#if she can terrorize you she will do it in a heartbeat

[caitlynmeow]

she's a real menace, an absolute terror. Cassandra Dimitrescu is no one's peace and her wife is a living example of this

[1800-fight-me]

Safety in Your Arms

Logan Howlett x Female!Reader Rating: M (Mature but as always-MINORS DO NOT INTERACT) Warnings: Cursing, threats of violence, stranger danger i.e. stalking but don't worry Logan saves the day Word count: A bit over 2k Synopsis: Logan protects you from the unwanted advances of another man and shows protectiveness and care you didn't know he had for you. Author’s note: I'm thinking this might need a part two, let me know what y'all think- I hope you enjoy! P.S. I do not have a taglist! Instead if you would like to be notified when I post new fics follow my side blog @jo-writes-fanfic and turn your post notifications on! Comments and reblogs make my day! Logan Howlett Masterlist Main Masterlist

There was a cold panic that shot down your spine. Fight or flight, you’d learned the technical term, but now experienced it for yourself. 

The five minute walk between your work and your apartment had never felt so long. It all started with a creepy customer- which was a regular occurrence at your job- but this customer took it far beyond creepy. 

He tried to make too much small talk, stared too much, made a few too many over the line comments, and was entirely too pushy when asking for your phone number. Your one male coworker escorted him out and you thought that was the end of it. 

Hours went by, you assured your coworkers multiple times that you were fine and you were safe, and eventually you were the last one left to close and lock up. 

But only one block away from your workplace, you had the feeling of being watched- of being followed. And it was just your luck that your phone was dead and you’d forgotten your charger at home.

You changed your route, taking one that was a bit longer but also more well lit and populated. With a glance back you confirmed your worry, that it was in fact the same creepy guy from hours before. 

Your heart pounded with terror as you contemplated every option for safety. Your apartment building required a code to enter, so you sped your walk, hoping if you slipped into the building and shut the door behind you that it would be enough. 

“Hey,” the man’s voice called out, but you refused to look back. 

Your apartment building was within sight, but the man’s catcalls and jeers were also getting louder and closer. 

“Hey, c’mere pretty lady! I’ve got somethin’ for ya!” 

Your whole body shuddered in fear. Your next door neighbor stepped outside of the front door of the apartment building and you nearly sobbed in relief. 

“Logan!” you called out. 

He looked up in surprise, but his expression quickly turned to concern as he saw the stress in your entire demeanor. 

You practically ran to him and threw your arms around his torso in a hug he clearly did not expect. He hugged you back, but you felt him stiffen as he looked behind you. 

That was one thing about Logan, he was extremely perceptive and quick to notice any form of danger. 

“Hey bub, what can I do for you?” he said to the man behind you in a gruff tone that was not at all welcoming as he gently maneuvered you so that you stood safely behind him. 

You gripped Logan’s strong bicep as you peered around his shoulder at the stalker. 

“I was just-” 

“Just nothin’. You better leave her alone,” Logan interrupted. 

“C’mon, I was just inviting the pretty lady to have a good time. Does he speak for you?” the creep asked as he made eye contact with you. The malice in his eyes made your heartbeat spike again. 

“Yeah, he’s my boyfriend,” you said nervously. 

He glanced between you and Logan as if uncertain. 

“She just told you, she’s mine- so fuck off,” Logan growled. A different kind of shiver went down your spine. 

“You live here?” the man asked. 

“No,” Logan growled before you could even open your mouth. “But I do, and if I see you around here again it’ll be a problem.” 

The man looked at Logan and finally seemed to take in the gravity of the situation, the danger that the large muscled man protecting you could pose. 

He gulped and nodded, yielded a step back as Logan took a step forward- muscles tense and fist clenched. 

The man turned and scurried away. You took your first full deep breath in several long minutes. 

Logan watched the man until he was completely out of view before he turned to you. He placed a large comforting hand on your shoulder and you looked up at him with tears in your eyes. 

