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crazyyluvr · 12 days ago

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Umemiya x 3rd year medic reader YESSS!

umemiya x medic!reader (no gender is specified, I think)

wc: 3.6k (not proofread but i never proofread anyway)

note: finally back with a oneshot. i wanna watch windbreaker s2 so bad but idk where to watch it huhu. enjoy the oneshot! <33

The three times Sakura has seen you take care of Umemiya, and the one time he returned the favor.

Sakura was one of the densest people in Bofurin. His friends constantly teased him of that fact, and Sakura always denied their assumptions and borderline insults towards his emotional intellect.

His one and only proof that he is not as dense as others say he is was the thing that he can see what others can't for some reason: the chemistry between Bofurin's leader and the resident medic.

He normally doesn't dabble in other people's personal lives, especially their love lives, but this one was just staring at him in the face to the point where he couldn't stop himself from asking his friends about it.

"They don't seem like they like each other," Nirei said, shaking his head when Sakura brought up the idea while they were in Kotoha's café.

"I agree," Suo hummed, leaning back and pushing his plate of biscuits to Sugishita, who quietly accepted them and ate them. "I've known them for a while, and they don't really have any tension between them."

Sakura simply stared at them, mouth agape, before he slammed his hands on their table. "Then all of you are the blind ones! There's no way ya can't see what's going on between those two!"

"Do you have any proof to support your claims?" Suo said.

"I got a ton." Sakura leaned back in his wooden chair, crossing his arms as he began to recount all the moments that he's witnessed between you and Hajime Umemiya.

—————

Incident One: The lingering gazes when tending to wounds.

After the fight Umemiya and Tomiyama officially declared that they would be friends after their fight, you had immediately approached Umemiya and dragged him to the closest theater seat to the stage.

Umemiya didn't even protest, letting you lead him with a hand wrapped around his forearm as he sat down and let you watch over his wounds. It was almost like routine for the both of you, neither of you saying a word as you fell into a familiar rhythm.

Sakura didn't think much of it at the start — you had done the same thing to the rest of them after their own matches, which was why they all had bandages and ointments spread over their faces.

"What's the verdict, doc?" Umemiya asked, eyes transfixed on you standing over him. "Am I gonna live?"

Sakura did a double take when he saw the smile that took place on Umemiya's face. It was different than the ones that he normally offered to everyone else — it had some kind of... mushiness to it that Sakura couldn't quite identify.

Nonetheless, it caught his attention.

"Your wounds aren't that severe, and the bite on your neck didn't pierce anything vital," you had said, a hand behind his head to make him lean back so you could examine the injury properly. "It doesn't need stitches — they're all pretty shallow. I'll just disinfect all of them then bandage."

"Do your worst, doc." Umemiya leaned back in his chair and watched as you dug into your medkit for the things you needed.

You rolled your eyes, face contorted into an expression of annoyance, undoubtedly caused by Umemiya's behavior during his fight.

"Next time, when someone tries to bite your neck, at least push their head away or something," you huffed as you put a white pad of bandage over the wound to clean it. Your angry tone contrasted the gentle hold you had over his body, as if you were afraid that you were going to break the leader of Bofurin even more.

"Aww, are you worrying about me, doc?" Umemiya cooed closing his eyes as he just let you do your thing.

"I'm more worried about my supplies," you countered, wrapping the bandage around his neck. "At this rate, half my materials will be used on wounds that you pointlessly gain from stupid fights."

Umemiya simply flashed you a grin as he looked up at you. He didn't reply, but the heaviness in his gaze said enough.

"Stop looking at me like that, Umemiya."

"Like what?" Umemiya asked, but he already knew what you were talking about. He just wanted to torture you.

"Like you wanna fight me."

Umemiya blinked. He misinterpreted your interpretation. "That's not-"

You let out a snort, finishing up the bandage and pulling away from him. "I was kidding. Don't get so worked up."

You let your eyes linger on his before you walked away, turning towards other members of Shishitoren in order to treat their wounds that were significantly worse than the Bofurin members had attained.

The interaction that was supposed to just be normal was so charged with tension it penetrated even Sakura's dense brain, causing redness to flood his cheeks as he looked away. He felt like he was invading something intimate and private that he wasn't supposed to witness but did anyway.

And apparently he was the only one who witnessed it because he heard no comments about them, even from the smart Nirei who normally noticed almost every small little detail about his "idols" (and you were pretty high up that list).

Despite that, Sakura didn't say anything about this, thinking that he was just imagining things. After all, he didn't really notice these types of things, didn't he? He was probably just making assumptions.

If only that was the only time that happened.

—————

Incident Two: the fussing over the tiniest cuts.

The second time made him feel suspicious.

He had learned quite quickly that raids from gangs was quite common in the town of Makochi. It was up to Bofurin to make sure that these raids never caused any extended damage on the properties of the residents.

He had also learned that despite the size of Bofurin and the wide array of good fighters that can easily help any kind of raid, Umemiya preferred being more hands-on with his leadership approach. He didn't let his status get in the way of doing meager tasks, like helping put up signs that were too high up for elderly store owners, or chasing down the odd purse-snatcher.

So when there was a tiny raid on the liquor store for the second time in two weeks, Sakura's team rushed over there to help, since they were the closest team that was currently patrolling.

They weren't able to see much of the fight, but they could tell that the gang was getting whacked. Out of a dozen members, four were on the ground, unconscious, while the rest were well on their way there, all while Umemiya didn't have a scratch on him. You were sitting on the curb, simply watching him fight with the medkit you always seemed to have with you on your lap, just waiting for him to finish so you could do your job.

It didn't take long for Umemiya to deal with the gang. His experience with fighting alone and his skill in fighting made the issue a breeze for him, despite gaining a cut on his eyebrow from a knife.

Sakura watched the leader of Bofurin in wonder. This was the person he wished to overcome in order to become the strongest. The boy couldn't help but think that he was a long way from that.

His attention on Umemiya caused him to see something that made him double back. As the older boy walked over to you, Sakura saw how his stance changed the closer he got to you. He went from being the strong fighter, the infamous leader of the protectors of Makochi, to a tired boy the moment he sat down in front of you.

Sakura followed Hiragi and the others in cleaning up the street, fixing things that were thrown into disorder due to the fight. This was also an excuse for Sakura to get closer to the two of you to eavesdrop on your conversation.

"How did I do?" Umemiya asked you, watching you as you took out your necessary materials.

You pretended to think for a moment as you dabbed alcohol onto a clean cotton pad. "Decent enough, I guess, but you get minus points for getting nicked."

You raised the cotton pad and patted the wound with it.

Umemiya hissed in pain, flinching away from the sudden contact of alcohol over his open wound. "Jeez, couldn't you have given me a warning first?"

You rolled your eyes. Nirei had pointed out before that you never rolled your eyes at anyone other than Umemiya, and Sakura realized that he was right. "You're such a big baby," you grumbled, but you had become gentler with your dabbing before you placed the bandaid over his eyebrow.

"If you don't want alcohol over your cuts, don't get anymore in the future," you said as Umemiya stood up, holding out his hand towards you.

"But what reason would I have to visit you then?" Umemiya said cheekily as he pulled you to your feet.

You shoved him, and he stumbled forward dramatically, laughing as a smile broke through your angry façade.

"They both seem very comfortable with each other," Sakura mumbled, and Suo overheard him.

"They've always been like that," he said, smiling. "They're very good friends."

Just friends? Sakura thought as he watched Umemiya sling an arm over your shoulders despite your protest, and the way you still didn't push him off.

I can't help but doubt that.

—————

Incident Three: Massages.

As the representative of his class, Sakura found himself visiting the rooftop garden more often than he had anticipated. Umemiya always asked for updates from all the leaders in Bofurin, and Sakura supposed that this was one of the reasons why people looked up to him so much — he cared a lot about the town and his own men.

You spent most of your time in the garden as well, Sakura noticed. Whether you were organizing supplies, chatting with Umemiya, or helping him with his vegetables, you were always doing something there to keep Umemiya company. You never really listened whenever Umemiya would have a briefing with other squad leaders and class reps, but you always seemed to be there.

Patrol for the day had already ended, so Hiragi decided to let Sakura give the report to Umemiya so he could learn how to do it on his own.

Sakura tried not to show it, but he felt slightly intimidated; not by Umemiya, who he now views as a rival that he must surpass, but by you, the reserved, calculated medic that rarely shows a smile despite the gentle treatment you always give.

This time, however, Sakura wasn't sure whether what to feel as he watched what was going on in front of him.

"Sorry about this, Sakura, but it helps with the back pain," Umemiya said, his voice strained as he sent a smile towards the first year while you sat behind him, pressing on his upper back with enough force for Umemiya's grip on the wooden table in front of him to turn his knuckles white.

"He's a stubborn little shit that doesn't know when to stop when his body is already at its limit," you said monotonously, rubbing your thumbs on his shoulder blades. Umemiya hissed, but gestured for Sakura to start his report.

"Uh," Sakura cleared his throat to regain his composure. "The streets were pretty quiet today. Just a couple of pickpockets and the occasional alley beat-up, but it wasn't that eventful. The butcher shop needed a new door, so we helped with the installment. That's basically it."

Umemiya nodded, one eye squeezing shut as your hands moved down to his lower back, pressing against the contours of his muscles to relieve the tension from them. "Alright, thank you Sakura, you can go — shit!"

"Stop flexing your damn muscles, idiot," you muttered. "I won't be able to fix the soreness if your body isn't relaxed."

"Maybe if you were less harsh, it would be easier for me to relax," Umemiya replied, a bit of a whine in his voice as you rolled your eyes. Nonetheless, Sakura noted the way that you seemed to go easier on the other male. Well, his grip on the table was looser now.

It was around this time that Sakura began to realize that witnessing any moment between you and Umemiya would always feel intimate and intrusive, like he wasn't supposed to see whatever was going on between you two despite neither of you being discreet about it.

Am I the only one who sees anything going on between those two? Sakura thought to himself as he left the rooftop while the two of you bickered between yourselves. Maybe this is what people meant by an "outside perspective". People who grew up with the two of you were absolutely blind to whatever spark there was between Umemiya and his medic.

—————

The Final Incident: The (pretty justified?) overprotectiveness.

Bofurin immediately knew something was wrong when Umemiya's usual message broadcasted in the speaker system lacked its usual mirth.

"Team leaders, report to the rooftop immediately. The rest, wait for instructions from your leaders while going on with your usual duties."

Sakura exchanged glances with Suo and Nirei.

"I wonder what happened," Nirei said nervously, brows creasing with concern.

The three had no idea what could have caused Umemiya to be so serious, but they didn't waste time dwelling on it as they rushed to the roof.

As Umemiya ordered, all the leaders of Bofurin were gathered there. Sakura didn't recognize all of them, but he could see that they were strong, maybe even stronger than him.

"Thank you for gathering on such short notice," Umemiya said, stepping out of the small shade that the rooftop offered. His lips were set into a straight line, his eyes downturned and his brows slightly furrowed. "I'm sorry to put more work on everyone's plates, but we need to double patrol this week."

"What happened, Umemiya?" Hiragi asked, his voice projecting the unease that everyone was feeling.

He didn't reply immediately, moving his Furin coat a bit to stuff his hands into his pockets. "There's a gang active in Makochi," He said, voice leveled. "They're targeting students of Furin, especially the non-violent ones."

"They're destroying shops and hurting people," A new voice interjected, laced with pain and barely-concealed struggle as someone hobbled in from beneath the shade, from the part that was hidden from the eyes of those gathered.

Shock rippled through the leaders of Bofurin, gazes unable to leave your limping form.

The best Sakura could describe you was simple: you were in rough shape. Your right eye was swollen shut, with cuts littering your forehead and cheek that transition into bruises around your neck that disappear under your white undershirt that was stained with red in some places. Your face contorted slightly every time you breathed, and your knuckles were messily wrapped with bandages that were already soaked with blood.

Umemiya surged towards you, putting a hand under your bent elbow to offer you more support.

"I told you to rest," he muttered, words quiet but not unheard by Sakura due to their proximity. "Sit down."

You shook your head, the movement making you wince slightly. "My foot was getting numb. I needed to stretch my legs."

"Numbness is quite common with people who have injured their ankle and are subjected to bed rest," Umemiya replied, a bit of his usual snarkiness returning for a bit before leaving just as quickly as it had come.

"Just... let me speak first," you pleaded slightly, looking at your friend. You may be heavily injured, but you had a position as Umemiya's direct right-hand to uphold. You had to show that you were still strong even after the advances that the gang made on you.

Umemiya studied you for a moment, before sighing and helping you reorient yourself so you could face the members properly.

"Did they attack you?" Hiragi demanded with barely restrained anger that Sakura understood. You were also close with him, and you would always check up on him, and now you were hurt. He would be as angry as him if he were in the same position.

You nodded. "Earlier before assembly. Don't worry — the ones involved were handled with accordingly."

A few small smirks appeared in the crowd. They expected nothing less from the second strongest in Bofurin.

You took a deep breath before speaking again.

"They want to challenge Bofurin for control of the town," you said, now addressing the leaders of your beloved gang. "As much as possible, don't entertain this challenge. Umemiya and I will —"

Umemiya cleared his throat loudly from beside you, giving you a pointed look. You rolled your eyes and recorrected your words. "... Umemiya will handle it. Your priority is to protect the townspeople."

"Under no circumstances are any of you or your squad members allowed to include them in the conflict," Umemiya warned, his tone making everyone straighten their spines a bit. "They struck first and injured our medic, an action we cannot overlook. They may be strong, but we're stronger. They step onto our turf with weapons in their hands and evil in their hearts, so you know what to do when they decide to do something with it."

"Purge them with no exception," you finished, keeping your chin held high despite your slouched form. Everyone nodded and responded in unison before dispersing with newfound determination that they would soon spread to their underclassmen as they went out for patrol.

As Sakura went through his normal routes for patrol with his eyes peeled, he thought back to the way you spoke to the crowd of Bofurin members. He admired your display of strength, the way you stood up and talked with authority despite the pain you were in.

Both you and Umemiya were perfect examples of how a leader is supposed to be, and Sakura was sure to take notes. He would need it when he would take over Bofurin, one day in the semi-distant future.

But for now, remembering you and Umemiya and your chemistry together as leaders and... something else, Sakura couldn't help but think that he had a long, long way to go.

—————

Silence enveloped the table before Suo let out a laugh. "I didn't know you had a sense of humor, Sakura-san."

Sakura sputtered, pushing his chair back as he stood up. "I'm not jokin'! There's definitely something going on between them — even I can see that."

Nirei smiled nervously, playing with the pages of his small notebook that he carried everywhere. "I'm sorry Sakura-san, but even with the... proof that you told us, I still don't think they like each other that way."

"You're just saying that because you're used to seeing them act that way with each other!" Sakura argued. "I'm tellin' ya, if they were just friends, there's no way they'd be acting the way they do!"

Kotoha shamelessly eavesdropped on their conversation with a smile on her face. She was having trouble stifling her giggles as she whipped out her phone and clicked on Umemiya's contact to send him a message:

Looks like you lovebirds need to be more discreet. The first years are getting suspicious about you two.

