am afraid I am not the best company this evening.”

They're gathered alone in lady Lannister’s private chambers. Her invitation had surprised her, although she was grateful for the distraction considering that her mind was still returning to the conversation of a few hours ago with her cousin. Had she really given Aemond some kind of… ultimatum? And more importantly, was she even going to be able to fulfill it? It wasn't as if she could stop him from taking her by force or…

“I am perfectly capable of understanding you, Lady Rhaena,” the woman delicately wipes the corners of her mouth with the cloth napkin, “The day before my wedding I didn't eat a bite, I spent it in bed imagining the worst possible scenarios about my future husband and married life.”

“Were you not familiar with Lord Jason?” she asks curiously.

“He was our lord paramount, of course. I had seen him a couple of times when he visited The Crag, but not enough to really get to know him.”

Rhaena nods. She knows that this is how it usually goes in such unions, “Were you scared?” she dares to ask.

“Terrified,” Lady Johanna smiles wistfully, “That is partly why I took the liberty of requesting this meeting. I thought that perhaps you needed a voice with experience on the subject now that you are faced with the fate of every other noble woman in the realm.”

“And I appreciate your consideration towards me.”

“Surely you have doubts,” the woman continues, making a face very similar to Marianne’s when she is concentrating on something, “I imagine that Lady Laena did not have the opportunity to speak with you on these matters, considering that the gods took her when you were still young,” Rhaena simply nods, her heart filling with sadness at the mention of her mother, “And Princess Rhaenyra probably did not speak to you either since your engagement to Prince Lucerys never materialized and times were uncertain.”

Rhaena smiles vaguely, and lifts her teacup to her lips, “I know what is expected to happen tomorrow in the marital bed, my lady, my septas spoke to me of it.”

“Ah, the septas!” Lady Lannister sneers, “They know nothing of the subject. And, if they do know they never dare to speak.”

“Your words do not comfort me,” she lets out a nervous chuckle.

“It is not pleasant. At least, not at first,” she sighs, “But it is our duty, and, with time, it becomes more tolerable. Enjoyable, even, if you can get your future husband to stop thinking only of himself, and take more notice of you.”

“Oh,” is all she can say because the truth is, she has no idea what Lady Lannister is talking about. The woman laughs and sips from her wine glass, clearly understanding her silence, “Do not worry, remember my words and you will understand them as the days go by.”

“I will trust you, Lady Lannister.”

“What I’m really trying to tell you, my dear, is that you need to understand your future husband. Generally, all men like women to be obedient, accommodating, and to simply nod along with everything they say, but we can be more than that.”

“Was that the case with your husband?”

“My husband, gods bless him, loved to hear the sound of his own voice. He was not the brightest, but I learned quickly that he didn’t like being contradicted too much. I would pretend to agree with him, and simply whisper things in his ear, but I did it in a way that Jason thought the ideas were his own,” she smiles sadly, “I am not saying it will be like that with the prince, but you know him, you’ve spent time with him. Learn and observe, it will serve you well.”

Rhaena thinks about her words. She had had a similar thought, of course, but she knows that her relationship with Aemond has changed a lot since then. Weeks ago, when she had wanted to get along with him, it was simply to feel secure in her marriage. Now that there was, somehow, some attraction between them, as well as some sense of competition and battle of wills, everything was more complicated. She knew she should give in, but she didn’t want to. Just as she knew that Aemond showed some weakness towards her, but only at times, only when he was vulnerable, which wasn’t always.

“I’ve given you a lot to think about, it seems,” Lady Johanna’s voice brings her back to reality, “I know that too much is demanded of us, but it will all be worth it if you can earn his respect and regard. His heart, even. And when you give him a son, he will shower you with praise because he will see in him the continuity of his lineage, especially in the situation you find yourself in.”

“I know.”

“It will be worth it, believe me,” she repeats, “A child will change your life, your way of thinking and considering things. And that child will be for you too, especially at the beginning, it will be your world.”

Rhaena doesn’t know if that prospect terrifies her or makes her long for that moment.

“Thank you, Lady Lannister.”

“You are a clever and nice girl, Rhaena, use that to your advantage,” she replies and stands up, “I will not detain you any longer, I am sure you have many things to do.”

Rhaena exchanges a few last words with the woman, and goes straight to her room. When she arrives, she finds several maids packing her belongings into trunks and chests.

“What are you all doing?” she asks Cindy.

“Queen Alicent told us that we should move your things to the Tower of the Hand, my lady.”

The Tower of the Hand. Aemond’s chambers.

“Right, of course.”

Rhaena doesn’t interrupt them any further, she simply sits on the edge of the bed and watches them work, until other maids arrive to fix her hair.

Once again, she doesn't protest, she just lets them undo the dreadlocks from her hair, which takes hours, but she doesn't complain at all, she doesn't complain about the pain or even mention that she would have preferred to keep them. It doesn't matter. Not really.

When they finally let her alone, she lies down on the bed and tries to sleep. And the gods seem to take pity on her once again because she manages to do so without any problems.

***

“You look beautiful.”

The compliment comes from Marianne who, standing behind her, also looks at her reflection in the mirror.

The words of thanks stay in her throat, so she just reaches for her lady’s hand and squeezes it tightly.

It’s not that she doesn’t like what she sees. She knows Marianne is right, she looks good. The dress is a beautiful ivory shade with dark red sleeves that fall to her feet. The details embroidered in gold threads seem to symbolize the flames of dragon fire. The ruby ​​necklace at her throat exquisitely complements the outfit, as does the tiara that looks delicately placed on her mane of silver curls.

She looks more than good, if she is honest with herself.

And yet, she can’t help the feeling of fear and at the same time anticipation that runs through her body.

“Clearly Queen Alicent has good taste,” Marianne continues, “This dress is perfect for a royal wedding.”

Rhaena nods, “Remind me to thank her.”

She doesn’t think she’ll even be able to say anything coherent during the day.

She doesn’t even think she’ll be able to make it to the Grand Sept on her own.

“Come, we mustn’t be late.”

Her friend takes her hand and guides her into the courtyard of the Keep, where she expects to find a carriage, but instead she finds a beautifully decorated open carriage.

“The people will want to see you,” she explains before giving her a hug and saying goodbye.

She is not alone, however. Her cousin is waiting to help her up and make the journey together.

“Lord Alyn, good morrow.”

“Rhaena, you look lovely.”

“Thank you, my lord.”

She does her best not to damage her dress as she sits down. Her cousin settles in as well, and the carriage moves forward, weaving through the people outside the gates, calling out her name.

Thankfully the commotion frees her from having to converse with her cousin. So, she turns her attention to greeting the people, smiling as convincingly as she can and trying to catch some of the flowers thrown her way.

“The people love you.”

Her cousin helps her down as they stop in front of the Great Sept. “People love an occasion to celebrate,” she replies, smoothing the skirts of her dress.

Alyn smirks and offers his arm, which Rhaena takes, slowly moving alongside him.

“We haven’t had much opportunity to talk these days.”

“The wedding took up much of my time, surely you understand, cousin.”

“Of course,” he replies cordially, “However…”

“There is nothing else to discuss,” she replies as she begins to climb the many stairs, “You are to marry my sister, you have assured me that your intentions are the best, and I believe you. I hope your union will be one filled with joy and that, when we meet again, it will be under equally joyous circumstances.”