“Princess,” he said in a gentle voice. 

He pulled you into a hug as a tear fell from your eye and made its way down your cheek. You were enveloped in his warmth and woodsy masculine scent and finally felt safe. 

“Thanks for pretending to be my boyfriend,” you said as you pulled back and wiped the tears from your eyes. 

“Anytime,” he said with a smirk. Your breath caught and you bit your lip as you looked up at him and saw such care and concern on his handsome face. 

“Who was that guy?” he asked. 

You shrugged, “Some crazy customer from earlier today, my coworker made him leave, but I guess he came back and waited until I was leaving alone….” 

Logan’s brow furrowed and he gritted his teeth. “That motherfucker,” he growled, “I’m walking you to and from work tomorrow.” 

“You don’t have to-” 

“No, I do. And I’ll do it until I’m sure he isn’t gonna bother you anymore. And if he shows up again…” he trailed off as his claws extended from his fist in an action that seemed involuntary due to his rage. 

A shiver ran down your spine. You had no idea Logan felt so protective over you. 

“Thank you,” you said in a soft voice, “I appreciate it.” 

This was not helping your ridiculous crush on your neighbor. From the minute he moved in with your friend Wade, you had heart eyes for him. 

The Wolverine, he took your breath away without even trying. With his large stature, huge muscles, and handsome face- you were a goner. It didn’t matter that he was older, way out of your league, and generally altogether grumpy. You were head over heels for him, and you were certain he had never noticed you before, that he merely thought you were Wade’s annoying friend.��

But you adored him, you adored the gentle heart you knew he buried under that gruff exterior, and displays of protectiveness such as this only proved what an amazing person you already knew he was. 

“I’m headed to meet Wade at the bar, d’you wanna come?” he offered. 

You nodded eagerly, not wanting to be alone after the stress of the day. 

“Lead the way,” you said with a smile. 

—--------

“Look who I brought,” Logan said as you walked behind him into the bar and approached a booth in the back corner. 

He stepped to the side so your friends could see you. Wade, Vanessa, and Dopinder sat at the table, already laughing and drinking beer. 

Wade gasped dramatically and exclaimed, “Princess Cupcake!” 

You rolled your eyes, but the smile on your lips betrayed you and showed your amusement. 

“Hey Wade,” you replied then greeted the others. 

“What? No comeback? I’m hurt! What’s wrong?” he asked, speaking in that way too fast pattern that was his norm. 

Logan placed a hand on your back and leaned down closer to your ear as he asked quietly, “You wanna sit down? I can get you a drink- what do you want?” 

You smiled and sat down as you were told and told him your drink order. 

Wade wiggled his non-existent eyebrows at you in a rather suggestive manner. 

“What’s up between you and peanut? Did you finally fu-” 

“No,” you interjected quickly. 

“Wade, she’s clearly upset and Logan is helping her,” Vanessa said as she elbowed her boyfriend. 

You sighed and explained the events of your afternoon. During your explanation Logan came back to the table with two drinks and sat next to you. His large form crowded you into the corner of the booth, but you didn’t mind. 

“That motherfucker,” Wade said in anger at the end of your story. Vanessa gave you a look of solidarity, you knew she had experienced plenty of creepy men in her life. 

“That’s what I said,” Logan replied, clearly somewhat amused. 

“We should kill him,” Dopinder said.

“Calm down wannabe-vigilante,” you muttered which caused everyone to chuckle. 

“Don’t worry cupcake, ole honey badger and I will make sure you’re safe,” Wade reassured. 

You nodded and said, “I appreciate it, but I don’t think he’ll return. Logan can be pretty intimidating, it was amazing - I’m sure he scared him off.”

Logan grunted in agreement, although when you looked at him you could’ve sworn there was a tint of pink on his cheeks and the tops of his ears. 

As the evening stretched on, you were thoroughly distracted from your troubles and amused by Wade’s antics and Dopinder’s stories. 

