#how dare he lie to his own wife

[nanaminokanojo]

MASTERLIST

Sukuna is pissed.

The reason? You moved away from him in your sleep when he wanted to hold you close.

In your own subtle ways, you've always complained about how unaffectionate he is. You didn't explicitly say it, but he did notice how your mood would shift, your pretty little smiles barely masking your disappointment when he would do or say anything remotely cold or mean. And now that he was giving you what you wanted, you just roll away from him, depriving him of your warmth and the affection he expects you to reward him.

How you even managed to escape four of his arms to find your own corner of the bed was a big puzzle to him. You've always slept peacefully pressed to his side on most nights, and you didn't really move much once he had two of his arms wrapped around your frail form. Perhaps you were doing it on purpose after he had evidently upset you during supper by dismissing you when you asked about his day. There was nothing to tell, and though he understands that your concerns came from a good place, he still refused to tell you of the horrors of the world he found himself so deeply embroiled in.

Sukuna, however, brushed off the idea. You wouldn't dare. Or would you? He was just protecting you. Why would you hold that against him?

He chose not to entertain the thought, thinking it was just you moving in your sleep. And so, he reached for you, gently placing his arms over and underneath you to pull you closer. But it hadn't even been a minute of him holding you when you started letting out these seemingly irritated noises and shortly after, you were turning your back on him.

"What –" He stopped himself when you breathed in deeply, half expecting to hear sobs if you were truly upset with him, but then, your breathing rhythm returned to normal. You were still fast asleep.

Sukuna shrugged, already feeling his temper rising at the thought that you could sleep just fine without him. The thought of it annoyed him, and that was an understatement. He decided to move closer to you then, but as soon as he did, pressing your back on his bare chest, you started squirming, a dissatisfied groan leaving your lips.

At that, he rose slightly on his elbow, taking offense. "Woman, what is your problem?" he demanded, making you lie down flat on your back, startling you. "Is something ailing you?" This time, he spoke gently, watching as you slowly blinked up at his frowning face like you haven't got a clue what he's talking about. And then you closed your eyes before favoring your left side, going back to sleep.

"You –"

"What?" you whined without facing him, annoyed that your sleep was being disturbed.

Sukuna scoffed. You've really done it this time. Nobody dared speak to him that way. "What now? You don't want me anymore? I thought you wanted –"

In one swift movement, he found himself being tackled onto the bed as you turned around and threw yourself against him, immediately finding your spot in the crook of his neck. His two left arms instinctively wrapped around you, keeping you cradled in them as you snuggled closer, planting a kiss under his collarbone as if to appease him before you were falling back asleep.

"You could have just stayed like this –"

"Shh."

Did you just shush him? And as if to punctuate it, you raised your hand, your fingers blindly yet tenderly brushing his lips and staying there.

"Wife, you are aware I have two mouths, aren't you?" he spoke against your fingers, fighting a smile.

You moved your head back to smirk at him as you threw a leg over his abdomen right where his other mouth was, your thigh preventing it from saying anything.

"There. Problem solved."

[no-144444]

accepting it- c.leclerc

summary: charles has been a bit too distant during your pregnancy, and what max said about his own child brought some ugly truths to the surface, hurting you in the process. charles realises his mistake, but it's just too late for you to believe him.

pairing: husband! charles leclerc x fem! pregnant! wife! reader

part two!

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The quiet unlocking of the door was what had woken you, Charles was sure of it. He hadn’t wanted to, mostly because he knew he’d say something stupid and piss you off. He wouldn’t mean to, but he would. That’s what the start of the season was, that’s what becoming a father was, that’s what the stress did to him. 

“Hey handsome,” you smiled sleepily from the coach, all bundled up in blankets as some random Netflix series played on the screen. 

“Hey beautiful,” he exhaled harshly, then turned to you, (fake) smiling. “You alright?”

You nodded. “Just tired,” you yawned. “Want to head to bed?”

He nodded with a groan. “Yes, please.” 

He helped you up off the couch and it hit him how close you were to giving birth. You were in the third trimester, heavily pregnant with a slightly complicated pregnancy. He grimaced when he saw you grabbing your back in pain. 

“Alright?” he asked as you winced. 

You took a deep breath and continued on to your bedroom. “Fine,” you said through gritted teeth, the pain easing. 

He led you over to your side of the bed and helped you lie down. He pressed a kiss to your forehead and turned out the lights, ready to sink into his side of the bed after his exhausting day. 

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He woke up to the sound of vomiting. It wasn’t usual to hear, but it had gotten less frequent as the pregnancy went on. “You alright baby?” he called out. 

His question was met with more vomiting. He huffed as he pulled himself out of bed and walked to the bathroom, looking at you hunched over the toilet. He frowned and knelt beside you, holding your hair. After another few minutes the vomiting stopped and you looked up at him, exhausted and sick. 

“Feels any better?” he asked. You shook your head and he frowned again, pulling you into his chest. He smoothed a hand through your hair as you leant against him, trying to calm yourself down. “It’s alright,” he soothed. “You’re alright.” 

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Brunch was going to be hell on earth for both of you, but you still both dressed up and got in the car, pretending to be excited about the family luncheon. 

“Can you believe Max said he wouldn’t miss a race for the birth of his baby?” you scoffed, scrolling through your phone as Charles drove to his mother’s house. “Poor Kelly.”

Charles gulped beside you. He’d been dreading this conversation for weeks, unsure when to have it. It’s not that he didn’t want to be there for the birth of his child, he did, badly, but he couldn’t throw away championship points for anything. He’d make an exception if it was a sprint race, but other than that… he couldn’t chance it. “Well, he has a good reason to,” he shrugged nervously. 

You turned your head to him, shock painting your features. “Are you joking right now?” 

Charles shrugged. “Not really. He’s the World Champion and he needs to stay on top this year, especially if it’s his last year, which he’s thinking it might be. I understand where he’s coming from.”

You were both quiet for a minute, taking in what he’d said. 

“So what about us?” you asked in a small voice. 

“You’re due on a non-race week,” he shrugged. “We just hope she doesn’t come earlier than that.” 

He didn’t dare look over at you, scared of what he might see. He knew this was selfish, but he couldn’t piss away his chance at being champion, not when he’d worked his entire life for it, not when his parents, family, and friends gave up so much.  

“Oh,” you breathed out, trying to stop yourself from crying. “Alright then.” 

The rest of the car ride was silent, you watched the streets of Monaco whip by you as Charles drove up to his mother’s house, and you thought. Thought about giving birth alone. Thought about how Charles had promised you he’d be there. Thought about how shitty it felt to be second to his job. You wiped your unshed tears away before you walked inside.

When you walked inside, Pascale instantly knew something was wrong. Charlotte immediately took you away to chat together, and Lorenzo was too busy giving out to Arthur about breaking up with Jade to notice, but Pascale noticed. She saw the way Charles watched you from across the room, trying desperately to catch your eye, to gauge your reaction, something. 

She pulled him aside. “What’s wrong?” 

He sighed. “Maman, it’s nothing-”

“What did you say to your wife?” he demanded. He looked down, ashamed. He knew he was in the wrong, but he still felt justified, though that justification was slowly dwindling. 

“We were talking about how Max wouldn’t miss a race for his baby, and I said I’d do the same,” he admitted. 

“Excuse me?” Lorenzo inserted himself in the conversation. “What the fuck is wrong with you?” 

Arthur was even looking at him in disgust, Arthur. “Charles, that’s not right-” 

“You don’t get to talk, alright?” he shot at his younger brother, who quietened out of shock. “And what else am I supposed to do? Every single year in Formula One I feel the championship falling away from me! Y/n understands-”

“She shouldn’t have to,” Pascale interjected. “Do you want that little girl? The one your wife has been carrying without complaint for 8 months?” 

Charles nodded vigorously. “Of course I do-!” 

“So you should be there for the woman who’s carrying her! She has been pregnant basically on her own for the past 8 months, either you were racing, or training, or enjoying your break - which meant doing extreme sports that she cannot do! That woman loves you too much to see how you’ve been treating her, and it’s sad, Charles. She does everything for you, and you’re even entertaining the idea of not being there for her while she goes through possibly one of the most painful experiences of her life? Are you insane?” she argued, shocked at her own son's selfishness. “If you cannot see that the woman you love is more important than a race win, you should really just let Y/n go and find a man that actually loves her. Not one who is more focused on his personal goals than the goals of his family. Your father and I raised you to be a racer, yes, but first and foremost we raised you to be a good person. And being a good person means being a good husband and father to your family, which is just starting.” 

Charles stood there for a moment in silence, ashamed of his behaviour. “You’re right.” 

“I know I am,” she scoffed. “Go make it right with Y/n, now.” 

Charles scurried off to find you in the garden with Charlotte, she had her arms around you as you explained everything that had happened, how distant Charles had been, what he’d said about the birth, everything. Charlotte sent him a particularly withering look as he stepped out into the sun, and he knew he deserved it. 

“Can I talk to my wife?” he asked, standing behind you. 

“She’s busy right now Charles,” Charlotte scoffed. “I’m just trying to calm her down from crying. Come back later.” 

His heart broke slightly, he knew you’d been taking the burden of the baby a lot more than he had (obviously), and he thought he was being gracious by not bringing it up. He thought he was doing the right thing by giving you space, but he was just subconsciously trying to ignore the fact that his life was going to change drastically and that he was scared. Still, he never thought he’d be the one to make you cry. 

“Please,” he begged. 

You gave Charlotte a nod, and she smiled at you sadly, then left you to talk. He took the seat she had been sitting in and placed a hand on your thigh. “I’m sorry,” you whispered. “I’m ruining the whole day.” 

His heart actually broke then. He was being a dick, he was in the wrong, and you were apologising. What the actual fuck? He shook his head, squeezing your thigh. “No. If anyone ruined today, it was me. My selfishness has been ruining this entire pregnancy for you,” he admitted. “And I’m sorry.” 

You stared up at him in shock. 

“You’ve been doing this on your own since day one, and that’s my personal failing. I’m sorry that I was so… distant. I was busy getting in my own head about my career, when the most important thing was right in front of me. I’m sorry, and I hope you’ll forgive me,” he took your hand and squeezed, looking at the ground. 

“Charles, I know what I signed up for when I married you,” you admitted, dropping his hand. “I know you’re ambitious, I know you want to win, and I know you won’t stop until you’re the best. Sometimes it just… gets to me that I’m not enough for you, that our family isn’t enough for you. It’s just… hard sometimes, alright? And if I’m being honest this is a bit too much too late. I know my place in your life, and I’ve accepted it. I just hope you prioritise our daughter more than you prioritise me,” you tearfully explained before getting up and going back inside. 

Was that really the standard he’d set for the love of his life? Surely not?  He had to fix this, and quick.

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navigation for my blog :)

ferrari masterlist

[thekinslayed]

I Come To You A Sinner

summary | Aemond's wife has been made aware of his whereabouts by Aegon.

pairing | aemond targaryen x wife!reader

tags | spoilers to s2e3 ahead! miscommunication, angst, infidelity, aemond can't open up, aegon is the worst, thoughts of fratricide

wordcount | 2.3k

note | sorry to rub salt into the already gaping wound that is ep3 aemond 💔 but that whole scene was unbelievable omfg it is over for aegond i fear

likes, comments, reblogs are much appreciated!

“Where have you been?”

She was staring into the hearth when he returned. It was evident she had already been asleep, but had awoken by a disturbance of some kind. It was unlike her to be awake so late, though Aemond could guess what brought her out of bed to fasten on her robe, to wait for him.

He could still hear his cackle, Aegon’s, as the curtain that shielded him from prying eyes was swatted away unceremoniously, revealing his whereabouts. He remembered how his little entourage stared at him, how their stunned gazes brought about prickles of humiliation in the back of Aemond’s spine. They threatened to laugh. He saw it in the twinkle of their eyes, in the subtle lift in the corners of their lips. 

“It is late, dear wife, why have you not rested?” he said. His steps towards her were small, careful. Perhaps she doesn’t know. That would be preferable. He had already been found out once tonight, and if he could save her from the knowledge of his shame, there was naught he would not do. 

“Aegon was here,” she responded, and it was then she finally turned to him. Her eyes were bloodshot, the skin around them was puffed from the tears she had evidently shed. The prickle in Aemond’s spine returned, only now it was coupled by a hammering pang in his chest. He had done this to her.

“At least he had the decency to tell me where you were, after many nights of being left in the dark by mine own husband. Though his delivery of the message was a bit cruel, I’ll admit.” 

The dark chuckle that left her lips held no sort of amusement, but a clear sputter of disbelief and betrayal. Aemond was stuck in his place, unsure of how to speak to her, unknowing of what would happen to them now that his sin was laid out in the open.

“It is not what it seemed–”

“What is it, then? When your brother catches you in a brothel with a whore, what else am I to think, Aemond?” she burst, rising to her feet to look at him. Her chest heaved as she regarded him with a look so different than what he was used to. There used to be such warmth in her gaze, reserved only for him, not the fracturing hurt she bestowed on him now. He couldn’t look at her, and so he settled his eye elsewhere. A futile attempt to escape what had already caught up to him.

“You’ve told me of what had happened to you there, what she made you do, and yet you’ve crawled back to her? After everything that’s happened?” she questioned, desperate. He could hear the break in her voice, and he could only imagine the quivering of her lips into a frown. A scoff left her lips, and Aemond could see her desperate attempt to wrap her around this, but her despair had gotten the best of her. 

“W-why… Why would you even want to go back there? What is it in her that you can’t find in me?”

Aemond couldn’t say it. His mind refused to let him say it. In truth, he couldn’t recall how his feet had led him back there, all he knew was it brought a temporary soothing to an ache that had sprouted in the days after Lucerys’ death. He wouldn’t dare speak his sin into words, to solidify his betrayal of the love for his wife. How ever could he tell her the truth of it? How ever could he admit that the only way for him to find a sense of order in his life, however misconstrued, was to return to the woman who had been a figure of his torment? 

“Do you want me to lie to you?” he asked. 

A fool’s answer. A true coward, he is. Many people would consider him otherwise, but in front of his wife, he was no warrior. Utter shame coupled with his ego prevented him from coming clean. How could he? He had gone too far. He expressed no remorse when he had come home to her, drenched, after Storm’s End, no, he even acted proud. In his heart of hearts, Aemond knew that the one person who could see him as he was was his wife, yet he refused to let it be. He had gone through his whole life a rigid soldier, a scholar, the image of the fearsome dragon of Valyria. He didn’t know how to dismantle the shackles that held him upright.

Yet he had seen his fault now in the face of his wife, his love, who visibly crumbled before him.

“Was I not good enough?” she asked, quietly, as a lone tear streaked down her cheek. He couldn’t bear to see her like this, to have him so far from his grasp as the ever-growing space between them turned the air cold. Aemond approached her, arms lifted open to take her into his grasp, but she flinched away. A shatter in his chest brought about a thick lump in his throat, one he couldn’t swallow. 

“My love,” he whispered, a solemn plea for her to see him. She hugged her arms to her chest, looking away as she blinked away the fat, traitorous tears that beaded down her cheeks. Aemond took hold of her elbow, his grip desperate as she fought to wiggle her way out of his grasp. He couldn’t let her, he cannot. This hellish war, this irreconcilable damage would all be futile if he lost her, he couldn’t let that happen. But she wouldn’t even spare a glance at him. 

“Can’t you even look at me?” he beseeched in despair. 

A sob was her only response. She had slapped a hand to muffle her cries, but it had broken through the barriers that kept him away from her. Aemond descended to his knees, hugging her legs to his chest. His good eye stung with something hot, something wet. He clung to her skirts like a beggar, a sinner praying for retribution.

“Please… please…” he grieved. Her robe was growing spotted with his tears, and her grip on his shoulder was punishing as she pushed and pushed to get him away from her. She slapped him, had pulled on his hair to get him to release his hold, but he never relented. “You have to understand,” he muttered. 