Alyn does not reply. Although Rhaena has not yet written to Baela, her mind occupied with more pressing matters, she does not tell lies. She believes the new lord Velaryon’s words. It is not her sister whom she is truly concerned about. At least not in matters of marriage.

The Great Sept is brighter than the other times she has visited. Hundreds of candles are lit beneath each altar. The nobles, already assembled, stand in front of the main altar of the Father's statue, and Rhaena notes that only a select group of them have managed to enter the ceremony.

When a trumpet sounds, all eyes turn to her. Alyn begins to advance along the path marked by brothers of the faith, who hold candles and look very solemn. Rhaena does not make eye contact with anyone, her eyes fixed straight ahead, focused on taking one step after another.

“Remember what I told you, cousin,” Alyn whispers when they are already reaching the point where the royal family is standing, “I am here for you.”

Rhaena offers the briefest of nods as she removes her arm from Lord Alyn and walks to where Aemond is waiting for her.

Although the journey is short, the seconds seem to drag on forever as she takes the final steps towards her fate.

“You may now cloak the bride and bring her under your protection”

It is the High Septon who speaks, a goofy smile on his lips as he looks at her with fatherly affection. Rhaena bites the inside of her lip and kneels before the altar. Aemond walks slowly up behind her, and places a heavy black and red cloak over her shoulders.

Then, he offers her his hand to rise. Rhaena takes it, her heart pounding in her chest as she stands and stays beside the prince.

Has he worn the cloak before? She can’t help but wonder as his scent envelops her. Or maybe it’s just the fact that they are so close to each other.

“Your Grace, my lords, my ladies, we stand here in the sight of gods and men to witness the union of a man and his wife. In the presence of the Seven, I join these two as one flesh, one heart, and one soul for all eternity.”

The High Septon’s words take her breath away, causing her breathing to quicken and her legs to weaken. Aemond seems to notice, because his hand goes to her elbow, holding her. Rhaena doesn’t dare look at him.

“Look upon each other and say the words.”

This is it. The moment Rhaena has been dreading. Not only because the words she must speak next are the final hammer blow to the nail that is her sentence to join her life to Aemond's, but because she is not sure she can even speak. What if she can't make a sound and only manages to embarrass herself in front of the court?

Her thoughts are cut off when her cousin faces her, and she, instinctively, does the same.

Rhaena looks up at Aemond and holds her breath as she watches him.

The bruises that weren't quite as visible yesterday are now. A purple bruise covers the left side of his chin and another is noticeable high on his right cheekbone. The girl is tempted to raise her hand and cover his face, but stops herself, finally placing it next to Aemond's, now holding hands facing each other.

“Father, Smith, Warrior,” the prince begins, and instinct guides her, making her repeat the prayer as well. A prayer she has practiced and knows well, “Mother, Maiden, Crone, Stranger. I am his and he is mine. From this day until…”

“Until the end of my days,” Aemond finishes for both of them.

The High Septon utters something else and the attendees break into applause and cheers, but Rhaena pays them no attention, her gaze still focused on Aemond.

And the way he is looking at her, with… possessiveness and desire all at once, his one good eye scanning her body up and down, making her blush when he finally meets her gaze again.

And though she’s dreaded this moment for the past few months, though just a few hours ago she was miserable about joining her cousin, now she can’t help but feel the same anticipation he seems to be feeling. And the thought sends a rush of pleasure through her body.

Because she is finally his wife.

And he is hers.

Until the last of their days.

Thanks for reading! Would love if you guys let me know what you think so far

@user05152535456 @pugetprincess @draftswriting @hopefulnovelwritingland @maymunahar @niocel @goldenjoyboyy @gracelessbeach @jenmakeusin10 @dagma18 @atargcvnt @iidontgiveafuckuniverse @ammo23 @qyburnsghost @ithoughtulikedme @avidreader73 @feyresqueen @zeroinetoheroine @dragontwinsfireandblood

Let me know if you want to be tagged

[irkimatsu]

Sweet sweet angsty smut~

This is my third in a series of pieces about Husk being chained up and muzzled by Alastor as a punishment for... something. I've been vague about it, if we're being honest.

Part 1

Part 2

This piece is full on smut, with fem!Reader having sex with Husk while he's chained. Lots of angst; references to abuse, self-harm, substance abuse and withdrawal, all sorts of nasty stuff. But at least you get to comfort Husk through it in any way you can...

---

It’s been several weeks, and neither Husk nor Alastor are budging on their positions in whatever disagreement they’ve gotten into. Until someone gives in, Husk will remain here, leashed to his bed and muzzled, while you do all you can to make his isolation a little more comfortable.

Even with your best efforts, however, Husk’s deterioration has been steady. It’s hard for him to consume anything with the muzzle on, for one thing. You bring him food scraps and alcohol whenever you can, but it’s so hard for him to eat and drink with his mouth blocked like this, and in his weakened state he can only try for so long before his body gives up on the effort. At least he can splash some sink water into his mouth when you’re not there; Alastor gave his leash enough slack to let him use the bathroom, though that likely had less to do with compassion for Husk and more to do with not giving Niffty a disgusting mess to clean up. It’s difficult for him to do, but it’s one thing that saves him from feeling completely helpless. The alcohol and nicotine withdrawal hasn’t been easy on him, either; he’s still regularly self-harming to distract himself, clawing open new wounds over old scabs before they have a chance to heal. His fur is sparse and comes out in tufts when you touch it too much, and his wings and tail are only lined with a thin red fuzz rather than the handsome plumage you’d gotten used to on him. He’s never been a healthy weight due to him regularly replacing meals with alcohol, but he’s wasted away so much that you’re beginning to see the outlines of bones beneath his bare skin.

If he wasn’t already dead, you’d be terrified for his life.

Why is he being so stubborn about this? You’ve never seen him defying Alastor this intensely before. Sure, you’ve seen him talking back enough to receive a condescending scold; you’ve even caught Alastor striking him a few times when neither realized you could see, followed shortly by Husk going off to complete something particularly dangerous or demeaning. Husk had even told you about previous times when he’d been muzzled until the substance withdrawal had him begging his owner for mercy, willing to degrade himself however it took to receive just one bottle of precious, life-granting booze. But from what he’d said before, it usually took him days to break, not weeks.

He’s still not telling you what task he’s so desperate to avoid. “It’s better if you stay out of it,” he always says. It’s been a few days since you’ve asked about it, at his request; it was one of the only times he snapped at you while in this predicament.

“Fucking hell, I told you I don’t wanna talk about it! I spend enough fucking time thinking about it when I’m alone in here! Can’t you let me forget for a minute?!”

Despite your deep concern, you’ll grant his request; it’s part of the least you can do for him.

Neither of you have said a word since you arrived for that day’s visit. You brought him lunch, a bread roll and a miniature bottle of whiskey, and laid his head in your lap so you could feed him. He was able to finish the whiskey, and he weakly chewed some of the pieces of bread you broke off for him, but more than half of the roll sits on his bedside table for now as you gently stroke him between his ears, moving gently as to not dislodge what little fur he has left. His eyes are closed, and his breaths are heavy.

You know you need to stay strong for him, you can’t give him yet another thing to worry about, but it takes so much for you to not start sobbing at the sight of him like this.

“Hey… babe?” he asks, his eyes slowly creaking open, his voice hoarse from how little he’s been using it recently. “Could you do something for me…?” “Anything,” you promise as you continue petting him.