“So, Princess Cupcake, any luck on the dating front?” Wade asked. 

You tugged at the sleeves of your shirt- a nervous habit, and without looking up from the table said, “Nope.” 

Logan let out a soft sigh of what your aching heart could only hope was relief. 

“I’ve never asked, what’s with the nickname?” Dopinder asked. 

You shrugged and gestured to Wade. 

“When Blind Al and I moved into our apartment this sweetie pie here brought us cupcakes!” Wade explained. 

“Good thing it was cupcakes instead of a pie because being constantly called sweetie pie would make me want to die,” you muttered and everyone laughed. 

“What about the princess part though?” Dopinder asked. 

“Just look at her,” Logan mumbled and you and everyone at the table looked over at him in surprise. 

“She’s got that innocent sort of pretty you only see in big bright eyed animated Disney princesses,” Wade said. 

Embarrassed at the attention you changed the subject immediately. Your constant filthy thoughts about Logan proved you were anything but innocent. 

“But why is Logan’s nickname peanut?” you asked quickly. 

Wade shrugged, “Just fits.” 

Logan rolled his eyes. 

You smirked and said, “I bet we could come up with a hundred nicknames for him that would fit better.” 

“Like what?” Wade challenged. 

You glanced over at the large handsome man sitting next to you as your face warmed. 

Daddy was the first word that came to mind. Wade chuckled in a way that made you momentarily worried that mind reading was one of his mutant abilities. 

The silence at the table stretched on, becoming a tad awkward, before you said, “Nevermind I’m not very good with nicknames anyways.” 

“Yeah, it’s probably best to leave choosing nicknames to the professional,” Vanessa said in a joking tone to ease the tension. You shot her a look of gratitude and she winked at you before she effectively changed the subject all together. 

Eventually, after enough drinks and conversation, you declared that it was time for you to go home. 

“C’mon!” Wade protested. “The night has just begun!” 

“I wish I could stay but I’ve got work in the morning.” 

“I’ll walk you home,” Logan said in a soft but firm tone that left no room for argument as he stood and took a step back to give you room to get out of the booth. 

You nodded in agreement and smiled in pleasant surprise as he offered you his arm. You wrapped your arm around his large bicep and linked your elbows as you followed him out into the cold winter air. 

The city glowed in warm orange light that reflected on the wet pavement. Your breath was visible in frostbitten wind, and you shivered slightly which caused you to burrow further into your coat and move closer to Logan and the heat his body provided. 

He then pulled his arm from yours, causing you to momentarily panic, but just as swiftly he wrapped his arm around your shoulder. 

You smiled and filled the short walk with endless chatter, you used to worry that your yapping irritated him, but the small uptick of his lips- the ghost of a smile- showed fond amusement and filled you with warmth enough to make you forget about the cold. 

“What time do you leave for work in the morning?” Logan asked as you reached the door of your apartment- his apartment door only a few steps away. 

“Eight o’clock,” you replied as you unlocked the door.

“But really, you don’t have to-”

“I’ll see you then,” he interrupted in a tone that indicated you would not win this argument. 

Then he did something you didn’t expect at all, he leaned down and gently pressed his lips to your forehead. 

You grinned, your smile wider than probably ever before as you said, “Goodnight Logan, see you bright and bleary eyed tomorrow.” 

He chuckled as he bid you goodnight and you walked into your apartment and shut the door only after he smiled at you again before disappearing behind his own door. 

You shut your door and locked it before leaning against it. You muffled your squeal of excitement with your hand- all too aware how thin the walls are. The stressful events of the day completely forgotten. 

[jellyfishsthings]

Hold Your Breath My Darling

WARNINGS: angst, like super angst, lovesick and whipped Spencer, earlier seasons Spencer, Hotch trained reader, Ex spy, fem reader, dying (or coming close to it), panic attacks, typical criminal minds violence... there will be a part two soon, please let my know if I am missing anything else

requests are open

part 2, navigation

The BAU team arrived at the small town of Crescent Hills, ready to investigate a series of gruesome murders. The victims all shared similar physical characteristics. The team quickly realized that the killer was targeting women who looked exactly like you, the same hair, the same eyes and somehow personality, which had to be the scarriwst part of them all.