Umemiya cracked an eye open when he felt his phone buzz on his chest, raising it to his eye level from where he laid on your lap on the wooden bench in the rooftop.

He let out a chuckle and nudged your thigh. "Look at this."

You put down your own phone and read the texts from Kotoha, and you let out a small laugh. "I suppose we've been quite bold recently," you hummed, your fingers tangling with Umemiya's hair and massaging his scalp.

Umemiya sighed, eyes fluttering shut as he enjoyed your gentle touch. "Nah, I think it's all 'cause of Sakura's outsider perspective. We've been acting the same as we always have been, but no one's brought it up until now."

"I guess so," you shrugged. "Are we gonna do something about it, Haji?"

He opened his eyes and looked up at you, his blue eyes drifting over every feature of your face, all the beauty and imperfections that he loved to death. "Are you fine with them finding out?" He asked you.

"Yeah," you said without hesitation. "It's not like I'm ashamed of you."

Umemiya grinned, making you flush slightly before hiding your face from him. It wasn't often you were this soft with him, and he enjoyed every moment.

"I knew you loved me," he cooed, and you scoffed, rolling your eyes.

You picked up your phone with a free hand and shot a text to Kotoha before putting it back down to play with his hair again. "Nah, just embarrassed of your lovesick behavior."

"Admit it, you enjoy it!" He sang, and you flicked his forehead, making him whine and hide his face in your stomach. You laughed, eyes crinkling as you basked in the moment with the boy you grew to care for beyond the boundaries of friendship.

Kotoha's phone lit up, and she checked the text you sent her.

Let them be. It's about time people gained vision and actually noticed something.

Kotoha smiled, putting down her phone and prepping another meal for Sakura and his friends.

She was your and Umemiya's number one shipper, and she was so happy that people were noticing both of you more and more. Soon enough, she can yap to someone about how annoying Umemiya gets when he isn't with you, and how you act annoyed when he's overbearing like that, but you still deal with it.

Because no matter what you say, she could tell that you loved her brother just as much as he loved you, and that was enough.

#umemiya x reader #windbreaker #windbreaker x reader #hajime umemiya #wind breaker #wind breaker x reader #hajime umemiya x reader #sakura haruka #suo hayato #bofurin

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bubblegumgothglados · 7 months ago

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This is a RACK focused best practice guide to doing a drowning scene, more specifically a scene where you're repeatedly forcing your victims head under the water. These are my suggestions based on extensive research but they are only theoretical i haven't got to do this to anyone yet. If you have actual experience id love to hear from you please.

Pre-scene setup

Learn CPR. This is the single thing that I'm going to say is mandatory, everything else is just a suggestion this isn't. If worst comes to worst and your victim is drowning you need to be able to save their life.

Learn your victim. How do they react in pain, when they're scared or panicking, where are there mental breaking points. Especially helpful to have done breath play with them before, how long can they hold their breath, how hard will they fight, what are their non verbal cues. Are they the type of person who will push their limits past the danger point, are you comfortable shutting the scene down when they're begging you to continue.

Figure out your nonverbal communication. A safeword is important but not nearly enough for a scene like this. Their head is going to be underwater most if the time and they'll probably be struggling and fighting. What signs can they make to tell you to stop or slow down under these conditions. I would suggest giving them something to hold that can make noise, a squeaky toy or a clicker or something similar, with which to signal you.

During the scene

Use warm water. Cold water adds a whole plethora of new problems significantly increasing the risk. I'm not sure of the exact temperature but I think it should be either room temperature so your victim doesn't feel a temperature difference between the air and the water, or body temperature so the water doesn't change their core temperature. (If you'd like to use cold water or even ice water, if that's part of the appeal, ill happily figure out the additional risks in exchange for a video of you drowning your victim ^.^)

Watch their face. Like any other form of breath play hypoxia is a major risk. This post isn't about breath play, I'm assuming you know all those risks and how to manage them before you do something like this.

Start slow. Put your hand on their head but let them submerge themselves and then come back up when they're ready. This will get them used to the sensation and you used to the rhythm. Slowly increase pressure and intensity until you're forcing their head under and pulling it up against their will.

Have the person fill their lungs to capacity before submerging them. The reason being they will have to breath out before they breath water back in so as soon as you see the first sign of bubbles you can pull them out.

After care

This scene will be intense so the aftercare needs to be too. Again this post isn't about proper aftercare I'm assuming you know how to do that if you're doing something like this. But in addition to the usual.

Have a plan for monitoring your victim for the next 72 hours. There are two major complications that can occur after a drowning incident and both can take days to present themselves. The first is when a persons throat spasms and closes, this is supposed to happen when they initially inhale water but can happen much later. The signs to look out for include persistent coughing, irregular breathing, dizziness, confusion, and foam around the mouth and nose. The second is when water gets deep into the lunges it can cause fluid to build up which inhibits gas exchange causing the person to slowly suffocate. The signs to look out for can include coughing up blood, excessive sweating, anxiety, pale skin, and a crackling sound when breathing deeply. If your victim shows any of these signs get them to a medical professional asap, don't risk it these will both cause very painful death.

Enjoy ^.^

#dear void #lessons in kink

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the-oblivious-writer · 3 months ago

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Heavy

Tara Carpenter x Reader

One-Shot

Summary: After surviving a brutal attack that left you in a coma, you awaken to find the love of your life, Tara Carpenter, has vanished from your side despite the endless nights she spent holding your hand through the worst of it.

Warning(s): Trauma, no pronouns, references to past (Scream 6) violence, mental struggles, survivor's guilt, stalking, emotional manipulation (self-imposed), and PTSD.

Notes: I was listening to Red Hot Chili Peppers while writing this.

You never looked more beautiful than when you were dying.

That thought haunts Tara as she lies in her empty bed, tracing patterns on sheets that still smell faintly of your perfume. Three months since she last held your hand in that sterile hospital room. Three months of pretending she made the right choice.

The machines kept time with your heartbeat, a rhythm she memorized during those endless nights at your bedside. Sometimes, she still hears it in her dreams - that steady beeping that meant you were still fighting, still here, still hers. Until she decided you couldn't be hers anymore.

Sam stopped by earlier, concern etched in the corners of her eyes. "You're punishing yourself," she'd said, leaving a container of soup that now sits untouched on Tara's nightstand. Maybe she is. But isn't that better than the alternative? Better than waiting for the next masked figure to emerge from the shadows, seeking to add your name to the growing list of people she's lost?

Your coma lasted six weeks. Six weeks of Tara reading to you, singing softly when the nurses weren't around, telling you all the things she should have said before. How you made her feel safe in a world that had given her every reason not to be. How your laugh could chase away the darkness that sometimes threatened to swallow her whole. How you never treated her like she was broken, even when she felt held together by nothing but stubborn will and surgical tape.

She remembers the first time you kissed her, after that night at the bowling alley. You'd been so careful with her, like you understood without being told that touch wasn't always easy for her anymore. Your hands had framed her face like she was something precious, something worth protecting. If only you'd protected yourself from her instead.

The phone on her nightstand lights up with another missed call from Chad. He's been trying to get her to come out, insisting that isolation isn't the answer. But how can she explain that every time she closes her eyes, she sees you in that hospital bed? The bandages, the bruises, the way your chest rose and fell with mechanical precision because you couldn't breathe on your own. All because someone had wanted to hurt her, and you'd been brave enough - stupid enough - to step between her and the blade.

"I can't lose you," she had whispered to your unconscious form. "I won't survive it."

But when you finally opened your eyes, weak and confused but alive, Tara realized something worse than losing you to death: losing you by choice, pushing you away to keep you safe from the curse that seems to follow her like a shadow.

The breakup was clean, surgical - like so many of the scars that map her body. She'd practiced the words in front of her bathroom mirror until they stopped making her cry. "I can't do this anymore. I need space. I need to focus on healing." All the clichés that meant nothing and everything at once. You'd looked at her with those eyes that always saw too much, and for a moment, she thought you might fight her on it. Almost hoped you would.

But you didn't. You just nodded, pressed a kiss to her forehead that felt like goodbye, and walked away. Maybe you understood. Maybe you were tired of loving someone who carried death in her wake like a bitter perfume.

Tara rolls onto her side, pulling your old high school sweatshirt tighter around herself. It stopped smelling like you weeks ago, but she wears it anyway, a form of self-torture she can't seem to give up. On her desk, photographs mock her with frozen moments of happiness - you and her at the beach, your hair wild with salt air and sunshine. The two of you at the twins' birthday party, your arm around her waist as she actually smiled for the camera. A quiet morning in your apartment, where you'd captured her making coffee in one of your oversized t-shirts, looking at peace in a way she rarely felt anymore.

Her friends tell her she's different now. Quieter. The spark that had started to return during your time together has dimmed again. Even Mindy, who never comments on anything serious, asked if she was okay the other day. Tara had wanted to laugh. Okay? How could she be when you're forced to bear wounds that were meant for her? When she spends her nights parked across from your apartment, engine off, watching the soft glow of your bedroom light like a moth drawn to flame?

She tells herself it's protection, not obsession. That someone needs to make sure you're safe, even if you don't know they're there. But the truth sits heavy in her chest as she watches your silhouette move behind curtains - the way you still favor your left side, a reminder of wounds that were meant for her. Sometimes, she catches glimpses of you leaving for work, and the sight of you walking alone makes her hands shake against the steering wheel. You look smaller somehow, or maybe that's just the distance she's forced between you.

Last week, you almost saw her. You were collecting mail from your box, and something made you turn, scanning the street with that sixth sense you always seemed to have. Tara had ducked down so fast she'd knocked her head against the dashboard, heart thundering so loud she was sure you'd hear it even from across the street. When she finally dared to look again, you were gone, but she could have sworn there were tears on your cheeks.

She knows it's wrong. Knows that if Sam or Chad found out about these nightly vigils, they'd tell her she's sliding back into old patterns, letting trauma dictate her choices. But how can she explain that sleeping is impossible unless she knows you're safe? That every time she closes her eyes without checking on you, her nightmares paint your death in vivid technicolor?

It's only a matter of time before you two cross paths again. It happens at the corner market three blocks from your old shared apartment. The same place where you used to buy cookie dough ice cream at midnight, where Tara would pretend to complain about enabling your sweet tooth while secretly loving how your kisses tasted afterward. She's reaching for coffee - your brand, though she'll never admit it - when she hears the soft intake of breath behind her.

Time stretches like taffy, sticky and overwhelming. Your reflection in the freezer glass is both familiar and foreign - thinner maybe, or just holding yourself differently. The scar above your collarbone peeks out from your shirt collar, a silvery reminder of everything she's tried to forget.

"Tara."

Her name in your mouth still sounds like coming home. She forces herself to turn, to face the reality of you standing three feet away with a basket of groceries hanging from your arm. The fluorescent lights cast shadows under your eyes that weren't there before, and she wonders if you're sleeping any better than she is.

"You look..." The words tangle in her throat. Alive. Beautiful. Like everything I've been running from. "...good."

Your laugh is hollow, nothing like the sound she keeps locked away in her memory. "Liar." You shift your weight, and she catches the slight wince - another reminder of what loving her cost you. "You've lost weight."

"Haven't been hungry much." The confession slips out before she can stop it.

Something flashes across your face - concern, maybe anger. You take a step forward, and she matches it with a step back, her spine hitting the cold glass of the freezer door. The coffee can in her hands shakes slightly.

"Don't," she whispers, but she's not sure if she's talking to you or herself.

"Don't what, Tara? Don't care? Don't worry? Because I tried that. It doesn't work." Your voice cracks on the last word, and she watches you swallow hard. "I see your car, you know. Outside my apartment."

The confession lands like a physical blow. Heat crawls up her neck as shame mingles with something else - relief, maybe, that you still know her well enough to notice. That some part of you is still watching for her too.

"I just..." She closes her eyes, unable to bear the weight of your gaze. "I need to know you're safe."

"Safe?" Now there's definitely anger in your voice. "You want me safe? Then stop making decisions for both of us. Stop deciding what I can and can't handle. Stop-" Your voice breaks, and when she opens her eyes, there are tears tracking down your cheeks. "Stop acting like your love is a death sentence."

The coffee can clatters to the floor, forgotten. Her hands ache to reach for you, to wipe away those tears she caused. But she forces them to stay at her sides, nails digging crescents into her palms.

"You almost died," she says, the words tasting like copper in her mouth. "Because of me. Because I thought I could have this - have you - without danger following. I was wrong."

"No." You step closer, and this time she can't make herself move away. "I almost died because some psychopath decided to come after us with a knife. Not because of you. Never because of you."

Your hand reaches out, hovering just shy of touching her face. She can feel the heat of it, the promise of contact that makes her chest tight with wanting. The market's muzak plays faintly in the background, some old love song that feels like mockery.

"I miss you," you whisper, and it's the gentlest violence she's ever experienced. "I miss you, and I'm not sleeping, and sometimes I think I see you everywhere, only to turn around and find empty space. And then I realized I wasn't imagining it - you were actually there, watching over me like some heartbroken guardian angel."

A sob builds in her throat. "I don't know how to stop loving you."

"Then don't." Your hand finally makes contact, cupping her cheek, and Tara breaks. "Don't stop. Just... come home."

She leans into your touch for one heartbeat, two, allowing herself to remember what it feels like to be held by hands that know all her scars. Then she steps back, away from your warmth, your forgiveness, your love that feels too much like salvation.

"I can't." The words taste like ash. "I'm sorry. I can't."

She runs. Past the dropped coffee, past the concerned clerk, past everything but the sound of you calling her name. It follows her all the way home, where she collapses against her front door and finally lets herself cry for everything she keeps choosing to lose.

The worst part is knowing that if she could do it all over again - live another life, make different choices - she'd still choose you. Still fall for the way you dance off-beat to every song, still melt at how you bring her coffee just the way she likes it, still love you with every broken piece of herself. She'd just do a better job of staying away before you could love her back.

Night settles around her like a familiar weight. In the darkness, she can almost pretend you're still here, that this is just another evening where you'll wrap your arms around her and keep the nightmares at bay. But the bed stays empty, and the shadows stay thick, and somewhere across town, you're probably sleeping peacefully for the first time since you met her.

"I love you," she whispers to the empty room, words she never said enough when she had the chance. "I love you, and that's why I can't keep you."

The silence offers no comfort, no contradiction. Just the steady tick of her bedside clock, counting down the moments until another day without you begins. Another day of being strong enough to keep her distance, of choosing your safety over her happiness. Another day of remembering that sometimes love means knowing when to let go, even when every cell in your body screams to hold on tighter.

Sleep will come eventually, bringing dreams of your smile, your touch, the way you used to look at her like she hung the stars. And tomorrow, she'll wake up and do it all again - loving you from afar, keeping you safe the only way she knows how. Because that's what love is to Tara Carpenter now: not a fairy tale, not a happy ending, but a sacrifice she makes every day to keep you breathing.