You can barely see his mouth behind his muzzle, but his slight smile is visible in his eyes. “I miss… making love with you.”

“Oh… oh, Husk…” That was the last request you expected when you offered him anything. “I miss it, too, but… not while you’re like this…”

“What? Am I not handsome enough for you anymore?” His eyes glimmer playfully as he speaks, somehow.

“You know it’s not that!” you insist. “I just don’t wanna overexert you. You’re having enough trouble eating.”

“Can’t I at least see you?” he asks. “It’s been way too long…”

Surely there’s no harm in that much? Besides, you do miss his skin against yours… “Of course.” You help him sit up and get settled across from you. He leans back on his hands, drooped ears and lidded eyes making him appear as if he’ll collapse any second, but his eyes stay glued to you for as long as you can.

You’re not exactly in the mood to give him a sexy display. You take off your clothes simply, as if you were only preparing to change them. Despite this, he’s still entranced, his breath growing more rapid as you expose more skin.

“Baby…” he breathes out as you throw your underwear aside and spread your legs, showing him the treasure he hasn’t seen for so long. “Can… can I…”

You nod without letting him finish, willing to accept any affection he can handle giving. He weakly leans forward until he flops down to the bed, his face settled perfectly between your legs.

“Fuck…” he whispers, before taking a deep breath and holding it for a moment. “I’m so thirsty, baby…” You can’t help but gasp as his cold nose rubs up your lips and settles against your clit. His nose may be cold against your skin, but it’s always so comforting, something living; it’s so different from the metal that’s now pressing between your legs, separating his mouth from what he so badly wants.

“I wish we could,” you tell him as you stroke between his ears again, warm breath exhaling from his nose and making you so needy. Normally you’d grab his fur and pull his face in closer, holding him in place while you grind yourself to an overstimulated mess against his hot, rough tongue… but you manage to catch yourself before you accidentally tear out even more of the weak fur that he can’t afford to lose.

An idea suddenly strikes you. “Back up a little?” you ask. Once he finally manages to peel himself off of you, you reach between your legs and sink a single finger into your opening. You gasp and buck at the sensation, teasing yourself as Husk enjoys the show. After you’ve sufficiently excited yourself, you pull your finger out, your slick now coating it, a string still connecting your fingertip to your entrance.

“Come here,” you say, holding your finger out to him. He catches on quickly. He moves closer to your hand and turns his head, allowing you to slip your finger through the side of the muzzle and into his mouth. He moans as he sucks your finger as best as he can from this angle, his tail waving as his teeth graze your skin. He doesn’t pull back until every drop of your cum on your finger has been replaced with his saliva.

“Delicious…” he moans, already drunker on you than he ever is on whiskey, as his tongue pokes out of the side of his mouth in a desperate search for more. Once he finally has to admit that there’s nothing more to be had, he climbs into your lap and buries his face in the side of your neck. His arms hold you tight and his knees squeeze your hips as he presses his muzzle into your skin; he’d be kissing you, at the very least, if there was any way for him to.. “Baby… want you bad, baby…” His words are slow and slurred, tinged with the emotions of a man who could start crying at any minute if he wasn’t so sick of it already. Yet, none of this is enough to drown out the pure need his voice always holds for you in moments like this.

“I want you too, Husk,” you say. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” he responds as he weakly pushes against your body. He’s in no state to pin and ravish you like he has so many times before; it’s up to you to hold him and pull him down with you as you lay back. He spends a few more moments nuzzling against your neck, so desperate to kiss you, before slowly pushing himself up with his paws and staring down at you.

He whispers your name so sweetly as his body sways.

“Are you okay?”

“I’m… fine…” he says, still swaying. “I can…” He stops speaking to take a deep breath. “Please, just let me…”

“Don’t push yourself,” you urge him as you cup his cheeks, fingers threaded through the patchy fur.

“But I need this… please…”

“If you lay down, I’ll take care of you, okay?”

He nods slowly, and allows you to grab his hips and roll him over onto his back. Once he’s flat against the mattress, he spreads his nearly-bare wings out as he settles in, and looks up at you with eyes so tired, but so hungry. He’s still breathing heavily, as if just that much has him winded, but at least now you’re not worried about him falling and injuring himself further.

Looking at his body like this only emphasizes in your mind how much he does not need to injure himself further. He’s fully naked just like he has been on all of your previous visits, leaving no gash hidden from your worried eyes. Your eyes jump from gash to gash, allowing so much worry to build that you barely react when your eyes reach between his legs. You haven’t even been considering that sort of intimacy ever since this started, and this moment can’t get you to start thinking about it yet.

“Husk…” you whisper, trying your damnedest to stop any of your tears from dripping out onto his skin. You lower your face to his chest to kiss a particularly grisly wound; he groans in response. “Am I hurting you…?”

“No,” he says simply as he wraps his arms around you. “Keep going...”

You keep kissing him, showing every injury as much tenderness as your lips can give. The taste of his blood stings your tongue, reminding you further of the hell he’s been through, but you don’t let it stop you from showing the affection you have so many times before. As you kiss him, you trail your fingers over his concave stomach, lightly brushing his skin until your fingertips find his cock. Despite everything, he’s still able to stand at full attention, and he twitches the instant you touch him. You wrap your hand around him and gently squeeze, and he moans softly as his head tilts back, his hips so slightly jerking into your hand a couple times before giving up and lying still.

“Please,” he begs with a struggling exhale. “Please…”

Still stroking him, you move back up his body to press a series of kisses against his muzzle, continuing on no matter how much the cold steel tries to remind you how meaningless the gesture is. “Are you ready?” you ask.

“Please…” he repeats. “Please make love to me…”

You take your hand off his cock and brace yourself by placing both hands on either side of his head. “Anything for you, Husk…” You press one final kiss against his muzzle, letting it linger as you lower yourself onto his cock. You both share a moan, as close to each others’ mouths as you can both get, as you slowly sheath him inside you.

“God…” he murmurs as his claws lightly flex against your back. “I’ve missed you so fucking much…”

You slide up and down his cock, moving slowly and gently, trying so hard to not hurt him in his fragile state. His chain clatters against his headboard with every thrust, but you manage to block out the sound by focusing more on his breaths and moans. So many times before he’s had your brain screaming for you to take him fast and deep, to ride him rough like the wild animal he is… but that part of your mind is dead silent now.

He’s said it before. He’s not an animal, no matter what he looks like now or how Alastor treats him. And you’re determined to reassure him of that by letting him indulge in emotions and desires that are so deeply human.

You lay your body over him and gently curl your hands around the backs of his ears. “Is this okay?” you ask him.

He nods with a small grunt.

“Tell me if it hurts,” you say. “I don’t want to push you too far.”

Another grunt is all you get out of him before you resume moving, your chests sliding together as you rock back and forth. You wonder if this is bothering his wounds, but he’s not saying anything or making any noises to indicate anything like that. As you ride him, you kiss his forehead and cheeks, letting what’s still exposed of his face feel how much you adore him. He grips your hips and starts thrusting up to meet you, but after a few movements, he groans in pain and lets his waist collapse back onto the bed.

“...sorry…” he murmurs.

“You’re okay,” you assure him with another kiss to his forehead. They’re the last words you say for a while; all your focus now is on how you’re moving, making sure this is everything he needs it to be. Tonight, your pleasure is secondary. Both of you remain mostly quiet throughout the act. Not only is this not something that inspires the sorts of screams and filthy talk you love so much with him, but you absolutely cannot let Alastor hear an instant of this. You don’t even want to imagine what he’d do if he knew Husk wasn’t suffering his punishment, if only for a brief moment.

