#i am not someone who needs to be reminded that inside everything is blood.

[crippleprophet]

shockingly none of the infographics on emotional lability are geared toward the intended audience of kinky hookup partners. major oversight on the part of neurological charities worldwide.

[delulustateofmind]

"It's All Your Fault, Isn't It?"

Yan! SatoSugu x Reader Sum: You've had the chances, why didn't you take them. In the end you'll always just lose the purest of love. Last part of: Can my friend join?, This is Love, Right? ** Can be read as standalone fics** TW: Yandere Behaviors (Obsession, Manipulation, etc), Death of Child Character, Blood, Toxic Relationship Dynamics, Depression, Dubcon, Lactation, Pregnancy themes, SatoSugu, Angst No Comfort. MDNI WC: 7.7k

A/n: I got supperrr stuck in the loop of editing, so I am just gonna post it, I feel like rereading it after the tenth time. I almost just pressed delete lol. :) enjoy!

It’s all your fault, isn’t it?

You did this to yourself. You should have walked away when the chance was there, when the door was still open, even just a crack. You should have screamed, fought, run—anything to reclaim a sliver of your freedom.

But you didn’t.

You stayed.

Was it the security? The comfort of knowing you’d never struggle to pay bills or scramble to find work? Was it the way Satoru promised, over and over, that you’d never go unloved, never feel the ache of loneliness again?

Or was it something darker? Something you couldn’t quite admit to yourself?

You told yourself it was love. You told yourself you were lucky. How many women could say they had someone who’d give them the world? Someone who, with a flick of his wrist, could bend the rules of life itself to ensure you had everything you could ever need?

So, you stayed.

Even before Suguru became part of the equation, you stayed. You even stayed when Satoru would come home in the dead of night, his footsteps a faint echo through the silent halls before his hands found you. You’d stir from your sleep as he pulled your panties down with barely a word, his breath hot against your neck.

There was no tenderness in those moments, no love—just need. A raw, consuming need he claimed you had to fulfill. And you let him, didn’t you? You let him push inside you with barely any preparation, your body yielding to him because he knew it so well.

Satoru knew the places that made you crumble, the spots where your body quivered, the way your breath hitched when his fingers grazed just right. He knew you better than you knew yourself, didn’t he? His movements were deliberate, practiced, the wet noises filling the room a cruel testament to how thoroughly he’d mastered you.

You’d given him permission. He reminded you of that often, didn’t he? That you’d said yes. That he worked so hard, carried so much, and that this was his right. That he had needs only you could meet.

And you understood. You always understood.

After all, he was the strongest, wasn’t he?

So, you let him use you.

Like a doll.

You’d lay there, staring at the ceiling, as he buried himself to the hilt one last time, his loud groans of release cutting through the stillness. A pathetic little whimper followed, muffled by the darkness, as he spilled himself inside you. And then, as if the act meant nothing, he pressed a sweet kiss to your temple, murmured something soft and indistinct, and rolled over to his side of the bed.

You stayed there, silent and unmoving, the lingering heat of his body beside you doing nothing to warm the cold ache between your thighs.

That’s when the thought would creep in. A sick, unwelcome whisper:

You didn’t even climax.

You hated yourself for thinking it. For letting it matter.

But still, you stayed.

Was it fear that held you there? Or was it hope—a desperate, foolish hope that one-day things would change? That one day, every day would feel like those rare, sweet moments when he pressed teasing kisses against your lips before dragging you out to get sweets. That he’d touch you with love, with the tenderness he so effortlessly showed to others—when he wasn’t breaking them apart piece by piece with that same teasing grin.

And now, looking back, you can’t decide what’s worse: that you didn’t leave when you had the chance…

Or that part of you still doesn’t want to.

You stayed, even when the small arguments started. The little spats about wanting him to open up more, to share pieces of his life with you, the pieces he always kept hidden. Perhaps it was selfish—maybe even naïve—but you wanted to know why he loved you.

Really, truly loved you.

But you never asked.

You saved that question, tucking it away deep into your heart, right alongside the cracks that had already started forming. You told yourself it wasn’t the right time. That maybe he wasn’t ready. That you shouldn’t push. Instead, you focused on the good times, clinging to them like lifelines.

Because they were good, weren’t they?

What other guy would give you the world like Satoru did? What other guy would bring you flowers every week—a different color each time, sometimes traditional, sometimes exotic, but always beautiful? What other guy would shower you with affection so openly, so shamelessly, pressing kisses to your skin, nuzzling into the crook of your neck as though you were the only thing keeping him grounded?

Satoru had told you he loved you. And maybe he did—in a way that wasn’t entirely built on desire, the need to keep you within his grasp, or the insatiable craving to hold you close for the rest of your days.

That’s what you told yourself, anyway.

That’s why you stayed.

Even when Suguru came into the picture—when those dark, calculating eyes lingered on you just a moment too long when his quiet, honeyed words wove themselves into your life like threads binding you to a tapestry you couldn’t escape—you stayed.

You had the choice, didn’t you? You could have said no. You could have walked away.

But you didn’t.

You stayed, and now there was no one else to blame.

So, truly, it is all your fault.

However, your heart’s at fault too, isn’t it? For leaning into Suguru's touches, craving his warmth, even when you knew deep down that he was a cruel and awful man. A man who veiled his darkness in sweetness, wrapping it in gentle words and tender caresses that made you doubt your own truths. He was a master of contradiction—soft hands and sharp edges, honeyed lies hiding an iron grip.

You could have left.

You could have said no to the whole relationship, shut the door before it ever opened.

But you didn’t.

You stayed.

You told yourself that maybe this was the best you could hope for, the best kind of love someone like you deserved. Because it was love, wasn’t it? They loved you. Even if it was conditional. Even if you had to give and give, piece after piece of yourself, just to receive a sliver in return.

Love comes in many forms, after all. And this was love.

Or so you continued to convince yourself.

This is what you deserve. That you should have listened to your gut, back when every touch felt too heavy, too lingering, too much. Back when their words seemed to wrap around you like chains instead of promises. You should have left before the walls around you closed in. Before you realized that leaving wasn’t just difficult—it was dangerous.

You had your chances, didn’t you? If only you’d taken them.

You knew Satoru would tear the world apart to find you if you ran. He’d find you, no matter where you went, no matter how far. But… would he really?

If you’d left early enough, maybe it wouldn’t have been like this. Maybe it would have been nothing more than a bad breakup, a lesson in heartbreak you’d recover from in time. Maybe, if you’d left after Suguru’s return, Satoru would have leaned on him instead of spiraling further into obsession.

But you didn’t leave.

You stayed.

Such a stupid, stupid girl.

And yet…

It was never just about them, was it?

Because you craved love too, just as much as they did. You wanted it desperately—so much that you ignored the warnings in your heart, the creeping dread in your chest. You wanted to be loved, to feel wanted, to belong to someone in a way that was absolute, undeniable, and unshakable.

And that’s exactly what they gave you.

But love like that—it came with a cost.

And you paid for it in silence, in submission, in the pieces of yourself you’d never get back.

So now, here you are, locked away in the beautiful Gojo estate. A place so grand it should feel like a palace, yet it suffocates you like a gilded cage. Every corner gleams with wealth and power, every surface reflects the life you’re supposed to be grateful for.

The maids don’t meet your eyes.

To them, you aren’t Satoru’s wife. You aren’t a partner. You’re something lesser.

A pet.

Because you aren’t the one ensuring the estate runs smoothly while Satoru is away on his endless missions. That responsibility doesn’t fall to you—it belongs to Suguru, doesn’t it? He’s the one in charge. He holds the reins, commanding the household with a quiet authority that leaves no room for question.

And you?

You remain.

The pet. The wife. The child-bearer.

Barefoot and pregnant, with a swollen belly to show for it, you shuffle through the estate like a ghost. Your body aches, weighed down not just by the child growing inside you, but by the chains of a life you can’t escape.

Suguru sees to it that the estate runs like a well-oiled machine, all while maintaining his title as the second strongest. His responsibilities never seem to tire him, never seem to dull his devotion. If anything, they only make him more overbearing.

He adores pampering you.

He drapes you in the softest blankets, ensuring you’re always warm. He dresses you in the finest clothes, silks and satins that cling to your growing belly, showcasing the proof of your usefulness. He loves the way your independence has been stripped away, loves the way you’ve been forced to rely on him for everything.

When did you become so dependent?

When did you start accepting his affection like a loyal dog, start leaning into the way his rough, calloused hands would trace the curve of your stomach? When did you start craving the way he’d gaze up at you with that lovesick smile, his voice low and honeyed as he murmured sweet words about the future?

“I hope the baby looks like Satoru,” he’d say, his eyes dark and soft as they met yours. Then, after a pause, “I hope it’s a girl.”

The words always made your chest tighten, made your stomach twist.

You know he must miss the twins.

It’s not just the weight of their absence—it’s the way he’s filled that void with this child, this unborn life. You can see it in the way he touches you, the way he watches you. He’s more excited about this pregnancy than you are.

And that’s the cruelest part, isn’t it?

Because to him, this isn’t just a child. It’s a legacy. A purpose.

To you?

It’s another chain.

And yet, you hate how loving he is. How he’s always there to hold your hair back when you’re bent over, heaving in the dead of night. How his large, warm hands find every knot in your aching limbs, massaging away the tension with a tenderness that makes your heartache.

It’s cruel, how gentle he can be. How he disarms you with care just when you think you might muster the strength to fight back.

There’s a constant mantra in your mind, a desperate hope that the baby won’t resemble either of them.

Because the thought of seeing their features reflected back at you stirs a fear too heavy to bear.

The thought of seeing their features reflected in those tiny, innocent eyes is terrifying. It brings the fear that every decision will feel like a mistake, that allowing any of this to happen will become an unbearable regret.

You tell yourself you hope, but it’s hard to ignore the possibility, isn’t it?

What if the child inherits Satoru’s piercing blue eyes—so crystalline they seem otherworldly, glowing even in the faintest light? The same eyes that burn and freeze you all at once, stripping you bare and exposing every secret, every hidden part of you.

Even his grin—boyish, sharp, too wide—lingers in your mind. A grin that could charm and cut in the same breath, leaving you unsure whether to lean closer or step away. What if that grin appeared on a smaller, softer face, just as devastating?

Or worse—what if the baby inherits Suguru’s gaze?

Those dark, soulful eyes that pull you in like the tide, gentle at first glance, inviting even, but hiding endless, churning storms beneath their surface. Eyes that promise escape is not an option. Unlike Satoru’s, Suguru’s smiles are quieter, softer—but no less dangerous. His smiles feel deliberate, like they’re slipping past every defense you didn’t even know you had.

Would the baby inherit Satoru’s arrogance? Suguru’s patience?

Or worse—would the child inherit both of their possessiveness?

The thought makes your skin crawl.

But the fear doesn’t end there.

Because it’s not just about the baby, is it?

It’s about you.

About how they’ve already carved themselves so deeply into your soul that you can’t even imagine a world without them. You hate that truth. Hate the way it festers inside you, a bitter root growing into every part of you.

You hate Satoru’s smirk when he strides into the estate after a mission, brushing off the exhaustion and blood as if it’s nothing. How he towers over you, his white hair catching the light in a way that seems almost ethereal, his fingers tilting your chin up with a mock tenderness that makes your breath catch.

You hate how he always knows exactly what to say to make you crumble, his voice dipping into that teasing lilt that makes your heart flutter in spite of yourself.

And Suguru—oh, you hate how he lingers. How his touch lingers. His hands are always warm, always deliberate, tracing paths across your skin as if he’s claiming you, piece by piece. Every stroke of his fingers feels like a silent reminder that you are his, that you belong to him. His voice, low and soothing, is a cruel contradiction—a balm against your nerves, even when his words are laced with quiet threats you pretend not to hear.

You hate them.

You hate the way they consume you, the way they’ve woven themselves into the fabric of your life so tightly that even your thoughts feel tangled in their presence.

And yet, as you sit in the vast, lonely expanse of the Gojo estate, the weight of your belly grounding you, you know the truth.

You’re not just afraid of the baby looking like them.

You’re afraid of what that child will mean.

Because if they look like Satoru, with his arrogance, his fire, his brilliance, how will you deny the pride swelling in your chest? How will you stop yourself from feeling that flicker of awe, even when you know you shouldn’t?

And if they look like Suguru, with his quiet strength, his steadfast devotion, how will you deny the love? How will you stop yourself from melting beneath those familiar eyes, from imagining them crinkling with joy or softening with affection?

You can’t.

And that's horrifying.

You won’t be able to ignore how Satoru has changed, how he’s become softer, more attentive in ways that make it harder to hold onto your resentment. How he lingers closer to you than he ever did before, as if the mere distance between you might undo something fragile inside him.

How he’s started resting his head in your lap as you sit together in the serene gardens, his white hair catching the sunlight like spun silk, almost ethereal. His long lashes cast soft shadows over his cheeks as his half-lidded gaze flickers up to meet yours, brimming with a tenderness you don’t know how to process.

He murmurs lazy words of affection, his voice low and warm, the kind of sweetness that drips like honey and sticks to your skin. His fingers trace absentminded circles on your thighs, soft patterns that feel far too intimate, far too easy.

And you hate how much you crave it.

You hate the way his presence soothes something raw inside you, even when you tell yourself it shouldn’t.

You hate how he’s begun helping you with the small, intimate things you wish you could keep to yourself. Like the unbearable ache in your swollen breasts, the pressure building so much it leaves you trembling, whimpering in pain. How he doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t even ask.

The way Satoru's lips wrap around you with loud, deliberate suckles, the sound echoing in the quiet as he eases the pressure with almost clinical precision. He doesn’t flinch. He doesn’t falter. His hands grip your hips to steady you, his thumbs pressing reassuring circles into your skin.

You hate the sound.

You hate the warmth of his breath against your skin, the way it prickles, a constant reminder of just how close he always is—too close.

When he’s finished, he pulls back with a satisfied hum, his lips brushing against your collarbone with a lingering kiss. His voice low, almost tender, as he murmurs, “I love this version of you.”

The words settle into you like stones. His lips, still soft from the milk, press against yours, and the faint sweetness lingers, almost cloying. Satoru murmurs more words—gentle, saccharine things that would feel kind if not for the way his hands start to roam as they wrap around your waist.

“How nurturing you’ve become,” he whispers, his tone carrying a dangerous sort of reverence.

That’s what he loves. That’s what he says.

And the way he looks at you when he says it—those bright blue eyes glinting with something dark, something that sinks its claws into you—makes your skin crawl. Because you know exactly what he means.

He doesn’t love the nurturing in and of itself. He loves how it ties you to him. How it binds you to this role, this life, this carefully constructed world where you are his and only his.

The version of you he loves is one that has no room for defiance, no space for resistance—only the space to give, to sacrifice, to bend under the weight of his love.

And that’s what makes it so much worse.

Because even as you hate it, even as your stomach churns and your skin prickles, there’s a part of you that leans into his touch. A part of you that longs for the softness, for the fleeting moments when it feels like love instead of control.

And you hate yourself for that, too

Because you know how it goes. You’ve seen it now. Lived it.

How one pregnancy ends and another begins.

The cycle repeated itself after your firstborn, didn’t it? Barely a year after you gave birth, they had you pregnant again. You didn’t even have time to recover, to heal, before they decided it was time for another.

But they love you, don’t they?

Satoru’s affection is impossible to miss—the way he grins at you, almost childlike, as he cups your face with hands that can destroy worlds but hold you as though you’re the most delicate thing he’s ever touched. How he showers you with gifts, flowers in every shade imaginable, rare treasures that sparkle as brightly as his endless energy.

How many times has he told you, in his low, teasing voice, “You’re my world, you know that? I could do anything, have anything—but none of it would matter without you.”

It sounds like love, doesn’t it?

And Suguru—Suguru loves you too, in his quiet, steady way. You see it in the way he watches you, his dark eyes softening when you enter the room, the weight of his gaze feels suffocating. He’s the one who stays calm when you cry, wrapping his arms around you and murmuring, “Shh, it’s okay. I’m here. You don’t have to carry this alone.”

And you believe him, don’t you?

They love you. That’s why they insist on keeping you close. Why Satoru kisses your forehead every morning, why Suguru runs his fingers through your hair as he whispers sweet nothings you’re too exhausted to resist. That’s why they ensure you’re taken care of, why they never let you lift a finger, why they promise they’ll always protect you.

“You don’t have to do anything,” Satoru once said, kissing your swollen belly as he grinned up at you. “Just stay here with us. That’s all we need.”

“It’s not just for us,” Suguru added, his voice softer, more measured. “It’s for you too. We want you to feel safe. Loved.”

And in moments like that, when the weight of their words settles in your chest like a lullaby, you almost believe them.

You tell yourself that no one else would love you this much. No one else would care for you so completely, so unconditionally—because this is love, isn’t it?

The maids barely acknowledged your struggles. Their gazes were cold, dismissive, even as your body ached and your mind screamed for reprieve. They would gently pry your child from your arms with hushed whispers.

“You need more rest,” they’d say, their voices soft but unyielding. “We’ll take care of them. Don’t worry.”

And what could you do? You’d watch helplessly as they carried your baby away, leaving you empty-handed, empty-hearted. As if you were nothing more than a vessel, an incubator meant to bear and birth heirs for the Gojo family.

Your firstborn was a boy.

A son.

An heir.

He looked just like Satoru.

Those piercing blue eyes stared back at you from his tiny, cherubic face, wide and curious, already holding a glint of brilliance and confidence you couldn’t deny. His hair was the same stark white, impossibly soft beneath your trembling fingers as you brushed it back, memorizing every perfect strand. Even the little smirk he gave in his sleep mirrored Satoru’s—a playful, almost mocking curl at the corners of his mouth that made your heart ache with emotions you couldn’t unravel.

You loved him.

You hated that you loved him.

And when Suguru would cradle him in his arms, his dark eyes soft and filled with a devotion that seemed to crack the carefully constructed walls around your heart, you couldn’t deny the warmth blooming in your chest. He’d whisper promises to the child—vows of protection and guidance.

When Satoru would swoop in, effortlessly spinning the boy around with an energy that filled the room with light, the sound of your son’s uncontrollable laughter echoing like music, that warmth would return. It would swell in your chest, suffocating and undeniable, a cruel reminder of the chains you wore willingly and unwillingly all at once.

This is what they wanted, wasn’t it?

This is what they’d planned all along.

And now, with another child growing inside you, you realize something that terrifies you more than anything else.

You’re not sure if you stayed because you had no choice.

Or because you wanted to.

Again, it’s all your fault.

For trying to run, again.

For thinking, just for a moment, that you could escape them.

You were far too pregnant. Belly too far swollen, body heavy and slow, every step a reminder of how deeply tethered you were to this vast estate. But the thought wouldn’t leave your mind. The desperate hope of freedom burned too brightly, too wildly, even as your body betrayed you.

Even as you were dragged back to that sickening place, back to the people that you convinced yourself—desperately, foolishly—that this was love.

You’d screamed at Suguru, the words spilling out like a torrent you couldn’t stop. You told him the child was yours too, that you had the right to hold them, to sleep in the same room, to be more than a vessel. Your voice cracked, raw with frustration and desperation, as you hurled your defiance at him.

You remember the way his gaze darkened.

He didn’t yell. He didn’t snap. That wasn’t Suguru’s way.

Instead, he stepped closer, his movements slow, calculated, as though he were approaching a frightened animal. He tilted his head, his expression calm, disarming, the warmth in his dark eyes a stark contrast to the undercurrent of control they held.

“You’re upset,” he murmured, his voice soft, soothing. His hand reached out to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing away the tears streaking your face. “And that’s okay. You’ve been through so much, haven’t you?”

The quiet warmth in Suguru's voice made it hard to breathe, made the frustration clawing at your throat turn to something else—something like shame.

“You need to calm down,” he continued, a warm calloused hand slipping down to cradle the side of your neck, his thumb pressing lightly against your pulse. “I don’t want you to hurt yourself. I don’t want you to hurt us.”

His words lingered, heavy with meaning, as he pulled you closer, his forehead pressing against yours.

“I know it’s hard,” he whispered, his breath warm against your skin. “But I love you. We love you. Everything we do—everything I do—is for you.”

You wanted to push him away, to scream that it wasn’t love, that this wasn’t love. But as his arms wrapped around you, strong and unyielding, pulling you into his embrace as though Suguru could shield you from the very world they had trapped you in.

“You’re everything to me,” he murmured, soft lips brushing your temple. “Don’t you see that? You don’t need to run. You don’t need to be afraid. I’ll take care of you. I’ll always take care of you.”

A voice that was so tender, so achingly sincere, that it almost broke you. Suguru's words were enough to extinguish the fire of defiance burning in your chest, to leave you standing there, trembling and helpless in his arms.

The maids saw it, didn’t they? They whispered about you, their quiet voices slipping through the halls like ghosts. They called you ungrateful. Sick. They said you didn’t understand how fortunate you were.

“You should be enjoying this,” they murmured, their words laced with thinly veiled judgment. “No responsibilities, no struggles. A carefree life. Everything is taken care of for you. What more could you want?”

What more could you want?

No choices.

That’s what they meant, wasn’t it? No choices. No freedom. No you.

Was something wrong with you? Maybe.

Maybe there was something wrong with wanting more. For wanting to feel like a person again, instead of a vessel, a doll, a beautifully dressed incubator meant to carry their legacy.

It really is all your fault, isn’t it?

Because when labor came, it dragged you into hell.

Thirty-three grueling hours. Each contraction ripped through your body like a punishment, an unrelenting reminder of every fleeting thought of rebellion, of every moment you dared to imagine a life beyond them.

The emergency c-section was chaos—a flurry of hands, sterile lights, and voices rising above the incessant ringing in your ears. You were losing too much blood. Fever scorched your skin, your body trembling as the edges of the world blurred, your thoughts slipping between consciousness and darkness.

You couldn’t make sense of what was happening. You weren’t even sure whose tears streaked your skin as they fell—were they yours? Satoru’s? Suguru’s?

You didn’t know.

You didn’t know what happened after that.

All you remember are the words.

Suguru’s voice, low and steady, cutting through the haze. He leaned close, his hand resting on your clammy cheek with an almost painful tenderness. His dark eyes bore into yours, soft yet heavy with something that made your stomach twist.