As the team discussed their next move, Spencer couldn't help but stare at her. She was the spitting image of the victims, but she seemed unfazed by the situation. In fact, she suggested that she pose as bait in order to catch the killer. She was the agent her mentor made her, because Hotch would have done the same in a heartbeat. Yet as Hotch looked at the young woman standing at his side, standing tall and holding her head high with pride and bravery, wearing a mask of calmness hiding her whirlwind of emotions with quite the efficiency.

Spencer's heart skipped a beat at the thought of his best friend putting herself in danger. His hands shook with dread and anxiety and his mind raced to a million directions as his heart seemed to weight a few tons more than usual. He was so confused. He had always seen her as a friend, but in that moment, he couldn't deny the intense feelings he had for her. Yes he had always cared for her, and wouldn't wish any harm in her way, but at this moment he desperately wished to have been the genius he claimed to be, to find a way out of this, to solve this without any one getting hurt, to keep her safe and alive and well next to him, hoping she felt even a sliver of the intesity of his emotions. He knew he couldn't let her go through with this plan. He had to act quickly, not caring if he embarrassed himself in the process.

"You can't do this, it's too dangerous," Spencer pleaded with her, his eyes shining with unshead tears as he saw her walking in her hotel room, trying to make herself more appealing for the UnSub.

"I can handle myself, Spencer," she replied confidently."Do not worry. I have been trained from the best." She whispered as she lightly hugged him and kissed his cheeks and the storm raging inside of him seemed to calm down for a few short seconds.

But Spencer couldn't shake off the feeling of dread in the pit of his stomach. He couldn't bear the thought of losing her. He had been so focused on his work and solving the case that he hadn't even realized his true feelings for her until now. As the team set up a plan, Spencer couldn't help but keep a close eye on her. He couldn't let her out of his sight. But as she put herself in harm's way, Spencer's heart was in his throat

The warehouse was quiet, the ominous shadows twisting around the corners like specters waiting to strike and fear started clawing its way to her heart. Derek Morgan’s voice echoed in her mind; “You’re one of us, kiddo. Trust your instincts.” But in this moment, trust felt like an anchor dragging her deeper into despair.

She was second guessing herself now as well as her abilities. Maybe she had made a mistake. She had volunteered without hesitation, knowing the stakes were high. A string of brutal murders had terrorized several towns, and the Behavioral Analysis Unit needed to understand what made this killer tick. But she had never expected that the very thing she sought to uncover would entrap her instead.

As she stepped deeper into the warehouse, darkness enveloped her like a suffocating blanket. The cold was biting, but the fear coursed through her veins like ice. She had set off the sound of a chilling recording, a mocking lure that had been crafted specifically for the UnSub. The air was alive with tension, every creak of the old metal structure amplifying her dread.

“Just breathe,” she murmured to herself, but her heart raced faster with every passing second. Somehow, despite the adrenaline's flow, she felt an unsettling calm, as if her body was preparing for something inevitable.

She thought of the team back at the BAU. Hotch would be analyzing their data, Emily and Derek keeping their wits about them, and as she closed her eyes, she could almost hear Spencer Reid’s gentle voice. He was always a soothing presence, with his deep well of knowledge and quirky sense of humor.

“Remember when I tried to teach you how to play chess?” he whispered in her mind, a memory flooding back. They had been at a coffee shop breaking down a case when she had confided that she hadn’t learned the game as a child. With a persistent twinkle in his eye, he taught her the basics, patiently explaining the rules as she fumbled through the moves. They laughed when she mistakenly thought pawns could move diagonally anytime.

In this dark warehouse, she recalled how he had once said, “You have to think several moves ahead. In chess, just as in life.” She held onto that wisdom now, fighting to stifle her panic.

