#i am just exhausted that the me in my head has never will never look like the me in real life

[daeniradraconis]

The Starting Lineup - Auston Matthews

So this is just a little blurb because I saw an Auston interview where he said he wants to be a coach for his future little girl’s team… and my mind immediately went there. 🥺 My hormones can’t handle it.

Big, tough Auston Matthews holding his tiny baby girl for the first time? Dreaming about coaching her future team? Being the softest, most loving dad?? Yeah. I had to write this! Enjoy the fluff.:)

The hospital room was quiet, the soft hum of the machines the only sound besides the steady rhythm of your breath. You lay in the bed, exhausted yet filled with a warmth you’d never experienced before. And there, cradled gently in your husband’s arms, was the tiny miracle you’d both waited for—the beautiful little girl you’d been dreaming of.

Clara.

Auston sat in a chair beside your bed, his huge, strong frame looking almost comical as he held her in his arms. The contrast between him—a thick, powerful hockey player—and the tiny, delicate baby against his chest was striking. Clara looked so small, her little hands curled into fists, her face scrunched up in sleep, safe and warm against her daddy’s bare skin.

"She’s so tiny," Auston whispered, his voice full of awe. He looked down at her with so much tenderness it nearly took your breath away. "I can’t believe she’s ours."

Your heart swelled as you watched him, this man who had always been so strong, so confident, now completely captivated by the tiny person in his arms.

"You’re doing great," you said softly, reaching out to brush a strand of dark hair from his forehead. "She’s already got you wrapped around her little finger."

Auston let out a soft chuckle, but he didn’t even try to deny it. "Yeah… yeah, she does." His voice was thick with emotion.

Then, a new kind of determination sparked in his eyes. "You know," he started, still gazing down at Clara, "I think we need to start a Leafs girls' team."

You raised an eyebrow, amused. "Oh? And let me guess—you’re going to be the coach?"

Auston smirked. "Damn right, I am. I’ll make sure Clara has a spot on the roster. We’ll start training as soon as she can walk. Maybe even sooner."

You laughed softly, shaking your head. "You are so serious about this, aren’t you?"

Auston looked up at you then, his expression nothing but love and certainty. "Of course, I am. She’s a Matthews. She’s meant to be a Maple Leaf."

You grinned, leaning back against the pillows. "So let me get this straight. You’re going to create a whole Leafs girls' program just so Clara can play for Toronto someday?"

He nodded like it was the most obvious thing in the world. "Exactly. Think about it—Clara Matthews, future Leafs star. I’ll coach her when she’s little, get her skating, teach her everything I know. And then, when she makes it to the pros, I’ll be right there, front row, cheering her on."

You reached out and gently poked at his bicep. "You’re so dramatic."

Auston grinned, shifting Clara slightly so she could rest even closer against him. "Maybe. But I’m serious. I want to be the best dad for her. I want to be there for every moment, every milestone. And if she wants to play hockey, I’ll make sure she has every opportunity." He paused, his voice turning softer. "I just want her to have everything."

Your heart melted right then and there. This was the same Auston who poured everything he had into the game he loved—the same Auston who led his team, took every hit, and fought for every win. But here, holding Clara, he was softer than you had ever seen him.

"You already give her everything," you whispered, reaching for his free hand and squeezing it gently. "She doesn’t need to be a hockey player for that. She just needs you."

Auston’s gaze locked with yours, his expression filled with love so deep it made your breath hitch. "She has me," he promised, squeezing your hand back. "She has both of us. Always."

You smiled, warmth spreading through your chest. "Well, if she does end up playing hockey, she’s going to have the most intense coach ever."

Auston chuckled, looking back down at Clara, who had started making the tiniest sleepy noises. "That’s right. No skipping practice, no slacking. Gotta be tough out there, baby girl."

You rolled your eyes. "She’s literally a few hours old, Auston. Give her a break."

He grinned, pressing the softest kiss to Clara’s forehead. "Fine. But as soon as she can walk, we’re getting her on skates."

You sighed dramatically but couldn’t stop the laughter bubbling in your chest. "You’re impossible."

Auston looked up at you again, his expression turning serious. "No, I’m just really, really thankful." His voice was full of sincerity. "For you. For her. For this family we made."

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, and you leaned over to kiss his temple. "I love you, Auston."

He smiled, his gaze full of love. "I love you more."

You sighed happily, watching as Auston cradled Clara against his chest, completely lost in the moment. His fingers traced gentle circles on her tiny back, his touch so soft it made your heart ache.

"You know…" Auston started, his voice quiet but laced with something mischievous. "I think she needs a little brother. Or maybe a sister. A whole little team, actually."

Your head snapped toward him, eyes wide. "Excuse me? Matthews, I just gave birth hours ago, and you’re already planning a starting lineup?"

Auston grinned, completely unbothered. "I mean… yeah," he admitted shamelessly, brushing his fingers against Clara’s chubby cheek. "Imagine it—Clara leading the offense, little Auston Jr. holding down the blue line, maybe another one in net—"

"Auston!" you gasped, swatting at his arm. "Are you insane? I’m 31, Matty. I can’t just pop out a whole hockey roster. I’m old."

He laughed, shaking his head as he leaned down to press another kiss to Clara’s soft skin. "First of all, you’re not old. You’re just older. And second of all…" He looked up at you with a teasing smirk. "You’d make a perfect MILF."

You groaned, but the warmth in your chest betrayed you. "You are terrible."

Auston chuckled, still staring at Clara like she held the entire world in her tiny hands. "I’m just saying… we make reallycute kids. It’d be a shame to stop at one."

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t stop the fond smile creeping onto your lips. "Let’s just get through this one first, Coach Matthews—then maybe we’ll revisit the topic next year."

Auston smirked. "Fine. But I am drafting for Team Matthews soon, just so you know."

You exhaled a tired but love-filled sigh, sinking back into the pillows. "Unbelievable."

Auston just grinned, holding Clara even closer. "Nah. Just really grateful."

And as much as you teased him, as much as you couldn’t help but laugh at his over-the-top ideas, the truth settled deep in your chest.

In that moment, watching your husband—this massive, strong hockey player—hold your daughter like she was the most fragile thing in the world, you realized something.

Auston Matthews might be known for his power on the ice, but the way he was with Clara? Soft, loving, completely in awe of this tiny human you’d made together.

It was the most perfect thing you'd ever seen, and you knew, no matter how many kids, no matter the chaos ahead, that this—right here—was everything you could ever need.

You leaned back into your pillows, your heart fuller than you thought possible. "You really are perfect, Matty," you whispered.

He glanced up at you, his eyes full of love, and for a moment, it was just the three of you. You, him, and your little girl.

And you couldn’t help but feel like the luckiest person alive.

[weekendlusting]

A TALE OF FAME

pairing ꪆৎ charles leclerc x ahaana patel ᥫ᭡. f1 driver x bollywood actress au

chapter ꪆৎ 3

summary ꪆৎ she's everything, and he just drives.

note ꪆৎ no hate to any characters used in the story, none of what i write reflects on how they actually are. all my love, happy reading.

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Charles Leclerc sat in his hotel suite, fingers drumming impatiently against the glass of whiskey in his hand. He wasn’t even drinking it—just swirling the amber liquid in the dim light of his room, as if the motion itself could steady his thoughts.

Alex was late. Of course, she was. She had a way of dragging things out, prolonging the inevitable, believing that if she held on long enough, reality would bend to her will.

He heard the sharp knock at his door and exhaled slowly before getting up to open it. Alex stood there, all too put together—her blonde hair in effortless waves, her lips curved in a knowing smirk, like she already thought she’d won whatever game she was playing.

“Chéri,” she purred, stepping past him without waiting for an invitation. “Miss me?”

Charles shut the door and ran a hand through his hair. “Sit down, Alex.”

She turned, arching a perfectly sculpted brow. “Oh? We’re being serious now?” She strolled over to the couch, sitting with the grace of someone who still thought they held all the cards.

Charles didn’t sit. He remained standing, arms crossed, his jaw tight. “I told you this was over.”

Alex let out a soft laugh, tilting her head as she crossed her legs. “And yet, you called me here. Mixed signals, don’t you think?”

“I called you here,” Charles said, voice measured, “because you don’t seem to get it. We are done, Alex. Finished.”

Her smile didn’t waver, but something flickered in her eyes. “Are we?” she said smoothly. “Because I keep hearing your name next to mine. The media still calls me your girlfriend. You haven’t exactly rushed to correct them.”

Charles clenched his fists. “I shouldn’t have to. We broke up. You just refuse to accept it.”

She leaned forward, resting her chin in her palm. “Or maybe you’re just confused. Maybe this—whatever this little tantrum is—will pass, and you’ll realize that I am the only woman who truly understands you.”

Charles let out a humorless laugh, shaking his head. “Tantrum? You think I’m throwing a tantrum? Alex, I am exhausted.”

Her smirk faltered slightly, but she masked it quickly. “Exhausted of what?”

“Of you!” His voice rose, exasperation lacing every word. “Of the mind games. Of the manipulation. Of the constant need to control everything, including me.” He pointed at her. “You think if you show up enough times, if you insert yourself into my life over and over, I’ll just—what? Change my mind?”

Alex’s eyes darkened. “I wouldn’t have to insert myself into your life if certain people weren’t trying to replace me.”

Charles exhaled sharply, pinching the bridge of his nose. “And here we go.”

She stood, arms folding as she stepped closer to him. “Don’t act like you don’t know what I’m talking about, Charles. That little actress you’ve been parading around—Ahaana.”

Charles’s eyes snapped to hers, his posture stiffening. “Ahaana has nothing to do with this.”

Alex scoffed. “Please. You think I don’t see the way you looked at her that day?” She stepped closer, voice dripping with venom. “She is nothing. She’s a novelty. A shiny new toy for you to play with. And once the excitement fades, you’ll realize what I’ve always known—you and I are inevitable.”

Charles’s jaw clenched so tightly it hurt. “You are delusional, Alex. And actually fucking crazy if you think that Ahaana has anything to do with this.”

Her lips curled. “Am I?”

“Yes,” he snapped, stepping forward, closing the space between them. “I have never—never—been more certain about anything in my life. We are over. I am breaking up with you. I don’t love you. I don’t even like you.”

She inhaled sharply, but before she could speak, Charles continued.

“You want to know why? Because I see you now. For who you really are. You’re not the woman I fell for—you’re a version of her, twisted and bitter, clinging onto something that doesn’t exist anymore.” He exhaled harshly. “You’re right about one thing. I do look at Ahaana differently. Because she isn’t like you.”

Alex’s face twisted, her hands curling into fists. “She will never be me.”

“Thank God for that.”

The silence between them was thick, charged with something dangerously close to hatred. Charles had never wanted to hate Alex—had never even imagined he could—but looking at her now, seeing the pure, unfiltered malice in her eyes, he realized he might be close.

She straightened, lifting her chin. “You’ll regret this.”

“No,” he said quietly. “I won’t.”

She stared at him, something almost desperate flickering across her features, before she masked it with indifference. “Fine,” she said. “Have it your way.”

Charles said nothing. He just watched as she turned, her heels clicking against the floor as she stormed toward the door. But before she left, she paused, glancing back over her shoulder.

“This isn’t over,” she said, voice eerily calm.

And then, she was gone.

Charles stood there for a long moment, his heart pounding, his fists clenched so tightly his nails dug into his palms.

But then he exhaled, shaking his head, as if shedding the last remnants of whatever hold Alex had on him.

For the first time in a long time, he felt free.

Meanwhile not too far away,the hotel room was bathed in soft hues of twilight, the warm amber glow of the setting sun spilling through the sheer curtains. Ahaana sat curled up in a chair by the window, her phone resting idly on the armrest. Her fingers absentmindedly traced the rim of a coffee mug, long gone cold. The day had been uneventful, yet her mind was anything but still. The ghosts of the past lingered in the shadows, whispering doubts, tugging at old wounds she had worked so hard to forget.

India.

Film city.

Even the thought of it sent a strange chill through her veins. It wasn’t fear—not exactly. It was the weight of something unfinished, something unresolved, lurking in the corners of her memory. The industry that had once been her playground had also turned its back on her when she had needed it the most. And yet, here she was, being offered a way back in.

What the fuck is happening? She sighed to herself, rubbing her temple.

The phone buzzed suddenly, pulling her out of her thoughts. She glanced at the screen, expecting yet another half-hearted PR email or a message from her manager. But instead, a name lit up the display, and for the first time that day, she felt something shift inside her.

Varun Dhawan.

She hesitated for only a second before answering. “Hello?”

“Finally! Madam has answered my call.” His voice was light, teasing, filled with the familiar warmth that had always made her feel like home.

Ahaana huffed out a small laugh. “Hi, Varun.”

“Hi, she says. That’s all I get? After ignoring me for days?”

“I haven’t been ignoring you.”

“Really? Because Karan and I were starting to think you had developed some severe phone phobia. Should we be concerned?”

