#hes in pain in bed watching not dead yet while crying

[orangesand-lemons-234]

[littlest-w01f]

Bloody

Sylus x Reader

SYLUS MASTERLIST

LADS MASTERLIST

Summary: Even after being told against it time after time, you took a hit meant for Sylus

Cw: Blood, injury, angst, little suggestive at the end

The fight was a blur to you, all you remembered was that you and Sylus had been attacking your own Wanderers, as you finished off the Wanderer in front of you, you rushed for Sylus when you saw another about to take a strike at Sylus while his back was facing the creature.

With a cry of desperation, you lunged towards Sylus, throwing yourself between him and the looming threat of the Wanderer's weapon. Your body took the brunt of the impact, the alien's weapon slicing into your chest with brutal efficiency, the cut cauterised on impact. The pain was excruciating, but you barely registered it.

As you lay there, the gash burning your chest, your clothes slowly burning in, your vision blurring, you felt Sylus' strong arms wrap around you, cradling your injured form. His face was etched with concern, his eyes searching yours desperately.

"Stupid, aboslutely dumb little kitten!" Sylus growled, right eye pulsing red, his body nearly shaking in anger as he rushed home with you in his arms, being careful not to hurt you further, "Why? Why the fuck would you do that!?"

"You... You were gonna get hurt..." You gasped out as he set you on his bed, surrounded by pillows. "You always protect me... So I thought..."

"You don't take my hits!" Sylus growled, his hands hurting to remove your clothes so they didn't stick to your burnt skin, his words were harsh, yet they were laced with a desperate fear. "I step in front of you because I heal faster than you can blink. I will always step in to protect you, but you don't have to do that! Have you gone mad!?"

Sylus' intense gaze bore into yours, his chest still heaving with agitation. The dim light filtering through the curtains cast long shadows across his chiselled features, accentuating the sharp lines of his jaw and the furrowed brow above piercing crimson eyes. His broad shoulders seemed to tense even further beneath the leather jacket he hadn't removed yet. "If the blade was a little to the left YOU WOULD'VE BEEN DEAD!"

As he stepped back, giving you space, and himself too, his clenched fists hung at his sides, the knuckles white with restrained fury. The air around him crackled with barely contained rage, making the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end, but you didn't flinch at how pissed he was, knowing he would never harm you.

Sylus paced back and forth across the room like a caged beast, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. The anger radiating off him was palpable, making the air feel charged with tension. Every so often, his gaze would flicker over to you lying on the bed, his expression softening just slightly before hardening once more.

"I won't let anyone hurt you," He muttered, his voice low and rough. "But that doesn't mean you get to throw yourself in front of danger like some kind of martyr, sweetie!"

As Sylus tried to calm his breathing as if trying to lessen the power pulsing in him, his mind raced with thoughts of how close he came to losing you. The memory of seeing that Wanderer's blade pierce your chest made his stomach churn with nausea even if he had destroyed it, he hoped he could've tortured it more. He couldn't bear the idea of living without you, of watching your life slip away before his very eyes.

He stopped pacing abruptly, turning to face you with a look of determination etched onto his features. With swift movements, he shed his jacket and kicked off his boots, revealing his toned physique clad only in a black fitted top and pants.

"Sylus…" You whispered weakly, trying to sit up but wincing at the pain in your chest. He quickly moved to support you, helping you recline against the pillows.

"Just relax, sweetie," He murmured, his fingers gently tracing along the wound, applying pressure to stem the bleeding. His eyes blazing with intensity. "Look at you, all pale and shaky. You could've died, and for what? To prove some stupid point about how much you love me? I know you love me, you were crazy for what you did."

Sylus ran a hand through his dishevelled hair, his chest heaving with agitation. He knelt beside you, brushing away a stray lock of hair that clung to your forehead, his touch gentle despite his rough exterior.

"Damn it, y/n," Sylus muttered, frustration clear in his voice, "I can't lose you. I can't stop seeing you... On the ground... I..."

"Don't worry," You whispered, the words barely audible even to your own ears, "I'm fine."

Sylus growled lowly at your weak reassurance, his red eyes flashing dangerously. "Fine?" He scoffed, his large hands hovering over your exposed torso, hesitating to cause you any more pain.

His breath hitched at the sight of your tattered flesh, Sylus scoffed, unclasping and slipping off his leather belt, "Now this is going to hurt for you, kitten." You automatically opened your mouth for him to put the leather between your teeth to bite onto, having gone through him using his Evol to heal you before. He held you down, hands holding down your shoulders, he focused on your gashing wound, red and black tendrils formed around your injury, energy humming, stitching your skin back up as you struggled in pain.

Your breath hitched as Sylus' Evol surged through you, the sensation of your flesh knitting together was excruciating. BItting onto his leather belt in pain, tears lining your eyes. For Sylus, he was used to healing, the pain was almost unrecognizable to him, but for you, it was torture.

Sylus kept his grip firm on your shoulders, anchoring you to the spot as he focused his energy on repairing your torn flesh. The sound of your pained whimpers and whines were like nails on a chalkboard, tearing at his heartstrings. He wanted nothing more than to take away your suffering, to make everything better.

As soon as the last tendril of energy dissipated, Sylus released his hold on your shoulders, allowing you to slump back against the pillows with a gasp of relief. His chest rose and fell rapidly, matching the frantic beat of his heart, yours slow, gaining speed back after you were healed, a faint line now replacing the gash.

"There," Sylus said, panting lightly. "It should heal nicely." Sylus' touch was tender, his fingers tracing along the newly healed skin, ensuring every stitch was done correctly, leaving no opening. His eyes never left your face, watching every flinch, every grimace that crossed your features.

Leaning in closer, Sylus pressed a tender kiss to your forehead, then to your eyes, making the tears fall, his lips brushing against your skin with a feather-light touch. "Never again," He spoke softly, his crimson eyes burning with an intensity that spoke volumes of his unwavering dedication to protecting you. "Never do that."

He was furious. Furious that you'd willingly taken a blow meant for him, furious that you'd endangered yourself for him, furious that he hadn't been quick enough to stop you, or protect you. Sylus's voice was low, almost a growl, "You're mine to protect, not the other way around, alright, my pretty kitten?"

A vulnerability, a hint of his underlying emotions that he tried so hard to keep hidden. He looked at you with an intensity that made your heart flutter. "You can't just throw yourself in harm's way like that, y/n," he said, his tone softer now, though no less firm.

You looked away from his burning eyes, still a little weak, "I just..."

"You just what?" Sylus demanded, his voice rising once more as he towered over you again, looming over you. "Couldn't bear the thought of me getting hurt? Thought you could play the hero?"

His words stung, but you refused to let him see how much they affected you. Instead, you met his gaze head-on, your own eyes blazing with determination. "I did what I had to do," You said firmly, your voice unwavering despite the pain still coursing through your body. "I won't apologize for not wanting to see you hurt."

For a moment, Sylus seemed taken aback by your defiance, his brows furrowing as he studied you intently. Then, with a sigh, he ran a hand through his hair, his shoulders sagging slightly. "You stubborn kitten," Sylus' nostrils flared, his chest heaving with each ragged breath. "You have no idea what you put me through," He muttered, his voice thick with emotion. "Seeing you lying there… It felt like my world was ending."

For a moment, his usual tough exterior crumbled, replaced by raw vulnerability. He took a step back, raking a hand through his hair, his crimson eyes filled with unshed tears.

"Oh, Sylus..." You whispered, voice a little shaky, reaching out to place a hand on his forearm, feeling the corded muscles beneath your touch, the other stroking his cheeks. "I'm ok... I'm ok because you healed me... I'm so much better already..."

Sylus sighed heavily, his gaze dropping to where your hand rested on his arm. For a moment, he remained silent, as if grappling with his own emotions. Then, with a resigned sigh, he pressed his face further into your now healed chest. "I can't lose you, y/n..."

As he nestled his face into your chest, you felt his warm breath ghost across your skin, each exhale a reminder of his closeness. He buried his face deeper, inhaling deeply, the scent of you filling his senses, pressing his ear against you to hear the beating of your heart.

"I don't know what I would do…" He murmured, his voice muffled against your breasts. After a moment, he pulled back, looking up at you with those intense crimson eyes. "But I swear, if you ever try to pull another stunt like that… I'll tie you to my damn bed forever."

"Mmm... Kinky..." You joke half-heartedly, stroking his silver hair.

A small, wry smile tugged at the corner of Sylus's lips at your teasing remark, though his eyes still held a serious glint. "Don't think that's funny, sweetie," He warned, his voice a low rumble. "I mean every word."

"You're such a handful, kitten," He grumbled, shaking his head slightly, yet his actions belied his words as he settled further into your embrace. "Always causing trouble, always testing my patience." Despite his stern warning, there was a playful spark in his eye that belied his earlier anger.

"I love you, Sylus..." You breathed softly, nails scratching his head gently.

Sylus groaned in pleasure above you from your antics, "I love you too, sweetie."

He leaned into your touch, letting himself be pampered by your gentle strokes, something about your touch soothing his agitated spirit, his hands reaching your hips, calming himself with the feeling of you as you did the same with him, hands tracing his back, grounding yourself.

[bxlladxnnabxtch]

Devotion & Deceit

Rhysand x Reader

❀​🇲​​🇦​​🇸​​🇹​​🇪​​🇷​​🇱​​🇮​​🇸​​🇹​❀

Summary: Upon learning Rhysand intends to go through with his proposal, you begin to deteriorate. Your mates complete disregard for your concerns leaves you making some brash decisions of your own.

Read pt.1 to Devotion & Deceit - HERE

Read pt.4 - HERE

Warnings: Descriptions of trauma, Panic Attacks, Blood, Depression, Brief mentions of self harm.

You weren’t able to get up out of bed, and despite Azriels visits and multiple attempts, he couldn’t get you up either. Even though the majority of your time was spent in the small bedroom of that log cabin, very little time was spent actually sleeping in it. The miniscule amount of sleep you did get was broken by you jolting awake in the dead of night only to cry until the sun peaked through the cracks of the drapes that remained closed no matter what time of day.

The meals that Azriel brought to you remained ignored and untouched on the nightstand, to be removed by him the next day with a fresh platter in the hopes that you would at least pick through it. On occasion the smell would have you scrambling for the toilet, thin figure peeled over the side as you dry heaved into the bowl. The meals eventually reduced to small snacks the more often it happened, making you feel the slightest hint of guilt which only had you burrowing further into the sheets.

Niliana’s best efforts didn’t seem to shake you either, she’d come by to give you the latest spiel of the gossip in town, or brush out your hair as you laid in bed. She came by every day for the better part of a month, until the work she put off caught up to her, sending the wraith scrambling to catch up. She no longer came by.

Rhys hadn’t sent a word down the bond. Not a flicker of emotion, pain, even a thought. Just.. nothing. He was completely shut off from you. Not like you could complain, you did the exact same to him, going completely MIA.

“Have you two spoken?” Azriel said from the doorway, a glass of water in hand along with a small rag that undoubtedly held more food he wanted you to shove down your throat. Azriel sighed as he saw your eyes fall on the item, a grimace gracing your features. You muttered a soft “no” as he padded towards the bed, hand outstretched in a silent plea for you to sit up.

You groaned, sitting up as you rubbed your eyes, the dark circles surrounding them making you look like you had taken a beating. “I need to change anyways.” You croaked; voice rough as you swung your legs over the side of the bed.

You had visibly lost weight, your legs looking like if you look a step they’d crack under the pressure. You couldn’t bring yourself to care even the slightest bit. Ever since he had chosen her. Left his mate to rot in this stupid log cabin as if you meant nothing to him. Chose her again just like he did Under the Mountain, while Amarantha forced you to watch every night as she danced for him in that skimpy little outfit. But even then, you understood, then you knew that he was doing it for you- doing what was necessary.

What you didn’t understand was this. It had ended, you had run to him in that arena like you had wanted to for fifty years. You had clung to him like he was your lifeline. Five decades of Amarantha using you as her slave, only allowing you to see Rhys when he was tangled up with her. Always by her side.

And he had chosen someone else over you- yet again.

Azriel broke your thoughts by holding out the glass to you, and you rose from the bed, taking it in your frail hands, slightly shaky from the lack of vitamins. You brought it to your mouth, letting the chill of the glass rest on your bottom lip as you swallowed a few mouthfuls of the liquid. It didn’t go down easy, the cold making you recoil slightly as you swallowed the last bit.

You turned back to hand the glass back to Azriel, but he was frozen, face pale as he looked at you. His shadows swarmed him, moving around him in a frenzy, curling towards his ears, flicking around his waist. He stared at the glass you held out to him, and you slowly retracted your hand as you realize he was too caught up in whatever his shadows were whispering to him.

Your face fell, and the corners of your mouth downturned into a poorly concealed frown. “Is she there?” You asked, the question falling out of you before you could do anything to stop it, not that you could’ve. You didn’t know why you needed to know so bad, your body ached with the question, your hand gripping the glass tighter in an unexplainable want.  His mouth opened like he was going to speak, but immediately shut closed as he hesitated. He didn’t need to say it, you knew.

You knew, you always knew.

Something in you snapped, and like a cage being unlocked, a fiery, all-consuming fury burst through the bars and swallowed you whole. The feeling swamped you like a tidal wave, your arm cocking back, barely feeling the glass slipping from your grasp as you sent it soaring straight at the wall.

The glass shattered immediately upon impact, the sound breaking the comforting stillness of the room, making Azriel flinch. Shards of glass and remnants of water were blown back at you, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care as you felt the water drench the front of your shirt. The cloth stuck to your ribcage, the frigid wetness not registering in the slightest. You felt a shard slice your cheek open as it grazed you, and other bits of glass embed themselves into you as you heard the tinkle of the pieces falling to the floor, a few skittering across the ground.

“I’M NOT STAYING HERE!” You roared, hands coming to cradle your head, hands fisted in your hair. You pulled at the roots, clung to them like they’d offer some grain of comfort as your breathing began to speed up. The room was spinning, everything was spinning.

And you were Under the Mountain again- you were cold and wet. It was dark, your cell was too small. You could feel the dirt and grime and how it was caked under your fingernails like the dust had engraved itself onto you. Your matted hair and the feeling of the violent tugs as you ripped it out. But that was your hair- you could feel it between your fingers. You couldn’t breathe- God, why couldn’t you breathe.

“Get your shit together!” Azriel yelled, jolting you as he forced you to stop spiraling, hands clamping down on your wrists as you stilled. His grip dug into your skin, and you finally surfaced from the hurricane in your head enough to realize you were holding clumps of your hair in your hands. The thin strands hung from your fingers like a morbid Solstice decoration, and you vaguely recognized the sting that told you that you had bitten through your bottom lip in your haste.

You stared at him wide eyed, feeling the burn of your tears leaking into the cut on your cheek. You flinched as you felt a drop of blood hit your forearm, and looked down soon enough to watch the crimson run down the expanse towards your elbow. It stained your skin, and you watched as another drop landed right beside it. You were bleeding, you could feel as it ran down your cheek, over your jaw, mingling with the blood that dripped from your lip down your chin.

“Do you think if you destroy yourself enough that he’ll come save you like he did for Feyre?”

It dawned on you then, just how much you had ruined yourself. You had turned into the very thing you had hated Feyre for. The very thing that had Rhys tripping over himself to go and fix, just like he did for her Under the Mountain.

Yet he didn’t come for you.

“I can’t stay here.” You whispered, bottom lip trembling.

“Then you won’t.” Azriel said, letting go of your wrists.