He still feels as amazing as ever inside you, his barbs greedily pulling at your tender walls with every upward thrust of your hips. And yet, you can’t focus on it as you usually do. His girth stretching you out, his throbs when you move at just the right angle, his tip finding your sweet spot and purposefully hammering it until you can no longer see or speak… none of it matters right now. All that matters are his eyes on you, brimming with gratitude and love.

You kiss away a tear before it can roll too far down his cheek.

“I’m getting close…” he whispers, his eyes not leaving you. In most circumstances, your current speed wouldn’t be enough. Hell, you’ve gone this slow to purposely tease him before, edging him on until he finally rolls you over and takes what he craves.

Given the circumstances, though, you can understand why it doesn’t take much this time.

“Go on,” you say, encouraging him with a small smile. “I know you need this.”

He smiles back before a shudder rolls through his body, sending his head rolling back again with another quiet moan. He pulls your hips down flush with his and holds you in place as he grinds up into you.

“Oh god-” He moans your name in between his pleas to the being that abandoned him so much. Soon it’s only your name that he’s saying, each repetition coming out with more urgent need.

You kiss his muzzle one last time, and his heavy breaths brush past your cheeks as he climaxes inside you. You don’t stop kissing him until you’re sure he’s done, determined to see the gesture through no matter how futile it is. He finishes and softens inside you, but doesn’t pull out right away as he struggles to catch his breath.

You’ll let him stay inside you as long as he wants. He deserves it.

“Lay next to me?” he finally asks. You sit up, hoping that your weight over him hasn’t caused him any further distress, and lift your waist off of him. He rolls over on his side, shifting his wings to a more comfortable position as he moves, and once he’s done moving, you settle into his arms. He nuzzles the top of his head under your chin and purrs weakly as he hugs you close. “Thank you…” he murmurs through his purrs.

It abruptly occurs to you that this is by far the longest time you’ve spent in his room over these past few weeks. “Husk? I’ve been in here for a while… should I le-”

“No,” he snaps as he squeezes you more tightly. “Don’t you dare leave…”

“I don’t want to get you in trouble with-”

“Get me in trouble. I don’t fucking care anymore.” His tail lashes as he speaks, not even weakness preventing his feline body from expressing its anger. “He can do whatever the fuck he wants. I’m still not letting you go.” His tail finally calms down as he settles against your body. “I don’t care if he kills me… as long as you’re with me… I won’t let him touch you, I’ll take the blame, I promise…”

No matter how afraid you are for him, you just can’t say no to his pleas. His first act of intimacy with you in weeks, and you were about to leave him in the lurch immediately after? What kind of monster would you be in that case? You already knew that he hates being left alone immediately after sex under the best of circumstances. Leaving him in a state like this could very well kill him via heartbreak.

Instead, you settle yourself into his embrace. His wing may not be able to keep you as warm as it usually does as he drapes it over your body, but you still feel so safe in its embrace.

You’ll do anything to make him feel just as safe.

“I love you,” you whisper, as you try your hardest not to think of this as the last time you ever get to hold him.

[thevikingwoman]

Meryta, busy in the midst of trying to help her friends get back from the First, takes a time to visit her lover Tansui. Unfortunately she finds him sick - but she doesn't mind taking care of him a bit. While there, she has time for reflection and maybe a few realizations.

Fandom: Final Fantasy XIV | Words: 2542 | Read on Ao3

I was recently out of commission with a very annoying cold, so of course I kept myself going dreaming up a sweet sickfic-trope scenario. I hope you enjoy some fluff!

Meryta Khatin x Tansui | Early shb patches | romance Rating: Teen. Fluff, romance, sickfic, food as a love language, feelings, swearing, black magic headcanons, minor black mage jobquest spoilers

Homesick

“You may want to skip out right away,” Rasho says. He’s sitting alone at his usual table, Tansui nowhere in sight.

Meryta lifts her eyebrows, and he explains: “Tansui’s sick in bed.”

“Should I worry? Can I help?”

“Nothing serious - a cold or something. But a sick pirate is a sorry sight if there was one.”

Worried despite Rasho’s reassurances, she finds Tansui’s dwelling. Maybe she can do something, and besides that, she did come to visit him in the short time that she has. She doesn’t bother knocking, gently pushing the door open. It’s dark inside, his curtains drawn and just a small oil lamp casting a dim light across the room.

“Meryta?”

Tansui sits half up in his bed, covered in a twisted blanket, his hair messy. “Is that you or a fever dream?”

He coughs, rough and loud, covering his mouth with a cloth and collapsing on himself.

“Tansui – I’m here, I – how are you?”

She rushes over, her hand brushing against his face. He does feel hot to touch, his brow sticky. The stale air doesn’t help either.

“Not worth much to see me such, sick as a dog. Good to see you well, though –” He coughs a little again, his voice strained, and falls silent.

“Shhh - spare your voice.” He opens his mouth as to protest, but she continues, no wish to hear that rattling cough again. It sounds painful. “And no matter, it’s always worth it to see you, Tansui.”

She tucks a bit of his hair away from his forehead, and he smiles carefully as he looks up at her. He looks awful, really, his lips dry and eyes unfocused.

Meryta gets up and opens the window in the kitchen – fresh, cool air will be nice. There’s a pitcher of water, and she pours a glass for him. He drinks all of it carefully, and she gets another.

“Are you hungry?”

He shakes his head.

“I’m not sure my healing can do much for a cold – but let me try.”

Day or night, the stars and the gates of the heavens are always present and heed her call. Her aether swirls through her, out of her, and over and into Tansui. She tries to find if she can heal or bring relief anywhere, anyhow, but she’s not a chirurgeon. Her healing is meant to close wounds and provide succor in battle, not cure the sick.

“Feels nice enough,” he says – but she’s not really doing anything. She shakes her head and withdraws her hands and her aether. He still feels hot, his skin sticky.

“Are you hot?”

He nods. “Yes. I felt cold earlier, but its too hot in here.” He kicks at the blankets.  She sorts them, but puts them back over his legs.

“You have a fever. You shouldn’t get too cold.”

He makes a noise of displeasure, and sticks his feet out from the blanket. Fine. There’s a bucket of water with a rag by the bed – someone else left it, and she dips and wrings the cloth. The water is tepid, almost warm, but she still wipes the sweat from his brow.

“Meryta,” he says, and kicks at the blankets, twisting them again. “So pretty.”

“You should rest, Tansui.”

“Too fucking hot.”

The tepid water is not helping, if only it was cold, or – perhaps she could create some ice? She frowns. The truth is, she doesn’t have that kind of control, her black magic large and destructive. It’s a nice thought, to freeze a bit of water, but she’s just as likely to have a hunk of ice take out the side of the building.

“I’ll be right back,” she says, and kisses his hair.

Meryta grabs an empty bucket and fills it with fresh water from the well. Then she walks off, out of the settlement and around the stone that supports Heaven on High, into the narrow piece of land between the rocks. The ground is sandy, coarse stubborn grass growing where nothing else will.

She places the bucket and stands back. She’s come a long way recently, the black magic proving a great outlet when she feels restless about her aether, worrying it will overwhelm her. But she’s not a technician, and she rolls her eyes thinking of Zhai'a’s admonishments. She does need to control it better, but it’s good enough for battle.