She rolled her eyes but couldn’t suppress the small smile tugging at her lips. “You’re being dramatic.”

“Dramatic? Me? Never.” His tone dropped slightly, losing some of its playful edge. “Ahaana, you know why I’m calling.”

Her smile faltered. Of course, she did.

“You and Karan are relentless,” she muttered, leaning back against the chair.

“Because we believe in you,” he countered immediately. “And because we know you still love this. Don’t pretend you don’t.”

She exhaled slowly, staring out at the dimming sky. “It’s not that simple, Varun.”

“Yes, it is.” His voice softened. “You were born for this, Ahaana. And you know it. Whatever happened before—”

She stiffened slightly. “Let’s not talk about that.”

There was a pause, as if he was choosing his next words carefully. Then, he sighed. “Fine. But don’t let the past dictate your future. You’re not that person anymore.”

She wanted to believe that. She really did.

“You don’t have to do this alone, you know. And we’re still your people, Ahaana.”

She closed her eyes for a moment. She had spent so long pushing everything away, convincing herself that she didn’t need anyone, that she had forgotten what it felt like to have people who cared. People who wanted her back.

Then, before she could respond, another voice chimed in from the background. “Has she said yes yet?”

Karan Johar.

Ahaana let out a small laugh despite herself. “Karan, are you eavesdropping?”

“I don’t eavesdrop. I supervise.”

Varun snorted. “He’s been pacing for the past ten minutes, by the way. I think he might actually combust if you say no.”

Karan’s voice came through again, a touch more serious this time. “Darling, you’re a star. Stop dimming your own light.”

Ahaana stared at the city skyline, a myriad of thoughts swirling inside her. But for the first time in a long time, the hesitation didn’t feel quite as heavy. Maybe Varun was right. Maybe Karan was right. Maybe it was time to stop running.

She inhaled deeply, a quiet moment of clarity settling over her. Then, she spoke.

“Okay.”

A beat of silence. Then Varun whooped so loudly she had to pull the phone away from her ear. “YES! Ladies and gentlemen, she’s back!”

Karan’s relieved sigh came through the speaker. “Finally. I was this close to staging a full intervention.”

Ahaana laughed, shaking her head. “You two are impossible.”

“And you love us for it,” Varun quipped.

She did. More than she cared to admit.

And maybe, just maybe, it was time to come home.

The gang had game nights far too often then they'd like to admit, Max and Kelly were ofcourse there, Ahaana was there, Carlos and Rebecca joined, Lando somehow always inserted himself in even though everytime he cheated and got himself uninvited. Even Alex Albon and Lily joined them from time to time, but couldn't make it this time and Charles was with them for the first time ever.

The night was young, but the energy in the room felt like the start of a Grand Prix itself—fast, loud, and filled with the potential for absolute disaster. The gang had gathered in Max’s hotel suite for a game night, and true to form, it had already descended into chaos.

“I’m telling you, Lando cheats,” Ahaana declared, pointing an accusatory finger at him as he smirked from his spot on the couch. “There is no way you won that round fairly.”

Lando, lounging back with all the ease of someone who had just scammed his way into victory, dramatically placed a hand on his chest. “How dare you? I am an honest man.”

“Honest, my foot,” Kelly interjected, shaking her head. “Even Charles saw it, didn’t you?”

Charles, who had been uncharacteristically quiet for the past few minutes, blinked. “Huh?”

“See? He wasn’t even paying attention,” Lando scoffed. “Probably too busy thinking about how free he is now that he’s finally dumped his psychotic ex.”

That got everyone’s attention.

Rebecca, who had been stacking poker chips, froze mid-motion. Max, who had been snickering at Lando’s misfortune, raised a brow. Ahaana, who had been preoccupied trying to figure out how Lando had managed to win five rounds in a row, looked up.

“You finally did it?” Carlos leaned forward, grinning. “You actually told Alex to get lost?”

Charles exhaled heavily, running a hand through his hair. “It was not exactly smooth.”

“Of course, it wasn’t,” Max said. “She’s like an overly attached leech.”

Kelly winced. “Oof. Harsh, but fair.”

“I don’t even want to know the details,” Lando said, tossing a handful of popcorn into his mouth. “Actually, no. I do. Tell us. In detail.”

Charles groaned. “Why are you all like this?”

“Because this is the most entertainment we’ve had all season,” Rebecca quipped. “Now spill.”

Charles rolled his eyes, but he recounted the story of his final conversation with Alex. The room responded accordingly—with gasps, laughter, and a few muttered curses aimed at Alex’s name. When he finished, Ahaana just shook her head, unimpressed.

“She’s delusional,” she said simply. “Absolutely delusional.”

“I would’ve paid money to see her reaction when you told her it was over,” Max admitted, grinning.

Charles smirked. “It was… satisfying.”

“Okay, enough about the she-devil,” Lando said, stretching. “Let’s get back to the game before Ahaana starts accusing me of cheating again.”

“You do cheat,” she said without hesitation.

“I do not—”

“Lando, you have a history of cheating at literally every game we’ve ever played,” Max said, unimpressed.

“I prefer to think of it as strategic improvisation.”

“Strategic bullshit,” Rebecca muttered.

The next hour was filled with absolute mayhem. There was yelling. There was a near-brawl between Carlos and Lando over an Uno reverse card. At some point, Kelly got so frustrated she threw a playing card at Max’s head, which only made him laugh harder. Charles, for the most part, found himself entertained just watching it all unfold.

Ahaana, in particular, seemed to come alive in the chaos. Her laughter was light, effortless, and every time she rolled her eyes at Lando or tossed a witty remark at Max, Charles found himself watching her just a little too long.

“Alright, alright,” Ahaana said, throwing her hands up in surrender after another brutal loss. “I need a break before I throw Lando out the window.”

“Jokes on you,” Lando said. “I’d land gracefully.” To which Max snorted.

Ahaana got up and stretched, and that’s when she casually dropped, “Oh, by the way, I officially start shooting for Jigra in 17 days.”

The room went silent.

“What?” Max was the first to react, blinking.

“You’re actually going back?” Lando added.

Rebecca gasped. “Finally! You’re returning to the big screen!”

Ahaana smiled, a little softer this time. “Yeah. It’s time.”

There was a beat of silence before Max, ever the older brother figure, crossed his arms. “Are you sure?”

She looked at him, understanding the weight behind his question. “I am.”

Max studied her for a long moment, then exhaled. “Alright. If anyone gives you trouble—”

“I know, I know.” She grinned. “I’ll call my attack dog Verstappen.”

He smirked. “Damn right.”

After a long round of jenga and then stuffing their faces in food, the last slice of pizza appeared on the table, and the room instantly went silent, all eyes locked on it.

Ahaana leaned forward, a mischievous grin spreading across her face. “Well, look who’s in the spotlight now.”

Carlos didn’t miss a beat. “I’ve been eyeing that slice for the last ten minutes.”

“Oh, please,” Ahaana shot back. “You just noticed it now because it’s the last one.”

Lando raised an eyebrow. “You’re really gonna fight over pizza? This is an all-time low, even for you.”

“Shut up, Lando,” Carlos grumbled. “It’s mine.”

Max chuckled from the side. “This is gonna be good.”

Ahaana picked up the slice like it was some sort of prized possession. “I’m just saying, I’ve had a long day. So I think I’m entitled to this.”

Carlos shot up from his seat, but Ahaana held the slice just out of reach, her smirk widening. “Nice try.”

Max shook his head, watching the two of them. “This is the dumbest thing I’ve seen all week.”

Ahaana, sensing victory, took a deliberate bite of the pizza. “Too slow, boys.”

Lando leaned back, popping a piece of popcorn into his mouth. “Well, that was anticlimactic.”

Later that night, after the raucous energy had settled slightly, Charles found himself watching Ahaana from across the room. She was laughing at something Lando had said, her head thrown back, eyes crinkled in amusement. The dim lighting softened her features, casting warm shadows over her skin, making her look almost ethereal.

He didn’t know when it started, this quiet admiration of her. Maybe it was when she first walked into his life with that effortless confidence, like she belonged in every room she entered. Maybe it was when he realized she wasn’t just sharp-tongued but also deeply, frustratingly kind. Or maybe it was moments like this, when she wasn’t doing anything extraordinary—just laughing, existing—and yet, she managed to pull his entire attention like a force of gravity.

There was something in the way she carried herself—unapologetic, bold, yet with an underlying grace that was hard to ignore. She was an enigma, a storm and a lull all at once. And he was starting to realize he liked that about her. A little too much.

“Are you staring at Ahaana?”

Charles nearly choked on his drink. He turned sharply to see Max smirking at him, amusement flickering in his eyes.

“No,” he denied, a little too quickly.

Max hummed, unconvinced. “Sure. And I’m a level headed person when angered.”

Charles groaned. “Can you not?”

Max chuckled, clapping him on the shoulder. “Oh no, mate. I definitely can.”

Across the room, Ahaana caught his gaze, a small, soft smile playing on her lips. Charles smiled back but quickly looked away because he was scared his blush would be way too evident, but the warmth on his face lingered and Ahaana caught it anyway, chuckling a bit at the very handsome man, which Charles heard.

Yeah. He was in trouble.

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ᝰ.ᐟ third part! hope you guys like it!

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tags @seonghwaexile @bookishprophecy @justadesirebel @peterholland04 @bakingpiastries @ricciardosheart @mikefaistgf @sp1rl @charlesgirl16 @leila-030304 @uhcalli @blahblechblah @phobiccneel

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© weekendlusting

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[heliosunny]

Yandere! Nikolai Gogol x Reader

For as long as you can remember, you were a piece in Fyodor Dostoyevsky’s grand design. Not a mere underling, nor just a tool, no, you were something far more valuable. Your mind was sharp, your instincts honed. You had a talent for reading between the lines, predicting moves before they happened. A strategist, an asset, an extension of his will. Fyodor never let you stray far from his side, his quiet presence a constant shadow in your life. You convinced yourself you were there by choice. That your loyalty was rewarded, that you had a place in his world. That you mattered.

Then Nikolai Gogol came along and shattered that illusion with a laugh.

The scent of lavender.

It drifts through the dimly lit room, weaving through the cold air like an unseen hand. Your head throbs, limbs sluggish as you stir. Instinct kicks in, your first thought is where am I? followed immediately by where is he?

Colorful silk ribbons bind your wrists, soft yet unyielding, looped elegantly around the arms of a plush chair. Not chains. Not rope.

A chuckle, light and amused, dances through the air.

"Ah, you’re awake~”

Nikolai.

Your pulse pounds as you lift your gaze, meeting mismatched eyes that shine with an unsettling mix of delight and something deeper, something dangerous.

"You drugged me." you state, voice hoarse but steady.

He places a gloved hand over his heart, gasping dramatically. "Oh dear, you wound me! That makes it sound so… malicious." He leans in, voice dropping into a lilting whisper. "Let’s say I simply helped you ...relax."

Your fingers curl against the silk restraints. "Where is Fyodor?"

At that though just for only a second, his grin falters. Then he’s laughing again, loud and unrestrained, as if you had just told the funniest joke in the world.

"Fedya, Fedya, Fedya! Always him!" Nikolai twirls his cane, the motion smooth and effortless. "You’ve been playing his game for so long. Aren’t you tired of being his little bishop? His queen, even? Moving only when he says, thinking only within his rules?"

You glare at him. "I chose to be by his side."

He hums, tapping his cane against his shoulder. "Did you, though? Did you really????"

You refuse to answer.

Nikolai’s grin stretches. "See, that’s why I had to take you! You don’t even realize you’re wearing chains. But don’t worry, dear, your favorite magician is here to set you free!"

Days pass in a blur of surreal performances.

Nikolai does not chain you to a wall, does not beat you, does not scream or demand. Instead, he plays.

He sets up elaborate illusions, making rooms shift, turning halls into endless mazes where every door leads back to him. He leaves riddles scrawled on parchment, their answers unlocking meals, books, fresh clothes. He performs tricks, disappearing and reappearing at will, plucking silk scarves from thin air, spinning knives between his fingers.

"You look so bored, little dove" he sighs one evening, perched on the edge of your chair. "Shall I make something disappear? How about your patience? No? Your hope, then?"

"Give me back my freedom!" you retort.

He taps his chin, then beams. "Now, that’s a tricky one! How can I return something you never had?"

You turn away.

And yet… the fear that clawed at you in the beginning has dulled. The first few days, you had screamed at him, fought him, demanded to be let go. But Nikolai never raised his voice, never showed anger. He only smiled and spoke in circles until exhaustion seeped into your bones.

You begin to learn his patterns.

He thrives on reaction. On chaos. If you lash out, he laughs. If you ignore him, he makes his presence impossible to disregard. If you remain passive, he grows bored, but boredom, you realize, makes him dangerous.

So, you do what you must. You play along.

"You’re a lunatic" you mutter one day, watching him juggle knives while balancing on one foot.

"Ah, but I’m your lunatic now, aren’t I?"

You don’t answer.