Even if it means she can barely breathe herself.

-----------

A/N: the meaning behind The Maria's "Heavy" inspired this.

#tara carpenter x reader #tara carpenter x gn!reader #tara carpenter x female reader #tara carpenter x you #tara carpenter x y/n #tara x reader #tara carpenter #jenna ortega x reader #jenna ortega

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girllblogging777 · 8 months ago

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𝑇𝐻𝐸 𝑀𝐼𝑆𝑆𝐼𝑁𝐺 𝑃𝐼𝐸𝐶𝐸

↳ mattheo riddle x fem!reader (fluff, little angst)

↳ 𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑑 𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑡 : 1,5k

𝑠𝑢𝑚𝑚𝑎𝑟𝑦 : you and mattheo reunite after two painful months of being away during summer.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

two months. sixty-five days. a thousand five hundred and sixty hours. that was the amount of time mattheo had spent away from you. two months of being secluded from the rest of the world, and from his own world, his girlfriend. two months of enduring the worst and most painful pain, both mentally and physically, inflicted by his father.

ever since he’d started at hogwarts, six years ago, mattheo had always dreaded the time he had to go back to the place others called “home.” despite the whispers and reputation that followed him at school, hogwarts was his refuge. it was the one place that gave him space away from his biggest enemy. because that’s what voldemort was to him, his enemy, not his father.

although mattheo rarely opened up about his family life. or the lack thereof, it was painfully clear for you what he was going through. you knew he would return to school with bruises on his body and scars on his heart, reminders of whatever horrors he had been through at the riddle mansion. the truth was, you had spent the entire summer in a state of anxiety, unable to sleep and feeling like a piece of your soul was missing and hurting. the fact that you couldn’t contact him gnawed at you and made you full of guilt and worry.

“you don’t understand ! if something happened, i would never know,” you had told his friends, who you kept in touch with during the summer. “are you sure he’s okay? i want him back, i can’t bear the thought of him going back there again.” you declared when they all tried to reassure you.

as you said your final goodbyes to your family on the train platform, your eyes wandered the crowded station, desperately looking for the familiar brown-eyed boy you craved like oxygen. one by one, your friends appeared, excited to be back here for another year at hogwarts. you forced a smile, hugging them and making small talk, while fighting to keep your mind off mattheo’s missing presence..

once on the train, pansy cornered you and began to share every detail of her summer flings. you listened politely, but eventually you excused yourself, heading away from your friends and wandering through the narrow corridor of the train. still no sign of mattheo. your heart sank a little more every time you passed through another compartment where he wasn’t.

finally, you found an empty compartment and entered it, sitting down and resting your head against the cool glass of the window. the rhythm of the train was comforting, and despite your best efforts to stay awake, your fatigue won the battle. “where are you, matt ?” you whispered, the words barely escaping your lips before you fell in a deep sleep.

the gentle movement of the train and the distant sound of voices in other compartments surrounded you as you slept, your body curled up on the wooden seat. the weight of the past few months, of sleepless nights and constant worry finally caught up with you, pulling you into a deep slumber.

you didn’t hear the compartment door open. you didn’t see the familiar figure standing there, hesitating, his breath catching in his throat as he looked at you for the first time in what felt like forever. mattheo’s heart ached at the sight of you, your face peaceful but marked by the signs of exhaustion and worry.

for a moment he just stood there, letting the reality of your presence wash over him. he had replayed this moment in his mind countless times during those two long months, as it was the only thing that kept him going. but nothing could have prepared him for the overwhelming rush of emotions now that he was here, seeing you again.

finally, unable to bear the distance any longer, he stepped forward. slowly, carefully and as if afraid to break the fragile peace of the moment, he knelt down beside you, his hand trembling as he reached out to gently brush a strand of hair away from your face.

the touch was featherlight, but it was enough to wake you up. your eyes fluttered open, the memories of your dreams slowly giving way to reality. and then you saw him. mattheo, his familiar brown eyes filled with something deep and raw, something that made your breath catch in your throat.

“mattheo…” you whispered, as if saying his name would make him disappear, as if he was just another dream. but he was real, he was here with you, cupping your cheek and brushing it softly with his calloused fingertips. “it’s me,” he murmured with a rough voice filled with emotions. “i’m here, love.”

you sat up with a pounding heart, your hands reaching out to touch him, to make sure he was real. your fingers traced the lines of his face, the familiar curve of his jaw, the faint bruises that were fresh on his skin. your eyes unconsciously filled with tears, and you couldn’t hold them back any longer. “i was so scared,” you choked out, your voice breaking. “i didn’t know if… i thought-“

“shh” mattheo whispered, pulling you into his arms, holding you close as your body shook with sobs. “i’m sorry. i’m so sorry.” you clung to him, your fingers digging into the fabric of his robes as if you could somehow keep him with you, keep him away him from leaving you again. your touch was hurting his bruised body but he didn’t budge, because your presence was worth all the hurt in the world. “don’t ever leave me like that again,” you pleaded against his chest. “i can’t lose you, mattheo.”

he held you tighter, his own eyes stinging with tears he refused to let fall. “i won’t ” he promised, his voice thick with emotion. “i won’t ever leave you again.” for a long moment, the two of you just held each other with nothing left but the sound of your breathing, the beating of your hearts in sync. you slowly pulled back just enough to look at him, your hands still cradling his face.

“you’re hurt,” you said softly, your eyes tracing the bruises, the dark circles under his eyes, the pain that was visibly there. “what did he do to you?” mattheo shook his head slightly, closing his eyes for a moment as if trying to block out the memories. “it doesn’t matter,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “i’m here now. that’s all that matters, i’m home.” because that was the truth, no matter how much time he spent back at the riddle manor, the only real home he had was you.

you opened your mouth to say that it did matter, that he couldn’t just brush it off like that and that you needed him to talk to you, but the look in his eyes stopped you. there was a darkness there, a pain that made your heart ache. you knew he wasn’t ready to talk about it, not yet. so you nodded, swallowing the lump in your throat. “okay,” you whispered, leaning in to press a gentle kiss to his forehead. “you’re home, baby.”

mattheo seemed to melt under your touch and closed his eyes, his arms still wrapped tightly around you as if he was afraid that you would disappear. but you didn’t. you stayed right there, grounding him and reminding him that you would never leave. “i missed you so much,” you broke the silence, whispering. “every day, every night… it was like a part of me was missing.”

“i missed you too,” mattheo admitted, his voice barely audible. words of affirmations were rare for him, so you cherished each one of his words. “it was the only thing that kept me going. knowing that i’d come back to you.” you looked into his eyes, seeing the truth in his words, the vulnerable side of him he didn’t let anyone else see. you rested your forehead against his, softly tracing the shape of his lips and trying to memorise every single feature of his face.

“i’m not letting you go back there again,” you whispered, your voice steady despite the tears that were about to fall again. “i want to be with you, always.” your boyfriend nodded and tightened his grip on you. “i won’t leave you again, i promise” he declared, a promise he intended to keep.

with that, he pressed a delicate kiss on your soft lips, both of you afraid to hurt one another. you kissed him back, reassuringly tangling your fingers in his curled hair as his hand found your waist, fitting perfectly like a missing puzzle piece. it was gentler than your usual desperate and hunger filled touches, but it meant everything, a promise that the two of you would only ever stay together and protect one another.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

a/n : woop woop here’s a little back to school motivation for y’all, once again highly inspired by a convo from character ai… i loved this request (please give me more !) likes/comments/reblogs are appreciated <3

tell me if you wanna be tagged when i post !

@tateshifts @shiftingwithmars @yikesitslush @elsie-bells @reys-letters @redeemingvillains @helendeath @jolly4holly @fluffycookies22 @fbvreadingblog @bellatrix-lestrange5 @moonlightreader649 @icantkeepmyplantsalive @iris-qt @clar2aa @dexoq @larmesdevanille @myunperfektstorys

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mothmanssweetsucculentass · 9 months ago

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ZZZ Headcanons

Help this game has taken over my free time I love these characters sm <3 Billy Soukaku and Ellen my beloved

Nicole: has a not so secret hobby of bedazzling anything and everything. It’s a real problem in the Cunning Hares apartment, nothing is safe from pink rhinestones and stickers

Anby: cracked at rhythm games to an alarming degree. Can do a 2 person extremely hard DDR song all by herself

Billy: I don’t know how they did it but they programmed an android with autism. Has his own version of a skincare routine which is basically just maintenance on all of his tiny mechanical parts. Can also gain power multiple ways, including solar power. The apartment complex where the Cunning Hares live had a blackout once and everyone used Billy as a personal charging port. Nicole promised to pay him in Starlight Knight merch.

Nekomata: cuts her own hair and offers to do it for other people. DO NOT trust her when she says she’s good at it

Grace: did gymnastics as a kid which is why she’s able to pull off a ton of backflips and flexible maneuvers in battle

Anton: uses actual cement to keep his hair spikes in shape. Koleda caught him in the act once and instead of chewing him out, she decided to apply some to her own hair and now they’re cement combover gang

Ben: is completely vegan and loves chilling at hot springs a lot. Still sleeps with stuffed animals btw

Koleda: I’m making it canon right now Koleda is trans and you can’t do shit about it. Also has welding as a hobby and made most of her accessories from scratch

Corin: when not in Victoria Housekeeping Co uniform, is a Jfashion junkie. I’m talking super dedicated Lolita fits, menhera inspired clothing, the whole shebang. She ofc designs a lot of her own stuff like her bear backpack and is also responsible for a lot of the accessories Victoria Housekeeping Co wears (Rina’s bows, Ellen’s shark jaw head and neckpieces, Lycaon’s eyepatch and tail straps). She also has a massive crush on Ellen and is too scared to admit it

Rina: has a fur allergy and can’t keep animals around. Which also means she’s allergic to Lycaon. She has to take so much Zyrtec before clocking in but has such a good poker face that Lycaon has no idea. Ellen knows tho

Lycaon: specifically wears the heeled boots and has his odd posture because he’s self conscious about his digitigrade legs, he thinks they’re unsightly for a butler of his standing to have. He also tries to encourage Ellen to wear a long maid dress like Rina does to hide her tail.

Ellen: coincidentally falls into a lot of shark stereotypes. She loves seafood, has to constantly be fidgeting or she feels like she’ll go mad, and the kicker, she gets frenzied around blood, or if the thing she’s fighting puts up a struggle. Corin accidentally cut her hand while repairing her saw blade once and both Lycaon and Rina could barely hold Ellen back once Corin began bleeding. Ellen feels awful for scaring the already timid girl. Corin secretly thought it was hot and would die on the spot if anyone knew that

Soukaku: despite being a huge foodie this girl cannot cook for shit. Is also physically cold to the touch and during the summer her coworkers will ask her to hold their drinks because they’ll stay cold. Soukaku always secretly sneaks sips every time they do this to her.

Miyabi: has the worst sleep schedule known to man. Sometimes you’ll find her awake at 3AM and conked out by 4PM, other times she goes to bed at 8PM and wakes up at 4AM. It’s inconsistent and irregular and a gamble trying to contact her outside of work because she might not even be awake

Harumasa: GAY GAY HOMOSEXUAL GAY. Also pretty cracked at chess and other strategy games. Is also a major old fashioned guy and doesn’t own a lot of modern technology. He’s not into retro or old stuff, he just doesn’t like new stuff

Yanagi: her glasses are fake. When she was younger she needed them, but her vision had naturally gotten better over the years, so she now wears contacts, but for some reason still insists on wearing her glasses. Loses them constantly during battle.

Lucy: even though she was forced to play piano as a kid, she really wanted to be a sporty girl and play stuff like soccer and baseball. Now she has the freedom to take part in the sports she likes and watch them surrounded by the people she likes

Piper: insanely picky eater to the point it drives Lucy up a wall. Is also picky about a lot of other things, like how different fabrics feel, different comfort levels of chairs and beds, girl is a complainer and will always find something to complain about

Lighter: has a side gig as a tattoo artist, has really stable hands too

Soldier 11: has 5 younger brothers, a younger sister, and 2 older siblings who she doesn’t see super often. Has divorced parents who also liked to adopt, which is why she has such a huge family. Her younger brothers love it when she comes home and plays secret agent military with them

Seth: can’t drive. That’s it send tweet.

Qingyi: is outwardly dismissive of meditation tricks and hacks and tips but utilizes that shit in private ALL the time.

Zhu Yuan: shares the vegetables she grows in her garden with all her neighbors. Is also a REALLY good cook to the point people have encouraged her to potentially consider a different career path

Jane Doe: the rat girl has pet rats go figure. But in all seriousness she’d die for her little guys. She has a white one named Cocaine and a brown one named Tobacco and a gray one named Crystal Meth. She thinks the names are hilarious and every time she introduces the rats to other people their facial expressions are priceless

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caramel-maive-chiato · 2 months ago

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Stuck with you pt. 2 - Viktor ⋆⭒˚｡⋆

✦ summary: You two are figuring out this whole unexpected pregnancy thing (mostly by arguing). It’s late, raining outside, and you’re both still at the lab, too stubborn to go home, somehow, he’s actually not being an asshole.

Requests open! recommendations and prompts list

masterlist | Part 1

✦ genre: drama/hurt-comfort

✦ pairing: fem!reader (afab)

✦ warnings: mild cursing, Viktor being kind of an asshole to you (a bit softer now)

✦ author`s note: godddd I'm so nervousss, I rewriten this like 3 times, I was scared this part couldn’t reach the same hype part 1 did :(, so I really hope you enjoy it! (no proofread btw)

Some weeks had gone by, now you were three months pregnant, your bump started to be more noticeable even when you tried to cover it up with your clothes.

You and Viktor fell into a steady rhythm of serious conversations about paternity and then came back to insulting each other like any other Friday afternoon.

Though his concern for your health started deepening, the worst part wasn’t that you were pregnant.

It wasn’t even that it was Viktor’s. No, the worst part was that Viktor was being Viktor about the whole thing.

Annoying. Sharp-tongued. Infuriatingly composed. And somehow, somehow, still the most brilliant person you’d ever met, which only made it worse.

Life had settled into a bizarre phase at the lab. No screaming, no dramatic arguments. Instead, it was small things;

Viktor shoving a glass of water at you in the middle of a long work session, making sure you didn’t forget to eat, tossing out a casual, accented: "perhaps you should sit down"

'don’t dive your head into a fantasy that does not exist'

That was the mantra you kept repeating to yourself whenever that warm feeling started to swell in your chest, whenever he wasn't being an asshole. As if his bare minimum of decent behavior was enough to set off a whole internal war within you.

But he was still him. Still determined to get under your skin.

Which was probably why, after days of suspiciously thoughtful behavior, you weren’t at all surprised when he ruined it. One rainy, stormy afternoon;

“Your calculations are wrong” he said, not even looking up from his notes.

You glanced up from the blueprints you were working on, unimpressed. “Excuse me?”

“Your stabilizer formula for the gem holder. It is incorrect, very incorrect actually." Viktor tapped a page in front of him, his usual smirk edging into something even more insufferable.