“I cannot even try to begin to do so, Aemond! How can I?” she wept. “How could you even think we could recover from this?”

“My love… my light… I beg of you.” It was pathetic to whoever would witness him like this. The Kinslayer, on his knees, pleading for forgiveness to the wife he had wronged. There was much he had done that was far worse, far more cruel, but to have hurt her was his greatest crime of all.

A shrill cry had pierced through the night air. Her head snapped to her babe. Their babe. With a firmer push on his shoulder, his wife freed himself from his grasp to where their son wailed for his mother. She took him into her arms, soothing the child with her gentle caress and shushes. Aemond could only watch. He watched the babe nestled into the crook of her neck, how she wiped his tears away while hers continued to fall. She pressed her nose into his scalp, the milky scent of his flesh a welcome comfort to her otherwise crumbling sanity. 

Aemond waited in agony, keeping his space lest he aggravated her any further. Every cry of their babe was another sword pierced through his heart, leaving him to bleed out while his family floated away from his grasp.

He had settled after a few minutes, descending back into slumber as his mother returned him to his cradle with a kiss on his forehead. The silence was deafening. The dying hearth was unable to break the cold that sent shivers under Aemond’s skin. He called out to her once more. Another full beat of silence passed through the room before she spoke.

“What did I do wrong, Aemond?” she whispered, turning to him. Her eyes were a painful red from how much she had been crying, but she wanted to know. “Tell me, you owe me that much.”

“I owe you everything, darling,” he responded, moving closer to her. Aemond closed the distance between them, wrapping his arms around her waist to pull her back into his chest. He pressed kisses onto her shoulder, reverent… repentant. “You have done nothing wrong,” he said into her skin, his voice low. “It is my fault and my fault alone. You have done nothing wrong.”

He turned her around to face him, and she allowed him to do so. Albeit, unwillingly, but his wife was tired. It was evident in the way her eyes had run out of tears to weep, yet she remained broken all the same.

“I have wronged you. Allow me to pay for my sin. Let me make things right. I promise you, I will make it all right,” he pleaded. Perhaps he could make her see, convince her to forgive him. It was a fool’s wish, but the prince could hardly consider himself a wise man now. A flicker of hope thumped excitingly in his chest when her fingertips caressed his jaw, but the furrowing of her brows dampened whatever fire he thought he had stoked.

“I can’t,” she responded, shaking her head. She pulled herself away from his grasp once more, leaving them both cold and alone. Aemond hung his head low in shame. He felt sick to his stomach. The full weight of his doing had dragged him straight into the mud, while the love he could only ever carry for his wife throbbed painfully in his chest. “I can’t stay here. I can’t live with this.”

“No,” he said, shaking his head. “No. You are my wife, you cannot leave me.”

She was starting to step away from his grip, but he couldn’t let her. Aemond tried to cage her in his arms, but she fought back with strong pushes against his chest. There was a desperation in the one-eyed prince no one had ever known, until now. His pleas echoed through their apartments, cut off by a resounding slap on his cheek. The sting on his flesh was warm, keeping him awake in this reality. He could’ve prevented this, had cut off the poison from its roots if only he had the will to do so, but he had not. The stubbornness in his dragonblood and his refusal to acknowledge the rot in him had let it happen. He had let it grow and fester, spoiling everything he had until it took away the one most precious to him.

She regarded him with coldness, detached like a stranger. His wife looked away, sniffling.

“You are no husband of mine.”

Aegon slept like a boar when he was drunk.

The fucker had gotten back before he did, slithering his way back to the Keep with what Aemond was sure was a maniacal look on his face to tattle to his wife what he had found out.

The king’s chambers almost resembled a pigsty. Cups scattered about, along with some phallic wooden figurines that Aemond’s mind refused to imagine what he even used them for. Their father’s model was gone. At least the twat did one thing right.

But the smell. It was almost like Viserys’ rotting stench remained, haunting them all forever. It was enough to have Aemond scrunch his nose in disgust, but it didn’t repel him completely. No, he had come for something.

His brother laid out like a starfish on his bed, pasty flesh bright against the shadows of his apartments. His snores echoed through the vast chamber. Aemond’s presence did not alert the king at all, his sense of danger dampened by liquor. 

The second son watched him, sneering, before turning around in search of something. It glinted like a beacon under the moonlight, beckoning him closer. The Conqueror’s catspaw dagger stood tall, its sharp tip pierced into the wood of Aegon’s side table. Aemond tested its weight in his hand, getting familiar with the feel of its handle. It was heavy, burdened with its importance to them and their legacy. An imbecile like Aegon had no right to wield it. It belonged to someone worthy of power, of glory. 

Putting his brother on the throne had cost Aemond too much, yet he had been rewarded so little. It cost him his control, his sanity. It cost him his wife. His own brother had played a major hand in his torment, and it was high time the second son was granted his retribution.

It was all too easy to kill him now. One plunge into his slumbering form, and this would all end. It would save everyone much trouble and with a better king on the throne. Save the realm from much horror and bloodshed, that was the power Aemond currently held. No, he wanted him to suffer. He wanted to gaze into the elder’s eyes as he pleaded for mercy. The younger longed to feel his brother’s flesh under his boot, just before he crushed him to pieces. There was no honor in killing a sleeping man, yet again, there was no honor in killing one’s own kin either. There was no honor in any of this, and the one-eyed prince found himself uncaring. The gods had already shunned him, right under the thunderous clouds of Storm’s End. Honor will not save him now, nor any of them. That is why they allowed him to lose his wife. 

Perhaps he was too harsh on the gods, they have to deal with this headache of a war as it is. This was no other’s fault but his after all.

But he is owed by his brother. For many, many things.

The second son set the dagger back in its place. He will be patient. He will have his chance soon enough. Aegon will pay for his sins; Aemond will make sure of it. 

[januaryembrs]

CROSS MY HEART | Spencer Reid x wife!Reader

Request: read here

description: Spencer's wife struggles with the aftermath of JJ's confession

length: 1.5k

warnings: JJ's 14x15 confession spoilers (big ick, pull yourself together Jennifer) infidelity, thoughts of worthlessness, reader thinks Spencer is going to leave her for JJ.

authors note: I have loved JJ for all of fourteen seasons and fourteen episodes. this was a BIG ICK for me watching this won't lie

She should have known something was wrong the minute they left that damn store. 

It took her all of two seconds to throw herself into her husband’s arms, her voice choked with tears that had threatened to spill when she’d seen the video of Casey shooting at him, and she swore Spencer had never grabbed her so tight. 

“I thought you,” She sniffled, running her fingers through the back of his scalp, the entire spanse of his huge hands ran along her spine, counting every vertebra to make sure she was still intact, despite the fact he had been the one held hostage, “I thought he’d shot you- it came so close,” 

He hushed her mewls, a hand reaching to the back of her head and tucked her into his neck further, the sob rattling through her ribcage almost, almost, taking his mind entirely off what JJ had said in that stupid game of truth or dare. 

What the fuck did she mean she had always loved him? She had a husband and children who doted on her; Will, who loved every shred of her being like it was his only purpose in the world. His godsons who had known him as uncle Spencer since he’d held them in the hospital, covered in goop and looking like the cutest little aliens he’d ever seen. 

And yet JJ, his friend, perhaps one of his longest friends, was willing to throw it away for him? He, who had a wife he adored more than there were birds in the wind, leaves on an Autumn floor, more than there were galaxies in the damn cosmos. His wife, who had been there for him since the moment they’d met, who he’d known was the one since that first day she’d ran into him in the lobby, their files mixing together because neither of them had been watching where they were going, like one of those romcoms she forced him to watch and he pretended to hate, or like the silly thing she called fate that she insisted was very much real. 

Spencer was a man of statistics and numbers and facts; things he could see. But he was sure there was nothing in any textbook that could have ever made sense of how the one person so perfectly created for him, the blob of cells that made up his wife that seemed to call to his own as if they were coming home to one another, would have just so happened to bump into him on a random Tuesday in August. 

Most people waited decades for that kind of love, or something close, and he’d managed to get it at the ripe age of thirty three. 

And yet in the space of ten seconds, of four little words in a wretched game, he felt like the carpet had been pulled from beneath him. Because why would JJ, who saw as clearly as anyone else how much he cherished his wife and the future they were planning together, try to take that away from him?

And as if his own odd spiral of thoughts wasn’t a kick to the gut enough, his sweet wife had quickly released him from her grasp and thrown herself at JJ, who seemed to just now be understanding the gravity of her words as she looked around with wide eyes, tear stains wetting her cheeks, the guilt gnawing in her gut already. 

“JJ! Are you okay? Oh, you poor thing, you must have been so scared,” She sobbed, wrapping her friend in a loving hug that was shakily reciprocated, like JJ was waiting for the second she would get a fat shiner to the nose for confessing such a thing. 

But that never happened. Instead, she pulled away from the frozen blonde woman, who looked like she could burst into tears then and there and apologise for everything until her face turned blue, and ran a kind hand over the JJ's hair, stroking it behind her ear tenderly as she tried to quell her cries because she wasn't the one who had been held at gunpoint. 

She didn’t know. It hit them both at the same time. She didn’t know what JJ had said, hadn’t even got an inkling into what had happened, and god did it make the sinking feeling in Spencer’s chest swallow itself up into something the size of the Mariana Trench. 

And what was left, what had for a second been a horrid mix of confusion, shock, fear and then another big dollop of confusion for good measure, quickly was dragged away by the current and replaced with anger. 

Anger that JJ could do something like this to his wife; he frankly didn’t care how her words had affected him, that if he had been single he would have been left feeling unworthy of her affection the first time it had been offered around, like there was something so disgustingly wrong with him this was what it took for her to say anything. He didn’t care about any of that. He cared that this would absolutely destroy his wife. 

And it was for that reason Spencer hurried the paramedics into fixing the small graze on his palm as he watched with boiling blood his wife tend to JJ like she would any other time her close friend was hurt in the field. He seethed whenever Jennifer would simper and avoid her friend's eyes, how his beautiful, caring, devoted wife would stroke the woman’s back and will her to talk, to tell her what to do to make it better.

Because it was her who should be fussing over his sweet wife, certainly not the other way around. 

But he couldn’t say that, not there at least, and so he didn’t, not until he had got the greenlight from the medics to leave and he had all but cut off the circulation in her fingers with how tight he’d held her hand as he led her to the car. 

Spencer said nothing, not wanting to fight when she forced him to sit shotgun as she climbed behind the wheel, not wanting to cause a commotion when there was a much bigger bombshell he was sitting on that he knew would change her feelings entirely. 

-

“What?” Her voice was soft still, a murmur in the quiet night air of their bedroom. She sat, fresh faced, minty breathed, kevlar vest long gone and replaced with one of his old Dr Who shirts and comfy bottoms.

She said the word again, like she hadn’t heard him, but judging by the way her expression had fallen into something dejected, he knew that wasn’t the case. 

Sighing, drawing gentle motions up and down her legs with his warm hands, shuffled closer where he kneeled down in front of her submittingly. “JJ said that she has always loved me; that was her ‘truth’ in the game,”

“Well, she-she was lying right?” His wife said quickly, her voice shaking, trying to make sense of it herself. She didn’t get an answer right away, just her husband’s eyes casting down as he tried to think of the best thing to say, “Right, Spencer?” 

“I don’t know,” He said earnestly, and he saw immediately the way tears sprung to her eyes, her bottom lip trembling, her face warming in wet-anger, “But it doesn’t change anything, sweetheart. It doesn’t matter, to me- baby, please don’t cry,”

“Ofcourse it changes things, Spencer, it’s JJ. She’s literally the hottest woman to walk the earth, Pen said you were like in love with her when you started the BAU, and now you have your chance,” She whimpered, fat tears rolling over her freshly moisturised cheeks, and he swore he felt his chest concave at her words. 

“My chance? I don’t want a chance, I want you,” Spencer said in earnest, his hands rubbing further and further up her legs until his hands went under her night shirt, grabbing onto the soft of her hips with pleading tenderness, “I want you forever, no matter what JJ or any other woman feels about me,” 

She sniffled pitifully, her eyes still unsure and he took it as a sign she needed more, so he leaned in fully to hug her to him. 

“But it’s JJ,” She said again, like that was going to change anything, and he shook his head, stroking over the back of her hair softly.

“I don't care,” He said, and she sniffed gently into the crook of his neck, his skin wetting with the contact. She finally wrapped her arms around him, and he knew he was close to getting it through to her, “I had the smallest crush on JJ, what, fifteen years ago? Honey, I want you for the rest of my life, and nothing and no one is going to change my mind about that, not even you.” 

“Really?�� His sweet wife whispered tearfully, and he chuckled sadly, hating how hard she had cried that it had ripped the life from her voice. 

“Cross my heart,” He kissed her hairline softly, tipping her head upwards with one long, warm finger under her chin, pressing a gentle kiss to her wetted lips, “Hope I never die,”

She smiled sorrowfully, kissing her husband as if it was the last time she could ever do so, hoping it made up for how puffy and ugly her tears had made her face. But he didn’t care, he never had, he thought she was perfect just the way she was.

And he’d remind her of that any time she thought otherwise. 

–

[wtfaniii]

Can you make one of how the squid game boys would react if you died in their arms??? 😭🙏

I like it! I hope you like it🤎

Reaction to your death

Fem reader! x squid game men

Warning: Some angst, blood, death and drama.

Note: Orders are closed until further notice! Thank you for your support and I will continue to respond to each and every one of them!

Seong Gi-hun

You promised not to leave him alone after the traumatizing experience he lived in those games, nobody believed him except you.

And just as you promised him you wouldn't leave his side, you went to the games with him even when he flatly asked you not to.

"I'll be with you through thick and thin"

For Gi-hun, your company was a ray of hope in the midst of this environment full of death, you made him laugh when no one was looking and you filled him with loving words every time he felt frustrated for not being able his objective.

But as the sunlight fades with the storm, him happiness is short-lived.

The ammunition for their weapons had run out and they had no choice but to surrender as the front man walked towards them.

—456, ¿did you have fun playing hero?

Him body tensed as the man pointed the gun.

He was not afraid of dying, he had already seen so many things that stopping breathing would be a relief to his tortured soul.

But when the front man pulled his gun away from him to point it at you, he felt like the air was leaving his lungs.

—Now you will suffer the consequences of your actions.

He could see the fear in your face and the tears in your eyes, even when you turned to look at him just to say a soft "I love you" he felt helpless not being able to do anything and in a matter of seconds the bullet went through the head of the woman he loved.

A scream full of terror, anguish and sadness left her mouth, tears clouded his vision and went to your body to hug it one last time.

There was failure, not only because he was nowhere close to stopping these games, but also because he had lost all his friends and now you.

Hwang In-ho

He met you a couple of years ago after the death of his wife, you comforted him and dried every tear he shed.

Even when he disappeared for a few months and came back only to ask you to come with him without question you accepted without an ounce of fear or doubt.

You trusted him with your life and over time he trusted you with his, you became his right hand in these games, both of you led and maintained a specific order.

Until one day he came up with the idea that he would also participate just to keep his enemy, Gi-hun, under constant observation, "They say you have to know your enemies" he said confidently while dressing in the characteristic mint green uniform.

You weren't sure but you agreed to be the temporary leader under the square mask in the black suit just to make sure he would be okay.

You looked after him back so much that you neglected your own.

And when you least expected it you were shot by player 390 during a crossfire in the hallways.

In-ho didn't consider that Gi-hun and the players' rebellion would go this far, he kept pretending to be Young-il along with two other players but when he heard you gasp in pain after hearing a gunshot, his lie became secondary.

He killed the other two, faked his own death, and ordered Gi-hun and his team to be arrested, then headed straight to where you were, bleeding and dying.

—You're going to be okay... —He tried to convince himself more of his words, the bullet wound in your stomach looked like a fountain of your own blood.