She blasts the bucket, the air freezing, and a block of ice forming around it, then shattering. The grass is covered in frost and ice shards. Not an indoors endeavor. But the bucket is full of ice, and with her goal accomplished, she heads back to Tansui.

He’s still awake when she returns, smiling and then coughing as she enters the room. The ice is easily cut into chunks – her control with the katana is no issue and the blade is sharp and pure. She dumps pieces of ice in the warm water and dips the rag in it. Much better.

“Mmm, nice,” Tansui whispers when she brushes it across his brow. She seats herself next to him. He has closed his eyes now, and she hopes it’s in relief. He sighs when she brushes the rag across his shoulders and his chest.

“That’s why you came, to put your hands on my chest,” he mumbles.

She can’t help but grin.

“A little lower, please.”

She drags the cool water across the top of his abdomen, careful not to make the whole bed wet. Tansui cracks an eye open.

“You could go lower still.”

She starts, and he winks at her.

“Ass!”

“Pirate.”

“You need to rest,” she says firmly, smiling broadly. It would not be useful to give in to his antics, but it’s good to hear them.

“This is helping?”

“S’feel good, yes.”

She returns to her task, and cools his brow again. Tansui’s head falls forward, and he sighs again when she runs the cloth along his nape, lifting his messy hair out of the way.  His braid is one big tangle from sleeping on it, probably tossing and turning.

“Scoot a little forward,” she says, kissing his shoulder. “Let me fix your hair.”

He makes a noise that she supposes is assent, and moves himself a little forward so she can sit behind him. She starts, gently undoing his braid and the tangles with her hands. His hair is soft, the purple and black strands parting for her with a little patience. She likes, loves, that he takes the time to dye it, the flash of brightness suits him, for all the Confederacy’s practicality. She runs her fingers through it one more time.

“Do you want me to rebraid it? Or leave it loose?”

She prefers to have her hair loose when sleeping, but she knows he sometimes keeps it braided and she doesn’t know if it’s laziness or preference.

“I like your hands it in, Meryta.”

She’s more than happy to oblige. He should really rest, though, his shoulders slumped as he sits. She scoots herself further back, and leans against the wall.

“Lay down,” she says, hands gently pulling his shoulders, maneuvering them both until his head is in her lap. She resumes running her hands through his hair and across his scalp. “Rest.”

He closes his eyes and makes himself comfortable. Then opens his eyes again, looking up at her.

“How are you, Meryta? Are you here long? Tell me.”

“I can’t stay long, I’m afraid.” She tries to make time, after everything, but once again things start to seem urgent. “We’re looking for a way to get everyone back home. Their bodies and souls being apart is taking its toll. I worry – we’re working on it. We will find a solution, to carry their souls and minds across the void. But it has been a long time, especially for Thancred. I think he’s worse off than he lets on.” At least others share her concern. “It’s not my area of expertise, but I can help with the practical stuff.” Fetching things and people and fighting what she can.

“Mmm. You’ll all find a way. I’m sure of it. Problem solvers the lot of you.” Tansui has closed his eyes again. “And creators of them. What else. There’s always something else.”

She doesn’t admonish him on account of being sick, but he’s also right.

“Ryne – I did tell you about Ryne, did I not? She’s found something, in the empty place flooded by light. She’s going to try and fix things.” She explains, about the Empty and Eden and Ryne’s plans, and the change of aethereal balance they’ve set in motion. There’s a lot to tell and explain, her hands slowly caressing Tansui as she speaks. Her tail winds itself across his chest, she can’t help it. He catches it lazily, his hand holding it close.

She’s so proud of Ryne. The drive of her, to figure out who she is, and to fight for her world on her own premise. Not just fight for it, but change it. Create something, something big. If she can truly transform the landscape – and she will – it’s incredible.

Pulling herself back to the story, Meryta looks down on Tansui, who’s seems asleep now. Without rush or interruption, she really looks at him, and all the ways he is handsome to her. His skin tanned from the sun and sea,. the crow’s feet around his eyes His distinctive nose. His beard, scruffy and dark and a bit novel still. Of course she’s seen lots of people of many races with beards by now, but no au ra has them, prominent scales adorning the jaws on some people instead. Whichever you see in childhood still sticks with you. Same with his ears, soft and round. She holds herself back from tracing his ears and jaw, in case she wakes him, but she loves it. His features are interesting and wonderful and somehow now, familiar too. She doesn’t mind sitting here, while he sleeps; while he gets better.

Is this what love feels like?

She frowns. No use to think of now. Tansui is fast asleep, breathing steadily. She does not want to wake him, so she keeps petting his hair and closes her own eyes. Her thoughts turn back to Ryne.

Ryne’s a better hero than she can ever be, the force of her growing and healing her world. Meryta herself, she’s better at changing things through fighting. For all she’s done, the big things were not her actions. Aymeric is the one ended the Dragonsong war, his political influence and boldness bringing change. Hien and Lyse freed their countries, brought them out from under the grasp of Garlemald, their people following them. She’s a pointy tool, but when the fighting is over, other people are the true heroes. People like Ryne. Meryta is happy enough to fix both a sword and a plough, to make a pretty necklace or dig an irrigation ditch. She likes being a fixer too, but it’s in the small, mundane and physical ways.

She should check on the enclave soon, see how the rice fields are doing; the school too. And Charlemand’s infirmary. Good people, whom she can help in her own small ways. Her thoughts wander – to her friends back at the First, to her friends here she has missed. Back to Tansui, snoring slightly with a firm grip on her tail.

-

The next thing she notices is the sun filling the room. It’s morning, and she must have drifted off last night, trying not to disturb him. There’s a slight cramp in her shoulder from siting and sleeping, but it’s not too bad. She tries to move it, shuffle around without waking Tansui. She doesn’t succeed. He cracks his eyes open – at least they look more focused today. She rests her hand against his brow, and he feels less warm to touch too. His fever seem to have broken.

“Good morning,” she says.

“Morning.” He frowns. “Did you sit there all night?”

“I didn’t want to wake you. And I fell asleep.”

“Oh.” His cheeks color and she worries momentarily if he’s feeling feverish again.

“How are you feeling?”

“Much better, I think. Hungry.”

“I’ll cook you something.”

“No need, I’ll just – “

“Please, Tansui, I need to leave soon, but I can do this. You should still rest.”

She wriggles out away from him, and he sighs and shuffles in the bed to sit up.

“I’m not that infirm.”

She ignores him and starts in the kitchen. Rummaging around, she finds some cooked rice and eggs, and it’s fast enough to fry them up for a meal. Tansui hasn’t left the bed, sitting against the wall in it with his eyes closed. Still tired, no matter his protests. She crushes a bit of dried seaweed over the dish. Something simple should do.

Tansui accepts the dish, and she sits on the chair next to his bed to eat her own plate. While he is absorbed by the food, she can’t help but look at him, carefully from beneath her lashes. There’s something unhurried and undefined, eating breakfast together messily like this. She’s happy to see his appetite, and to make him food. She wants to share this with him, whether he’s sick or well.

“Thank you. He looks up from his plate, and then down again. “I’m sorry. I should have cooked, or –”

“You’re not well. And I’m happy to cook for you.”

“And it was good, but you’re – in my house and it’s… well.” He hesitates and shrugs.