You wake up to find the door unlocked.

Your pulse jumps. This has never happened before. A mistake? A test? Cautiously, you step out. The hallway stretches empty before you. You take one step. Then another. Then you run.

The exit is close. So close. Your fingers graze the handle. Then, a gloved hand clamps over yours.

"Now, now, little dove" Nikolai croons from behind, his grip firm but gentle. "You know I can’t let you do that."

Your breath comes in sharp pants. "Why?"

His fingers tighten just slightly. Not enough to hurt. Just enough to remind.

"Because" he murmurs, voice soft, "I don’t want to make you disappear too."

You look up, meeting his mismatched gaze. For the first time, beneath the playfulness, the teasing, the theatrics, there is something raw. Something desperate.

"You wouldn’t" you whisper, though doubt creeps in.

Nikolai smiles. "I would. But wouldn’t it be so much more fun to stay, little dove? To see what happens next?"

For the first time… you hesitate.

He is chaos and control. A contradiction wrapped in silk and steel. And you, after so long under Fyodor’s shadow, are starting to feel like you’re standing in the spotlight of something entirely different.

"You’re learning" Nikolai hums one evening, tilting your chin up with a single finger. "Maybe one day, you’ll want to stay of your own accord~"

You swallow hard. "I just want space. My own life."

His grin softens, just barely. "Ah, but you see" he whispers, pressing a kiss to your forehead, "you’re already a part of mine."

You’ve been here long enough to know Nikolai never falters.

He is a whirlwind, always laughing, always moving. If he isn’t performing illusions, he’s making riddles, teasing you, or watching you like a cat watches a bird in a cage.

So, when it happens, you don’t believe it at first.

It’s past midnight. A storm rages outside, rain hammering against the glass. Nikolai was supposed to be with you tonight, he promised a new trick, a "grand reveal" but he hasn’t shown up.

That alone is unusual.

Then you hear it.

A muffled gasp. Something heavy hitting the floor.

You should stay put. Should ignore it. Should not, under any circumstances, involve yourself in his problems. And yet, before you can stop yourself, you’re on your feet, slipping into the dimly lit hallway.

You find him slumped against the wall, gloves off, blood seeping through his shirt.

He’s hurt.

His eyes snap to yours, wild at first, then softening into something unreadable.

“Oh dear…” he breathes, voice weak yet amused. “Did my little dove come looking for me?”

You don’t ask how he got injured.

You don’t ask who did it.

Right now, you’re more focused on the way his fingers tremble as he tries to press against the wound.

Wordlessly, you kneel beside him. “Let me see.”

Nikolai blinks. He doesn’t answer right away.

Instead, he studies you, his expression unusually still. It’s the first time you’ve seen him like this. Not laughing. Not playing. Just… watching.

Finally, he exhales a quiet chuckle. “Ah, so sweet. But aren’t you scared, little dove? I could just...” His fingers twitch near your throat, miming a twist. “Snap.”

You ignore him. “If you wanted me dead, you wouldn’t be sitting here bleeding in front of me.”

He grins-wide, unhinged, but something flickers in his eyes. Perhaps relief?

You press against the wound, and he flinches- a sharp, startled inhale breaking through his bravado.

“Ah—! Ohoho, you’re cruel~” He hisses through his teeth. “I love it.”

“Stay still.” You don’t know why your hands are steady. Why your heart isn’t pounding in terror. Why, for the first time since you got here, you feel like you’re the one in control.

You clean the wound, wrap the bandages tight, and for once, he lets you.

No riddles. No illusions. Just the quiet rise and fall of his breathing, the warmth of his skin beneath your hands.

Later, after you’ve finished, he leans back against the couch, watching you.

You expect him to start teasing again, to ruin the moment with some absurd joke.

But instead, he asks, voice softer than you’ve ever heard it:

“Why?”

You blink. “Why what?”

His head tilts, hair falling messily over his eyes. “Why help me?”

You say nothing.

Nikolai’s gaze lingers on you for a moment longer. Then, something changes.

He grins—smaller this time, lacking its usual sharpness.

“You’re a funny one, little dove.”

You aren’t sure what he means.

But you know something has shifted.

Because now, when he looks at you, there’s something new in his eyes.

The days after that are different. Nikolai still plays his games, still toys with you, still reminds you that you are his. But now, he listens to you more. He lingers closer. He watches you not just with amusement, but with curiosity.

One night, as you sit by the window, staring at the distant city lights, Nikolai rests his chin on your shoulder and murmurs:

“You don’t hate me as much anymore, do you?”

Your fingers tighten in your lap. “… I don’t know.”

His laughter is quiet this time. Not mocking. Just… pleased.

He presses a gloved finger to your pulse, feeling it thrum beneath his touch.

“Good” he whispers.

[crazysodomite]

every time i start spiraling and can't hold it in i feel like a stressed out animal locked in a concrete box just scratching and scratching at the walls until i understand that i can't get through the wall and get tired

[wildsaltair]

guess my brain rot is really rotting today because all I can think about is how if I'm not kneeling over him in this position covering every inch of his chest in kisses life is not even worth living

BONUS (featuring the top of his shoulder / neck where my face belongs at all times)

[sunnywalnut]

No but I'm still looking for the Denny's that is still in the middle of nowhere

having cis guy friends is so funny like youll ask if they wanna hang out and theyll send you to the dark woods

[reddogcollar]

yk I liked gravity falls better when bill was just dead

[hyunebunx]

⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩 ⏖ ' late night moments with skz !

⁺ 𖹭 . genre: this is just sleepy fluff <3 some of the boys get kind of emotional.

⁺ 𖹭 . a/n: happy binnie day!! <3 to this day, these are some of my favorite hcs i've ever written so i hope you enjoy! (early morning moments with them right here <3)

𝜗୧ chan 𝜗୧ - 2:34 am

“Do you think Berry misses me sometimes?” He mumbles into your lap, voice full of sleep as you gently massage his scalp. Looking down at him, your eyes soften when he hugs your middle and hides his face in your stomach which prompts your other hand to begin tracing his features softly.

“Of course, she does, baby.” Chan almost purrs in response and your heart melts at the sight, managing to contain the sudden urge to squish his cheeks together. “Remember how excited she was the last time you visited? She was jumping, running around you and never left your side the whole time you were there.”

A moment passes and then two with no response from your boyfriend and that’s when you realize, by his even breathing, that he finally fell asleep.

You smile and lean down to plant a sweet kiss on his forehead, whispering a sincere I love you in his ear, not stopping your massage.

Sleeps like this, in your lap, until you’re sure he’s asleep for good before you slowly move him into a more comfortable position and wrap his whole body in a blanket burrito.

𝜗୧ minho 𝜗୧ - 11:59 pm

“Hug me, I’m cold!”

You hear him groan before he turns over to face you, grumbling under his breath as he envelopes your body in a big hug and begins to squeeze the life out of you. All out of love, of course.

“Better now?” “Minho, I can’t breathe!”

Doesn’t let go but does tilt your head up to look into your eyes and the love you see as you stare back almost has you in tears. A sleepy smile makes its way onto his lips and that’s when you manage to loosen his grip by wiggling into his arms, wasting no time as you begin to plant open-mouthed kisses all over his face.

His smile widens until giggles escape him, loving the way your lips feel on his skin as he lets you do whatever you want until you’re satisfied. When you finally reach his lips but don’t linger for as long as he’d like, instead kissing them repeatedly while also giggling, he takes matters into his own hands and kisses you deeply while still keeping the initial softness of your previous ones.

𝜗୧ changbin 𝜗୧ - 3:47 am

You toss and turn in the sheets for what feels like the millionth time before finally giving up with a frustrated sigh. “Binnie, I can’t sleep.”

“Me neither.” The response comes instantly and you sit up on your elbows to find him staring at the ceiling, visibly exhausted. You frown, scooting closer to hug him by the middle and rest your chin on his chest.

“Everything okay?”

Your soft voice prompts him to let it all out, to rant about work and his daily struggles at a fast pace that you can barely keep up with. When his voice quivers, you look up and plant comforting kisses on his neck and jaw, one hand gently massaging his chest through his nightshirt.

When he’s done and his speech slows down, Changbin moves to hide his face in your hair, muscular arms wrapping around your body to bring you closer, almost like he wanted to morph your bodies together. Being one with the love of your life sounded great right now – to be able to take all of his pain and discomfort so that he’ll always be happy and healthy was something you dreamt about often. Unfortunately, until that was possible, you hoped from the bottom of your heart that what you’re able to do right now is enough.

𝜗୧ hyunjin 𝜗୧ - 1:08 am

“Forget worms, would you still love me if I was a deadly shark?”

Hyunjin looks up from his phone, flabbergasted, just to find you already looking at him. He’s silent, waiting for you to elaborate but when you don’t, he sighs and gives in. “Darling, what the hell are you talking about?”

You roll your eyes, cuddling closer as you place your head in the crock of his neck to inhale his comforting scent. His arms pull you closer instantly, phone long forgotten. “This hypothetical situation, Jinnie, is critical for our relationship. Please take it seriously.”

Is confused the whole time as you ramble on and on about your ‘hypothetical situation’ that at some point, having had enough, he just turns his back to you and gets comfortable on his other side.

When you follow him and throw a leg over his body, continuing on while drawing patterns onto his back, he swiftly turns around to hover over you, pinning you to the mattress. Your eyes meet and for a second, you think he’s going to kiss you until your dream is shattered as he begins tickling you mercilessly instead. A tickle war starts that leaves you both breathless and laughing well into the night.

𝜗୧ jisung 𝜗୧ - 1:56 am

“When you’re away and I miss you, I spray this pillow with your cologne and cuddle it as I would cuddle you.”

Jisung’s eyes widen slightly as you speak against his lips, the lingering sadness in your tone pulling at his heartstrings in an unpleasant way. You’re face to face, staring lovingly at each other while talking in hushed voices about everything that comes to mind.

He knows that at this time during the night, he gets all soft and mushy but he wasn’t expecting to cry this soon. You were so good to him, his own angel on earth that would wait for him for as long as it was needed. You deserved so much better.

Gently cupping your cheek, you lean into his touch and close your eyes in contentment, and he bites his tongue to stop himself from crying. “I’m sorry, baby.”

His voice is shaky so without a word, you cuddle closer, burying your head in his chest and holding him tighter while also kissing his covered chest. “Sorry? Sorry for what? Don’t be silly, Ji. Your love makes all this waiting around worth it every single time.”

𝜗୧ felix 𝜗୧ - 4:02 am

“Wait, what? She said that to you?” Felix asks, voice loud in disbelief as the hand that was combing through your hair stops momentarily.

You nod, looking up at him from where you’re resting your head, on his abs, the bare skin warm and soft under your touch. “Yes! I have receipts, hold on.”

As you scramble out of bed to get your phone from where it's charging, Felix can’t help but smile as his eyes are completely focused on you and nothing else. He always thought you were the most beautiful like this – bare-faced, with your hair slightly messy and missing that furrow between your brows that appeared during the day.

Vulnerable and oh-so cuddly during the late hours of the night, and early hours of the morning you sometimes spent with him, talking, kissing and laughing until the sun rose again to announce another new day.

When you came back to bed, Felix was resting with his back against the headboard and the position allowed him to pull you flush against his chest, wrapping his arms around your waist from behind as you showed him your phone. It was the domesticity he always craved for which he hoped would never end. That you and him like this never ended.

𝜗୧ seungmin 𝜗୧ - 12:32 am

Taking another peek at the bedside clock, you can’t help but sigh as the red digits glare at you, almost mockingly. You’ve been in bed for hours now and you’re still as awake as you were back then too. It was infuriating, and you were this close to actually crying in frustration.

Almost as if sensing your low mood, Seungmin turns on his side to face you. “Everything okay?”

You shake your head and bury your head in the warm pillow. “I can’t sleep, Minnie. Will you sing to me, please?”

His arms come around you to bring your back to his chest, successfully luring you into being the little spoon, which to be honest, you didn’t mind one bit right now. He places a kiss on your cheek, and with one hand softly massaging your hip, he starts humming. Not a lullaby, but one of the group’s title tracks.

When you glare at him over your shoulder, he grins and stifles a chuckle before starting to sing a proper lullaby. Just as suspected – his dreamy voice does have magical powers and you’re asleep in less than five minutes. Or maybe it's the way he holds you so closely and the occasional kiss on the top of your head that does the trick. Either way, you have to let Felix know asap. He owes you 20$.

𝜗୧ jeongin 𝜗୧ - 11:45 pm

“Blanket thief.” He complains, however, there’s no real malice in his tone as you roll around into a blanket burrito and leave him completely exposed to all the monsters that come out at night, laughing loudly.

You don’t see him, but he rolls his eyes, trying to appear annoyed as he hides his growing smile. “Come here, baby, let’s share.”

When you shake your head no, still giggling in your pillow, Jeongin takes matters into his own hands, literally, and lifts you up by the waist to trap you into his tight embrace, which causes you to shriek and laugh again. He soon joins in and your laughter fills the tiny room as you begin wrestling for the blanket.