The quiet was shattered by footsteps echoing through the maze of crates and rusted metal. She steeled herself, adrenaline rushing through her as the UnSub emerged from the shadows. He was a tall figure, cloaked in darkness, his face obscured by a mask that sent a shiver down her spine.

“Welcome,” he said, his voice low and taunting. “I’ve been waiting for you.”

She fought the surge of terror that threatened to overwhelm her. How? How had he been expecting her? She was a trained spy for the love of God, before joining the BAU, had she rusted her abilities this quickly? It had only been five years. Five wonderful, free years.

She couldn’t falter. In her mind, she anchored herself to another memory: a sunny afternoon with Reid. They had shared ice cream on a picnic blanket, debating the best flavors like children. He had quipped that pistachio was underappreciated, while she insisted on the classic chocolate chip cookie dough.

“You’re practically a gourmet, aren’t you?” she teased, and his laugh had brightened that day, sunlight dancing in his eyes.

But now, there were no sunny picnics; shadows danced along the walls as the UnSub advanced towards her. She could see glimmers of rage flickering in his eyes, an intensity that struck fear into her heart.

“Let’s see just how strong you are,” he hissed, gripping her arms in a vice-like hold. She gasped as pain shot through her, but even as she winced, she summoned the memory of Reid, who had taught her the importance of mindfulness in the face of fear.

“Leave me alone!” she shouted, fueling her resolve with every ounce of anger she could muster.

But he laughed, a cruel sound that sent tremors of dread through her. The sharpness of reality cut through her feelings of safety, and she swallowed hard, desperately piecing together scattered memories, trying to fund the best course of action but it was already to late. She felt sluggish and slow, something was wrong.

She tried to find the good memories, to find courage and strength, such as Reid’s infinite patience, his love for obscure trivia, the whimsical way he could make her smile even in the darkest of moments.

“Your game is over,” the UnSub snarled, his breath hot against her skin.

As he began to carry out his twisted intentions, she closed her eyes tightly, conjuring one last memory, one that radiated warmth in the encroaching darkness. The night Reid had confessed his fears of inadequacy, only to find solace in their bond, his fingers grazing hers in comforting reassurance, his eyes reflecting the kind of understanding that only comes from empathy.

“I’m not afraid,” she whispered, even as fear clawed at her soul. “No matter what happens, I’m not afraid. I will not give you the satisfaction of the perfect murder, trust me it will be a fight to bring me down.”

"Oh, but you have already lost. I think you must be feeling it be now."

Her heart pounded with the realization that she might not escape. But in those harrowing moments, as she fought against the loop of pain and despair, she anchored herself in the love and camaraderie of her team—every shared laugh, every overcoming of hardship. No matter what happened, they would carry her spirit forward.

In those last flickers of consciousness, she thought of Spencer, his brilliance, his laugh, and the unyielding strength of their bond. She hoped he would forgive her for failing to bring him the answers they so desperately needed, all while holding onto the belief that even the darkest of nights must give way to dawn.

With that thought, she embraced the memories that would never fade, hoping they would echo in the hearts of those she loved, a reminder that even in their darkest hours, they could find light.

Then the darkness came.

The cold grip of fear tightened around Spencer Reid's heart as he stood in the dimly lit acting conference room of the BAU, a small desk office of the local police station. The air was thick with tension and the weight of impending decisions that could alter their fates. He paced the floor anxiously, running a hand through his tousled hair while his mind raced with worst-case scenarios.

“Guys, we can’t go through with this,” he implored, turning to face his team, his voice a tremor of desperation. “The unsub is more unpredictable than we anticipated, and we can’t risk her life. What if—”

“It’s not just about her,” Derek Morgan countered, crossing his arms. “This mission aims to take down a dangerous criminal. We need to act fast before he slips through our fingers again.”

“But what if he targets her, Morgan?” Spencer’s voice escalated, echoing in the room. “I've analyzed his patterns. If she’s involved, she’s at extreme risk. We can’t afford to lose her!”