“Well, it’s only fair. It’s not as if I have a home to invite you to.”

As she says it she wonders; where does she feel at home? Maybe she should find a more permanent place – once everyone is back. Somewhere she can invite Tansui. It’s an appealing thought, but fleeting for now.

She finishes her own plate, and cleans them both. Simple moments for the two of them. Her heart pounds in her chest. But for now, she has more duties, and friends to help. She can’t bring herself to leave quite yet, though, and finds something else to clean, her eyes drifting to Tansui ever so often.

“You don’t have to stick around, Meryta. I’m not much company.”

“It’s alright – I’m glad to see you – “

He reaches for her, and she sits at the edge of his bed, her hand in his. Easy.

“I do appreciate your care, looking like shite as I do, but I know your time is short. Better be back when I’m well again. Besides – loath as I am to admit it, I should rest more.”

“Promise me you’ll do so?”

“Aye.”

 She squeezes his hand, and they both smile, the moment between them suspended in time, filled with unspoken words.

It breaks when Tansui coughs, curling forward and letting go of her.

“Go save your friends.” He waves her off.

“Get well, Tansui. I’ll be back soon.”

“Yes. You will.” He smirks confidently at her, haggard as he looks. Then he leans back against the wall and closes his eyes. Her heart skips and heat flushes through her. She hopes she hasn’t caught his illness.

“Stay safe.”

 His words float after her as she slips out the door.

[jumpywhumpywriter]

A Life in the Hands of the Enemy -- Villain reluctantly saves Hero's Life part 3

Warnings: violence, bleeding, near-death experience, captivity whump, cruel Villain whumper

The next morning he woke up to a bright beam of sunlight shining in his face, streaming in through a nearby window.

Groggily, he rubbed his eyes, before jumping and letting out a strangled shriek when he spotted Amber laying on the couch, before remembering how she got there, and feeling a little embarrassed at his own reaction. He crept over and peeled away one of her bandages, noting that the wound had gotten noticeably smaller. Not by a lot, but not at a human rate of speed either.

Shoot, I forgot she has accelerated regeneration! He cursed silently to himself, trying to shake off the sleepy head fog. She was still far from healed, but he still worried. If she woke up, it could prove to be a very dangerous situation for him.

But I know just the place for you that will give me a lot more peace of mind...

Zack carefully slipped an arm under her legs and behind her back, picking her up and carrying her downstairs to the basement. One of the rooms there was surrounded by solid concrete. Perfect for holding a dangerous person like Amber. He usually used the room for torturing information out of people, or leaving them in isolation until they went mad. But this time would be something different.

He kicked open the door and set Amber down on the cold floor in the middle, where a single metal ring was bolted to the floor. Attached to the ring were two chains that led to two restraining cuffs. Unbreakable. Unescapable.

He locked the first metal cuff onto one of her wrists, when she let out a quiet, pained groan, making him freeze. Several heartbeats passed with no further reaction, and Zack put the other cuff on before backing out of the room. He returned a moment later with some blankets that he wrapped around her to keep her from freezing, before leaving her be.

The next day he checked on her, and found that she hadn't moved an inch, still out cold. He wondered if she might be faking it, and approached her with caution, nudging her arm with a foot. No response. Then he lifted an eyelid and shined a light into it. Still nothing.

Yep, super unconscious.

Zack tapped his chin thoughtfully, pondering how he might be able to get her to wake up faster. He was ITCHING for answers, his mind buzzing with questions. Then, an idea struck him. He left the room and returned with a small syringe of pure adrenaline.

He tugged all the blankets out from around Amber and put them out of reach. If this worked, he didn't want anything around she could use to try and strangle him.

Once the area around her was clear, he pushed the needle into her arm, slowly pressing the plunger down to give small amounts of adrenaline at a time. He didn't want to overdo it, because too much could easily kill her in such a fragile state as she was. And then he'd never get the answers he so badly wanted.

He had emptied roughly half the syringe when Amber finally twitched for the first time. He held his breath hopefully, withdrawing the needle, and shortly after, her eyes cracked open, peering dizzily up at the ceiling. She blinked slowly, dazed and disoriented, as her gaze tried to focus itself.

"Ahem." Zack cleared his throat quietly, instantly snatching her attention. She spooked when she saw him, immediately trying to jump to her feet, before crashing back to the floor with a sharp cry of pain, clutching at her injured side. She scrambled away from him before the chain linking her cuffs to the metal ring snapped taut, and she couldn't retreat any further.

Amber's face was twisted with excruciating pain as her breathing quickened, wide eyes darting wildly around the room for an escape, appearance not far from that of a cornered animal.

"W-Where am I? What's happening?" She choked out.

"You're fine, I'm not going to hurt you... as of now," Zack said, rolling his eyes at her reaction. He walked a few steps toward her, and she visibly flinched, pressing further against the far wall, shrinking in on herself as though it would make her disappear. She coughed weakly, and a small amount of blood spattered the concrete next to her.

Zack kneeled down to her level, his gaze sharp and assessing. "Now... I have a few QUESTIONS I need to ask... you will answer them, or things could get very bad for you, very fast. Understand the rules?" He didn't give her a chance to answer before he plowed onward.

"Firstly, who was strong enough to do this to you?" He gestured to her blood-stained skin, the many bandaged injuries across her body. "In all of our fights, I could barely leave a scratch on you. Did you bite off more than you could chew making new enemies?" He mocked condescendingly.

Amber glared defiantly at him, but he still noticed the haunted look in her fiery golden eyes, the shudder she tried to suppress. Then she averted her gaze, remaining silent.

Zack leaned in closer, letting his voice drop low and dangerous. "Are you going to make me ask again?"

⏪️ Back Next ⏩️

Masterlist

[th3w00ds]

Sharper Headcanons

Sharper's a regular human

Although now, due to an experiment gone wrong, he got his arms and his legs replaced with a mix of metal and his own flesh, basically prosthetics

Very advanced ones, as he's a scientist and inventor and made them himself

He can feel through them, and they usually look exactly like regular limbs

That stays true even if others touch them, though you could probably feel the wires and circuitry in his arms/legs if you pressed down hard enough

Even though they do have machinery in them, they do still have human flesh and tissues

Hence in Take Me Anywhere where his body and the wires/circuits seem to be one whenever he's injured

Because, well, they are one

Sharper has a tendency to get hurt on accident a whole lot

That damages his prosthetics and exposes the circuitry underneath them

Which to him hurts just as much as a wound of whatever caliber it is would hurt to a normal human

A master at inventing and chemistry

In fact, once he had a whole company

It was called Sharper Industries. He unfortunately shut down his company after getting very addicted to his own invention: The Sharper Industries Immersion Tube, and the Hallucina-Puff Memory Gas that allowed the tube to work

Sharper hadn't completely made sure that the Memory Gas was perfected before he started producing and selling the Immersion Tube to the public, hence the "Excessive exposure to HPMG may damage some to all brain function" warning on the product

The reason Sharper got so addicted to it was after his ex-girlfriend, Jessica (whom he was on good terms with before her passing) died in a car crash during a storm while going to visit her family

Sharper, even with all his life-altering and potentially life-saving inventions, couldn't save her

Due to all his guilt about the accident and his belief that he could've done something to change it, he obsessively enters an Immersion Tube that he had installed at his home

Just to see her again

Over and over and over and over

Sharper couldn't stop thinking about Jessica and what he could've done to help her, even if he was the head of a wealthy company and, by all accounts from everyone around him, "needed to move on," Sharper couldn't

Not yet

His addiction to the Immersion Tube ended up nearly killing him

Sharper realized this due to his worsening health, worsening immune system, extreme memory issues, frequent migraines, flashbacks, and emotional instability

So he stopped using his Immersion Tube, and shut down his company. At the time it was just an extended leave, but without their founder, the company started to fall into disrepair quickly

By the time we see him in Take Me Anywhere, he's gotten over the majority of his addiction to HPMG

Although Sharper still goes occasionally have withdrawal (I have no idea if this is how addiction works so if I get anything wrong I apologize)

What Sharper hasn't gotten over however is Jessica and her death

At that time, he is now attempting to create a "perfect version" of HPMG in his personal lab

Well

More abandoned warehouse which Sharper has repurposed into his home and current laboratory

Yeah he just kind of found it abandoned, moved his stuff in, and was like "Alright this is my home now, I can conduct my research without interruption!"