“You shouldn’t have run,” he whispered. His tone was calm, soothing even, but the edge beneath it was sharp enough to draw blood. “Look at what you’ve done to yourself. You should’ve listened.”

And for a long time, you didn’t have the strength to argue.

The days that followed blurred together. Feeling like a ghost in your body, too weak to move, too tired to speak. Satoru and Suguru hovered, their gazes flickering between concern and something you couldn't quite place. The maids continued to whisper on with their rumors, their eyes darting to you with pity or disdain, as though you’d done this to yourself.

In their eyes, you were lucky.

Lucky to have survived. Lucky to have them.

And lucky, in their eyes, to not have another pregnancy until your first two boys turned five.

Five years of peace. Or something that resembled it.

Five years of watching your sons grow, of hearing their first words, of feeling their small, warm arms wrap around you as they giggled into into your neck. Five years where it was almost believable that this was normal, where you could almost convince yourself this was love.

Because it did feel like love, didn’t it?

Until the day you overheard Suguru speaking to them.

His voice was hushed, but not hushed enough.

“Mommy is sick,” he said, tone calm and soothing like he was explaining a simple fact of life. “Sometimes she says things she doesn’t mean. Sometimes she gets confused. But that’s okay. We love her, don’t we?”

A pang sent through your chest, breath catching as you froze in the hallway. Those cruel words lies carved like knives, each one slicing deeper than the last.

He was planting seeds, wasn’t he?

Teaching them to see you the way he wanted them to see you. Fragile. Dependent. Broken.

However with fists clenched, nails pressing into palms with a sting sharp enough to ground the swirling emotions within. The urge to scream hovered at the edge, to cry and storm into the room, demanding explanations with the desperation of a cornered animal. Words burned on the tip of the tongue—protests that it wasn’t true, that sickness and confusion weren’t the chains binding this existence.

But what would they believe?

Suguru’s steady, patient voice, rich and even, always laced with quiet authority? The father whose dark eyes always seemed to understand everything, who carried himself with calm, unshakable control, even when his smiles didn’t quite reach his eyes?

Or you?

The mother who had tried to run, who had collapsed and bled and screamed, who had been scolded for her defiance. The one they saw as weak, frail, and ungrateful.

You wanted to run again. The thought burned in the back of your mind, relentless and wild.

But you didn’t.

You stayed.

Because, in the end, what choice did you really have?

But by the time your third child—a sweet boy who looked like a perfect blend of you and Suguru—turned three, the illusion of peace began to crack.

Suguru was already leaning close, his voice soft and coaxing as he murmured into your ear, “I think it’s time we try for a girl.”

Satoru, of course, was on board almost immediately.

After all, your third child was different. A nonsorcerer, just like you, showing none of the abilities your first two boys possessed. Those two had cried in the dead of night, their small voices trembling with fear as they described the horrors only they could see—things you couldn’t even begin to comprehend.

But that wasn’t why your husbands looked at Kiyoshi with quiet disapproval.

It wasn’t his lack of cursed energy that made them see him as an anomaly.

It was his heart.

From the moment Kiyoshi was placed in your arms, red-faced and wailing, he clung to you with a desperation that never faded. He didn’t want the maids to hold him, didn’t toddle after Suguru’s composed steps or reached for Satoru’s strong arms. He wanted you. Always you.

He was a mama’s boy through and through, and that was love.

A love so pure it felt like a lifeline in the suffocating world you’d been forced into.

While you loved your first two boys deeply—how could you not?—there was always a distance there, a reflection of the walls your husbands had built around you. The first two cuddled into your lap, their small hands clutching yours as they whispered things that broke you.

“Mommy, we want you to get better.” “We don’t like it when you yell at Daddy to let you leave.”

They were too young to understand, too innocent to see the chains tightening around you.

But Kiyoshi understood, in his own way. Even as a toddler, he refused to leave your side, refused to let the maids or his fathers pull him from your arms. He was always on your hip, his little hand clutching your clothes, his head resting against your chest.

“Kiyoshi,” Satoru had said once, his tone laced with false amusement, “means ‘pure sadness.’ Don’t you think that’s fitting?”

He smiled as if it were a joke, but you could hear the bitterness beneath it.

And maybe it was fitting.

Because Kiyoshi only stopped wailing when he was in your arms, as if he already knew the world outside of you was too cruel, too cold.

By the time he turned three, Kiyoshi would toddle after you in the gardens, small, sturdy legs working hard to keep up. His face—a blend of Suguru’s gentleness and your warmth—would brighten with the purest smile. When his eyes crinkled at the corners, just like yours, you couldn’t help but feel your heart swell.

“Look, Mommy!” he’d say, holding up a flower he’d plucked from the garden, his tiny fingers dirt-stained and clumsy. “For you!”

You’d crouch down, brushing his dark hair back as you took the flower, your voice soft and tender in a way you hadn’t heard in years.

“Thank you, my sweet boy.”

And for a moment, it felt like it was just the two of you.

Like you could breathe again.

But you knew better.

As the sound of approaching footsteps always shattered moments like these. Heavy and far too familiar. You didn’t need to turn around to know it was Suguru.

His softspoken voice broke the fragile silence, calm and even, as always. “Kiyoshi,” he said, warm and affectionate, though laced with something you couldn’t quite name. “You’ve been keeping your mother all to yourself again, haven’t you?”

Kiyoshi stiffened at your side, the little hand tightening its grip on your kimono as he glanced nervously toward Suguru.

Suguru stepped closer and crouched down to Kiyoshi’s level, dark eyes softening as they met his son’s. “Come here, son,” he murmured, holding out a hand. His tone was gentle, coaxing, but there was an unspoken expectation beneath it. “Let Daddy hold you for a little while. I’ve missed you.”

But Kiyoshi didn’t move. His small fingers curled tighter into the fabric of your kimono, his face pressing into your side as though trying to make himself small, invisible.

Suguru’s gaze flicked to you, lips curling into a faint smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “So shy,” he said softly, his voice carrying a note of amused affection. “But you don’t have to be, Kiyoshi. Daddy just wants to hold you. You know that, don’t you?”

You felt your heart clench, torn between the instinct to shield him and the weight of Suguru’s presence. The tenderness in his tone, in the way his hand remained outstretched, made it all the harder to breathe.

“Kiyoshi,” Suguru said again, his voice dipping into a firmer edge, calm but unyielding. “Come.”

Reluctantly, your little boy let go of you, his steps slow and hesitant as he moved toward his father. Suguru’s smile widened, soft and reassuring, as he scooped Kiyoshi up effortlessly, cradling him with a gentleness that felt too deliberate, too controlled.

“There’s my good boy,” he murmured, brushing Kiyoshi’s hair back with careful fingers. His touch lingered, as though committing the texture to memory. “You love your mommy very much, don’t you?”

Kiyoshi nodded silently, his small face burying itself in Suguru’s shoulder.

Suguru’s gaze lifted to meet yours, a gentle smile, his tone almost playful. “You’ve spoiled him,” he said, a note of amusement threading through his words. “He’s too attached.”

You opened your mouth to respond, to say something, but the words caught in your throat.

What could you say?

That you were the only warmth in a world that terrified him? That his attachment wasn’t a flaw, but a desperate grasp at something safe?

Satoru appeared not long after, his presence impossible to ignore as he strolled into the garden, hands in his pockets and a grin that seemed too bright for the moment. His eyes, however, betrayed something softer—something that lingered only when they landed on you.

“Kiyoshi giving you trouble again?” Satoru's voice came out light, tinged with curiosity.

“No trouble,” Suguru replied smoothly, a hand still resting on Kiyoshi’s small back. “Just a little too fond of his mother.”

Satoru chuckled, shaking his head as he moved closer. His cerulean gaze flicked briefly to Kiyoshi before returning to you, that playful grin softening as he moved to brush a kiss against your temple. “Well, can you blame him?” he murmured, his voice low, meant only for you. “You’re hard not to love.”

The warmth of his affection made your heart twist, and your stomach flutter. For a moment, it was easy to forget the way his words often carried double meanings, easy to believe he was simply being sweet.

He straightened, turning his attention back to Suguru with a teasing smile. “But we’ll fix that soon enough, won’t we?”

They didn’t mean to hurt him, you told yourself. They wouldn’t.

But you knew better.

Because Kiyoshi was different. He didn’t fit into their world the way your first two boys did. And in their eyes, difference was something to be controlled.

For now, they let him cling to you. They let him toddle after you in the garden, offering flowers and dirt-streaked smiles that made your heart ache with both love and dread. For now, they allowed him to stay close, to hold onto the warmth you gave him, to believe he was safe in your arms.

But you knew it was only a matter of time.

Because your sons didn’t belong to you. Not really. They never had.

And no matter how much you wanted to shield Kiyoshi, no matter how fiercely you loved him, you knew one simple, devastating truth:

They’d let you have this for now.

But they would take him, too.

Because, after all, it’s all your fault.

For fleeing in the middle of the night.

The day was supposed to be perfect—a rare moment where Satoru and Suguru had taken the older two boys to the school, their voices filled with excitement as they promised to teach them more about the world they were destined to inherit. Your sweet boys kissed you goodbye with a tenderness that felt almost cruel, leaving you behind with Kiyoshi in the quiet, sprawling estate.

You had been on your best behavior. Smiling more, laughing when Satoru teased you, letting Suguru hold you a little longer than usual. You’d made them believe you were finally settling, finally accepting your role in their carefully constructed world.

And it worked.

So when the sun set and the house fell silent, you made your move.

You bundled Kiyoshi up in the softest blanket you could find, the small body warm and sleepy against your chest. He stirred only slightly as you slipped out of the estate, his tiny hands clutching onto your clothes.

He didn’t cry.

He didn’t make a sound.

It was as if he understood. As if even at three years old, he knew that silence was the only thing keeping you safe.

He nuzzled his face into the crook of your neck, his soft breaths warm against your skin, and you couldn’t help the tears that welled up in your eyes.

The highway stretched out before you, an endless black ribbon under the faint glow of the moon. The lights of the city sparkled in the distance, a beacon of hope, a promise of sanctuary.

You walked for miles, the cold night air biting at your skin, legs aching with every step. But you didn’t stop. You couldn’t. Not with the faint echoes of paranoia whispering at the back of your mind.

Were they already looking for you? Did Satoru sense you slipping away even from miles away? Did Suguru wake in the middle of the night with the suffocating weight of intuition, already calling for their forces to track you down?

You didn’t know.

And you didn’t care.

The city limits were closer now, the glow of neon lights growing brighter, sharper. The faint hum of life and sound buzzed in the distance.

Kiyoshi stirred in your arms, his little head lifting just enough to peek out at the world around him. His dark eyes, so much like Suguru’s but filled with an innocence his father could no longer claim, glanced up at you with quiet curiosity.

“Mommy,” he whispered, his voice barely audible over the soft hum of the wind.

You pressed a kiss to his forehead, your tears wetting his soft hair. “We’re almost there, my sweet boy,” you murmured, your voice trembling under the weight of hope and fear. “Just a little farther.”

Sanctuary was so close you could taste it.

But it’s all your fault, isn’t it?

Born a nonsorcerer.

Blind to the horrors that lurk unseen. Powerless to fight them off. Too weak to keep that sweet little boy safe.

You always imagined curses as massive, grotesque creatures—monsters so obvious that the very air would change in their presence. That the world would stop, that everything would smell of death and decay as they loomed closer.

But when a curse appears, nothing changes.

There’s no warning. No shift in the wind.

The only thing you feel is the sudden weight of your child going limp in your arms.

And then the blood.

And then the blood.

It coats the ground—dark and endless, pooling around your knees and seeping into the cracks of the earth. Sticky and warm, it clings to trembling hands, staining your kimono, your skin, your very soul.

You can’t move. Can’t breathe.

Your little boy—your Kiyoshi—lies limp in your arms, his small body growing colder with every agonizing second. Tiny fingers, once so eager to cling to you, now dangle lifelessly. His dark lashes rest softly against pale cheeks, unmoving.

He looks like he’s sleeping.

You tell yourself that, over and over, as if saying it enough times will somehow make it true. Shaking hands brush back his dark hair, trembling as you whisper his name. Softly at first, then louder, your voice splintering with every syllable.

“Kiyoshi… wake up, baby. Please.”

But nothing changes.

The world around you feels wrong—too quiet, too still. The city lights in the distance mock you, their glow a cruel reminder of the sanctuary you’d been so close to reaching. You’d promised him, hadn’t you? Promised that everything would be okay. That you’d make it there. That you’d keep him safe.

You lied.

“Kiyoshi,” you choke out again, pressing a desperate kiss to his cooling forehead. Hot tears streak down your face, wetting his soft hair as you clutch him tighter, as though you could anchor him to you—keep him here, with you.

A wail tears through the night, raw and broken, shattering the oppressive silence. The sound is unrecognizable, guttural and full of despair. It takes a moment before you realize it’s coming from you.

The blood stains everything—your hands, your clothes, the ground—but it’s the loss of his warmth that destroys you.

How did this happen?

Your mind races, replaying the moments in broken fragments. You’d been walking, your legs aching, his small body cradled against your chest. He’d been so quiet, so trusting, his head nuzzled into the crook of your neck.

You were almost there.

Then the air shifted—just slightly—a subtle wrongness you hadn’t noticed until it was too late.

You didn’t see it.

You didn’t even know it was there until his body jerked in your arms, a sharp, unnatural movement that stole his breath—and yours.

And then he went limp.

It doesn’t make sense. None of it makes sense.

You rock him back and forth, tears falling freely, your voice hoarse as you beg him to wake up. Leaning to press your cheek against his, murmuring his name over and over, as if the sound alone could bring him back.

Because you failed him.

Because this is your fault.

Suguru’s arms wrap around you, their weight unbearable. His warmth presses against the chill of the night, suffocating in a way that makes the air harder to pull into your lungs. He cradles you like something precious, something fragile—like he cares, even as his words twist the knife deeper into your chest.

“We’ll take care of this, just like always,” he says, his voice soft, almost gentle. His lips brush against your hair, lingering, and the tenderness in the gesture makes your skin crawl. “You just need to stop fighting us. Don’t make this harder than it needs to be.”

Satoru stood frozen, head bowed, white hair catching the faint glow of the city lights. Kiyoshi’s lifeless body was pressed tightly against him, his hands trembling ever so slightly as he held him close. For a moment, you thought you saw something crack in his expression—something raw, something human.

But it was gone just as quickly as it appeared.

When he finally turned his gaze to you, his blue eyes were as hollow as you’d ever seen them. “You shouldn’t have done this,” he said quietly, his voice devoid of its usual teasing lilt. “Why couldn’t you just stay?”

The question stabbed deeper than you thought possible, the shame and guilt coursing through you like poison.

Why couldn’t you just stay?

The image of Kiyoshi’s bright smile flashed, his tiny hands offering you flowers from the garden, his laugh ringing out like music in the suffocating silence of the estate. He’d been your light, your tether to something good.

And now he was gone.

Because of you.

You sagged further into Suguru’s hold, the fight draining out of you entirely. The tears wouldn’t stop, falling silently now, soaking into the front of Suguru’s shirt as he held you tighter.

“There, there,” he murmured, his hand stroking your hair in slow, deliberate motions. “That’s better. You don’t have to fight anymore. We’ll make it right.”

But there was no right in this.

The car waited nearby, its door open like an unspoken command. Suguru’s grip on you didn’t waver as he began guiding you toward it, his movements gentle but unrelenting. Satoru followed behind, cradling Kiyoshi’s small form like he was made of glass.

Your legs moved on instinct, numb and heavy, the metallic scent of blood lingering in the air.

The city lights grew fainter as the car doors shut behind you, locking you away from the world you’d been so close to reaching.

You told yourself you’d tried. That you’d done everything you could.

But deep down, you knew.

You’d never escape them.

And as Suguru’s fingers intertwined with yours, as Satoru’s empty gaze lingered on the horizon, you realized something that hollowed you out completely.

It wasn’t just that you had nothing left.

It was that you no longer cared to try.

It really was all your fault.

[poohsources]

🐝  *  ―  𝑬𝑷𝑰𝑪: 𝑻𝑯𝑬 𝑴𝑼𝑺𝑰𝑪𝑨𝑳 𝑺𝑬𝑵𝑻𝑬𝑵𝑪𝑬 𝑺𝑻𝑨𝑹𝑻𝑬𝑹𝑺.

Troy Saga ❛  do what i say and you'll see them again.  ❜ ❛  what do you live for? what do you try for?  ❜ ❛  say no more, i know tat i'm ready.  ❜ ❛  the blood on your hands is something you won't lose.  ❜ ❛  is the price i pay endless pain?  ❜ ❛  something feels off here, i see fire but there's no smoke.  ❜ ❛  we should try to find a way no one ends up dead.  ❜ ❛  why should we take when we could give?  ❜ ❛  i see in your face, there's so much guilt inside your heart.  ❜ ❛  have you forgotten the lessons i taught you?  ❜

The Cyclops Saga ❛  it's almost too perfect, too god to be true.  ❜ ❛  what gives you the right to deal a pain so deep?  ❜ ❛  your life now is in my hand.  ❜ ❛  remember them, we're the ones who carry on.  ❜ ❛  what good would killing do when mercy is a skill more of this world could learn to use?  ❜ ❛  i am your darkest moment.  ❜ ❛  i don't know where i went wrong but i warned ya', and you failed the test.  ❜ ❛  that's just like you, why should i be surprised?  ❜ ❛  unlike you, every time someone dies i'm left to deal with the strain.  ❜ ❛  i'll remind you i saw you as a friend but now we're done.  ❜

The Ocean Saga ❛  at this rate, we won't make it out alive.  ❜ ❛  please don't tell me you're about to do what i think you'll do.  ❜ ❛  yes, but how much longer til your luck runs out?  ❜ ❛  you rely on wit, and people die on it.  ❜ ❛  you're like the brother i could never do without.  ❜ ❛  and suddenly you doubt that i could figure this out?  ❜ ❛  keep your friends close and your enemies closer, never really know who you can trust.  ❜ ❛  'cause the end always justifies the means.  ❜ ❛  do you know who i am?  ❜ ❛  you are the worst kind of good 'cause you're not even great.  ❜

The Circe Saga ❛  whatever you need to say can wait some more.  ❜ ❛  there's no length i wouldn't go if it was you i had to save.  ❜ ❛  wouldn't you like a taste of the power?  ❜ ❛  don't thank me friend, you very well may die.  ❜ ❛  did you do something to them?  ❜ ❛  if you make one wrong move, then you're done for.  ❜ ❛  you and i are now evenly matched.  ❜ ❛  you've given me no reason to bestow you with my trust.  ❜ ❛  who's to say, with the mistakes i've made that they will be the last mistakes i ever make?  ❜ ❛  this is the price we pay to love.  ❜

The Underworld Saga ❛  all i hear are screams, every time i dare to close my eyes.  ❜ ❛  i no longer dream, only nigtmares of those who've died.  ❜ ❛  when does a man become a monster?  ❜ ❛  now you tell us our effort's are for nothing?  ❜ ❛  how has everything been turned against us?  ❜ ❛  do i need to change?  ❜ ❛  i'm the only one whose line i haven't crossed.  ❜ ❛  what if i'm the problem that's been hiding all along?  ❜ ❛  what if i've been far too kind to foes but a monster to ourselves?  ❜ ❛  if i became the monster and threw that guilt away would that make us stronger?  ❜

The Thunder Saga ❛  you wouldn't have spared me. i made a mistake like this, it almost cost my life.  ❜ ❛  i've got a secret i can no longer keep.  ❜ ❛  you know that we are the same.  ❜ ❛  we must do what it takes to survive.  ❜ ❛  tell me you did not know that would happen.  ❜ ❛  if you want all the power, you must carry all the blame.  ❜ ❛  how are we supposed to trust you now?  ❜ ❛  how much longer must i suffer now?  ❜ ❛  someone's gotta die today and you have got the final say.  ❜ ❛  please don't make me do this.  ❜

The Wisdom Saga ❛  you've made your worst mistake here.  ❜ ❛  this cruel world doesn't give out presents just for being good.  ❜ ❛  you're my friend, i couldn't ask for more.  ❜ ❛  did you know you talk in your sleep?  ❜ ❛  i'm what you want here, i'm what you need here.  ❜ ❛  you don't know what i've gone through.  ❜ ❛  i know your life's been hard, i'll stay inside your heart.  ❜ ❛  life would be so much worse if you had died.  ❜ ❛  you dare to defy me, to make me feel shame?  ❜ ❛  no one beats me, no one wins my game.  ❜

[soulofapatrick]

All’s Fair in Love and War - Azriel x female reader

Summary: Azriel finds you after the war with Hybern 

Words: 2.8K 

Warnings: blood, shock 

Notes: sorry if this is messy - the idea came to me just now and I’m very tired and sleep deprived 

Y/N's POV

The battle is over. The roar of soldiers, the clash of swords, the gut-wrenching screams of the dying—they all fade, swallowed by a profound, unnatural silence. It's not the kind of quiet that brings peace. No, this stillness presses down on me like a weight, suffocating, as if the very air has thickened in the aftermath of violence. The tension in my muscles, the ache in my bones, feels as though it’s settling deep inside me, wrapping itself around my insides and pulling me down. Yet, I refuse to lie down. I won’t let myself be coddled, not when the taste of battle is still so fresh in the back of my throat.

I’m sitting upright in a rickety wooden chair, the rough, splintered wood digging into my back, but I don't care. The fabric of my tunic clings to my skin, drenched in a sickly mix of sweat and blood—my own, other people’s, I can’t tell anymore. Feyre’s insisted I lie down, insisted I let her help me, but I can’t. I need to stay here, right where I am. I need to be present, to feel the weight of my own existence, even as the world tilts and shifts in ways that don’t feel real.

My body feels wrong. Alien. Detached. It’s like I’m floating just above myself, watching from a distance. My limbs are too heavy, my chest too tight. The stinging aches from the cuts, bruises, and burns barely register against the cold emptiness gnawing at me from the inside. It feels like the very essence of who I am has been swallowed up, frozen over in a deep, hollow void that refuses to release its grip. My heart is still pounding, but the beat sounds muffled, as if I’m hearing it through a thick wall of fog.