Azriel had helped you calm down and think of what you were going to pack, not that you were taking much with you, the very idea of having anything to remind you of your time here made you want to throw up whatever was left in your stomach. You settled for a small change of clothes, your hands smoothing over the wrinkles as you folded the articles.

“Have you even decided where you’re going?” Azriel asked as he perched on the bed beside you. You shoved the small shirt you were folding into your bag, eyes trailing over to him as he waited on your answer. The drapes had been opened after your breakdown, making the light glint off Azriel’s siphons as he shifted, hands coming to perch on his knees. You shrugged, eyes stinging the slightest bit as they still needed time to adjust to the newly introduced light that you’d been avoiding for weeks. “Home.” You answered simply, finishing shoving your change of clothes into the small pack you now slid over your shoulder.

Azriel bristled, head cocking back as he questioned “The Winter Court?” The dresser at the corner of the room suddenly became very interesting as he made no attempt to hide his concern. “Yep.” You licked your lips, tongue smoothing over the teeth marks that had made a small crater in your bottom lip, the indent making you sigh. “That’s one hell of a flight.” You tucked your knife into the sheath on your thigh, the metal making a grating sound against the studded leather that had you cringing. “It’s not like I could winnow in if I wanted to.”

It's there, then that perhaps Azriel had begun to understand your insatiable need to flee. To leave everything that you had created, the life you’d built, everything that you are. Maybe he had sensed it subconsciously when he had found you that day on the border of the Night Court.

Azriel knew why you couldn’t winnow, it had always been a silent understanding between you two, and exactly the reason he hadn’t touched on it when your training had begun all those years ago. Not that you had gone into detail about what had happened in the middle, what you went through during your journey. But with Azriel being a spymaster, it hadn’t taken him long to fill in the blanks. He knew enough, and he had decided he didn’t need to know anymore- didn’t want to.

But even after you had gotten so used to running, the instinct carved so deep into your blood not even The Mother could undo it, he still had a small pit of anxiety sitting in his stomach that never quite went away. It was out of love, out of an uncontainable fear that history would repeat itself that he swished his hand over towards you, a shadow stirring to life, swirling around your waist and anchoring itself to you.

You watched how it swam and twirled around you, scurrying up your hand and over your arm. “Really?” You had asked, a light, barely there hint of amusement twinged your tone, and he rolled his eyes in response. But when he turned to you, his expression was deadly serious, almost concerned. This man, who had cared for a scared, young Illyrian girl who had somehow crawled her way to the border. Who had taught her how to fly, how to live, how to control the magic that wanted to burst out of her as if it was overflowing. He looked up at you, lips pursed. “You might see her again, you know.” He said, barely a murmur, almost scared that the words he spoke would conjure them to life.

Your eyes flickered to him as you shoved the last dagger into your boot at your heel. “That’s the plan.”

[queenofheartlessdreams]

Scorned Sympathy ( Aegon II Targaryen x Reader)

Fandom: House of the Dragon, Aegon II Targaryen x Fem! Hightower! Reader

Summary: Alicent Hightower's sister has always hated the King, and transversely, he has hated her back. But, that all changes after he returns from Rook's Rest.

Word Count: 3.1k

Warnings: none? I think, I don't know, its HOTD but mostly hurt/comfort and fluff

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They say that burns are a sacred death. The death of  dragon riders, honoring them among the living, and the dead. In his history lessons, Aegon had heard it was peaceful. Yes, there was supposed to be a screaming,  agonizing pain, but as flesh burned away, it took nerve endings with it, leaving them to feel nothing, numb. 

But Aegon hadn't been so lucky, he had only wished he had died back on the battlefield, died on impact of the flames. Then he wouldn't have had to suffer through spiraling to the ground, snapping his bones, or feel his armor being peeled away after it had merged with his flesh. He wouldn't have had to sleep nearly every hour of the day, waking up only to experience excruciating pain, relearning to walk when every step made him cry out in agony. 

The once comforting walls of his bedroom had turned into a torture chamber as he was forced to his feet by the Maesters, only to hobble around the confinements of those walls, good hand gripping the cane with enough force to drive splinters in his hands and cause his knuckles to turn white.

He cried out as the Maester pushed him into another step, holding him upright as best he could. Larys Strong stood in the patch of sunlight in the room, giving him an angelic halo, ironic as it was his devilish idea to make Aegon start walking so soon, only weeks after he had returned to the Red Keep.  

"Impressive," the club-footed man says, heads turning in his direction, "But I'm afraid you must work harder."

Aegon screams as Larys reaches around his other arm, cries of pain sounding like twisted laughter as together, they move him another step. Burned tissue stretched as they did, a blinding pain seeping through his barely-healed broken leg. 

The men pause in their persistence as the large bedroom doors swing open, silver-draped guards pushing them back to reveal the figure of Y/N, the youngest Hightower daughter. Her frame was draped in a long black gown, tied around her center with a golden chain that stopped several inches above the hem of her skirts. Long copper hair draped down her back, just as her eldest sister, yet that was where the similarities stopped. 

While Alicent was looked up to, a regal Queen of the realm, her sister had all but denounced her high-blood status, working in the streets as a herbalist, giving medicine to the poor, healing wounds, and delivering children. It wasn't until Viserys had died that Alicent welcomed her into the castle, for her protection, she had explained, though no man nor woman would dare to touch the 'witch'.

"Return the King to his bed, my Lords," the woman says, striding into the room, hands folded neatly in front of her gown. 

"The King must regain his strength, my Lady, he must practice," Lord Larys calls over his shoulder, dismissing her command.

Y/N smiles curtly at his defiance, "How would you like to disfigure your other foot, Lord Layrs?"

The man stops, struggling out from underneath the King's arm, "The King-"

"The King is too busy moaning in agony to give a shit about what you think," the woman interrupts, a boldness frowned upon in the castle, "Return him to bed, and leave us. I'm sure there are whispers to attend to."

Reluctantly, the Maester carries Aegon to his bed, allowing him to fall back onto the sanction of his covers. The Maester moves to lift the King's legs, despite his protests, earning a painful cry as they hit his sheets.

Vhisrya watches as the King rolls to his untainted side, arms curled up against his chest in defeat, body trembling as whimpers escape his scarred lips. The Maester exits quickly, Lord Larys slowly following, glaring at her with every step. It is only when she hears the large doors latch shut behind the men that she makes her way over to the King's bedside. He resembled a small child more than a man, curled around himself in loosely fitted clothes, eyes squeezed shut as his body shook.

He takes a ragged breath as he senses her presence beside him, eyes opening just the slightest to glare at the black-clothed woman, "Come to finish me off, witch?"

The witch makes no remark against him, only motioning for the boy to sit upright in the bed. He does so, grunting in pain, bracing himself on his good arm as he slides up to prop his back against the headboard. 

Y/N makes note of his trembling hands, the way he still insisted on putting up a bitter front despite not being able to move even a foot without collapsing in pain. It reminded her of his father. 

Regardless, she reaches for the buttons of his nightgown, pulling them apart hastily till his chest was exposed. Blistering red wounds stretched across the expanse of his left side, charred and black in some places, while in others, the skin had been cut away in jagged marks from separating melted armor from the King's flesh. 

"What-what are you doing?" Aegon trembles, fear lacing his voice. 

The woman's eyes move from his chest, to his face. He watched as they drifted from his swollen eyelid, to the top of his head, where silvery-blonde hair parted from vibrant burns, to where his ear once was, reduced now to a small lump that opened into his eardrum. He knew it was hideous, he wouldn't lie to himself, trying to persuade his own mind that he was still the beautiful boy the kingdom worshiped. He knew that if he healed, he couldn't even be seen in a pleasure house, not even the whores wanting to be fucked by a monster such as himself.

"Your grace?"

A soft voice draws him out of his own mind, one that was nearly unrecognizable coming from the woman beside him, "I have an ointment, one that should assist in healing your burns. But, I require you to remove your sleeves."

"Can't", Aegon grunts, talking becoming an exhaustion.

"I can assist you," the woman cooes, dragging the soiled fabric down his good arm first.

Aegon whimpers as her hand moves to his burned side, gently peeling the fabric from his neck, then down his shoulder, drawing near his bicep. He could feel the fabric stick to his skin, the pus that leaked from his wounds drying, attaching itself to the coarse fabric.

"I'm going to lift your arm," the woman says, earning a series of pleading "no"'s as she does.

The prince groans in pain, feeling the blistering skin stretch, muscle burning as she peeled the fabric away from his body, letting it pool around his waist.

Y/N could see the King's murderous gaze as she finished, pulling his arm back immediately, heavy breaths filling his chest, followed by shaking exhales. 

She makes haste, placing a mortar on the nearby table, filling it with oils and herbs, grinding it till the scent fills the room, overwhelmed by lavender. The King watches as she pulls a small vial from the pocket of her dress, opening it to reveal a nearly clear, thick liquid.

"What is that?" the King asks, the filth of his mind overpowering common sense.

Y/N looks back to the burned man, unaware he was watching her, "It's dragon saliva. Something in it prevents the dragons from being burned when they breathe fire, and proves itself to assist the healing process quicker than the Maester's brew alone. It only took me so long to bring it to you as your brother won't let me near his dragon, Sunfyre has not returned from Rook's Rest, and Helaena won't speak to me as she thinks I had something to do with your son's beheading."

Her last words come out as an aggravated shout, making the boy flinch. With a deep breath, she regains herself, carrying the mortar to his bedside, black dress fanning out on the sheets beside him, "I apologize, your Grace. You all think of me as some plague here to ruin the sanction of your home, yet Alicent refuses to let me leave the castle walls."

It was strange, hearing his mother's name be used so plainly, everyone else referred to her as the Queen, even Aemond and him referred to her as  "your Grace". 

Aegon clears this throat as the woman begins to spread the paste across his chest. It burned at first, but not to the level of the Maester's concoction. Perhaps dragon saliva was the key.

"She believes you would flee to Rhaenyra, aid her conquest for the crown," he grunts, intently gazing at the greenish mixture spread across his skin.

"And she is right," Y/N states plainly, "Rhaenyra is the rightful heir to the Iron Throne, and you have usurped her crown."

"I could have your head for that," Aegon jokes, a faint smile, one of the first since he had returned, spreading across his lips. 

The woman smiles back, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear as she continues to coat his torso, " I could have already had yours."

"Why haven't you, then?"

The hand that holds the brush hesitates, as Y/N searches for an answer. In all honesty, she has had many opportunities to kill the man, yet the thought never truly crossed her mind. She takes a deep breath before continuing her strokes, "You may be a monster- the sins you have committed are so terrible that you'd burst into flames if you ever set foot in the Sept. But, I know you did not choose to be King, just as I did not choose to waste away in this castle. I do not wish to punish you for something you cannot control, you have suffered enough."

Aegon says nothing, only faint whimpers coming from his lips. His breathing stilled as the woman traced a line of ointment across his face, delicately placing it across the edge where untouched skin met charred flesh. His body jolts as she accidentally brushes over an open wound on his cheekbone, where his helmet had melted, merging itself with his flesh. Despite how careful the Maester had been when removing it, deep gashes still marred his face. 

The King yelps in pain, eyes shut as the oils burn their way through his open wound, sending a new wave of intense pain across his face. His body curls against itself, a position he found himself in more and more often these days. But rather than digging the nails of his good hand into the palm of his fist, he found a softer, more delicate hand in his , softly stroking the back of his hand with her thumb, "I'm sorry."

Aegon whimpers, the comfort of her touch calming the scarred boy. It was rare that he obtained touches like these, not even from his mother, despite how much she claimed she loved him. No, she was more focused on being Queen than being a mother.  His wife was the same way, more fascinated with her bugs than her husband, only laying with him when they were forced to produce an heir, before returning to her own quarters in solitude. He would watch Helaena with their own children, interacting with them, holding them, reading to them, only wishing that his mother had done the same. 

So Aegon welcomes the warmth of the witch, clutching her hand with the intention to never let go until his scars had healed and he could hold his head with as much dignity as a true king. "Tell me a story," Aegon whispers, distracting himself from the pain that stretched across his body with every breath.

Y/N smirks, placing the mortar between her legs so she could continue placing the ointment with his hand still clutching her own. 

"Once upon a time, there was a beautiful Princess, who was locked away in a tower guarded by a fierce dragon. Her parents, the King and Queen, missed her dearly, and declared that any knight who were to rescue her from the dragon's keep, would marry the lovely Princess.

Not far from the kingdom lived a beast, alone. He was happy that way, till a power-hungry Lord wished to take the beast's land for himself. Upset, the beast made a deal with the Lord, in exchange for his land, the beast would rescue the Princess from her dragon's keep, so the Lord may marry her. True to his word, the beast saved the girl, yet as they traveled back to the Lord's castle, the beast found himself falling in love with the Princess."

Beside her, Aegon's breath slows, muscles relaxing against her grip, yet his violet eyes stay fixated on the woman. He listens to her intently, soft voice ringing through the silent room, as airy as wind blowing his curtains in the night. 

"One night," Y/N continues, brushing the ointment across his scarred forearm, "The beast sought to confront the Princess, yet when he came to her cabin, he heard vile words coming from her mouth, ones solely describing such a monster as the beast. Furious, he gave her to the Lord, returning to his swamp alone. Yet, he couldn't forget the Princess, as even if she despised him, he loved her. So, he returned to the Lord's castle the night of the wedding.

As the sun fell that night, the beast watched as the beloved Princess transformed before his eyes, to a beast herself. Cursed by a witch many years before, the Princess turned ugly, monstrous, every night, the curse only to be broken by true love's kiss.

Together, the beast and the Princess slayed the Lord, and wed that night. Yet, when she kissed the beast, her appearance remained disfigured. The Princess then realized, that love's truest form was not based in beauty, but in happiness. She returned to the swamp with her beloved beast, and the two lived happily ever after."

Vhisrya finished her story with a smile, placing the brush back in the mortar. She looks down at the King, whose eyes were shut. For a moment, she thinks he has fallen asleep, but Aegon grunts, indicating he is still conscious, "Was there a moral to that story?"

He had only thought of the question after listening to one of Jaehaerys's lessons, one of the few times he was sober while the sun was still high in the sky. It made him feel like a child himself, curled along his tutor's side as she read him tales of past Kings.

The woman beside him rolls her eyes, placing her hand atop his own, "The moral is that even though someone may appear hideous, it does not make them a beast."

A deep flush overtakes Aegon's body, understanding her words. Still, he purses his swollen lips, "What if one's insides are as hideous- as hideous as their outsides?"

"Then that is truly a monster," Y/N replies, watching as the boy's face turns to a scowl.

A few moments of silence pass before the woman lets out a heavy sigh, "The beast was known for killing villagers set foot near his swamp, yet after he rescued his bride, he never killed again. He changed, Aegon, and you can too."

A chill is sent up Aegon's spine when she says his name. Like the rest of his court, she only addressed him "your Grace", and even when she did refer to him indirectly as "King Aegon", spite laced her words, bitter as poison. In every sober moment he had believed that she had hated him, yet her presence and aid in his time of need dismissed the notion from his mind entirely. 

Not even his mother had looked at him for this long, or made conversation so kind. Aegon had seen her, several times, hovering behind the Maester's as they tended to his wounds, yet she never dared to approach him, so close to his gnarled flesh. He couldn't blame her, he knew it was hideous, and the Queen's stomach was not meant to see such obscenities. 

In all honestly, neither should Y/N, but her previous line of work made her accustomed to such sights. The King swallows thickly, pain stretching up the left side of his neck, causing him to let out a small whimper. 