Your hand on him cheek made him look up into your eyes,

You could see his teary eyes and his scared expression.

—Don't let these games end with you... No one who loves you wants to see you involved in this... —You wanted to go live in the countryside with In-ho, live in a cabin and have a family, you stayed only because he asked you to.

—Don't close your eyes —he begged firmly, holding back his tears—Don't you dare close your eyes.

It seemed like a demand, but it was a desperate plea not to let you die.

—Don't make me go through this pain again...

But you weren't breathing anymore, he sobbed a few more seconds with you before one of his guards took him to his grey suit and mask.

He was really enjoying pulling the trigger of the gun while aiming at Jung-bae.

Kang Dae-ho

You and Dae-ho met while serving your country and have been inseparable ever since.

Dae-ho had romantic feelings for you but he never told you for fear of ruining the friendship, he didn't know that your heart also jumped with joy every time he was around.

You did what you could to help him financially, you asked for so much money that before you knew it you were being threatened by people should never have gotten involved with because you owed too much.

Now, they were both in these games trying to survive.

—¿Can I tell you something? —He asked as they climbed the colorful stairs toward their next test.

—Yes.

Dae-ho wanted to tell you many things, among them that he loved you and that when they left here they should buy a nice house and two cats.

But his tongue got stuck in his throat.

—Better later.

You nodded with a soft smile.

Unfortunately you never got to hear him question, during the third game, Mingle, the last round consisted of making pairs and getting a cubicle, it was just a mistake in which he let go of your hand and another participant went into the small room with him.

Dae-ho screamed desperately trying to open the door even though the counter was already at zero, you could see him tears and his expression of terror when he saw you on the other side of the door.

—It's okay.... it's okay...

You comforted him even though you were scared, you tried to use your voice to calm him even though you were the one who was going to die, you did it like the other times he had panic attacks.

—Dae-ho, I lo-

A muffled scream and cry came from him as one of the guards shot you and you fell dead in front of his eyes.

He couldn't hug you, he couldn't tell you everything he felt and that made his world go into shock, his heart break into a thousand pieces and a part of him die with you.

Lee Myung-gi

You were an arms smuggler in debt to many people, you ran away and hid to survive when you met him and since then became inseparable.

The two were brought to these games promising that they would come out alive, pay their debts and go far away from here to have a new life.

You survived all the games, but when the players became more tense and started a fight with the guards, you thought you could help them, you had knowledge in weapons handling so you would be of great help.

—Whoever wants to come with us can do so —said 456, placing the weapons they had taken from the guards in front of the room.

You were about to take a step forward but Myung-gi, who was standing next to you, took your hand and looked at with almost pleading eyes.

He hoped you wouldn't go, it was going to be suicide, he sensed it, but you broke free from his grip and went with them.

When you heard him call you, you turned to look at him one last time.

—Everything will be okay, I'll come back and we'll finish this —You assured him with your usual confident smile.

When you disappeared through that door with the other players he felt a pressure on his heart.

A lump formed in him throat with each passing minute until after an hour the guards came to restore order and brought back player 456, the one who had started everything, alone.

He couldn't say a word when heard your number among the others eliminated, he just put his hands on his head and began to shed tears non-stop.

All him future plans with you fell apart in the blink of an eye, he lost you and the worst thing was that he was not by your side to help you or protect you, they promised that they would be there through thick and thin but he left you alone.

You would have managed to kill all those soldiers, you would have reached the control booth and ended it all to go back for Myung-gi, take the money and leave forever but your only mistake was turning back on 001.

Park Gyeong-seok

This was before he got into the games, you were his wife and while you were looking for money on the streets painting yourself as a mime and doing tricks, one night you were late to return home.

You took the subway and sat down in a spot, you were tired and hungry but proud that you had made enough money to eat well for two days, your daughter was going through a hard time now so you and your husband were practically fighting to survive.

You were calmly until you heard noises a few seats behind you, when you turned head to see a man assaulting an elderly woman, you were not going to stand by and do nothing.

[...]

Gyeong-seok had just put Na-yeon to sleep in her room, closed the door, and when he heard the front door open, he assumed it was you who had arrived.

—She just fell asleep, she wanted to wait for you but sleep overcame her —He said with a soft smile, your daughter was everything to you.

He walked towards the living room but when he saw you, his smile completely disappeared and his face turned pale.

—Honey...

You fell to the ground with your hand holding in the bloody stomach, when you tried to confront the assailant he stabbed you and you had to return home leaving a trail of your dripping blood.

He ran to you to hold you in his arms, he tried not to make too much noise so as not to wake Na-yeon and traumatize her.

—¿What happened? I'll take you to the hospital, don't worry, everything will be okay.

Gyeong-seok's expression was full of anguish and panic, you put your hand on his cheek and looked at him sadly.

You knew that taking you to the hospital would generate more expenses, the little money they had was for their daughter, she was your priority, besides, you knew it was already too late.

—You'll take care of her ¿right? Tell her I love her.

He began to cry and hug you against his chest, he also knew that taking you to the hospital would be in vain but he refused to let you go.

—I don't want to do this alone...

You apologized through tears, you didn't want to leave him either but life was slipping through your fingers.

—I love you so much...

And with those last words you took your last breath.

He cried non-stop with you still in his arms, rocking gently and leaving kisses on your head also saying how much he loved you, from that moment on he was left alone with Na-yeon, working overtime, without your help life became more difficult but without your company it was torture.

Hwang Jun-ho

You two had been married for two years, you were happy and carefree, or at least that's what you thought.

One day you discovered things about him that he hadn't told you, that he had a lost brother and that he had been looking for him for years.

You didn't judge him, you decided to help him in his search and that led them to infiltrate some twisted games where they made people play until they died for money.

The two of you kept a low profile as guards until one of the so-called "VIPs" wearing gold masks took an interest in you, it made your blood run cold but you couldn't raise suspicions or would die so you didn't protest when he asked to accompany him to a private place.

You let that man guide you, you knew that Jun-ho would soon come for you but couldn't help but feel your stomach turn with every step you took.

Before entering the exotic room you left one of your earrings outside so your husband would know where you were.

Just when this stranger was about to force you to give him a blowjob, you punched him and pointed the gun at him.

You had the upper hand until you heard the door open behind you and looked away from the man.

It was Jun-ho but that little carelessness made the man with the golden mask snatch the gun from you and shoot you in the chest.

The shot made time stop for Jun-ho, he saw you fall to the ground with a lost look and blood pouring from your body, he also managed to stop the man but his eyes were still on you.

—They're okay, okay, calm down, don't shoot me —The man stammered as Jun-ho made him kneel without removing the gun from him head.

—You just killed my wife... —He said with a stern, sad and upset expression on his face.

He wanted to kill him but he wasn't a murderer and you wouldn't want him to be one.

After getting all the information possible out of him about these games, he knocked him out and finally turned to look at you.

He brought a hand to his mouth to suppress a cry of pain, his eyes were watery and with his other hand he held the gun tightly, he couldn't protect you and that made him feel miserable.

He approached you and left a kiss on your forehead, closed your eyes and asked for forgiveness a thousand times for having to leave you there.

Even with a broken heart, he turned away from you and ran away.

N/A: I apologize for not writing anything about Thanos but I couldn't find any inspiration for him 😭

[etfrin]

⤷❝ The Quiet Gift | Coriolanus Snow❞ˎˊ-

⇢☾Warning: NSFW | squirting, Snow is his own warning, mentions of killing, possessiveness, fingering (f. receiving), bathroom sex, mirror sex, semi-public sex (there was a gala), pinv sex, creampie, unprotected sex (wrap it dumbfucks), dumbfication if you squint, dom sub undertones, degradation, ownership kink, breath play with a twist | lmk if I forgot anything!

⇢☾Pairing: young president Coriolanus Snow x fem! Reader

⇢☾Summary: continuation of the arranged marriage au, this is your one year anniversary with him with a gala held in place to celebrate, you get insecure because of some bitches and Coryo fucks you in the bathroom with sprinkles of your daily life with him.

⇢☾Request: this is a request (idk if i’m writing it in the write place im new to tumblr i usually use wattpad) young coriolanus snow bathroom mirror sex like him making u watch ur self come undone in the mirror

⇢☾A/N: enjoy everyone! And to one who requested, hope you like this! :) this might be my last post of this theme btw, i am getting sick of the blue :/

arranged marriage au: the study, mine to love

< masterlist > < bc: @cafekitsune > < tag list >

A year had passed of your marriage, a bond between two souls which wasn't much of a lie as before. Things with Coryo were better than you could ever expect. You thought he would isolate himself from you after your confession but so much had changed. He had gotten softer but more possessive. His edges are sharp yet he makes sure it's a shield for you, not something that would make you bleed.

Among his actions include changing your entire wardrobe (not without your opinion first), a library that connects to his office (his office is something you have access to at all times now), his room was now yours both (your favorite change), and last but not least a poison taster was included so that no attempts of assassination at the First Lady could be taken.

At first, you thought it to be extra, but knowing that it would put his paranoid mind at peace you allow it without much to say. He picked out your outfit every day, and sometimes you did the same for Coriolanus. He would frown as you decide what to wear or not for him for the day, knowing that some of the pieces don't match his style but when he sees your smile as you pick out the clothes. He smooths his frown and takes whatever horrible fashion statement you created for him and wears it with pride.

If anyone dared to speak up about it, he proudly said that his wife picked it out and everyone knew better than to speak a single ill word of the unspoken Queen of Panem.

Today was one of those days when you decided to pick his outfit. Today was something special after all. One year had passed since you had become Mrs. Snow, and a gala was to be held tonight to celebrate the union.

So yes, you were going to pick his outfit. You had even woken up early because of it. You giggled as you opened your eyes, your arm around Coryo whose hair looked impossibly messy, sticking out everywhere. It made him look years younger than he was. You chuckled at the sight, your heart clenching with the love you have for this man. You lean forward to press a kiss to his forehead and then his cheek. You whispered, not expecting him to wake up until his alarm rang, “Good morning, Coryo”

You quietly slipped away from the bed and tiptoeed to the closet. The closet you both shared now. One side carrying every single piece of your clothing and the other side his. You wanted to pick out something different for your husband once, sick of seeing him in his white shirts and black vest. That's how you picked out a black suit with a white vest and a red silk shirt. You could imagine unbuttoning this off of him tonight and the thought made your body heat up and a giggle escaped your lips.

“What are you laughing about, doll?” A voice, his deep sleepy voice startling you. “Nothing!” You quickly said, turning to look at Snow, your breath hitching as his eyes were half closed and his hair turned into a mess of curls. Sometimes you wonder if this was all a fever dream and if you truly have the privilege of seeing him like this. You placed the clothes into a corner and went to him.

You pulled him down, your hand on his nape and another on his cheek as you guided him to your lips. Morning breath be damned. His actions were reflexive with how his arms pulled you in closer as his lips pressed into yours. He smiles against your lips and soon both of your tongues tangle in an uncoordinated sleepy manner and you whimper into his mouth.

This was real. This was your reality and you would do everything to keep it as it is. You pulled back and he whispered, “What was that for, doll?”

“Just needed to make sure this was real,” you answered him. Your words make him crack a real smile, something even you saw rarely and it would only be possible in moments like this. Moments when you have shocked the man with your actions and words and made him fall harder for you.

“Well it is,” he grins. Before his expression clears up he focuses on the clothes you have set aside. “Outfit for today?” He asked. You nod and smile at him, gesturing at the clothes. “You would look handsome in them,” you said. “Don't I always look handsome?” He smirks, you laugh, “I am not falling for that trap, dear husband. I'll be in the shower, choose something for me.” You press a kiss on his cheek before leaving the closet.

After showering and wearing the red dress he had decided, both of you go on for your respective duties. The gala would start early in the day and there were a few hours left before it formally started as guests were already coming in.

The mansion was set up beautifully, no words could have possibly explained the amount of work and dedication to make this the event of the year, valued higher than the Hunger Games itself. In another universe, it may not have been possible, in this one however you somehow managed to crack into his heart and made yourself a higher priority.

You were doing finishing touches of your makeup when Corio came in, his hair slicked back but his body tense, his eyes unable to hide the shakiness in them. You don't say anything, letting the man have his moment of vulnerability. You knew you would mess him up even more if you pointed it out, so you continued your task.

You didn't pay him any attention despite the itch to turn to him. You force yourself to stare straight into the mirror, applying your lipstick for the night. That was until he came behind you, his arms around your waist and pulled you against his chest, his head propped on your shoulder as you felt him take deep breaths.

You don't ask if anything is wrong, accepting the rare form of intimacy he initiated. Usually, you're the ones for the hugs, the genuine ones anyway. You knew despite everything you were like a math equation to Snow. His mind figured out the formulas to keep you to him forever, you doubted if he saw anyone as his equal but you were perhaps the closest thing to it.

You had accepted it long before, but moments like this when Coriolanus allowed himself to be a human meant everything to you. You fell for every version of him, the one that is an untouchable deity who could kill you without guilt, and the human he was, obsession filling in veins making you the sole objective of his mind as he already achieved Panem.

You close your eyes, taking deep breaths with him. In the end, you were human too and you broke. “What's wrong?” You asked, as softly as possible yet breaking the bubble that had formed.

He smirks through the mirror, his eyes meeting yours, a sense of superiority in the blue hues. “Nothing’s wrong, my doll,” he whispered to you, pressing a ghost-like kiss to your bare shoulder. His arms cage you tighter, making a small gasp on your lips. “Okay,” you smile at him.

“Ready to start the gala then?” You asked, “Snows are born ready,” he replied, his tone smug.

One of his arms was kept wrapped around his waist while the other opened a drawer to take out a small box. “For you,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to your neck. You opened the box, and in it was a gold necklace with the initial ‘S’. You blush, and leave it to Corio to give you a necklace with his initials for an anniversary gift. “It’s beautiful,” you whispered, your head turning back and you gave him the brightest smile. “Help me wear it?” You mumbled as you handed him the box.

And so he did, and now a necklace was on your neck, the letter ‘S’ sitting perfectly on your skin. It scratched an innate itch for Snow to see you wear this. A part of him had expected you to fight, and be disgusted by this action, his mind thinking of several ways to make (force) you to wear the necklace. But as always you surprised him with your acceptance, as if you knew that wearing this would help him with his possessiveness. You were truly the right woman for him.

With his arm around your waist, you walk into the celebration. Countless people, the top elites of the Capitol were attending the gala. Everything had to be perfect.

Alas, fate is nothing but fickle.

The rumors didn't catch your ears at first before slowly the whispers caught up to you. Too busy with your life in the mansion and with Coriolanus, you rarely were social. You never had many friends from the capitols' elites. And those who knew were merely allies for the future. So the gossip never reached your ears.

Gossip you knew better to believe. Words change when they travel mouth to mouth. It can be easily manipulated too, your husband was a living proof of that. The snake tongue of all of Panem. But when the words seemed to get louder and louder, you couldn't help but feel maybe it's tinged with truth.

Snow was busy talking to diplomats while you were politely having a conversation with the ladies. That's when the questions began about some things they had heard about Snow. Each worse than the other but nothing you didn't already know. You make sure to change their perspective whenever something new comes up. Coriolanus was still new at this position, anything could snatch the power away if either of you weren't careful.

Feeling like you have finished the job, you begin to move away, only to stop when you hear, “...even wearing a pendant with his initial, she's nothing more than a whore who was pushed up to play the role of the First Lady. A woman of her standing would never deserve such a title.”

It was true, when Snow asked you to marry you, it was sudden and he gained nothing from it. Nothing, no money, power, and just a few connections you had but he had already impressed them all beforehand so there was no need for you. Your history in the academy wasn't all that great either, you were never the best but wholly average. A man like Snow deserved the best.