I can taste it—the blood. The metallic tang coats my mouth, thick and sticky, like copper settling on my tongue. It tastes of death, of everything I’ve just witnessed, of the blood spilled for this fleeting victory. It makes my stomach churn, but I can’t bring myself to wipe it away. I don’t want to. It feels like a mark, like a final seal on everything we’ve just survived. A reminder of the price we’ve paid.

Feyre is beside me, but she feels so far away, even though I can hear the soft shuffle of her feet and feel the warmth of her presence. Her High Lady aura glows faintly in the dim light of the medical tent, shimmering around her like a halo, but there’s an edge to her that I recognise. The poise, the grace, is still there, but beneath it, I can see the cracks—the lines of worry etched deep in her face. She hovers near me, her hands hovering uncertainly as though she doesn’t want to break something fragile, doesn’t want to push me too far. Her fingers brush over my cheek, but I can feel the hesitation there, the caution. She’s holding back, trying not to make me feel weak.

My cheek feels raw, tender, swollen. I can feel the blood caked against my skin, drying in clumps, pulling at the tender flesh of my face. I know the wound is deep. I know it’s going to scar, leaving me with a permanent reminder of this war, this senseless battle that has taken so much from us. But right now, I can’t find it in myself to care. Not when the pain feels so distant, so muted, as if it belongs to someone else. All I can feel is the relentless grip of numbness, seeping into me, pushing out everything but the silence, the hollow ache.

Feyre’s voice pierces through the fog, soft and concerned, but it feels like it’s coming from a world far removed from me. “Y/N, you need to rest. You’re in no shape to be sitting up.”

“I’m fine,” I rasp, my voice cracked, dry as the air around me. It’s barely above a whisper, yet I feel the weight of it, the lie that I’m trying to convince myself of. “Just… let me be.”

I try to ignore the way my words falter, the way my body trembles despite my best efforts to hold steady. The exhaustion presses down on me, a weight too heavy to bear, but I refuse to admit it. Instead, I focus on the rhythm of Feyre’s breath, steady and calm, though I know it’s not as unaffected as it seems. I hear the subtle shift in her posture, the uncertainty in the way she moves around me, as if she doesn’t quite know what to do with me now. She’s worried, but she’s not pushing—she knows better than that.

And as I sit there, trapped in my own numbness, I feel the sting of my injuries fade into the background, swallowed by something deeper, something even harder to name. The tent is still, heavy with the weight of what’s happened—what’s still happening—but in the silence, there’s a steady, almost magnetic pull drawing me in. The world beyond the canvas walls is chaos, but here, in this small space, there’s a suffocating quiet, a sense of something monumental about to shift.

The flaps of the tent whip open again, and I feel it, the change in the air before I even hear their footsteps. Heavy. Relentless. The hum of power vibrates through the ground, the soft, sure steps unmistakable even before I see them.

Azriel.

Rhysand, Cassian—they follow, but it’s Azriel who fills the space, his presence tangible, suffocating, like a shadow that has always lingered just beyond the edges of my sight. And I know, even before I look up, that he's close. That shadow—his shadow—rushes in, skimming across the floor like liquid night, trailing after him, pulsing with life, like it’s an extension of him.

Feyre’s touch, warm and light, presses briefly on my shoulder before she moves away, joining her mate and the others, leaving me with Azriel, leaving me with the space between us that feels far too large and yet too small all at once. I know the others are there, I hear their words, but it’s Azriel I feel, his presence like a weight, heavy and undeniable. The shadows, they rush forward, caressing the air around me as they always do when he’s near—silent, loving, soft. His shadows have always been an extension of him, always a part of who he is, and right now, they envelop me in a comforting embrace, soothing the sharp edges of the world that try to break me apart.

I can’t move. My head still feels too heavy, too fogged with shock, and my body refuses to listen to me. But I feel them—his shadows—brush over my skin, gentle whispers of darkness, caressing me in a way that’s almost tender. They tug softly at the edges of my pain, washing over me, calming the panic that bubbles beneath the surface.

The soft thud of his boots stops directly in front of me. I don't look up. My body still doesn't listen. The shadows pull tighter around me, brushing against my skin like a lover’s touch, their cool embrace more comforting than the warmth of the sun. They make me feel whole, like I'm not slipping away into the numbness that’s trying to take me.

And then, without a word, Azriel kneels in front of me. I feel the shift in the air around him, the way his presence seems to draw everything closer, making the world feel smaller, like it's only the two of us now.

His scarred hands, the hands that have seen so much destruction, are gentle as they reach toward me. He hooks his fingers under my chin, lifting my face toward him with a force that isn't harsh but is insistent, like he won’t let me hide. Like he can’t let me hide.

And I look into his eyes. Hazel. Always searching. Always filled with that intensity, that unspoken understanding. His eyes flicker over my face, tracing the marks left by battle—the dried blood on my cheek, the swelling beneath my skin, the injury I know will leave a scar. But he doesn't look at it in disgust or pity. He looks at me. At me, the way only he ever has—like I’m something precious.

"Y/N," his voice is low, hoarse, almost cracked under the weight of what he's feeling. The shadows gather around us, encircling us both as if they're shielding us from the rest of the world. They move with him, soft, soothing, like they too are trying to hold me together. The subtle crackle of power in the air is thick, the tension between us palpable, but it’s his touch—the warmth of his fingers on my skin—that seems to hold everything still.

Azriel leans forward, and the air thickens between us, charged, electric, suffocating. His breath skims over my lips, and I know, I know, that this moment is everything. The world outside, the battle, the blood, the pain—all of it feels so far away now. There is only the space between us. Only him. Only the suffocating weight of his presence, and the shadows that pulse with life, circling us like an embrace, like a cage.

His eyes burn into mine, molten, dark, searching. His chest rises and falls, too fast, too heavy, as if he's holding his breath, waiting, as if we're both on the edge of something we can't undo. His shadows caress me, tender and possessive, as if they, too, are desperate to make sure I don't slip away. They're everywhere—on my skin, in my veins, curling around me, holding me steady, holding me together.

And then, without another breath between us, his lips crash into mine.

It's not gentle. It’s feral. Desperate. As if he's been holding himself back for lifetimes, and now that barrier is shattered. His lips are fierce, hungry, demanding, and all at once, I feel everything he’s been keeping buried—every bit of the anguish, the fear, the longing—poured into the kiss.

Azriel’s hands are on me, pulling me, urgent and fierce, as if he’s afraid I’ll slip through his fingers if he doesn't hold on tight enough. His touch is rough—scarred fingers threading through my hair, tilting my head back with a force that has me gasping, his mouth crashing into mine in a kiss that is all need, all fire. I taste blood—his, mine, I don’t care, I can't care—not when he’s here, when his body is pressed against mine, when every inch of him is breathing life back into me.

And then, without warning, he pulls me down.

I barely register the movement before I’m on the floor, my knees digging into the hard dirt beneath me, the sting of it nothing compared to the overwhelming heat that radiates from him. He’s sitting back on his knees, his thick thighs caging me in as I straddle him, my legs on either side, and the world narrows to just the space between us. His hands move to my back, pulling me flush against his chest, and the kiss deepens, more desperate, more frantic, as if this is the only way he can make sure I’m real, that I’m alive, that I’m still here.

His shadows wrap around us like a dark cocoon, curling around us both, a living thing that soothes, caresses, and holds us together. They move over my skin, tracing the curve of my spine, filling the space between us with an almost painful tenderness, as if they’re echoing the rawness in his kiss. They wrap around my arms, my waist, gently tugging me closer, pulling me against him like I belong there, like I’m the missing piece he’s been searching for.

I don’t care that the ground is rough, that the dirt is grinding into my knees, that my body is still sore and battered from the battle. None of it matters because he’s here. He’s alive. His lips are on mine, and nothing else exists. Not the horrors we’ve just survived, not the pain coursing through me, not the scars I know are already forming on my skin. There’s only him, only this moment, only the desperate, consuming way we kiss like our very lives depend on it.

His hands grip my hips, pulling me closer, his breath ragged as he breaks the kiss just enough to speak, but I’m not ready to let him go. His lips are against mine once more, rough and relentless, as if he’s trying to memorise the feeling of me, of us—of the connection that is more than just physical, more than just a fleeting moment of relief after the battle. His scarred hands slide down my sides, gripping me tightly, pulling me even closer, and I can’t help but let out a soft gasp at the pressure. His body shifts under mine, his thick thighs holding me in place as his shadows wrap tighter around us, drawing me further into his orbit.

Every breath, every movement, is a slow, steady burn, and I can feel the intensity of it seeping into my skin, into my bones. He’s not just kissing me—he’s claiming me, as if he’s afraid I’ll slip away if he doesn’t. His hands move to my back, tracing the curve of it before pressing me harder into him, his chest rising and falling rapidly as though he’s fighting for air. His lips break from mine, but only just, brushing against my jaw, my neck, as he breathes deeply against my skin, each inhale shuddering, as if he can’t quite gather himself enough to speak.

“Azriel,” I whisper, the name feeling foreign on my tongue, but I don’t care. Not when I’m here, not when his shadows are around us like a fortress, cocooning us in a darkness that’s only ours. “What are you—”

“I thought I lost you,” he cuts me off, his voice raw, rough, like he’s been holding back for too long. His lips find mine again, desperate, hungry, and the world outside us disappears.

But even as the kiss consumes me, I feel his trembling fingers against my cheek, his touch soft, reverent, like he’s afraid of breaking me, as if the battle, the blood, the scars are all still too fresh for him to truly believe I’m here.

I tilt my head back, surrendering into him, letting the kiss go deeper, matching the frantic pace of his lips as his breath catches in his throat. And as I feel him pulling me, coaxing me closer, his shadows continue to circle, holding us together in the suffocating intensity of everything unsaid.

“I can’t lose you,” he murmurs against my lips, the words desperate, raw, and heavy with meaning, as if they carry the weight of everything he’s been holding inside. “You’re... everything.”

My heart races at the confession—his confession—and my hands move to his face, feeling the roughness of his skin, the rasp of his stubble, the undeniable truth in the way he kisses me. His lips are tender now, softer, as if he's trying to take the moment in, savour it, but there's still a hunger beneath it all. Still a desperate need to make sure I’m here, that I’m alive, that I’m not going anywhere.

I don’t have the words for this. For him. For us. So I let the kiss speak for me, my hands slipping down to his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart, matching the frantic rhythm of my own.

His shadows seem to gather around us tighter, pulling me into him, surrounding us in a blanket of darkness and heat that holds us together, that swallows us whole. Everything else falls away—the battle, the pain, the fear—all of it. There’s only Azriel and me, only this moment, and the undeniable connection between us that has always been there, buried beneath the surface, waiting to break free.

And then, he pulls back just enough for us to breathe. His eyes are searching mine, dark and intense, filled with something I can’t name. Something that flickers in his gaze, something fragile, but unwavering.

“I thought I lost you,” he repeats, the words a soft, desperate plea.

I lean forward, my forehead resting against his, and I finally whisper the only words that seem to matter right now: “You didn’t.”

And as his lips meet mine again, softer this time, full of relief, of unspoken promises, I know that this is the beginning of something new, something that neither of us can turn away from.

ACOTAR Masterlist TAG LIST - updated 12th Oct 2024

TAGS:

@lilah-asteria @maleficmuse @fanficscuziranout @angelbunny222

[rayaaani]

𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐧𝐞𝐞𝐝𝐥𝐞.

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: fem!reader x piercer!se-mi

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 : smut, semi has a tongue piercing cause why not , pain kink and dacryphilia if you squint really hard, dom!se-mi,inexperienced reader, mentions of blood and alcohol , reader is HAWTTTT.

𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞: I am terrible at writing smut but passed my English a levels with flying colours so literally everything else is better but I hope you enjoy my first fic and pls request stuff for me to write🙏

The breakup had left a hollow ache inside you. At first, you tried to convince yourself it wasn’t a big deal. People broke up every day, didn’t they? But as the days stretched into weeks, the reality sank in: they’d chosen someone else over you. The betrayal stung more than you were willing to admit.

Eunji, ever the faithful friend, was quick to notice your decline. One evening, after you canceled plans for the third time that week, she stormed into your apartment with wine, snacks, and a pointed determination to drag you out of your funk.

“You can’t keep moping around,” she said, tossing a throw pillow at you as you sulked on the couch. “You’re too hot to let them ruin you.”

You snorted, but the laughter felt foreign. “Hot? Eunji, I’ve barely showered this week.”

“Exactly my point,” she said, grabbing your hand and pulling you up. “We’re doing a makeover. You’re going to remind yourself—and everyone else—exactly who the hell you are.”

You rolled your eyes, but deep down, you couldn’t deny the idea had merit. That night, Eunji introduced the seed of rebellion: “Have you ever thought about dyeing your hair?

The next day, you stared at yourself in the mirror, box of red hair dye in hand.

The breakup had left you craving change, and this was your first step. The fiery red was bold, brash, and unapologetic—the exact opposite of how you felt. But as you worked the dye into your hair, you imagined yourself as the confident, fearless woman you wanted to become.

When you rinsed the dye out and styled your hair into loose, messy waves, you barely recognized the woman staring back. The red brought out a new intensity in your eyes, and the bold color paired with your nose piercing gave you an edge that felt exciting and liberating.

You snapped a picture and sent it to Eunji.

“Holy shit,” she texted back almost immediately. “You look like a goddamn rockstar. I’m coming over.”

“You need a new piercing to go with that hair,” Eunji announced as she lounged on your couch that evening.

“Piercing?” you echoed, raising an eyebrow.

“Yeah. Something edgy. Like an eyebrow piercing. Ooh, or a lip ring!”

You laughed but found yourself considering it. “Do you have a place in mind?”

Eunji’s face lit up. “Black Needle Studio. Trust me, they’re the best. And,” she added with a smirk, “the piercer? Se-Mi? Hot. As. Fuck.”

“Hot, huh?” you said, intrigued despite yourself.

“Hot doesn’t even begin to cover it,” Eunji said, sitting up to look you in the eye. “She’s tall, gorgeous, and has these tattoos that’ll make you want to crawl into her lap. Her voice is low and smooth, like she knows exactly what she’s doing to you. And when she looks at you? It’s game over.”

You swallowed hard, trying to ignore the sudden flutter in your stomach. “You’re overselling this.”

“Nope,” Eunji said, grinning. “Book the appointment. You’ll see.”

The moment you stepped into Black Needle Studio, you understood what Eunji had meant.

Se-Mi was standing at the counter, casually flipping through a clipboard. Her fitted black tank top revealed toned arms covered in intricate tattoos, and her dark jeans clung to her figure in all the right ways. She had an aura of effortless confidence, like she owned the world and couldn’t care less if anyone knew it.

Her dark eyes lifted as you walked in, locking onto you with an intensity that made your stomach flip.

“Here for a piercing?” she asked, her voice low and smooth.

You nodded, suddenly feeling self-conscious under her gaze. “Yeah. Eyebrow piercing.”

Her lips curled into a faint smirk. “Good choice. Let’s get you set up.”

She led you to a private room, her movements fluid and purposeful. As she pulled on gloves and prepped the needle, the air between you felt charged.

“So,” she said, her voice cutting through the tension, “is this your first time?”

You shook your head. “I have a nose piercing.”

Her eyes flicked to your nose, lingering for a moment. “Looks good on you. You’ll rock the eyebrow, too.”

Your cheeks flushed under her gaze. “Thanks.”

As she cleaned and marked the area, her fingers brushed against your skin lightly, sending shivers down your spine.

“This might sting,” she said, her tone almost teasing. “Think you can handle it?”

You nodded, though your heart was pounding.

“Deep breath,” she instructed. The needle went through, and you let out a quiet whimper at the sharp pain.

“Doing okay?” she asked, her voice softer now.

“Yeah,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Good,” she said, stepping back to admire her work. “You did great.”

When she handed you the mirror, you couldn’t help but smile. The piercing was perfect, adding a boldness to your face that made you feel invincible.

“Looks amazing,” she said, her smirk returning. “You wear it well.”

Your heart fluttered at her words, and you couldn’t help but wonder if she meant more than just the piercing.

That night, you couldn’t stop thinking about her. Everything about se-mi ,her confidence, her voice, the way her hands had lingered just a second longer than necessary—was etched into your mind.

You called Eunji the moment you got home.

“She’s unreal,” you said, pacing your apartment. “I mean, you said she was hot, but this is next-level. She has this presence. Like she knows exactly how to make you feel—”

“Like putty in her hands?” Eunji finished, laughing.

“Exactly!” you said, flopping onto your couch. “And her tattoos… God, Eunji, I don’t even know how I managed to form coherent sentences.”

“She sounds dangerous,” Eunji teased. “In the best way.”

You groaned. “What am I supposed to do? Just sit here and think about her all night?”

“Why not go out and celebrate?” Eunji suggested. “You look amazing with that new piercing. Let’s hit the club and show it off.”

You didn’t notice your ex until it was too late. They were across the room, laughing with the same “friend” they’d sworn was platonic. Your stomach churned, but you refused to let it ruin your night.

“Forget them,” Eunji said, pulling you back onto the dance floor.

The air in the club felt heavy with anticipation as you made your way toward the bar, but the presence of your ex caught your eye before you could focus on anything else. There they were, looking carefree and laughing with their friends, completely unaware of the storm swirling inside of you. It was almost maddening how unaffected they seemed, how easily they were moving on. But you? You felt like you were drowning in a sea of emotions, and you were desperate for an escape.

The alcohol had started to do its job, loosening your inhibitions and sharpening the edge of your boldness. The red satin dress you were wearing felt like armor—sexy, confident, a reflection of someone you didn’t recognize but was beginning to like.

As you walked, the club’s lights and music seemed to blur around you. The world was spinning slightly, but in a way that was freeing. Eunji, as usual, was by your side, guiding you through the crowd, but you didn’t care about much else except the burning need to feel alive again, to remind yourself that you were in control of your own life.

“I’m going to have fun tonight,” you muttered to Eunji, your voice slightly slurred.

Eunji grinned, her eyes alight with mischief. “Hell yeah you are. You’re looking amazing tonight. Just wait until you see how everyone reacts.”

You didn’t answer, too distracted by the flashes of neon lights and the rhythmic thump of the bass, which seemed to vibrate through your entire body. Your head felt light, the alcohol mixing with the adrenaline of the night, but something else was there too—a raw, burning desire to make a statement. To make someone feel something.

You spotted your ex across the room again, standing by the bar, and something twisted inside you. You hadn’t meant to walk into this situation looking for revenge, but here you were, wanting to show them that you were doing just fine without them. You weren’t the same girl who had left their apartment a few weeks ago, broken and lost. You were someone else now—someone better.

“Let’s have some fun,” you whispered to Eunji as you let go of her hand, pulling away from the crowd.

You didn’t know where you were going, but your feet seemed to carry you across the dance floor, past groups of people grinding to the beat, the alcohol in your system making you feel bold, almost daring. You were feeling good, feeling unstoppable.

And then you saw her.

Se-Mi was sitting off to the side, casually talking to a group of her friends. She hadn’t seen you yet, but you saw her, and the sight of her made something shift deep inside you.

She was stunning.

Her dark hair cascaded over her shoulders, her lips slightly curved into a smile as she laughed. You could see the way the light caught her piercing, the coolness in her demeanor that had drawn you in the first time you saw her. Se-Mi was magnetic—impossible to ignore. You couldn’t take your eyes off her, despite the fog of alcohol clouding your thoughts.

She didn’t see you yet, didn’t notice how your breath caught in your throat. But you were done standing back.

The plan had been to show your ex that you were moving on. But now, the impulse to do something—anything—to capture attention overwhelmed you. Without even thinking about it, you sauntered closer to Se-Mi’s booth, her laugh still ringing in the air around you. She didn’t look up, too absorbed in the conversation with her friends. You had to do something.

The alcohol in your system surged, and suddenly you found yourself standing right in front of her, just a few feet away. It was like the world had disappeared, leaving only the need to be seen, to make an impression.

Without warning, you closed the space between you, stepping forward and pressing your lips against hers. The kiss was clumsy, uncoordinated. You hadn’t planned it. But in that moment, the need to feel something—anything—drove you to act.

The world seemed to stop for a moment, the noise of the club fading into the background. Se-Mi didn’t pull away, but she didn’t lean into the kiss either. When you pulled back, her dark eyes locked onto yours, filled with something you couldn’t quite decipher.

“Care to explain what that was about?” she asked, her voice low and laced with amusement.

You swallowed hard, the realization of what you’d just done crashing over you. “I… I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”

It was over in an instant.

Your cheeks burned, and before you could say anything else, Eunji appeared, grabbing your arm. “Time to dance!” she said, pulling you toward the dance floor.

You glanced back at Se-Mi as Eunji dragged you away. She was still watching you, her expression unreadable.

The music was still pounding in your ears as you stumbled off the dance floor, the alcohol swirling inside you, making everything feel just a bit hazy. You needed to get away from the chaos, to process what had just happened. Your head was spinning—both from the alcohol and from the memory of that kiss with Se-Mi.

You found Eunji at the bar, chatting with some random guy, but when she saw the look on your face, she immediately stopped talking and raised an eyebrow.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” she asked, her voice softening as she noticed the way you were swaying slightly on your feet.

“I… I think I did something really stupid,” you mumbled, leaning against the bar for support. You swallowed thickly, the weight of what had happened crashing down on you. “I kissed Se-Mi.”

Eunji blinked, her lips parting in surprise. “What?!”

“Yeah, I don’t know what the hell I was thinking. I just… I was drunk, and I wanted to make my ex jealous, and—” you paused, exhaling shakily, “it just happened. And now I don’t know what to do.”

Eunji took a long pause, looking at you carefully. “You kissed her? Like, Se-Mi kissed you?” she repeated, trying to process it.

You nodded, your face flushed. “Yeah, it was stupid. It was impulsive. I don’t even know why I did it.”

“But…” Eunji trailed off, glancing at you, her eyes gleaming with something you couldn’t quite place. “That means you’re going back, right? You’ve already booked your second session with her.”

Your stomach churned as you thought about it. “Yeah,” you admitted, biting your lip. “I already booked the second piercing… a snake eye piercing.”

Eunji raised an eyebrow. “So… you’re telling me you kissed her, and now you have to go back to her for a piercing?”

You nodded slowly, a heavy sigh escaping your lips. “Yeah. It’s going to be so awkward. I don’t even know what to say. Like, what if she brings it up?”