“Come on, be reasonable, there’s enough blanket for the both of us.” “No.” “Y/n.” “But Jeongin, the monsters – “ ,“I’ll beat them up! Now, come here!”

Somehow, he manages to convince you to share and you fall asleep cuddling while watching youtube videos, with his soft voice whispering sweet nothings into your ear. But during the night, he still ends up uncovered and because he’s petty, he pretends to fall out of bed and says that the monsters got to him because of you and your selfish nature he can’t help but still love so much!

[backinmyphase]

Part 1

Thinking about how obsessed King of Curses Sukuna is with you, you, who was originally just a gift from a village.

Lord Sukuna, who is oblivious to the reason why he treats you differently, who thinks you are just the most intriguing person he had seen in years. He didn't know it was over for him the moment he saw your standing there, anger obvious behind your loosely mask. You looked at him with these challenging eyes and raised your head, making that snappy comment. Normally he would have killed you right then and there.

But he didn't. In fact he doesn't even know why he had burned down that village for you.

And now you were sitting in his estate, always with that scowl on your face.

Why did he allow you to eat with him? Why did he order you to eat with him? He doesn't know. But he didn't want you to eat without him, which he just can't explain to himself.

He couldn't explain why he made sure Uraume was watching over you. Didn't know why he gave you your own chamber, so many new clothes and why he gave you permission to go inside his library. Something inside him was just telling him that was right.

And that something inside of him was so angry to see you falling into yourself. To see you neglecting your health over weeks.

It was evening.

Like always, there was a big dinner prepared for the king and he had ordered you to eat with him. But you didn't touch your food, no you just sat there, looking at your plate to avoid his gaze. Oh, he didn't like that.

He stopped eating, narrowing his eyes on your cowering figure. "Why are you not eating."

"Not hungry." your voice was hoarse but still snappy like always.

"You need to eat."

He glanced at Uraume, who shook their head. A silent note you didn't have any sickness.

You picked at the food, but still no sign of actual eating. And god, did it drive him crazy. You were driving him crazy. Your never leaving scowl and your constant denying of everything he had laid out. He just didn't get you.

He didn't know why he even bothered. But he still spoke up.

"What is on your mind?"

You looked up at him. There was no scowl, like he thought, no there was just a shimmer of exhaustion and maybe frustration.

"What am I even doing here, my Lord?" your voice didn't have any sharp in it. "I'm no servant for you, no concubine, not even a jester or anything like that. Why am I here?"

Silence flooded the room. Because you had just asked the question Sukuna asked himself every day. Why did he even bring you here?

He was clueless. Or that was what his brain was telling him.

He inspected you, your almost pleading eyes and he didn't like how you looked at him. He didn't like the almost hopeless look in your eyes.

"Did you want to stay with these people, is it that?" he took a sip of wine.

"No, we both know it's not that." you muttered, taking a deep breath. "Why do I not work for you? Why are you so -"

He raised an eyebrow at you as you struggled to find the right word. Then you finally shook your head.

"Why are you so nice to me?"

He couldn't help but chuckle, a grin following. "You mean, why has the King of Curses not killed me yet?"

You scoffed. "Yes."

"Well you see," he stopped for a moment, before speaking again. "I find you fascinating. And I like to know what I find fascinating."

You rolled your eyes, another thing he only liked when you did it. "So I'm here to be watched like an animal because the King finds me exotic, how kind."

He started to grow impatient, he didn't know why. "You think I would let a meekly animal into my library and give them their own chambers? You think lowly of me."

You started to blink at him, confusion visible on your face. It was his turn to scoff now.

"You're fascinating because I don't get you. And I want to know you. That's why I brought you here." At least that's what he thought.

You turned completely silent, your eyes now looking down onto your plate again.

"That's why you don't 'work' for me, I don't want you to. I don't need you to." he took another sip. "You just shouldn't get your hands dirty."

He looked at you, waiting for a response. Watching how you avoided his gaze, how you gulped. For a second your eyes flicked up to look at him, but went down immediately as your eyes meet his.

"Stop." you were muttering again.

"What?"

"Staring at me like that."

"Why?" He grinned, lowering his voice. "You know I like to stare."

He saw a faint tint of blush on the part of your face he could see. You were silent for a while until you cleared your throat. "I can't eat with you staring at me like that."

. . .

"Alright, I can leave you alone to eat." he stood up. "But you have to now. Eat."

A small chuckle escaped you. "Is that an order?"

"No, it's a request." With that he turned around, leaving to go to his chambers.

You waited til he left the room to breathe. Your body finally relaxing. You looked at Uraume.

"He sounds like he is in... Does he know how he sounds?"

Uraume shook their head. "No, he has no clue. But he wants you to eat, so please do."

@thequeenofcurses

[cryobabiess]

girldad!geta pleeease!

Filia Divina

Pairing: Emperor Geta x Wife!reader

Tags: childbirth, pregnancy, miscarriage mentioned, implied infanticide, soft!geta (if you squint), historically accurate practices, NOT BETA READ SO IF YOU SEE SOMETHING WONKY NO YOU DIDN’T, good ole fashioned misogyny

AN: Tollere Liberos is in reference to an ancient Roman tradition where a father decides whether or not to accept a newborn as their child. Rejected children were abandoned via ‘expositus’ (aka dead ass just leaving a baby out in the wilderness). So basically girldad!geta but historically accurate lol. Enjoy!

It had only been an hour since you birthed her—a sweet little creature with curls the color of honey and supple skin like the flesh of a ripe plum. With a mighty wail fit to be heard across an empire, she came into the world. Your goddess, Juno, generously granted her the health and strength you prayed for. You rejoiced, though your joy was not shared.

The midwives cleaned your daughter in grave silence, save for the whispers of the politic-men gathered to witness the birth of Rome’s divine son. They huddled together in the far corner of the chamber as your girl laid against her mother’s chest for the first time.

“It cannot be true—look again!” Geta frantically commands the weary doctor. He paces across the marble floor in a state of distress. A litany of expressions troubles his face; disbelief, panic, betrayal.

“My lord, it is not what was desired, but I assure you—the child is female. You have my greatest sorrows.” The doctor mournfully bows his head, knowing better than to look the short tempered prince in the eye.

Geta was persistent, diligently sewing his seed in your womb since your holy union. You passed two of his children as blood, and he held you as you suffered through the pain. He watched your body grow when his efforts succeeded, massaged your taut skin with olive oil, and fed you bread soaked in sweet wine when you felt ill. He even kneeled at Jupiter’s alter to call for the safe delivery of his first son and the health of his wife—All these precautions only to be cruelly slighted.

“The gods have punished me, yet I’ve done nothing but bend to their will.” Geta holds his head in disbelief, his devastation made evident by a deep scowl.

Senator Gracchus tentatively approaches your distraught husband, resting a sympathetic hand on his shoulder.

“My lord, we must atone for our offenses, whatever they may be. It is a grave misfortune indeed, but your bride—“

Rage ignites across Geta’s face as he pulls away from his constituent’s touch.

“Speak tactfully of your empress if you wish to keep your tongue, Senator.” He seethes through a tight jaw. Gracchus relents, his tone softening considerably. He continues slowly and with caution.

“Two winters have passed since your union, and she has yet to bring forth an heir of Rome. Her body has proved inhospitable. The gods have sent a message, and it would be foolish to turn a cheek—you must heed this omen! ”

Geta takes a moment, carefully considering the senator’s plea for reason. He looks back to you, Obsidian eyes gazing down at the linen sheet that obscures your sleeping child.

“I am a conduit of their will. Tollere Liberos will prevail and the gods will decide through me.” Geta turns to you fully. Your heart becomes heavy in your chest as you search your husband’s face for tenderness, but see nothing but solid stone.

In your dreams, you imagined the day Geta approached his first heir as sweet—that he might kiss your reddened cheeks and proudly claim his child. Never did you think the sight of him would cause you to tighten your grip and cower away. He looms over the bed where you lay, exhausted and perspiring, like a holy monument.

“Show me the child.”

“My love, I beg you—“

“Your emperor commands it.” Geta callously interrupts.

You unwrap your daughter in your arms, trembling hands moving as gingerly as possible. She shifts in her sleep, curling her precious limbs toward her delicate body, but does not wake. Geta’s eyes widen at the sight of her.

“So it is true. My faithful wife’s womb has betrayed me.” His gaze softens. Something stirs behind it, but you are not sure what.

“If you wish to return her life, then be merciful and do the same with mine.” Your heart twists and aches, your love for your emperor becoming a knife in your rib.

To your shock, Geta reaches out to his daughter, takes her tiny fist in his palm, and runs a thumb over her blushing knuckles. She wraps her hand around her father’s finger with a mighty yawn.

You have seldom seen your restless husband become so still.

“She bears your resemblance.” Geta’s voice is but a whisper. His gaze doesn’t stray from her. It appears his heart aches the same as yours.

“And a head of golden hair.” You can only offer an exhausted smile.

Geta takes his daughter into his arms for the first time.

“The gods have spoken!” He declares to the small gathering of senators. Your emperor raises his girl above the laurels atop his head. Some look on with horror, and others with pride.

“She will have my name! It is done.”

As your daughter’s first weeks pass, Geta’s tenderness only grows. In the lavender hours of dawn, you wake to find him cradling her in the crook of his arm. He speaks to her softly.

“Poor girl, you have wounded your father’s pride. My, what tragedy.”

You smile at the sound of her gentle crooning as your husband assuages her back to sleep.

“A son would belong to Rome—but you, dear Septima, will belong to me.”

[rafey-baby]

hidden

outlaw!rafe holding pogue!reader hostage in her own house after banging his fist on her door in the middle of a stormy night, demanding to be let in with a gun in hand and wild waves in the sea of his eyes…

c/w: rafe being manipulative, mentions of murder & violence, he’s also weirdly soft in the end? 18+ mdni!

wc: 2k

he’s been stuck in my head for a while so hope u enjoy xx

series masterlist

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

There’s still sleep dust lingering in her lashes when she hesitantly cracks open the door at 3 am—revealing a tall, scary man with scarlet stains on his hands, white button up saturated in maroon and a scowl painted over his unsettling countenance.  

She stands there like a deer in headlights, unmoving while he looks down at her with arctic eyes as chilling as the frigid waters surrounding an iceberg. And at first, she thinks she’s still asleep, tired brain conjuring up some creepy murderer scenario where she’s the idiot who does everything the audience in the movie theater is screaming at her not to.

But as she properly blinks her sleepy eyes open, she comes to the realization that this is not a horror film and this intimidating stranger (with oddly appealing features) who’s definitely just killed someone is very much real.  

She’s about to open her mouth— unsure whether to scream for help or simply stare with her mouth hung open in shock, but she doesn’t get the chance to find out before he’s pasting his massive palm over her lips.  

“Don’t make a sound,” his low mutter makes a shiver run down her spine. And she doesn’t, instead she just blinks, too out of it to move a muscle— the reek of the dried blood on his hand hitting her nose and making her face scrunch up.

She doesn’t know why she’s not putting up any sort of a fight, blames it on the fact that half her brain is still swimming in the lake of her dreamland— soaking up the glittering sunbeams that never dull and dipping its toes in the grass that consists of misty nebula and twinkling stars. 

And he’s just so mean, manhandling her to his liking and ordering her around with a gun to her head; grumbling about needing a hiding place from the cops after dumping a body somewhere in the ocean and getting caught since apparently, his temper really just got the best of him at times.  

“Didn’t mean to kill the guy, alright? He jus’ kept bein’ a bitch ‘n pissin’ me off— I mean, I was, uh, I was provoked, what was I supposed to do?”

However, his explanation seems to do very little to soothe her overstrung heart that’s thudding in her ribcage; loud enough for him to hear and earning her an exasperated roll of his eyes.

“M’takin’ a shower now ‘n you’re not gonna move an inch, you understand? Cause if you do…m’gonna have to— m’gonna hurt you ‘n I don’t wanna do that, okay?” 

She merely nods her head, unable to string together a coherent sentence, and he takes note of the way her inhale gets caught in her throat when he takes a step closer. “You, uh, you live alone?”

She offers another nod of her head.  

“Dumb girl”, he tuts, shaking his head in disapproval. “When someone’s knockin’ on your door in the middle of the night you don’t— you don’t fuckin’ open, alright?”  

She’s making it entirely too easy for him.  

However, the second he’s in the bathroom, she forces her exhausted brain to think— hurriedly coming up with a rickety plan while she listens to the water streaming behind the door. She waits for only a a few seconds to make sure the coast is clear before she’s bolting towards her bedroom; trembling fingers grabbing her phone from her nightstand and trying to dial 911.  

Unfortunately, her shaky hands aren’t of any help when they clumsily drop the phone— the clattering sound of it hitting the floor echoing in the quietness of the room. And suddenly she can’t breathe.