“Oh, please. I’ve been refining this formula for months. There is nothing wrong with it.”

You saw a flash of light before a raging thunder made the windows tremble. His eyes flicked up, sharp and amused.

“Then you will not mind if I...” He took your notebook from the table before you could stop him, scanning the equations.

Your blood pressure spiked. “Viktor—”

“Ah, here it is.” He tapped a line of calculations with his pen. “a rounding error, pretty basic mistake for the mastermind you pretend to be.”

“It’s fine” You grabbed the notebook back before he could say another word.

“Hmm.” He leaned back. “It is unlike you to make such mistakes. Distracted, aren't you?”

“Maybe I am, in fact, distracted. I wonder why” You huffed, rolling your eyes.

His gaze flickered to your stomach—just briefly, just enough for your heart to do something stupid in your chest—before he looked back at your face, unimpressed.

“Do not blame me for your inability to multitask.”

You wanted to throw something at him. Instead, you exhaled through your nose, willing patience into your voice. “You are so lucky that I am too tired to fight you today.”

“Lucky,” he repeated dryly. “yes, that is exactly how I would describe this situation.”

Your fingers curled into fists. “You are so infuriating—”

“and you are exhausting”

“You don’t listen to anything”

“You always have to control everything”

“I am very frustrating, after all, you have said it many times actually" he hummed, shifting his weight onto his cane.

“because you clearly are" you muttered.

"And yet, I am offering you emotional support," Viktor continued, his tone light, almost playful."a noble man, truly a gentleman."

"Such a noble man, nothing screams chivalry like making fun of a poor single mother."

The words hit like punches in a boxing match, neither of you willing to back down.

Then it came out of your mouth before you could stop it—

“no matter how much you hate me, we still have to raise a child together.”

Silence.

Viktor’s expression flickered, just for a second. He exhaled slowly, tapping his fingers against the desk.

“…I don’t hate you.”

His voice was softer than you expected.

Your anger didn’t vanish completely, but it dulled around the edges.

His tall -cane suported- figure getting outlined by the lightings that cracked behind him made your body tingle in waves, as if the thunder had strucked you.

You frowned, arms still crossed.

“you sure act like it sometimes.”

Silence.

The next time you saw Viktor around the lab, it was late, far past when either of you should have still been in there.

You were sitting at your desk, staring down a half-eaten sandwich with the kind of exhaustion that came from too many late nights and too many unspoken thoughts.

If Jayce wasn’t a complete mess at doing his annotations, you would probably be sleeping at your cozy, warm house.

Away from your emotionally supportive co-parenting bastard.

The only sound was the scratch of chalk against the board, the occasional tap of his cane against the floor, and the rain outside.

Until, of course, he broke the silence.

“You are eating that as if it’s your last meal on death row, it’s pathetic.”

“I am tired.” you sighed, setting it down, your hand sliding down your face.

“Well, you are here, but you could be cozy at home already." Viktor hummed, flipping a page in his notes.

“So are you.”

He smirked, not denying it. “I have an excuse. This is my life, I do what I want, and what I want is to work.”

For all his stubbornness, all his arrogance, you knew he was carrying this research like a burden. That he had convinced himself he had to solve it, no matter the cost.

"Well, let me tell you something that might surprise you, I work here too," you said, tapping the desk. “Monday to Saturday from 8 to 8."

“So do I" Viktor tilted his head, studying you. “But you never stay this late.”

“Yeah, well. Things change.” You hesitated, fingers tightening around your pen.

There was a long silence. A pause, like he wasn’t sure whether to step past whatever invisible line had been drawn between you since this whole mess started.

Then, quietly, “Are you feeling unwell?"

You blinked. The question was so… simple. Not teasing, not smug. Just genuine worry.

“…I’m fine” you said, but even you didn’t believe it.

Viktor didn’t continue further, just nodded. But something in his expression softened just a fraction, just enough to make your chest tighten.

A few more minutes passed in silence before you let out a breath.

“You know,” you said, your voice quieter, “I still haven’t figured out how I’m supposed to tell everyone.”

"Perhaps not like you told me, you almost gave me a heart attack"

There was a pause, a beat where neither of you spoke. Your voice was softer when you continued.

“I didn’t know how to tell you.” Your fingers traced patterns on the desk. “I thought I was going to be a sad single mom"

“You thought I would leave?” Viktor’s smirk faded. His fingers stilled as he fidgeted with a loose screw, and his gaze flickered toward you.

You swallowed.

“I didn’t know.”

His brow furrowed. “Do you really think so little of me?”

“No!” you said quickly, then sighed. “I just… I didn’t want to assume you’d want this.”

You motioned vaguely, meaning the baby, the responsibility, the entire future that came with it.

Viktor studied you for a long moment. His voice was softer when he finally spoke.

"I was an ass," he admitted. "Stomping over you, claiming your research. I shouldn’t have done that."

His hand rested on your shoulder—not pressing, just there, warm through the fabric of your shirt.

His thumb idly brushed against your spine as he moved it down, waiting, patient. Giving you flashbacks you didn’t want to have right now.

"Wow, you are the most morally intelligent person I have ever met, Vik" you said with the most mock-serious tone you could produce.

"I think it is way too late for an apology, sorry buddy.” you continued

"I hand you the best material to argue with me like old times, and you just bitch me around?” he said, eyebrow raised

“You want my attention so bad?"

You didn’t know who moved first, if it was you or him. But the space between you vanished, and then—

Then you kissed him.

Or maybe he kissed you.

It wasn’t rushed, wasn’t some heated, reckless moment.

It was slow. Gentle. Like neither of you wanted to admit how long you had been waiting for it.

Viktor exhaled softly against your lips, like he had finally given up trying to fight something inevitable. Rain drops tickling the windows still.

When you finally pulled away, you were still close enough to feel the warmth of him.

“Hmm.” he tilted his head slightly.

“What?” you frowned.

“That was… unexpectedly pleasant.”

You let out a small laugh, shaking your head.

“Shut up.”

His smirk was small, shy even.

“Make me.”

You kissed him again.

Just once. Just because you could. And somehow, that was the most dangerous part of all.

Requests are open, here is my request and recommendations list!

thank you for commenting on part one my loves! @ocean-mochi @21-princess @biscuitsaredelish @spongelll @zanate-in-the-stars @rainyforest777 @iviorienne @demigoddesofchimichangagod @my-horniness-is-okay

#fanfic #viktor x reader #reading #arcane x you #arcane #arcane x reader #arcane x y/n #arcane fanfic #viktor talis #viktor x you #jayvik x reader #viktor lol #viktor arcane

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dreamdragonkadia · 2 months ago

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As Written Above, So Shall It Be Below Part - I Word Count: 7.7k A/N: The drama is a slow build up. Feedback, comments, thoughts, and theories are always appreciated! Main Pairing: Rhysand/Reader/Feyre Prev - Next ✦ Ao3

And as simply as that, as simply as if you were not on your deathbed, not near the gates of the afterlife, not slipping in and out of wakefulness for hours at a time while glancing at the stars, trying to read them, trying to understand past their whispers.

"Be strong."

"Don’t let go."

"Live."

As if your body had not nearly torn itself apart to bring her into the world—

A year and a half passed by.

It was slow at first.

The kind of slowness that stretched infinitely, where days bled into nights, where every breath was a struggle, where the aching in your bones was a reminder that you had survived when you should not have.

The nights were the worst. The stillness. The memories that crept in when you were too exhausted to keep them at bay.

You had died that night.

Had felt the pull of something beyond this world, had heard the soft murmurs of the stars, had felt the presence of the Mother, cradling you in the liminal space between life and death.

"Not yet." The words had been so soft, like the brush of a gentle breeze against your skin. "Not yet, my dear sweet child. You have not finished your role. For who else shall guide death than the twilight between?"

Then—nothing. Only that whispered truth, before you had been wrenched back into the land of the living. Back into the world of pain, of struggle, of breath that came too raggedly, of a body that struggled to hold itself.

The stars outside your window had confirmed it had not been a dream. They had blinked back at you, watching, waiting, and through their silent, celestial song, they had left you with one more message.

"You’ve been granted the gift you have longed for."

For days, you had turned those words over and over in your mind, searching for meaning. Not once did the stars align with an answer to this.

At first, you had thought it meant her—the tiny child that slept beside you, her breath soft against the night air. But Estella had never been longed for—not in the way the stars had implied.

No, you had not longed for her, because she had never been expected, never planned. She had been a possibility, a future spoken of in hushed tones between you and Rhys, those long, winding conversations that stretched through the dark, where you had imagined what could be.

Your head against his chest, his fingers gliding through your hair, the slow, absentminded movements soothing in their intimacy. Body aching in the best possible manner, muscles spent, breath still uneven, skin brushed raw from the hours before.

The world had been silent then, the walls of your shared bedchamber cocooning you in warmth, in peace, in the kind of safety that only came when there was just the two of you, tangled in sheets and starlight.

His heartbeat had been a melody beneath your cheek, a rhythm you had learned by memory, one that had held you in reality more times than you could count.

"One day," you had murmured, your fingers tracing idle circles over his chest, over the inked swirls of his tattoos. "One day, perhaps. But not now."

Rhys had only hummed, his lips brushing over your temple, his free hand smoothing along the curve of your spine.

"No rush, my love," he had whispered, voice rich with affection, with promise. "We have all the time in the world."

And at the time, you had believed it.

Rhys had always been content to wait, to want what you wanted, to trust that time would bring whatever it was meant to.

To bring his kin into a world that was more peace than war, more light than shadow.

Time must have laughed at you both.

It must have found it funny, too, when the healers had to fight you to rest. "Milady, it will take time for you to heal."

Time.

It was a sick joke, a whispered cruelty wrapped in kindness. You had spent years wielding your body like a weapon, pushing it beyond its limits, enduring pain that would have broken lesser beings.

Fit to be a lady of the Court. Fit to be the wife of a High Lord, according to the last ruler of the Night Court—because his son would have nothing less than perfection.

And yet, it had been this—this moment of creation, of bringing life into the world—that had nearly ruined you. That had left you so fragile, so weak, that even now, the memory of those first days felt like a fever dream.

Vassa had laid beside you on the bed, cradling the infant you could not hold, because you did not have the strength. Her voice had been soft, wry, but her eyes had glimmered with something close to worry. "Time must be your worst enemy currently."

She hadn’t been wrong.

If only you had your magic during that time. Maybe a week at most—and you would have been fine. Would have been able to stand, to move, to breathe without feeling like your bones were barely holding together. Would have been able to hold your child yourself.

But the pain had not completely left, even a year and a half later. It lingered, a constant companion, whispering its reminders with every slow step, every deep breath. You still could not reach for the well of power that had once sang beneath your skin, could not even grasp at the echoes of what had once made you strong.

Not until today.

The sunlight streaming through the windows was pale and cool, the room silent except for the soft crackle of the fire in the otherwise still morning. You reached for your teacup, fingers trembling slightly, feeling the familiar press of porcelain against your palm.

Then—

Magic.

Not a whisper.

Not a flicker.

But a surge, a roaring current flooding through you like it had never left. Like Amarantha had never taken it.

The teacup slipped from your hand, crashing against the floor with a violent shatter, tea splattering across the intricate carpets. But you hardly heard it.

Because magic—your magic—returned to you.

It was a rush of heat, of life, pulsing beneath your skin, sparking in the air around you. You felt your heart lurch in your chest, a tremor running down your spine. A thousand tiny flickers of power curled around your fingertips.

It was the feeling of wholeness.

Of being complete.

As if a missing piece of yourself had finally been restored, as if the emptiness you had carried for so long had been nothing more than a cruel illusion.

And then—the aftermath began.

The doors to your suite within the castle in Scythia flew open, slamming against the stone walls with a deafening crack. But you were already on your feet—

Or at least, you tried to be.

A stumble, a sudden gasp as your body struggled to process the sudden, overwhelming power mixed with previous pain.

A winged Fae stood at the threshold, staring at you in stunned disbelief.

They had seen it. Had felt it.

Your body had flickered—winnowed.

And you had not been the only one.

The corridors erupted in shouts. Fae cried, some fell to their knees, others threw their heads back in laughter, in relief. Because the magic had not just returned to you. It had returned to everyone. The land, the air, the very walls of the castle hummed with power.

It was back.

And the days that followed brought the truth in waves of stunned disbelief.

Amarantha was dead.

The Bitch Queen had been slain.

And Prythian was freed—No longer a land of endless torment.

It was too much.

So much that, instead of collapsing into a chair, you found yourself on the floor, legs barely able to hold you. There had been murmurs of what came next. The Fae who had lived in exile for nearly twenty-three years whispered amongst themselves, voices uncertain.

But it was not your voice that broke the silence.

It was hers.

Estella.

Sweet, fierce Estella, with her long, silken black hair, her star-flecked eyes that had never once let you forget who her father was.

She sat on the rug beside you, fingers curling into the soft fabric of your dress. And then, in that small, quiet voice, she asked the question you had not yet dared to.

"Mama, are we leaving?"

The room stilled.

Your breath hitched, fingers curling into fists against your lap. Because that was the question, wasn’t it?

Would you return to the lands that had been stolen from you? Would you uproot the lives that had been built here, in the quiet sanctuary of the human lands, where these Fae had rebuilt something resembling peace?

Who was to say that the courts of Prythian would accept them back? Who was to say that Rhysand would forgive you?

You had left him. You had vanished. He had lived through hell while you had hidden away, while you had raised his daughter in secret.

Would he hate you for it? Would he curse your name?

It was suffocating, crushing.

But it was Vassa who unknowingly made the decision for all of them.

The human queen who had stood by you, who had fought beside you, who had claimed these exiled Fae as her own.

She turned, back straight, chin lifted, her voice unwavering.

"I would never abandon any of you. For you are citizens of my land. And if you choose, you will continue to be part of my people."

There was silence. Then—murmurs. Soft, uncertain, but threaded with relief.

Because no one would be cast out. Because no one would be forced to return to a land they no longer knew.

And you—

You could no longer pretend that the answer had not been forming in your heart from the moment Estella had spoken.

How could you abandon the people you had brought here? How could you ignore what the Bone Carver had told you all those years ago?

The words that had haunted you since the moment they were spoken. The decision that had sent you fleeing from Under the Mountain, taking who you could, slipping through the cracks of Prythian’s destruction into the quiet, forgotten safety of the human lands.

The decision that had made you leave him.

The Bone Carver had not hesitated, had not softened the blow of the truth. "You are not his, not bound to his soul, Starseer"

Starseer. A title of one who was blessed, one who had been taught to read the celestial language woven through the heavens.

A gift—and a curse.

For the stars did not lie.

You had stared at him then, at the version of yourself staring back—your younger self, the child you had once been, the form he had always decided to wear in your presence. His head tilted, his gaze flickering with something unreadable.

"How odd." The words had been murmured more to himself than to you, but they had still struck a target. "There will be another who comes to claim it. You are but a temporary replacement."

The breath had left your lungs.

"But he does love you."