Eunji’s smirk only grew wider as she took a long sip of her drink. “You know, I think this is actually perfect,” she teased, clearly enjoying the chaos unfolding in your life. “You’re going back to her. She’s the one who’s going to be awkward now, not you.”

You couldn’t help but groan at the thought of the piercing session. It wasn’t just the awkwardness that made you nervous, though. It was the way your body was still humming with the memory of that kiss. The way your lips tingled when you thought about Se-Mi. You knew it wasn’t just a drunken mistake—it was something else. Something deeper.

Two days later, you found yourself standing in front of the piercing studio again, your hands trembling slightly as you reached for the door. The memory of your last visit—of Se-Mi’s steady hands and the way she had made you feel—rushed back, causing your heart to race.

You had managed to keep the details of the kiss to yourself, pushing the awkwardness aside, but now, as you entered the studio once again, you couldn’t help but feel that same tension between you and her. Would she bring it up? Would she make it awkward? You had no idea, but you were about to find out.

When you stepped into the studio, Se-Mi was there, just like last time, waiting behind the piercing counter. She looked as stunning as ever, her dark eyes sharp and confident as she gave you a small, knowing smile.

“Back again?” she said, her voice smooth and casual, as if nothing had happened. But there was something in the way her gaze lingered on you that told you she hadn’t forgotten.

You swallowed, trying to appear composed, but your voice was a little shaky. “Yeah. I… I’m here for the snake eye piercing.”

Se-Mi’s smile grew just a fraction wider, her lips curving up in a way that made your stomach flutter. “You’ve got good taste,” she said, her eyes glinting as she motioned for you to take a seat. “Ready for this?”

You nodded, but inside, you were anything but ready. The air felt thicker this time, charged with the underlying tension from your last encounter.

As you sat in the piercing chair, Se-Mi moved closer, her body leaning over you as she set everything up. The scent of her cologne mixed with the sterile smell of the studio, and you couldn’t help but notice the way her hands brushed against your skin as she prepped for the piercing.

“Okay,” she said, her voice a little softer now, a little more intimate, as she cleaned the area around your lip. “This one’s going to sting a little more than the last one.”

You nodded, your heartbeat quickening as you tried to keep your breathing steady. The proximity between you two felt intense, and the memory of that kiss—the softness of her lips, the heat of the moment—seemed to hang in the air like a shadow. You didn’t know if you should bring it up, if it was even worth mentioning. The awkwardness of the situation made it hard to think clearly.

Se-Mi’s fingers hovered over your lip, and you swore you could feel the electricity crackling between you as she looked into your eyes, her expression serious for just a moment. “You’re sure you want this?” she asked, her voice quiet, a little too soft.

You met her gaze, feeling the weight of the question, of everything that had happened between you two. For a brief second, it felt like the world around you stopped. You couldn’t deny that there was something magnetic, something dangerous in the way she was looking at you.

The silence between you and Se-Mi grew thick as you sat in the piercing chair, her hands moving with practiced precision as she prepped for your snake eye piercing. There was a strange kind of intimacy in the way she touched your skin, a closeness that sent shivers down your spine. She was so close, her body almost brushing against yours as she positioned herself in front of you, her eyes scanning your face with an intensity that made your pulse quicken.

You felt the weight of her gaze as she wiped the area around your tongue with antiseptic, her fingers gently caressing your lips as she prepared the piercing. You swallowed hard, trying to calm the nerves that suddenly fluttered in your chest, but the air in the room felt charged. It was more than just the physical closeness—there was an undeniable tension between you two, something that simmered beneath the surface, an unspoken understanding from that kiss you’d shared at the club.

Se-Mi’s voice broke through the silence, low and steady as she reassured you. “This one’s going to sting a bit more than the last one,” she said softly, her eyes flicking up to meet yours.

You nodded, but your breath caught in your throat. The words didn’t make you nervous—what really made your heart race was the way she was looking at you. There was something about the way her gaze lingered on your lips, the way her fingers gently cupped your chin as she adjusted you, that made everything inside you feel tight and electric.

“Relax,” she murmured, her tone unexpectedly soothing. “You’re going to be fine. Just breathe.”

You tried to breathe, tried to calm yourself, but your mind was still reeling from the kiss, from the memory of Se-Mi’s lips on yours, and from the way the chemistry between you two seemed to thrum louder every time you were close.

“Okay,” Se-Mi said, her fingers tracing the outline of your lip before she positioned the needle. “Stick your tongue out for me.”

You obeyed without thinking, the action feeling almost instinctual as you extended your tongue toward her. Se-Mi’s eyes locked on yours for a brief moment, her lips pressing together as she focused on the task at hand. The intimacy of the moment hit you all at once, the proximity between you both becoming almost overwhelming.

She was so close. You could feel the heat of her breath against your lips as she hovered over you, her fingertips brushing against the skin around your mouth. Every small movement felt deliberate, charged with something deeper.

The tension was unbearable.

And then, before you could fully prepare yourself, you felt the sharp sting of the needle as Se-Mi pierced your tongue. A soft whimper escaped your lips as the pain radiated through your mouth, your whole body tensing from the sudden sensation. The sharp discomfort mixed with a strange sense of pleasure, a rush that made your head spin.

Se-Mi’s eyes flickered up to meet yours immediately, her gaze intense. “It’s okay, just breathe,” she said, her voice much softer now, almost as if she was aware of the sound that had slipped from you. There was something undeniably intimate about it—the way she was so close, the way her eyes softened just slightly as she watched you.

You couldn’t help but notice the way her lips parted slightly, her focus not just on the piercing but on you—on your reactions. It was as if she was studying you, waiting for the next shift in your expression. You could feel the heat in your face, your chest tight from both the pain and the strange way her attention made you feel.

As she adjusted the needle for the second part of the piercing, you whimpered again, the pain making your body tense up. But this time, Se-Mi’s fingers brushed against your lips in a way that made your heart skip. She didn’t pull away immediately. Instead, she lingered there, as if savoring the moment.

“Almost done,” Se-Mi whispered, her voice low and unexpectedly tender.

You nodded, your tongue still extended, your body still trembling slightly from the intensity of the experience. But what lingered in your mind wasn’t just the pain—it was the way Se-Mi’s eyes had locked on yours, the way she seemed to be taking in every detail of you. It was the way her fingers had brushed against your skin, the warmth of her touch making your heart race.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Se-Mi finished the piercing. She slowly withdrew the needle, her fingers gently adjusting the jewelry in place. Your breathing was heavy, the pain still lingering but fading as the piercing settled.

Se-Mi moved back slightly, her gaze lingering on you for a moment longer than necessary, as if evaluating the change. There was something different in the air now, something thick and unspoken between you two. She reached for a small tissue and gently dabbed at your lips, her fingers lingering longer than necessary as she wiped away the trace of blood.

“You did great,” she said, her voice soft but with a hint of something deeper in it now, something you couldn’t quite place.

But as she looked at you, you realized it wasn’t just the piercing that had shifted between you two. It was the connection—unspoken, undeniable—that you couldn’t ignore anymore.

“Thanks,” you whispered, your voice a little shaky, still caught in the whirlwind of emotions and sensations. You couldn’t quite pinpoint what you were feeling—pain, relief, and something else entirely, something that made your pulse quicken.

Se-Mi’s gaze didn’t break from yours as she handed you a small mirror to examine the new piercing. You took it, but your hands were trembling slightly, not just from the aftereffects of the piercing but from the way Se-Mi was watching you. It was as if she could see straight through you, like she knew exactly what you were thinking, what you were feeling.

The room felt too small now, the air too thick, as Se-Mi hovered over you, the aftermath of your piercing session still lingering. Her fingers had just finished securing the jewelry in place, but it was clear that something else was hanging in the air, something more potent and undeniable. You could feel her presence radiating toward you, and the space between you two seemed to shrink with every breath you took.

Se-Mi leaned against the counter beside you, her eyes never leaving yours. You didn’t need to look at her for long to know what was coming. You had hoped she wouldn’t bring it up—but you knew she would. The kiss.

She crossed her arms over her chest, and for a moment, the dominant energy she gave off was overwhelming. There was no softness in her gaze now, no question about it—this was not the Se-Mi you had known before. This was the one who commanded attention, who knew exactly what she wanted, and she was looking right at you as though she was daring you to say something.

“About that kiss…” Se-Mi’s voice was steady, almost too calm, like she was savoring the control she had over the moment. The words hung in the air, thick with the tension that had been building between you two since the first time your lips met.

You hesitated, biting your lip as your mind raced. That kiss had been so impulsive, so reckless, but now, in this charged atmosphere, you could feel the weight of it. You could feel the heat of Se-Mi’s gaze on you, the way her presence filled the room, making it impossible for you to look away.

“You think it was just about making your ex jealous, don’t you?” she asked, her eyes narrowing slightly, as if she was reading you, seeing right through the facade. “But I don’t believe that. Not for a second.”

You swallowed hard. She was right. It hadn’t been just about your ex—it had been about something else, something deeper that you couldn’t quite name.

“I—” Your voice faltered as you tried to explain, but Se-Mi wasn’t interested in hearing any excuses.

She stepped closer, the movement deliberate, the space between you two shrinking as she towered over you. Her gaze locked onto yours, her presence commanding. There was nothing gentle in the way she looked at you now—just pure, unrelenting focus.

“You don’t have to say anything,” Se-Mi interrupted, her tone low, almost dangerous. “You kissed me because you wanted to. Don’t try to lie to yourself.” She leaned in slightly, her breath warm against your skin. “And now… I think you want something more.”

The words hit you like a jolt of electricity. You felt your pulse race, your heart hammering in your chest as your body betrayed your thoughts. You knew what she was implying, and the way she was looking at you—no, the way she was claiming you—made it impossible to ignore what was happening.

Se-Mi was right. You wanted more. You wanted her.

You opened your mouth to speak, but no words came out. All you could do was stare back at her, your body tense, your breath shallow as her proximity consumed you.

“You wanted to make him jealous, but now,” Se-Mi’s voice dropped lower, laced with dark amusement, “you’ve got me wondering if you want to make me jealous.”

Your breath caught in your throat, your lips parting slightly as you tried to process what she was saying. But Se-Mi didn’t give you a chance to respond. Instead, her hand shot out, gripping your chin with firm fingers, tilting your face upward.

“Don’t worry, I’m not mad. But I think it’s time we finish what we started.” Her tone left no room for argument. It was clear that this wasn’t a question anymore. She was in control.

Before you could react, Se-Mi pulled you forward by your chin, her lips crashing into yours in a kiss that was anything but gentle. It was demanding, hungry, and she made sure you felt every bit of it. Her tongue slid into your mouth, bold and forceful, taking control of the kiss as though she owned it—and you.

Your hands instinctively reached for her arms, your fingers digging into the muscles of her forearm as her body pressed closer. The kiss deepened, and you could feel the heat radiating off of her, her chest pressed against yours, making it impossible to ignore how badly you needed her.

Se-Mi pulled away, her lips just a hair’s breadth from yours. She stared down at you with an intensity that sent a wave of heat rushing through you. “You like this, don’t you?” she whispered, her voice thick with dominance. “You like the way I make you feel.”

You nodded instinctively, your breath ragged as your body reacted to the dominance in her voice. She was right. Every second with her felt electrified, like she was pulling at every nerve in your body, forcing you to feel everything all at once.

With a sudden, decisive movement, Se-Mi gripped your waist and spun you in the chair, forcing you to face the mirror. “Look at yourself,” she commanded, her voice low and stern. “You’re a mess, and I haven’t even started yet.”

You glanced at your reflection, seeing yourself in a new light. Your lips were swollen from the kiss, your cheeks flushed with heat, and your eyes… they held the same hunger that Se-Mi’s gaze did.

When you turned to look back at her, Se-Mi’s expression was a mix of satisfaction and something darker, something more possessive. She stepped closer again, her hands moving to your shoulders as she leaned in, her lips brushing your ear. “I’m not done with you yet.”

Your body trembled at her touch, the tension between you both unbearable. You didn’t want her to stop. You wanted more—wanted her to claim you, to make you hers completely.

And Se-Mi seemed to know exactly how to do that.

Se-Mi’s gaze sharpened, her expression hardening as she took a step back, assessing you with a look that left no room for defiance. The air between you two crackled with intensity as she stood tall, her body language exuding authority.

“Sit back down,” she commanded, her voice firm, almost cold. “I haven’t finished yet.”

Your heart skipped a beat at the force in her tone. There was no mistaking her intent. She wasn’t asking; she was telling you, and the power behind her words sent a shiver down your spine. Without thinking, you obeyed, moving quickly to sit back in the chair where she had initially positioned you, your body already betraying you with the pulse of anticipation.

Se-Mi didn’t waste any time. As soon as you were seated, she moved closer, her body encroaching upon yours in a way that felt deliberate, as though she was making sure you understood who was in control.

“Good,” she murmured, her voice laced with authority and a hint of satisfaction.

Her eyes narrowed as she watched you with an intensity that made your heart race. There was no hesitation in her movements as she shifted to her knees, her posture predatory and confident. She reached for the hem of your skirt, her fingers brushing against the fabric with purpose, her gaze never leaving yours.

“Always playing coy,” she murmured, her voice low and laced with a hint of amusement. She tugged at the fabric with a firm motion, the sudden action pulling the skirt down, leaving you exposed to her gaze. The way she looked at you made your breath hitch—there was no mistaking her control, no room left for doubt.

You couldn’t help but let out a soft gasp, the feeling of her hands so close to your skin sending a shiver down your spine. Semi leaned in just enough for you to feel her breath against your ear, the proximity causing your pulse to quicken.

“Is this what you wanted?” she whispered, her voice dripping with both challenge and satisfaction.

Se-Mi’s eyes glinted with something darker as she stood in front of you, her posture exuding dominance. She had moved with such deliberate precision, and now, with your skirt tugged down, the air between you felt charged, suffocating with the weight of her presence.

You opened your mouth, but no words came out—your breath caught in your throat as her gaze never wavered from you. The silence between you two felt thick, like something was waiting to snap.

“Fuck I’ve wanted you since I first saw you walk through that studio” her voice low and hungry.

Her lips curled into a smirk, her eyes dark with intent. She took a step closer, her movements slow, measured, and with each step, the distance between you two seemed to disappear.

“You’re not going to ignore me now, are you?” she asked, her voice low and dangerous, her eyes narrowing slightly. “Answer me.”

You stayed silent, too overwhelmed by the intensity of the moment to speak, the words locked in your throat. Your pulse quickened as she leaned in just enough for you to feel the heat of her breath against your ear.

Se-Mi’s hand shot out suddenly, gripping your chin with firm fingers, forcing you to look directly into her eyes. “I asked you a question,” she said, her voice unwavering. “You’re going to answer me, or I’ll stop right here.”

Her words hit you like a punch to the gut. The threat was clear, but it was the way she said it—the unyielding certainty in her tone—that made you freeze.

Her grip tightened slightly, a warning, and she leaned in just enough to make sure you heard her clearly. “Tell me. What do you want?”

The pressure in the air was unbearable. You swallowed hard, your thoughts a jumbled mess as you tried to process everything, but her presence, her control over the situation, left you with no choice but to answer. You couldn’t risk her stopping.

“I want you,” you breathed out, your voice barely audible, but it was enough. The words, the truth, were out in the open now.

“That’s what I like to hear.” She smiles at you , sending you through a whirlwind of emotions. You were in a daze, trying to process that this was actually happening, you? Getting fucked by this hot piercer? No way. You were caught off guard when she shoved her fingers into you.

You bite back a moan, holding your hand to your mouth

“No princess, let me hear you” she gawks as she snatches your hand away and continues thrusting her fingers into you, her cold jewellery adding to the sensation.

“S-Se-mi…” you gasp, your voice shaky.

She cuts you off, her tone sharp yet commanding. “Enough. Let me take care of you,” she says, her eyes never leaving yours. “This is what you wanted, isn’t it?” She then latches her mouth onto your clit without warning, navigating and exploring into you and she continues to scissor her fingers into you roughly.

Is that a tounge piercing?

Tears start to spill from the corners of your eyes from stimulation , it just felt too good. She looked up at you with her beautiful brown eyes, maintaining eye contact and she indulged into you.

She was so experienced. She flicked her tongue skillfully across your cunt, capturing all segments of flavour in her tongue and savouring the taste. She occasionally presses kisses into your thighs admiring all aspects of your body “you taste so sweet~” she says seductively, making you just want to jump and kiss her.

She curls her finger into you , hitting your g-spot leaving you to rip out loud moans into this echoey room.

“I’m gonna-“

“I can feel you tensing around me,cum for me princess” and upon hearing her sweet words. You came on the spot, your sticky arousal coming out and leaving a trace on the chair, on semis face and on her fingers.

She slowly licked her lips, her eyes locking onto yours. “For someone so feisty, you surprisingly taste sweet,” she remarked, her voice still calm but laced with an unmistakable edge.

You found yourself unable to meet her gaze, a flush creeping up your neck as you shyly looked away, the heat of the moment overwhelming you.

She smirked, her tone darkening just slightly. “But I’m not finished with you yet. You still owe me.”

You looked at her dumbfounded, unsure of what to do and how to please her “don’t look so confused now princess, you heard what I said so get to work.” She said feistily and all you could do was obey her.

You pull her into a hot kiss while her hands snake up to your neck, choking you lightly as she deepens the kiss, your tongues gliding across each other in a messy manner. This kiss was fully of urgency, something dark. Your new piercing in your mouth arousing her.

You then go down caressing her body and leaving occasional pecks to place such as her collarbone and side. You stare at her body for a second, staring in anticipation , you’d never done this to a girl before. “what are you waiting for?” Semi bellowed commandingly. You decide to just do what you possibly can and rip the jeans that once adorned her legs off.

You move through the layer and finally meet with her cunt. You place little kitten licks on her cunt which cause little whimpers to leave her mouth, you eventually start using longer tongue movements and suck on her clit just like she did to you and teasingly bite her clit which makes her even louder than before “you wanted me to do this aswell right?” You say teasingly and seductively “just shut up” she says, biting back moans to not let her nonchalant image crumble. Her hips buck into your mouth and she fists your hair from behind, harshly dragging it to her clit as she reaches down to grope your tits.

Her breath came in quick, uneven gasps, her hands gripping you tightly as the tension in the air she rode out her high . Her body trembled slightly, her eyes closing as she let out a soft moan of satisfaction. The intensity of the moment lingered between you two, a shared, unspoken understanding that filled the room with heat.

“So beautiful,” she whispered, her voice low and full of admiration. Her gaze softened as she held you, her hands gently guiding you closer as you collapsed against her, the warmth of her body wrapping around you in the aftermath.

After the intensity of the moment, the atmosphere between you and her softened. There was a quiet stillness in the room now, the heavy air of the moment slowly dissipating. Semi, still a bit breathless, reached for a nearby towel, her movements smooth and deliberate.

Without a word, she gently wiped you down, her touch careful as she made sure you were comfortable. Her eyes flickered to yours, a silent understanding between you two as she continued. There was something soothing about her actions, an unspoken tenderness in the way she moved.

Once she finished with you, Se-Mi stood, her posture still commanding, yet there was a softness in her expression. She handed you a fresh towel, her lips curving into a small smile. “You okay?” she asked, her voice quieter now, but no less genuine.

You nodded, feeling the weight of the moment settle between you two. The act of cleaning up was simple, but it carried with it a sense of care and connection, as if it was a small but important gesture after the intensity you had just shared.

The next morning, you sat at a café with Eunji, trying to act like everything was normal. But inside, you were anything but. You kept replaying the events of the night before, the way Se-Mi’s gaze had held yours, the unexpected intensity of everything that happened. You couldn’t shake the feeling that something had shifted between you two, something that felt too big to ignore.

“So, what happened after the piercing?” Eunji asked, clearly curious. She leaned in, eager to hear every detail, her eyes wide with anticipation.

You hesitated, unsure of how to explain what you were feeling without giving too much away. You hadn’t even fully processed everything yourself. “It was… intense,” you said, trying to sound casual. “Like, she made everything feel… so real. I don’t know how else to explain it.”

Eunji raised an eyebrow. “Real how? What do you mean?”

You paused, thinking about how to put it into words. The pull between you and Se-Mi was undeniable, but how could you explain that to your best friend without sounding completely ridiculous? “It was like… like she knew exactly what she was doing. Like she was in control, but in this way that made me feel… I don’t know, completely drawn to her.”

Eunji smiled knowingly. “Ah, I get it. You’re into her, huh?”

You sighed, nodding reluctantly. “I think I am. But I don’t know what to do about it. Everything’s so… confusing. And last night—well, it was a lot.”

Before you could say anything more, your phone buzzed on the table, breaking the moment. You glanced down, surprised to see an unknown number flashing on the screen. You hadn’t recognized the number, but there was something about it that made your stomach drop.

Eunji didn’t seem to notice, busy stirring her coffee, so you quickly unlocked your phone. A message from the unknown number appeared, and your heart raced as you opened it.

It was a video. Your mind was still spinning as you hit play, and the first few moments made your heart skip. It was a clip from the night before—your time at the piercing studio. You watched in stunned silence as the video played out, the intimate moments between you and Se-Mi playing in front of your eyes. Her gaze, the closeness, the way she’d touched you, it was all so vivid and real again.

The message beneath the video made everything feel too raw, too real.

Hey, it’s Se-Mi. I’m sorry, but you just looked too cute here.

Your breath caught in your throat, your heart pounding in your chest as the weight of what you were seeing hit you. You stared at the screen, your mind racing, unsure of how to process what you were looking at. Your phone felt like it was burning in your hands, the uncertainty of the situation making it even more intense. You had to know what Se-Mi meant, what was going on, but there was no way to ask just yet.

@rayaaani

[pinkrangermemes]

EPIC: The Musical

lyrics that absolutely fuck me up, feel free to change pronouns and such as needed

"A mission to kill someone's son, a foe who won't run, unlike anyone you have faced before."

"I'd rather bleed for you."

"This is the will of the gods."

"Don't make me do this."

"The blood on your hands is something you won't lose. All you can choose is whose."

"You're as old as he was when I left for war."

"How could I hurt you?"

"I'm just a man who's trying to go home."

"When does a man become a monster?"

"When does the reason become the blame?"

"Forgive me."

"We should try to find a way no one ends up dead."

"You can relax, my friend."

"Think of all that we have been through. We'll survive what we get into."