Insecurity claws at your heart and even so with recent events you knew their words were wrong. Tears burned your eyes. Your hand goes to the necklace you had on, your fingers twirling the pendant. Meanwhile, despite Coriolanus' focus being mainly on talking sweet to the guests and gathering sponsors, his eyes were on you, your every moment, and each person you spoke to. He notices you walking away from the gala and into the hallways. He followed you.

You were in one of the many bathrooms the manor had to offer. You stared at the mirror, the necklace you were wearing, and your hands traveled to the back ready to take it off. That's when Coriolanus enters the bathroom, his footsteps stopping midtrack as you freeze too.

“Coryo,” you begin to speak, your hand at your side now. “I was just-” “Why were you going to take it off?” He interrupted you, his face twisted in a glare you never thought would be directed at you. You shrugged, trying to play casual, “It doesn't feel appropriate.” “Why?” He questioned his tone icy calm, spreading chills down your spine. “Because-” because you didn't feel worthy of it. “Because you're ashamed of me,” he scoffs, walking closer to you. His eyes now fully glaring at you.

You frown, “What? Coryo, no-” He tilts your chin up, as he leans in, his expression twisted in fury, “Then what? There's no other appropriate reason for you to take it off then.” In truth, something was getting lost in translation, the women you were talking to earlier were going to be accused of treason in a few days. The cause? The rumors (some truth mixed in as well) they had spread about Snow. They were invited out of courtesy and after this, they had signed their death certificate.

“It's nothing like-” “Then what?” He hissed, “Did you finally come to your senses? Did they tell you how much of a horrible monster I am? And a horrible president?” You knew some sort of major miscommunication had happened but you had no idea how to deal with it. Not when Snow pressed a harsh, hard kiss to your lips, teeth clashing and his tongue seemingly fighting with yours for dominance that you easily gave over.

“You can't escape me, doll. No matter how horrible you realize I am. Think about running away and it's your dead body that will be leaving this mansion.” he whispered against your lips, his hands on your waist, your body flushed against his as your back hit the counter.

You chuckled at his words, knowing that would never be your end. His eyebrows furrow in confusion and it makes you giggle even further. “Dove, I am not joking,” he said, looking straight in your eyes. “I know,” you smile at him, “You…” you shake your head, smiling, you were surely crazier than him. You leaned up and pressed a soft kiss to his lips. “Those women said something… mean and it made me realize I may not be worthy of this necklace…” you begin to explain, hoping the explanation would calm him down.

You thought wrong. “You don't think I can decide who deserves to be my property, pet. Whom I let to be my queen,” he said, his tone deeper than before. He whispered, “I decided it's you. It's been a year since that decision and I haven't regretted it once.”

He manovaroued you so you were facing the mirror. He was right behind you, his eyes hard. “The woman you're looking at right now is mine. My pet. My wife. How dare you try to take off a mark of my ownership, doll?” You opened your mouth to apologize, but a moan escaped instead as he bit into your shoulder. He begins to press you against the counter, your body bending over as he continues to press wet kisses on your nape.

“You need a reminder about whom you belong to,” he whispered, his lips brushing against your skin making you shiver, heat spreading to your body as his hands unzipped your dress from behind, letting the fabric fall on the floor. “I am yours,” you moan to him as his palms knead your breasts through the bra. “Then you should have known better, my stupid bird.”

“You look away from the mirror even once…,” he said, his hands squeezing your breasts roughly, his head propped up to your shoulder, his face set in a smirk, “and that group of women dies.” They were going to die either way but you didn't know that.

You gasp, “Snow- '' His hands squeeze your breasts harder, bordering on pain. “It’s Coryo for you, dove,” he said, slowly yet firmly as if talking to a child. His hands move downwards, one moves to your hip, and for the other, his fingers slip inside your panties. You whimper when his fingertip touches your clit. At any other time, he would have been slow, and gentle when he was rubbing the bud but now? His touch was fast and unconcerned, his sole goal was to inflict punishment with pleasure.

He rubbed at your clit relentlessly, making you soak your panties with your juices. His other hand squeezes your hips. You whine, your eyes closing and he pinches your clit making you moan louder than you should, your eyes opening immediately to meet his gaze.

“Only warning, pet,” he whispered, his finger now playing with the clit even more relentlessly. Back and forth, up and down with no mercy, making the bud swollen and your pussy clench around nothing. “Yes, Coryo,” you gasp.

“My dumb pet can learn after all,” he whispered to your ear and then his lips kissed the clasp of your necklace. His fingers abandon your clit to swipe at your folds to gather your wetness. He chuckles as he continues to tease you like this, his hard cock pressing against your ass.

“Coryo,” you whispered and your eyes connected with his and you knew his fingers could feel the flex of your cunt around nothing. “That's it. Look at me, doll.”

He slipped his fingers one by one into your slit, the stretch making you gasp. “It's too much,” you managed to get out, your voice shaky. “You can take it,” he tuts. His fingers begin to message your wall, hitting every crook and canny you never knew existed. He twisted his fingers thrusting right at your g-spot making you moan loudly, your body was now completely bent over in front of the mirror and your hands gripped the counter for life. Snow continues to playfully stretch you out, scissoring your pussy with his long fingers.

When he finally deemed you loose enough, he pulled his fingers out without a warning making you whimper. He pulls down your panties around your knees, and then his hand unzipped his pant to take his cock out. Something in you liked how he was composed and fully clothed while having you like this, primal and debauched. It showcased Coriolanus perfectly, no matter how prim and proper the man was outside in the end he was as much of a mess.

His impatient was clear with his clenched jaw, one of his hands traveling upwards your body to grip your breast like a handle as his free hand guides his leaking, hard cock into your entrance. “I was going to fuck you good tonight, on a bed properly like a wife deserves,” he begins to say as he pushed in with a single stroke. Your mouth lets out a small scream as your pussy adjusts to his dick. “Instead I have to treat you like a whore, bending your ass over a counter and fuck you while there are people all over the mansion.” He shakes his head disappointed, he meets your gaze, “I expected better, doll.”

“Then why keep a disappointment around,” you snapped at him, making him raise his eyebrows at your tone, his cock twitching inside your walls. “I wonder that myself too,” he grunts, his face buried in your shoulder, his tongue licking your salty skin. “You’re my everything,” he whispered, “Don't you forget that, dove.”

It was a confession that made you turn your back and made you catch his lips. He groans into your mouth as both of your tongues play with each other, expressing words the others cannot say. His free hand went to grip your necklace chain, making you gasp as he fisted the chain and pulled at it, knocking at your breath in one go.

His hips had begun to pound into you, short, hard thrusts that made his cockhead press against your g-spot while his remaining length messaged your walls perfectly. “You don't have to think, doll. I am here to think for you. You don't have to think about deserving me, or Panem. You don't have to think at all, just be my bird. My bird only,” he grunts.

Your eyes had begun to see spots from the lack of air, he hadn't seemed to care as your pussy keeps squeezing around him because of it. He lets go of the chain, making you gasp and you take the air you desperately need as his thrusts begin to get sloppier. Coryo was too impatient, too worked up, too mad at you to care about your pleasure. You were a pet getting used and you loved every second of it.

“I love you,” you whispered to him, and he groaned in response, as his thrusts got slower. He was edging himself to last longer, for this not to end. He bites your nape, not hard as he does usually to make sure the mark fades in a few seconds. His hips continue to rock into you, both of his hands now kneading at your clothed breast. He makes your round flesh spill from the bra and cups them with a groan escaping his lips.

“You’re mine,” he said as he pressed wet kisses all over your neck and shoulders, “Mine.” Your pussy clenched around him, making his pace get even slower, frustration begins to claw your mind as your body tethers to the edge. “Yours,” you agreed. “Fuck me faster,” you plead.

He lets out a laugh, “No. You'll take what I'll give.” “Coryo, my love please!” You begged. His hips stutter, making you feel confused, before realizing why he had stopped. You hadn't called him that since that night and you realized you had leverage on the man.

“My love, please! Fuck me harder,” you spill, “Baby, please!” He clenched his jaw trying so hard not to give in to the instinct of rutting into you like an animal. Knowing that he was near the edge, you continue, “Cum in me and make me walk around the gala with your cum inside, please. Please, mark me!”

That did the trick rather perfectly. His hand wraps around your throat, not choking you but staying there as a comforting presence that shouldn't have been comforting at all. “My dumb pet has ways with words. Gotta fuck that out of you, my dove,” he smirked.

His hips begin to roll into you again, making you gasp and squeeze his dick with your slick walls. The start of it was slow and cautious before Coriolanus decided to throw it all in the wind. He takes half of his length out before slamming it back to you. The sound of hips snapping echoed into the air along with his grunts and your moans. He kept fucking into you, with no care about anything.

Both of your sights were obscene in the mirror and it turned you not to end. Your body had begun to heat, your pussy aching to cum after being played with for so long. The tension in your body was close to snapping, and he knew it too. Knew it the way your cunt kept sucking his cock in so well. His head was on your shoulder, his mouth breathing out hot air onto your skin.

“Look at me,” you whispered, and his eyes snap at you and not even a second later he spills into your cunt, fucking his cum into you as he lets out a whine for the first time. You gasp, feeling your build-up fading without snapping but Snow was never to disappoint. He pulled his cock out, just to stuff you with his fingers. You whimper, your sensitive walls twitching around his fingers, so close to breaking.

Coriolanus doesn't waste a second to thrust into your sopping cunt, your folds covered in his cum, and fucking that into you with his fingers. He crooks his fingers perfectly, hitting your g-spot and making you black out for a second as his fingers keep assaulting your insides without a care.

You gasp, your body starting to give up. Snow has to wrap an arm around you to help you stay balanced. “That's it, doll. Cum on my fingers. I will make you cum on my cock later,” he promised to you. You cry out as his fingers continue their fast pace of thrusting. And finally, finally, your orgasm builds up again. A single graze from his fingertip onto your spongy spot has you not only cumming but squirting too.

Even Coriolanus eyes widen in surprise as you spill your juices onto the floor, ruining your dress and everything. You begin to feel ashamed of losing control in such a manner, but Coryo curses, “Fuck, doll. Fuck, that was…” He couldn't even finish the sentence.

You close your eyes, feeling yourself close to losing balance, only for Snow to swipe your legs from the floor and carry you to the bathtub.

“I’ll take care of you, doll,” he said, “I’ll bring in a new set of clothes, wait.” “What about the gala?” You asked. He kissed your temple before he replied, “I told everyone to leave the moment you walked away. Told everyone you were sick and as your husband, I shall be taking care of you.”

You let out a raspy chuckle, it was rather amazing how Coriolanus Snow always turned everything in his favor. Even this would help his image of being a president who took such good care of his wife and would surely take the country to great lengths.

“Snow lands on top,” you whispered to him with a smile.

Current tag list: @stelleduarte @nowitsmissing @lifeonawhim @le-lena @dollfacedalls @motley-baby @champomiel @slytherinholland @randomstuff2040 @justacaliforniandreamer @emmalinemalfoy @hyuk4s @theamuz @watercolorskyy

[anantaru]

EX HUSBAND NEUVILLETTE

— ꒰ synopsis ꒱ — ex! husband neuvillette headcanons

— ꒰ warnings ꒱ — [ex]plicit, fem! reader, fluff, crack lmao, he‘s trying his best, very rough like he’s feral!!!!, fucks you like there’s no tomorrow, but the sweetest man, a little possessive without him realising

ex! husband neuvillette, who— as was wildly anticipated, would not instantly vanish from your life nor leave you stranded alone beside the mental toll that a separation would leave on the both of you— even after the grief-stricken divorce was at last, ultimately finalized and carried out.

ex! husband neuvillette who thought that— with the fullness of his devastated heart, that in his own very eyes, it was beyond a doubt commonplace to aid and assist his ex-wife in the so called "aftermath" of your troubling divorce, whilst more urgently, be in no qualms that you're being cared for with everything and anything you could possible need.

ex! husband neuvillette, who of course, would double check with you to not suddenly overstep any boundaries or take up space that you might need— yet bare in mind, if you were to ask him for help on any matter really, he'd immediately leave everything behind to fulfill your wishes first, considering he is used to it, but the man will tend to forget about his own personal needs which he needed so he could function properly— yet now with you out of the picture, walking back to his current reality was becoming a taxing task.

ex! husband neuvillette, who, aside from his own separate challenges and demands, would never dare to cast aside his important work of practically running the nation of hydro. much obliged, he was a prestigious, praiseworthy man, thus the reason for him to pull more effort and sleepless nights into his occupation.

ex! husband neuvillette who couldn't believe that you both were divorced in the first place because in all seriousness, there wasn't much changing and aside from a couple instances, for example that he wasn't seeing you frequently, it felt the same way to him.

ex! husband neuvillette who, after a couple weeks into your divorce, will suddenly become a little more distant, not responding to letters you would occasionally send to make sure he was okay— with the immediate turbulent, overcast weather in fontaine adding to the closing eeriness of the entire situation. it's constant, clouded and gray, a mirage of cold rain and an incoming storm, and the people of fontaine will begin to question what had happened or if it was simply an unlucky past couple of weeks.

ex! husband neuvillette who doesn't like the idea of divorce, as might be expected he understands it, but in his own regard, he does not approve of it, but he accepts it— additionally, he wouldn't force you to stay with him, again, why he had agreed on it in the first place. the man would lie to himself if he'd say that it doesn't break his heart, the unclouded thought of wholly erasing the person he referred to as his 'wife' off his entire life was a frightening pondering.

ex! husband neuvillette wasn't willing to accept it, ever, but he did it for your sake and the small possibility of you becoming close again, in the future? perhaps, he was willing to wait endlessly, condemning himself to a lifetime in darkness, knowing full on well that his most desired dream to reconcile arguably wouldn't come true— on top of that, after careful, deep talks on how to properly navigate your divorce and being separated from now on, you have both ultimately agreed on remaining 'friends' in a sense, such was easy to state of course but you longed to make the best out of it, or at least try.

ex! husband neuvillette who will against all odds, still keep his wedding ring put on its designated place. granted, he had gotten quite accustomed to the feeling of it being wrapped around his finger and doesn't want to take it off. if you do decide to ask him about it, given that you aren't wearing yours anymore, he will plainly state that he got used to it way too much and it had grown on him, really, becoming a part of his person so ultimately taking it off would result in the same as him severing a limb off his body.

ex! husband neuvillette who still calls you his wife unintentionally, in the beginning of the first couple of weeks, it will happen almost all the time. be that as it may, he doesn't do it on purpose to somehow hurt you or make you uncomfortable, and he was aware of the fact that he needed to get accustomed to the feeling of being single again, of not being married anymore but calling you his wife just warmths his chest and hugs him from inside and out.

ex! husband neuvillette bets on it, it's like his whole day could be stacked with work on end, without a second of tranquility in sight, rain droplets covering the nation of hydro, but when he thinks about you, only you, a smile coruscates over his soft lips, increasing his heart beat, it's all so painful but he wouldn't want it any other way because nothing, and he emphasizes it deeply, nothing would be as painful as having you gone form his life.

ex! husband neuvillette who, and pay attention now, this would only happen if his strong, rational thinking skills and durable emotions towards keeping the laws of this world truthful were somewhat altered in an instance of weakness, but he would adore to throw and punish every new person you would date after him behind bars, yet not before properly dragging them to a trail that they cannot win, for him to look down on them— again, it's a small fantasy he wouldn't bring into life, he honored his noble work.

ex! husband neuvillette who knows that even day dreaming about such wrongful ideas were full of holes and malice, yet beyond it, he keeps himself restrained in not interfering in your new relationships— which he had thought must be a lot, you could say he believed that you were already out and about in the dating world, overthinking the worst out of all possibilities that could happen.

ex! husband neuvillette who will oftentimes send the melusines out to check up on you and tell him how you're doing— no, don't misunderstand, he doesn't want to know if you were dating again, he wouldn't, after all, this was your personal life and he wasn't your husband anymore. but then again, surely checking every now and then wouldn't hurt a soul, right?