You had not realized how much you had needed to hear those words until they were spoken aloud, until the truth of them settled into the marrow of your bones. "Does your High Lord even know you’ve come here? That you have opened the doors with his blood?" The Bone Carver had paused then, waiting, but you had not answered.

You could not answer.

Because Rhys did not know. Did not know that you had stolen a piece of him.

That the doors to the Bone Carver’s prison had only opened because you had offered the magic tied to him. The silence had stretched, your shoulders trembling as fat tears dripped onto the stone floor, pooling at your feet.

You had clenched your jaw, had fought to compose yourself—

This was unbecoming of you. Unbecoming of the Lady of the Night.

But the Bone Carver had only watched. Had waited.

And then, with something like curiosity curling in his voice, he had murmured—

"You have known this. You’ve read this in the stars. I am only confirming what you already suspected. It is why you declined when the High Lord tried to instate you as High Lady."

Because it had never been yours.

Had never been meant for you.

Not truly.

"I do not understand," the Bone Carver mused. "Why are you crying?"

You had not known how to answer. Had not known how to articulate the emptiness that had clawed its way inside your chest. So you had spoken the only truth you knew.

"I am heartbroken."

And the Bone Carver had been intrigued.

Had tilted his head again, had narrowed his dark, endless eyes as if peering into something only he could see.

Then he smiled. Not in mockery. Not in cruelty.

But with fascination.

And he had asked you questions.

Questions about the way grief sat inside your ribs like a living, breathing thing.

Questions about how love could still remain when it was destined to be severed.

Questions about how it felt to be temporary.

As if he had never experienced what you had in that moment. As if he had never known what it meant to love something he could never truly have.

And maybe—maybe, in his own twisted way, he hadn’t.

But you had.

The Bone Carver had left you with one simple request. "Do not come back. Do not come save me. I do not want it."

Whatever that had meant. Perhaps it was a warning. Perhaps it was a mercy.

But then—before you had turned to leave that cold prison, before you had sealed the doors once more—

He had said one last thing.

A whisper, soft as wind through a graveyard.

"Well, I think I would like to see her just once."

A pause. A tilt of his head. "Bring her when you can. The Princess of Night."

You had not spoken. Had only met his gaze—your own gaze, the one he had stolen from your past—and let his words settle. And as you had turned to leave, his final words had echoed, curling around you like fate itself.

"The stars align when they see fit. And be sure to take the vial with you when you run."

Centuries had passed since that day.

Centuries since those words had been uttered.

~ ✦ ~ ✦ ~

The council’s decision had been unanimous. They would stay in Scythia. The Lady of Night would officially be brought onto Vassa’s personal council, a bridge between Human and Fae.

Not completely public, but enough. Enough for whispers to start. Enough for the neighboring lands to hear the rumors. There would be an official ceremony when you returned.

If you returned.

“Will you be all right alone?” Vassa muttered, shifting the little Fae on her hip. Estella let out a tired yawn, her small hands curling against the fabric of Vassa’s cloak.

You smiled, adjusting the bag slung over your shoulder.

"Will you be all right when the other human queens find out you have a High Fae on your council?" you countered.

Vassa’s eyes gleamed. “They may shove their condescension up their asses.”

You snorted, reaching for Estella as she all but melted into your arms, nestling her face into the crook of your neck.

“I will be fine,” you said softly. "I leave my people in your care."

"As far as I'm concerned, they are my people now as well. Come home quickly."

And with that—

You winnowed away.

~ ✦ ~ ✦ ~

For the first time in fifty years, you stepped onto the lands of the Night Court. Not Velaris. Not the City of Starlight.

But to the heart of the Western Isles. To a prison carved into rock and time. The air was freezing. A barren, forgotten place. The worst place in existence. A place where no child should go.

And yet—here you were.

Estella had been bundled so tightly in furs, wrapped securely against your back, that you envied the way she had drifted into sleep. She had not stirred once during the climb. Not even when the wind moaned through the empty crags, howling like a wounded beast.

You swallowed hard, shoving your growing unease into the back of your mind.

By the time you reached the top, you swore—you swore—you would never come here again. Not for the Carver. Not for anyone. Your fingers curled around the pendant hanging beneath your tunic, the small vial of blood hidden within its hollowed center.

The last thing you had of the High Lord. The last thing you had stolen. You had taken the Bone Carver’s advice seriously.

And thank the Mother for it.

The walk through the tunnels was familiar. Even in the dark. Even in the silence. Even as the walls themselves seemed to breathe, to hum with an energy that did not belong to this world.

You didn’t even have to say the first word.

"You brought her."

A voice.

A whisper of a voice that should not have carried so far, that should not have slithered into your bones like a memory.

And as always, he looked like you. A child’s version of you.

Eyes flickering. Small hands curled at his sides. Lips parting, as if tasting something new in the air.

And for the first time, the Bone Carver smiled.

"It has been too long," he mused, tilting his head, that eerily familiar gaze raking over you like he could see beneath your skin. "I've missed our talks. Tell me you brought me a good bone."

The words curled around the cold stone walls, lazy, indulgent. You barely had time to react before your fingers twitched, before you tossed the small bag through the wards of his cell.

Bones. Human bones. A gift. A bargain. The bones of the last Queen of Scythia. Vassa had struggled to part with them. Had stood over them for days, conflicted, torn.

But in the end, she had given them to you. Because Vassa understood what few did—the price of power. This was your price.

The Bone Carver made a pleased sound as he knelt, delicate fingers brushing over the bones, arranging them with slow, meticulous reverence.

Then he spoke again. "I’ve heard the High Lord might be on his way shortly."

Your heart froze. The words slammed into your ribs, knocking the breath from your lungs. Your lips parted, your mind raced, a thousand responses forming at once—

But before you could reply, the small body strapped to your back stirred. A warm little hand pressed against your shoulder. A tiny, sleep-filled voice mumbled—

"Mama?"

"I'd like to see her," he whispered. "And then I will tell you whatever you wish to know."

Your jaw tightened.

"I brought her here for you," you replied, shifting the little Fae in your arms, adjusting your grip, meeting his gaze without flinching. "You're the one who asked to see her."

A flash of surprise flickered across the Carver’s face—your face. The child he had chosen to wear as a mockery, a challenge.

He had not expected that answer.

"I didn’t think you would come here just for that," he admitted. "But you have always been full of surprises."

His gaze slid to the child in your arms.

And when he spoke, his voice was soft, too soft.

"She is a mirror image of your husband," he mused. "But is that something to call him still—"

A pause.

A long, terrible pause.

"—when he thinks you are dead? When another has entered his life?"

You licked your lips, "I—"

"You need not say anything, Just listen." And so, you did. To his story. A story you had already heard whispers of in the human lands. A story of a mortal girl. The Cursebreaker. "And she will have the place you never sought. The title he wanted you to have. The title everyone will bow before."

Your fingers gripped instinctively around Estella. But the Bone Carver wasn’t finished.

"Understand—she is not you. And you are very special to your people, just as she will be. They think you are with the Mother, in an immortal land. They grieve for you. Your death is a pawn on the board. And once I tell you what I am about to, turn your head away. Do not come back. Do not break your own heart again."

It was a stupid hope. A fool’s dream. It didn’t take a genius to understand what the Bone Carver wasn’t saying. That the Cursebreaker was Rhysand’s mate.

That whatever love had once bound you to him, was nothing now.

Your lips parted.

And when you spoke—

Your voice so small.

"Okay."

~ ✦ ~ ✦ ~

No one needed to know. No one needed to know anything the Bone Carver had said. Estella had not understood, had only asked in that small, curious voice, “Hybern?”—her little head tilting in that way she often did when trying to understand something far beyond her years.

And like that, you stepped away from the impending war. It was not your business. It had nothing to do with the Fae under your protection. And it certainly had nothing to do with your daughter.

Or so you kept trying to tell yourself.

Trying.

Lying.

Pretending.

"I do not think you should go." The words left your lips in a murmur, barely more than breath, as you sat at the council table within Scythia’s castle.

The other advisors had long since left. Only you and Vassa remained.

Vassa leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms, her reddish-golden hair gleaming in the light.

"And I told you not to go to Prythian alone two months ago," she mused, voice mockingly casual. "Looks like we’re both really bad at listening."

You lifted a brow. "Your attitude is unbecoming, Your Highness." A calm counter. A quiet warning. A stare that had made Estella second-guess her actions more times than you could count.

But Vassa was not Estella. And she was not easily cowed. Instead, she only smirked. "So is pretending you’re not already halfway out the door."

Silence. Tension, coiling too tight. Because Vassa knew. Of course she knew. She had known you too long, had seen the way your hands clenched when war was spoken of, the way your body braced when whispers of Hybern began to spread.

She had seen the way you shut your eyes too tightly at night, as if willing yourself not to dream of the past. And she had not asked you once about what the Bone Carver had said.

Because she already knew how this would end. But she had still waited. Still let you lie to yourself.

"Jurian is likely unstable, Vas." Your voice was firmer now, your patience fraying. "He was tortured by Amarantha for centuries. He hates Fae. Why would he be working with the King of Hybern? This is a trap."

Vassa did not waver.

Instead, she sighed, leaned forward, bracing her elbows on the polished wood of the council table. "And this is why you are on my council. The other Queens call me a used fool. A puppet. But I trust you. That’s why I have to go. We’ll find nothing out if I stay here. And I can trust my people in your hands while I’m gone."

Her lips quirked slightly, a ghost of amusement curling at the edges. "Besides—" she added, voice light, but her gaze sharp as steel— "you fought beside Jurian during the war. I’m sure I can use the stories you told me to my advantage."

Your stomach twisted. Because she was right. Because Vassa was a Queen—but she was also a soldier in her own making. And she had already made her decision.

But that did not mean you had to like it. "Be careful, Vas."

Your voice was quiet. A whisper. A prayer.

Because even Human Queens were not untouchable.

~ ✦ ~ ✦ ~

If screaming was an option, you would have been cursing the Mother herself. But Estella was asleep in your lap, her small face pressed against your ribs, her soft breaths a rhythm against the rising tide of your frustration. So instead—

You turned your rage to paper. To the endless parchments and reports, the tangled web of alliances and betrayals, the half-finished letters and too many maps scattered across your desk.

Trying to figure out something. Anything. Because the next time you saw Vassa—

It would be the biggest I told you so moment in history.

Five months. Five fucking months. That’s how long you had been ruling in her stead, sitting at the head of her council while the other advisors whispered of war.

That’s how long it had been since Vassa was betrayed.

Since she had been sold by the other Human Queens—the very ones who had sat in these halls, who had smiled at her across lavish feasts, who had once called her sister.

Five months since you had taken control, since you had held the council back from calling a war at this outrage. A fight—

One you were heavily leaning toward. Because there were only so many polite letters you could send. Only so much diplomatic restraint you could exercise when the rest of the Queens had assumed Scythia would crumble.

That without Vassa, the country would fall in line. That the people would bow. That the "Long-eared Fae vermin"—as they so eloquently put it—would finally be put in their place.

They had been wrong. So very, very wrong. Because Scythia did not kneel. Because its people—Human and Fae alike—had flourished beneath Vassa’s reign. Because the same Fae they had sought to cast out were the very ones who had:

Restored the land’s agriculture. Created a functioning plumbing system. Reinforced the city with magical wards and barriers.

And so much more.

They had called Scythia a lost kingdom.

But Scythia was thriving.

And you were not going to let them take that away. Not from the sacrifices that Vassa and her mother had made. Not from everything you had built together.

Not even when your dreams had turned strange—

Some nights, it was Amarantha’s laughter, slithering through your mind like poison, her red lips curling, her nails digging into your flesh as she whispered your name like a promise of ruin.

Other nights, it was an ash dagger in your grip, an ash arrow, your hands trembling as you drove them forward—except you never saw where they landed, never saw who they struck down.

And then, there were the other dreams.

Gentle ones.

A painting of a night sky, Velaris stretching endlessly in the distance, the scent of salt and citrus on the wind. A melody played by musicians, familiar, aching—one that left you waking with tears on your cheeks, your chest hollow, empty.

A song from home.

And still, you endured.

Even when you had felt the wall break—the ancient border between human and fae lands shattering—there had been no room for panic. The only proper reaction had been to send those from the Day Court to create wards, an alarm system of sorts for the outer villages.

You had been so caught up in your own thoughts, so focused on the battle to come, that you hadn’t noticed the way Estella was stirring in your lap. Hadn’t noticed the sleepy flutter of her violet-streaked eyes until—

She let out a small, sleepy sigh, her warm little body shifting closer, her hands curling into the fabric of your clothes.

"Mama?" she mumbled, her voice soft with sleep.

Your heart softened instantly, the stress in your shoulders easing just a fraction as you ran a gentle hand through her hair.

"I'm here, sweetling," you whispered, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

She blinked up at you, her eyes—his eyes—filled with quiet trust.

"Bad dream?" you asked softly.

Estella shook her head, a hint of a smile tugging at her lips.

"Vas is home…" A small, sure voice.

The words barely had time to sink in before the doors to the council room slammed open.

"I—There—Mi’lady—" the guard was panting, his armor disheveled, his wide eyes wild with shock. "There was a firebird—an army—and then—the firebird changed into Queen Vassa!"

You blinked. Once. Twice.

From the corner of your vision, beyond the guard—

A figure stepped through. And you let out a cry. Your hands trembled as you set Estella down, as your body moved before your mind could even catch up.

You ran. Across the council chamber, across the space that had felt too big without her in it.

And when you reached her—

When you threw your arms around the human queen—

"You are okay." The words ripped out of you, raw and relieved, your grip tightening as if to confirm she was real. Vassa let out a breathless laugh, but the emotions in her eyes told you everything.

That it had been close. That she had barely escaped at all. Then—she let you go.

And before you could say another word, she turned, kneeling to sweep Estella into a hug. The little Fae squealed, tiny fingers gripping Vassa’s cloak, burying her face against her.

"Please," Vassa grinned, pressing a kiss to Estella’s hair before standing again. "I cannot be kept down."

You exhaled sharply, raking a hand through your hair.

"What happened?" you demanded, scanning her as if she might vanish again. Vassa sighed, rolling her shoulders.

"I cannot stay long," she admitted. "I came to make sure everything was running smoothly—not that I doubted you, Lady of the Night."

A teasing smirk. One you didn’t return. Because there was something else there. A weariness that had not been there before.

"Vassa."

A warning. A question.

Her expression sobered. "Koschei released me—temporarily," she said. "Only to aid in this war. Against Hybern. It seems even that cursed lake-dwelling bastard does not want a kingdom under the King’s rule."

Your stomach twisted. "Released you?"

Vassa nodded, but not in victory. "By day, I am still a firebird. By night, I am myself."

A temporary reprieve. A trap wrapped in kindness.

"The war is coming," she said. "And I have been sent to fight in it."

A small curse escaped your lips before you could stop it. Then—you talked. Spoke of technicalities, of plans, of what needed to be done. Of how Vassa wanted to avoid war with the other Queens—for now.

"But if they come onto my land," she murmured, a flicker of fire in her gaze, "Teach them a lesson."