"This life is amazing when you greet it with open arms."

"I see in your face there is so much guilt inside your heart."

"Have you forgotten to turn off your heart? This is not you."

"Have you forgotten your purpose? Let me remind you."

"Don't forget that you're a warrior of a very special kind."

"Don't disappoint me."

"What gives you the right to deal a pain so deep?"

"Don't you know that pain you sow is pain you reap?"

"Your life now is in my hand."

"A trade, you see. Take from me like you took from me."

"You shall be the final man to die."

"It's just one life to take."

"When we kill him our journey's over."

"Captain?"

"You've hurt me enough."

"When I kill you, my pain is over."

"Mark my words now. This is not the end."

"Remember them."

"Who hurts you?"

"If nobody hurt you, be silent."

"He's still a threat until he's dead."

"Finish it."

"What good would killing do, when mercy is a skill more of this world could learn to use?"

"The blood we shed, it never dries."

"I am your darkest moment."

"I am the infamous _______!"

"This way, you won't disappoint me."

"This way, you won't waste my time."

"Unlike you, every time someone dies, I'm left to deal with the strain."

"I'll remind you, I saw you as a friend, but now we're done."

"This way, you won't plague my life."

"This way, you'll close the door and have your damn goodbye."

"Since you claim you're so much wiser, why's your life spent all alone?"

"You're alone!"

"This day, you sever your own head."

"This day, you lost it all. Consider this as my goodbye."

"Don't forget how dangerous the gods are."

"How much longer 'til your luck runs out?"

"You rely on wit, and people die on it."

"I still believe in goodness."

"Lead from the heart, and see what starts."

"And what will we do when it tears us apart?"

"You're like the brother I could never do without."

"How much longer 'til your strength takes leave?"

"I can't have you planting seeds of doubt."

"Keep your friends close and your enemies closer."

"Sometimes killing is a must."

"Friends turn into foes and rivalries."

"Never really know who you can trust."

"The end always justifies the means."

"So much has changed, but I'm the same."

"I'm left without a choice and without a doubt."

"Ruthlessness is mercy upon ourselves."

"You are the worst kind of good 'cause you're not even great."

"You are far too nice."

"Mercy has a price."

"Unlike you, I've got no mercy left to give."

"The line between naivete and hopefulness is almost invisible."

"What have you done?"

"I am your darkest moment, the monster that always draws near."

"Remember me."

"There's only so much left we can endure."

"Think of your past and your mistakes."

"No, I'm not a player. I'm a puppeteer."

"I can hardly sleep now, knowing everything we've done."

"It's a game of wits, but you don't have to play."

"A foe like ____ is not to be messed with."

"You could be hurt or you could beat her."

"I'll help you conquer her."

"Wouldn't you like your outcome preferred?"

"Don't thank me, friend, you very well may die."

"Did you do something to them?"

"I don't know who you are or why you're here, but let me make this one thing clear."

"I've got people to protect, friends I can't neglect, so now there is no turning back."

"Back at home my wife waits for me. She's my everything, my _____."

"Maybe showing one act of kindness leads to kinder souls down the road."

"This land confuses your mind."

"All I hear are screams every time I dare to close my eyes."

"I no longer dream, only nightmares of those who've died."

"Why would you let _____ live when ruthlessness is mercy?"

"I keep thinking of the infant from that night."

"____, when you come home, I'll be waiting."

"Even if you're the last thing I see, I'll be waiting."

"I took too long."

"I'll always love you."

"Your past is always close behind."

"I see a song of past romance."

"I see portrayals of betrayal and a brother's final stand."

"I see a man who gets to make it home alive, but it's no longer you."

"We've suffered and sailed through the toughest of Hells, now you tell us our efforts were nothing?"

"I see a wife with a man who is haunting. A man with a trail of bodies."

"How has everything been turned against us?"

"How did suffering become so endless?"

"Do I need to change?"

"What if I'm the monster?"

"What if I'm the problem that's been hiding all along?"

"If I became the monster, and threw that guilt away, would that make us stronger?"

"So what if I'm the monster lurking deep below?"

"If I gotta drop another infant from a wall in an instant so we all don't die, then I'll become the monster."

"I'll become the monster."

[dee-writes-angst]

LILIES (Chapter Six)

FEATURING Eris Vanserra x pregnant!reader

SUMMARY moving on from Eris is impossible, the grief you carry around is unbearable even with the help of your new (ish) friend Lucien.

CONTENT WARNINGS angst, arguing, leaving, grief (over someone who is still alive), major injuries, labor, brief descriptions of blood, Beron (iykykyk), themes of depression, mentions of reader not taking care of themselves, mentions of eating struggles

AUTHORS NOTE only two more chapters to go until it's all over!! I am so sad to see this amazing experience start to come to an end especially because I treasure each and everyone of you who has enjoyed my writing and decided to come along for the ride. Try not to kill me after this chapter, k? >:)

SERIES MASTERLIST

The days following Eris’s departure were a blur of heartache and despair. Each morning, you woke with the heavy realization that he was truly gone, the emptiness beside you a stark reminder of the love and companionship you had lost. You found yourself drifting through the hours, your mind replaying the moments of your last encounter, the anguish in Eris’s eyes haunting you.

Lucien was a constant presence throughout that week, his concern for you unwavering. He visited your chambers multiple times a day, bringing you meals and ensuring you were taking care of yourself and the baby. Despite your best efforts to hide your pain, Lucien saw through the facade, his keen eyes missing nothing.

“Have you eaten today?” Lucien asked gently one morning as he entered your room, carrying a tray laden with food.

You looked up from where you sat by the window, staring out at the gardens below. The vibrant colors of the flowers seemed muted, the beauty of the world outside failing to penetrate the numbness inside you. “I’m not hungry,” you replied softly, turning your gaze back to the view.

Lucien set the tray down on the small table beside you, his expression a mix of concern and determination. “You need to eat,” he insisted, pushing a bowl of fresh fruit toward you. “For the baby’s sake, if not for your own.”

At the mention of your baby, you placed a protective hand over your swollen belly, feeling the gentle flutter of movement beneath your palm. “I know,” you sighed, picking up a piece of fruit and taking a small bite. The flavors were bland, your appetite dulled by the overwhelming sorrow that clouded your mind.

Lucien sat down across from you, his gaze unwavering. “I’m worried about you,” he admitted, his voice filled with genuine concern. “You can’t go on like this. You have to find a way to move forward, for your sake and for the baby’s.”

Tears welled in your eyes, and you looked away, unable to meet his compassionate gaze. “I don’t know how,” you whispered, your voice breaking. “Everything feels so hopeless without him.”

Lucien reached across the table, taking your hand in his. “You’re stronger than you realize,” he said softly. “You’ve faced so much already, and you’ve come out the other side. You can do this too.”

Despite his comforting words, the days continued to blend together in a haze of grief. You spent most of your time in your chambers, the outside world seeming distant and unimportant. Lucien’s visits were the only interruptions in your solitary existence, his presence a reminder that you were not entirely alone.

As you sat by the window, your eyes tracing the familiar paths of the garden below, memories of the walks you and Eris used to take together filled your mind. You recalled the way his hand would fit perfectly in yours as you strolled through the winding paths, the conversations that ranged from deep thoughts, insecurities, and fears to light-hearted banter about nothing at all. Those moments had felt like pure magic, a respite from the chaos of the world, and a testament to the bond you shared.

One evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting the room in a warm, golden light, Lucien entered with a gentle knock. “I brought you something special,” he announced, holding up a small box. “I thought it might cheer you up.”

You managed a small smile, appreciating his efforts to lift your spirits. “What is it?”

He opened the box to reveal an assortment of your favorite pastries, the sweet aroma filling the room. “I remember you mentioning these once,” he said, placing the box on the table. “I had the cook make them for you.”

The gesture touched your heart, and for the first time in days, you felt a flicker of warmth. “Thank you, Lucien,” you said, your voice choked with emotion. “You’ve been so kind to me.”

Lucien smiled, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “It’s the least I can do,” he replied. “You’re important to me, and I want to see you happy again.”

Lucien coaxed you out into the gardens the very next week, his persistent kindness finally wearing down your reluctance. At 39 weeks pregnant, every movement was a chore, and you had been experiencing intermittent pains that you brushed off as mere discomfort from carrying your child. The idea of visiting the gardens, a place where you and Eris had built so many memories, filled you with a mix of nostalgia and pain. But Lucien’s gentle urging and genuine concern convinced you to give it a chance.

“Come on,” Lucien said, his voice soft but insistent. “The fresh air will do you good, and the gardens are beautiful this time of year. It might help to clear your mind.”

“I don’t know, Lucien,” you said, placing a protective hand on your swollen belly. “It was our place, where we grew to know and love each other. I’m not sure I’m ready.”

Lucien knelt beside you, his eyes filled with understanding. “I know it’s hard. But sometimes revisiting those places can help us heal. You don’t have to say anything, just let the garden work its magic. And I’ll be right there with you.”

You looked into his earnest eyes, seeing the care and concern that had been your lifeline these past few weeks. With a deep breath, you nodded. “Okay. Let’s go.”

Lucien helped you up, and you both made your way to the gardens. The sun was warm, a gentle breeze rustling through the leaves, carrying the sweet scent of blooming flowers. The familiar pathways brought a lump to your throat, each step a painful reminder of the love you had lost.

As you walked, the intermittent pains in your belly became more noticeable, but you brushed them off as mere discomfort from being on your feet. Lucien pointed out various plants and flowers, trying to distract you with light conversation. Despite your initial reluctance, you found yourself beginning to relax, the beauty of the gardens working its magic as Lucien had promised.

“You know, I’ve always loved this part of the garden,” Lucien said, stopping by a cluster of vibrant roses. “It reminds me of home, of simpler times.”

You managed a small smile, your mind drifting back to the countless times you and Eris had stopped at this very spot, sharing stolen kisses and whispered promises. The memory brought a fresh wave of pain, but also a bittersweet comfort.

Lucien’s voice broke through your thoughts. “How are you feeling?” he asked, his eyes filled with concern.

“I’m okay,” you lied, wincing as another pain shot through your abdomen. “Just a bit tired.”

Lucien frowned, his sharp eyes noticing your discomfort. “Are you sure? You seem a bit… off.”

You waved off his concern, not wanting to worry him. “It’s just the baby being active, I think. Nothing to worry about.”

He nodded, though his expression remained skeptical. “Alright, but if it gets worse, promise me you’ll let me know.”

“I promise,” you said, trying to sound reassuring.

As you continued to walk, the pains grew more frequent and intense, but you were determined to push through. You didn’t want to spoil this moment, this brief reprieve from the constant ache of your heart. But as you neared the center of the garden, where a small fountain gurgled peacefully, the pain became too much to ignore.

Lucien’s eyes widened in alarm as you doubled over, clutching your belly. “Hey, are you alright?” he asked, his voice filled with panic.

“I think… I think something’s wrong,” you gasped, the realization finally dawning on you that these weren’t just random pains. “Lucien, I think I’m in labor.”

His face paled, but he quickly sprang into action. “Okay, we need to get you to the medical wing, now.”

As Lucien hurriedly pushed you through the ornate hallways of the palace, aiming for the medical wing, your discomfort escalating with each moment, the last thing either of you expected was to run into Beron. The formidable lord of the Autumn Court was not supposed to be aware of your presence within the palace, a secret Eris had helped to keep. Yet there he stood, emerging from a shadowed alcove, his sharp gaze landing on you with immediate suspicion.

“Lucien, what is this?” Beron's voice cut through the tension, as cold and unwavering as the stone walls that surrounded you. His eyes flicked from you to Lucien, narrowing in displeasure.

Lucien, momentarily taken aback, recovered quickly, his arm instinctively tightening around you as if to shield you from Beron’s piercing gaze. “Father, she needs help. We were just—”

“Who is she?” Beron interrupted sharply, stepping closer. His towering presence felt oppressive, his aura exuding authority and control.

You could see Lucien hesitate, his eyes darting between you and his father, weighing his words. “A friend who requires immediate medical attention,” he attempted to explain, his tone carefully neutral.

Beron’s eyes finally settled on your swollen belly, his suspicion turning into derision. “A friend, or another of your irresponsible entanglements?” His voice was laden with scorn. “We do not run a charity for wayward souls here, nor do we harbor strangers without my knowledge.”

Lucien’s jaw tightened visibly, and he opened his mouth to protest, but Beron cut him off with a dismissive wave of his hand. “I will not allow it. Remove her from the palace immediately. She is not to receive aid here.”

Panic flared in your chest as you clutched at Lucien's arm, your other hand pressing against the waves of pain that threatened to buckle your knees. “Please,” you managed to gasp out, the effort leaving you breathless, “I need help.”

Beron’s gaze on you was unyielding, his decision firm. “Take her to the city or wherever you wish, but she leaves the palace grounds now. We will not be involved in this farce.”

Lucien, a mixture of anger and desperation painting his features, tried once more. “Father, she’s in labor, she could die if—”

“Not our concern,” Beron interrupted coldly. “You know my rules, Lucien. Now, obey them.”

Defeated and running out of time, Lucien nodded curtly to his father, the resignation in his eyes cutting deeper than any words could. He supported you gently, leading you away from the medical wing and towards the main entrance of the palace. Each step was agony, and your mind raced with fear not only for your unborn child but also for the lack of compassion from someone you had hoped might show even a trace of empathy.

The cool evening air of the Autumn Court hit you as Lucien guided you through the palace gates. The streets seemed darker, more foreboding than ever before, and as you stepped into the unknown, supported by Lucien, the harsh reality of your situation settled heavily upon your shoulders. You were alone, vulnerable, and in desperate need of care, cast out by the very power that ruled the land you now walked upon.

Lucien's steps quickened through the dimly lit streets of the Autumn Court, each of his movements marked by a desperate urgency as he supported your faltering steps. The pain rippled through you with increasing intensity, a relentless tide that drained your strength and muddied your thoughts.

"Please, Lucien, I can't," you gasped, the sharp spasms of labor gripping you tightly, forcing you to a sudden, halting stop. Your hands clung to him, your body bent in agony.

Lucien’s face was a mask of concern, his eyes scanning the surroundings for any sign of help. "Just a bit further, we’ll find someone, a healer—anyone." His voice was strained, a thin veneer of calm barely concealing the panic beneath.

You shook your head, each movement a stab of pain. "No, I—I need Eris. Please, Lucien, find Eris. I can't do this without him," you pleaded, tears streaming down your face, mingling with the sweat of your brow.

Lucien hesitated, his gaze torn between you and the path ahead. "I don't know where he is," he admitted, his voice cracking with frustration. "And we don’t have time—he might be miles away."

But the pain was overwhelming, and in a heartbeat, your legs gave way, pulling both of you down into the gritty cold of an alleyway’s cobblestones. You collapsed against the hard ground, the rough edges biting into your skin, Lucien scrambling to cushion your fall.

"I can't walk anymore," you cried out, the words a choked sob. "Please, just go. Find him. Leave me, I can't—"

"No!" Lucien's response was vehement, his hands gripping yours tightly. "I won't leave you alone like this." His eyes darted desperately from your pain-contorted face to the empty street. There was no one, no help in sight, and the realization of your isolation seemed to settle heavily upon him.

He rushed you to every shop down the street, dragging you along as best he could, but it was late, and the few healers he could think of were not answering, their shops closed, their homes silent.

"Please, Lucien, you have to go—find Eris," you begged again between contractions, your voice barely above a whisper now.

Lucien looked down at you, agony etched across his features, torn between his instinct to stay and protect you and the desperate plea in your eyes. Finally, with a heavy heart, he nodded, squeezing your hand one last time. "I’ll find him," he promised, his voice thick with unshed tears. "Hold on, just hold on."

With that, Lucien stood, casting one last look at you lying vulnerable and writhing in pain, before turning and running back towards the palace, leaving you alone under the shadow of the night, hoping against hope that he could bring back Eris in time...

Alone and in agony in the shadow-strewn alleyway, you lay curled on the unforgiving cobblestones. Each contraction was a fierce, unrelenting wave of pain, tightening its grip around you, pushing you to the edge of consciousness. But now, an even more terrifying sensation joined the physical torment—a warm trickle of blood that stained your legs, a stark and frightening indicator of how dire your situation had become. Your skin, once flushed with the warmth of life, now felt clammy and cold, your body sweating despite the chill in the air.

Your mind, a whirlpool of thoughts and emotions, relentlessly circled back to Eris—his laugh, the way his eyes crinkled at the corners when he smiled, the gentle timbre of his voice when he shared his deepest insecurities and dreams. The ache for his presence was overwhelming, engulfing every other sensation. Tears streamed down your face, mixing with the grime of the alley, each one a testament to your regrets and the secrets you had kept hidden—most of all, the truth about Lucien being the father of your child. This secret had fractured the foundation of your relationship with Eris, driving a wedge between what could have been and what was.

Amid the despair, you made a silent, fervent vow. If you made it through this night, you would cast aside all shadows of deceit. Lucien would hear the truth about everything, and you would pray for Eris’s forgiveness and understanding. Determination to no longer live behind the veil of secrets fortified your resolve.

Raising your head with great effort, blurred by pain, your gaze fell upon a small miracle—a cluster of purple lilies pushing through a crack in the cobblestones. Their vibrant petals stood out defiantly against the oppressive grey of the alley, a splash of color in the darkness. These flowers, thriving against all odds in such an inhospitable environment, became a beacon of hope for you. Their resilience was inspiring, their beauty a stark reminder of life’s persistence even in the most unforgiving circumstances.

You clung to the sight of the lilies, letting them anchor you through the waves of pain. They became a symbol of your own will to endure, to persist through the darkness and fear that enveloped you. Each painful contraction was met with a whispered promise into the chilly night air—promises of honesty, of love reborn, of a future where shadows would no longer darken your path.

In that desolate alley, under the dim glow of distant streetlamps that fought their way through the thick fog, the purple lilies stood as silent witnesses to your struggle. They seemed to encourage you to hold on, to fight through the pain and despair for your unborn child, for Eris, for the chance at a cleansed and open future. With each labored breath, you held onto the hope that Lucien would return swiftly, and that perhaps, he would bring Eris back to your side, in time to mend what had been broken and to welcome a new life together.

As the city's misty tendrils wrapped around the winding alleys, Lucien's footsteps echoed against the cobblestones, each one a thunderous drumbeat in the night. His breath came in ragged gasps, a desperate symphony of exertion and urgency. The dim light of distant streetlamps flickered overhead, casting long shadows that danced along the walls.

His heart pounded in his chest like a war drum, a relentless rhythm driving him forward with single-minded determination. The weight of his fear and concern for you hung heavy on his shoulders, urging him to push himself harder, faster, toward the medical wing where he hoped to find help for you.

The narrow streets seemed to blur together as he raced through them, the buildings looming like silent sentinels in the night. Shadows flickered and danced at the edges of his vision, teasing him with glimpses of what lay beyond. Every corner turned, every alley crossed, brought him closer to his destination, but the distance felt insurmountable, the obstacles in his path endless.

His senses were heightened, every sound magnified—the distant cry of a night bird, the rustle of leaves in the breeze, the faint echo of footsteps following his own. He dared not look back, for fear of what—or who—he might see.

Every fiber of his being was consumed by a single, relentless thought—to find help for you, to ensure your safety and well-being. With each passing moment, the weight of his fear and concern grew heavier, driving him forward with an urgency that bordered on desperation.

As he rounded a corner, his foot caught on a loose cobblestone, sending him stumbling forward with a sharp curse. But before he could regain his footing, he collided with a shadowy figure that loomed out of the darkness.

For a heartbeat, time seemed to stand still as Lucien recoiled, his heart pounding in his chest like a trapped animal. But as the figure stepped forward into the dim light of a nearby streetlamp, Lucien's breath caught in his throat.

"Eris?" he gasped, his voice barely more than a whisper. But the figure said nothing, its features obscured by the shadows, before vanishing into the darkness once more.

TAGLIST

@purple-writer8 @defnotlucienvanserra @cherry-cin @julesofvolterra @mirandasidefics @mandziaaa @lilah-asteria @littlestw01f @skylarkalchemist @babypeapoddd @daardyrnitta @talesofadragon @thecraziestcrayon @asaucecoveredsomething @starryhiraeth @darling006 @rosewood-cafe @saltedcoffeescotch @dumblani @paleidiot @rcarbo1 @yourmomsushi

[save-the-villainous-cat]

I just got the best idea! Vampire villain with a strong moral code who refuses to feed on blood, making themselves weak with hunger. Hero notices and purposefully cuts their finger on villain's fang to get them to eat🤍

The villain had never thought they could be overpowered by a human. It was terrifying to say the least.

Once the blood was in their mouth and the hero's hand off their throat, the villain started to suck on the hero's finger involuntarily. The instinct was ancient, something older than the vampire themselves. They had forgotten how good fresh blood tasted.

However, they could collect themselves pretty quickly.

"You're stupid," the vampire whispered. "You had a perfect physical advantage. You could have killed me..."

"Take more," the hero said, pushing their finger into the villain's mouth quick enough to make them gag. This time, the villain grabbed their enemy's wrist and nearly pushed them off their hips.

"I'm good," they said through gritted teeth. The vampire didn't really enjoy it when the hero was so adamant about absolutely everything they did. The hero always found a way to get what they wanted. They were a pain in their ass. Annoying and heroic.

"You're still pale," the hero said. "Interesting..."

They pushed the villain's chin up and managed to slip one finger under the villain's upper lip, lifting it to examine the villain's fangs as if they were a doctor.

"I am a vampire," the villain reminded them. "Sunlight doesn't turn me to ashes but the sunburns are out of this world."

"And you are sure you are fine?" the hero asked. They turned the villain's head to the right and then to the left, continuing their examination. Christ, they even put their hand on the villain's chest to search for a heartbeat.

"I'm great, just - get off, will you?" The hero stood up but the villain still needed a moment. They feared they would pass out again if they stood up.

They looked around the room but there was nothing. No furniture. Just a door that looked like it couldn’t be opened from the inside.

What a joke.

"You know," the hero said, hands on their hips, "this is actually quite interesting. I certainly didn't expect my dear nemesis to end up in the same cell as me. I guess they wanted you to eat me. A little grotesque if you ask me."

"But not too far-fetched," the villain said. They pushed themselves up but ended up leaning against the wall. "Hunger turns everyone into an animal."