He feels the woman's hand stroke through his matted hair, hair that hasn't been brushed, or even washed in days. It shamed him, that he was incapable of keeping up his own appearance, needing the hands of servants to take the place of his own in combing his hair, washing him, dressing him, feeding him. 

"Will you stay with me tonight?" he whispers, discarding the last bit of dignity he held.

Y/N looked to the boy below her. There was a vulnerability in his eyes that she had never seen before, a glisten of sadness, despair, hopelessness. "Of course."

Aegon grunts as the weight shifts on the bed as she lays beside him, on his good side, not wanting to damage him in his slumber. The tormented King watches as she discards her jewelry on the furthest bedside table before fluffing a pillow to join him in the bed. Her long hair splays across the pillow as she grasps his hand, leaving several inches between the two of them. 

"Come closer," Aegon pleads, pulling gently on her hand, as much as his muscles would allow without excruciating pain.

"I don't want to harm you," Y/N says quickly, concerned etched in her features. 

"You won't" Aegon replies, sinking into the warmth of her body pressed against his own.

His body aches from his burns, the ointment only soothing his pain so much. It was nights like this, when Aegon couldn't sleep, when his body caused him so much trouble that he trembled and moaned until the morning sun rose. But as he curled against the woman, his pain began to subdue. He knew it wasn't literal, that her presence made his hurt go away, but he wished to believe it that simple, that she was his cure.

Y/N listened to his wheezing breaths slow as she held him, hand tight in her own. She felt the King's nose bury itself against the nape of her neck, a small grunt escaping his lips. She could feel his  chest rise and fall against her own as the King falls into a dreamless slumber. 

Darkness fills the room as the final candle burns low, the witch finally closing her eyes for her own rest, holding the broken, tortured boy in her arms, keeping him safe through the night. 

[corpsekiller]

i saw your halloween headcanon post from earlier and i just had to to drop this here — bakugou dressed up as ghostface from scream. that's it, this is the only thing going through my head😩

girl, you're so real for this. i've already read so many fics with this trope, but katsuki would definitely also dress up as ghostface on halloween. thank you so much for sending this ask, my love <3 i loved writing this dkksjsksla

PAIRING. ghostface!katsuki bakugou x genderneutral!reader

WARNINGS. a lot sexual tension, that's it

MASTERLIST

It's strangely quiet.

Your kitchen is dimly lit, the only source of light are the candles flickering auspiciously on your bedside table and the occasional colorful strobe of your decorations you've placed on your windowsill next to a carved pumpkin and some skeleton figurines you've found in a neat little store a while ago.

You're not sure where Katsuki is — he was supposed to pick you up for the party Mina is throwing at her place, but one glance at the clock steadily ticking on the wall above your bed tells you that he's already fifteen minutes late. It's odd, really, because he's always on time, considers punctuality almost as important as strength and victory during battle and yet, here you are, waiting for him as you stuff candy into your bag in preparation for this evening.

There's a faint memory of him mentioning that he wouldn't dress up, ignoring your pleads to wear matching costumes with a dismissive wave of his hand and a typical frown, muttering something about over my dead body and dressing up is only for kids, dumbass, so it doesn't make much sense to justify his unlike tardiness with the lame excuse of him just struggling with his costume.

"Where's that idiot?" You mutter with an exasperated sigh, gently tugging on the hem of your flimsy costume to readjust the fabric before reaching for your phone to text your boyfriend. Just as you're about to open your chats and type your message, a gloved hand snakes around your waist and pulls you back against someone standing behind you.

For a fleeting moment, your heart skips a beat. Then it begins to pound against your ribs ��� hectical and painful like a small frightened animal caught in the sharp canines of a predator — and your mouth falls open to cry out for help, but no sound dares to leave your trembling lips.

"Did I scare you?" His voice is low, a rough whisper that reverberates in his chest as he pulls you flush against his body, slowly leaning down until the smooth surface of his mask is pressed against your heated cheeks before he continues to speak. "Thought you'd just get away without giving me something sweet and call it a night, huh?"

Carefully, you turn your head and look up at him — hollow eyes and a distorted mouth locked in a permanent scream glare back at you, though the tension finally leaves your limbs and you sigh in relief, almost burst into laughter at your stupidly terrified reaction to his costume. You really must've watched too many horror movies over the span of the last few weeks if you're unable to recognize your own boyfriend.

Because now that you pay attention to the way he grabs your waist, almost possessive in a certain way, you just know his touch — strong, confident, so unmistakably Katsuki.

You squirm in his grip, meekly attempting to fully turn around to face him, but his grasp on your waist only tightens. A whimper leaves your lips, a quiet sound that causes him to chuckle as his hand trails up to tilt your chin, turning your head so you can look at him again.

"No, I don't think so. You're stayin' right here, got it?" His thumb brushes along your jaw, slow and almost tender. Even with the mask on, you can feel his smirk, can imagine the devilish grin that pulls on the corners of his mouth as he keeps you trapped between the kitchen counter and his body without a chance to escape

Though you're not sure you really want to.

"You like it, don't you?" He drawls, tilting his head to get a better look at you — although you can't see his eyes, his gaze seems to burn on your skin and you can't help the violent blush that tints your cheek in a shade of pink. There's a certain edge to his voice too, taunting and dangerous, almost sadistic if you listen close enough, as if he's enjoying the anticipation etched into the soft furrow of your brows, the sheer power he has over you and your body. "You like that I've got you cornered... nowhere to run?"

Oh, this is just a game for him and you've fallen right into his trap.

"Maybe," you reply, barely above a whisper, though you can't help but smile just a little.

"Maybe, huh?" He murmurs, a soft laugh escaping him as he lets his gloved hand wander from your cheek to your neck, lingering there for just a moment before his fingers slowly close around your throat. He doesn't squeeze, not yet, only lets you feel the weight of his hand, but it's enough to send a shiver down your spine. “Better be sure about it. Because now that I've got my hands on you, I won’t let you go.”

With one smooth motion, he pulls the mask up just enough to reveal his face—- the crimson of his eyes has darkened, pupils blown with something you can only describe as hunger and his lips are pulled into a sinister smile that bares all his teeth. There's a moment of silence, then he pulls you into a bruising kiss that punches the air out of your lungs and causes your knees to buckle under the weight of your body until the only thing that is holding you on your own two feet is none other than your boyfriend.

After what feels like half an eternity, Katsuki pulls away. Your head spins with the lack of oxygen, your legs are shaking and yet you can't help but reach out to dig your fingers into the fabric of his costume, roughly yanking him back for another kiss that leaves you just as breathless as the first one.

“Do you really think I'm done with you yet?" He whispers, voice a low rumble, before slipping the mask back down. "You have no idea what I've planned for you...Happy Halloween, babe."

[azrielsdove]

Hidden: Azriel x Reader

Warnings: Some Violence, Near Death, Angst

***

You walked into the training ring with a bounce in your step, humming happily to yourself. The day was beautiful, the air cool and the sun bright. You made your way over to the staffs, carefully selecting one you wished to train with today. You were happy, upbeat, and ready for an energetic session.

Azriel was not.

His frown only grew deeper as he watched you, his mood putting a damper on yours. “Something wrong, Az?” You asked, concerned. He grumbled in response, moving to the center of the ring. You shook off his attitude, assuming he was just having an off day.

He jumped right into the mock fight you were supposed to be doing, staff cracking into yours with enough force it nearly knocked you over. You glared up at him, starting to become annoyed. You swung back just as hard, beginning what was clear to be a ruthless battle.

Cassian and Rhys came up then, their conversation faltering as they watched the two of you. You matched Azriel step for step, blocking his blows while planning your own attacks. You heard a whistle of approval from Cassian, a small smile making its way onto your face.

Which, in turn, only seemed to make Azriel angrier. He delivered a nasty hit to you, causing you to lose the perfect rhythm you had going. A spark of fear filtered into your mind as he kept going, stronger than ever.

“Hey, Az, why don’t we-“ You were cut off by another swing of his staff, yours narrowly coming up to block it. Your eyes darted over to where Rhys and Cassian stood, a silent cry for help. You did not know what had overcome the Shadowsinger, but he was taking it out on you. Azriel’s blows were getting harder and harder, each one pushing you further backwards. You felt the sand of the ring disappear under your feet, turning into the hard stone around the edge. Your hands grew sweaty as you realized you were mere feet from the drop of the mountain.

“Az, please-“ You tried again, only for him to hit you in the leg. You cried out, pain flooding through you. Once again you looked to Cassian and Rhys, who finally seemed to understand something more was going on.

Yet nothing slowed Azriel. He pushed you until your back was pressed against the low wall around the perimeter of the training ring. His staff was pressed against your neck, yours dropped in submission. You were pushing on his, trying to get it off of you. Your breathing was coming in gasps, and you couldn’t understand why no one was helping you. You looked up into the eyes of someone who used to be your friend, a final “Please” leaving your lips.

He shoved you.

And you fell backwards over the wall.

***

You could feel the wind rushing around you, doing nothing to slow your fall. You felt as if you were moving in slow motion, watching the ring grow smaller as you fell farther. You reached your hands up towards flashes of blue and red, a sign that Cassian was fighting for you.

He wasn’t going to make it.

You’d always longed to fly. Perhaps this was your time to. You bowed your head back, eyes fluttering closed. You accepted the death that was sure to come to you. The ground wasn’t so far away now. Your back slammed into something hard, your head cracking forward.

All went black.

***

AZRIELS POV

He knew something was off that day. Something wasn’t right in his brain. He was filled with uncontrollable rage. He should have stayed in his room. He should have called Rhys. He should have should have should have.

He should have done anything but kill you.

Although you weren’t quite dead, not necessarily. Your body was here. It was laying right in front of him. On your bed. Peacefully.

He watched the slight rise and fall of your chest, the only sign that there was life left inside of you. Madja had done what she could to heal your broken body. He would never forget the way you felt when you crashed into his arms after her flung himself off the House after you. You were falling too fast, too hard. He caught you, but did he really save you?

After all, it was his fault you were in this state at all. He had pushed you over the edge. He couldn’t quite remember why, now. He could only recall the pure anger that was flowing through him that morning, when you challenged him to a simple warm-up fight. Something in him wanted to hurt you.

Was it you? Or would it have been anyone who had the misfortune of training with him. He didn’t know. Rhys didn’t know.

Oh, Rhys. He would never forget the look on his face when he handed your lifeless body to him. The confusion, the anger, the pain.

The silence.

He seemed to understand something had come over Azriel. There was no blame placed, no consequence. Yet there were no words spoken, no acknowledgment of him. It was as if he had become invisible to Rhys.

He laid his head back against the wall, closing his eyes for the first time in days. Some rest would help, surely.

READER POV

Pain flooded your body, shocking your senses. Your eyes shot open in confusion and panic. You couldn’t remember what had happened, forcing yourself to sit up so you could take in your surroundings. You calmed slightly as you realized this was your room. You looked around-

and then you screamed.

Azriel shot up from the dead sleep he had been in. You shakily slid yourself out of the bed, using it as a barrier between the two of you. He frowned, taking a step closer.

“No!” You shouted, body trembling with the force of staying upright. “Stay away from me.”

“You shouldn’t be standing,” he said, moving again. You moved farther back, fear and adrenaline keeping you going.

“I said stay the fuck away from me!” You yelled again, holding one shaking hand out in front of you. “Why are you in here? Did you come back to finish the job?” You knew provoking him was probably a bad idea, given the circumstances, but you didn’t care.

The door burst open and Rhys rushed to your side. You crumpled into his arms, finally giving in to the pain. “Go, Azriel,” he commanded, a pulse of his power thrumming through the room. A warning.

Azriel didn’t dare to argue. He left without a sound as Rhys helped you back to your bed, calling Madja for your pain. “You are safe, I promise,” he told you. You nodded, looking warily towards the door. Rhys sighed from next to you, following your gaze. “I do not believe he was entirely in control that day.” You snapped your neck to look at him, eyes narrowing.

“What are you saying? I shouldn’t be mad at him for nearly killing me for no reason?” You knew your anger towards Rhys was misplaced. His eyes turned sad as they met yours.

“You are entitled to your feelings, yes. I would not keep you from that. I am just saying, something was not right with him. He never would have hurt you.” He took one of your hands in his. “He sat here, every day, waiting for you to wake. He did not act like someone who wanted to hurt you would.” You glared at him, but kept your hold on his hand. He continued on. “I’ve not been able to speak to him since, however that doesn’t mean I haven’t been keeping a close eye on him. He’s withdrawn into himself. I do not know if we will ever understand what happened, but I have reason to believe it wasn’t entirely him. I’ve had Amren looking into any threats or enemies that may have breached our city. Something else was in control that day.” Your blood ran cold at his words.

“You think someone was in his mind?” You asked, mind racing at all the things that could mean. Rhys sighed, giving your hand a squeeze before letting go and standing.

“I don’t know. I’m going to talk to him soon, present any information Amren has found. I’ll let you know as soon as I do.” With that he left the room, sending Madja in his place. You barely took notice of her working on you, too lost in your thoughts about what this all meant. Why target Azriel? Or, perhaps, was the target you?

***

The following days passed slowly, your healing taking longer than anyone would like. This morning Madja finally cleared you to leave your room, with strict instructions to do nothing too strenuous. You mumbled agreements to her instructions before hastily making your way out the door.

Your first stop was going to be the small library in the House. You wanted to look into something that the conversation with Rhys had reminded you of, to see if it could be what had ailed Azriel. You weren’t paying attention to where you were going, causing you to run headfirst into the wall. You stumbled backwards, looking up to glare at the offending structure.

You were shocked when your eyes met golden ones. “Azriel, I- What are you doing?” You asked defensively, narrowing your eyes at him.

He stared at you. “I live here.”

Hm. Well, you suppose that is true. “Yes, well. I really must get to it then.” You pushed past him, trying to not recoil as your arm brushed his. Even with Rhys’ concerns, you were still uneasy around your old friend.

You could breathe a little easier once you were in the library, doors shut firmly behind you. You slowly went through the titles of the books, looking carefully for a specific one. You refused to believe that something had infiltrated the city and taken control of Azriel. It just didn’t make sense. Why him, why have him attack you? You were not a great sense of strength to the Night Court. You did not really hold a place within the Inner Circle, you didn’t have any great talents. You were an average warrior and were very skilled at the occasional board game, but nothing to attack.

You hummed in excitement when you found the book you were looking for. You pulled it from the shelf, moving to sit on one of the small couches by the fire. You quickly found the chapter you recalled, although the information was not exactly what you had thought. You had only skimmed the book before, not caring much for what it said.

Now, though, it caused a pit in your stomach. You had to find Rhys.

***

Rhys answered the door to his office, a bit puzzled by your incessant knocking. “Has something else happened? Are you okay?” He asked, looking at you strangely as you barged into the room without a reply. He called your name as he shut the door behind him, worried. You waited for him to return to his seat behind the desk before slamming the book down in front of him, open to the page you were reading.

“Here,” you explained, pointing to a passage. “I fear this is the issue with Azriel.”

He looked at you before beginning to read the words in front of him. “Not much is known about a hidden mating bond. This occurs when a Fae either choose to ignore they have one, or rather do not realize it. Especially common in males, this hidden bond causes them to lose control. The magic within can take over their minds, making them-“ He stopped, finishing the rest silently.

“Oh.”

“Oh? That is all you have to say? Oh?” Your voice was rising with your panic. “Rhys, do you understand what this means?”