Her brain short-circuits as she bends down in an attempt to reach for the wretched device that has somehow tumbled under her bed. However, when she finally catches it in an unsteady grip, she hears the shower turn off— an eerie stillness following. In her state of panic, she attempts to turn the phone back on and call for help, but it’s proving to be rather difficult since her lungs aren’t working and her heartbeat is ringing in her ears.  

“Boo,” a low whisper right behind her makes her flinch; a faint gasp leaving her while a shiver travels down her spine.

“Why’d you jus’ do that, huh? Told you I didn’t wanna— didn’t wanna fuckin’ hurt you ‘n then you go ‘n pull this shit,” a strong hand grips her by her throat when he turns her around to face him.  

“M’sorry, I— I don’t—” she’s paralyzed, respiration shallow while her blood runs cold.

“You don’t what, hm?” he stares into her horror-stricken eyes with an almost bored look, seeming to be entirely indifferent to her torment. 

“Can’t…can’t breathe,” her voice is nearly inaudible.

A grim chuckle bubbles from his chest in response. “Can’t breathe? Maybe you should’ve thought about that before, yeah?” he scoffs, cruel words mocking her.  

“You’re so fuckin’ stupid— want me to kill you? That what you want?” he grits out, squeezing her neck harder; making her feel dizzy.

“No! No, please. M’sorry…m’sorry, won’t— won’t do it again, promise, I’ll do anything—” she manages out, desperately gasping for air because he’s nearly crushing her windpipe in his unrelenting grip.  

“Anythin’ huh? That’s, uh, tha’s real temptin’ ‘n all but what I need you to do is not pull stupid shit like this, you get that?”  

“I won’t, I promise. You can, um, stay here for as long as you want and I’ll help, okay?” she thinks she’s going to pass out soon— little stars already peppering behind her fluttering lids and her weakened limbs beginning to feel heavy.

His coarse panting fills the room while he seems to contemplate her offer. “If you even think about runnin’ to the cops tonight, m’gonna fuckin’ find you, you understand?” 

She frantically nods and at last, his hold begins to loosen around her trachea, allowing for her greedy lungs to finally suck in air as she takes a step back in an attempt to even out her respiration.  

He doesn’t say anything for a moment— silently observing her while she clears her throat and swallows a few times, trying to pacify her racing heart and the thoughts running around her brain.

Then, she blinks up at him, noticing how he smells like her honey-scented body wash and orange blossom shampoo— nothing but a towel hanging low on his hips, leaving very little to her imagination as the room grows quiet.  

Once she feels the flat floorboards under her wobbly feet again, she tries a different approach; a nervous hesitation overlaying her creaky question. “What’s, um…what’s your name?”

“Don’t worry about it,” he dismisses her. However, when a small pout begins to mold her mouth the longer she stares at him, he lets out a discontented huff.  

“Rafe,” he finally responds, not bothering to ask for hers, seemingly not caring enough for it. She tells him, nonetheless, and he can’t help but laugh at her priorities— a literal criminal has broken into her home and she cares about fucking introductions.  

“So…have you— have you killed anyone else?”

She doesn’t know why she’s trying to make small talk with him but she figures that if she gets him to talk about something else, choking her to death won’t be at the forefront of his mind anymore.  

“You seriously wanna know?” he raises his brows. 

She thinks about it for a moment and then settles on a shake of her head, followed by a harsh chuckle rumbling from his chest.  

“So, uh— what do you do? Like besides…killing people and stuff?” she tries once more.  

“Listen, the less you know, the better, alright?” he states, causing her to let out a soft sigh in defeat when all of a sudden, thunder crackles behind her windows, an ablaze lightning illuminating her dimly lit bedroom soon after.  

She flinches at the sound and the nearly sinister way it momentarily lights up his face.  

“You scared of a little storm?” he feigns concern as he peers down at her. “Don’t worry, I’ll keep you safe, yeah?” the mocking grin plastered on his face causes a shudder to travel through her as she swallows—wishing this was all just a really bad nightmare.  

- - - - - - - - - - - - 

After the little incident, Rafe thinks she’s just as sweet as sugar, offering to make him tea and asking if he wants a blanket or an extra pillow so he’d be more comfortable sleeping on the couch. 

And he can tell that she’s merely doing it because she’s terrified of him, which she should be. Nonetheless, he thinks it feels nice to be pampered and doted on— to have a pretty girl following his orders like a trained puppy. It makes him figure he’s gonna enjoy his stay just fine.  

The following morning though, he’s woken up by her shaky figure standing next to him— pointing his gun at him. 

He lets out a sigh, softened bones mellow from sleep while he rubs at his eyes and shifts to a seated position on the couch— teasingly lifting his hands up in surrender. “Puppy’s got a gun, huh? Tryin’ to be all tough now, are we?”

“I— I want you to leave,” she says, voice rickety and words unsure.  

And he’s trying to take her seriously, he really is, but it’s proving to be rather difficult when she resembles a scared little kitten more than someone who knows what they’re doing.  

“You want me to leave? Maybe you should, uh, work on your pitch a little more? M’not very convinced,” the lazy smile tugging at his mouth makes her brows crease.  

“Rafe, this is not a joke,” a scowl shades her face.

He thinks she looks rather adorable. “Come on, pup, you’re not gonna shoot me. You don’t even know how to use that thing, do you?” his voice is even, and it makes her hesitate.

“Well…it can’t be that complicated?” it’s more of a question than a statement and he lets out a humored chuckle in response. Her frown deepens.  

“Why don’t you give that to me, yeah? You don’t want death on your conscience, would break ya, you’re too soft for that shit.”  

“You don’t know me.” 

“Know you enough,” he says, finally standing on his feet, taking a slow step towards her, making her squeeze the weapon tighter in her trembling fingers.  

“If— if I give it to you…you’re gonna— you’re gonna kill me and I don’t wanna die,” her words are rushed, hysterical. 

His brows furrow. “Who said anythin’ about killin’ you? Listen, if you give me the gun right now, m’not gonna do anythin’. You have my word, okay?” he towers over her, solid chest grazing the barrel.  

“I don’t trust you,” her voice is a whisper.  

“I know, pup…but I also know that you’re not gonna use that,” his steady hands are a stark contrast to her own when he grabs for the firearm, slipping it from her weak fingers with ease.  

“There we go, no need to be so, uh, so fuckin’ theatrical, yeah?” he lowers his face in order to lock eyes with her. “See? Not hurtin’ you, am I?”  

She manages out a hum of agreement, and then her waterline is brimming with salty droplets as she chokes out a sob. “M’sorry. I don’t—”  

“Hey, hey s’all good. Mistakes happen, yeah?” he says before his strong arms are wrapping around her trembling form because he’s not a complete monster, and for some reason it only makes her weep harder. 

Her crocodile tears wet his shirt while his big paws rub against her back, but he doesn’t seem to mind. And she thinks it’s almost…comforting when he starts to sway her from side to side, like he’s trying to calm down a crying child. 

“There you go, just, uh, let it all out ‘n maybe you can chill out a bit, yeah? You pogues can be so fuckin’ dramatic sometimes,” he pats at her back, rolling his eyes as she takes in shaky inhale after shaky inhale until she’s feeling slightly more placid.  

“Shit, if I’d known you were such a fuckin’ crybaby I would’ve picked another house,” he grumbles, pulling away from her weakened form before pushing her back to stumble on her feet— setting the gun back onto the coffee table with a clank.

[pretty-little-mind33]

James Potter x fem!reader

Summary: James has been persuing you for years and you've never said yes, until now?

Genre: Fluff 😇🎉 (bc i love happiness, ur welcome)

Warnings: misunderstandings, lovesick!James <3

JAMES POTTER MASTERLIST

It's not James's fault he's been head over heels in love with you for longer than he can remember. And it's really not his fault either that he's spent years acting like a complete and utter fool just to have a sliver of your attention. 

Talking the loudest in any room you're in? Easy.

"Accidentally" flying too close to where you're sitting in the Quidditch stands while he's supposed to be playing just so he can flip around obnoxiously? He's done that over three times now. 

So, when he hears you'll be at the Three Broomsticks this evening, it isn't surprising to anyone that he convinces Sirius and Remus to accompany him.

The moment they walk in, their loud demeanor makes everyone turn their heads. It's no secret James, Sirius, and Remus are the handsomest guys in your year — so no one could blame you when you look up too. 

Your friend digs her elbow into your side when James sees you looking and struts to your table. You sit up, taking a long sip of your pumpkin juice as James leans in and crosses his arms.

Sirius and Remus stand behind him, amused. "Ladies," James winks, his eyes focused only on you. "What brings you here on this lovely Friday evening?"

You turn your head, avoiding his gaze with a small smile that makes James lose his mind, "Nothing that concerns you, Potter,"

"Can I buy you a drink?" he asks, unfazed by your bluntness as he motions to your empty glass. 

When you stand, James smoothly moves out of the way and you send him a look behind your shoulder. "Mm, no thanks. But if you want you can walk with me to order my own drink," you joke, not thinking he'll actually want to.

But, if James was a puppy, he'd be your puppy. You have him wrapped around your little pinky and the only person who doesn't see it is you. 

"Gladly," The boy smirks and his arm brushes yours as he walks next to you. You frown a little but don't say anything. You've never minded James's attention, and you know he's been after you for years now, but still you can't wrap your mind around him being serious about it.

In your mind, the attention was always bound to fade with time, and you wouldn't be caught as the fool who'd fallen for it.

However, as you lean against the bar to order another pumpkin juice and you feel James's eyes glued on you, you start to wonder. 

"So, when's the expiration date for this little game?" you ask, looking at him seriously. 

James leans against the bar too and completely turns his body to you. "Hmm? What?" he asks with a smile. He tucks the loose strand of hair from in front of your eyes behind you ear, seemingly proud of himself when he can see you clearly again. 

"This," you point at him, and then throw your arms up dramatically, "Whatever it is that you're doing."

James just smiles. He's not really catching on as his hand slides closer to yours on the bar counter. "What am I doing?" he whispers, leaning in. He has that look in his eyes, the one that makes your stomach flutter. 

You move your hand away from his. You sound exhausted, "All this flirting! Aren't you done yet?" you say it a little loudly and the woman who hands you your drink sends you a glare. Your cheeks heat up and you mumble a small sorry as you slide her your money. 

James catches your other arm before you can turn around and walk away from him. "Hey wait, what do you mean am I done? Do'you want me to be done?" he sound unsure and you can see his confusion on his face. 

Now you're confused. "Are you not planning on being done?" you whisper.

James can't hear you over the loud music and chatter inside so he moves you outside gently and you don't have to time to wonder why you let him.

It's slightly dark but the air is warm and James can hear you now when you ask the question again. He looks you over, still extremely puzzled by the entire situation.

"Wait, done with what?" he asks.

You blink at him. "What?" you feel like you're losing your mind. 

"Am I done with what?" he asks camly and you roll your eyes. 

"Done with flirting with me!" you exclaim, running a hand in your hair, "I- I don't understand, James. Why haven't you moved on? Sure, it was funny for a while but it's been years, even you must find the joke stale by now?"

James mouth opens and closes like some kind of fish and then he stares at you like you have lost your mind. "Joke? What joke?" he says and walks a little closer to you. He sounds even more confused. "Y/n, do you want me to stop flirting with you?"

You bite your lip, "I mean, yes? Because, it's not really funny anymore. I didn't mind it, Potter, but —" you pause and then hold the drink in your hand tighter. "Okay, here. What if I say I like you too? Can we just have a good laugh about it and then it all be over?"

James's frown deepens and he waves his arms in the air. "Wait, you think I'm joking?"

You blink at him again. "You're not?"

James runs a hand through his hair, chuckling in disbelief, "Of course I'm not joking," he walks even closer and you feel his presence as your skin tingles. You look up as he brushes his thumb on your chin and then smiles warmly, "I'd never pursue anyone as a joke. If you said you like me, then I would say thank Merlin and then I would kiss you until you couldn't feel those gorgeous lips of yours," he says it so calmly but you almost drop your drink. 

"Wait, so you actually, no-jokes, like me?" 

"Oh yeah. Why would you think I was making that up?" James moves his thumb to brush over your lips now, a look of adoration in his eyes, "I'm not that committed to my jokes," he teases. 

He pauses to think, "you think a twelve-year-old boy would write you cheesy love notes every class and actually send them if it was a joke? Or likewise, a sixteen-year-old would spend all of 6th year reading every single book you borrowed from the library just in case he had the chance to impress you? Or lose sleep over the way you wear your hair, or know that you change your nail-polish every week but you rotate the same colors since 4th year," James blushes a little at the admission and pauses, "and now I just sound like a creep, don't I?"

You laugh and the sound makes James grin. You hesitate but touch his cheek, tilting your head, "So, you meant every over-the-top gesture and every hilariously stupid pick-up-line?" you ask, "ever since 2nd year?" 

James nods, leaning into your touch. "Mmm yeah, but we can pretend that I was joking about the pick-up-lines that way it's less embarrassing for me," he says sheepishly.