Sharper hasn't gotten extraordinarily far in his perfect HPMG research, but has certainly made lots of progress

There was an unexpected side effect of one of his test versions of his altered HPMG

When he took it, all the injuries he had at the time were healed immediately

No matter the severity

While it worked wonders for physical injuries, it didn't work so well for mental ones

He is very, very determined to get there one day, to the perfect version. If not for him, then for Jessica

@nwtbobsessedemo @bondoes-art @themoonisrotting @colourfulmes @nightshade-error @flaming-dolph16

[another-whump-sideblog]

Jane's Pets Chapter 101: Funeral

TWs in the tags

Previous

Masterlist

Next

Kitty knows that showering right now is probably a bad idea, but they feel gross covered in vomit and sweat. Whatever. None of the doors here lock from the inside; if anything happens Bunny and Puppy won't have any trouble getting to them. They grab a new outfit to change into and toss it onto the bathroom floor before undressing and stumbling into the shower. They don't turn the light on and find that just being in a darker room helps them feel a bit better.

They know they're not being fair to Bunny and Puppy. But at least they can think that, at least their head is clear instead of full of fog. They hate that right now the only way to think clearly is to not fix the problem making them lash out, but there's nothing else they can do. Being drugged again isn't an option, and it's better to be themself and be mean than to be nice but not themself. 

They shower quickly, to avoid worrying Bunny and Puppy any more than they already have. The shower is way louder than normal, anyway, so they don't want to keep it on longer than necessary. Luckily, they don't have any seizures in the time it takes to get clean, so they quickly get dressed and head out to the living room, leaving their dirty clothes on the bathroom floor.

Bunny and Puppy are talking (well, Bunny's talking and Puppy's writing) in the living room. They brought the drawer up, which is nice. They did what Kitty suggested!

Kitty collapses onto the couch and says nothing, ignoring Bunny and Puppy's stares. They should apologize, but any answer to that apology would make them angry all over again, so they keep their mouth shut.

The plan might take a bit longer than anticipated; Kitty doubts their ability to get packed and knows there's no way they can hike to the nearest town until the withdrawal has run its course. 

"...Kitty?" The worry in Bunny's voice makes them want to punch something. "Me and Puppy… we were thinking of burying Jane's body. Does that sound good?"

Kitty gives a thumbs up.

"Do you want to join?"

Kitty shakes their head.

"Um… can you stay in the backyard with us anyway, so we can keep an eye on you?"

Kitty groans. It's a fair ask, they know that, but they want to stay here! And Bunny is so– he just–

There's no rational root to this anger, but knowing that doesn't change anything. They grit their teeth and force themself out the back door. After a brief moment of hesitation, they lie in the grass. It's really uncomfortable, but so is everything else. At least it's still dark outside.

"...Thank you, Kitty." 

They just have to get through this. The shaking and the nausea and the anger and everything. They try to just focus on their breathing. In and out, in and out. Just make it to the next breath without screaming, and the next one, and the next one.

Withdrawal can't last forever. They'll get through this.

~~

Luckily for you and Puppy, a shallow grave has already been dug. Neither of you want to dig it deeper, so that's all Jane gets. Now that your hands are healed, you can help Puppy bury Jane.

Puppy is crying again. You don't know if she's upset about Jane or Kitty or something else, and you can't really converse while her hands are occupied with the shovel.

You look at the pressure sores on Puppy's face. Fuck! You forgot about those after you failed to heal them! Stupid, stupid Bunny, how do you keep missing things that are so obvious?

"Let's… I'll go get some bandages and stuff for your face. Do you have any other injuries we should take care of? I don't… I'm worried I wouldn't remember, I feel so scattered lately."

Puppy points to her neck. There are pressure sores there, too.

"Oh, right. Anything else?"

Puppy shakes her head.

"Kitty, is there anything you need?"

Kitty groans and shakes their head. You set down your shovel, quickly go inside, get the necessary supplies, and come back out.

Puppy stops burying Jane's body for a bit to let you clean and bandage her wounds.

"Okay, so… we're going to bury Jane, then… then you go talk to your criminal contact? And me and Kitty get packed if we, uh, can… and then when you get back you get packed, and we sell stuff… am I remembering it right so far?"

Puppy nods.

"After we do that… are we going to the hospital?"

Puppy looks at Kitty and shrugs. That makes sense. If Kitty refuses to go, you and Puppy probably won't go either, and at least for now it looks like Kitty won't go to a hospital.

"Okay. We'll just… see how we're doing after we've sold the stuff. Should we… Kitty was right that people will ask questions, we'll need some kind of story eventually–"

Puppy shakes her head and gestures at Jane's half-buried body.

"Right. One thing at a time." You pick your shovel back up and get to work.

Puppy starts humming a soft, sad song. The kind you might hear at a funeral. She's still crying, but at least she's not crying salt directly into her wounds? That's something.

You wish you could comfort her, but Jane dying is the best thing that's ever happened to you, and you can't put yourself in her shoes enough to even know what could be comforting. You also know that there's sometimes nothing anyone can say that will be comforting, that's how you felt about a lot of the people who tried to comfort you after your dad died. 

"I wish I had something comforting to say." You finally settle on. "Let me know if there's anything I can do."

She sniffles and nods, then goes back to her humming.

~~

Puppy hates that she can't hate Master. It's just part of the spell, it must be. Her misery is the price they had to pay, and it was worth it, so she'll just have to grieve Master. It's nothing to do with Puppy being messed up, it's just the spell.

But Bunny wouldn't have asked her to do it if she wasn't able to feel this way even a little bit beforehand.

It's not like Puppy ever thought Master actually cared about her beyond wanting to get the most entertainment out of her as possible. What is there to miss? What is there to grieve? Why does she feel so awful?

She can't figure it out, no matter how much she thinks about it. None of the affection Master gave was anywhere near as comforting as affection from Bunny or Kitty, so it can't be that she's missing that affection. She cared about Master, pitied her, but wouldn't that make her happy on Master's behalf that she finally got what she wanted?

It's a waste of time to think about this. It doesn't matter. No matter what the answer is, nothing changes. What she should be mulling over is whether she should die or not.

Bunny and Kitty need her. They need her, but she hurts them, she makes their lives worse, so what should she do?

It would hurt them horribly if she died. She knows that. At what point does that pain become less than the pain she causes by being alive?