His eyes met yours. “Of course I understand what this means. Do you?”

You slumped down into the seat in front of him, burying your face in your hands.

“I’m his mate, Rhys. And he either doesn’t know or doesn’t want me.”

“Hm.” You heard him leaf through the pages of the book. Your head shot up, watching what he was doing.

“Do you not think so? That’s what the book says, after all. That a hidden bond can create a strain on the mind such that they attack their unknown mate! He attacked me, Rhys. Nearly killed me. Do you believe me to be hysterical?”

“No,” he answered calmly. “I believe you to be correct. Unfortunately, you will have to handle this one.”

You stood from your chair, pacing in front of the desk. “How am I to handle this? I cannot be around him for fear of my safety. I refuse to go near him on my own. The book reads that he will only get more violent until he realizes, or until I am dead. How do I trust that he won’t kill me before I can tell him? How do I know he won’t kill me after I tell him?” You paused your walking, placing your hands on the back of the chair in front of you as you looked at Rhys. “And aside from all of that, how am I to feel about him being my mate? It has never been anything more than a friendship between us.” He didn’t speak for a long while, long enough for you to begin your pacing once more.

“I cannot answer that for you.” That was not what you wanted to hear, though you couldn’t truly argue. No one else could tell you how to feel. You stood still, resolve steeled.

“Will you come with me, at least? You can stay hidden away, he does not need to know youre there. But Rhys, if he takes it poorly, I won’t be able to handle him alone. You know that.” You didn’t like having to ask him to potentially battle his brother. What other choice did you have? Rhys sighed, nodding his head.

“We will search for him at once.”

***

Finding Azriel was a rather easy task. Unfortunately, it lead you to the training ring. A place you had not visited since the incident, a place you hadn’t been able to stomach. Yet time was of the essence, and the sooner you confronted Azriel the sooner you were safe.

Possibly.

You watched as he trained, his muscles flexing impressively in the hot midday sun. He was certainly not the worst male you could have as a mate, you supposed. You subtly checked behind you to ensure you could see Rhys hidden in the dark of the stairs before taking a step closer to the ring.

“A-Azriel?” You called, a feeble crack to your voice. You cleared your throat, calling for him again. “Azriel!” He ceased his movement at once, slowly turning to face you. You tried to give him a smile, though you were sure it was a sad attempt. “Hi. Uh, how are you doing?”

“How am I doing?” He repeated back to you, sheathing the daggers he was training with. “You have avoided me since you woke, and now you dare to come up here and act like everything is fine?” His outburst of anger caused you to take a few steps back, searching behind you for the reminder that Rhys was there. I would not abandon you. Talk to him. His voice echoed in your mind, your heart rate slowing slightly.

“Yes, well, you did nearly kill me.” Your poor attempt at a joke was lost on Azriel. “No, I mean, that is to say- I,” this was going abysmally.

“You what? Did you come up here to actually say something, or to just burden me with your presence?” Your fear was rapidly replaced with anger.

“Excuse me? I didn’t realize i posed such a threat to your miserable, pathetic life.” It was wrong to engage with him like this, knowing the war that was going on in his mind.

He scoffed. “At least I have a life. What is it you offer to this Court? Oh, that’s right. Nothing.” Your heart stopped at his cutting words, his true words. Tears came to your eyes as you tried to think of something else to say. “Oh, now poor little baby is going to cry? Is that it? Rhys little lapdogs feelings got hurt?” He moved closer to you, leaning in near enough that his breath ghosted over your face. “I should’ve let you die.”

Those words snapped the bond in your heart, the wicked golden tug to his own. The tears fell at the overwhelming injustice of it all. A small voice reminded you that his words were not entirely his own, that the unknown bond was messing with his mind.

“Go cry to your High Lord, pup.” He turned away from you, heading back to the ring. You had to say something, you had to get it out, you had to do it now.

“You’re a sorry excuse for a mate, Azriel.”

He stopped in his tracks, body going rigid. The silence felt like it was suffocating you. You reached a hand out for Rhys to take, unable handle this on your own. He grabbed onto you, pulling himself up to stand behind you, one hand resting lightly on your back for support.

“What do you mean by that,” Azriel growled, still looking away from you.

“I think you know exactly what I mean.”

He slowly turned to face you, eyes narrowing as he looked at Rhys. “You accuse me of being your mate? When we all know the only reason your here is for my dear brother to fuck you when he feels like it?” Your jaw dropped at his words, embarrassed tears joining the others on your face.

“That is uncalled for, Azriel! You need to get your shit together and open your eyes! Never have I laid with Rhys, and that’s an awful thing to say.” The words came tumbling out of you. “I’m your mate, Az. Your godsforsaken mate. Either accept that, or break the bond. I do not care.” He looked taken aback, like you had just slapped him across the face.

“How do you know?”

“How do I know?” You laughed at the absurdity of everything. “It’s called a hidden mating bond. You may think I bring nothing to this Court, but I tend to find answers others can’t.” You tossed the book on the sand in front of him. “Chapter twelve. Read it. And then go fuck yourself, Azriel.” With that you turned and ran down the stairs, ignoring Rhys when he tried to speak to you. You didn’t pause until you were fully in your room, doors locked tight behind you. Only then did you allow yourself to feel the pain in your heart, in your soul. The pain of an unreciprocated mating bond. You fell to your knees, your head buried in your hands.

And the tears came anew.

***

You cried well into the night, until nothing else could come of it. You had finally worked up the strength to stand and make your way to bed when you heard a knock at the door.

“Go away,” you called, voice hoarse from hours of sobs.

“I won’t.” Came through the door, his voice sending chills down your spine.

“I don’t want to speak to you Azriel.”

“That’s fine. You just have to listen.”

“I won’t let you in.”

“Through the door it is then.” You heard him suck in a deep breath. “First, I am sorry. I am sorry for everything I have done, and all the pain I have caused you. Physically and emotionally. The book was correct, as I know you know. That day I pushed you off the edge of the mountain I knew something was wrong. I saw you and I was angry. It felt like nothing I had ever experienced. The second you fell the cloudiness in my head was gone. I would never hurt you willingly. I assumed something was broken in me, to hurt the girl i’ve loved since the moment I met her.” Your hand covered your mouth at that, eyes widening in shock.

“I suppose that’s a confession, isnt it? I’ve always loved you. You are the most breathtaking, charming, intelligent, perfect being. When the bouts of anger began taking over I was so upset with myself. Out of everyone here, why was I taking this out on you? It seemed like some cruel joke the universe was playing on me.

Anyway, when I saw you earlier the same anger took control. I did not mean any of those things I said. I was trying to fight it, but Love, it was so powerful. I have never once believed that you were useless, and I certainly never thought you were sleeping with Rhys.” He gave a dry laugh, and you could picture him shaking his head in disbelief.

“All that to say, I love you. I always have. I can feel the mating bond now, the inexplicable pull to you. I have accepted it, if you will have me. I understand if you do not wish it to be so. I will leave Velaris if it pleases you. Rhys can give me a permanent position and residence in the Hewn City, and no one will be any the wiser about it all. I know I have hurt you in ways that may never be amended, though-“ You cut him off by swinging the door to your room wide open. He seemed genuinely shocked by this, looking at you hesitantly.

“I do not wish for you to leave Velaris,” you said shakily. “I do not wish for anything but for you to love me.” A grin lit up Azriel’s face as he moved to cautiously rest his hands on your waist. “And I wish for you to stop treating me like i’m made of glass,” you laughed, tugging him closer by his shirt. “I know it was not truly you in control that day. I do not fear you, Az.” He leaned down closer to you, his lips a breadth width away from yours.

“Is there anything else you wish?” He whispered, nose rubbing gently against your own.

“I wish for you to kiss me.”

He wasted no time in pressing his lips to yours, wrapping his arms tightly around your waist. You melted into his touch, the golden bond between your two hearts singing happily at last.

***

eeeeeeeeeeek i’m back at long last!!!! i hope you all enjoy this, it’s a little rocky i feel. i just had to get something out to get back into writing! i have lots of WIPs and kinktober to finish, and lots of ideas for all of that. so hopefully you’ll be seeing more of me again. love to you all <3

[thejakeformerlyknownasprince]

Longtime reader and fan (thank you for existing and sharing your writing!) first time asker, prompted by watching the movie The Martian: what if the team went on a mission out in space, during the war or after, and accidentally left someone behind on a planet? I can't decide who it would be worse for it to happen to, and whether being able to morph would really be helpful. Maybe it's a funny no-big when you have alien space travel, I suppose

Ooh, I think it all depends on who got left behind.

Ax: We know from canon that he can get by while stranded on an alien planet without either dying or losing his mind. That said, Ax also desperately needs company and doesn't do well alone. When he's stuck in the Dome ship, he gets to the point of hallucinations and memory problems from the isolation (MM4). So Ax would probably figure out how to get a potato farm or other food supply going — he's very good at cobbling together solutions from limited technology — and he would be able to fix things that went wrong for a time.

But Ax better find that Rover and get it talking to an Earth satellite as fast as he can, if he's the one stranded. And he hopefully wouldn't make a mistake that results in it frying. If he does, then Ax would have the greatest risk of just losing the plot. That could mean falling into a depression so bad he stops maintaining his food supply, becoming so anxious he can't do EVAs anymore, developing psychosis and losing track of reality, or any number of other ways that his brain could start eating itself. But if he does end up with any kind of major overwhelming stressor, then he's probably screwed. It's not like there's a way to do therapy through a 2-message-an-hour Rover running on Morse code, and I doubt(?) NASA would've sent antidepressants in their limited weight supply.

Jake: Would go the same way as Ax, but a lot faster. He wouldn't consider himself worth risking others' lives to rescue, he wouldn't have the necessary mental flexibility to engineer himself a long-term survival solution, and he wouldn't be able to remain sane with no one to talk to. I don't think he'd actually die by suicide. I think he'd just curl up in bed and eat 3x a day until he ran out of MREs, and then gradually slip away.

Marco: Easily the best equipped to survive over a year alone on Mars. Name puns aside, he's the most Mark Watney-ish of the Animorphs. He can laugh as he's crying, he can entertain himself, he can think through problems quickly, and he can charm the media of planet Earth enough to convince NASA to mount a rescue expedition.

Marco would start talking to himself the moment he wakes up alone, and he wouldn't stop talking until he was finally back on the spaceship. He'd try so hard to be cool and tough in the logs, insisting on not really being scared, not really being hungry or in pain, until you could almost believe him. If something breaks, Marco will take it apart and fix it. If he risks dying in the process of fixing the broken water purifier or oxygen system, then he's going to run straight at it with manic determination to make his death at least entertaining for the folks at home.

Of course, Marco might also be the most upsetting one for the other Animorphs to realize they've left behind. Rather than trying to make the others feel better about having made an honest mistake in the process of trying to save their own lives, he'd be making jokes about how he was five minutes late for the school bus and yet they still left him on the field trip, or he knew that Jake found him annoying but never realized he was that annoying. Which would only make the whole team feel way worse about the fact that they left him for dead and nearly let him die for real.

Cassie: Would do all the science she could, with the opportunity she'd been given. She would carefully log the rock samples she found, take extensive notes on her processes, and use up every single sample container and scrap of disc space she had left on her observations. Then she'd go out somewhere beautiful, eat one last MRE and watch one last Earthrise, and take off her helmet.

Tobias: Probably second-best equipped psychologically to spend all that time in survival mode. Like Ax, Tobias is prone to mental illness and so risks not being able to keep going through all the relentless misery and stress, but Tobias is also a solitary creature at heart. And Tobias isn't afraid to do what it takes to survive, as long as he's not hurting anyone else in the process. So he wouldn't make contacting Earth a priority (except to make it clear that he needs rescue) and he would be okay with a tiny trickle of communication with his fellow humans that eventually gets cut off.

However, Tobias is also a lot more... rigid in planning, I guess? He doesn't have Ax's or Marco's "try anything" attitude. He makes rules for himself, and then he follows them, even to the point of risking death. He tends to obsess over taking the right course of action no matter what, and spends a ton of time considering what right would be in any given situation. Like, he's got more functional fixedness than Marco or Cassie, which could be bad if his only option for survival is to make a sock and a paperback book cover into a makeshift CO2 filter. So I think Tobias would handle the isolation best of anyone on the team, but risks not handling the 40,000 random engineering problems that come from using a tent meant for 6 people over 2 weeks as a home for 18 months.

Tobias would also be extremely upsetting for the other Animorphs to have left behind. His role on the team is classic break the cutie, where anything bad happening to him is utterly devastating for all his friends in a way it wouldn't be to have Rachel or Jake suffer a similar fate. If there's anyone that the team would risk cannibalism and death to return to Mars for, it's him.

Rachel: It's hard to say if impulsivity is more of a bonus or a drawback here. Rachel has never taken anything lying down in her life, ever, and she'd be offended by the idea of some stupid dusty planet getting the better of her. She would fight with every iota of her being to survive, fighting airlock failure and potato rot and oxygen leaks and water system clogs.

But. Impulsivity. If that means she tries anything, tries everything, until a solution works, then excellent. If that means she gets fed up with the process of survival, less good. If that means she says screw it and eats when she's hungry, doubleplusungood.

[c0smoshit]

Seeing you cry

⋆ ࣪. ℂ𝕙𝕒𝕣𝕒𝕔𝕥𝕖𝕣𝕤 ≫ Solid Snake, Big Boss and Venom Snake

⋆ ࣪. 𝕎𝕒𝕣𝕟𝕚𝕟𝕘𝕤 ≫ smut!!, dacryphilia, mocking the reader >:((

⋆ ࣪. 𝔸/ℕ ≫ STOP THE METAL GEAR BRAINROT, I NEED MORE FICS

Solid Snake (David)

★ My man is worried

★ All the people he had to kill yet seeing you in any pain would be the death of him

★ However, if he sees that you are begging for more...

★ It is such a turn on for him

Gripping your hips tightly, back pressed against the mattress as your back arched in a way that made his head spin over and over again.

Stranded moans suddenly being quieted down, he looked over the hickey he was placing just on top of your areola into your face.

He was dead silent, his hips on automatic mode hitting over and over again the spongy spot inside you. He couldn't get any words out, your tear stained cheeks, the redness of the saltiness already begining to tint them a passionate red.

"Ah- mgh... nhg"

Red he also loved seeing on other cheeks too

He was concerned, of course, was he being too rough? Maybe he needed to stop, however, before he choose that option he watched your eyes roll back, a choked moan leaving you as another fat roll cascaded from you eye.

"Fu-Fu...uck"

Tightening on him like it was the first time you had ever taken him, he even struggled to move, restraining his bloodflow as he was begining to drift into nirvana with you. The new wash of arousal from you was the only thing that could have kept him going, the bed hitting wildly the wall as he raced to his orgasm.

"I love... mgh- you, so beautiful"

Big Boss "Naked Snake" (John)

★ Not much of a talker while he's reaching his orgasm, but if you pull that out

★ He's gone and he is not going to shut up

★ Something about seeing you so pure, real with him, to feel such powerfull emotions during intimacy

★ It just starts to mean something deeper than just carnal desired for him

"Doing alright there?"

His gruff voice asked even when he was in the verge of going mad, the creak of the bed from his wild movements as he pushed you further and further into the pillows.

Face down, your moans were muffled as only your mouth let you breath, cheek pressed against a pillow your hair created a mattress on top of your face. You had absolutely ruined the fabric; drool, tears and sweat tinted it in such an erotic colour.