"But I liked your pick up lines," you pout with a smile, your shoulders relaxing. 

James's eyes sparkle, "Yeah? You did?"

You smile at him. "No, but now it's funnier that you were serious about them."

James looks at you and he laughs. He throws his head back with a grin and your chest tightens even more. Has he always been this handsome or have you just never let yourself fully admire him? James looks at you again and his next words almost cause a heart attack. "Merlin, I've never wanted to kiss you as much as I do now," 

Your eyes flicker to his lips unconsciously and you realiz ehow close he is. You're nervous now and James can tell. Gently, he takes the drink in your hand and sets it on the small ledge of the building. It might fall but that's the least of your worries. For now, you need to focus on remembering how to breathe. 

Something must be different in the way you're looking at him because James asks you if he can kiss you. Years and years of flirting and he's never asked you that. 

You don't answer him and just when the silence starts to become awkward you take his cheeks in your hands and pull him towards you. Your lips hit his clumsily and you gasp into his mouth when his arm swoops behind you and he pulls you closer. James kisses you hungrily and you start to wonder why you hadn't done this years earlier.

When James disconnects his lips from yours and looks at you sweetly. "I didn't think you'd say yes," he whispers, "even less that you'd say it like that," his cheeks are tainted pink and your lip-gloss stains his lips. 

"Neither did I," you admit and look away a moment. Goosebumps run across your arms and, because you don't know where to put your hands anymore, you put them in your jacket pockets. You frown and pull out the galleons you'd used to pay for your drink with your left hand. You look back at James and he looks guilty. "What's this?" you ask. 

"I paid for your drink when you weren't looking. I knew you'd most likely say no again but I couldn't resist. I'm sorry," he holds his nape and sways on his feet.

You stare at him, slightly annoyed but also impressed that he'd put the money in your pocket without you noticing. You outsrech your open palm for him to take the money. "You'know, you make it very hard for me not to fall head over heels in love with you, James Potter."

James grins and closes your hand around his. "That the point, love," he says. 

You roll your eyes, realizing if he'd gone behind your back to pay for you he'll never accept your money now. "So, are you gonna ask me out properly or what?"

James smirks, "Are you going to say yes this time?"

You grin, "You'll just have to find out now, won't you? Tenth times the charm?"

"I don't think that's the expression—"

"Just ask me already, you idiot," you giggle.

[katszumi]

every room stood still. your kitten, katsuki insisted on naming 'skullcrusher', also didn't dare to move.

your head hung low, feeling the stuffy air sneak into your lungs. you glanced at the clock on your watch. 7:19. the usual time katsuki arrived at the doorstep.

normally, you'd rush to the door, showering your boyfriend with short pepper kisses on his face. but you remained on the velvet couch, the same couch you picked out when house shopping with katsuki.

a click sounded, indicating the door was recently unlocked. you harshly breathed in the same stuffy air, forcing yourself to swallow the panic that resided inside of you.

katsuki slugged through the door, immediately dropping his bag at the front door. his eyes met yours then to the kitchen, his face contorting slightly at the sight. it was empty?

"no food. what's up with you?" his words came off more formidable than he liked, especially when he knew something wasn’t right.

katsuki inched towards you, his eyebrows wearing an expression of its own. they were furrowed, his right eyebrow a little deeper than the other.

"katsuki," you started, breaking your words off.

he slightly cocked his head in confusion and worry. as he came closer, not only did he see your presence shaking alongside the couch, but he also saw two suitcases behind you that were clearly filled to the brim.

you watched how his eyes widened, how his teeth unclenched leaving his jaw to drop. his ruby irises instantly shot back towards you, scanning your face for any signs that you were playing a joke on him.

"what the fuck." the words leave his mouth too quick for him to register.

you swallowed nothing. "katsuki, we need to talk."

"talk?!" his mouth opened to continue yet no words seemed to come. oddly enough, for the first time, he was speechless.

"i-i need you to listen to me." you hated the fact that you stammered on your words.

"and then what?!" he paused, "you leave me?" katsuki's voice lowered in volume, a tone of angst leaked within his words.

you attempt to stand strong. you weren't even sure if this was the right choice now by looking at his wounded face.

slowly, you nodded.

"yes."

katsuki was expecting that. hell. who wouldn't when their girlfriend has two suitcases behind her? but hearing the words leave her mouth was entirely different. it was like a shot through his heart, the bullet penetrating every piece of restraint he had.

his head turned to the side. he was battling his thoughts; every fucked up thing he did occuring to his mind.

"is it because i left my bloody rag on the counter the night before? because if so, i promise to god, i will never do it again. i know how much you despise it." he went on his own plethora, his words and body language holding enormous amounts of panic.

"katsuki." you reinstated again. if he went on like this much longer, you were afraid you'd never have the strength again to walk out of the door.

"or because i yell too loudly at ungodly hours?" he ignored your words.

"katsuki." you repeated.

"i understand i'm not the easiest person. fuck. i'm even shocked i've gotten this far." he rambled, not caring about a word you have to say. he had to say something, do something, in order to convince you. bargaining with all of his strength. "what have i done? what do i need to fix?"

you reach for his hand, molding your hand to fit in his. you placed your open hand on top, soothing small circles into his skin.

"it's not you, katsuki."

katsuki's face fell. "then, why are you leaving me?"

"i can't live like this. i was not taught to be a housewife. to clean, cook, wait for your arrival every night at seven o'clock just to eat dinner with you." you shook your head. "i don't have a job or even a hobby! i am stuck within these walls everyday, the paparazzi at damn near every corner doesn't help either. i am exhausted being alone all day."

you could feel the sweat accumulate on katsuki's palms.

"i'll tell the media to back off. i swear to it. a-and, i know somebody who's looking for help with their business, i can set it u—"

"katsuki, i am miserable here!" you interrupted his words, slightly raising your voice. "i can't do it anymore! you are a pro-hero, dedicating your life to these people everyday. and what am i doing? making sure that your stomach is filled and that there's no stains on a countertop!"

katsuki was quiet, allowing the words to settle in. taking the moment of silence of advantage, you slipped your hands from his.

"you're a pro hero. you've made the ranks. you've accomplished everything you've hoped for." you sighed. "i just don't fit within your schedule."

katsuki remained silent, reality now kicking in for him. he bit the inside of his cheek to restrain the tears that were welling in his eyes.

"i'm sorry. i truly, really am. i just need to accomplish my own goals before it's too late."

katsuki's eyes fell to the ground, a very slow nod coming from him. he cleared his throat, also sniffling to remove the snot that was aching to run down his nose.

"where will you be staying?"

you echoed his action from earlier, turning your head sideways. you couldn't face him anymore after utterly destroying his heart.

"it's best if you don't know."

he paused. "right."

you spun on your heel to bend down behind you, grabbing your overly stuffed suitcases. you increased the height on the handles, slowly trudging them towards the door.

you couldn't believe that this was happening. it was a last minute decision. lying down in bed, realizing that if this continued, you'd be nothing more but a trophy wife that's made no true accomplishments on her own.

you were more than that. more than a cleaner and cook.

"i didn't accomplish everything." katsuki broke the silence.

you halted your steps, peering at him over your shoulder. you hoped he took the silence as permission to continue.

"i wanted to marry you. have a big ass wedding reception and drink until we could barely see anymore." he dryly chuckled. "maybe even have a few flowergirls of our own. that goal mattered more to me than any accomplishments i've made before in this life." your heart clenched at the fact.

tears covered your vision, your breathing starting to become sporadic.

"you can keep skullcrusher." you faced forward, grabbing the door handle. "i love you, kats. thank you for everything." your words trembled, tears uncontrollably streaming down your face.

as the door shut behind you, katsuki buried his face into his hands, and cried like a little boy in his now empty, silent home.

[rawan-soso]

As the adults struggle to find food and keep a roof over everyone’s heads, the children of northern Gaza also have their own struggles. Their mental health is in a horrible state.

I hesitated to talk about this. I don’t want people to think we have so many donations that we can afford to buy my sister toys. It’s not that we can afford it. It’s just that sometimes we have to skip a meal to buy something for her because the boredom is making her even more depressed. She has severe trauma, she has seen bombs dismember people, she has escaped multiple massacres with us. But now the other kids in the building keep breaking her toys while playing and we can't buy a new one immediately, because there are more urgent things. The cheapest thing in northern Gaza right now is makeup, because no one needs it, so I bought some. I apply it on myself and Soso to make her happy, but I don’t always have the energy or time to play with her. I’m exhausted, sick and malnourished, and I still have to do chores and spend hours at the market looking for the most affordable food, clothes, and hopefully medicine.

We have many expenses that we don’t talk about because people won’t see them as vital. Phone chargers (only used ones that die fast, because new ones are insanely expensive). A fee for the neighbors who have the internet router. Phone bills and data. Toys for the children. School books and private tutors for students.

You’re right, it wouldn’t be vital if the war had only lasted for a week. But it’s been more than a year. Our children’s mental health is destroyed, especially children as young as Soso who is only 4 years old and whose brain is developing in a genocide. Students can’t just stop studying for all this time. My other sister missed her entire last year of high school, but she wants to take university entrance exams. Dropping out of university because of the war has killed everything in me. I can’t let her experience the same kind of loss, so I pay for her books, for paper and printing, for private tutoring classes.

I had to buy three phone chargers in a month. The first one was $70. Days later, it was $100. Two days ago, a neighbor fried the second charger, and the new one was $200. I cried that day, because it wasn't even my fault. The prices of everything keep going up and I feel like I’m going insane. Even our landlord tried to increase the rent. It’s okay if I sacrifice meals. I’m used to hunger. But I have three younger siblings and I can’t watch them lose even more than they already have. I want them to study and play. I want them to eat and stay warm.

Please help me. When all of this is over, I’ll get my degree, find a good job, and I’ll never ask for anything again. But as long as the war keeps going, I need your help. I promise your donations don’t go to waste. Food and rent will always be the priority. Soso and my grandmother are the first beneficiaries. We always think carefully before buying anything. I hope we can reach the final goal soon, and that it will cover all expenses until the war ends, because I’m so tired of relying on strangers. I hate asking for money. I’m eternally grateful to anyone who helps, but the guilt won’t fade, because I wanted to be an independent girl and help my family myself. I'm exhausted and depressed.

My campaign is vetted! ✅️Vetted by @gazavetters, my number verified on the list is ( #347 )✅️

Forgive me, you shared before and it helped a lot so I ask you to please share again @kerosene-saint @andnowanowl @omegasmileyface @4c-aperture @bahrmp3 @dhmiss55-blog @woodesnake @original-character-chaos @revalentinee @rapogirl13 @gorillawithautism @xerxestexastoast @kyoukainokanata @rabiesrabiesdog @rainyrebloggin @ok1237 @isummonedadragon @pro-pin-prinny @boxheadpaint @rukafais @butcklinkle @earlysunsetting @ceeberoni @strangeauthor @the–pony-box @blurrycow @nabulsi @90-ghost

[underscorezoo]

“Easy,” I murmur, “easy.” I show her what a deep breath looks like, trying to steady her growing panic. Her body shakes, her blue eyes wide, sweat glistens across her forehead. I rub my thumb against her knuckles, her hand gripping mine like life depends on it.

“It hurts,” she whimpers, eyes closing with a hard wince. My other hand closes around her jaw and I softly blow hair into her face to cool her down.

“I've got you, darling.”

She shakes her head in refusal, a cry bubbling up her throat, “oh. Oh.”

“Tension isn't helping our baby, please relax.” She gives me a look that makes me want to bury myself alive to recover from it. A hopeless scared gaze that makes me want to claw out my eyes on top of being five feet underground.

“Help me,” she whines, “get him out of me.”

I flash a look at the royal healers around me, their eyes mildly impatient. I give them a cold stern look that has them shifting into action to avoid my ire.

“I'm still convinced it's a little girl,” I smile, brushing her hair that's matted onto her forehead.

“There's nothing little about her then,” she groans and shifts away from me, her body locking up, “no, not again,” she cries and her fingernails dig into me. I have several of these wounds now but I can't even register it with the way I've been watching her so intently.

“Breathe,” I remind her quickly, “breath in and out. Relax your jaw.”

Her teeth are bared to the world, the entirety of her rigid, airless.

“Breathe,” I bark, my worry crawling up my mouth.

She does but the sound that leaves with it is enough to drive me over an edge. My hand leaves her face and falls onto the swell of her stomach, bare to the room, our child begging to escape it. A blanket covers her lower half and I'm tempted to tear it away to see if there is progress. A healer beats me to it, bending my wife’s knee up and opening her legs like a butterfly, blanket falling away.

“That's the sound we were waiting for, your majesty,” the midwife coos gently. “You’re ready to start pushing. It’ll all be over soon.”

Terror strikes me like a hard fist to the jaw and I sit there in stunned silence. My wife on the other hand starts a tantrum, limps a chaos as she tries to leave the bed. None of us expect this but with her so bloated, she barely makes it before I'm holding her still, pinning to the mattress. Her eyes are crazed and dazed with pain and anger.