ex! husband neuvillette will send you freshly picked flowers frequently, or have your favorite dish made by a professional chef. how can i forget to mention that he tends to buy a small, cute souvenir that would remind him of you and send it your way instantly. at how things were slowly progressing, the man will be quite embarrassed in facing you again, granted that you had promised to remain friends, he fears that the constant raining and pouring around fontaine would make it desperately obvious on how he was truly feeling, what can there be left anyways, nothing but the untouchable part of him, his aching soul begging for closeness.

but ex! husband neuvillette does not want to trouble you, fearing he might become overbearing in his doings, but he misses you, this time it's more raw than that, more exposed, more pure. he longes for a moment where he can see and feel you again, his mind circling through emotions and pondering, sinful dreams stitching his psyche together and calming down his heart.

ex! husband neuvillette who will be surprised, yet overly thrilled as if he was about to jump off his chair, when you ask the sweet melusines to hand him over a letter— the scent of the thin paper reminding him of your fragrance, a similar one he noticed whenever he kissed your neck. beyond question, they couldn't have told him fast enough, he finishes up the necessary work load for the day, at once forging ahead to your once shared house. you know it by now but he does not falter, he wants this to be perfect, carefully picking up a bouquet of flowers, with the flowers in questions being the very ones that have been decorating your wedding venue back in the day, oh sweet memories, he hopes he doesn't come off as crazy.

ex! husband neuvillette who tries to play it cool, it's not a big deal, but why were his hands sweating? his breathing was fast too, burgeoning, each following step towards your home, his limbs and muscles would begin to tremble, it's evident and almost aflame, but the weather has been nice again all of a sudden, for once in fontaine and he couldn't wait to see you.

ex! husband neuvillette who cannot say anything when you open the door for him, all these miles with the memories of your passionate time together pouring back into his mind. it's silly, but so real, and there was a silence, although not of an uncomfortable kind, it was overthrowing the hefty atmosphere.

and honestly, you think ex! husband neuvillette was cute when he was all overwhelmed and bereft of speech, even cuter when he’s silently walking past the door, your hands slowly wrapping around the bouquet of flowers to place them aside, on top of a wooden drawer before panning your eyes back into his grasp— which was his piercing, conquering gaze.

you could perceive the cutting tautness, how the reinforced pressure alone couldn't be torn, not with a sharp knife, no sword, no blade, because forthrightly— there wasn't anything on this planet that was able to part this emerging and crashing body chemistry.

all fairness to the situation— your captivation was off the charts, two people unable to coexist while parted, searching within your souls to understand what was happening. yet then it hit you, that maybe— heavily placed on a single maybe, that there might've been a cruel mistake in how things ended between you both;

or did they end?

because like a bullet piercing through soft flesh, it gave the impression away as if you were both moving closer to your sweet frames until you could clearly feel his warm, clothed chest pushed against your own— hopeful eyes remained locked within your gazes as you carefully slide your hands behind his neck without breaking his stares.

ex! husband neuvillette whose breathing was all fast and hasty, yet much swifter was his never ending intention to kiss you again and taste your lips in the process, he cannot stop himself anymore, but he must— for some reason, he cannot fathom that this might be reality and that you both would have a second chance in this life after all.

"kiss me." you suddenly whisper, eyes aglow with his own enlarging at the nervous utterance, subtle touches weaving together and showing your open truths.

ex! husband neuvillette feels how tense he has gotten and tries to relax— on top of that, he was reminiscing about the past and the bare memories of your writhing body splayed under his large one, his entire weight on top of you, just the whisper of his sinful imagination made his mouth water— he truly believes he was in fact dreaming right now, especially when you tell him to kiss him again.

there were no thoughts to process anymore, no focus he could grasp on to remain clearness— what was left were true, unfaltering desires and the scalding pain of waiting. that‘s when you kiss him instead, his body immediately welcoming your fervid warmth, pulling his head towards your own in a heart beat.

ex! husband neuvillette felt a heavy hardship being lifted off his shoulders the moment your lips touch his, and each one of the words he had planned to spell out to you, they form into a sting that was beating into his heart, repeatedly, the sharp stitches seeping into his veins slowly. and he refuses to cry in front of you, or expose to you that everything that had happened after your separation was covered in nothing but a silent numbness.

swallowing the lump in his throat, ex! husband neuvillette guides you to the bedroom, it was hard to decipher what was real or not, each motion of your lips rounding across his own felt like he was dreaming the most beautiful dream of them all. the whisper of cold air brushes across your bodies when he opens the door to the cold room, his own imagination going wild when he peeks at the neatly made bed, or the wooden drawer next to it, still having your wedding picture on display.

ex! husband neuvillette who takes his time in undressing you, the fear of someone taking you away from him again, even now, was still there and he wanted, no, needed to relish in this as good as possible. neuvillette wets his lips, nervous, "my love.. are you sure about this?" and he hesitated for a second— but when you tug at his own sleeves now, fondling with the expensive garment, nodding your head and expertly wrapping your digits into the thin fabric to help him out of it, he knows you wanted it as badly as he did, popping his arms back so you could pull his coat down, your mouth twisting into a subtle smile.

ex! husband neuvillette who touches you featherlight, slowly parting your legs to settle in between, and butterflies expand in your belly when you admire his beauty from up close again, his muscles twitching when you decide to lightly graze his skin with your fingertips, smoothly sliding over his chest before wrapping your arms around his neck. 

ex! husband neuvillette who could honestly cry the moment he first slides his cock into you again, kissing you again and again, more deeply, more feral and in need before licking into your mouth, leaving his large hand to wander down to the plush of your ass and push you into the mattress when he first bottoms out of you. you're so warm, wet and comfortable while you're clamping down on him. and neuvillette pistols his hips like an electric light, hoping he'd be able to hit so deep inside your warm cunt till you practically feel him stir up your guts.

and a moan slowly builds up in your throat as your tits brush against his strong chest— whilst neuvillette places a delicious, fast pace on you, the bare strength of his thrusts making the headboard bounce back and forth the wall as he nibbles on your bottom lip while fucking his cock into you, your gummy walls squelching at each well received pump.

ex! husband neuvillette who roughly palms your tits and plays with your nipples with his hips moving in a feral tempo— whilst those breathy, wet pleas of your name, the ones he whispered against your ear, evolve into gluttonous, hungry groans, whilst the thought about losing all of this made it more difficult for him to say anything at all, his throat acting as a trap for that one sentence he intended to spell out, the sound of it awaiting to break free— but the nervousness couldn't be surpassed as he takes a hold of your hand, desperately clutching on it before grinding his erection back into you, a pulse surging through the entirety of your walls.

ex! husband neuvillette who finds it mesmerizing on how you were so responsive to his every nibble and touch, his thudding cock diving between your legs while he fists your tits in his warm hand, your lips parting with cries and begs while meeting his hungry pace.

his hips, much bigger than yours, keep hitting into you, a lustful gaze on your facial expression clouding your mind as he makes you feel so unbelievably good, soaking your sheets as you kiss him, famished and hot, feeling his needy grunts exhaling through his lips as you clench down hard, gazes meeting once and for all, "i love you." you say, almost cry it out, and neuvillette wanted to be patient with you, claim your body to its full exhaustion afterwards, but not now, he cannot keep his cool this time— not anymore, not after you said those very three words he wasn't able to utter out all night.

you're truly driving him insane, and his body was pressing hotly against yours as you wiggle and writhe under him, puppy eyes watching him please you from under your lashes while you’re requiring more of his cock in you, please please, you say, your pussy clamping around his girth and milking him for good.

ex! husband neuvillette who tells you, "i love you too, i love you too.." in quick, fast paced syllables, and the burning veins in his body turn numb when you begin to cry out of joy and pleasure, hastily pushing your heels into his back to signal him to fuck you harder as he pounds away into your creamy pussy, dragging his hard erection along your sore walls and burning pleasure spots.

now— your nails simmer over his defined back, both sweetly indulging in each others company and the feeling of being one again, nothing else but solid, fast paced pleasure which was turning him on, so fucking much, his breathing puffed and winded, throwing his head back as you're doing your best to match his insane rhythm.

your pussy swallows him up like magic, your damp lashes tickling his shoulders as he buries his face against your neck to suck on the wet flesh, in accessory to the numerous amount of praises, declarations of love and filthy curses plastering your sweaty skin. or how about the swallowing screams and begs of your name that ripple through him as you moan out fervently, twitching under his towering body and arching your back.

oh, well? it's now or never your “ex” husband fears, and he decides to push his pulsing cock deep into your hole, deeper, just a little bit more, please! until you're desperately screaming into his shoulder, as far as it can fit into your little pussy, sending you over an intoxicating edge.

and ex! husband neuvillette was, at long last, back at where he should be, where he should've been all along, with you, making passionate and meaningful love to each other, because the man needed it, needed you close to him, and he cannot and will never again, paint the world without you in it.

©2023 anantaru do not repost, copy, translate, modify

[22ayla21]

This topic is a bit dark and quite sad, so I can understand if you don't want to accept this request.

But I like how you usually cover a little bit of everything in the scene of your posts (apart from some reactions that are really endearing on the part of the boys of the hsr of those you currently write, and that make you feel happy about how good companions they are):

The scene was how they would react/encourage their wife in case she had had an abortion/loss of the baby (It would be the first pregnancy she had, before the little ones they currently have)

The Weight of Loss

Nothing can compare to how a mother loses her child.

An unnatural silence hung over the palace. Even the guards, usually clattering their boots through the corridors, stepped softer, as if afraid to disturb the quiet. Servants whispered among themselves, and courtiers tried to stay out of sight altogether.

Mydei sat by her bedside, holding her cold hand in his. The room was dim, thick curtains blocking out the light, but even the sun couldn't dispel the chill.

She lay motionless, eyes closed, but he knew she wasn't asleep.

She hadn't uttered a word since it happened.

Mydei looked at her pale, waxen face and felt something inside him tear apart.

He always knew the world was cruel. He had seen cities fall, people die, betrayal corrode souls. But never before had he felt so powerless.

Her shoulders trembled, but there were no tears. Only this frightening, icy silence, devouring her from within.

He didn't know what to say. What words could comfort in the face of such loss?

He simply slowly raised her hand and gently pressed his lips to her fingers.

He wanted to say that the pain would pass, that time would heal the wounds, that they would still have a future. But that would be a lie.

Some wounds don't heal. They become part of a person, changing them forever.

So he remained silent.

Just sat beside her, warming her hand with his own, running his fingers over her skin, letting her know she wasn't alone.

Someday she would smile again. Someday this pain would subside.

But until then, he would be there. Always.

The house was deafeningly silent.

Anaxagoras sat on the edge of the bed, head bowed. His hands were clasped, and a dull, aching pain pulsed in his chest. He had never been good at comforting, and now... Now he simply didn't know what to say.

His wife lay facing the wall, her shoulders barely moving. She wasn't crying aloud, but he knew the tears were there, deep inside, burning her from within.

The child was gone.

He would never hear his voice, never feel his tiny hand in his own. He would never know what color his eyes would have been—hers or his?

But she... She had lost more. Hope. A future she had already begun to build in her heart.

Slowly, carefully, he lay down beside her, not touching her, just feeling the warmth of her body.

"I'm sorry," she whispered after a long pause. He wanted to shout. How could she think she was to blame?

"No," his voice was hoarse but firm. "No, don't you dare apologize."

She didn't answer, just curled up tighter, as if trying to dissolve into the air.

Then he carefully reached out and hugged her, pulling her close. She tensed, but then the trembling of her body intensified, and finally, she broke down in tears. Her fingers dug into his shirt, and his arm tightened around her shoulders.

"I'm here with you," he whispered. "Always with you."

This wasn't the end. It was pain, but not the end.

Silence.

It was everywhere. It filled the space, stretched like a sticky shroud, as if muffling even the quietest sounds. He sat beside her, holding her cold fingers in his hands, but she didn't respond to his touch. Her gaze was empty, staring into nothingness, as if she was trying to find an answer in the air to why it had happened this way.

He didn't know what to say. Didn't know how to break the silence without causing her more pain. Any words seemed inappropriate, false. "Everything will be fine"—a lie. "We'll get through this"—too simple.

And yet, he had to say something.

He gently ran his hand over her back, feeling the tension in every muscle. She sat motionless, but he felt the storm raging inside her.

"I'm here," he breathed. Just that. No extra words.

She flinched. Slowly turned to him, and he saw her eyes—red, dull, full of emptiness. Then her lips trembled, and she whispered, barely audible:

"I failed you."

He had never felt such pain from someone else's words. As if something fragile and precious had shattered in his chest.

"No," he said sharply, louder than he intended. He took her face in his hands, forcing her to look at him. "No. Never. You didn't fail me."

She didn't answer, just lowered her gaze, then buried her forehead in his chest. And only then did he feel her shoulders shake.

He didn't know how to heal this pain. No one did. But he knew he wouldn't leave her alone.

When the tears finally broke through, he didn't pull away. Didn't say everything would be fine. He just held her, stroked her hair, letting her cry.

This pain wouldn't go away immediately. But he would stay by her side. Always.

[quotergirl19]

Random thoughts on Colin & Portia:

I loved watching how the “neighbor boy,” Portia Featherington assumed was a typical rakish gentleman, out of reach and unrealistic for Penelope to like:

Declared his love for her daughter assuredly, fervently and loudly to make sure nobody dared question that he wanted to marry her.

Defended Penelope fiercely even against her own mother to make clear that mistreating or disrespecting his woman would not be tolerated.

Discovered Penelope was Lady Whistledown (after he himself said no one would ever marry LW because she would bring ruin on her family) but not only did he not end the engagement despite being upset with Penelope about it, he married her anyway and his vows were undeniably heartfelt and sincere, he gave her a wedding ring which was not necessary or common practice at the time apparently (Daphne just got the one ring from Simon), and he danced with her in broad daylight at their wedding breakfast (rather romantically).

He was immediately furious the second he heard that someone would dare blackmail his wife, and not only would he not stand for it, he immediately acted (however misguidedly he did so) intending to protect Penelope and when the situation escalated, he was willing to lie to his family and pay a fortune to keep her safe.

And much to Portia’s surprise, he took accountability for his part in making things worse when he could have blamed everything on Penelope.

Then Colin supported Penelope’s choice about how to handle the LW situation and when she revealed herself to the ton.

When Penelope offered him an annulment to free himself of association with Lady Whistledown, he insisted he was lucky just to be with her because he loved her.

Then Colin danced with Penelope, clearly sending the message to the ton that he loved and supported his wife. Lady Whistledown did not trap him nor would he be turning his back on her. This was our first glimpse of Colin “My Wife” Bridgerton.

Colin gave Penelope a son, and the Featherington estate the heir they so desperately needed, and Colin will no doubt raise her grandson to be a man of honor, elevating the formerly mocked and disrespected Featherington family to a level of respectability on par with the Bridgertons.

As if that weren’t enough, Colin continues to support Penelope as a wife and mother, encouraging her passion for writing/working.

That Bridgerton neighbor boy single-handedly made his mother-in-law, a justifiably jaded cynic, believe in love.

I cannot wait to see their relationship in future seasons.

[athenalvss]

SECRET LANGUAGE ( circus! batmom )

summary: Batmom and Dick have a different connection than with the rest of the family, they even have their own language, causing the rest of the family to become exasperated.

pairing: batmom x batfam

open request — batmom masterlist

Although Batmom loves and protects all members of the Batfam equally, she shares a special bond with Dick Grayson. It wasn't about favoritism or privilege —there never was— there was simply something different about the connection between them. And while the rest of the kids understood (more or less), that didn't stop them from raising a fuss whenever something clearly exclusive happened between batmom and Dick. How dare they have inside jokes about their past lives right in front of them? Give each other those silent glances that sparked entire conversations without saying a word? It was outrageous!