Maybe once they're stable? Right now they really need Puppy, she has information and resources they don't. Once they don't need those things, she'll just be a burden, so even though her dying will hurt them it will end up hurting them less than if she'd continued living.

Satisfied with her plan, her mind starts wandering– hitting immediately on the loop of things she's going to get punished for that's been going in the back of her mind. Taking off the collar. Taking off the muzzle. Not putting the collar back on. Not putting the muzzle back on. Speaking. Not putting the collar back on. Not putting the muzzle back on. Writing. Not putting the collar back on. Not putting the muzzle back on. Drinking water. Not throwing up the water. Not putting the collar back on. Not putting the muzzle back on. Drinking water again. Not throwing up the water. Not putting the collar back on. Not putting the muzzle back on. Not throwing up the water. Writing again. Not putting the collar back on. Not putting the muzzle back on. Not throwing up the water. Taking off the collar–

Master is dead. She repeats that to herself, over and over again, but the loop continues, getting longer with each iteration. Every second she doesn't put the collar back on is another infraction, another thing Master will punish her for. Every second she doesn't put the muzzle–

She tries to focus on burying Master. Almost done now. 

If she could speak, she might give a eulogy. Talk about how she loves Master and misses her and doesn't know why because Master was awful. How she's still so afraid of her, despite knowing she's dead. How she was just a scared kid and Puppy hates that there wasn't anything that could be done to help her besides killing her. How Puppy thinks she would be the same as Jane if she was stuck as a twelve-year-old for that long.

But she can't speak, and writing her eulogy would be a waste of time, so she doesn't say anything.

Soon enough, Master is completely covered in a thick layer of dirt. Puppy looks over to Bunny's garden. They're leaving anyway, so picking some flowers won't be a big deal, right?

She picks some flowers and makes a small bouquet, then lays it on Master's grave. The sun is starting to rise.

It's done. Time to move onto the next thing, until the others don't need her anymore.

"So… do you want to go now, or wait a bit…"

Puppy looks over to Kitty. They're trying to pull blades of grass out of the ground and struggling because of how badly they're shaking.

Puppy goes inside, gets her paper and pencil, and starts writing out instructions on how to get to the nearest town in case Kitty becomes unresponsive. She's worried that by then it will be too late, but what can they do when Kitty will refuse care for as long as they possibly can?

She's writing without permission again. She could stop at any second but she doesn't, she keeps going. More gets added to the loop at the back of her mind.

Bunny comes in a few minutes later, Kitty walking stiltedly and grumbling to themself behind him. They quickly collapse onto the couch and cover their face with their arms. Bunny heads into the kitchen.

Once she finishes the directions and a poorly drawn map, she adds I should be back by tonight at the very latest. Probably earlier, but there's not really a good way to tell time here besides sunrise and sunset. If the sun sets and I'm still not back

She can't think of anything to write. If she doesn't come back, Bunny and Kitty won't have many options.

use your best judgement. She finally settles on. Bunny and Kitty will probably know more about surviving with little to no money than her, anyway.

Bunny comes back into the living room with a water bottle and some granola bars. "Take these, please. Don't go… wherever you're going and back here without eating or drinking anything."

Puppy nods and takes the supplies, fully planning on dumping them somewhere in the woods. Bunny looks at what she's written.

"...Okay. Is your… criminal contact in this town you gave directions to?" 

Puppy nods.

"Alright. If you're not back by sundown, we'll come look for you."

She frowns, but she can't really argue. She told him to use his best judgement, so it's up to him.

She gives Bunny a goodbye hug and writes a quick If I never see you again I want you to know I love you both. Then she sets off, out the door and into the woods.

A/N: Let me know if I should tag anything else, or if you want to be added to or removed from the tag list!

Tag list: @eatyourdamnpears @whump-in-the-closet @scp-1296 @thecosmicmap @quins-whump-stuff

@fuckcapitalismasshole

[thesightstoshowyou]

I would LOVE a scene of Asa treating Cricket's wounds!!!!

YES ME TOO THANK YOU FOR THIS

~~

Warnings: Knife play, bondage, blood, descriptions of wound care and medical supplies

There are moments, few and far between as they are, when Cricket wonders if the Collector’s blood lust will finally win out over Asa’s self-control. When the knife digs a little too deep and glittering eyes lose all traces of humanity, true fear takes root and the sliver of control she possess slips from her grasp. Air freezes in her lungs and muscles seize in anticipation of the killing blow….

But it never comes.

His exhale rushes across her skin, the ever present scent of cigarette smoke stinging her nose, and the blade withdraws. Crimson drips from the handle and wets black nitrile. Cricket releases a shuddering sob and terror drains away, a dull buzz taking its place.

Dirtied gloves snap off, and with them goes the Collector. Like the changing of the guard, new nitrile squeaks when Asa interlaces his fingers. In his eyes is the familiar, cool apathy. Back to business.

Her arms—bound with wire and pulled taut over her head—are freed enough for her to work feeling back into them, but not enough to interfere with his duties. When he cups her cheeks, the warmth of his hands is palpable even through the gloves. Hair soaked with tears and sweat is brushed away from her face as Asa begins his assessment. His dark gaze appraises skin color and pupil dilation while his thumb tugs her bloody lip down to make sure her teeth didn’t shred it too badly. The routine of it has become a weird source of comfort.

Asa pauses when he gets to the deep gash stretching the length of her sternum. It burns a white hot line down her chest and she doesn’t have to look at it to know it will scar. Wet warmth leaks freely from the wound and pools in her collarbones until little rivers of crimson spill onto the gurney under her back.

After several moments of silent appraisal, Asa retrieves a handful of gauze and presses it firmly to the cut. Cricket winces, but fights the urge to curl in on herself. He must stop the bleeding and she must stay still for him to do so.

“Good girl,” he coos. The way goosebumps prickle along her arms at the sound of his rough voice makes her eyes burn with fresh, unshed tears. No matter how bad it hurts, no matter how fearful she becomes, her body is forever devoted to him.

Swift tapping reaches her ears and she glances over to see Asa flicking air from a syringe. The vial on the tray tells her the clear liquid within is Lidocaine. He’s going to stitch her up, then.

Cricket clenches her eyes shut as the needle descends. Several sharp pricks precede burning medication, but soon all discomfort in her chest melts away to nothing. When she feels the tugging of surgical needle and suture, her eyes crack open.

Above her, Asa works diligently, his motions fluid and practiced. She turns her head away and lets her gaze focus and unfocus on the drab, yellowing wall. Soon, scissors snip excess thread and something that reeks of antiseptic is sprayed onto the closed wound.

Last is her throat. The little superficial cuts under her ear are cleaned with soap and water and slathered with Vaseline. The deep, aching bite mark on her shoulder requires a bit more dabbing and leaves her skin raw and red. Cricket barely registers their sting over the other hurts.

Finally, finally her arms are fully untied. Effortlessly, Asa scoops her up off the table. She lets herself be moved, overwhelming fatigue settling deep in place of adrenaline. Limply, her legs hang over his arm as her head falls against his firm chest.

He’ll put her to bed now. Tomorrow, the Collector will bathe her and feed her and treat the wounds he inflicted. She’ll be granted some respite for a week or so, while she mostly heals. Then the whole ordeal will begin anew.

Asa tucks the blankets in around her shoulders. She doesn’t adjust her position, too afraid to pull her new sutures loose. Eyelids drooping, she whispers, “Thank you, Sir.”

“Goodnight, Cricket.”