“I am not pushing,” she hisses at me as if I was the one who suggested it.

“Are you saying that because you're afraid of the pain or because you don't think you can do it?” I challenge, raising an eyebrow. I dare to let my hand travel down between her legs, my fingers breaching the now expanded opening. I almost groan, “darling,” my head slumps towards her with near relief, “you are so close.” I feel the spot of thin hair, the curvature of a baby’s head. Our child.

“Get your fingers out of me,” she groans, whimpering.

“First I've heard that one,” I smirk. She flashes me a warning look that I eat up.

She again seems to be primed with a retort when both hands furiously find the bottom sheet. Giving my hand, wrist, and arm a break from her piercing touch. A terrified little yelp breaks from her mouth and one leg loses grip on the bedding and kicks out.

“Oh please,” she heartbreakingly pleads. So unlike my vicious wife. “Make it stop.”

I instinctively brush my knuckles to her cheek, my other hand resting low on her stomach. “You need to push, darling,” I press on her skin, “and hard. You're going to be just fine if you do that.”

She says something incoherent, a blubbering mess of raw emotion, exhaustion, and pain. Still she does what we all hoped, pushed. Her face tight with determination, chin to her chest, the sound of an animal in full heat coming out of her. She's never looked so beautiful.

“That's it,” I encourage softly and twist, getting a cold cloth for her forehead and neck. She relaxes instantly, tears streaming down her face.

“I can't do this,” she says, voice breaking.

“Of course you can,” I say softly.

She shakes her head in defiance of my words. Head tipping back against the pile of pillows behind her. My wife shrieks, her body shaking violently. “No, please, no,” she begs.

“It comes, your majesty, push,” the healer beckons.

My focus waivers between how vulnerable and how strong my wife is in this moment that I too am breathless for a spell before I am smiling, staring down at the peek of dark hair.

“I see her, darling, push oh please push.” Our ‘please’ is so contrasting that I laugh. She follows my suggestion and cries out again, this time her hand finding my forearm and holding tight. She looks at me, a face full of unabashed fear and loathing, “you did this to me.”

I still can't wipe the joy from my face so my, “I know,” comes out manic.

She whimpers, tears cascading down her face and mingling with sweat. She swears colorfully. That head of dark hair moves forward and now holds her folds open and taut. She's screaming loud enough to break the windows and I'm there, holding her head against mine, getting closer and closer. “Shh, it's almost over, you're doing so well.”

“Small pushes now, blow out, stretch wide,” the healer mimics the breathing she wants to achieve but my wife just lets out the most pathetic of whimpers.

“Hurts,” she mumbles.

“You're amazing. I'm so impressed,” my lips brush into her sweaty hair.

“Don't say that like you're surprised,” she huffs at me.

I chuckle, leaning back to take in her burning blue eyes. “I'm not surprised.”

“Just a few more pushes,” the healer coaxs.

I watch the head pop out with a bit of liquid and a shrill cry from my partner, who now pants wildly, eyes lidded with weariness. “Pull it out,” she demands, narrowing her gaze to menacing.

“You'll push in a minute here,” the healer amends for her.

“Just take it out,” she begs and then groans deeply, eyes closing quickly, “ohhh nooo” I watch in fascination as the baby starts to rotate slowly.

“Hold on, dearie,” the healer tugs the cord up and over our child’s head eliminating a threat against its life already. “Open these legs wider for me, there you go. Push, push, push.”

Thankfully my wife follows her orders. Her face bright red, and voice raising as more and more of the child emerges. Unceremoniously the screaming is replaced by the baby who now flails around in her mother's arms. Her. Our daughter. My wife and I lock eyes, her face split with adorable shock as if she hadn't just gone through all the work to make this happen. I slump towards them both, my adrenaline wearing off and I'm realizing my own hand has left crescent moons into my flesh from concern. I relax my body and take a deep breath.

“Thank gods,” I murmured to no one in particular. I look up timidly to my wife who wipes our baby with a towel and scrunches her entire chin towards her neck to get a better look at the purple screeching face. Our daughter finally has a lapse in annoyance and her eyes open, stormy gray eyes forming a perfect mirror to gaze into. My wife drops back, a lifeless laugh forcing out of her, “all that only for her to look like you.” She sounds both bitter and proud.

I grin, “she will no doubt be a stunner like me then.”

She huffs loudly but matches my smile, content with such a notion.

“The next one will look like you.”

Her jaw drops open. “The next one?!”

[just-some-random-blogger]

Tormented Spirit | 5

Part 1 2 3 4 5 6

"Is it such a sin to stand up for yourself?" you mutter as tears blur your vision. The way he reacted was visceral, instinctive even. "You never have to stand up for yourself ever again," says Daemon, reaching a hand to you, "come."

Daemon Targaryen x Hightower!Reader | 4k+ | cw: fem!reader, reader has brown hair, wife!reader, twin!Gwayne, arranged/forced marriage, canon divergence, alternate universe, slow burn, DD:DNE, panic/anxiety attacks, daddy issues/child abuse/family problems, mentions/depictions of mental/physical/psychosomatic illness, ye old misogyny, angst, typos, etc.

A/N: guys this not fully proofread as I am exhausted | cross posted on ao3

@arabellasleopardcoat

You cannot tear your eyes away from Daemon as you walk down the halls together. Though he already told you the blood on his armor was not his, you could not help but worry that perhaps he had a wound hidden away underneath his steel plate. Your stare is so heavy, he's unable to ignore it, thus why he huffs, "out with it."

You perk at his words and rub your hands together.

He raises a brow at you, "or do you merely think me so devastatingly handsome you cannot help but stare?"

You slowly shake your head, "are you certain you are unharmed?"

His eyes linger on you for a moment before he looks forward, "I am offended you did not agree."

You knit your brows, "you," you shake your head, "already know. You are comely husband."

He turns back to you.

You cannot name the expression he gives you.

"Did I not say I was unharmed?"

You stop in your tracks out of frustration, grabbing his arm, "Daemon."

He turns to you, face hardening at your look of concern.

"If you are hurt, then we should head for the maester's."

He chuckles under his breath and pulls away, "a funny thought coming from you."

Your brows furrow deeper as you tail after him, "I do not follow."

He looks over his shoulder, lips curling, "considering you are sick and yet nowhere near the maester's ward."

You only then recognize his smile was mocking. You feel a pinch in your chest. You shake your head, "we are not the same. If there was something to be done about my affliction, my father would have seen it done years ago."

Daemon laughs.

You wait for him to explain his laughter, but he does not. You take his arm again, "what amuses you?"

Your husband looks at you, then at the hand you had on his bicep, "through it all, you hold your father in such high regard."

You clench your jaw and release his him.

He enjoys your dejection, thus why he takes your hand, placing it back in its place with a chuckle, "say it isn't so— I dare you."

You look back at him. His smile is like a needle through your heart. He must think you're stupid without even trying. You mutter, "I am merely stating facts."

He laughs again, "your frail heart keeps you naive."

The feel of his armor is suddenly scorching and you have to pull away. He stares at you after the fact, but does not take your hand again.

You do not speak until you reach the door to the meeting room. Once there, Daemon motions with his head, "wait for me. You like flowers don't you?"

You look over your shoulder and realize that he was motioning to the window that gave view to the gardens. You turn back to him and step forward, reaching out to retrieve the flower in his hair. It would not be appropriate for him to attend a council meeting like this.

Daemon mistakes your action for affection, and moves his head away so you cannot caress his cheek, "I said I am unharmed, woman. Now go sit down."

He walks off after this, leaving you standing in the middle of the hall alone. Just as he enters the room, you struggle with yourself if you should call out to him or simply run up to him and snatch the flower off his head. But then, the moment is gone and he's already inside.

You cannot find it in you to sit as you overthink what would become of your husband because of the flower in his hair.

Just as you begin to pace around, you are rendered frozen when you hear your name get called.

Viserys smiles at you, as he and his council members walk over, "good morrow."

You make eye contact with your father, who was walking just behind the king, and lower your gaze as you curtsy, "your grace. A pleasant morning to you."

Viserys stops in front of you, clapping his hands once, "why, you look fetching my dear," his eyes examine your hair, and you, yourself, are reminded by the presence of the blossoms on your head, "did you pick those from the garden?"

You rise and smile at your husband's brother, shaking your head, "my ward, ser Erryk, was kind enough to- ..." you catch yourself amidst your confession, eyes suddenly darting to your father.

Otto's jaw is set and his eyes are already angered.

You gulp and decide to continue nevertheless, "...accompany me flower picking in the meadow."

Otto huffs audibly, but the king's reaction is so stark in contrast, your father does not have the opportunity to butt in this moment. Viserys claps once again and smiles, "oh good. Some fresh air always did help me. Of course, when I say fresh air, I really mean going on dragon back, but strolling in the meadow picking flowers is a fine pastime."

You are touched by the king's amicable sentiment. You repay his smile with your own, "I completely agree."

"I do not," Otto says, "what if you get an attack in the middle of the nowhere? What if the pain is too great and you are not brought home in time?"

Viserys and you turn to the Lord Hand. The king responds, "she was accompanied by her ward. Is that not why you requested one for her?"

"I requested a ward to keep her in check to prevent her from doing things that would cause her affliction to worsen."

You tense under the harsh sound of Otto's voice.

Viserys recognizes your discomfort and waves him off, "you needn't be so hard on your daughter. It is good for the spirit to reserve time frolicking."

You gulp the next time the king smiles at you. You do not smile back and merely curtsy at him. With that, he and his council members go into their meeting room and you are left alone once more.

The council members' muttering comes to a halt when they see prince Daemon in his seat.

"Kind of you to join us today, brother," Viserys huffs, "we were just talking about you."

Daemon eyes Otto, "the topic being my bride, no doubt."

Otto has to fight the urge to roll his eyes as he walks to his chair. His throat constricts, as if he was about to retch, when he sees the flower by his ear. He thinks of you and the flowers in your hair and figures Daemon did this to spur him on. He releases a deep breath to calm himself, "the topic being your power tripping with the City Watch last night."

Daemon glares at him. The king sits at the head of the table. The prince links his hands together, "you would know to mind your tongue, Lord Hand. I care little for the tears my wife will shed once I sever your neck from your spine."

"Daemon," Viserys snaps.

"And what I did last night was clean the streets from the putrid scabs of the city in preparation for my birth of my brother's child."

"And you exacted a very public show of extreme violence while doing so," Viserys leans on the table, "you maimed and mutilated peopl-"

"Criminals," Daemon whips his head. He raises his brows, "would you rather they strut free and continue stealing, raping, and killing in your city?"

"I would have them see justice."

Daemon chuckles dryly.

Viserys raises a finger, "your blade is not the writ of justice."

"Do you mean to tell me it's yours?" the younger Targaryen narrows his eyes.

"I AM THE KING," the elder Targaryen snaps.

The prince does not flinch, "speaking loudly will not make it truer, brother."

Needless to say, the meeting is coarse and uncomfortable.

You start from where you were sat by the window upon witnessing Daemon shove the meeting doors open. He storms out of the room grumbling and you have to gather your skirts to run off after him.

"What's happened?" you mutter when you reach his side.

He ignores you, simply continuing to march away with a storm cloud overhead.

You are partially surprised to find that he was heading towards your shared chambers. He shoves the doors open then marches towards your private baths. There, your tub holds steaming water. You were grateful the servants thought to prepare the bath here and not Daemon's personal quarters.

Daemon begins to callously remove his armor and immediately ceases when you come towards him to do it yourself. You look between his hard expression and hard attire, thinking of something to say to calm his down.

You think of nothing.

The moment he is free of his steel, he removes the rest of his garbs himself and steps into the tub. You meant to remove the flower in his hair but then he wordlessly offers you his arm, expecting you to clean him, and so you do without fuss.

In the quiet of washing and splashing water, you feel Daemon slowly begin to relax. He leans back, releasing a sigh as he shuts his eyes. You stare at him for a long moment. He is beautiful.

"Your father is a fucking cunt."

You purse your lips as you release his arm. He opens his eyes when you pull away, then watches as you circle around the tub. You sigh as you take his other arm and begin scrubbing it, "he is... sometimes unkind."

He scoffs, turning to you, "sometimes?"

You focus on his arm, unwanting to meet his gaze, "he was kind to my mother... I think. And to my brother... sister... sometimes."

Daemon watches you, brows furrowing, "and you?"

You shrug, "sometimes?"

"Why do you defend him?" he tilts his head.

Finally, you look at him. The glint in his violet eyes make him appear as though he genuinely wanted to understand you. You shrug once more and shake your head, "he is my father."

"He is a cunt."

You tilt your head, scooping water onto his arm, "surely you've thought the same thing about your brother." You look between his arm and his face.

Daemon does not respond. He does, however, pull away from you.

You stare at him, trying to anticipate his next move.

He motions with his head then leans back in the tub once more, "strip. You should bathe with me."