Except for Bruce, he had given up a few years ago, he could never win his wife, and he wasn't trying either.

── .✦

Between them, they have a sort of visual code developed over the years: raised eyebrows, half-winks, tapping the table... any excuse to silently mock some absurd situation. The rest of the Batfam pretends not to notice, but they're fed up. How could they be left out of this?

That's why everyone was there gathered in one of the rooms of the big Wayne manor, well... "everyone" is a way of saying, everyone was there except you, Bruce and Dick, but the rest of the family was there sitting on the armchairs while they watched Tim enter with his computer.

Tim walked into the room with a confident stride, and with a satisfied smile, he projected the image, showing his hard work. "Welcome to the secret meeting of the marginalized children" he reached the center of the room, causing everyone to look at him, leaving a PowerPoint presentation titled "Spy Project: Sign Language According to Batmom" in the background.

"Does it have an index?" Steph asked, already taking mental notes.

"Of course it has an index" Tim replied, opening the first slide. "Section one: The gestures. Section two: The looks. Section three: Revenge on Dick."

"Shouldn't we call Bruce too?" Duke asked, a hint of hesitation in his voice.

"Bruce? Bruce gave up years ago," Jason said. "And he can't help, he doesn't even try to guess what they're saying."

Tim changed the slide. A slow-motion video showed a kitchen scene from two weeks ago: you, pouring coffee; Dick, leaning on the island; both of you shooting each other a quick glance… followed by a synchronized laugh. No one else was laughing. Just the two of you.

"See that? That was a complete, wordless joke! Wordless!" Tim exclaimed, pointing the laser pointer at the screen.

"And right after, Dick told me he was laughing at the dog on the news. Blatant lie!" Jason shouted indignantly.

Just as Tim was getting into the most important part of his analysis—a slide titled “The Raised Eyebrow: Criticism or Mockery?”—the door softly opened.

"And what are you all doing together? I like it, but it's weird," you asked with a relaxed smile, walking in with several recyclable paper bags in your arms.

Dick appeared right behind you, also laden with bags, and said with disarming ease "We went to get things for dinner. Mom wanted to make her lasagna, you know…"

The entire room froze. Everyone stared at the projector screen, which was still showing a snapshot of the two of you in what appeared to be an intense telepathic conversation during a gala.

Jason was the first to react, standing up from the chair with his arms raised. "I TOLD YOU WE HAD TO GO SOMEWHERE ELSE."

"What's all this?" you asked, raising an eyebrow.

Dick looked at the screen, then at the group, then at you. "Were we being spied on?"

"Spying is a very hard word, it's just a deep analysis of your gestural conspiracy," Tim exclaimed normally.

"We call it... emotional connection" you said, calmly putting down the bags.

"And we call it 'betrayal,'" Damian muttered, arms crossed, visibly hurt.

"It's not treason if we've always been like this," Dick added with a smile.

"That doesn't make it better!" they all shouted at the same time.

You and Dick looked at each other. Raised eyebrow. Smile. And then you burst out laughing without saying anything.

Jason covered his face with his hands. "Of course they're doing it again. In our faces. No shame whatsoever."

Bruce watched silently from the stairs, nursing a cup of coffee. "I told you not to try to decipher it."

── .✦

The Wayne Manor dining room table was, as always, a battlefield disguised as a family dinner.

"You have to accept that Red Hood is a better public figure than you!" Jason bellowed, pointing his fork at Tim, who barely dodged it.

"Public figure? Please, your reputation is half a step away from an arrest warrant," Tim replied quietly, but with venom in every word.

"Tch. He's got it, Pathetic," Damian muttered from his spot, not even looking at the others, busy cutting his steak with surgical precision.

Bruce sighed. He said nothing, as usual. Alfred, stoic, poured more water with the elegance of someone who has seen a thousand wars at that table and survived them all. Amid all that noise, you leaned back a little in her chair and looked at Dick, who was sitting across the table. He wore a stoic expression, but when he felt your gaze, he raised his eyes. And then it happened: that knowing look.

It was barely a second. A meeting of eyes with a restrained smile, a slightly raised eyebrow on your part, and a slight nod from him. A silent gesture that said:

"Same thing again?"

"Always the same."

They both held back their laughter at the same time, as if they'd rehearsed it. No more need be said.

"Are you laughing at us?" Damian snapped, his fork in the air.

"No," you and Dick replied, perfectly in sync.

"Here we go again..." Tim muttered, "This isn't normal!"

"We're not doing this on purpose," they both said, again, at the same time.

Jason brought his napkin to his face. "Okay, this is disturbing."

"Have you been practicing?" Steph asked.

"No" you said in unison, and this time they looked at each other immediately after, holding back their laughter.

"Enough!" Tim shot up from his seat. "They literally have a secret script! It's like they share a neural chip!"

Alfred, unperturbed, poured more water. "I must say, master Tim, this has been going on for so many years that I'm surprised you're still alarmed."

"Thank you, Alfred," both said at the same time, without even looking at each other.

Bruce sighed and muttered, more to himself than to anyone else, "I never had a chance to fight."

Damian, arms crossed and looking annoyed, grunted. "This is unbelievable."

"No," Jason said, "It's a cult, and we're not part of it."

Dick shrugged at the same time as you. "We're not that predictable," you chorused.

and in unison they all shouted: "YOU SAID IT AGAIN!"

── .✦

It was a quiet night. Miraculously quiet. Everyone was sitting in the living room, no missions or alarms. Even Bruce was relaxed—relatively so—with a glass of wine in his hand. It was one of those family reunion nights they had every Friday night.

Tim was lounging on a beanbag with his laptop, Jason was flipping through a magazine without really reading, Damian was trying to teach chess to Steph, who was just moving the pieces around to annoy him. Alfred was passing by with a tray of cookies, ignoring the chaos with his trademark dignity.

But on the main couch, away from the rest, Bruce, Dick, and Batmom were surrounded by photo albums. They'd started under the guise of "organizing memories," but had clearly fallen into a nostalgic spiral.

Suddenly, a photo caught my eye: You were younger in that image, dressed in your iconic illusionist outfit, black top hat, black and white suit, with a shiny cape that reflected the light, and Dick, barely ten years old, in a tiny trapeze artist's outfit, smiling as he hung from a rope. The image showed a moment in the circus, when they were a different family, before Bruce came into their lives.

"It was fun living in the circus," you looked at the photos with a touch of nostalgia. "Except when the tiger escaped."

Dick immediately burst out laughing. "That was just one time! And technically, he didn't run away…"

"It's true, he didn't escape, you let him out."

The laughter shared between the two of you filled the room like an echo from the past. Bruce watched you with a mixture of curiosity and resignation.

"Were you always like this?" he asked, half joking, half serious.

"So how?" you asked with feigned innocence, while sharing a quick glance with Dick.

Bruce frowned as he watched from his seat, confused. "Was that a sign?"

"No," you and Dick answered in unison, with the same smile, that tone that made it clear it wasn't the first time they'd done it.

Bruce sighed. "But what does that tap on the arm just now mean?"

"Nothing" you said again, while Dick tried not to laugh.

"Liars" Bruce said with a resigned smile.

Then, very slowly, Bruce raised both eyebrows, tapped the table, and looked directly at Dick. There was a second of silence. Dick looked at him, you looked at him. And you both blinked, surprised.

"I've been practicing," Bruce said, with a hint of satisfaction.

"You did well, darling," patting him gently on the arm that was around your shoulders.

At that moment, from across the room:

"What's going on now?!" Jason yelled, throwing up his arms as if he'd just been betrayed.

"Bruce speaks your secret language too!?" Tim almost choked on his popcorn.

"This is... unacceptable," Damian muttered, squinting.

"Welcome to the club," Dick said, raising his glass to Bruce.

"They'll never understand," you whispered in Bruce's ear, smiling.

"I know. And it's glorious," he replied, his expression completely serene as chaos erupted around him.

[mangooes]

Luther

If this world were mine…

Sylus tilted his head, watching the soft rise and fall of his wife’s breath as she lay curled up on the bed, head against his broad shoulder, exhausted from her long day.

A small, warm smile played on his lips.

She had dozed off mid-complaint about how he always stole a kiss from her (not that she disliked it), how shes pissed off by the actions of her co workers, and so on so forth.

Now, her long lashes rested against her cheeks, her curls cascading over, the faintest pout still lingering on her lips.

Sylus let out a breathless chuckle.

Gods. This woman is really my whole world, huh?

He gently pulled her head from his shoulder to his lap, careful not to wake her as he leaned back against the headrest of their shared bed.

There had been a time—long ago—when Sylus thought he didn’t need anything in this world.

He had wealth, power, and control. People feared him. Respected him. And yet, none of it ever mattered.

Nothing felt real. Nothing felt his.

Until her.

(Name).

The first person who ever dared to talk back to him without fear. The first person who took his teasing and threw it right back at him. The first person who laughed at his antics instead of trembling in terror.

The first person who he can ever call wife. Home.

The first person who ever made him feel like more than a monster.

If it was up to me, I wouldn't give these nobodies no sympathy I'd take away the pain, I'd give you everything

Sylus reached out, brushing his fingers over her cheek, soft and slow. His heart clenched at the thought.

If he could take every ounce of her burdens and carry them himself, he would.

If he could shield her from every hardship, he would.

If he could worship her everytime anywehere, stab himself on the chest for her over and over again, carve his own heart and scales for her, he would.

Because nothing—nothing in this damn world—mattered more to him than her happiness.

I just wanna see you win, wanna see (If this world were mine...)

(Name) stirred in her sleep, a soft murmur escaping her lips.

Sylus immediately moved closer, his arms slipping around her waist, pulling her into his warmth.

She let out a contented sigh, instinctively nuzzling into his chest.

And just like that, Sylus melted.

For someone so fierce, so independent—she looked so soft when she let herself be vulnerable.

And she only ever let her guard down around him.

His grip tightened, his lips pressing against her forehead, lingering there for a long, silent moment, kissing it with a surprising tenderness.

I can't lie, I trust you, I love you, I won't waste your time.

He wasn’t a good man. Never was.

His hands were stained with too much blood, too much sin, too many crimes to ever deserve someone like her.

And yet, she never once doubted him.

Never once looked at him with fear.

Instead, she held his face in her hands, traced his scars with her fingers, and smiled at him like he was just Sylus.

Not the monster he was destined to be.

Just well...Sylus.

How could he ever let her go?

Its always her, in every lifetime. Only Her, Always Her

(Name) shifted again, and this time, her sleepy eyes fluttered open.

“…Sysy?” she mumbled groggily.

His lips curled into a smirk. “Morning, kitten. Or, well, night, technically.”

She blinked at him, clearly still half-asleep, before burying her face in his chest with a soft grumble and a small smile.

Sylus chuckled. He loved when she got all sleepy and clingy.

I turn it off just so I can turn you on I'ma make you say it loud

“Did you carry me to the bed again?” she asked, her voice muffled against him.

“Mm. Maybe.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“Says the one using me as a pillow,” he teased, running his fingers through her curls. Gently poking her forehead.

She huffed, but she didn’t move away.

Instead, she snuggled closer, tucking her face into the crook of his neck.

Sylus exhaled slowly, arms tightening around her.

He didn’t care about anything else.

Not the N109 zone. Not the money. Not the power.

If he had her, he had everything.

I'm not even trippin', I won't stress you out I might even settle down for you, I'ma show you I'm a pro

Sensing her husband's inner turmoil, she let out a soft sigh, pressing a sleepy kiss to his collarbone.

Sylus froze, snapped back from his thoughts.

Then, grinning, he tilted her chin up, crimson eyes gleaming.

“Careful, sweetie,” he murmured. “You kiss me like that, and I might just keep you in bed all day.”

She let out a sleepy giggle.

“…Sounds nice,” she whispered, her fingers curling into his shirt.

Sylus swore his heart stopped.

I'ma take my take my time and turn it off Just so I can turn you on, baby

Yeah.

For her, only for her.

Every inch of his being, every part of his soul, mind, and body, all for the sake of her. His beloved.

Watching the soft breathings, soft snores, her body warm against his, lost in the depths of sleep.

His hands finding hers lifting it up, giving it a quick gentle kiss, givng it a soft rub, watching her with quiet adoration.

Weekends, get it poppin' on the low Better days comin' for sure

Maybe all he ever needed was her.

Her warmth, her laughter, her sleepy kisses against his skin.

I know you'll come I know you're comin' for

He knew, no matter what happened—no matter how chaotic their world became—she would always return to him.

And he would always be waiting, looking for her.

Just as he would do anything for his beloved, even if this world were to seperate them, doom them in an endless abyss.

Afterall their souls are bound, for eternity.

Sylus pressed a final, lingering kiss against her lips, foreheads pressing against each other, whispering nothing but sweet devotion.

"If this world were mine... I'd only need you, (Name)."

This was inspired by my current fav song rnn Luther by kendrick and sza! Such a fitting song for a romantic scenario aksdjnsajdka anyways i hope i capture the lyrics perfectly for the scenario :>

[novaursa]

i would love some more on Brandon stark (the wild wolf) ♥️ i love ur characterisation of him and really think you’ve nailed his northern charm and stoicism, and your also like one of the only fanfic writers that writes for him which I’m vv grateful for 🤗

maybe a fic with a targ!reader? a reader that gives off helaena vibes, like she’s very soft-spoken and timid but still has her own version of strength. idk how the northerners would react to someone like that, due to their slight hostility(?) so maybe they hold a slight bit of animosity for her (brandon sets them straight tho 🙏🏻) + i doubt that aerys would be so willing to send his daughter so far away but maybe someone managed to convince him lol

brandon seems like the kind of person to be a stoic and true-blue type, yet absolutely smitten for his southern targaryen wife ♥️♥️

Burning Snow

- Summary: A story where the wolf dares to ask the dragon king for his daughter’s hand.

- Pairing: targ!reader/Brandon Stark (The Wild Wolf)

-Rating: Mature 16+

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @oxymakestheworldgoround @idenyimimdenial

- A/N: I hope you like it, dear anon. ❤️

The gods had stitched silver into your hair, finer than moonlight, and woven starlight into your eyes. That was what Brandon Stark told you the first time he approached, brushing past lords and knights as if none of them bore swords or names. You had been standing at the edge of the lake at Harrenhal, your pale hands folded at your waist and your face lifted slightly to feel the warmth of the sun through the drifting mist. Rhaegar was nowhere near you that day, a rare moment of solitude granted by his distraction with harp strings and cryptic lyrics. Viserys clung to Queen Rhaella’s skirts far behind you, and your father's attention—when it ever drifted your way—was kept on the banners flapping around the tilt yard. You were left to your thoughts, half lost in the eerie quiet of your dreams, until Brandon Stark’s shadow fell over you and changed the course of your world.

"You look like a ghost who never left this place," he said, bold and utterly shameless, voice low and warm like a hearth fire in the middle of the northern snow. "But I know you’re real, because I’ve never dreamed of anything so beautiful."

You blinked, startled, heart fluttering like a caged bird, but did not retreat. Others had spoken to you with flattery before—lords and boys and their simpering smiles—but never like this. Brandon’s voice didn’t tremble or seek approval. It was firm, full of raw admiration and curiosity, not praise for a dragon princess but fascination for you.

You lowered your gaze demurely. “You shouldn’t say such things, my lord.”

“Why not?” he asked, folding his arms across a broad chest encased in soft black leather, trimmed with grey fur despite the southern warmth. His grey eyes danced with mischief, though there was something reverent in the way he looked at you—as if you were something he’d never seen in all the cold forests of the North. “Is it a lie?”

Your lips parted, breath catching in your throat. You wanted to vanish beneath your silver skirts, but instead you gave a slight shake of your head. “No,” you whispered. “It is not.”