"You still don't look too good," the hero said. Once again, they kneeled beside the villain. Their hand raked through the villain's hair and stopped on their forehead.

The villain didn't know why the hero was always so touchy. They never crossed any boundaries and the villain actually welcomed those soft hands on them, but still...it was strange. Strange to feel someone's warm skin on theirs like this.

"How much blood do you usually drink?"

"God, I don't know...I'm trying to quit." The hero stared at them. The silence was uncomfortable and the villain didn't know if they had said something wrong.

Then the hero huffed.

"And you say I'm the stupid one." They rolled their eyes. "So, severe undernourishment, I guess. That's why you're so weak."

"Ey, I am alright-"

"Which makes this even more baffling. What is an undernourished vampire doing in a supervillain facility?"

"What is an annoying hero doing here?"

"Saving a dumb vampire, apparently."

"Ugh. I was experimented on," the villain said. The hero had probably saved their life. That was something the villain certainly did not want to think about. Gosh, the hero was so annoying with their caring nature and their stupid curiousness. When they looked at the hero, though, they looked horrified. "No, all of it was voluntary. I got some money for it in return. Nothing bad, really."

"I got caught when I tried to steal some documents. They weren't that nice to me." The hero lifted their shirt and the villain saw two giant fresh bruises. The hero's ribs were definitely damaged.

"Shit..." the villain mumbled. "Scoot over. Are you okay?"

They let their fingers ghost over the hero's skin. Unsurprisingly, the hero flinched and threw their head back, cursing quietly.

"Looks broken. We need to get you out of here," the villain said.

"Wait, the experiments...they knew you were trying to quit with the blood?" the hero asked. They let their shirt fall down again but the villain couldn't help but think about the bruises.

Their own injuries healed pretty quickly. But they had totally forgotten that this would take days, maybe even weeks for the hero to get better. Humans were so fragile. They feared the hero could fall apart any second.

"...yeah, they encouraged it even."

"Great," the hero said. "This is the next phase of their experiments, then."

The villain stared at them. They thought they were on rather good terms with the company.

"Wait, you don't mean..."

"Yup. They really want to see if you'll eat me," the hero said. "Which also means we are definitely under surveillance."

[blueicequeen19]

Thinkin’ Bout Me

Warnings: making out, heavy petting, talk of partying and alcohol, talk of hookups, mostly inspired by Thinkin Bout You by Morgan Wallen 💦🤍

It didn’t matter where you went or what you were doing, he was always there.

Watching. Waiting. Wanting.

Everything reminded you of him no matter how hard you tried to drown him out. Everything smelled like him. Felt like him. Tasted like him.

You pulled away from Rafe, the familiar taste of Fireball on his tongue. Everyone you knew hated Fireball except one person yet now, it was what Rafe decided he was drinking for the night.

“What’s wrong, darlin’?” Rafe drawled, his hands low on your waist as he pulled you in for more. Your eyes locked on the seething Pogue across the room as you gave Rafe your neck instead. You could smell the weed on Rafe’s collar and it only drove you further mad.

JJ was hitting his vape like there was no tomorrow and downing whatever was in his cup while he glared back at you. The dark look in his eyes and the firm set to his jaw only made it harder to look away. At least he seemed like he cared for once.

“Let’s go upstairs.” Rafe purred in your ear, his hands grabbing your ass as he pressed his mouth to yours. You didn’t want to taste the Fireball but he didn’t give you much of a choice. It instantly reminded you of the time you and JJ got so drunk off it that you did body shots off eachother before an intense, sloppy hook up.

“I’ll meet you upstairs.” You pushed at Rafe’s chest until he took a step back, giving him a tight smile before he nodded and stumbled off to find an empty room. You immediately bolted, running out the side door of the massive Kook mansion and through the trees where you’re parked. You didn’t make it far before ringed fingers snagged your wrist and yanked you back.

“Where are you running off too? Both of your boyfriends are here.” JJ snapped, letting you rip your hand free to shove him chest.

“Fuck you.” You snarled, attempting to flee again only for him to shove you against a tree.

“No, fuck you.” JJ growled in your face, the Fireball on his breath almost making you whimper. You turned your head, hating the effect he always had on you.

“What’s wrong, babe? Thought you’d be able to forget about me? That you’d crawl under someone else and forget?” JJ gripped your jaw, making you face him again.

“Too fucking bad.”

“Stop it.”

“Every time you close your eyes, tell me, who do you see?”

“Stop—.”

“When you're tastin' what he's drinkin', are you thinkin' bout me?” Your eyes widen at the realization. He must’ve given Rafe the Fireball to fuck with you. JJ smiles widely and you slap his chest.

“I hate you!”

“You wish you hated me.” You shove JJ’s chest and he laughs, securing both your wrists with one hand above your head, his chest firmly pressed against yours.

“I remember licking Fireball off your clit.” JJ’s voice was lower as he pressed his growing erection against your stomach. “I licked it off every square inch of your body and you begged me for more.” You shook your head, hating how good he felt and how right he was.

“I sucked on your perky little nipples until they were nice and sore. And still you begged me to keep going. Please fuck me, JJ. I need it. Give me your cock. I need to feel you inside me.” JJ taunted, the anger still in his voice before running his tongue up the side of your neck while your blood ran hot.

“Stop—.”

“Then I spread your legs and I pushed inside you until your eyes rolled back in your fucking head. You came so hard while screaming my name that I’m surprised you can remember any name that’s not mine.” JJ’s hand cupped your pussy hard through your shorts, making you whimper against him.

“So when you’re in his bed, am I in your head?” You finally get the courage to turn your head only for him to slam his mouth against yours in a wet, toy curling kiss that tasted just how you knew it would. JJ pulls away too soon, stepping back to leaving you panting and aching for more.

“I bet I am now.”

Then he’s gone.

[cameronspecial]

Her Guardian And His Redemption

Pairing: Bodyguard!Drew Starkey x Reader

Warnings: Sexual Thoughts, Being Kidnapped, Someone Getting Killed.

Pronouns: She/Her

Word Count: 6.7K

Summary: He was supposed to be there to protect her, but he wasn't. And then he made the biggest mistake of his life. How could he fix it?

A/N: This is Part 2 of Her Protector And His Hubris.

Masterlist

Francesca Chambers is not Y/N. It was painfully obvious to Drew as soon as he opened the file about her. Each page details a new fact that tells him he is going to hate working on this assignment. Francesca is the daughter of Senator Chambers and many of these sheets depict her run-ins with the media. One article on a meltdown about not getting the right colour car on her sixteenth birthday. One Reddit thread about a heated argument with someone just trying to do their job. One video of her attacking her friend because they were wearing the same outfit. He didn’t need to do any more research on her to know she was going to be a handful. She was nothing like Y/N and everything like his previous clients. Every single week there was a new party. A new incident. A new thing he had to cover up so he didn’t get in trouble with the senator. To make matters worse, Francesca seems to think that he should be completely infatuated with him because she is God’s gift to the world. 

“Drewwww, I need your help,” she drawls out from the bathroom. He sighs and puts his book down. The paperback copy of East of Eden is worn out. The spine is cracking because of how many times he has read it and the cover is missing the corner, lost a long time ago. It is not as nice as the copy Y/N gave him, but he couldn’t bring himself to take it. He knew that every time he looked at it, it would remind him of the danger he put his love in. The cushion of the chair creaks under his weight as he rises from the chair. He makes his way upstairs and stands outside of the door. He wraps his knuckles against the dark wood, “What’s wrong?” “I need you to come inside,” she pleads. 

“I don’t think it would be appropriate if I do so.”

“Please, Drew. It’s important. It is a matter of my safety.”

Knowing it could spell out a disaster if he doesn’t check on her safety after that, he enters her bedroom and then the bathroom. He finds her in the bathtub, covered in bubbles. “I need you to get me a towel,” she orders with a smile. He looks at her with tight lips, “That doesn’t concern your safety.” “Yes, it does! I could slip while going to get it,” she argues, batting her eyelashes at him. He doesn’t argue; it would go nowhere. He gets the towel for her, throwing it on the toilet before storming off to his room. This isn’t the first time she’ll pull this type of shit and it won’t be the last. 

———

Drew would never admit that his feet are aching. He should be used to this much standing by now. Yet, every time he goes shopping with Francesca, time seems to slow down, causing the blood to pool his feet. He isn’t one to be bashful and he isn’t with Y/N, but without Y/N around, he doesn’t know where to look. Especially because of the store they are in right now. The lacey materials all around the store fill his imagination with thoughts of her. Every garment he sees, he pictures her and all the naughty things he wants to do to her. “I want to try these on,” he overhears Francesca's demand to the sales associate. The other woman puts on a fake grin, “Of course, Miss. All of our changing rooms are currently in use at the moment, but I could make sure you get the next available one. Do you want to keep browsing and I’ll come to get you when it is ready?” Francescar’s eyes narrow and her lips pucker. Drew prepares himself for the hail storm that is about to occur, pretending to survey the store for threats. Although, he probably entered the store with the biggest one. “Excuse me! Do you know who I am? My father is a senator and one for call to him can have you fired,” she screeches, pointing an accusing finger at the employee. 

The blood drains from the associate's face, “I’ll see what I can do.” “Good,” his client’s words chase after the scurrying worker. “Can you believe some people?” she mumbles under her breath. Drew gives her a disapproving look, “You were rude to her.” “No, I wasn’t. I was just reminding her of her place,” she retorts. He rolls his eyes, nothing can get through to her. They are soon rushed to the changing rooms and Drew stands at the entrance. Francesca goes into the changing room, coming back out soon after in the first lingerie set. It’s a pastel green set that goes with her olive eyes. Drew can see her vying for her attention out of the corner of his eyes, yet his focus is on something outside of the changing room. It is a pastel pink slip dress. Flower lace covers the breasts and also forms two slits at the bottom of her dress on the sides. 

An image pops into his mind. The woman he loves standing in a doorway adorned by pink and flowers. He waits patiently for her to saunter over to him with her arms swinging at her side. She would straddle his hips, sitting back on his thighs. Her finger would raise and curl to beckon him forward. His hands find her thighs, pressing her closer to his crotch. He brings his lips closer to her and captures the beautiful petals. “I love you,” he promises to her. “Drew, you aren’t looking at me.” Francesca snaps him out of his fantasy. Irritation seeps out of him, “That’s because my job is to identify threats in our environment and I can’t do that if I’m looking at you.” He doesn’t glance over at her; instead, he continues to search the store for possible threats. She huffs at the lack of attention, “You are such a buzzkill.” She goes back into the changing room, leaving him to wish he could really say those things to his precious. 

———

James Notting isn’t Drew. It was obvious to Y/N that he was a good bodyguard. Except he would never make her feel the way that Drew can make her feel. She knows she is safe with James; it doesn’t feel the same way as when she is with Drew. Drew’s protection made her feel warm. With Drew, it didn’t feel like an obligation. It feels like his life mission to keep her safe. He wasn’t doing it for the money. He was doing it because he truly cared for her on a personal level. She doesn’t blame James for not being Drew; she has a hole inside of her heart James can’t fill. She finishes packing up her work to bring home and heads to the elevator with James following behind her. He opens the car door for her once they get to her car. As she ducks to get into the car, she has to move her right shoulder, which causes an ache to shoot through it. Her hand reaches for her healing wound and this only causes more pain. “Are you okay?” James worries. She nods and continues to sit in her seat. 

The car ride to her apartment is quiet. The only sound is the music playing from her playlist. When they get home, Alice is already making dinner in the kitchen. The aroma of the frying chicken instantly hit her nose. She greets Alice with a smile and makes her way into her office to put her work away. She is about to head back downstairs to talk to Alice when a cardboard box catches her eye. She should’ve brought that to the security firm a long time ago. Y/N holds in a breath as her feet drag across the hardwood floor towards it. Her hands shake while reaching for the lid to take it off. 

Versace and cigarettes. It surrounds her in its embrace. She immediately regrets opening it and wants to put the lid back on; nevertheless, the items inside draw her in like a siren song. She picks up the item on top. The custom copy of East of Eden she had made for him. Realizing he left it behind hurt her more than she could ever know. She was so proud of herself for thinking of the gift. Every time she found him reading it, a small spark would shock through her heart. To her, the book was a symbol of her love for him and he left it behind as he left her. The next thing she finds is his WCU shirt. He probably forgot it was in her drawers because it became her sleep shirt after the first night they made love. She used to make him wear it for a day whenever it would stop smelling like him, making him laugh with the way she would beg him to put it on right at that second. A coil wraps around her heart and tightens until it squeezes tears out of her. She brings it to her nose like she did on that fateful night, breathing in all the memories she had with him. The late mornings in bed she would spend with that shirt on. He would play with the hem of it while he guided her cooking from over her shoulder. The way he would go crazy to bring her pleasure with it on.

A polaroid is the final thing she can bring herself to pick out. The sunlight from the apartment window gave her an ethereal look. She was focused on the art book in front of her, sketching an outfit for her upcoming fashion show. He brought the Polaroid camera to his eyes and called out her nickname. It caused a smile to bloom across her, which was the moment he captured forever. The photo was printed out and he wrote My Precious in the blank area with a heart at the end. She watched as he put the photo in his wallet. “So I can have you wherever I go,” he said to her, kissing the photo and then her. Of course, like it always did, the kiss turned into passionate sex. Y/N guesses he doesn’t want her wherever he is now. 

———

After dinner, Y/N goes into her study to finish up her work. Her eyes double-check the guest list for her fast-approaching event. “James, I have the list for you to look over,” she informs the man somewhere in the apartment. He stoically enters the office and takes the list from her. He closes the door behind him, walking to his room. The sofa chair creaks as he sits to look over the names. He is looking over the possible guests to get a sense of what to expect and to flag any potential threats that she needs to change out. Most of the people are her usual ones until he meets one that causes him to freeze. Francesca Chambers. Shit. She probably invited the senator’s daughter because the girl is known to throw tantrums when not invited to exclusive events. Y/N never would have done it if she knew Drew was Ms. Chambers’ bodyguard. James could tell her that fact, but he won’t. Drew made a mistake and James wants to help him fix it. 

———

When the invitation came in the mail, Drew started to buzz with anticipation of seeing her again. He has seen her on social media, but it could never be the same as seeing her in person. It could never beat being able to reach out and feel her warm, smooth skin. Tonight’s event is raising money for the foster system. It would go towards group housing for kids who can’t stay in a foster home, food, and items. Another very important fact that Y/N wants to emphasize is getting children in the foster care system actual bags for their things. He remembers the day she had decided this would be her next fashion event all those months ago. She had watched an Instagram reel of a foster mother and one of the details that stood out was the fact that the children the mother was newly fostering had their personal belongings in a garbage bag. Her heart broke for the children who were already going through a hard time. She wanted to give them the dignity of their stuff being regarded as special. He had to comfort her as she cried for the kids in the foster system. He loves that she always brings her plans into reality. 

During the fashion show, he stands at the back of the room, searching for anyone he needs to neutralize. Every outfit is absolutely stunning and pride fills him up. He wishes he could’ve been there to watch her create such beauties. The end of the show is nearing when Francesca has to go to the bathroom. Like a good bodyguard, he follows her and waits outside of the room. He can still hear the noises coming from down the hall. His foot impatiently taps against the floor. Francesca is taking forever. The music starts to fade out and is replaced by a familiar voice. “Hello, thank you for coming to support the event. There are around three hundred ninety-one thousand children in the foster care system. Now, that may not seem like a lot to you. But that doesn’t mean that they don’t deserve better…” 

Her voice starts to fade from his ears as he begs the universe to make his client leave the bathroom so that they can make it back for the end of Y/N’s speech. The universe doesn’t answer. Instead, Francesca takes ten more minutes in the bathroom and he discreetly rushes her back to where everyone is. It was too late. No one stands on the stage anymore and everyone is already moving on to where the cocktail party is being held. Francesca picks up her purse from her chair and they head over to the next room. His eyes scan the room, looking for the one person who could make him feel at home even though he is so far from where he grew up. He had been trained for this moment, so he could easily find her. He is too far away to hear the laughter that falls from her lips. Her head is thrown back in delight and he desires to be by her side, whispering how magnificent she has done. How noble this event is. How proud her mother would be of her. He knows those are the words she is dying to hear. Fear floods through him. There are so many people in this room, right now. And while he does trust James to protect his precious, big events like these can be hard to navigate with no help. 

Francesca hates charity. Why should she care about people below her? The only reason she is at this event is because she has to see the girl, who has such a strong hold on Drew. No matter how stupid Drew thinks she is, she knows he is in love with Y/N Y/L/N. She has seen the articles around the pair and Francesca wants that love for herself. Even now, she can see the way he looks out for Y/N and jealousy toils in her stomach. She needs his attention on her. She struts over to him and places her hand on his chest. “I really like this suit on you, Drew. You fill it out amazingly,” she flirts, running her hand up and down his pectoral muscle. To her surprise, he doesn’t shove her hands off of her. She takes this as an invitation to continue even if his awareness isn’t on her. Satisfaction comes to her when she catches Y/N’s envious gaze.

How dare he? Y/N and Drew had to keep their relationship a secret, yet it was okay for him to be public about his relationship with a senator’s child. Francesca is a more public figure than Y/N. It made no sense. They both had agreed to keep them on the down low, so she doesn’t understand why this bothers her. Francesca leans in to whisper something in Drew’s ears and he doesn’t react. Y/N is familiar with Drew’s composed demeanour. What kills her even more? Drew is letting Francesca touch him at her event. He broke her heart and now, he was breaking it all over again by flaunting his relationship with another girl. He can’t be clueless about who is hosting the show. Y/N never thought that Drew would go for someone so spoiled and rude. Maybe she doesn’t know him at all. She turns back to Jackie and distracts herself with the other woman’s story about a fashion malfunction. 

Drew hates the feel of Francesca’s hands on him; however, it doesn’t matter. All that matters is that Y/N is safe. That her surroundings aren’t putting her in danger.  Like he should’ve done the last time he worked for her. His vision falls on her again. This time, he examines her in full glory. Her red dress helps her stand out against the crowd. It only has one strap that rests on the side of her left shoulder. This leaves the still-healing bullet wound out for anyone to see. The skin where the scar is is taught, puckering in redness. He hopes she is taking care of it and that it is healing fully. If his self-confidence didn’t get in his way, then he would’ve been there to help her do all that stuff. He can make amend with that part of himself by keeping her safe tonight. He spends the rest of the night ignoring his job and fulfilling his life mission. 

———

She gets home around one in the morning. Her feet aching from the night spent in heels and her hair giving her a headache from how tight it is. She stumbles to her bedroom, ridding herself of her clothes. She turns on the shower and gets to work on taking her hair down. Once steam starts to fill the room, she checks the temperature of the water to find it is perfect. The warmth of the water causes her to let her emotions out. She can’t distinguish between her tears and the water from the shower head. It makes no difference to her. Memories from the night pass through her brain. The way Francesca would cling to Drew’s suit. The way he wouldn’t even look in her direction. The way that watching him with another girl made her feel like she lost him all over again. To make it worse, every single moment she had with him made an appearance. It feels like every single emotion she has been trying to avoid comes crashing down on her at once. 

Her shower ends about half an hour later and she may be tired, except she needs to complete her daily ritual. She gets her ice cream out of the freezer and plops down on the couch. The Office’s theme song starts to play on her TV. The ice cream helps fill the ache in her heart and lulls her to sleep, causing the ice cream to melt as she slumbers. 

———

It has been about a month since Y/N’s last event and the exes haven’t seen each other since. In that month, Drew realized he lost his social security card. He couldn’t get a new one yet because his birth certificate was missing too. His brain wracks through the last time he remembers seeing it and bites his lip when he realizes where it is. He left it in Y/N’s filing cabinet. She had insisted he put all his important documents there for safekeeping. His social security card must be there too. This is how he finds himself waiting at the concierge desk of her building. He no longer had access to her apartment without going through security protocols. “Hello, Ms. Y/L/N. There is a Mr. Starkey here. He says that he needs to retrieve a birth certificate and social security card from your residence,” he listens to the concierge call Y/N. The man behind the desk places the phone on the receiver and turns to Drew, “She says you can go up.” 

He listens to the elevator music, tugging on his flannel’s sleeves with nerves. He doesn’t know what to expect with being so close to her again. The front door is already open once he gets to her floor. His feet glide against the tile of the floor, scarping a little against it. Y/N is waiting for him at the door. “Where are the documents?” she asks. He gives her a soft smile, “I forgot them in your filing cabinet.” Her slippered feet slap against the hardwood floor as she walks to her home office. Drew removes his shoes and follows her. He catches up to her to see she is already getting out his files from the cabinet. He holds his hand out to take them, only for her to throw them carelessly onto her desk. She doesn’t wait for him to take it for her to quickly leave her office. 

He runs after her, not ready to let this conversation come to an end. “Your charity event last month was amazing,” he applauds. She doesn’t look over her shoulder whilst she boils some water for tea, “Really? I didn’t think you had noticed with Ms. Chambers on  your arm.” “Am I detecting jealousy?” he kids, hoping it would relieve some of her tension. “Jealous of Francesca Chambers?” Y/N laughs. “Why? Because she gets my sloppy leftovers. Because she is dating someone who promised to protect me, but is the reason why I got shot.” It was cruel to use Drew’s lowest point in life and to pit it against him. She doesn’t care. She needs him to hurt more than she does right now. She can’t stand to be in his presence. Drew’s heart bleeds with pain and it takes everything in him not to start crying at that instant. His insecurity starts to make itself known again. The constant belief of being at fault for his precious almost dying plagues his mind. He deserves this pain. It’s only half of what he deserves. “I never wanted you to get hurt. You know that right?” he justifies, stepping forward only for her to step back. 

“Well, I did get hurt, Drew. You couldn’t protect me and I almost died. It was all your fault,” she screams. “Leave. I want you to go, now!” He tries to argue. “Precious, please. I need to hear you say that you know I didn’t want you to get hurt,” he pleads. No matter how irrational, he needs confirmation that she trusts him. That she did believe he would do whatever it took to keep her safe. She needs his anguish to subdue hers. “Please, Precious. Tell me that you believe me.” She breathes out a low chuckle, “Why would I say that? It. Was. Your. Fault.” Words can’t explain the feeling in his heart. The acid of her word burns his heart so it disintegrates. The one thing left behind is the carving of her name, waiting to be filled by her love again.