When you didn't respond, he slowed down a bit, grabbing your chest with one hand and pulling you up so your back was pressed against him while the other hand peeled sticky strands from your face, just to see the most beautiful view ever.

"D-don't stop"

He had thought you were in pain, but of course you were absolutely enjoying this the same way he did by watching you fall apart on him, hiccuping and sniffling as you took him.

"ngh- Snake!"

"You're such a dirty thing aren't you?"

He whispered into your ear, pushing his hips into you deeply, slowly as you felt all of him. He still held your chest, his hand dangerously close to your pulse as he perfectly knew here it was thanks to CQC techniques. Noticing how fast it was beating, his breathing raged and you also could feel the adrenaline flowing inside his veins through your back.

"Got me all worried, your- fuck... little face"

He enhanced his last words with a deep thrust as he felt you tighten around him, almost going limp on his arms as he held you securedly.

"But you... like this huh? Cryin- crying all over my cock"

Venom Snake "Big Boss"

★ He's the most dipshit in all of the three, such horny words coming out of his mouth the moment he sees you in that state

★ "All this just from me huh?" YES

★ As big boss, seeing you so vurnerable with him clicks on a switch inside his brain

★ He needs to ruin you every session after seeing you completely frustrated to the verge of tears by him

★ Has seen you crying before, however, during sex it's even more arousing to him

"What's the matter sweetie?"

The sound of his pat against your right cheek pulled you out of your extasis for a little while, teary eyes threatening to fall apart looking at his blurry face.

"Can't take it?"

His mocking tone made you huff a breath out, not letting down your words, you were supposed to ride him until he passed out, not the other way around. However, as soon as your movements halted for a bit, he smiled wickedly. Trembling thighs around him, sweaty skin and a frustated face was such a cute view for him.

A low "yeah" was enough praise for you to keep going, moving up and down, down and up. Grasping his knees with both hands you felt him pressing a hand sneak down your stomach, ending on the most brutal nervous point of your body.

Your elbow buckled at the sensation, tears now starting to fall down more wildly as he repositioned you, letting you bounce as he kept you close to his chest. His devilish thumb never stopping it's ministrations.

"Such a good girl"

Gruffy vocals sending you over the edge right away, finally giving out as you cried from the stimulation on his chest, a mantra of many of his names coming out of your mouth.

Yet he wasn't done, grasping your hips he forced you up and down once again. The coldness of his prostetic arm making the hair on your back stand out.

"Sna-..ke, st- stop"

"You are-.. letting me finish-"

He grunted out as his thrust became more erratic, deeper. His own eyes were closed, opening a few times to admire your drool on his chest, your scrunched eyes as he abused your sensitive hole.

"You wanted me-... hmph, to pass out huh?"

He repeated your words, grabbing your face to make you look at him, seeing your puffy cheeks as he squeezed them until your mouth formed an oval.

"Then you're in for a ride, cowgirl"

[amica-aenigmata-naboo]

Not to Me

Christian Yu/Mito x Y/N - drabble - 861 WC

Masterlist

Warnings: TW! mention of suicidal ideation, depression, fear, fluff, comfort, jealousy, hugs and kisses for the special bb boy, so much love its almost gross

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

Christian watched from across the room as you spoke to Da-bin. You laughed, hard. You playfully shoved him, almost spilling your champagne. Christian sat in the shadows, the party for the Dream Reborn World Tour was in full swing and had been for hours. Christian was exhausted and defeated. His whole heart had gone into getting the tour going. He had rarely seen you over the past two months and you were nothing but understanding. Yet he couldn’t help but feel like the long hours had put a wedge in your relationship and it was all his fault. So there he sat, watching you and his band member talk. He knew in his soul you would never cheat on him, but that didn’t make him any less jealous. Didn’t make him want to somehow fix it all and beg for you to stay. He could feel Mito inside, aching to take over. He fought so hard to be himself while all this was going on, to be normal. But he was losing the fight; he stood up slinking out of the venue. He lit a cigarette as he walked through the city, wandering back towards your shared apartment. At some point during the walk it wasn’t Christian moving, it was Mito. He had no idea how he ended up at the Han River but he did. Even worse, he was looking over the edge of the bridge into the deep blue below. He leaned in, closer to the edge. His foot slipped, a shoe coming off and pulling him back into reality. He stepped away from the edge, stumbling backwards before deciding to run home. Even Mito was scared of the hasty decision he might make. Once home he collapsed in your shared bed, wanting to escape his own mind.

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

“Christian?!” you screamed as you bolted through the front door.

Mito woke up with a start; why did you sound so panicked? He sat up, stretching a bit before the bedroom door flew open and startled him. 

“Oh my god…” you sobbed, running to him and engulfing him in a bone crushing hug. 

He felt confused but hugged you back instantly, “Baby? What’s wrong?” 

You leaned back, your voice sounding angry but also pained, “What’s wrong? What’s wrong? Are you kidding me??” you said searching his face.

He looked genuinely confused.

“I have been calling you since I saw you slip out for a smoke at the party. I thought you might want some space so I didn’t follow you but then… then you didn’t come back.” you said, eyes becoming big and round. “I called you so many times… you never answered. I got nervous and left the party. I walked home just in case. And what do I find at the fucking Han River? Your fucking shoe!” you said, hitting him in the chest as your tears pick back up. 

Oh. He understood now. “You… you thought I…” he gulped.

“I thought you jumped!” you yelled at him. You weren’t angry and he knew that, you were worried to death. “The only reason there isn’t a S.W.A.T. team searching for your ass is because I checked your location!” you hit his chest once again.

You took a breath, trying to steady yourself.

“I thought… I thought you were dead.” you cried, holding his face in your hands just to confirm to yourself that he was real and there with you, not at the bottom of a river. 

Mito kissed over your cheeks, catching your tears on his lips. He felt himself crying. Not only because of the fear he instilled in you but the fact that your nightmare had crossed his mind as an idea just hours previously. He felt ashamed and the question of why you were with him drowned his mind. “I’m ok…” was all he could think to say - over and over again until your sobs turned into sniffles. 

“I love you,” you said, “Don’t ever fucking scare me like that again.” you said in all seriousness. The way your heart dropped when you saw his shoe on the side of the bridge. It felt like your soul was ripped out. You had never rushed home so fast after picking up his distinct shoe (the one you painted red hearts on). You felt some relief when his location was current and said your shared address but that didn’t stop your mind from racing with all the other horrible things that could be happening to him. 

“I’m sorry…” he whispered, “I love you too… I don’t understand…” you could barely hear the last part. 

“Don’t understand what?” you said, thumbing over his cheeks. 

“Why do you love me?” he asked. His eyes looked so pained, so full of fear. 

You smiled at him softly, “You are my happiness. My sun, moon, and stars. Everything fades into background noise with you. You’re all I want and all I’ll ever need.” you said, sounding so sure of yourself and the decision to love him.

“It’s rotten work loving me,” he said.

“Not to me.” you assured him, kissing him so passionately it took his breath away.

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

Naboo's Note:

Two requests in one fic! Hello all, sorry for the little break, life was life-ing and got very busy very fast. I hope to post more but there will be another community update soon that I think would be helpful to read so I don't get anyones hopes up too high. Thanks for sticking around, XOXOXOXOXOXO!!!!!!!!!

[lumosinlove]

Christmas Eve Will Find Me

part i: leo

(tags for cw)

~

One: Leo

A Nightmare, A Dream

Amsterdam

So far, Leo had been able to hide the dreams. They hadn’t happened during the nights he’d shared with Finn, but that was probably because he never slept those nights. Not deeply. He’d been too wired by the idea of Finn beside him, and too worried by how the pained lines of Finn’s face didn’t relax even in his sleep.

The dreams hadn’t happened with James on the train, but he’d figured that was because Logan had been just one wall away. Safe. As safe as he could be. Logan wasn’t dead. Logan wasn’t dead, he hadn’t drowned, you didn’t let him drown, you didn’t lose him, someone cut the tracker out, you didn’t lose him, it wasn’t you.

And yet.

He should have asked Logan more questions. He should have forced him to tell him what was going on—why he wanted a direct line to Finn, why he had such a faraway look on his face, why he took phone calls where he barely said a word. He should have seen something coming. He should have forced Logan to tell him.

And now, he was here in a safe house, sitting up on the couch he’d volunteered to take, and watching snow fall in the streetlights outside. Stalling. Afraid to sleep. Logan was right there. It should be fine. But if it wasn’t…

He looked towards the bed, which he’d given to Finn and Logan. They hadn’t slept beside each other like that yet, he realized. Not since Logan got back. The train had been bunk beds. No wonder Finn had laid down so carefully. No wonder he’d kept glancing at Logan as they’d all sat up for a little while, wary of the strange new place, waiting for the adrenaline to wear off so they could actually fall asleep. Finn had managed it. Leo knew his breathing patterns by now. He’d spent so many nights listening to the hitching after-math of a hard cry fade, exhausted.

Logan was awake. He was on his side, facing Finn and staring. Just staring at him in the darkness. He’d shift every once in a while, and it took Leo a moment to realize that he had his ankles tangled in Finn’s beneath the quilt. Leo knew Finn did that sort of thing in his sleep. It was painfully sweet that Logan didn’t pull away.

“Can I ask you something?” Logan whispered suddenly.

Leo nodded. Ten thousand possible questions went through his mind. Some of them real, some of them a fantasy. Yes, I missed you. Yes, I never stopped looking for you.

Yes, Logan, I’m in love with you. I’m in love with the love of your life, too. I’m sorry.

“Was I a bad person?” Logan finally asked. “Was I bad?” He looked down at Finn’s sleeping form. “To him?”

Leo sat up fast, hands pushing into the overly plush couch cushions. Logan, slowly so as not to disturb Finn, sat up, too. He looked so perfect in this light. He looked warm and alive—and a bit guilty.

“It’s only that,” Logan paused, uncertain. “I’m not with you. I know that, I…there are parts of my wedding that I can see.”

“What can you see?” Because Leo was awful, and Leo wanted to know. He hadn’t been there. He wanted every detail. “I mean…No. We’re not together.”

“But I kissed you.”

“No,” Leo said. Exactly was he was afraid of. “No, I kissed you.”

“I kissed back.”

“No.” Leo almost wanted to get up. He wanted to sit on the edge of Logan’s side of the bed and shake him. “It was a moment. We were scared and exhausted and lonely. And it didn’t mean anything. I don’t even know why that’s—something that would come back, I…”

The words sounded like some part of a torn up script in his mouth, ashy and rehearsed.

“You…” Leo tried to think how to explain this. How did he explain, to Logan, about the way Logan loved Finn. About the notes. About 1017 and about the weight he saw Logan drop like a heavy cloak whenever they touched onto English ground again. When Finn met them somewhere, how did he explain what it was like to watch them take each other in, uncaring of where they were or who was watching. How did he explain to Logan that he was the richest person in the world because he had found everything, everything, from ease to lust to comfort to love, in one person? 

“1017,” Leo said. “You asked me to break basically the most sacred rule we’re given because you refused to let him worry about you if something went wrong. You protected him, Logan, at risk to yourself. You could never…never be bad to him. You love him so much, it hurts to look at.”

A brief silence as Logan took this in. No blood, though, so Leo thought he’d done all right.

“That’s how I found you. 1017.” Logan shifted again, pillows piled behind him. “I saw those numbers for months, I just didn’t…I woke up one day and I knew what to do with them. Just like I woke up one day and I knew French was my first language. Just like I suddenly knew my wedding band had been silver.”

Leo involuntarily looked to the hand it had once rested on. Logan was touching his ring finger. “Do you remember what happened to it?”

Leo felt bad for asking instantly. Logan’s face turned so hopelessly inconsolable, even if just for a second, that he wanted to yank the words back in.

“Non,” Logan said softly. He closed a fist around his hand. “No.”

“You could never be bad to him,” Leo said. “When your memories come back, you’ll understand.”

“If, you mean. If they come back.”

“They’re already coming back, Lo.”

The nickname made Logan look up, but he seemed to settle into it. “Not everything.”

Leo could argue with that. He had no way of helping Logan. None at all.

“You have to be patient with yourself,” he said in the end. Logan just looked back down at Finn’s sleeping face.

They were quiet again after that, but neither of them lay back down. Logan began to card his fingers through Finn’s hair. Leo didn’t know if he knew how natural that gesture was. How often Leo had seen him do it.

“You can sleep,” Logan said. “I’m not tired. I will keep watch.”

Leo began to protest, but Logan shook his head.

“Leo, please. I’ll never sleep. I don’t feel like I can.” He looked down at Finn again, then back to Leo. “I’ve been exhausted these last couple days, but now I’m just…awake. There is so much I can see. It’s just—as though it’s out of the corner of my eye. I need…I need to keep letting it come back. Please, rest.”

Leo wasn’t sure how to refuse. He didn’t want to tell Logan about the dreams, and Logan obviously wouldn’t take Leo wanting to keep him company as an excuse. He was exhausted. More than exhausted—the ear-ringing, thirsty sort of tired.

“If you’re sure,” Leo said.

Logan’s half smile brought him almost no comfort at all as he lay back against the couch.

He would pretend. He would lay here, close his eyes, keep his breathing regular. But he couldn’t fall asleep. Out of Logan’s sight he dug his nails into his palm. He couldn’t fall asleep.

The next thing he knew, he was plunged into something cold and deep and blue. Salt water filled his mouth.

It started like it always did. The weightlessness of the open ocean was pleasant for no more than a few moments—until he realized how deep he was.

Holding his breath, Leo looked up towards the glimmering surface far, far above. In his head it was miles, fathoms above him. Unreachable. The panic they were trained to master began to squirm. He seemed to be sinking, too. The light from the sun dimmed as the ocean took over. There was the shadow of a boat up there. He didn’t know who’s. He looked around, as if there was something he could push off of, give himself some leverage beyond his own desperate strokes and kicks—and he saw him.

Logan, his eyes closed, dark hair a halo around his slack face, was sinking into the dark waters below him. Remus was a few feet away.

Choose, something said. You’ll never reach them both. Choose.

Leo turned ice cold. Remus was drifting down, his limbs loose and weak in the water. Leo would have to go farther to reach him, and he’d never make it back for Logan.

And that was always the point when, suddenly, Remus’ face turned into Finn’s.

Leo let out a silent scream of his name. Because that was wrong. Finn had been no where near them, that was wrong, Finn was safe.

Choose. You’ll never reach them both.

Finn’s thick, red hair brushed across his forehead as a current swayed him just a little towards Leo. He was pale. So, so pale in the ocean’s thin light.

Leo began to swim down. He pushed, harder and harder, but it was like there was a force working against him. He stretched out a hand towards Finn, reaching even as his other hand worked to pull himself towards Logan.

But they were being swallowed by the water. He was shaking. Finn was being pulled farther and farther away. The next time Leo looked, he was just a shadow in the blue. There was no more air. Logan’s face slipped out of view and Leo shouted his name, letting the water in. When a sob forced an inhale, the water went with that, too, and Leo scratched at his own throat. He couldn’t see the water’s surface anymore. He couldn’t see anything. Logan. Logan. Logan. Logan. Leo—

“Leo.”

Leo was forced back into the apartment like a bright light being slammed on. His entire body was slick with sweat. He could feel it sliding down his temples and soaking the neck of his shirt. He sat up, trying to gasp for air, but none came. None came. None ever came. Finn was kneeling beside the couch with his hands on Leo’s shoulders.