Your lips pressed into a thin line. Because you agreed. Because Scythia had already suffered enough betrayals. The next time someone dared to cross these borders—They would not leave unscathed.

A knock at the door. Vassa arched a brow, but didn’t hesitate. "Enter."

The door swung open. And your heart stopped. Because the first thing you saw was a human.

But the second—

The second was a High Fae.

And Lucien Vanserra looked as if he had seen a ghost. His amber eye widened, his mouth parting slightly, the scar at the corner of his lip pulling tight.

He stared. At you. Like he had just seen the dead rise.

~ ✦ ~ ✦ ~

If Estella hadn’t been perched happily in Vassa’s lap, you might have taken her to her room. Might have put her to bed just to avoid this whole conversation. But she was wide awake, tucked safely against the human queen, completely oblivious to what was happening in this room.

To the way Lucien Vanserra had not stopped staring. To the way his face was pale, his amber eye flickering with a dozen emotions too quick to name. You could’ve ignored the human man beside him, except—

Except his name had slipped out somewhere in conversation.

Archeron.

It had taken a long moment for the pieces to click into place. And when they had—

When you had realized who he was—

The Cursebreaker’s father.

The father of your husband’s mate. The man whose daughter had taken the place you had once stood in.

Your husband—

The man who was not really your husband anymore, because he had married another. It had to be by the grace of the Mother herself that you managed to stay composed. That you did not let your breath hitch, did not let your hands shake. You could have a moment later. When Estella wasn’t here to see.

But Vassa knew. She knew by the way your posture had stiffened, by the way your fingers had curled too tightly into the fabric of your skirts. By the way your face betrayed nothing at all.

Lucien exhaled, raking a hand through his hair before finally speaking. "We were told you were killed by the Weaver." His voice was calm, but there was something beneath it.

Something uncertain. Something disbelieving. His gaze flickered over you, still unable to reconcile what he was seeing. Like he was seeing a ghost. Like he was waiting for you to vanish.

"And the Fae that disappeared with you?" he asked. "Are they—?"

"All alive and accounted for," you answered softly.

His expression shifted. And you wondered—

Who was he asking about? Because it hadn’t just been Night Court Fae who had fled with you.

There had been Autumn Court Fae.

And Spring Court Fae.

Fae from every court.

The ones who had joined at the last minute, when the plan had been pushed forward, when there had been no time for regrets. When there had only been one chance to escape.

Lucien’s gaze flicked over you again—and then down. To the small figure in Vassa’s lap.

To Estella.

And every instinct in you screamed. A warning. A threat. A demand. Your muscles tensed, your fingers twitching as if ready to strike, to shield, to protect.

Because you knew what he was thinking. What he was seeing. And Lucien hesitated. "She has to be—" He stopped. Because saying it aloud would make it real. Because the truth was too large to be contained in mere words.

"How is this possible?" His voice was barely above a whisper. "Does Rhysand know—?"

"No." The answer came fast. Too fast. A blade against his throat. His good eye widened. But you were already moving, already speaking, each word carved from iron. "And no one will." A promise. A warning. "So I will make this threat as plainly as I can."

The room went still. Lucien held your gaze—and flinched.

"If you so much as tell a soul she exists," you said, voice quiet, lethal, "I will remind you why I have been feared. Why people assume my bargains take souls. Why I was betrothed to the son of a High Lord beyond looks.” A beat. "I will skin you in a way that makes Amarantha look like child's play. Do you understand?"

His throat bobbed. Before he could speak—

Vassa sighed. "Yeah, you say anything about Estella and I don’t think divine intervention is going to help you."

Lucien let out a slow breath, his hands curling at his sides, his jaw tight. But he nodded. "Will you be coming with us?"

The words were carefully spoken. Measured. Expectant.

The Queen snorted loudly. Then—she turned to you. That knowing, sarcastic smirk already curling on her lips. "Yes, will you be coming with us to defeat Hybern again?"

You knew why she was being like this. Because as much as Vassa adored Estella—

She had never quite forgiven you. For almost dying. For the trauma that still lived on that day. For the unknown risk that came with a child who had been sealed in time.

And so you said it—

A single word, quiet, firm.

"No."

Both Lucien and Mr. Archeron blinked. Like they couldn't quite process your words. Like the idea of you—you—not taking the battlefield was impossible.

"I can skin a single Fae with enough effort," you admitted, voice unapologetic, "however, I’ve never fully recovered from giving birth to that one."

You inclined your head toward the sleepy-looking child. "My body is still healing from everything that happened. So I cannot fight. No matter how much I might want to."

The words tasted bitter. Because they were true. They were a reminder of what had been stolen from you.

"I will be here to oversee things until Vassa returns home."

But you had not left them empty-handed. There were weapons, forged and warded with magic, enough for a small siege should it come to full-on war with the neighboring lands.

Vassa had been most entertained by your preparations. And Mr. Archeron—he had been watching you closely. Putting pieces together. Understanding, perhaps for the first time, why you were not just respected—

But feared.

You had also offered your Fae—those who had volunteered to go with them, to war. Even as you gave your blessing, the warning curled in the back of your mind.

Perhaps you should have thought twice about letting them go. Because it only took one slip. One whisper. One survivor making it back to Prythian—

And the truth would come crashing into the light.

At the time, you had believed it was worth the risk. You had believed it was a gesture made in good faith when news of the war’s end reached your ears. When you learned that Hybern had fallen, that the wall was no more, that the High Lords had stood together and won.

It had seemed like the final chapter of a life you had long since stepped away from.

But now—

Now you weren’t so sure.

Not with who Vassa had brought back. Not with the way Jurian was standing in front of you, blinking, his expression utterly unreadable. Not when his lips twitched, his eyes flashed, and suddenly—

He started laughing. A deep, wheezing sound, raw and disbelieving. Vassa sighed heavily beside you, rubbing her temples as if she already regretted bringing him here. But you couldn’t look away from him. Couldn’t stop the way your body tensed, couldn’t quiet the pulse of old memories surging in your chest.

The man who had refused to believe that humans and Fae could ever truly coexist. A man who had once been an enemy. A man who had stood on the same side of a war. A man who would have watched the rest of the Fae burn, but at least would have given you a quick death. Not quite a friend, not quite someone you could trust with your life. But a comrade, maybe.

And now, with him standing before you, laughing like he knew something you didn’t—

You had the sinking feeling that it was far from over.

Jurian dragged a hand down his face, still chuckling, before finally speaking. "Holy hell." He let out another breathless laugh, shaking his head. "So you aren’t dead after all."

His grin widened, knowing, as his eyes dragged over you, taking in every unchanged detail. Or maybe—maybe there were some changed details he was noting.

"I thought the rumors were insane, but here you are—standing right in front of me." He let out a low whistle. "Fucking hell, this is going to send a shockwave through Prythian."

Your jaw tightened. "Glad to see your dramatics never fail. Maybe a surprise, but no shockwave, that’s for sure."

"On the contrary," he mused, tilting his head slightly. "I have a feeling some people would be very, very interested to know you’re still breathing."

Your hands itched to summon magic, to do something—anything—to wipe that damn smirk from his face. At the very least, to hit him, just once, for old times’ sake. He always knew how to get under your skin, like an annoying little brother who had perfected the art of making you want to strangle him.

The only other person who could come close to that talent was Cassian—and even that was a far-off shot.

"As amusing as seeing this go down would be," Vassa interrupted, clapping her hands together abruptly, "I only have hours left."

She did.

You had already been given the rundown of the war—the losses (you did not miss the way Vassa’s eyes saddened when she mentioned that Mr. Archeron had died), the almost-losses that you didn’t want to acknowledge, and the entire meeting that had taken place after the war. "Which brings me to say—" Vassa continued smoothly, "Jurian has accepted my offer to come to my court and will be assisting you in my duties."

You blinked. "Excuse me—" you blurted, completely flabbergasted.

Vassa lifted a hand, cutting off any protest before it could form.

"IF," she stressed, "you need any extra help."

"It’ll be just like old times." Jurian snorted, crossing his arms over his chest.

You scoffed. "Yes, because we are gutting enemy soldiers instead of making sure this country runs smoothly," you snapped back sarcastically.

"You say that now, but let’s see how long you last before you start wanting to gut a few politicians."

“I’ve lasted hundreds of years as Lady of the Night Court. And these past months here. What do I need your help with?”

“Oh, I don’t know.” He tapped his chin, the gesture exaggerated, teasing. “Maybe when the High Lord of Dawn comes. Or when Day arrives. They’ve expressed quite a bit of interest in Vassa’s court, after all.” His eyes gleamed, like a knife catching the light. “Or, gods forbid, when the High Lord and Lady of Night arrive, seeking whatever political alliance serves their interests.”

Your stomach twisted, but you refused to show it.

Then, as if he were merely remarking on the weather, Jurian added, “Though I can only imagine how you’ll feel seeing your husband with his new bride.”

Your pulse stilled.

The room stilled.

Jurian just shrugged, as if he were merely remarking on the sky. “I don’t recall either of you formally dissolving your marriage, but I suppose death does that, doesn’t it?”

Silence.

The room was so silent. Your chest ached in a way you hadn’t prepared for. He had done that on purpose. He had wanted a reaction. Had wanted to see if the ghost of Rhysand’s love still lingered in you.

And it did. But that didn’t mean you would let him have the satisfaction. Your lips parted before common sense could catch up.

"I guess it’ll feel like seeing Drakon with Miryam," you mused, voice quiet, the kind of soft that preceded a storm. And then, you smiled, just enough to make it mocking. "But at least I knew my ex loved me, even when I was at my worst." A beat. Jurian’s smirk froze. "A monster, as she called you. Right? I can’t recall."

You knew how to draw blood even without a weapon.

The whole situation was a complicated matter, one that had once ignited a fight between you and Rhys long ago. You had drawn a line. Had refused to see Drakon or Miryam again, but had sworn—sworn—to keep their existence a secret.

Jurian’s expression flickered—just for a second.

But then—he huffed out a laugh, shaking his head.

"I’m so glad you never change," he muttered, his tone half-amused, half-exasperated. Then—his eyes flickered with something else. Something calculating. "I figured you did after being told you didn’t fight anymore, though. Why is that—?"

Before the question could even be finished, the doors slammed open. Jurian barely had time to react before a tiny figure barreled through.

You didn’t need to look. Didn’t need to check. The timing was impeccable. Standing in the threshold, her dark hair mussed from sleep, her tiny fists rubbing at her eyes.

“You are supposed to be in bed, Estella.” Vassa laughed as the little fae ran into her open arms.

"Because of that." You pointed at the child, your tone flat, resigned, as if Estella’s existence alone was enough explanation.

Jurian blinked once.

Twice.

Then he snorted. "No."

"Yeah."

"You are messing with me."

"There is living evidence."

His lips curled into something wicked. "Oh, the drama you could start." A slow grin stretched across his face, his eyes flickering with delight. "Did he know?"

Your expression didn’t shift. "No."

"No?" Jurian echoed, blinking again. "As in, not at all? Not even the slightest clue?"

"Not even the slightest. I didn’t even know."

He let out a low whistle, stepping back as if he needed a moment to process the absolute madness of the situation.

"So let me get this straight—" he counted on his fingers, dramatically. "You disappeared. You let the world believe you were dead. And in all that time, Rhysand had not the faintest idea that you were carrying his kid?"

You exhaled slowly, your patience thinning. "Yes, Jurian. That is exactly what I just said."

"Fucking hell." He let out a giddy laugh, pacing a few steps. "And here I thought my return to the living was going to be boring."

Vassa sighed loudly, shifting Estella slightly in her arms, brushing the child’s hair away from her face as she sleepily blinked up at Jurian.

"You do realize," Jurian continued, tapping his chin thoughtfully, "that if Rhysand ever finds out, it will be the single greatest meltdown Prythian has ever witnessed?"

Your stomach twisted. Of course, you knew.

If he ever saw Estella—

There would be no undoing it.

But before you could shut Jurian up, he turned back to you, grinning like a fox that had just stumbled upon an unguarded henhouse.

"So, tell me," he purred, "who else knows? Or am I the lucky first?"

Your fingers twitched.

Because the list was short.

Vassa.

Lucien.

A handful of trusted Fae in Scythia.

And now—Jurian.

You narrowed your eyes. "Why?"

"Oh, no reason." He grinned wider, too wide, before slinging an arm over your shoulder. "I just need to know how many people will be in attendance when Rhysand inevitably finds out and absolutely loses his shit."

You shoved him off.

"You will say nothing."

"I make no promises."

"Jurian."

"Relax." He held up his hands innocently, though his smile said otherwise. "Your secret is safe with me. Who would I even tell?"

Your jaw tightened.

Vassa shook her head.

And Estella—still half-asleep—let out a tiny huff, looking between the two of you before mumbling, "Too loud."

"That’s your kid, all right." Jurian snickered.

You sighed, rubbing your temple.

This was going to be a nightmare.

#✨️by yours truly✨️#acotar #a court of thorns and roses reader insert #a court of thorns and roses fanfiction #a court of thorns and roses #rhys x reader #rhysand #rhys #rhysand x reader #acotar x reader #as written above so shall it be below #awassibb #acotar series #vassa acotar #jurian acotar

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extinctlesspains · 2 months ago

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𝐶ℎ𝑎𝑖𝑛𝑠 [𝐹. 𝑋𝑖𝑎𝑜]

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚　˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

ᴘᴀʀᴛ ᴏɴᴇ, ᴘᴀʀᴛ ᴛᴡᴏ, ᴘᴀʀᴛ ᴛʜʀᴇᴇ, ᴘᴀʀᴛ ғᴏᴜʀ

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: ʏᴀɴᴅᴇʀᴇ! sᴇɴsᴇɪ ᴡᴏʟғ/ғᴇɴɢ xɪᴀᴏ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

ɢᴇɴʀᴇ: ᴅᴀʀᴋ ʀᴏᴍᴀɴᴄᴇ, sᴍᴜᴛ! (ɴᴏɴ ᴄᴏɴ ᴛᴏ ᴄᴏɴ)

sᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: ᴛʀᴀᴘᴘᴇᴅ ɪɴ xɪᴀᴏ’s ʙᴀsᴇᴍᴇɴᴛ, ʏᴏᴜ ᴇɴᴅᴜʀᴇ ʀᴇʟᴇɴᴛʟᴇsᴇ ᴘᴜɴɪsʜᴍᴇɴᴛs ᴅᴇsɪɢɴᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ʙʀᴇᴀᴋ ʏᴏᴜ—ᴅᴀʏs ᴏғ ɪsᴏʟᴀᴛɪᴏɴ, sᴛᴀʀᴠᴀᴛɪᴏɴ, ᴀɴᴅ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄᴏʟᴅ ᴛʜʀᴇᴀᴛ ᴏғ ʜɪs ʙʟᴀᴅᴇ ᴀɢᴀɪɴsᴛ ʏᴏᴜʀ sᴋɪɴ. ᴀs ʜᴇ sʜɪғᴛs ʙᴇᴛᴡᴇᴇɴ ᴄʀᴜᴇʟ ᴅɪsᴄɪᴘʟɪɴᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ᴜɴsᴇᴛᴛʟɪɴɢ ᴛᴇɴᴅᴇʀɴᴇss, ʜᴇ ᴅᴇᴍᴀɴᴅs ʏᴏᴜ ᴄᴀʟʟ ʜɪᴍ ʙʏ ʜɪs ʀᴇᴀʟ ɴᴀᴍᴇ, ɴᴏᴛ ᴀs ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴄᴀᴘᴛᴏʀ ʙᴜᴛ ᴀs ʏᴏᴜʀ ʟᴏᴠᴇʀ, ғᴏʀᴄɪɴɢ ʏᴏᴜ ᴛᴏ ᴄᴏɴғʀᴏɴᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ᴛᴇʀʀɪғʏɪɴɢ ʀᴇᴀʟɪᴛʏ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ʏᴏᴜʀ ʀᴇsɪsᴛᴀɴᴄᴇ ɪs sʟɪᴘᴘɪɴɢ ᴀᴡᴀʏ.