———

There were three places where James didn’t need to follow Y/N to every room she went. Her apartment. Her father’s house. And her office. At her apartment and dad’s place, James needed to remain on the premises and ready to be at her side. In her office, he could remain in front of her office as long as he checked in with her every hour. An hour isn’t very long; however, it is long enough for Y/N to disappear. “I’m just going to meeting room five-sixty. It’s supposed to be a two-hour meeting,” she fills him in. He bobs his head, “Got it. I’ll check in on you in an hour.” With her notebooks and laptop in her arms, she heads toward the elevator and presses the down button. Being on the twentieth floor meant that she had a long wait down to the fifth floor. On her ride down, people went on and off without her attention because she was absorbed by her phone. She should’ve been watching her environment. Drew used to drill into her brain how important it was to do so if she was alone. It must have slipped her mind. 

By the time an unsettling feeling overcame her, it was too late. Her eyes glance up from her phone and she twists to the other person in the elevator. Ahead of her recognition of the figure beside her, a white cloth smothers her mouth and nose, causing her to inhale the fumes. It has a hint of sweetness combined with the familiar scent of nail polish remover. Her orbits start to droop and she is pulled into unconsciousness. 

———

She wakes up cuffed to a chair. Her hands and feet are both restrained and she tries to break the chair. A shooting pain goes up her butt while the sound of metal hitting concrete reverberates through the cold cement room. Shit, it’s a metal chair. She doesn’t bother to shriek for help. There is no point in wasting her energy. She tries to think of how to dislocate her thumb to escape the cuffs. It doesn’t come to her. The door in front of her opens with a squeal and her kidnapper makes herself known. Sienna Cox is a carbon copy of her brother. Y/N recognizes Sienna from the pictures Sean showed her during their three dates. The dangerous woman approaches Y/N with a knife in her hand. She circles the chair, letting metal glide against metal. Y/N flinches as the sharp point greets her soft skin. “You are the reason my brother is in jail,” Sienna states, hate dripping from each word. Y/N is never one to back down, “Actually, I’m pretty sure it’s because your brother tried to kill my then-boyfriend, which got me shot. Your brother almost killed me.” 

Sienna’s hand harshly tugs back Y/N’s head and the point of the knife connects with her neck. Y/N tries to remove Sienna’s hold, which produces a crimson knick on the side of her neck. “No, my brother is in jail because you had to choose a low-life bodyguard over him,” she growls. Y/N provokes Sienna more, “Hmm, nope. Your brother being an ass and delusional is the reason why he is in jail.” “Ugh, shut up,” Sienna yells, pulling pain from the incapacitated girl by slashing her forearm. Blood oozes from the cut and she can tell it is going to need stitches. She cries out in pain, starting to truly feel her life is in danger. Earlier, she didn’t think Sienna was capable of hurting her. How could she be so stupid?

———

Drew previously thought the day Y/N got shot was the most terrible day of his life. He was wrong. The ringing of his phone stops him from doing his job. He should be watching Francesca at the mall. The phone call prohibits him from doing it. The sole thing more important than James’ call would be Y/N’s. “She has been taken.” No greetings. No pleasantries. No small talk. Those didn’t matter though. Y/N was in danger. Drew doesn’t think about his client and runs to the car. “I want you to pull all the security footage from wherever you are. Comb it for the last seen citing of her,” he instructs. “Get background checks on everyone, and I mean everyone, who has been in the same vicinity as the place where she last was seen in within the last thirty minutes of her being there. Where are you?” 

“Her office. She went down to the fifth floor for her meeting. She never got there.”

“Okay, I’ll be there soon. Start with the hallway footage for both the twentieth and fifth floors as well as the elevators. Have a secondary team look through all other footage.”

“Got it.”

He blows through every single stoplight. He’ll deal with this later. James meets Drew at the door and gives him an update on what they found so far. “We know she was taken from the elevator, except we can’t identify the person who took her because a hat is obstructing her face,” James notifies. Drew looks shocked, “How do you know it was a female?” All the women, who don’t like Y/N, never registered as a peril to him. They weren’t the type to get their hands dirty with physical harm. “Height and body shape. We are going through the women who checked in to match outfits with the pictures they took when they checked in,” James clarifies. His brain processes everything, “You probably aren’t going to find her at the check-in. Get the tech geeks to program the computers to extract all the footage with similar clothes to the suspect. I’ll go through all of it myself. I want it done in the next five minutes.”

Y/N’s office is eerily cold without her brilliant smile to light it up. His hand traces against the glass desk's smooth surface. He should’ve been here to stop her from being taken. It’s happening all over again. This could be his chance. He could halt her from being hurt. From nearing the brink of death again. This time, he is going to be there to be the one to protect her. His vows to himself are interrupted by James. “They got what you want.” Drew jogs after James to the emergency base camp for the search. “Show me what you got,” he orders. He inspects the screens simultaneously and finds what he needs. He knows her from the background research he did on her brother. Sienna Cox. 

———

Honestly, Y/N would’ve done anything to get away from Sienna. Her villain monologue is a horrible torture method. At least she is too distracted to use the knife more on Y/N. “And when I visit him in jail, they take my phone away. Do you know how hard it is to not be able to use my phone for an hour?” Sienna complains, twirling the knife in her hand. Y/N fights the urge to make a snarky remark. The ruckus from upstairs freezes both girls. “Ugh, what could that be?” Sienna groans, leaving the room. 

Drew wanted Sienna to know they were there. It would make it more fun for him and the group. The narrow hallway means Y/N can merely be in one direction. I’m coming for you, Precious. He thinks to himself. Sienna rounds the corner of the doorway and halts at the guns trained on her. She changes course back to where she came from. The rescue team runs after her to find her with a knife against Y/N’s neck. “Take one more step and this Bitch gets a new necklace. A deadly one,” Sienna warns, digging the knife in harder. A sob racks through Y/N’s body until she spots Drew in front of her. A silent connection transcends them with their eyes locked on each other. She didn’t mean those words and she trusts him. On the way over here, Drew found out everything about Sean’s sister and what buttons of hers to push. “Okay. I just wanted to let you know that James over here loves your podcast,” Drew plays into her ego. He discovered if there was one thing Sienna loved more than her brother, it was herself. 

Unfortunately, she doesn’t buy his bait and the knife bites more into Y/N’s neck so that blood flourishes around it. Y/N whimpers at the new pressure on her. “You think that you can flatter me into letting your precious Y/N go? Well, you can’t! You guys are the reason why my brother is in jail and I’m going to stop her from testifying against him,” Sienna screeches. Her arm raises in the air with the knife, ready to bring it back down into Y/N. Drew has killed before, but this is personal. He can’t let fear come in the way of what he has to do and he prays that Y/N has the sense to stay still. His gun aligns with Sienna’s head, taking the shot. A coined-size hole punctures her head and blood spews out of the wound. Y/N shouts as red rain showers her. “Get me out of here, please,” she implores, struggling against her restraints. Drew motions with his head to tell James to take care of Sienna whilst he helps Y/N. He hurries towards her, pulling out a tissue from his pocket.

One hand smoothes back her hair and the other wipes the blood off with the tissue. “Drew, you’re here,” she sobs out, reaching for him with her seized hands. Red swelts are starting to form around her wrist and Drew wishes he could kill Sienna a second time. He gently pushes her hand against the metal armrests, “Of course, I am, Precious. But I need you to give me a second, okay? I’m going to get bolt cutters to get you out of here.” Her pleas end his movement. “Don’t leave me, please. I don’t want to be alone.” He nods at her need and wraps his arms around her shoulder. His lips press against her temple, “Never. I’ll never leave you.” He calls out for some bolt cutters and a few minutes later he is given some. “Okay, Precious. I’m going to cut the cuffs off with these. It might be a little loud,” he briefs her. He snips the bracelets around her wrists and ankles. She is finally able to move freely, bringing Drew as close as possible to her. “I was so scared. I thought I was going to die,” she confesses, gripping to him like he is a life raft. He flattens her hair some more, “I’ve got you. I’ve got you. She can’t hurt you anymore.”

“Y/N,” a familiar voice hails. She untangles herself from Drew’s hold, tearing his heart apart at the loss of contact. Her father grasps her in his arms. The father-daughter duo cling to each other, weeping at the fear of her being lost. Drew did what he came to do and it seems like he isn’t needed anymore. With his vision trained on the pair, he exits the damp cellar and goes home. 

———

Saving her proved to him how much of a mistake breaking up with her in the first place was. Simply apologizing to her isn’t what she deserves for what he did. He could make a big grand gesture to show how wrong he was. Pay for a skywriter. Organize a flash mob at her favourite places. Rent a billboard at Time Square. Those weren’t right for Y/N though. They weren’t personal to her; nonetheless, Drew knew the perfect thing for her. 

———

It’s been a week since Y/N was held captive for about three hours. She has already found a therapist, who has been helping her through her trauma. One thing has been killing her since that day and it’s the fact that she didn’t get to say thank you to Drew for saving her. She was horrid to him when he came to get his documents and she completely picked at his insecurities. Even with her behaviour towards him, he was there for her in her greatest moment of need. To add the cherry on top of the cake, he quit his job at the security agency because of her. He was going to get a suspension for leaving Francesca at the mall, so he decided to quit instead. James reassured her that Drew had enough money saved up to be out of work for at least ten years, which eased some of her worries. She glances at James standing behind her and she brings her hand up to knock on the door. 

Drew opens the door with a measuring tape around his neck. A dazzling smile crosses her face and her eyebrows form a hairy caterpillar. “Precious, are you okay?” he frets, examining every inch of her to make sure she has no additional injuries. She nods and spots the sewing machine behind him on his table. The sage green fabric is snagged between the sewing needle and the base of the machine. She shakes out of her confusion to verbally answer him, “Yeah, I’m fine. I actually came to say thank you. You know… for last week. You don’t know how much it meant for me that you were there.” She fiddles with her fingers and his hand cups his neck as he rubs it. “You don’t have to thank me, Precious. I know I hurt you, but I will always be there to save you. I’m glad you are safe,” he appeases. She disagrees, “No, I was so rude to you. You didn’t deserve it. I hurt you and you put it aside to help me, like what I should’ve done that day.” He doesn’t need her to tell him what day she is talking about. He already knows.

Silence overcomes the couple and Y/N is again drawn to the equipment behind him. Her finger points at everything, “What’s all of this?” “Oh, um,” the hand on his neck continues its friction of the skin. “I’m trying to sew you a jacket.” One corner of her mouth raises, “You are making me a jacket?”

“Yeah… I made a mistake and I needed to show you how much I love you, so I wanted to make you a jacket that says, Precious.”

Her heart skips a beat and the idea of him learning to sew just for her makes her feel honoured. “That’s really sweet, Drew.”

“Can I tell you something?” he asks. This is his opportunity to tell her who she is to him. Her head hinges up and down. His hand laces with hers and he pulls her into this apartment. He closes the door, “I called you precious because even before we started dating, I knew you would be a treasure to me. It was an instant connection for me and I was a fool to have let you go. I understand if you don’t want to forgive me now. I just need you to know all this.” Her hand reaches up to his chest, grazing it softly with her warmth. “You broke up with me and I didn’t think I could ever forgive you. But you were there when I needed you and with the jacket, I can see how remorseful you are about the decision you made. I’ve made some poor choices too. And if you can forgive me too, then I think we both deserve a second chance,” she admits, not being able to meet his eyes. His finger raises her chin, “I will always forgive you because there is no one else in this world that I was meant to protect more than you. A second chance is all we are going to need. I’m never letting you go.” She jumps into his hold, smushing her lips onto his. His hands grip her thighs to keep her steady and his tongue enters her mouth. 

Air eventually needs to enter their lungs, so they break apart with their foreheads together. He sneaks a peek at the fabric on the table and he sighs. “I know I’m supposed to be making it for you, but I’m going to need your help with the jacket. I screwed up somewhere and I have no idea how to fix it,” he fesses up. She giggles, “I can do that, except not right now. There is something else we need to be doing other than sewing.” He grins at the way her eyebrows move and he carries her to his bedroom. 

A few months ago, Drew had made the biggest regret of his life. All he saw was his faults and it led him to that decision. Thankfully, the universe saw his pain and decided to help him out. It gave him a chance to prove to himself he was worthy. It gave him his redemption.

Taglist: @loves0phelia @f4ll-for-you @mellillasstuff @jjsmarijuana @thelomlisrafecameron @crlsummer @rubixgsworld

[crippleprophet]

guess who has ✨brain damage✨

[bubbles-for-all-of-us]

Exactly as you are

Previous chapter / Next chapter

summary: when two broken souls meet something is bound to happen.

warning: mentions of past trauma, sexual assault, forceful behavior, groping without consent, touch aversion, murder, blood, fighting.

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"No offense, but this looks like a suicide mission", Jesper said right as Kaz finished going over the details of their newest job. Pekka Rollins has been doing everything in his power lately to bring down Kaz, and his ego was bruised way too much already to let it slide. Not to mention the power the Dime Lions were starting to gain. One misstep and Kaz was going to lose everything that he had worked so hard to get.

"You are in looks for a new owner?", Kaz barked out, and Jesper just shook his head in irritation, "Here I was thinking that we had moved into the brother territory". Those words got followed by Kaz harshly clicking his cane onto the stone floors. A line. A line had been crossed with that. Kaz only had one brother. The one that was dead. Thrown onto a wooden raft. Dead. Clamy and cold. All over. Kaz closed his eyes, lowering his head as the tightness in his chest grew. Threatening. Laughing at him as it choked a breath out of him.

"Look, all I am saying", Jesper had continued after a moment, knowing that the last thing Kaz needed now was someone jumping in to soothe him and God above even acknowledge the anxiety rising inside him, "That there has to be a way to go into this with at least fourth percent chance of coming out alive". Kaz pulled at the top button of his black shirt. The tightness was now uncomfortable. Suffocating. The crows glanced around each other. Nina quickly shook her head. A silent way of saying not to push it. She could feel the painful speed of his heart beating. Yet she knew better than to help slow her boss's heart. Tried it once. Got yelled at, and Kaz hadn't looked her way for over a week. Wylan grasped Jesper's hand as he let out a deep sigh. "Kaz…", Jesper started once more, but the door to the office opened and in you strolled, halting in your steps the moment your eyes landed on the scene in front of you.

You knew what they did. Kaz had told you most things, or at least the things you had to know, the first night. But you weren't a crow. That you knew, and Kaz himself had repetitively reminded you of it. You never went on the jobs. You weren't a part of the meetings or debriefs. The only deeper insight you got was if you were up at night alongside Kaz. When his mind was fuzzy enough that he would start muttering his thoughts out loud. Routes. Names. Object. Numbers.

The four of them looked at you with big eyes but said nothing. Yet you only glance their way for a split second, your eyes instantly moved to Kaz, who was leaning hunched on the table. The glance lingered, but you dropped it. Turning to walk out of the room, knowing that this wasn't something for your eyes. "You, out", Kaz's voice boomed through the room as he gestured to the crows all standing nervously in front of the table. You debated on leaving as well, yet you paused. Something in between the lines, unspoken pleas that made you halt in your track.

Jesper stopped in front of you right before walking out. He wore the emotions on his sleeve. Reading him was so easy. You knew he cared, knew how much he loved Kaz, and how much he was truly ready to sacrifice for him. So you blinked slowly. Letting him know that if only Kaz allowed you, you were going to look after him. Jesper nodded his head. He had no idea what was going on between the two of you behind closed doors, but he was sure of two things - you had altered something in Kaz and he found somewhat of a safe haven in you.

You moved across the room as quietly as a mouse. "You are here to complain about something that I've done as well?", Kaz snarled, lifting his head, you shook your head before reaching for a jug of water. Kaz cocked his head to the side as the family silk scarf caught his eye. You had braided it into your hair which was now neatly wrapped around your head like a crown. He had no idea how you had created that masterpiece but he sure was mesmerized by it. Only brought out of his trance once he heard a glass of water being placed on the table in front of him. Blinking he turned away from you, "Then why are you here?". The tightness in his chest was close to gone and Kaz found himself hating the fact that it passed so easily, so quickly. He enjoyed the pain at times. A cold reminder that he was still alive. The only time Kaz was one hundred percent sure that he was indeed not dead.

You said nothing as you sat down on the other side of the table. Kaz let out a huff and followed suit only now realizing how much his legs ached from putting all his body weight on them without the help of the cane. He ran a hand through his messy hair, now savoring the feeling of air flowing into his lungs. You tapped your finger onto the table to get his attention back on you. Pulling a bundle wrapped into a piece of newspaper. "Finally found the poison to kill me off?", he said making you let out an annoyed huff, as you crinkled your brows at him in annoyance. Kaz didn't acknowledge it, just like most times. No dissatisfaction that you expressed ever seemed to alter his emotions. Well, not that you could see it from the outside.

Kaz tore the paper off, holding up a glass jar of ink, then glancing to the side of the table where his jar sat. Empty. How had he missed that? "Useful", he said, setting the bottle aside before pulling out a handful of papers, "If there's nothing else you are here for, walk yourself out". You pushed the glass of water closer to him, mindful of the paperwork now all over the table. The desire to tell you off was bubbling inside him, but he still reached for the glass, lifting it closer to his lips. You nodded your head in satisfaction before refilling it, knowing that there was no way Kaz was going to do it himself, before stepping out of the study.

The club was way busier than usual for the middle of the week. People were lingering by every corner of the place. All chairs, even the extra ones from the back of the house occupied. "Cute guy alert at six o'clock", Wylan said as he placed the empty glasses onto the bar. Nina and Inej looked up straight away, you followed suit. "Cover Jesper's ears. He might die knowing you find someone besides him cute", Nina chirped, eyes still on the guy. "Not for me, just… for any of you", he quickly defended himself right as the pink shades colored his cheeks. A smile painted your face at how easy it was to fluster him and how much Nina enjoyed doing just that.

You scanned the crowd, trying to find Kaz among them but with no luck. Usually, he was here by now. Rarely did he stay behind fully. If not somewhere tucked away in the corner, observing the commotion, then in his backroom - but not tonight, it seemed. "I'm sure Kaz just lost himself between all of his paperwork", Nina reached for your hand, squeezing it gently but letting go straight away, equally as much as with Kaz knowing not to linger. You nodded your head before moving to dry the washed-up glasses. She could feel the way your heart practically cried to see Kaz. You hated crowds as much as Kaz did. Nina knew that if Kaz had seen the buzz here tonight, you would have already been in the backroom with him, away from all of this noise and bodies. She caught you glancing around the club again as you placed the glasses onto the tray, making sure you had a good grip on it, "You want me to take over?", she asked, and you knew the intentions were good and caring, but you still shook your head. This was your job, and until it was Kaz telling you to back away, you weren't going to stop.

But maybe you should have. Should have listened. Should have taken the offer. Cause the more the night went on and the smell of cigarettes and alcohol grew thicker, the more touchy the males became. You weren't able to carry full trays of beer anymore. Hands too shaky, legs too wobbly to hold them up without spilling. And God forbid you spilled any of it on any of the customers. It was only Wylan, who was still here, and Jesper, but he was somewhere deep within the club most definitely gambling. You ushered Nina through the door about an hour ago. She had been practically sleeping with her face on the bar. And there was no room for a passed-out female in the club full of hacking males. Inej had disappeared as well. She didn't enjoy being in the club as it was, and for that, you couldn't blame her.

You were a handful of steps away from the bar when two sets of hands gripped your forearms, jerking you backward. You were thankful that your hands had been empty because the glasses would have been tumbling down. You only heard laughter and whistles as they dragged you through the floor. Your eyes darted towards the bar, but Wylan wasn't there. A cold shiver ran down your back. You tried to wiggle out of their grip but in all honesty, you knew very well that you had no chance of escaping.

Your back hit the back wall as they stepped in front of you, pinning you beneath them. You haven't seen their faces before. Nor did you want to look. It had been a while since you had found yourself in a situation like this. Helpless. Too weak to defend yourself. Numb it out, you kept telling yourself, numb it all, it'll pass by shortly and then you'll pick yourself back up. "What a pretty piece of art we have here", one of them muttered, the sharp smell of alcohol hitting your nose. "Pekka is looking for a new property", the other male sniffed the side of your neck like a hungry hound, before licking his lips, "You seem just the right fit for his description". You swallowed hard. The name itself made your blood run cold. You didn't know much of the other gang leader, but enough to know that if you were to fall into his arms, the nightmare that would follow would be the worst you ever had.

"But he didn't say anything about in what state you were to be delivered", a tough hand gripped your left breast through the shirt, causing you to shut your eyes tightly. You will not scream. You will obey. If not for yourself. Then for Kaz. Because you couldn't allow yourself a thought of him getting hurt because of you or a scene that you caused. "One against two. Will you fight, baby girl?", the nickname made you cringe so hard that goosebumps ran down your arms, but you shook your head. The taler of the two let out a laugh before roughly yanking the top of your dress open.

"You're playing with my toy, boys", the two of them quickly jerked their heads toward the sound. Kaz had his deadly glare on, and if looks cool kill - they would have been six feet under a long time ago. "I don't see your signature stamp on her, Brekker, or did you mark her somewhere else", the taller one said with a laugh before his hand moved to cup your core with his hand. Even with your dress as a layer between his fingers and your body, the feeling of the touch itself made you bite the inside of your cheek so hard that the metallic taste filled your mouth.

"Want to play? Pay up", Kaz barked harshly, stepping closer. He was on fire, or at least he felt like it. The moment he ran into a breathless Wylan about to go look for him, Kaz knew that something had happened. Something bad must have happened, but he didn't allow himself a chance to let that thought settle as he marched into the club. Considering that most males had their heads turned to the back of the club said enough to him. Showed enough to him as he strides towards the commotion.

"Name the price, little boy", the male dared. Kaz's face twitched. The room fell dead silent, you didn't dare to look, pressing yourself closer to the wall. "Your eyes", Kaz said casually, and not even a second later, the peak of the crow, that was on his cane, ripped through the tall male's eyeball. The scream echoed. Other shouts erupted as people started to flee from the club. Jesper, who must have felt the commotion was quick to rip the other male away from you, hitting his head with the back of his gun. You had slid down the wall. Breathing as hectic as the mess that was unfolding in front of you.