Emily Prentiss, caught between the mounting urgency and Reid’s grave expression, glanced at the other agents. “We have to trust our instincts, Spencer, but you know we all understand the risk involved. We can deploy a secondary team to protect her—”

“No!” Reid snapped, panic threading his tone. “You don’t understand. I can’t shake this feeling. What if this is a trap? She shouldn’t be there. We need to stop this. We need to call it off.”

The room fell silent as his pleas hung in the air, but time was running out, and the team had a job to do. With reluctant determination, they gathered their gear and left the conference room, unknowingly walking into the lion’s den.

Spencer’s heart raced as he followed them, a whirlwind of dread washing over him. They arrived at the location of the suspected meeting and quickly fanned out, but dread settled deeper in his chest as time ticked away.

Minutes felt like hours, and Reid’s worries morphed into a nightmare. Suddenly, over the comms, a shout broke through the chaos, and panic pierced the stillness. “She’s down! She’s down!”

Spencer’s instinct kicked in, but it felt like running through molasses as he pushed past his teammates. His breath quickened dramatically. He reached the scene, and there she was—Her body lay still against the cold asphalt, pale and lifeless.

Everything around him blurred as the sirens wailed in the distance, blending into an agonizing scream that reverberated in his mind. He dropped to his knees beside her, an overwhelming despair crashing down like a tidal wave. “No, no, no…” he chanted, disbelief coursing through him as the realization sank in.

He placed his hands on her chest, feeling the emptiness where her spirit should have been. “Stay with me. Please,” he whispered, tears streaming down his cheeks as he started CPR. Each pump felt futile, desperation fueling his actions—A metronome to the rhythm of her fading heartbeat.

“Come on, please! Breathe, breathe!” Spencer’s voice cracked as he pressed harder, not willing to accept the undeniable truth standing stark against reality—a truth that seemed to throng his senses.

Suddenly, strong hands pulled him backward. “Spencer, let the medics handle this,” a voice shouted through the fog of his anguish. It was Morgan, trying to wrestle him back to reality.

“No! I can’t! I won’t let her go!” Reid screamed, thrashing against the hold, fighting against the gravity of grief. But the world around him was collapsing, everything turning hazy, the wail of the sirens growing louder, drowning him in despair.

“Spencer!” Morgan’s voice cut through the fog, but it felt distant, as if coming from underwater. He was pulled away from the scene, from her cold body that lay so still. The agents moved in, the medics began their work, but Reid felt as if a piece of himself was being torn apart, the agonizing reality sinking its teeth deeper into his soul.

He fell to his knees, the weight of his failure crashing into him like a heavy stone, unyielding and unforgiving. Tears streamed down his face as he watched helplessly, the ache in his chest mimicking a gaping wound.

Desperation clawed at him as he realized that no amount of pleading or data could bring her back. And in that moment, the chaos of the world faded away, and all he knew was a profound loss that reverberated through every fiber of his being.

And then the impossible happened. She was still bleeding, covered in deep cuts by a knife that would scar her for life. Yet her chest lifted lightly before falling down.

Once.

Twice.

He was sure he was dreaming of it. His mind playing a trick on him, not being ready to register his life without her existence.

But no.

It was true. She was breathing.

[natalievoncatte]

“Lena?”

“What are you doing here?” Lena said, on the other side of the phone line.

Kara was already moving, lunging for the window, shedding her civilian clothes so fast she blurred into a streak of red and blue, the phone still mid-fall from where her hand had held it to her ear to the osprey cushion. She wasn’t thinking when she rattled windows with her passage. Less than a second later, the air snapped taught around her and burst with the cracking fury of a sonic boom as she bolted across the city in a ballistic arc that took her from her apartment to the upper floor penthouse office at L-Corp.

She was still too slow.