“What…” Finn asked, frantically looking around Leo’s for signs of danger, of a wound. “Le, come on, what’s wrong. Hey, what happened, look at me, Leo.”

But Leo couldn’t answer. Air wouldn’t come. He couldn’t explain to Finn that everything was fine, it was okay, you’re okay—

“Leo?”

That soft voice. That gentle accent cupping the two sounds of his name. Lay-oh. Drowning. Pale, ocean skin, never see him again—

Leo’s eyes met Logan’s, who knelt beside Finn and put a hand on his chest. His eyes were nearly the color of summer in the wash of the yellow lamp Finn had turned on. Leo tried to gasp, but all that came was an awful, retched sound. His heart began to pound in his temples, he could feel the heat of his neck and cheeks as he struggled.

The crease between Logan’s brow was full of emotion, of life, of worry. It was nothing like the death Leo had seem on him in the dream. Nothing.

Breathe, Leo willed himself. He’s right there, you idiot, breathe, breathe.

Finally, it came back. The air. Leo gasped, then coughed hard, swinging his legs down from the couch so he could sit up and cough again, draw air again, even as Finn put a hand on his back.

“Fuck. God, can you breathe?” Finn asked hurriedly. “Leo? Leo, can you breathe?”

“I’m sorry,” Leo said hoarsely. “Yes. Sorry.”

“Oh my God,” Finn whispered. His fingers were pushing through the back of Leo’s hair now. “Oh my God, Leo. Leo?”

“I’m okay,” Leo said. His voice sounded awful. His chest ached. Blood rushed through him and brought small sparks to the edges of his vision. “Nothing happened. Nothing’s wrong. That’s all me. I can explain.”

Which of course sounded ridiculous to them. Finn pressed his forehead to Leo’s shoulder and let out a harsh breath.

“Leo,” he panted. “Jesus.”

Leo’s arms were trapped between them, but he patted Finn’s side, still trying to catch his breath. “I’m okay. I promise, I’m sorry, I…” How did he explain? How on earth did he explain? “It’s just a dream I have.”

Finn pulled back and stared at him, still horrified. “That makes you not be able to breathe? That’s not just a dream.”

“It is just a dream,” Leo said. He groaned rubbing at his eyes. “Thank God it’s just a dream…”

He peeked through his fingers at Logan, who was still watching him. He still had his hands on him. For a moment, it was almost as if he knew who Leo was completely.

To have both of them sitting next to each other again, looking at him, was more than Leo could ever have wanted. He never thought he’d see it again.

“I lost you in the ocean,” Leo said to Logan. “I lost you in the ocean, and so I’m…I’m in the ocean and you’re below me and you’re sinking.” He had to draw in a quick, ragged breath. He rubbed at his chest. “You’re sinking, you’re drowning, maybe you’re already dead, and I’m trying to reach you and then Finn is sinking, drowning, and I never reach you. I never do and—and when I wake up, I just…I can’t breathe. Nothing is wrong with me, but I just can’t. For a few seconds, I can’t.”

“Why did you never say anything?” Finn asked. “To me, why did you never—”

“Because…” Leo shook his head. “Why would I tell you something like that? That’s a horrible image, I didn’t want that in your head, Finn.”

“Why would you…” Finn rose up on his knees, closer. “Leo. You watched me fall asleep crying and wake up crying for months. And you think you can’t tell me?”

Leo, very suddenly, felt that he might cry himself. “I…”

Finn saw it immediately and put his hand back on Leo’s chest. “You know how bad it was. You know I would have understood. You heard those messages I left Lo. Those hundreds of messages…”

Leo’s eyes widened, new heat rising to his chest. “I—no. No, I didn’t…”

But Finn tilted his head, brown eyes soft and imploring. “It’s okay. It’s okay if you listened. I know they went through you now. You kept us connected when I thought it was all lost.”

Leo shook his head, a surprised, hitching sob clawing up his throat. He covered his eyes briefly and willed it away. “Only when—only when I couldn’t be there. I only listened when I was called away and I couldn’t come over, only when I needed to know you were at least a little all right—”

“All the while you weren’t all right—Leo.” Finn drew him close, pressing their foreheads together.

Beside them, Logan sat back on his heels in a jerky movement, like someone had tried to knock him over. He put a hand over his mouth. Leo looked in time to see blood coat his fingers, and then Logan let out a sound that was half a cry of pain, half a curse. His knuckles were white on Leo’s knee.

Leo didn’t think. He drew the hem of his t-shirt forward and cupped the back of Logan’s head while he pressed the cloth to his nose.

“Shit,” Leo said. “Logan?”

“Oh, Lo,” Finn whispered.

“I don’t know,” Logan gasped. His voice was thick from a blocked up nose and his eyes squeezing shut before opening wide to the ceiling. “I don’t know, I don’t know.”

“Shh,” Leo hushed. “Lo, it’s okay. It’s not your fault. It’s not your fault.”

This was too much. Too soon, too heavy. Leo didn’t know how the memories worked, but he’d learned enough to see that these things had to come slowly. Force only brought Logan pain.

“I feel like it was,” Logan said. “I feel—I feel like I knew. Something. I feel…”

Leo could hardly watch him struggle. Leo tilted Logan’s face up towards him to wipe the blood away as best he could. He didn’t realize he was stroking a thumb over Logan’s temple until Logan closed his eyes and leaned into his hand.

“It’s not your fault,” Leo repeated. He looked at Finn, but Finn didn’t seem to mind, so he kept his hand half buried in Logan’s soft hair. “Logan, you didn’t know this would happen.”

“Leo’s right,” Finn said. “Lo, you didn’t know.”

Logan’s voice sounded small. “How can you be sure of that?”

Finn reached out and wiped the last streak of blood from Logan’s nose, then wiped it on his own shirt.

“Because you would never leave me like that,” Finn said firmly. “You never would.”

Leo left them only to splash cold water over his face. He looked ragged and pale to himself in the bathroom mirror. He watched his own chest rise and fall until his breath came easier and his head stopped throbbing. Then he switched off the light and went back into the main room. Finn and Logan were talking in low voices back in bed and Leo made his way to the couch. Maybe he should shower. he was still soaked in sweat. But exhaustion was taking over again.

“Leo,” Logan’s voice came.

Leo looked over his shoulder as he pulled his blanket back. “Yeah?”

Logan looked at Finn, who nodded, then put a hand flat on the mattress between the two of them. “Sleep. Here.”

“I—what?”

Finn patted the space more firmly. “Come here and sleep in a real bed.”

Leo straightened, the blanket falling from his hands. “You want all three of us to sleep in that bed?”

They just looked at him. Logan, a little frustrated now, hit the space.

“Allez.”

Of all the things Leo had expected to do right then, laughing was not among them. Even Finn smiled.

“What?” Logan asked.

“Nothing.” Finn looked at Leo for help.

“That was just…” Leo stopped at the end of the bed. “Very you.”

Logan brightened a bit at that, pleased.

“Oh,” he said, and lay down, folding his hands across his chest expectantly.

Leo felt a little bashful, crawling across the bed, but it was so warm once Leo was under their covers that he shivered and didn’t care whether they were just being kind. Some deeper sort of thaw began to take place in his chest. Finn curled an arm around Leo’s waist, turning into him. He hadn’t even held Logan like that, yet, and here Leo was, wrapped up between them.

“Okay?” Logan whispered, eyes already closing.

“Mhm,” Leo managed to say. Maybe this would keep the dreams at bay.

Finn knocked his forehead gently against Leo’s temple and Leo turned his head to meet his gaze.

“Thank you,” Leo whispered.

Finn just put a hand on the side of his face and pressed a gentle, soundless kiss to his cheek, just near the corner of Leo’s mouth.

When he pulled back, that familiar worry was there, but muted. At least for now.

“He dreams about you, too,” Finn said, and closed his eyes.

[lisbeth-kk]

Sherlock fandom. Part 1 Part 2

A Girl’s Touch

Thunder and lightning wakes John. The wind is making the windowpanes rattle. He is icy cold. On his left wrist an icicle feels his pulse point.

“That’s insane and you know it,” he scolds himself.

“John.”

He knows that voice. Would recognise it anywhere.

“Sherlock?” he croaks and opens his eyes. “What the hell happened?”

To John’s astonishment he’s lying in the bed where he found Sherlock, who sits crossed legged by his side. The icicle is in fact Sherlock’s thumb, still holding on to John’s wrist. John tries to focus on that beloved face, but his vision is quite blurry.

“It takes a while getting used to. Close your eyes and rest,” Sherlock says softly and squeezes John’s hand.

“But what about – “

“Later, John.”

***

His shoulder is on fire. Not literally but it certainly feels like it. John didn’t see the sniper. The pain is a shock. It’s a violent sort of pain. He can almost hear the damage the bullet did to him.

The cane. Where is his cane? He needs it. Instead, his gun is in his hand. What does he need a gun for? With narrowed eyes, he peers out of the window and over to the opposite building. Sherlock! He is about to take that bloody pill. The cabbie is watching him intently, holding a similar capsule. John fires the gun.

Sherlock is standing on the roof of Barts. He stretches out his arms. The image of a gigantic bat fills John’s mind. Sherlock jumps.

A fourposter bed with green curtains. Like a male Snow White, Sherlock lies on the bed. Dark curls against white pillows. His pale face is reminiscent of marble. Sherlock’s lips aren’t pink anymore, but pale like his face and tinted with blue. Dead.

***

John wakes with a cry, but although he lies in a comfortable bed, he’s cold. To the bone. Still, he doesn’t freeze or shiver. Sherlock’s chilly presence is comforting. He’s still holding his thumb over John’s pulse point. John tries to steady himself, which takes no effort at all, surprisingly enough. There’s no racing heart or thudding pulse to fill the silence. Only serene and eerie soundlessness.

“Have you figured it out yet, John?” Sherlock asks.

“What do you mean, Sherlock?” 

“Observe,” the detective commands.

Cold, but not freezing. Feeling a calmness that should be unsettling but isn’t. No heartbeats, ergo no pulse. Dead.

The panic that normally would rise in him, is blessedly absent. He looks up at Sherlock, who smiles at him. Fondly. Which should be terrifying but isn’t. 

“I knew you’d get there,” Sherlock says and lies down beside John.

“We’re dead,” John states flatly.

“Indeed,” Sherlock agrees.

“How did it happen?” John wants to know.

It’s liberating and a tad bit unnerving to feel so calm. Like, there’s nothing more to worry about. Which is true. Nothing can hurt him or Sherlock anymore now. 

Lightning strikes, illuminating Sherlock’s face. A smile forms on his lips, and John knows that if he was alive, a flood of relief would’ve washed over him.

“The little girl’s touch did it,” Sherlock says. “She must have touched you too after you realised it was me lying here.”

“What little girl?” John asks bewildered.

“The East Wind, John. Do keep up!”

The exasperation in Sherlock’s voice almost makes John laugh.

“Nobody’s called that, Sherlock! Besides, there was no girl.”

“Yes, and yes, John. She told me it was her name. You should know better than to think I'm making stuff up like this.”

Sherlock looks indignant and withdraws to the other side of the bed.

“He truly believes what he’s saying,” John thinks to himself.

He reaches out his hand to touch Sherlock’s upper arm. Sherlock is stiff like the poles surrounding the bed.

“Hey,” John says quietly. “I’m sorry I didn’t believe you, but I haven’t seen anyone but you since we sat foot in this godforsaken place.”

“She likes to sit in the rocking chair in the nursery,” Sherlock mumbles.

John startles when the wind increases. Outside something cracks, followed by a heavy thud. It sounds like a large branch has fallen to the ground. Hit by lightning possibly.

John plays Sherlock’s words in his head once more: “She likes to sit in the rocking chair in the nursery.”

The chair that moved. The girl sat in it when John was in there!

“I saw the chair move, but I couldn’t see her,” John explains.

“Pity. She’s quite mischievous. Reminds me of myself when I was a boy. The name too. Peculiar, like mine and Mycroft’s,” Sherlock muses.

“The East Wind is even more – “

“Not that. What it means in Greek. Her name is Eurus.”

THE END

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

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[toxicanonymity]

when will the next raider be out?? my desperation is almost concerning at this point😪😪

J. Miller

2k / DARK raider!Joel x f!reader / raider master

mood board by @serenaxpedro

Picks up from Raider: Failed Escape.

Credits/shoutouts: @chernayawidow & commenters, rope kink anon, anal anons, prob more. switchblade gif

WARNINGS: I8+ mdni. DEAD DOVE painful skin carving, manhandling, rope restraints, dubcon via captivity, unsafe P in V, overstimulation & noncon anal creampie, fingering, angst, crying, dacryphilia, pet names.

This one is skippable (as are most) if you're not into the warnings. Just go ahead to Raider: Home (fluffier).

Joel drags you to a back room in the stash house.  His cum is trickling down your thigh from the van ride as he pulls you by the elbow in your forlorn dress and the men look away obediently.  The room has two cots.  He throws you down on the one with the radiator behind it.  Then he gets on the mattress and puts his weight on the radiator, trying to move it, making sure it's solid, not too rusted.  When he's satisfied, he puts his hands on the filthy mattress, hovering over you.  Your eyes try to meet his, but it's like he's looking past you.  His brow furrows and he sighs regretfully.  

"Ya had to run,” he laments ominously. “Why'd ya do it, sweet pea?"

"It's not you.  The others, they scare me. They look at me when you turn around, and I heard-" you think better of telling him what you heard in the van, for now. 

His face hardens. "You heard what?"

"Nothing"

He firmly grabs your jaw.  "You better tell me right now."

"They said you couldn't watch me every second." 

He lets you go and his nostrils flare as he fumes. "WHO said it?"

"Jackson. I think." 

He nods, unsurprised, then takes a deep breath and cracks his neck without using his hands. "We'll deal with Jackson, I promise. Got somethin' else to take care of first." 

-

He takes some rope out of the duffle bag.   "don't need this yet if you can be a good girl for me." 

He straddles you, sitting on your crotch but not with all his weight. "only take a minute." He backs down toward your feet and his warm package meets your thighs as he leans forward.  He squeezes your legs together with his. Then he pulls out his switchblade and pops it open. 

“What are you doing??”

“We’re gonna make sure everybody knows you're mine.”   He caresses your collar bone with a calloused thumb. "So they won't hurt you." He looks at you with soft eyes.  "Wanna pick a side?”

“No.” You’re too tired to think about it. 

“You sure?”

“I don’t care.”

“Then we'll do both."

You whimper. 

"C'mere, sweet pea.  Close your eyes," he says soothingly.  He bends down and holds your skin taut with his left hand while the tip of the blade begins to puncture it, sending a cold chill through you. He glances down to your nipples which have puckered to form little tents under the thin dress.  

The blade digs into the skin on your right collar bone, drags, then curves.  The cold heat of it burns and you squirm as he ends his first stroke.   "Owwwww," you whine. 

"Shhhhh. It's okay, baby. Sit still.”

He does the next stroke faster, carving one quick line to finish the J.  Then he carves a tiny “x.”  You manage to sit still even though it hurts worse than the first strokes: J.

"Doin' great, sweet pea. Be over in no time." 

He moves to your left collar bone and carves a few straight strokes, making the beginning of an  "M." 

When the point of the blade comes down in a place he already carved, pain shoots through your chest, making you flinch.  Joel's face goes dark then he firmly grabs you and gives you a frustrated shake against the bed. 

"Stop movin', damnit. It's for your own good."

He digs his elbow and forearm into your ribcage and pins you with his body weight. It hurts, but what’s worse is that he's mad.  You deserve it, though. You tried to run today and that might have hurt him.