That had been the beginning. The next few days passed in a blur of silk and smoke and dream-tinged glances. Brandon was everywhere. You felt his presence before you saw him, like the heavy scent of pine after a summer rain, unmistakably northern, wild and earthy. He was not like Rhaegar or any southern prince. He did not speak in riddles or compliments laced with formality. He said what he meant and meant it completely.

He would watch you from the stands with his chin in his hand, ignoring the match before him. He brought you a single white blossom he had found near the godswood and tucked it behind your ear before anyone could stop him. Once, he took your hand while you were seated under a great carved pavilion and traced the lines of your palm with a calloused thumb, murmuring, “Even your hands look like they belong to old magic.”

“Brandon,” you said, unsure, looking around at all the eyes—Lord Rickard, Lord Umber, Lord Cerwyn, and the scowling face of his younger brother, Eddard, who had glanced away with discomfort.

“I know what they think,” Brandon replied, lifting your hand to his lips. “I don’t care.”

It was not long before their displeasure reached his father’s ears. Lord Rickard summoned him near the encampment on the fourth evening of the tourney, when the fires were being stoked and servants poured mead by the barrel. Brandon stood tall, arms crossed, face impassive while his father spoke.

“She is the daughter of the Mad King,” Lord Rickard hissed under his breath, careful not to raise his voice above the crackling of the fire. “Do you know what that means? Her blood is fire and madness. You’d drag the North into chaos.”

“I know who she is,” Brandon replied, steady as ice. “I’ve known from the moment I saw her.”

“A wolf cannot marry a dragon,” Lord Umber cut in gruffly. “And not that dragon. There’s nothing good to come from bedding a Targaryen, lad. You’re not thinking with your head.”

Brandon turned slowly toward them all, his gaze hardening. “I am thinking with my head. I know she’s quiet, and strange to you southern fools, but that girl sees the world in ways none of us can. She dreams things, and they come true. She feels pain like it’s hers even when it belongs to others. And she is braver than half the knights who strut around this place.”

Eddard shifted awkwardly beside their father, glancing away again as Brandon’s voice rose. “You see her as fragile, but I’ve watched her walk through crowds with her eyes on the sky, unafraid of your scorn. That takes strength you’ll never understand. And if you think I’ll let your fear decide who I marry, you’ve mistaken your son.”

Rickard Stark’s face flushed, but his voice stayed cold. “And what do you intend, then?”

Brandon looked over the fire, past the sea of tents and fluttering banners, to the tall tower where the Targaryen royal family stayed.

“I intend,” he said slowly, “to ask the king for her hand.”

The silence that followed was sharp as a blade, cut only by the crackle of burning logs. Somewhere in the distance, a bard sang of gallant knights and stolen hearts, but none of the lords standing by the fire heard it.

Brandon turned and walked away without waiting for their answer.

The hall was soaked in red light, the tall windows casting bloody shadows on the polished floor as the sun dipped low behind the spires of Harrenhal. The black castle, even dressed in banners and gold, still carried a gloom it could never shake, and under that vaulted ceiling with its faint echoes and the smell of old stone and dragonfire, Brandon Stark felt the weight of a dozen watching eyes. Courtiers, lords, and the silent, slinking presence of the eunuch spider gathered near the edges of the throne dais. At its center, King Aerys II Targaryen sat stiff upon the raised seat, his fingers clutched so tightly around the armrest that the knuckles were pale, though his nails remained a sickly yellow. His beard, no longer pristine, curled down his chest in silver strands. His mouth twitched as if he were trying not to bare his teeth.

You stood a little behind your father, beside Queen Rhaella. Your hands were clasped before you, knuckles white. You had not spoken since the summons had been issued—since Rhaegar had turned toward you in the gardens with unreadable eyes and told you softly, “He means to ask for you.” Not for alliance. Not for gain. Not for crowns or peace. But for you.

Brandon knelt on one knee, his head bowed respectfully, though not meekly. His sword hung at his hip, but it was peace-tied. His dark hair was combed back, his leathers cleaned and brushed, but there was still something untamable about him—something the court could not scrub away, no matter how handsomely he dressed.

“My king,” he began, voice steady and deep, echoing off the stone, “I come to you not as a northern lord’s son, nor as a challenger in your lists. I kneel as a man who has come to admire and care deeply for your daughter, Princess—”

“You presume much, Stark,” Aerys interrupted, voice sharp and high, crackling like a log tossed too suddenly into flame. “You presume far too much, if you think I’d hand over my daughter to some cold-blooded wolf who reeks of snow and treason.”

The air in the room shifted—tensed, biting. Brandon did not rise.

“With all respect, Your Grace,” he said evenly, “I would never dishonor your daughter. I ask for her hand because I love her. And I swear, on my name and on the gods, I would protect her with everything I am.”

You felt a tremor ripple through you—not fear, not quite. It was too raw, too electric. You had dreamed of dragons made of snow before, of a wolf walking through fire without burning. You had dreamed of a heart that beat beside yours, even in your sleep. You had seen Brandon’s face before you ever knew his name. But none of those visions prepared you for the sound of him, the certainty in him, speaking of love like it was a vow he’d already bled for.

Aerys rose slowly from his seat, the velvet of his robes dragging like a serpent across the stone. “Love,” he hissed, pacing a few steps. “What do you know of love? Do wolves fall in love, Stark? Or do they only take what they want and leave the bones behind? Is that what you’ll do to her? She is not for you. None of you deserve her.”

Brandon’s jaw tightened. “Then who does?”

That stopped the king. His eyes gleamed with a sudden, unnatural brightness. He turned his head slowly. “What did you say?”

You inhaled sharply, but your voice did not come. It never did when you wanted it most. Queen Rhaella’s hand brushed your sleeve, but she said nothing.

“I asked,” Brandon said again, rising slowly to his feet, “who, if not me, is worthy of her, in your eyes? Or will she be locked in a tower until her hair turns white?”

Aerys’s breath caught. His gaze flew to you—focused, suspicious, glinting with something cruel. “Is this your doing?” he snarled, pointing a shaking finger. “Did you whisper in his ear? Seduce him with your moon eyes and dragon blood?”

You shrank back, lips trembling. “No, Father.”

He paced in quick, twitching steps. “You’ll breed bastards with this wolf, that’s what you want. Pollute our blood with northern filth. You think I don’t see it?”

“Aerys,” Queen Rhaella said quietly, but it was not enough.

And then Varys moved.

He had not spoken, had not stirred, but now the eunuch glided forward, robes soft against the stone, his hands folded delicately in front of him like a priest at prayer. He bowed just low enough to be polite, his painted eyes betraying nothing.

“Your Grace,” he said, silken, mild. “Might I offer counsel?”

Aerys’s lips peeled back. “The whispering spider dares to speak.”

Varys continued, unshaken. “Only if it pleases Your Grace. There is advantage to this, you see. Much advantage.”

“What advantage?” the king snapped, pacing again.

Varys stepped closer to the dais, voice barely above a hush. “You gain the North’s goodwill. You tie one of the realm’s most dangerous houses to the crown in a bond of loyalty, sealed by affection rather than duty. And above all—” he lowered his gaze briefly, “—you remove your daughter from the line of those who might oppose Prince Rhaegar’s eventual rule. Surely it’s better that she marry a wolf, and not become a dragon that flies too high.”

The king’s breathing slowed. He paused at the edge of the dais, staring down at Brandon with narrowed eyes. The words sank into him, feeding the paranoid roots twisting in his mind. Yes, you could almost hear him think. Yes, better to have her far away. Safer. Out of reach of crowns and court. Let the girl freeze in the snow with her wolf, so long as she does not burn me.

You knew the shift when it happened. His shoulders dropped. His mouth curled into something that might have once been a smile, though it was twisted now, and wrong.

“Very well,” he said, waving a lazy hand. “Take her. Freeze together in your barren woods. But you’ll wait. She’s young yet. You’ll be betrothed first, until I say otherwise.”

Brandon stepped back, and for the first time, he turned his eyes to you. There was fire in them, and something deeper—something unshakable. You felt your pulse skip.

He bowed once, deeply. “Thank you, Your Grace.”

Aerys turned away already, muttering to himself, robe trailing like smoke behind him. But Varys remained, and as he passed you, he bowed his head the smallest degree. “Be careful, princess,” he murmured, low enough only for your ears. “Even the snow burns, if you hold it too long.”

You stood in silence, still trembling, still breathless, as Brandon walked out of the hall and your fate with him.

But for the first time in your life, the tremble in your hands was not from fear.

[scrambleddragonegg]

cat! jaskier who was at the witcher tournament but got cursed human by a mage and finally makes it to kaer morhen only for vesemir to recognize him (he was hiding with geralt so when guxart and vesemir got out of jail he met the old wolf) and be so pleased that one of guxart’s kits are still alive (other than aiden) and jaskier just melts into a puddle right there and then because finally someone recognized him again since even his own brothers and sisters didn’t (they would have, he was scared)

vesemir: you’ve grown quite a bit since the tournament, kit

jaskier: *unintelligible whining*

geralt: *confused pikachu face*

geralt: wait JULIAN?

jaskier: it’s almost like i introduced myself that way???

lambert: so we’ve all got cats except for eskel, huh?

vesemir: *grumbles*

eskel: AND I’M OKAY WITH THAT I’VE HEART THE STORIES

aiden: you’re alive??? YOU BASTARD?!

jaskier: *jazz hands while he dodges throwing knives*

ciri: wait so you’re a witcher?!

jaskier: i mean… not really anymore?

vesemir: yes, he’s a witcher. he’s always been like this, so i’m not surprised he ended up a bard too

ciri: both my dads are witchers?!?!

geralt: *spits out his drink*

jaskier: cirilla, i’m not—

ciri: tell me you’re not my dad, i DARE you

jaskier: you’re worse than aiden how is this possible

aiden: so i hear i’m your brother now!

ciri: *accepting that she made the family tree wonky by forcibly adopting jaskier* but you’re also my uncle since you and lambert are together

jaskier: wait then is lambert my son-in-law AND my brother-in-law?

yenn: that was the case before ciri made you her other father, but yes

ciri: *about to drop the biggest bomb on them* thanks for agreeing, mom!

yenn:

jaskier:

geralt:

jaskier: well, you were my wife before geralt was my partner

yenn: that’s a lie and you know it

jaskier: he barely tolerated me and you know it

yenn: he loved you before the djinn he’s just an idiot!

geralt: *watching them bicker* why???

ciri: i learned to cause chaos from my brother-in-law!

vesemir: you were raised by calanthe, this has been in you the entire time

ciri: but i didn’t think grandfathers were supposed to tell ALL of my secrets!

vesemir: *nearly tearing up* after raising this lot you have none, child

[misstycloud]

Yandere merman x reader x best friend

———————————————————————

Imagine a darling finding out she’s half-mermaid.

She lives in a small fishing village way out in he country. It’s the kind of town no one ever leaves. You’re born, grow up, and die there. Whole generations of families have lived there since long before.

Her parents are normal folks; father’s sailor and mother’s a stay-at-home wife. But since darlings family is so much like others’, she doesn’t understand why she’s so different. Her mother often jokes about how her first word was ‘sea’ and how she’d find her standing in her crib, staring out the window at the waves crashing into the cliffs.

Darling has been in a constant battle with herself her whole life. Since as long as she can remember she’s had a gripping fascination with the ocean. She can’t help it! Every night when everyone else laid sound-asleep in their beds, did she lie awake and fantasize about sneaking out and disappearing under the dark waves. No matter how hard she tried shutting these thoughts away, they always came back to haunt her.

While her mother thought is was cute and not a problem, it couldn’t be anything more. Her mother didn’t understand- as sweeet as she was. It probably stemmed from her being too busy with darlings younger siblings and doing chores, that she didn’t think of how the village spoke of her daughter. They call her strange and speak of what a waste of beauty on someone like her; she’s no good and you can’t marry her. Her mother didn’t know about how the rest of the kids teased darling. They pulled her her and pushed he on the ground. It wasn’t an unusual occurrence for her to find her school books wet with sea water, since she ‘likes it so much’. The teachers didn’t care either.

The only solace darling can find is in her best friend. He always defended her agaisnt her bullies- which was practically everyone- and stayed by her side, even when he could become affected too. Darling feels he’s too good to her. The times she felt so alone, he was there to comfort her when her confidence was at its lowest. He held her when she cried and patted her back, whispering into her ear about how sweet and beautiful she is.

Then, by chance one day, she meets a merman. She is surprised- merfolk only exists in stories after all! The merman is so inhumanly beautiful. With long hair cascading down his back and a long fish tail. His tail looked very strong, he was no doubt an excellent swimmer. At first she is scared of him, she runs away-ignoring his shouts for her to come back- and keeps to herself in her room. Her family is worried and wonders if something is wrong, but she tells them it’s nothing and that she’s just a little tired. In her room, darling thinks about the merman. How is it possible for him to exist? Was she hallucinating and perhaps he wasn’t real? Are there other mythological creatures out there? After overcoming her initial fear and hesitance, she decides to go back to the beach.

The merman was still there. She dares ask how he can talk and he responds with, “My people don’t speak the way you do, but I have taught myself the language of humans. That’s how I am communicating with you.”

She asks him more questions, all of which he answers truthfully. Or, well, she hoped he wasn’t trying to deceive her. Darling even gained the courage of asking whether the stories of merfolk feastin on human flesh is true, and when the merman confirms it’s indeed true, she backs up. When he notices her alarmed state, he hurriedly add that he would never eat her.

It’s then he hits her with the most shocking reveal of her life. Apparently, he senses mer- blood in her vains.

“….n-no, that can’t be. You must be sensing wrong- I’m human..!”

He sighs. “Merfolk are very intuitive. We always recognise our own kind.”

He reveals that he suspect her of being half- merfolk since the scent of mer is strong on her. Darling thinks it’s laughable, both her parents are perfectly human. It can’t be. Like, she’d notice if one of her parents was a mythological creature with a fish tail as a lower half.

The merman tells her of old stories among his people, of mers who reproduced with humans- whether its be willingly or the human had kidnapped them. The children would always be different. On the surface they appeared like any other human, but on the inside there would constantly be a longing to return to their orgins- the ocean. Darling is conflicted. On one hand she can’t believe what she’s hearing, however, the description of the half- bloods fit her too well.

That night she confronts her father while he’s getting off work. He breaks instantly. She is shocked to discover that her father had an affair with a mermaid whilst being married to her mother. He had discovered her while fishing in an unpopular area and took her with him. He sobs that he couldn’t help it, the mermaid was so enchanting he couldn’t control himself. When the mermaid fell pregnant, he was so scared of what his wife would say when she found out, but when the child came out human, he was puzzled but relieved at the same time. He brought the baby home and played it off as finding it abondoned by the docks.

Darling can’t believe it. Her father was practically a monster. She recalled the tales of kidnapped merfolk held against their will, by the merman. She couldn’t imagine what her birth mother must’ve gone through. Her father begs her not to tell her mother because it would destroy the happy family they’d built.

In the end, she chooses to keep the secret for the time being. The right thing was to tell her mother, but it was also true that it would ruin everything and she didn’t want her younger siblings to grow up in a broken family. The only thing she wanted was for her father to leave her alone and never speak to her unless absolutely necessary. He agreed.

She begins spending all her time by the beach, in the company of the merman. She wondered what his name was, and to her bewilderment, he shrugged and said he didn’t have one. So she decides to give him one herself, Aqualor. It seemed merfolk-y enough. Luckily, the merman didn’t object and smiled instead, accepting the name.

Her best friend is worried though. He can never seem to even catch a glimpse of the love of his life anymore. Where was she? Now that they’d both grown into adults, it became harder to see each other; he had to work to support himself(and her, in the future). He felt horrible about it, but in all honesty he was a little glad the rest of the village didn’t take to her. If they did, surely she would have been taken away from him. Even if she didn’t know it, she was incredibly beautiful. It was impossible for him not to be a little biased, but she truly was the most wonderful thing he’d laid his eyes on. He could only imagine how it’d be if people actually treated her like she looked.