⋇⋆✦⋆⋇　

You didn’t know how long you’d been in this place. The days were long and the nights were short.

Time had lost all meaning—there were no windows, no clocks, nothing to tether you to reality. Nothing to keep you sane. The only rhythm that dictated your life was the slow creak of the basement door opening, the soft click of his shoes against the floor, and the measured inhale before he spoke.

"You still haven't learned, have you?" His voice rasp.

You had sworn to yourself that you would never give in, that no matter how much Xiao tried to break you, you would fight. But how long could a person last when their world had been reduced to a single, inescapable presence? He was the only person who kept you sane. The only human contact you had. It was sickening.

Xiao was losing patience. With every day passing, he just wanted you to break. For you to fall into his trap.

“You’re being difficult again.”

His voice was calm—always calm. Even when you defied him, even when you spat venom at his face, he rarely raised his voice. Instead, he let the silence stretch between you, forcing you to stew in his presence until the weight of it made your skin crawl.

You glared at him, kneeling on the cold stone floor, wrists bound tightly behind your back. Your body ached from the last time he had “taught” you obedience, bruises littering your skin like dark stains of his ownership.

Before Xiao, and everything, you were a virgin. But now... You weren't. He loved seeing you cry as you struggled to take him... He found it cute. The way you'd try to push him off you as his hands cropped and his lips kissed your skin. You were disgusted by him.

You hated him.

“I’d rather die than be yours.”

A sigh. A disappointed sigh.

“You keep saying that,” Xiao mused, crouching before you, tilting his head as if you were an amusing little puzzle he was determined to solve. His gloved fingers trailed over your jaw, deceptively gentle. “And yet, you’re still here.”

You clenched your teeth. “I didn’t choose this.”

“But you will, Darling.”

There it was. That word. That word... From hell! Everytime he claimed your body he always used darling, and it sent shivers down your spine. He would whisper it in your ear when he reached his high and kiss your neck. That word alone made you freeze.

Before you could react, his hand struck your face. The force sent your head snapping to the side, white-hot pain blooming across your cheek. You sucked in a sharp breath but refused to let a sound escape.

Silence.

No, you couldn't break now.

Then, his fingers returned, brushing over your bruised skin with a ghost of tenderness.

“That’s better,” Xiao murmured, tilting your chin up. His eyes gleamed in the dim light, studying your face like a sculptor admiring his unfinished work. “It’s such a shame. You’re so beautiful when you stop fighting me.”

Your stomach churned from disgust and hatred. “Go to hell.”

Xiao chuckled. “Darling, I’d drag you with me.”

The punishments were getting worse.

At first, he had simply controlled you—tying you down when you struggled, leaving you alone in darkness until your own mind became your worst enemy. But now… now he was carving himself into you, piece by piece, until the idea of defying him became as foreign as freedom itself.

Some days, he left you locked in absolute silence, deprived of food, water, or even the sound of his voice. He wanted you to miss him. He wanted you to dread his absence just as much as you dreaded his presence.

Other nights, he was different.

Other nights, he came to you with a knife.

Not to kill you—no, never that. But to remind you how fragile you were, and maybe hurt you.

He would press the cold blade against your skin, watching as goosebumps rose in its wake.

Some days he grabbed the knife and physically carved his name into your skin. Property of Feng Xiao.

"Stop resisting," he murmured against your ear.

And then there were the nights when he was gentle.

When he cleaned your wounds with careful precision. When he brushed his fingers through your hair as you trembled in his lap. When he whispered to you in the dark, pressing his lips against your temple.

"I don’t want to hurt you." His voice was almost tender. "But I will if it means keeping you."

The worst part?

A part of you was starting to believe him.

That night, You woke up on the cold floor of the basement.

The room was dimly lit, candles flickering along the walls. The soft scent of incense curled in the air—lavender, you realized.

Your body was sore, exhaustion clinging to your limbs like a second skin. You weren’t sure how long it had been since you last slept properly, but the moment you shifted, a warm hand pressed against your side.

Your breath hitched.

Xiao sat beside you, watching.

“I was starting to worry,” he murmured, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “You’ve been so quiet lately.”

You turned your head away from him.

He sighed. “Still so stubborn.”

You flinched when his fingers traced down your arm, over the bruises he had left.

“You should call me by my name,” Xiao murmured. His voice was barely above a whisper, like a secret meant only for you. “Not ‘wolf.’ I don’t want to be your coworker.” His lips brushed against your ear. “I want to be your lover.”

Your stomach twisted.

“No,” you whispered.

Xiao smiled, pressing a soft kiss against your jaw. “You will.”

He pressed another to your throat, lingering against the pulse point. You couldn’t stop the way your heart pounded, and he noticed.

“You’re trembling,” he observed, amused.

You clenched your teeth. “Because I hate you.”

He let out a quiet laugh, his hands ghosting over your sides. “Hate is a passionate thing, darling. Passion is just another form of devotion.”

Your breathing hitched when his hands slid lower, nails dragging over the bruises he had left. You were so tired, so helpless, and he knew it.

"You’ll break soon," Xiao murmured, lips trailing over your skin. "And when you do, you’ll realize it’s always been easier to belong to me."

Tears burned at your eyes, but you refused to let them fall.

You weren’t broken.

Not yet.

But as his hands tightened around your waist, as his lips brushed against your temple with disturbing tenderness, you realized something terrifying.

You were running out of ways to resist. If you did, you would get hurt.

His lips made his way down to your jaw, then your neck. His calloused fingers went under your shirt, caressing your soft skin.

You wanted to push him away, you really did. But it was pointless. It was this... Or another name carving.

"You're so beautiful..." He whispered against your collarbone, his hands traveling to throw your shirt off your limp body. Tears pricked at your eyes, and Xiao noticed. But he ignored it. You would have to get used to the love making. You had to. You had no choice.

Your shirt was tossed and Xiao lifted you onto the bed nearby. In the basement, Xiao installed a bed for you to sleep on and... For other activities.

He unclipped your bra in a second, and now you were in plain view for him. He didn't say a word before he dove into your chest, marking your breasts and leaving dark hickeys near your nipples. You closed your eyes, hoping it would be over soon.

He kneaded your skin as he bit and sucked all over your torso. A moment later he took his own shirt off and in an instant, both of you were fully undressed.

"Look at me." He growled after seeing your closed eyes. You turned away, feeling sick to your stomach.

A harsh smack went across your face making you gasp and touch you red cheek. You snapped your neck to look at him, tears threatening to spill.

"I said, fucking look. Didn't I?" He stated, his eyes staring deep into yours. It was a rhetorical question and all you could do was stare at him in utter fear.

"I-Im sorry..." You stuttered. His hands wrapped around your neck as he slammed into you. He was rough and cruel, not giving you any time to adjust.

He thrusted into you like a dog in heat, whimpering and moaning into your ear. "God, so fucking tight... Huh baby?" He whimpered out.

You couldn't make out any words, your jaw only dropped at the rough thrusting. You hated your body for betraying you. You were wet for him and worst of all... You were so close to cumming.

His tip hit your soft walls that had you clenching around him. He groaned, thrusting faster almost begging for your cum. "Shit baby, you're sucking me in..." With his movements and dirty words, you let out moans. Which was exactly what he wanted.

"Cmon, you know you wanna cum, hm?" He hummed.

You whined, pushing you hands to his chest as you bucked your hips into him. He chuckled darkly, making his thrusts sharper. "Yeah baby? Like that spot?"

He released one hand from your neck, bringing it down and rubbing your sensitive bud. And that... Was the end of it for you.

You screamed out of pain and pleasure combined, some tears spilling. You arched off the bed, clenching and cumming around Xiao's erection.

He moaned into your neck, thrusting a few more times and cumming inside your sweet cunt.

As he came... He said the words.

"I love you, darling."

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sesmiq · 3 months ago

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happy birthday୨ৎ (drabble) ── .✦pairing: artist male y/n x childhood friend oc —warnings: this author have not written anything other than his uni essays for months ^^!, v rushed, not proof read, hyeon being a red flag lowk harhar, y/n developing stockholm syndrome, manipulative/yandere behavior (i do not condone irl!! all is fictional, please be safe.) —sequel ? to this! ; Lee Hyeon

7th November 2023, 11:32 PM The ticking of the clock annoyed y/n, each tick was too loud, or too sharp. Its as if it is mocking him, counting every minute of his misery. He could feel every tick like a small puncture to his already frayed nerves, his heartbeat syncing with its rhythm. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to block it out, but the sound only grew louder, more suffocating. He sat on the bed, one of his legs shackled to the wall, while the other wrapped in bandages, a small reminder of what had happened the day he tried to escape from the mansion. He glanced at the clock on the wall, ..it was a few minutes before his birthday, Honestly, he doesn’t even know why he bothered to keep track of the dates,, but it should be more than half a year since he's been isolated from the world. y/n let out a bitter laugh, hyeon- his supposed savior, his childhood friend, also, his captor, had gone to a quote on quote business trip after he tried to flee the mansion again. Hyeon had been gone for days, maybe even a week.. his stomach suddenly twist from hunger, the.. food hyeon had left for him (a packet of cheap instant cup noodles that lasted about 3 days or so. though, no hot water was even given to cook it.) were long gone. He misses hyeon’s home cooking. But even as the emptiness clawed at him, there was something else—something darker. A sense of longing. For Hyeon. A strange attachment that twisted inside him like a knot in his chest.

He cares about me, Y/N thought, though he had no idea where this feeling came from. It was hard to fight when his mind was fogged by exhaustion, but somewhere deep down, he felt like the pull toward Hyeon was the only thing left.

Hyeon was there during his worst, he was there the time his parents kicked him out for wanting to pursue an artistic career. He was there to lend his shoulder when y/n was dumped during their college years. (guess what happened to the person dumping y/n lolol) When is he going to come home? Did hyeon finally get bored of him? What if he never comes back? Will y/n die by himself in this stupidly large mansion in the middle of nowhere? It terrified him. As if right one cue, y/n heard a faint footstep right outside the door. His heart skipped, is his mind playing with him? Is the lack of food finally catching up to him..? And then, the door creaked open. 7th November 2023, 11:56 PM Hyeon stepped inside the dark room, carrying a box of cake along with a few shopping bags.. He looked.. calm. yet, he didnt say anything but let out a small sigh when he saw y/n’s condition. He put the stuff away before kneeling down in front y/n, his eyes softening slightly. Hyeon’s hand reached up, gently brushing the other’s hair away from his face. “You’ve been so good.” he murmured, his voice like silk., his hand sliding to cup y/n’s cheek. y/n didnt pull away, instead he leaned into hyeon’s toucj, his eyes fluttering closed as the warmth of hyeon’s hand.. was comforting compared how cold the room is. He hated it. Hes not supposed to like his captor. Hyeon’s other hand came up, tilting Y/N’s chin upward to meet his gaze. The affection in his eyes was gone, replaced by something that made shivers run down his spine. “I’ll never leave you.” he whispered, smile was gentle, as if trying to reassure his beloved. “You won’t leave me, will you?” Y/N’s heart thudded painfully in his chest, too weak to protest, too desperate to care. Hyeon’s touch was the only thing that made him feel alive again,, 8th November 2023, 12:00 AM Hyeon leaned in, his lips pressing a soft kiss to Y/N’s forehead, a gentle gesture that felt almost like a promise. “Happy birthday, y/n.”

a/n: omg a ghost is talkimg,, haha. v rushed, (as u can see) been trying to write something since idk, august? but i dont think the school excuse is gon' work,,, in all honesty i had no motivation to write, like at all. i couldnt think of a single idea (hence this sequel),, though i have a bunch of draft with what i want to write thats not even 50% completed lol i hope i can post them in the future! forgive me for going MIA ^^ i hope you enjoyed this,, will probably edit this once i wake up (currently 2:34 am) goodbye ૮ ․ ․ ྀིა

#mayi'srants—#bottom male reader #male reader #oc x male reader #bttm male reader #mayi'swriting—#mayi'scharacter—#x male reader #sub male reader #male reader insert #yandere male x reader #soft yandere

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eclipseberrycake · 4 months ago

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Poly! MoonBerryCake x Reader Pt. 2

Y'all came outta NOWHERE- Hi <3

I love these guys sm so when people started asking for more I was like "...Twist my arm okay-". Like I did not need to be convinced don't y'all worry.

Anyway, here are my tags plus shoutout to that anon who sent me the request! I sure do do requests especially ones like that <3

OG Inspo: @huneybeen

Divider Credit: @sister-lucifer

And @unaecsmr .

And that one anon too!

I hope this lives up to expectations <3

Content Warning: Slight descriptions of violence. Puns.

☁ Happy holiday update guys <3 The first run I played all I talked about was how Twisted! Rudie's run looks like he's hitting the griddy.

☁ Anyway, what better way to celebrate than more MoonBerryCake?

☁ Now, you all don't really define you're relationship per say, after the ending of part one, which you can find -> Here!

☁ You all sort of fall into some sort of rhythm after the fact though.

☁ I didn't spend a lot of time on Sprout because I wasn't feeling well, so I feel like I owe it to him!

☁ Sprout can especially recognize the dynamics at play. As much as he loathes admitting it, being with you three losers (Affectionately) makes him happiest. He can't possibly pick one.

☁ So while you and Astro and Cosmo all stay up at night, worrying about budding feelings and crushing the hearts of the others and feeling your own eyes well up at the thought of gaining one, but losing the others, Sprout is SOUND asleep. He is drooling on his pillow. He is snoring loud enough Pebble hid under coal for protection (Across the complex).

☁ Because he knows one thing for certain. He's got two hands, one chest and a dream. He knows what he wants from life now. And he's going to get it, mark his words.

☁ He knows he's over and done with it, devoting himself to the three of you completely after that reunion from that failed run.

☁ You had been downed long enough you had finally argued your bed-ban be lifted while he himself had threatened a solo-style jail break into the elevators if they tried keeping him chained once more.