You stiffen at his proposal, but do not object otherwise. You gather your hair and turn around, "will you undo my laces?"

Daemon, for some reason, is taken aback by the request. There is something that swirls in his gut. Still, he moves towards you and undoes your ties, pushing your dress down after. You shudder when he frees you of your shift and strokes your spine with the back of his hand.

"The king demands we have a family dinner before the tourney tomorrow," Daemon mindlessly mutters, "you must wear something pretty."

You gulp when he kisses your shoulder and scratches your sides until he's cupping your breasts. You gasp and turn when he tries to pull you in. Finally, the flower in his hair falls off when your nails dig into his scalp as he kisses you.

By the time the water goes cold and your bliss from love making wears off, you are faced with the fact your neck and collarbones are covered in glaring purple and red marks again.

Daemon does not relent as you both dress. He is adamant in covering your skin with bruises and bites. You are not surprised that he makes you wear something that showcases your decolletage, but you at least find solace in the fact he makes you keep your hair down in its natural state.

The air is tense as your families eat dinner. You sit next to each other, with him to your right, followed by Viserys and Aemma. In front of the queen was Rhaenyra, then Alicent by the left, Gwyane, and finally your father, who sat before you.

There was something serene in the sinister way Daemon strokes your arm and pushes your hair back. You knew he was doing this to rile your father up, yet you did not know why your body found comfort in his touch.

Then, in a flash, you were nothing but uncomfortable when your twin drops his silverware and blurts out, "you will not lose your hand if it does not grope my sister as we feast."

Daemon, who had been rubbing the your back all the way to the side of your breast, turned to your brother, who sat across him.

Gwayne clenches his jaw, expecting him to pull away.

Instead, Daemon moves your hair to one side of your shoulder and caresses your neck with the back of his hands, "oh, but you see, now that I've..." he smiles, "sampled your dear sister, I fear that it might."

Otto is next to drop his utensils. Your body burns at Daemon's words but you can do nothing but lower your head in mortification.

Viserys sniggers. Aemma glares and nudges him.

"You would not understand this, for you are unmarried," Daemon says turning his head, "but perhaps your father will."

Viserys nearly chokes on his meal, but then clears his throat, "brother-" he withholds his laughter, "-that is quite enough." The king looks at the faces across the table, none of them but him and Daemon finding this predicament amusing, "I'm sure everyone is... overjoyed that you and your bride have found marital bliss, but do keep your manners," he nods, "you are seated before the king."

Daemon turns to Viserys and straightens up. He nods, "my king."

Viserys clears his throat again and nods, "manners, brother."

"Hmm, like you with Aemma?"

Rhaenyra slams her hands on the table, pushes her chair back, and stands. All turns to her and her sour expression as she speaks, "I'm quite finished with my food. If I may be excused... my king."

Otto stands next, his chair skidding behind him, "I am quite finished with my food as well," he nods at Viserys, "I wish you a good meal."

Your belly rolls when he looks at you.

"Daughter, might you walk me out of the room, there is something I wish to discuss with you."

"She is quite busy with her food," Daemon immediately answers for you, "if you wish to speak something, speak it in front of us."

Your throat tightens.

"Tis a personal matter," Otto speaks firmly, "I would not put my child in an uncomfortable position."

Gwayne watches your expression, feeling restless because of your glaring discomfort.

"But you've already done so announcing your desire to speak to her so that she could not refuse," Daemon snaps.

Your chest begins to constrict. Gwyane picks up on how your breath quickens.

Otto clenches his jaw, "I wish to speak to my daughter."

"Yes, and I say fuck off."

"Daemon," Viserys finally snaps, turning to the said man. The king turns to you, peering past his brother, "you may speak to Otto if you wish, or you may simply continue with your meal."

You turn to your skirt and clench the fabric in your hand.

Daemon rubs your nape and your skin reacts with goosebumps. You gasp when his hand is snatched away by Viserys. You turn to them, struggling to breathe as you watch them bicker in High Valyrian.

Aemma tries to interject, but the brothers do not acknowledge her.

"Sister," Gwayne calls to you.

You want to turn to him, but you fear you will crumble in tears if you do.

The room is silenced when you stand. You feel everyone's gaze on your skin. "I wish-" you speak through a heavy breath, "-to retire."

You run out of the room before anyone can respond. Your heart drums in its cage but you tell yourself to run and to keep running.

Gwyane stands, ready to chase after you, but Daemon blocks him and their bodies violently collide. Daemon shoves him back and Gwyane is about to lunge at him but hears the voice of her baby sister calling his name in concern. His face twitches as he holds himself back.

"She is my wife," Daemon says.

"Then fucking go after her," Gwayne snaps, raising an arm, "she'll be heading to the temple, undoubtedly, which is outside the Keep, if you are not aware."

"Go on!" Otto snaps, pointing a finger, "chase after her."

Daemon seethes at the instruction. Dare he? He'll break the arm that fucking finger is connected to. He wants nothing less than to do what that cunt says.

"Go to her, Daemon," Viserys urges.

He glares at his brother, offended by his alliance with the fucker. Now he is really not going to do that. He's left with no other choice but to leave the damned dining room though. How lucky of him to run into the Cargyll twins on his way out.

"You," Daemon barks, calling the attention of the two men. He marches over to them, hands balled tightly into fists.

"My p-"

"The fucking Hand has upset the bitch again," the prince snaps, "she's run off in a fit to gods know where."

The two watch the prince have a hissy fit in High Valyrian before realizing he referring to his wife. Arryk says, "the princess has run off at this hour?"

"Her cunt twin said she'd go to the temple, but maybe she's fallen dead halfway through her sprint."

The twins turn to each other in horror.

"Ah, if only the gods were that kind," Daemon scoffs then looks between them, "find her. I do not wish to hear her pathetic sobbing."

Erryk's nostrils flare. Arryk clenches his jaw and nods. The latter begins to walk off and has to reel his brother by the arm to follow.

Daemon storms off to the dragon pit.

Arryk eyes his brother. Erryk's eyes remain on the prince, until his twin calls his attention.

You arrive at the temple of the Seven, forehead and nape sheened over with sweat. You nearly collapse before the Mother. The only reason you do not, is because two septas catch you before you collide with the shrine of candles. Upon recognizing you, they are quick to attend to you, saying they will get you water and a towel.

Running is a horrid activity that seems to only more horrid each time you do it. You find that your heart cannot keep up, and you are pushed into horrible breathlessness. Your father was strict to never let you run. You do not know if it is simply because you are not capable of running or because of your affliction that made it so.

You thank the gracious septas for their care and ask them if they would pray with you. Unable to deny you, a woman so devout and so... pitiful, they help you get on your knees and you recite The Mother's prayer together. At some point, you begin to weep, and once more it becomes increasingly harder for you to breathe. The septas have to stop praying and attend to you again.

"Princess!"

You are made to sit down on the floor. The two septas are replaced with two men, both dressed in steel, one as seemly as the other, albeit the mark of abject concern on their face. You frown as you look between Arryk and Erryk's worried features. Your scratch your eyes as they speak to you. The weight in your chest makes it hard to understand.

You hiccup as one of them scoops you into their arms. You do not realize you were being carried out of the temple until you are outside. "Wait," you sigh when you managed to catch a breath, "wait."

Whoever is carrying you does not hear it, but his brother does. He says, "wait, Erryk. What is it, princess?"

"I wish to pray," you mutter, eyes still wet with tears, "please."

Arryk looks at you. Erryk shakes his head, "we have to bring her inside."

"Erryk," Arrryk knits his brows, "she wishes to pray."

"She is in no condition to—" Erryk's words falter when your hand comes to his cheek.

You feel your lips tremble and you barely manage to speak, "please."

A line forms between his brows at the sound of your weak voice, "my prin-"

"Erryk," you stroke his cheek, "I need this."

Arryk looks between you and his brother. He watches him sigh and turn back. He follows after Erryk as he goes up the stairs, back towards the shrine.

You are placed before the Mother once more. You sigh and allow yourself repose before shifting on your knees. The twins leave you to your prayers, standing by not too far off.

Erryk's eyes remain on you. Arryk's eyes remain on Erryk.

"You tread a dangerous path, brother."

Erryk does look away.

Arryk sighs, turning his gaze over to you.

You sit on your knees, one arm rested on the plinth as you take a stick and light it. You whisper, "mummy," then light a candle, "me," then light another. Your soft whispers flutter in the echo chamber.

Both twins feel fangs rip into their stomachs as they watch you. Erryk's features are more honest to it however, which is why Arryk catches it and speaks again, "you are sworn to her, you fool."

"And you are not?" Erryk snaps, turning to his twin.

The brothers stare at each other for a moment. Arryk purses his lips and tilts his head, "I am not in love with her."

"Then leave," Erryk motions with a nod. He shifts in his spot, linking his hands together as he turns back back to you.

Arryk snorts and clenches is hands. His ears perk at the sound of your hushed sobbing. His heart clogs his throat.

Erryk sighs through his nose, "you are still here."

"I cannot leave her."

Erryk turns to Arryk, "then you are just as foolish as I."

"I-" Arryk starts. He cannot look away from you, "... I am sworn to her."

"She is beautiful," Erryk says.

Arryk finally tears his gaze only to shoot his brother a warning look, but Erryk's eyes are back on you.

"She wove flowers into my hair mere hours ago," he knits his brows, "she laughed and beamed and glimmered," Erryk sighs, "now she crumbles and weeps and hurts."

Arryk knits his brows, just as deep as his twin's.

You wipe your tears as you soothe yourself. You voice goes low again as you continue to pray.

"I am not a fool," Arryk says

Erryk laughs dryly, turning to him, "very well. If y-"

"I know she is beautiful," Arryk cuts him off.

His lips flatten.

Arryk gulps, "outside and within."

"As I said," Erryk replies, "just as foolish."

"I do not understand what could posses someone to hurt such a creature."

"Perhaps there is no soul to posses."

Arryk shakes your head, "you cannot allow your anger to get ahead of yourself, fool. You are glad the prince did not notice."

"The prince is too caught up in himself to notice anything that does not directly a..." Erryk's words go dry.

Arryk knits his brows, finding his twin was staring at something behind him. He looks over, stiffening when he catches the very person they were speaking of walking over.

Daemon makes a beeline towards you. He stops just behind you, lips and brows tense at the sound of your evidently upset voice. "Should you be doing this?"

You perk at the sound of the voice and look over your shoulder. You stare at Daemon, unsure if you were imagining him or if he was really there. You find that you don't really care, "will you pray with me?"

He does not like that you do not answer his question. He shifts on his spot, "did you faint or fall out of breath?

You turn back to the candles, "you must not be real."

"What?"

"I do not think my husband would care," you mutter, clasping your hands together in prayer.

Daemon does not move.

"You would pray with me then," you add, "you are kind."

The prince's face contorts. He feels like he is choking. He comes to your side, slowly dropping to his knees. He clasps his hands together, propping his elbows in front of him. He is taken aback by how you rest your head on his shoulder with no hesitation. He stiffens and a part of his mind screams to shove you away. He does nothing of the sort however.

"I tire," you admit.

"Then we sh-"

"Tell him to grant me my prayer."

Daemon slowly turns his head to look at you. He sees the way the tears trickle down from the bridge of your nose, "tell who?"

"The Stranger."

Daemon turns to the statue of the Mother. He wants to be difficult and tell you to simply move to the other statue, but instead he asks, "what is your request?"

"Death."

He turns back to you, expecting you to name a name. You do not, so he asks again, "your father?"

Your brows furrow, "no."

He turns to his hands. An unnamable emotion seizes him, "so... your husband?"

You finally lift your head. You turn to him, a deep frown on your face, "I do not wish you harm, Daemon."

He turns to you.

New tears burn down your cheeks.

A new unnamable emotion seizes him at the sight of your wobbling lips.

The twins find themselves looking away when the prince wipes your cheek.

You lean into his touch, "I have prayed for the same thing every night since I was ten."

Daemon's forehead curls, "what do you pray for?"

"To die."

The hand he had on your face tenses.

"It is pointless," you push his hand away, retreating from his touch, "my pain does not subside. My heart and flesh grow weaker each day."

Daemon is uneasy as you turn back to the Mother. He shakes his head, "I do not think the gods listen to such sinful prayers."

"Sin?" you chuckle under your breath.

Somehow your laughter sounds sadder than your weeping.

"Is it such a sin to stand up for yourself?" you mutter as tears blur your vision.

The way he reacted was visceral, instinctive even. "You never have to stand up for yourself ever again," says Daemon, reaching a hand to you, "come."

You stare at his outstretched palm, then look up at him as he stands. You are loathe to move. You do not think you can, even if you wanted to, "I tire."

He leans over, draping your arm around his shoulders, "I'll bring you to bed."

You say nothing as Daemon pulls you in and carries you in his arms.

For the final time tonight, another unnamable emotions seizes him. It only further intensifies when you rest your head in the crook of his neck.