He resumes carving.  You flinch again with the first "L" and his massive hand wraps around your throat. 

"What'd I just say?"

He loosens his grip enough to let you answer. 

"Stop moving. But I couldn't."

"You're makin' me do this, sweet pea. I don't wanna." He lets go of your throat and picks up the rope.  

He ties you down on the bed, tighter and more elaborate than necessary with the rope firmly digging into your breasts and arms.  He uses a separate rope for your ankles. Then he settles back in on top of you.  You admire his biceps and perfect facial hair. Such a handsome man.  Such a bad man.  But worse of all, so disappointed in you.  You start sniffling, then the tears start falling. 

"Shhhh. I know, baby. I know.  We're halfway done." 

He carves again and you feel a trickle of blood run toward your neck.  You sob. 

He pauses to look at your face and briefly tugs at the crotch of his tight jeans where a bulge is growing.  He adjusts his hips and moves upward so he has to curl his spine to reach where he's carving, but can rest his hardening cock against your cunt.  Arousal washes over you, numbing some of the pain. 

He carves the second "L" and your back arches with the pain.  

"Keep your chest still," he grumbles. "'less you wanna get real hurt."  

The "E" has so many lines, so many connecting points, you can't.  When  the middle line connects with the vertical line, the pressure of his arm and the rope keeps your chest down but your hips lift into his, making his hardness swell against you.  He pushes back with it and takes a loud breath in, then a vocal exhale. 

He doesn't take his eyes off your chest as he says, "Careful, sweet pea. You'll get what you ask for and a whole lot more."   He reaches back and unties the rope from your ankles.  Then he spreads your legs and lays his hard bulge between them, making your pussy purr.  You weren't trying to fuck him, consciously at least, but the insinuation makes you wet. 

He gently thrusts against you as he carves the “R" and you manage to stay still.  But then he goes back and improves some of his previous lines and the pain is unbearable.  You flinch and squirm. 

"God damnit, you were doin' so good,"  he mutters. He closes the switchblade, then pockets it.  Then he shoves his hand between your naked legs, engulfing your wet cunt. 

"Turn you on, bein' bad? When I'm tryin' to keep ya safe?" He plunges two thick fingers into you.  

"No," you shake your head. "It just hurt, that's all."  Your nose gets snotty with your tears. 

He pulls out his fingers and pulls them apart, a clear string hanging between them. 

"I wanna be good, I'll be good, I swear."

"You're goddamn right you will." He puts his slippery fingers in your mouth and you suck them clean. 

He strokes the skin next to the J on your chest and drags his finger a few inches.  “room for three more letters if ya need'em." 

He starts unbuttoning his tight, stretchy jeans and your breath hitches. 

"Ya know, there was a girl at that house today. Sucked some damn good cock."

It's not rational, but your heart aches thinking about him doing anything with or even to anyone else. 

"I can do it," you offer. "

"Coulda left ya with FEDRA, taken her home. Woulda been easier."

You whimper. "I’m really sorry." 

"There's somethin' about ya, sweet pea." He looks concerned by what he's saying.  "Not everyday I make someone mine." He sighs.  "But god damnit, you better behave."

You swallow and aren’t sure why you say, "Yes sir." 

He raises his eyebrows.  "Goddamn right.  Know why?"  

"You protect me"

"That's right. . . and I like takin' care of my good girl. But only my good girl, and if that ain't you, I got no use for ya." 

You can't make one wrong move at this point.  

-

He takes his imposing erection in his hand and readies himself under your dress.  He wastes no time shoving it into you with such force that he bottoms out in one go. "There ya go, baby."  He plunges in hard and deep, nudging that special spot inside.  You moan, his eyes darken, and he repeats the motion nice and deep.   

With the rope holding you still, he rails you harder than ever.  His thrusts are rough, powerful bursts, not smooth or continuous. A drop of sweat falls into the carving on your chest.  It stings and you whine.  The rope rubs and burns your skin. But soon, he's fucking you so hard it drowns out every other feeling.  His power and pace are relentless.  It's the opposite of what you felt in the van. You remind yourself what he said - you come when he says. Your face contorts as you try to hold off. 

"It's okay baby, you can come." 

His thick cock now impales you continuously, and soon you're unraveling, clenching around his cock, the rope digging harder into your skin as your spine arches.  As soon as you contract around him, he slides his hands up your stomach to your tits, groping them roughly as he keeps pounding you and your climax continues.  

Then as you’re almost finished coming, he slows down and brings a hand to your clit.  He starts going to town with his fingers while his cock is still inside you, fucking you in small pulses. The overstimulation has you squirming. 

"Too much," you whine. Your eyes well up in tears. This is what he wants.  

He picks up the intensity of his fingers. It's killing you. Your poor clit is aching to rest. 

"You come when I say. And you're gonna come again." 

"I can't, it's too much, it hurts."

He keeps a thumb at your clit but intensifies the thrusts of his huge cock until he's full-on railing you again. He puts your ankles over his shoulders, pounding you even deeper, the head of his cock pushing your g-spot. 

You whimper, clawing at the mattress beneath you as you reach the edge of bliss again and implode with pleasure on his cock. Your body jerks and a tear rolls down your cheek. 

"Good girl."

“I’m gonna be sore,” you sniffle. His face hardens.  “But I wanna be good."

He pulls out and just as you're feeling some relief, you feel his wet tip at your asshole. 

“Wait-”  you’re not prepared for this.  Joel pauses, to your surprise. 

“I’ve never really done it,” you tell him, then quickly add, "but it's okay." Wouldn't matter to him if it wasn't okay, you just want points for behaving. 

“Aw, sweet pea. . . try to relax for me.” 

You take a deep breath and before you can exhale he slowly pushes his slippery cock into your ass. Your eyes go wide and sting.

It's hard to tell if it hurts so bad you're numb, or if it's just such a shock. He holds your legs up with his hands around the front of your thighs as he fills your body with his massive cock, claiming another hole for himself.  He's prodding something deep inside you, something you didn't know about. It's like when he fucks your cunt nice and deep, but you feel fuller. 

Somehow, another climax is building, and it overwhelms you.  It's almost like you like the pain. He pushes into your ass again and again until finally his chest is swelling more with each breath and his grunts become erratic.  

He slams into your ass once more, then pulses his warm load into your guts.  As he finishes emptying his balls, you start to come.  He pulls out and brings his mouth between your legs, making it far too much for you as you whimper, "Joel, please!" But the best he'll do is slow down. He won't stop until he's made you come one more time. Then, he finally puts his dick away. Your body is limp and spent. 

He sits on the bed with you and holds the FEDRA handcuffs in his lap, looking at the radiator contemplatively.  He whispers, "Jackson said that, huh?" The paradoxical softness of his voice makes you swoon.  You're silent with regret for bringing it up. 

He cuffs you to the radiator.  "For your own good. Back in a minute." Joel whistles to summon your designated guard and reminds the guard what'll happen to him if anything happens to you. 

It starts to sting while he's gone. Within a few minutes, Joel returns disappointed.  "I'm sure he’ll be back in a few days," he says as he unties you. He squeezes his hand into his tight pants pocket to retrieve the key to the cuffs. "C'mon. Let's get away from these animals."

He packs up, grabs the duffle bag, and takes you up the hill to his trailer. On the walk, he says, "you gotta talk to me, sweet pea. Someone botherin' ya, tell me. Runnin's not the way."  

--

Next: Raider: Home

Thanks as always for your support and engagement. 

-

All Joel: @ethanhoewke @silkiers @eiviea @evyiione @xdaddysprincessxx @queerly-anxious @chernayawidow @ambassadortotrilliusprime @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog @jasminespringtime @romanarose  @fandomsfallnomore @djarinxore @lokanda @blackvelveteen1339   @manazo @wolvesandvampires  @taeslarityy @str84pedro @kyloispunk @filthfairy @fieryglutenfreechickennoodles @harriedandharassed @moonlightdivine @worhols @fan-fiction-floozy @cutesyscreenname @weddingfairy @feministfanboi

Raider: @randomhoe @princessloveweird @mugshotqueen @anas-dreamer @eggnox @dindjarins-brown-eyed-girl @tulipsatmidnight @imaginary98 @zliteraturehoe @neobanguniverse

[yanderenightmare]

im with anon, i'll take 500 words or less! anything you have of nasty shigaraki to spare, i'll gladly take with a smile:) also, kinda unrelated, but maybe not ;) iv'e never seen you do soulmate aus?

BNHA ! IMAGINE

Shigaraki Tomura x darling

I love soulmate aus! But only when I give them my own awful unromantic spin. 

TW: soulmate au, yandere, implied noncon/dubcon

I like to think the words written on your arm are “Why aren’t you dead?” and the fear you felt in your heart when you first heard them being spoken – lying naked in the decay of a city Tomura had just leveled with the single touch of his fingertips. Followed shortly by the sound of your voice cracking into a scream and a cry when you cough up those few pitiful words written on his arm – “No, please, no!”

I like to think Tomura hates you for making him go through his entire life, knowing those were the first words his soulmate would ever say to him – and how he’s going to torture you for it by forcing you into doing nightmarish versions of all those romantic clichés soulmates usually do.

You try to run even knowing how silly it was, crawling barefoot over sharp crumbling debris with your heart in your throat. He grabs you with ease and takes you home – each wrist and ankle tied tight to the other, a piece of ripped cloth gagging you, and a sack pulled over your head – your naked skin dusty with ashes of people and buildings laid to waste while he holds you in a bridal carry.

You were thrown on the bed with a startled yelp, bouncing on the springy mattress for a moment before stilling and sinking – swearing that the soft feel of it was moist and clammy to the touch, clinging to your skin while slowly swallowing you -and stuffy as though a million spores had just burst upon your impact, spewing out a thick fermented stench that stuck in your throat like a coat of slime.

You heard a door being locked and a key being hidden before feeling his presence crawl over you again where you lay, tied up and shaking. 

Your hood disintegrated a moment later, leaving you to stare up into those beady red eyes.

“Psh-” He scoffed, having cast a glance over your face, from the teary streaks running through the ashy dust on your cheeks to the shifty whimpers leaving your lips. “Who would’ve guessed my soulmate would be a pretty thing like you?” 

You swore it sounded less like a compliment and more like a jeer while his dry lips further cracked when stretched over the horrid smile that soon broke across his face – sharp like jagged shards of glass you feared would cut you. You shriveled in sight of it, feeling all types of gross and all types of dread twisting your gut as his hand, pale and dry like the rest of him yet unexpectedly warm, started to touch.

Your eyes swiveled with dread, spinning while eerily watching him and how his own two followed the path of his hand. Beginning at your neck in slow fascinated strokes – all five fingers with crass fissures scratching down your jugular and collarbones, making your breath hitch. Drawing down your body with a deepening sense of ownership.

And all you were left to do was chew the cloth spreading your teeth and lips, wettening it with pitiful whimpers and cries. Hands wringing pointlessly, charred and aching from the strict bonds keeping them locked snug beneath you.

A sudden giggle sprung from him then. A dry type of snicker that came from somewhere raspy deep in his lungs. Almost sounding painful if it weren’t for the glistering gleam of something terribly perverted pooling in his eyes – and the tongue that suddenly swept up your face.

“Fate can be such a sweet bitch, can’t it?”

[sassenach77yle]

7x09 “Unfinished Business”

JENNY & YOUNG IAN

AS THE TIME GREW SHORTER, Ian found it impossible to sleep. The need to go, to find Rachel, burned in him so that he felt hot coals in the pit of his stomach all of the time. Auntie Claire called it heartburn, and it was. She said it was from bolting his food, though, and it wasn’t that—he could barely eat.He spent his days with his father, as much as he could. Sitting in the corner of the speak-a-word room, watching his father and his elder brother go about the business of Lallybroch, he couldn’t understand how it would be possible to stand up and walk away, to leave them behind. To leave his father forever behind.During the days, there were things to be done, folk to be visited, to talk to, and the land to be walked over, the stark beauty of it soothing when his feelings grew too heated to bear. At night, though, the house lay quiet, the creaking silence punctuated by his father’s distant cough and his two young nephews’ heavy breathing in the room beside him. He began to feel the house itself breathe around him, drawing one ragged, heavy-chested gasp after another, and to feel the weight of it on his own chest, so he sat up in bed, gulping air only to be sure he could. And finally he would slide out of bed, steal downstairs with his boots in his hands, and let himself out of the kitchen door to walk the night under clouds or stars, the clean wind fanning the coals of his heart to open flame, until he should find his tears and peace in which to shed them.One night he found the door unbolted already. He went out cautiously, looking round, but saw no one. Likely Young Jamie gone to the barn; one of the two cows was due to calf any day. He should go and help, maybe … but the burning under his ribs was painful, he needed to walk a bit first. Jamie would have fetched him in any case, had he thought he needed help.He turned away from the house and its outbuildings and headed up the hill, past the sheep pen, where the sheep lay in somnolent mounds, pale under the moon, now and then emitting a soft, sudden bah!, as though startled by some sheep dream.Such a dream took shape before him suddenly, a dark form moving against the fence, and he uttered a brief cry that made the nearer sheep start and rustle in a chorus of low-pitched bahs.“Hush, a bhailach,” his mother said softly. “Get this lot started, and ye’ll wake the dead.”He could make her out now, a small, slender form, with her unbound hair a soft mass against the paleness of her shift.

Speak o’ the dead,” he said rather crossly, forcing his heart down out of his throat. “I thought ye were a ghost. What are ye doing out here, Mam?”“Counting sheep,” she said, a thread of humor in her voice. “That’s what ye’re meant to do when ye canna sleep, aye?”“Aye.” He came and stood beside her, leaning on the fence. “Does it work?”“Sometimes.”They stood still for a bit, watching the sheep stir and settle. They smelled sweetly filthy, of chewed grass and sheep shit and greasy wool, and Ian found that it was oddly comforting just to be with them.“Does it work to count them, when ye ken already how many there are?” he asked, after a short silence. His mother shook her head.“No, I say their names over. It’s like saying the rosary, only ye dinna feel the need to be asking. It wears ye down, asking.”Especially when ye ken the answer’s going to be no, Ian thought, and moved by sudden impulse, put his arm around her shoulders. She made a small sound of amused surprise, but then relaxed, laying her head against him. He could feel the small bones of her, light as a bird’s, and thought his heart might break.They stood for a while that way, and then she freed herself, gently, moving away a little and turning to him.“Sleepy yet?”“No.”“Aye, well. Come on, then.” Not waiting for an answer, she turned and made her way through the dark, away from the house.There was a moon, half full, and he’d been out more than long enough for his eyes to adjust; it was simple to follow, even through the jumbled grass and stones and heather that grew on the hill behind the house.Where was she taking him? Or rather, why? For they were heading uphill, toward the old broch—and the burying ground that lay nearby. He felt a chill round his heart—did she mean to show him the site of his father’s grave?But she stopped abruptly and stooped, so he nearly tripped over her. Straightening up, she turned and put a pebble into his hand.“Over here,” she said softly, and led him to a small square stone set in the earth. He thought it was Caitlin’s grave—the child who’d come before Young Jenny, the sister who’d lived but one day—but then saw that Caitlin’s stone lay a few feet away.

This one was the same size and shape, but—he squatted by it, and running his fingers over the shadows of its carving, made out the name.

Yeksa’a.

“Mam,” he said, and his voice sounded strange to his own ears.