☁ He had to admit, the two of you made an incredibly stubborn team and if he had any interest in debate, he'd probably use you. As it stands, he decides to keep you around anyway because someone's gotta tell Brightney he's not healing her and it ain't gonna be him.

☁ The retrieval run was one he knew you had been dreading for awhile, all three of you actually, as this was by far one of the more dangerous Twisteds. That being said, stepping into the elevator made his entire being just shiver at the atmosphere surrounding them.

☁ He didn't like it. He needed to fix it. Especially his trio. Yeah, his. Fight him for it. He's already called dibs. You can't.

☁ Astro's eyes are locked onto your form as you stretch your legs, holding your ankle to your butt for a few seconds before switching. You're mindlessly listening to Goob. Sprout knows Goob rambles when he's nervous and he's rambling faster than Sprout can keep up. Cosmo himself is burrowed into Astro's shoulder, hiding his face in the fur neckline as if refusing to see what'll come of the run.

☁ Sprout doesn't blame him. His memories from being a twisted are blurry at best, but even he can remember Pebble's twisted form. The snarls that rang out as he achieved top speed. He was fast. Impossibly so. Faster than any one of them.

☁ But you were bound and determined to get them all back. Every. Single. One of them.

☁ The thought makes him bite at his lip as he huffs. He had chosen Teagan's trinket for the sole reason of having that heal ready to go no matter what. The one relief he had was that Cosmo wouldn't be so alone in this anymore. He knew Cosmo had a habit of spreading himself too thin, especially when it came to healing you or Astro, and the thought made his chest bristle.

☁ No more. He'd be there for the worst case scenarios. While he wasn't the fastest toon out there he still was fast. He was fast and could run. He had stamina. He'd be assed before extracting anything worth a damn, but he knew damn well how to distract well enough to buy you or Goob a few minutes.

☁ Nodding to himself, he placed a hand on your shoulder as the elevator stilled, ending the time they all had to prepare. "You got this, bud. We'll be cheering you on the entire way."

☁ You snorted at the nickname, taking a deep breath. "Bud? Like a flower bud I'm guessing? Where did that come from?"

☁ He smirked at the question, watching the large gears begin to slowly turn as the door slowly opened. "Well, when a mommy strawberry and a daddy strawberry love each other berry much-"

☁ He nearly cackled at Cosmo's affronted shout of his name while Astro boo'ed the pun. You gave a soft chuckle before shaking your head, shooting him a look. "Unbe-leaf-able." You scoffed good naturedly before taking off with Goob by your side.

☁ This time Sprout joined Astro's boos. It was only fun when he did it. Ask Fin.

☁ Don't ask him.

☁ Running off, it feels almost familiar the way he and Cosmo stick together, Astro splitting off to use Vee's trinket quickly to ease the pressure on you and Goob. He watched Cosmo's back and by the time that machine was finished, the other's were as well. Astro met back up with them halfway back to elevator, giving both him and Cosmo a once over before nodding them inside and waiting for you.

☁ And Goob, I guess.

☁ It's almost prideful, the way Sprout watches Astro's power light up the ground below him, fluttering around yours and Goob's feet as the three of you quickly make your way into the elevator with it slamming shut behind you.

☁ The thick tension is back and heavier than a bad pun can fix. So Sprout does what he does best really. He waits for his trio to be done browsing the shop (Like the heavens blessed the run, Dandy was there with the serum on a pillow and both a bandage and box of chocolates). Cosmo is just short of tapes needed for a band, only to light up as you pass him some you swiped while distracting.

☁ He's quick to wrap his arms around you, pressing a sweet kiss to your cheek with a quick nuzzle, leaving you just dazed enough you're staggering as he swipes the heal. Astro is behind you with a small chuckle, ensuring you don't fall before handing over his own stack of tapes and taking the box of chocolates as Goob pays for the serum.

☁ Sprout has no idea where all these tapes are coming from and is almost a little pissed. If it was anyone else, he would've been. Except Goob. Though, Goob paid for the one thing everyone agreed upon buying so even then he's hard pressed to stay mad. Still. Everyone's heals are on thin ice until further notice.

☁ Except his three of course.

☁ By the time the three of you are done and Dandy is preparing to disappear, he's already rounding you into a group, checking every single one of you for so much as a scratch.

☁ When nothing comes back, he turns to rubbing at your already dirt stained cheek with his glove, clicking his tongue before licking the pad of it only to return it to scrub at the patch of dirt, despite your protests. Glisten's laughing in the back, along with Cosmo and Goob. Even Astro has a humored grin on his face, but oh-ho. Sprout isn't done.

☁ No, once he's satisfied, he reaches and grabs Cosmo before the swiss roll can run and repeats the process.

☁ Astro's only saving grace is the ding of the elevator. But Sprout vows vengeance. Oh, vow it he does.

☁ The next few floors flow smoothly, even if the tense atmosphere remains an ever present reminder of the responsibility on your and Goob's shoulders. You carry it with every move you make, especially cautious of the Twisteds you lead to ensure you're in top condition for the big dog.

☁ I didnt think I had this many puns in me omg

☁ By the time footsteps are echoing outside the door, Cosmo and Sprout both have enough med kits and bands to choke a horse, with everyone standing at full health. Astro himself had a bottle of pop for emergencies and a handful of smoke bombs so he could get in and out after giving you and Goob a boost and minimizing the risk. You and Goob both have quite a few things of chocolate and bottles of pop, speed candy in your palms as you both down it with more waiting.

☁ When the elevator opens, you gave them all a sad wave before taking off much faster than you normally do, quickly finding and distracting Pebble as Goob takes the other three in the opposite direction. Everyone knows the plan. They had gone over it several times in preparation for this moment.

☁ You were to be left alone to focus on distracting. Absolutely no exceptions save for the healers or Astro when the time arose. They would get in, get out and between you and Goob, one of you would pull Pebble's attention away long enough one of you could stick him.

☁ Sprout didn't like it personally, grabbing Astro and pulling him into his chest as he hid behind a box while you and Pebble passed, a rotten, no good feeling settling into the pit of his stomach.

☁ He waited until he couldn't hear either of you anymore before letting go of Astro, who gave him a thankful nod. Sprout returned it, giving a soft smile before both were looking over at the sound of a gasp.

☁ Cosmo was knelt on the ground, fingers stained black. Immediately assuming the worst, Sprout nearly screeched as he grabbed for the med-kit as Astro was grabbing Cosmo, searching for the source of the injury.

☁ "No, no, it's not me!" Cosmo shook his head, pushing away both Astro and the med-kit. "They've been hit." He continued, looking down the way you came from.

☁ Sprout and Astro's eyes followed the same direction, the former swallowing tightly. Nodding, Sprout took a step in that direction, fingers already heating up as his own power sang in his veins, only for the lights to flicker red as the last machine finished.

☁ "Get them at elevator." Astro's voice cut through, grabbing him through his blanket and tugging him in the needed direction. "We'll be there if something goes wrong."

☁ Looking back, that should've been a warning.

☁ The last few seconds of panic were always hectic. He knew this. But on a retrieval run? It was so much worse.

☁ They had all mad it back to the elevator, save for you and Goob. Goob was right on schedule, loosing the other twisteds somewhere they wouldn't bother you or anyone near elevator and skid to stop right beside where Astro and the healers were waiting, looking at the doorway they instructed you to come through. It came a clear shot for all of them to hit you should the need be, either by a heal or a shot of adrenaline.

☁ The feeling in Sprout's gut jumped and he understood why. As you appeared a feeling of uniform dread and panic split over the group. You're side was oozing ichor as you hit the doorway, absolute terror written across your features as you ducked a set of jaws that just barely missed you, sinking into the wood and crunching.

☁ That could've been you. The thought made Sprout shout as you took off towards them. You reached for your hip, tearing off the serum and throwing it at Goob, who caught it. You were out of pops and out of chocolate and the realization hit them within seconds.

☁ Goob's arms shot out just as Pebble lunged. None of them could've moved fast enough. They could only watch as Pebble's jaws bit into you side, making you scream out in both alarm and pain as tears sprung to your eyes. A chorus of shots came in a cacophony of noise.

☁ Sprout shot forward just as Pebble let out an ear piercing howl. His own arms scooped you against him as you sobbed, ichor staining his chest and scarf as he ran back to where Cosmo and Astro were waiting, equally as panicked as he felt.

☁ Goob grabbed Pebble, turning tail and just making it into the frantic elevator as it slammed shut.

☁ It was a blur from there. Cosmo's hands rushed for the med kits as Astro pumped your body with enough adrenaline and stamina to keep going. Sprout's own hands were a flurry as he used the mass of tapes he hoarded to trade their worth for life force. While normally he just infused it into the treats he kept on hand, this time he threaded it directly into the wound, even as you grew impressively colder.

☁ They needed to get back to med-bay and fast.

☁ Glisten got you all back, shouting for the others to clear the way as both you and Pebble were rushed into med-bay. It was a long night from there, all three watching and waiting for you to give some indication of being okay.

☁ Sprout never let the other two leave his sight for long after that and knew then and there this was it for him. He never wanted to feel this way again, but that contrasted so heavily with the simple fact that you weren't actually his. None of them were.

☁ But he wouldn't let that remain. That's right. Sprout gets you all together. Sucks to b you guys, he's never letting any of you live it down.

☁ After that night, he works damn near tirelessly to get the dense trio you all make to work with him rather than against each other.

☁ But it's hard. Uber hard. You're all just so...dumb. He says. With affection. None of you seemed to think yourselves capable of love! Like. What kind of dumbassery?

☁ Cosmo keeps thinking his advances are just friendly, Astro refuses to believe anything nice about him is true and you keep thinking it's another smart quip of his and he doesn't mean it.

☁ He'd kiss you all stupid for such thoughts but he fears that's not possible and he hasn't even gotten to kiss you yet.

☁ So, after a few weeks he does what he always does when stressed.

☁ He bakes.

☁ He just like me fr.

☁ He's angrily mixing a dough for those cookies the two of you ate some time ago, groaning all about everything that's wrong with his life currently as if the poor dough is at fault. "Hopeless in love they say. Oh, they're hopeless all right. And who paid the consequences? ME! I was making stupid puns for them. Puns. Me. OF ALL THINGS-"

☁ My brother in crust is going through it. He goes on and on about all he wants to do it cuddle and kiss and date the three of you. but do any of you make his life easy? No. Why would you. That would be too nice for dear old Sprout Seedly. Things can never just be black and white.

☁ "And another thing-" Sprout's shouting as he dumps the dough onto the floured counter, turning to the sink to drop the bowl into the waiting soapy water only for it to clatter on the ground as he's immediately clamping his jaw shut.

☁ "...You're supposed to be in bed." Is all he manages.

☁ You blink at him, all sleepy doe eyes and messy bed head before chuckling, holding a lazing Pebble in your arms. The rock had taken quite the liking to you and Sprout was man enough to admit that he was in fact jealous. "So are you."

☁ "I'm bakin'." He shoots back, turning back to the dough immediately and forgetting about the bowl as his cheeks light aflame.

☁ "At 3 AM?" You tease, stepping closer. He doesn't turn to look, but hears the sound of the bowl being dropped into the sink and Pebble being set down onto the ground. The pup whines, runs in a circle before trots away to lay in either his dog bed or burrow back into your bed. You're body presses against his back as your arms wrap around his waist, your bony chin laying on his back.

☁ "Yes at 3 AM. Someone ate all the cookies and didn't fill the jar." He spits, but there's not venom as he rolls out the dough. You're unbearably silent and he doesn't like it. How much did you hear previously? "You're supposed to beresting."

☁ You hum, but don't move. He almost asks what you're thinking if only so he doesn't have to overthink about it when you speak up again. "You sounded so...sure."

☁ Sprout furrows his brows. "Of?"

☁ "Us. The four of us." You mumble with a heavy breath. "Like-...Like that's all there is too it."

☁ "That is all there is too it. If we all wanna date each other, I don't see the problem." Sprout grunts, grabbing one of the cookie cutters he had set aside. It sinks into the dough under his weight just the way it should and he quickly picks up a rhythm.

☁ You're silent once more, but you don't move. He's done with nearly all the dough, rolling out the last bit for the final round of cookie cutting, when you finally move, lips tracing his spine. "Do you want that?"

☁ Sprout stops, blinks and looks down.

☁ "I think i wanted it since we've met and only now the rest of me finally caught up."

☁ That's where the other two find you later. You're in an apron with Sprout behind you, hands moving with yours as you ice a cookie. There are a few off to the side, obvious examples from where Sprout must've shown you how to decorate...Astro's face once more onto the cookie.

☁ Astro uses a star shard to pick one up, bringing it closer to him and Cosmo only to guffaw at the state of it. Cosmo snorts only to clap a hand over his mouth when you two look over. To their surprise, you and Sprout only grin. The icing is dropped as you run over, or as much as you can before all three are yelling at you to "Take it easy for Dandy's sake!"

☁ You grumble but do as told.

☁ "We made cookies." You explain, Sprout nodding behind you as if corroborate the story.

☁ "With my face?" Astro deadpans, making Cosmo snicker.

☁ "Some have Cosmo's." You explain, only to wince. "I did those ones though, so they aren't Sprout level."

☁ "I'm sure they're perfect." Cosmo cuts in, making you smile. It's one that says everything they need to know. They're probably awful, but that's what'll make them so good.

☁ "They're an offering." Sprout pipes in, setting an extra piping bag down. "Date us and we-...I'll bake you cookies." You nod eagerly at this proposition even if both Cosmo and Astro are wondering if they were the ones in fact mauled by Pebble and hit their heads on the way down.

☁ "...Date...us?" Astro cautions, almost too nervous to do so as he glances at the cookie the star shard is still holding.

☁ "Me and bud over there. You two and us two." Sprout nods resolutely even if nerves make him feel like he's going to vomit. "Like all four of us."

☁ There's silence before Cosmo is snorting into his hand. Then he's laughing. Then he's cackling. He had moved just a bit, holding one of the cookies you decorated. It's a mess of smudged icing, piled on high enough it'll overpower any taste the cookie has. It makes him laugh so hard he crouches over, even if your affronted complaints die into your own giggles.

☁ By the time Cosmo can breath again, he wipes an eye with his hand. "Everyone's so creative." He sighs, turning to look at you with a grin. "I would love to. Even if you're cookie decorating needs some work."

☁ Before he knows it, all eyes are on Astro as he blinks. A part of him is screaming all sorts of question after question ramming around his brain about schematics and the others opinions and he's gonna need a much bigger bed because he can't do cuddle shifts. If he's cuddling one of you, he's cuddling all of you.

☁ Looking at the cookie with his own face, he knows his answer before he even really has to think about it, grinning as he laughs, nodding his head.

☁ After that the rest of the cookies are decorated and stored, dishes left to dry before Cosmo and Astro are dragging both you and Sprout back to bed, practically pinning you in place as you two get the rest you missed out on earlier.

☁ For once, in a long time, no one is haunted by nightmares and the twisteds seem too far away to care at the moment.

☁ Even Pebble joins the cuddle pile with a wagging tail, pleased to see his packmates happy.

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