While her best friend felt the separation anxiety, darling count be happier. Finally she had someone who understood her fully. There was someone to relate to when she explained the urge to dive deep beneath the waves and disappear, and how pleasant water felt on her skin. Aqualor understood everything perfectly.

Her best memory was of her first swim with Aqualor. She’d been somewhat sacred in he beginning. Despite her desperate longing for the ocean, she’d never been in it much. It was quite ironic. He’d been so patient with her, never pushing or getting annoyed. He waited until she was more comfortable venturing out in the openness. Now they swam together every day, laughing and playing. Of course, Aqualor was the superior swim more out of the two of them, but darling likes to think she isn’t so shabby herself.

This is how she thought the rest of her life would be like; she and Aqualor enjoying each others company from morning to evening, while she returns home to the village every night. She didn’t have a job- no one would hire her anyway- so why not have fun with your friend? It wouldn’t be the best life, but it’d be peaceful and easy.

However, the ‘easy’ disappeared when Aqualor asked if she’d like to join him in the sea permanently.

“What? What do you mean?” She tilted her head in confusion.

The merman flipped his tail in the shallow water- his upper body was on the sand while the rest of him remained in the water. “Would you not like to come with me? We already spend so much time together, so it would hardly be any different.”

“Yeah, but I can’t just leave. I have to stay with my family.” She glanced back up and could see the tiniest snippet of houses, the village.

“You mean the father who has committed sins, a mother who doesn’t care for your feelings and siblings who forget your existence?” He harshly pointed out. His words stung.

“They’re far from perfect, I know that. But still, I can’t just vanish- I don’t even think I can survive out there!”

He grabbed her hand, his were wet and slightly webbed. It didn’t bother her though.

“Of course you can. Remember your heritage? Besides, I will be there and guide you through it. I will protect you, I will hunt for you. It will just be you and me, happy and content. Doesn’t it sound lovely?”

She went quiet and looked away, unsure.

He continued, “You alway tell me of how the humans treat you. They scorn you and say hateful words about you. That is because you are above them.” He smiled. “You do not belong here- you are mer! You should be with your people.”

“But even if I have mer-blood, I’m still human, look at me.” She stretched out her legs, flexing them and empathising their difference.

“You may have the appearance of a human, you soul, however, it is of a mermaid. You long to be free and to live the life you’ve always meant to live. They can’t keep you here in this…” his voice trailed off to disgust “cage.”

Darling sat and listened to Aqualor’s ramblings. Did he have a point? It’s not like anyone would miss her really. Her friend, yes, but he has so much else to live for. He’s not strange and everyone thinks well of him. He’ll be successful.

“So, what do you say, my coral? Will you join me?”

[blueberrypancakesworld]

You are never a mistake

Dmitri Smerdyakov x betrothed!reader

warning : kissing, hurt/comfort, cuddling, emotional, abuse (beating), family problems

Summary : Dmitri thought for a moment that he would be accepted by his father, but when he felt the blow and his wife's intervention almost backfired, the Kravinoff son realized that he had to become strong, not weak. For his love, for someone who loved him as he was, he himself would stand up to his father no matter what a disappointment he was.

info : Finally the first one-shot for Dmitri the cute little beaten up bastard who just needs a little love. I hope you enjoy reading ;)

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

Many couples around the world meet in cafes while they are both reaching for coffee, looking for life books in the library.

Maybe at a party or through friends, there are moments that last forever and are cherished when you find your partner for life, a relationship that becomes a marriage and an eternal bond with the exchange of rings.

Something that symbolized love and strength a bond when you had your own family maybe even about to start and then there were still the couples that met and a shadow seemed to lie over them forever, a shadow that had a name and didn't even seem to be happy for the love of their own child.

The first time they had met was in their music store, the best and biggest in New York, a store for the elite and those who could afford it.

An old family store that was the heart of every musician and singer from strings to wind instruments to keys and to microphones and stands.

A business that adapted to the talent.

Behind the counter, glancing up every now and then to greet the new buyers, she had seen him first, the slightly wavy blond hair, the cute nose, the little smile on his lips and the gentle demeanor.

The first time she had seen him, she had dared to leave her seat and come to him, seeing how he looked a little lost as he stood in the piano section.

She knew the feeling of being lost in a place you were interested in, not quite knowing whether to move or stand still.

The first time she had heard him play in her shop was the day she no longer saw her customer as just a customer, she saw his strength, his art, his beauty as he seemed to be absorbed in playing the piano.

There was a talent, a dedication in it and his voice, that voice she could have listened to for hours, made her hum along even when it seemed to be just the two of them in her shop.

,,A wonderful talent, really beautiful" her praise came from the purest heart...but for him, for Dmitri Kravinoff, it was the first time anyone had recognized him in what he was good at.

It was the first time for Nikolai's son that someone had inspired him in what he did and it was the first time that he lost his heart to her on the spot.

The day they exchanged numbers so that he could deliver the piano she had chosen to the club and also so that he could take her out for a meal at the end of the day.

It was on that day that two people had found each other and that only some time later it was more than just a relationship and fleeting dates, it was a bond between the two young people to whom the world was open...or so it seemed at first glance.

For the first few months it was like that, moving in together, partying, having fun, traveling everywhere, gifts that went from expensive to cheap to homemade and then to something more intimate the more they opened up and trusted each other.

The more she realized who his family was, what he was, but most of all what he had experienced, his ,,I-I understand if you hate me now...I wouldn't stop you if you wanted to leave” surprised her but most of all hurt her that he gave up on him so easily.

That her talented, precious, wonderful, gentle Dmitri, who kissed her on the forehead every morning.

Who did everything you could do with her and who dedicated every song in his club to her with such love and kindness, thought so little of himself.

Who had hurt him so much?

Who hurt him so much that every loud noise made him flinch, that he almost cried during an argument over trivial things and how he hated it when animal documentaries came on TV, little things she would have overlooked but with what she knew she just wanted to hold him in her arms.

Who had hurt him so much that he saw himself as nothing, which she tried to talk him out of every time ,,Dmitri my beautiful star I don't care who your family is, it's us who are together and not your last name” she tried to explain to him that he was the most important thing she had.

That her kisses and hugs, her words and gestures had the same loving effect as he had on her, that they had each other and when she threatened to kiss him every time he thought something like that again.

Dmitri finally seemed to find his smile again, ,,Do it," he just said, and he pulled her into a kiss as they lay cuddled together on the couch.

Together they gave each other the support they needed, Dmitri kept her motivation up whenever she wanted to give up with her msuik and she lovingly told him every day how good he was, that he was loved and above all that he was not alone.

The two of them in the club they had built with Dmitri's family money was their common pride, a club for the rich customers of the city.

A club where she could recommend her regular customers and the best entertainment was guaranteed with his piano and singing as well as her violin playing which made for a pleasant atmosphere.

Almost every evening, the two of them stood on the small stage and performed their harmony, ,,I dedicate this song to my beautiful fiancée,” he announced, while she joined in with her violin and the soft music amused the guests.

His blue eyes kept going to her, the smile was returned and she gave him a wordless ,,I love you” which he reciprocated, it couldn't have been better for the couple... until the moment when Dmitri's eyes fell on a man, a certain someone who came into his club and almost made the Russian play the wrong music.

With a hand movement that made the music continue to play by itself from the equipment hanging on the walls, and she saw how he smoothed out his jacket.

Everything will be fine, she thought he wanted to tell him, but he had already gone to his father, who had sat down in one of the recesses in the walls, looking directly at the stage from which she also came down to follow her fiancé.

Nikoali was a man of strength, a man you didn't want to mess with and yet there was no avoiding him, ,,Father, we're glad you're here, can I offer you something?” Dmitri asked and got a hug and a gesture she didn't get instead Nikolai gave the back of her hand a kiss and she gave him a quick friendly look.

It seemed that Dmitri was the only thing keeping her future father-in-law from killing her-what a luck.

But as long as Dmitri was happy and had his father, the two should get along, ,,I'll get a few glasses,” she let the men know as Nikolai gave his son a bottle of expensive wine.

A gift of value not from the heart but it made no sense to the son his father was here and happy that was all that mattered...so she thought.

It was just a moment when she pulled out the wine glasses in the kitchen at the back of the club, not wanting to take any more advantage of the waiters who had a long shift ahead of them.

The glasses in her hands and a smile on her lips, she heard the muffled noise and a crash, rushing back into the main room she saw Nikolai had pushed Dmitri against a wall, knocking over the table and no one was doing anything.

,,Dmitri! Let him go!” she shouted at the older man, afraid that he would seriously hurt his son, because the horrible stories that sent shivers down her spine told her everything she needed to know about the underworld boss.

Her fiancé's attempts to get free were unsuccessful, so without hesitation she picked up one of the glasses and threw it against the wall next to Nikolai, ,,Let him go and get out of our club,” she continued to threaten.

An empty threat that amused the dark-haired man, who was already lifting the next glass when he let go of his son, who slumped to the floor, barely able to support himself.

,,Even your bitch has more courage than you, shame on you,” Nikolai said to his son and walked past her with an appraising look, hurrying to her fiancé as soon as the door closed and he fell onto the nearest chair.

,,Are you all right? To the hospital?” she asked, trying to wipe the blood from his lip with a slapped hand from the blow his father had given him.

He looked terrified, as if all joy and hope had drained out of him once more, but he just shook his head before he simply poured out a tearful ,,You're fine” into her arms and she embraced the couple just lying in each other's arms for a few moments.

They held each other until Dmitri calmed down and his tears had stoppe.

The decision to close the club early was hardly one because it looked like a mob had gone wild there and not just Nikolai, ,,Your heart is too big for the world,” she told him as they rode back to the apartment together in a cab.

Her hand didn't leave his and stroking his head at least reassured him but the look in his eyes, she had never seen such hatred, whether it was just the confrontation or something else she couldn't say.

Whatever it was it seemed to keep him occupied the whole time no matter what they both did, no amount of embracing or kissing could break his blcik until the moment they lay in bed together.

She cuddled up to him and he gave her a good after kiss she couldn't shake the feeling that something else was going to happen.

Even though she felt safe in his arms, he stroked her side until she fell asleep like he did every night, usually soothing them both.

The sound of the door opening and closing was something she didn't realize, didn't realize how Dmitri had to do something.

It was one thing when he was pushed around, he had been pushed around all his life but now that he had his fiancée he wouldn't let his father get away with it.

Knowing she was safe in the apartment sleeping peacefully.

It was the Kravinoff who set off through the city at night to his father and it was only the clanging and rattling of cupboards that woke his fiancée from her slumber.

,,Dmitri?” the question came cautiously as she groped beside her but he wasn't there, but the sounds from the apartment frightened her.

No one had a key except for the two of them, pulling the covers aside she reached for the water bottle next to her bed.

Quietly and carefully venturing out of the bedroom, she saw the shadow in the hallway that seemed to be raging in the kitchen.

She should have called the police, anyone, but what if Dmitri was in danger?

She was ready to sleep with the bottle tighter if ever, she cried out in fear when she saw Dmitri, who seemed to be looking for something in the kitchen and looked completely exhausted.

,,What the hell? Dmitri darling what are you doing?” she asked putting the bottle down.

Seeing the torn clothes, the fuzzy hair, the black eye but most of all the bloody knuckles as if he had hit himself or better said as if someone had hit him.

Seeing what he had failed to find, however, she grabbed the first aid kit and went with him to the couch, ,,I well...I told my father never to insult you again and then there was a little altercation” he began to confess as she gave a makeshift dressing to his wounds which fortunately did not require stitches or hospitalization.

His courage touched her as she realized that he had pushed away the person he had once needed the most for her, ,,I've never loved you more and well...next time we'll both beat him up” she suggested and felt the kiss he gave her as they both laughed at the idea.

But in his eyes the look of gentleness and love was there again and not the hate ,,I love you too" he replied and she pressed a kiss to the bandage on his hand which should make the pain less.

At least Dmitri didn't seem to be in pain, not when they kissed, not when she continued to nurse him and he proudly told her how he had told his father off.

Not when his hand stroked the engagement ring on her hand as they made love and finally seemed free of the gray of the Kravinoff family.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ @tori111777 , @bel0ved-heretic , @amecchii , @xxxibgdrgons , @lordbelzeebub , @simonsrealwife

[ell0ra-br3kk3r-writes]

Fingers Intertwined

pairing: kaz brekker x wife!reader

genre: fluff

requested: yes

el's thoughts: i haven't written for kaz in a while, and the last time i did i was writing tpatc and it's very different from this kaz... but i hope i didn't lose my touch hahaha

kaz masterlist

Kaz Brekker did not hold hands.

That much was a well known fact.

He did not wrap an arm around anyone’s waist, did not let someone lean into his side as they walked. He did not allow softness in a place like Ketterdam, where softness got you killed. And yet—here he was, threading through the shadowed alleys with Y/N’s fingers laced between his own, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

It wasn’t that he disliked it—no, Kaz had long since come to terms with the fact that Y/N had a way of bypassing his usual aversions without even trying. A casual brush of her hand here, a fleeting touch there, and suddenly his body had started learning that her touch wasn’t a threat. It was warmth. It was safety. It was simply her.

But the real problem was the looks.

He could feel the stares burning into him from the dim-lit streets, the way the few who recognized him faltered in their steps, eyes darting to where his gloved fingers curled so easily around hers, her diamond ring on display. He was Kaz Brekker, Dirtyhands, the Bastard of the Barrel. He was not the kind of man who strolled around holding hands with his wife.

And yet, here he was.

He should have seen it coming, really. The moment Y/N walked into his life, Kaz had known—deep in that part of him that he rarely acknowledged—that she was going to be trouble, stir the waters of his life. Not in the way most people were trouble for him. No, she was his kind of trouble.

She had slipped into Ketterdam like a whisper against the tide, moving through the Barrel with quiet confidence, always watching, always listening. She had been careful, at first, keeping her distance from him. But then she spoke. And that was the first crack.

She had a way of talking to him like he was just a man—not a myth, not a monster. She met his sharp edges with unwavering patience, never pushing, never prying. And yet, somehow, she had gotten past all his walls without even trying.

He hadn’t realized how far he had fallen until it was too late. Until he caught himself watching her instead of his surroundings, until his hands started reaching for hers before his mind could catch up. Until she leaned close to him one evening, her breath barely ghosting against his jaw, and murmured, “You care for me, don’t you?”

And Kaz—ruthless, cold, untouchable Kaz—had not been able to lie.

So he had married her. Because there was no one else in the world he trusted with his name, with his future, with the fragile, broken thing in his chest that still dared to beat.

“Are you aware,” he murmured now, low enough for only her to hear, “that you do an awful lot of public displays of affection?”

Y/N barely glanced up at him, utterly unfazed as she adjusted her grip on his hand, squeezing gently. “Is that your way of telling me to stop?”

Kaz exhaled through his nose. “I didn’t say that.”

She turned her head toward him, a soft, amused smile tugging at her lips. “So you don’t mind?”

He could have lied. Could have let his pride dictate his answer. But the thing was, if he truly minded, he wouldn’t have let her do it in the first place. Afterall, he was still the Bastard of the Barrel

Kaz glanced down at their joined hands, then back up at her expectant face. “I mind the staring,” he admitted. “But not this.”

Her expression softened, and before he could react, she stopped walking, tugging him to a halt. Without hesitation, she lifted their joined hands and pressed a kiss to his gloved knuckles, completely ignoring the way a drunkard down the street sputtered at the sight.

Kaz sighed and rolled his eyes. “You’re not making this any better.”

Y/N grinned up at him and tilted her head in faux innocence, the dim alley light casting a glow over her features. “Better for who?”

He shook his head, exasperated, but didn’t let go of her hand.

And when they started walking again, Kaz Brekker—the infamous Dirtyhands—kept holding on.