.“Is that right, Ian?” she said, a little anxious. “Your da said he wasna quite certain of the spelling of the Indian name. I had the stone carver put both, though. I thought that was right.”

“Both?” But his hand had already moved down and found the other name.

Iseabaíl.

He swallowed hard.“That was right,” he said very softly. His hand rested flat on the stone, cool under his palm.She squatted down beside him, and reaching, put her own pebble on the stone. It was what you did, he thought, stunned, when you came to visit the dead. You left a pebble to say you’d been there; that you hadn’t forgotten.His own pebble was still in his other hand; he couldn’t quite bring himself to lay it down. Tears were running down his face, and his mother’s hand was on his arm.

“It’s all right, mo duine,” she said softly. “Go to your young woman. Ye’ll always be here wi’ us.”

The steam of his tears rose like the smoke of incense from his heart, and he laid the pebble gently on his daughter’s grave. Safe among his family.It wasn’t until many days later, in the middle of the ocean, that he realized his mother had called him a man.

83 COUNTING SHEEP ~ An Echo in the Bone

[clanwarrior-tumbly]

Can I maybe Request a oneshot of a Friendly alternative Reader who is comforting Mark after saving him from the other alternatives? This man needs a break..and some of his fav movies with junk food like pizza and such while wrapped in a blanket. :(

"GET OUT!! LEAVE ME ALONE!!! NOW!!"

Despite the loud shouts of the terrified human who held a gun in his trembling hands, you just calmly stared down at him. He had been screaming nonstop ever since you and two other Alternates broke into his house.

However, he didn't realize that those ones were gone...because of your intervention.

Sure, it was common for Alternates to fight each other over human victims, but you didn't chase them out just so you could take over this one's identity or drive him to suicide.

No.

You in fact arrived here to save him.

You've been watching him for quite some time--ever since that encounter with the "Intruder". Yet you never made yourself known to him, curious about his behavior as a human.

And it made you want to protect him from all things evil and vile. It sounds ironic, considering you're one of those evil and vile things that haunted his existence, and showed up at his bedroom door on this very night.

But you only look the part, deep down you've developed things like "empathy" and "compassion"...and you wanted to show Mark that you're not out to harm anybody. You hoped that by fighting the other Alternates, he'd see that and at least put the gun down.

Yet he kept it trained on you, finger on the trigger.

Every time you tried talking, he believed you're attempting to inflict MAD on him and would start shouting curses, prayers, and whatnot, demanding you to leave.

"You don't understand, little one. I'm here to help you-"

"You can "help me" by dropping DEAD!! I'll fucking do it, I swear!!" He screamed, his voice nearly giving out.

It was very much obvious that his vocal cords couldn't take the strain. With his dehydration and all of the screaming and crying he's done for hours on end--begging for his parents and for his God to help--it's a miracle he could still even speak.

But it's clear that this conversation wasn't going anywhere. Talking's not the solution.

So you decided to let him shoot you and see what happens. As much as you hated for him to learn the truth...what else could you do in this moment?

You knew the bullet wouldn't hurt, but he didn't.

When you reached for his gun, he yelled and pulled the trigger--

Yet you barely even flinched, much to his horror; not even a slight wince of pain escaped your mouth.

"Wh..What..?" Mark shuddered, eyes growing wide as they darted all over your shadowed form, not finding any wounds nor blood whatsoever.

Where the hell did the bullet go?

It was like..you absorbed it or had some bulletproof skin.

'But those broadcasts...they told us that firearms would-'

"They lied to you, Mark. No manmade weapon can kill us." You regrettably told him, seeing the realization hit him. "Despite what your government has told you, a gun will not keep you safe. We may mimic humans, but we do not follow the same laws of biology as you."

"..n-no..that's..." He seemed to be in utter denial, dropping the gun as his arms fell back to his sides. "I don't believe it.....why would they..?"

Staring at you in shock, he could see a look of sadness flashing in your eyes. And he felt tears filling up his own, his whole body trembling as he wondered what else those broadcasts could have possibly lied about.

"I-Is that true?"

"Unfortunately, yes." You nodded your head. "But that's not the only thing: your law enforcement won't be here to help. They were given orders to ignore people who cry "Alternate"...because they fear mass causalities and assimilation attempts."

".....no...I....I-I called them so many times, and they said they'd help me! They said someone was on the way!!" His voice cracked as he slumped back onto his bed, face buried in his hands; the shock was slowly becoming too much for him to handle.

"I'm sorry.." You muttered. "But nobody is coming. Those are just comforting lies disguising a painful truth."

He couldn't understand any of it.

Guns didn't work?

The police won't deal with Alternates?

Did they just give up on protecting terrified, innocent civilians like himself?

How could he put his faith in them..or anyone, for that matter?

What was the point of surviving if nobody was going to save him?

Why bother living?

Mark put his hands down, his gaze flickering to the gun on the floor. And for a brief moment he considered just ending it all...right here, right now.

He wouldn't have to hide anymore.

He wouldn't have to feel this pain.

He wouldn't have to feel so...afraid.

And yet he couldn't bring himself to immediately grab it. Instead he stared at you, wondering why you attacked those two Alternates and didn't try to harm him now that he let you in.

What was so special about him? His life was meaningless. He didn't know where Cesar was, his sister was out of town, and nobody at school noticed he was missing class...he was all alone.

If anything, he was a perfect target.

Why spare his life?

"..j-just leave me be.." Out of pure distraught, he began to weep again, curling up on the bed and hugging himself like a terrified child. Hot tears streaked down his face as he begged you to go away, not wanting to hear one more horrible truth from you.

You frowned slightly, feeling some guilt in knowing you've told this man things he didn't wish to hear; yet it wasn't anything metaphysical that would've given him a severe case of MAD.

If you went any further and mentioned that he had been praying to a false god his entire life...he probably would've grabbed that gun already.

Surely, some other Alternate would have jumped on that opportunity But not you.

Instead, you wanted to comfort him, though you weren't sure what to do at first. He wasn't threatening you, but obviously he was still quite freaked out.

So you stood up and looked around his room for anything that could help him calm down, eventually spotting a blanket tossed into the corner. It looked slightly dirty upon closer examination, but otherwise soft as you picked it up.

Looking back at Mark, you could see his head resting on his knees, shoulders trembling and jolting every other second. 'Is he cold?' You wondered.

The air did feel quite chilly in this room. Perhaps this blanket could help.

As he sensed your presence becoming closer, he raised his head rather quickly, about to scream at you to leave--

Only to stop when he felt the weight of the familiar cotton fabric being wrapped around his shoulders, and he watched your claws gently adjust it so it didn't fall off.

You kneeled in front of him, ensuring it was brought around the front of his torso, your eyes seemingly smiling at him. "Does that feel better? You must've been so cold..you humans have such fragile skin. Very vulnerable to the harsh elements of your world."

Sniffling, his eyebrows furrowed as he just stared back at you in silence, utterly dumbfounded by your behavior. Yet he couldn't help but nod in agreement to your words, feeling a warmth overcome him.

Why were you acting like this?

After all, he tried to kill you. So why were you so merciful?

He didn't know what to say.

Your eyes wandered to the home phone that was on his bed, taking it. "I learned that..humans like to eat when they're in distress. You must be famished, little lamb. You hadn't left this room for days...do you have food out there?"

"...n-no." Mark shook his head, surprised when you handed the phone to him, and he shakily grasped it. "What..do you want me to do?"

"Takeout."

"...huh..?"

"The youth of your kind like "takeout". So get takeout for yourself." Standing up, you backed away and smiled, seeing that he looked a little more comfortable.

Although he had so many questions, you simply left the room, ensuring the nightlight in the corner was still on beforehand.

He sniffled as he wiped the tears from his eyes with the blanket, sighing and staring at the numbers on the phone. Then he finally decided to dial the local pizza place.

He could go for some after all the hell he's been through.

..........

When the delivery guy arrived to Mark's house, you were nowhere to be found, and so he tried to act as normal as possible while paying for the pizza.

It was a rather awkward exchange considering he hasn't had any human contact in days (not to mention going through one of the most traumatic experiences of his life).

But when they asked if he was alright, he lied about going through a "tough breakup". And they wished him a good day before leaving.

After closing the door, he turned around--

Nearly dropping the box in fright when he saw you standing by the couch.

"What did you get?"

"God-!! D-Don't do that." He spoke through gritted teeth. "Why are you still here? What do you want from me?"

"I'd like to know what pizza tastes like." You tilted your head like a curious cat.

"......"

"......."

"....it's cheese." Sighing, Mark just went over the couch, setting the box down on the coffee table. In the blink of an eye, you were sitting beside him.

Since you were awfully tall, you knees were touching your chest, and you rested your arms on them as you smiled down at the human. You noticed he still kept the blanket wrapped around himself.

He looked quite cute, if you'll be honest.

It was awful quiet in the house as he took a slice of pizza and chewed on it, seemingly staring off into the distance, thinking.

You had taken up a slice, too, revealing your sharp humanlike teeth as they bit down on the gooey cheese. And your eyes lit up with delight at the flavor....before you rapidly consumed it.

"Woah, what the hell?!" Mark was startled, watching you swallow it whole with wide eyes. "Damn, I guess..you were hungry, huh?"

"I don't need food, but..it was quite delicacy."

"..you mean delicious?"

"...yes." You realized your error. "So...what else do you usually do?"

"Why do you wanna know?" He scowled, his hostility returning. "So you can mimic my routine when you takeover-?"

"Mark, I've already told you..that's not my intention."

"But why? Those other two tried to kill me! One mimicked my best friend..th-the other tried getting inside my fucking head...but you...you just attacked them. Why?"

"Because unlike most Alternates who lack empathy and compassion...I happen to have those." You gently explained to him. "Think of me as...a sheep in wolf's clothing, if you will. I don't follow the Savior's-"

"Wait..the Savior?" He blinked slowly. "You don't mean-"

"No, no..not yours." You reassured him. "We have a different Savior who says we should annihilate humanity, but I disagree. So I chose my own path. I wanna help your kind because...well...there's a lot of beauty to be found in it. Like you."

"Me?" Mark raised an eyebrow, doubting that he exemplified anything "beautiful" about humans. "I'm just a kid who pointed a gun at you."

Looking down at him, you shook your head. "There's beauty in your desire to survive, little lamb. You showed fortitude while most would have crumbled at the first sight of me. That alone was impressive."

"...yeah, well..my "fortitude" was great before I knew that the broadcasts fucking lied to us." He felt his eyes starting to sting again, and he hastily wiped them, not wanting to look pathetic and helpless in front of you anymore. "So is that their plan? To leave our lives in your hands and basically tell us to fuck off if we call about an encounter?"

"......."

"...right, you told me. I guess we'd be even more screwed if Alternates started mimicking cops." His shoulders slumped, suddenly losing his appetite as he stared at the few pizza slices that remained, only now realizing you've eaten most of them.

But he didn't care.

He just wanted to be done caring.

You could tell a lot of this new information was weighing heavily on his mind, so you wondered if a distraction could help ease his anxieties.

Then your eyes landed on the TV in front of you both, the remote on the table next to the pizza box. It still intact and untampered, and with your influence over it you could stop another Alternate from overtaking the signals. "You like TV? We should watch some."

"But-"

"Nothing bad will happen to you. No Alternate will set foot in here other than me." You promised, shifting a bit closer to him. "You have my word, Mark Heathcliff."

Finally, he gave in and decided to trust your words. But only because he had nobody else to turn to and you seemed to show sympathy towards his situation. So he reached for the remote and turned on the TV, unsure of what to expect as he flipped through the channels.

Part of him worried he'd see that same man that he met in his childhood all those years ago..

Yet all the stations were normal, and he eventually found one where a favorite movie of his was playing. You could see the way his eyes lit up, realizing he found something he liked given the way he curled up and relaxed.

You simply watched the movie with him in silence. Neither of you knew how much time had passed, although judging from the light outside the locked windows, it was night.

Then you became surprised upon feeling something soft against your arm; you looked down to see it was his head, the top of his messy brown hair visible to you.

"Mark?"

"......."

There was only more silence from him, but since you could sense his gentle breathing, you knew he had fallen asleep.

You mused at how quickly you managed to gain his trust.

Only a little while ago, this young Christian boy was condemning you to hell and back, thinking you were some vile "demon" coming to kill him.

But now? Your presence seemed to comfort him.

Smiling, you carefully put your arm around him, hugging him a bit closer to your side. He snuggled closer to you out of instinct, not having felt the comforting touch of somebody in a long, long time.

'How could Gabriel ever want to destroy these precious creatures?' You pondered.

You knew he needed this rest, and so you let him be, keeping your eyes on both the television and the shadows all the around the house.

You'll make sure no other Alternate harms this soul.

Never again.

[wandanatsbaby]

Princess In Red

Pairing: Dark Princess Wanda Maximoff x Fem maid reader

Warnings: slight mentions of smut, dark themes, killing, posion

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Wanda laid beside you silently as she watched your bare chest rise and fall as you slept peacefully. It was the first time you had ever slept in her room and she couldn't be happier. Getting to watch as your eyelids fluttered with your dreams, the small mutters you would let out, your peaceful breathing, and just getting to feel your warmth and hold you. This was something she was never allowed to have until now.

Her parents always forbid her from having any relationships claiming she needed to keep herself pure for her suture and for a while she tried, until she laid her eyes upon you. Maybe it was the innocence that radiated off you, the obedience, the eager to please; or maybe it was simply how you would listen to her ramble on about nothing, listen to her complain about her parents trying to marry her off to yet another prince, perhaps it was the way you’d broken the rules one evening by taking her into your arms and whispering soft reasurrences to her as she cried. Whatever it was Wanda had found herself falling for you quickly. You went from being a simple handmaid to being Wanda's Lady in waiting. Many of the other maids had despised you of this but before you could even question them they would disappear without a trace.

Being the Princesses Lady in waiting was not bad in fact you loved it. She showered you with praises everyday and even gave you pieces of old jewelry that she would find you staring at. She would let you lay in her bed, try on her fancy dresses (that always seemed to be just a tad bit too big on you) and she started holding you close. She was very affectionate and touchy so it was no surprise to anyone when you two would be spotted walking down the hall with her arm around your waist or your arms looped together. She always made sure that her parents never saw though as she knew they would not approve of how close the two of you were.

One fateful day though after you and Wanda had gotten done being more intimate her father caught you two very close and was beyond angry. Wanda wasn’t even able to utter a word before you were harshly grabbed by a guard and dragged off to the dungeon with a cry of her name. Wanda had tried to reason with her father but he would hear none of it. That's when Wanda formed the plan.

Sneaking into the kitchen, Wanda took the small vial out of her dress pocket and poured it into her father and mothers cup. The poison was to work quickly and was not supposed to bring the victims any pain. Sitting down at the large table Wanda had watched with a small smirk as her parents drank from their cups and soon collapsed. The palace doctors had said it was a heart attack but Wanda knew better.

When they were claimed officially dead Wanda ordered a guard to bring you to her with the threat of death if he was to leave even a single mark on you.

You fully collapsed onto Wanda when you had arrived at her room sobbing as you held onto her tightly.

“Shh Detka it's all okay now. You're safe. Nothings going to happen to you.”

As you slept Wanda watched the rise and fall of your chest as she gently stroked your face. Tomorrow she will be crowned Queen in front of the whole kingdom. Tomorrow she will ask for your hand in marriage. Some of the citizens would go against her for it but that didn't matter, they would just have to disappear like the maids did.

That night as she holds you close she promises you the world. She promises that nobody will ever take you from her. She will kill everyone who tries.