Kaz had no recollection of how many times he had driven the sharp end of his cane through the fuckers face, but he sure as hell was long dead when he was done with him. No one was in the club besides them now. Yet the rage didn't subside. Oh no, it only grew, and Kaz was about to turn to Jesper, who had strict orders to keep an eye on you if he wasn't around to do so himself. But the shaky breath that remained Kaz more of a cry that slipped past your lips, making him turn to you.

Your knees were pressed to your chest. Nails dug into your palms so deep that they drew blood. You were shaking so hard, your whole body spasming as you took shallow breaths that only hit the surface before a sharp cry was pushed away from your lungs. Kaz threw Jesper a death glare as a promise. Promise to skin him after he was done before he fully turned towards you. Limping your way before he fell to his knees not far away from you. Yet leaving a comfortable distance between you both.

"Y/N", he called out, but you didn't seem to hear him, "Y/N", he called out way louder this time. Whatever you were muttering under your breath now Kaz couldn't make out. Now more than even he wished he could just hold you. Not sit a couple of feet away like some weak piece of shit who had brought this upon you. "They are gone, we took care of it", your lower lip quivered at his words. Kaz desperately searched your body for any signs of you coming back, but the cage you had yourself locked into now seemed impossible to break. "Jesper will get you to your room. Nina will sleep with you tonight", the softness in his voice scarred him, but he couldn't be harsh now. Not now. Not with you.

Just the moment Jesper moved to put a hand around you, the most heart-reaching scream slipped past your lips as you backed away. Jesper bit his lip, trying to keep his tears at bay. If anything he deserved whatever was to come after you calmed down and if you calmed down. Kaz backed away slightly as you pushed yourself away from everyone. He was helpless. So helpless that he realized that all the moments of weakness he had gone through till now could never compare to this.

Then your eyes shot open. The fear was in them so big as your hand clasped around your throat. Trying to scratch a path for even a slither of oxygen. Choking. Dying. It looked like you were dying, and Kaz moved towards you as if that had been his second instinct. Bloody gloves clasping your hair as he turned your face towards him. "Breathe, Y/N. Breath, for fuck sake", he cried out angrily. Kaz had already lost Jordie, and he sure wasn't going to lose you now, as well.

His face was inches away from yours. The familiar scent of him crept all around you. The scent that you fell asleep within his bed. The scent that had even mixed into your clothes that were put neatly next to Kaz's in the drawers in his room. With both hands on your face, Kaz hoped to catch your frantic eyes, and when you finally took a big gulp of air, he almost felt reborn. Your shaky palms rested on his chest, where his heart was beating rapidly. Beating. You blinked a couple of times, grounding yourself. Clinging to the feeling of Kaz being so close.

The water inside Kaz was bubbling almost to the top. Too much, for too long, but he couldn't pull away. Not now. Not when he needed to get you out. Even if it meant that he was going to drown himself. That would be worth it. Worth it if only you stayed above the water. "Kaz…", his heart stopped beating when his name rolled off your tongue. Of that he was sure. He met your scared eyes. Eyes in search of him. For him because even after this, you felt safe with him. Even if Kaz didn't deserve it.

"I'm right here, right with you", he whispered to you. Wanting to press his forehead to yours, but he knew that any more skin contacts would have him pulling away. "Kaz", you rasped out again, and he only managed to nod his head as he watched the movements of your chest evening out. Your hands slipped away from his chest when you realized that you had been touching him. A line. You crossed his line. But his eyes didn't look angry. Not with you. Your body slumped, Kaz was quick to catch your shoulders before turning to Jasper, who stepped closer, replacing him.

The taste of sick flooded Kaz's mouth. As he watched you looking at Jesper. He was so gentle with you. Talking you through all of his movements before gathering you into his arms. It should have been Kaz doing that. Pulling you closer. Getting you away from this place. You looked so out of it. So warn out. So small in Jesper's arms. With the adrenaline wearing down, your body was going to crash. Kaz wanted to order Jesper to bring you up to his room, but instead, he leaped towards the nearest bowl that still covered the tables before emptying his stomach. His anxiety needed a way out of his body. When he finally lifted his head neither of you was here. That was what he wanted. Kaz needed to be alone. To dwell in self-pity for a bit before he would make his way back to you. Before he burnt the whole word. Set buildings flying. Ripped bodies with his hands. Just to keep you safe. To not fail you. He couldn't allow himself to fail you.

[the-one-and-only-duckduckgo]

As I see the word around me turning pink (or, in some cases, purple), I've decided that it's time to make a sequel to that tma post. Yes, I'm at episode 20. No, I'm not okay (I promise). Perhaps, I need therapy. Anyways, enjoy:

The Magnus Archives but I've met the fandom (and am even more confused)

There's an Archivist (you have to use the capital letter if you want to survive), his name is Jon,sometimes Jonathan and sometimes Jalapeño.

He is also somehow the author of the podcast, and the guy speaking. I don't know how. Nothing feels real anymore.

Apparently, he brings the romantic side of the podcast. I'm glad. He should think about bringing the "makes sense" side too.

#JusticeForMartin2024

Get. Sasha. And. Tim. Some. Fucking. Representation.

There's Gerard Keay, who doesn't have anything to do with Gerard Way (I checked), and I love him.

He's also very dead. My point still stands.

WHERE IS THAT FUCKING HOMOPHOBIC VASE WHY DON'T YOU WANT ME TO UNDERSTAND YOUR INSIDE JOKE, WHY?

There's a guy named Evan Lukas, whose name reminds me of another guy. Was it James Lukas? Peter Lukas? George Lukas? Not a single idea.

Five people told me to be scared of the Mikes.

Who are they?

Is that a sect? A typo? A secret level you unlock once you understand what that vase joke refers to?

There's a secret link between everything.

Is it that every one of the stories involves being scared of something, and being alone?

Wait. Nevermind. That's a horror podcast, people are usually scared in these. I'm trying to be logical here.

I miss Gerard Keay.

OH WAIT WAIT SORRY I DIDN'T TELL Y'ALL THAT JALAPENO CAME OUT OF HIS RECORDING CLOSET TO TALK TO A MADAM. THAT REALLY DISTURBED HIM AND HE HAD TO LOCK HIMSELF AGAIN TO RECOVER, BUT I'M PROUD OF THE PROGRESS HE MADE

Michael is not okay. Do they need help?

I don't know their pronouns, and people answered with really disturbing and unhelpful things. Could someone help?

I kinda like Michael. Even if they're blonde.

Unless they're part of the Mikes. I have a bad feeling about the Mikes.

Uhh lots of blood, spiders, worms, death, spooky nights, people being alone, eyes everywhere, insanity, blood sacrifices, the Unknown, and evil books.

Oh, and drugs. Very important, the drugs

Leaving you with that, hope I didn't miss a very important point. May the stars shine in your direction, or whatever.

[alfredojesta]

song lyrics that remind me of candymaker because i cant stop thinking about them and this song is literally jason

"i'm so beautiful and it's wasted on me"

Jason knows his strengths (people will compliment him for his intelligence, appearance, talent), but what's the point in having them? It feels like a waste, because he's always been a disappointment no matter how hard he tried in his life. It feels like a waste to be given all this power when, in his eyes, he's so broken even with it. And really, people only like him for what he pretends to be, not for what he is on the inside.

"because this taste reminds me i hate what love's turned out to be"

He gets the attention he wants. He's looked up to and revered. Women fall in love with him. The ones he pursues. But in the end, this "love" is artificial. And thus, Jason doesn't feel as fulfilled as he should when he gets into a relationship. Is love really worth anything?

In addition, he "loved" Amelia, but that "love" turned into him getting "betrayed" by her. (In Jason's perspective.)

"and i don't wanna be in my house anymore cause it just makes me sad"

Jason's always at his workshop or toyshop. I don't think the sadness is applicable here, but I do think he feels a sense of uselessness when he's taking a break in his flat. Because he's not being productive. And if he's not working, then what good is he for? He should be at work. It's all he has to his name.

"letting in the wild with every man who brings a world of hurt with him"

The lyric says man but obviously with Jason I'm talking about a woman. Every woman who falls for him ends up getting hurt and, in Jason's eyes, they just pile on their own problems onto him as if he needs anymore of that. These women disappoint him, don't treat him as they should. Maybe some of them are in the right, maybe some in the wrong. I don't think Jason went all those years without having at least one girlfriend who tried to use him, but I do think a majority of his victims are innocent.

"do you just want my blood? am i just that damn hard to love? cause it feels like all i have is still just not enough."

No matter how hard Jason tries, no one will ever love him the way he wants to be loved. They can't perceive him the way he wants to be perceived, because does he really want to be perceived for what he is? Really, he's pathetic. When his lovers do discover how he is on the inside, they end up "abandoning" him. Jason questions if he's worth the effort, because he so badly WANTS to be worth it. But failed relationship after failed relationship has only proven to him that he's not good enough for anyone.

This is also something I apply to his relationship with his parents. Jason did everything in his power to get their approval. He wanted to be loved by them. Wanted to be something more than just a black and white portrait. But he couldn't be. His parents were the first people who made him believe he was difficult to love.

With Amelia, he "gave her everything", and she still "left him in the dust". (In Jason's perspective.)

"got what i wanted, but it's never enough for me."

Nothing will ever be enough for Jason. He seeks out attention. He seeks out affection and praise. Things that keep him going. He'll date woman after woman, make toy after toy, but it's never gonna be enough. The fame isn't enough. The praise isn't enough. The money isn't enough. It's just like how he was never enough for his parents. He was never enough for Amelia.

Jason's a lost cause. He's stuck in a cycle he's created himself. He's waiting out his life for that perfect person who can make him feel complete. Less broken.

"and i have found a way, i found a way"

I LOVE CANDYMAKER. AND CANDYMAKER IS THIS LYRIC. Because Jason's finally found someone who sees him for who he is and, not only that, but loves him for who he is. Has seen the worst parts of him and continues to get closer, to learn more, no matter how malicious. And maybe Candy Pop's wrong for that. Maybe Candy Pop should be scared of Jason. But he isn't. Because Candy Pop understands Jason in ways others haven't. Candy Pop has seen the broken guy behind the perfect facade a million times.

It's not just love for Candy Pop. It's love for himself, and the little things in life that he never got to pick out before. It's the feeling of comfort when he's around Candy Pop. It's the feeling of wanting to do something other than work, just so he can spend time with Candy Pop. It's the excitement felt when he sees him. A feeling he'd not felt before. He'll find a way to take care of himself. To balance his life. He wants to be good for Candy Pop. But it's not in that superficial way like how he wanted to be good for his ex-girlfriends. Or how he wanted to be good for his parents. Or for Amelia.

"i'm on my way. don't wait too long, i don't want you to get tired of me. but i'll be coming along."

It's going to take time for Jason to come to terms with his feelings. He'll lash out, say things he doesn't mean. He'll act aloof, like their friendship doesn't mean anything to him. But deep down that's not the case. Healing is a slow process, especially for him, and naturally he's worried Candy Pop will get tired of waiting. But Candy Pop won't.

That's something he's not used to, either. Patience. He used to wait for the world to change for him; now, he can change for the world. For Candy Pop. For himself. And he'll be happier this way.

It can also apply to Candy Pop because he's always having issues with his mood (Night Terrors), but he wants Jason to be patient with him. and he's surprised when Jason does manage to hold patience.

...SO ANYWAY. listen to the song <3

[brrbrina]

echoes

part: 2/?

pairing: joe burrow x og!c

warnings: cheating, angst, fluff (?), pregnancy (?) and i think that´s it.

The day after Joe left the house for the very first time, Kendall felt a wave of sadness take over her body. She was devasted, and tired, she constantly woke in the middle of the night as if the house she was sleeping in was haunted.

Every single part of that bed smelt like him, every part of her body was once kissed by the lips of a man who had kissed someone else and she despised that. She felt like her world stopped, when they met, falling in love was not on her plans, and falling in love with a man like Joe wasn´t what she wanted.

"I think we should go with the big backyard one," Joe said hugging her from the back, "This way our babies would have the space to run, and then the babies of our babies" he chuckled putting his lips against the back of her head, Kendall smiled and closed her eyes; it was one of the moments she felt like her life made sense in only a way love makes you feel.

Now, that memory pained her, she was tied to him for life, for two entries now, she didn´t know what to do. The night Kendall found out she was pregnant -again-, happiness took over her body, brainstormed ideas of how she would tell her big baby and the love of her life the good news. The night she confronted Joe became savory, the memory of her telling the news to the father of her son was stained by betrayal and insincerity.

"I made waffles and fresh orange juice" Joe smiled at her showing the plates in the breakfast bar, which was once planned down to the smallest detail. "I think you should go" Kendall sighed "Natalie has a friend coming over today for a playdate and I don´t want her to create a false story on her head in which you come back here and we live happily ever after".

"Who is Mat?" Joe asked her and Kendall looked at him with surprise, "You do know I'm the father of Natalie and that baby you´re carrying right? You are not messing up the mind of my children with that man coming and hanging with them..." Kendall stopped him "You have a lot of nerve telling me I´m the one "messing" with her mind when you were fucking someone else" Joe looked down.

"While Natalie was sleeping here, happy that her daddy won a game so she could tell her friends in school he was the best, you were putting your dick inside another woman, so no, I'm not messing anything up, you did" water filled her eyes and her voice trembled when she stopped "You took away the happiness of being pregnant with MY baby and turned into a grey cloud above me every single day" she felt her knees weak.

"I hate you so much Joe, I hate you because a part of me needs you like a drug I'm addicted to, and I hate you because you destroyed the life WE built together, my kids will grow up in a broken home and the worst part of all is that I will never tell them what you did, that´s the difference between me and you. I´m putting them on top of everything and you didn´t even think twice about the damage you would cause" She said sobbing, and Joe felt his blood drop to his feet.

He left Kendall´s place and drove to the condo he was living in at the moment, he found no motivation in anything, he missed the chaos of his past life. He remembered clearly when he and Kendall got married.

"... You have filled my life with colors and turned it into a musical every time you´re near me. I promise to love you and take care of you and the family we will hopefully soon start. There is not a day where I take you for granted, waking up beside you it´s a pleasure and something I will love to grow old with.

You are the woman of my dreams, the best road trip partner, and the comedic duo made for me, I will make sure to remind you that I´m the man that I am because of you. That every mole on your body holds a million I Love You´s you will hear forever. I´m so happy that I´m becoming Mr. Carter" Kendall chuckled "I know you´re the designer but you´re the muse of my life, of every romantic, naughty, or funny thought that comes to my mind you´re the one I see. I love your laugh and I will try my best to come up with the biggest dad jokes so I can crack a small out of you. Here´s to a lifetime of love, I love you, Kenny."

He didn’t have the guts to admit when he stopped loving her because he wasn't sure if he ever stopped.

People always say you don´t know what you have until it´s gone and he realized that too late, when he met Jackie, he loved the adrenaline of starting a romance again. But now it was painful, he missed everything about Kendall. The way she always made him choose the color of her nail polish or how the pantry was always stocked with Joe´s favorite candy.

How was he so naive to lose his soulmate, the mother of his kids, the love of his life but also his best friend. He hated his life now, a life without her or his kids was a living nightmare, his baby was about to be born, and he hadn´t seen a single eco photo of him. Kendall was sad and blue all the time, the only thing keeping her going was her babies and the company she worked so hard for.

She missed Joe, she couldn´t forget him, and she was tired, she was about to give birth and her life would be upside down once again.

"God I miss you so much" was the first sentence that came out of her mouth when she boldly called Joe at 1 am, she had been crying nonstop, and as much as she hated to admit it, he was the love of her life.

He showed up that night, and he stayed there. It was pointless for him to go home when his pregnant ex-wife was almost about to give birth.

The next few months were a roller coaster of emotions, their baby was born, Joe wasn’t there when he arrived to this world. He was on a work trip when baby burrow arrived and everything happened too quick. Kendall went into labor at 7 am and her baby came out of the womb right away. He looked so much like Joe, it was a very strange feeling, when Natalie was born. He was there, he held her hand as she was pushing their baby girl into a world in which they would do anything to make her happy. That was the only promise Joe made to Kendall that she was sure he would keep.

The new baby mama had been crying nonstop, she wasn’t sure of how she would manage her life now as a single mom with a soon to be a 6 year old.

“How are you doing?” Joe said entering the room with ballons and flowers, Kendall started to cry again. They weren’t in bad terms now, they will share the most important thing on their lives forever. There are science fairs, dance recitals, birthdays, christmas and thanksgiving they will have to share.

“I’m not gonna lie, i’m very scared” Kendall said holding her tears. “Kenny you’ve done this before, you are the best mom ever, Natalie and baby are so lucky that you’re their mother” Joe said smiling with teary eyes. “I know i’ve done this before but i wasn’t doing it alone you know?” The guilt eat Joe alive every second of the day. “Hey, i’m not going anywhere, i can stay home until baby is a bit older” Kendall chuckled, and then start to cry again “What’s wrong?” Joe looked at her concerned “Everything Joe, our baby is here and we don’t even have a name for him, and Natalie keeps asking when is her daddy coming home and i’ve run of ways of explaining her why he’s not” She cried “I hate my new life, I hate going grocery shopping alone and carrying everything by myself, i hate driving everywhere and i really really miss you Joe” he was crying when she said that.

“I know I fucked up, and no amount of sorry’s will mend what I did, we can work this out, for the fourth of us - “ He was interrupted by the nurse entering with baby burrow after checking that everything was okay with him, Joe saw him for the first time and started crying, he held him in his arms and the nurse walked out of the room. “He looks so much like Natie” he whispered and Kendall giggled as she wiped her tears away. “Both of them look like you it’s not fair” she said crossing her arms “We can always try and make one that looks like you” Joe smirked and Kendall’s mind went numb, she didn’t had and expression on her face “Sorry maybe that was too much” he cleared his troat.

“I will make you fall in love with me again, I promise my love” he kissed her forehed and that was the last thing Kendall heard before she fell asleep. And she was so happy to hear that.

a/n! Hiii, i hope you like this chapter, i think the next one it’s the last one of our little series. :) I’ll try to post over the weekend but i don’t promise anything. If you want to be added to the tag list, let me know in the comments. And i would love to hear you thoughts on this chapter and how do you expect the next one will be!!

[thedgeoftheuniverse]

Spring Breeze

joel miller x reader

word count: >1k

a/n: to whoever requested this i am SOOO sorry i lost ur request pls pls find this i am so sorry also tumblr stop fucking up my formatting

He is hesitant, you can feel it in the stiffness of the joints—he does not want to accept the comfort of being cared for, he does not know how; he has spent a lifetime as a protector, never accepting that he deserves to be treated with the same devotion.

He has been gone for what seemed to be ages. Time passes relentlessly, each second gone reminding you that he was not beside you, each minute taunting you with a very plausible reality that he never will be again. Patrol should not take so long. It never takes this long and you cannot smother the worry erupting from your chest. You did not know how to occupy your time.

You have been a long-time resident of Jackson, having been rescued by Maria from borderline starvation. You were welcomed to the commune with open arms, shown luxuries you thought would never again exist, and given opportunities to taste a semblance of life from before—what little you could remember of it. You became reacquainted with your love of baking as well as members of the community who craved the loaves of bread you sat out every morning. It was how you met him—he came to you with wringing hands and an empty stomach, he could not withstand the temptation of the warm dough in front of him. He came nearly every day, giving you shy smiles and kind words, but rarely left with your offerings. He seemed to only want the sweetness of your voice and the smell of the pastries.

It is in this moment, in the space between your bodies, that you realize the comfort of Jackson is nothing in comparison to Joel Miller. 

It is not until dusk that he returns. His feet carry him to your home (he cannot understand why, but he knows you smell like a spring breeze and summer has been brutal) and his heart seeks solace in the embrace of your arms. 

“What happened?” You ask him as you take in the sight of his mangled body—blood covers his clothes, his knuckles bruised and busted, hair matted and body trembling, You have never seen him in such a state—you did not believe he had the ability to feel fear, but he wears it brazenly.

“People.” He did not need to say anymore for you to understand.

“Come on, cowboy. Let’s get you cleaned up.” You lead him into your kitchen, where you pull a chair up to the sink and instruct him to sit.

“You don’t ha—” “I know. Just let someone take care of you.” You interrupt as you fill one side of the sink with lukewarm water and retrieve a rag from the drawer below.

You start with his hands. He is hesitant, you can feel it in the stiffness of the joints—he does not want to accept the comfort of being cared for, he does not know how; he has spent a lifetime as a protector, never accepting that he deserves to be treated with the same devotion. You take special care at his split knuckles, applying a featherlight pressure as you begin rinsing the blood. He will never show it to you, but you know that he is in pain.

It is when you move to his arms that you notice the slowness of his blinks—his eyes are staying closed just a moment longer than necessary—and the stiffness fading from his body. His breath, one jagged and heavy, slows down to a steady rhythm. You are humming a song that you cannot remember the name of as you wash away the physical evidence of the violence that lays inside of him, allowing the softness you are familiar with to shine through once again. And it is when you gently lean his head back into the sink, running warm water and your nimble fingers through the grayed strands that he begins leaning into your touch. You are gentle and warm and the embodiment of everything he feels he no longer deserves, but you give it so willingly that he is unable to refuse. Sighs and hums of content leave his lips as his entire being is consumed by you—a spring breeze that he will never stop longing for.

You are turning the water off when he bashfully whispers: “Can you do that just a little longer?”

“I’ve got a better idea.” You reply. You towel dry his hair with the same kindness you used to wash it before you lead him to your couch. As you sit, he goes to position himself upwards beside you—you can feel the disappointment radiating from his skin (or maybe he is always this warm and you have never noticed) and you realize he does not understand your intentions: “Lay down.” You instruct.

He is unsure at first; he has not been in such an innocently intimate position in many years, but the softness in your expression tells him your intentions are true. He does not need to try to relax when your nails begin to scratch at his scalp and your free hand rubs up and down his bicep. He thinks this form of intimacy is the most terrifying thing he has experienced—he is still learning how to accept being cared for but when you whisper, “You’re okay,” he is wrapped in a silk blanket by your words and transported to a time where he was whole. His hair is softer than you had thought it to be; this is just as therapeutic for you as it is for him.

There is no longer empty space between you. There is only silent air and nimble fingers as Joel sleeps in your lap, arms curled into his chest and his shoes still on. It was the first night he fell asleep in peace.