Lena was calling her name, her own phone flying from her hand into space as two men manhandled her over the railing into open air, almost six hundred feet up. Kara watched it happen in agonizing, hateful detail. She could hear every thudding panicked contraction of Lena’s heart even as she could count ever stitch in the side-seam of her dress.

Faster. Faster faster faster faster.

Any faster and she’d ignite the atmosphere around here.

Lena was perpetually falling, reaching up in a futile attempt to grasp the sky. Those thumping heartbeats came slow to Kara’s ears as she focused herself, time around her slowing to match her speed.

She has to do this perfectly. Hit Lena too fast and she’d kill her. Lena’s screamed stretched into a shrill endless peel as she fell, raw terror contorting her features.

Kara dove, slowing as she reached those last few millimeters of distance, forcing herself to match Lena’s speed, dipping under her so that the bewildered woman dropped into her arms and they further slowed together, Kara coming to a stop midair, half way down the length of her fall. Kara bundled Lena into her arms even as Lena clutched her in desperate fear, grasping and clutching at her in desperate fear. A wail of agonized terror exploded from Lena’s lips against Kara’s throat, followed by a taut cry of anguished relief.

“I have you,” Lena murmured. “You’re okay, I have you.”

Lena was shaking.

“They th-threw me off the balcony!”

They.

They.

Kara rose, cradling a treasure in her arms. They should have known better, these two thugs, these goons. To show her contempt, she blew them off their feet with a gust of air from her lungs. Tenderly, she placed Lena on her bare feet -her shoes had gone flying when she was tossed- and turned to her attackers.

One pulled a gun, the other ran. She crushed the crude little human weapon, so infuriatingly primitive and barbaric, almost forgetting not to pulp the wielder’s hand. As the other ran, she hooked her fingers in his collar and yanked, pulling him right back and over the railing. His scream satisfied something hateful within her and she wanted to stop herself from seizing his ankle, but she didn’t. The weight of the crest on her chest was too much to bear it.

She did let him dangle though, begging her for mercy.

Kara jabbed the comms in her ear and barked orders to the DEO agent that answered her. It wasn’t ten minutes later that half a dozen agents, led by Alex herself, were dragging the two men out of Lena’a office.

Lena herself was standing on the balcony still, shivering in the late night chill. Kara pointedly ignore the way Alex stared at them both as Kara unclasped her cape from her shoulders and threw the heavy cloth around Lena, bundling her up in it.

Oh Rao, her poor feet on the concrete.

Kara didn’t think. She picked Lena up again and carried her inside. Lena didn’t protest or even speak, as delicate as a precious baby bird in Kara’s arms.

“We can… we can deal with statements later,” said Alex. “I’ll step out.”

They were alone.

Lena just stared for a moment, as Kara opened the drawer in the coffee table and took out the fleece blanket that Lena kept there for naps or those frequent nights when she just didn’t go home, unable or unwilling to abandon her work for such pedestrian things as sleep, or her own health. Kara spread it across her, covering her feet. She just didn’t want her to be cold.

Kneeling beside the couch, Kara stroked a loose lock of wind-ruffled hair back from Lena’s eyes, forgetting herself, forgetting that she was the Super and not the Girl, right now. She couldn’t help it. The Super was stoic, unruffled, full of bravado. The Girl wanted to fucking cry and scream in agony and blessed release.

She was okay. Kara made it. Lena was okay.

Lena was staring at her.

“How did you know I was in trouble?”

The way she said it, it almost wasn’t a question. It sounded flat, half an accusation.

“I was with Kara Danvers,” Kara was about to say, but the answer died on her lips, the lie too bitter to cross her tongue.

She was so sick of lying, and the reasons why she lied all seemed so… hollow, here, now, and Lena wasn’t stupid. It was halfway there, Kara realized. She could see it in Lena’s bewildered, quivering expression. The thought was there, half formed, and once the suspicion was formed, it was only a matter of time. Their friendship was built on pillars of sand and the tide was rolling in right now.

“It’s me, Lena,” Kara whispered.

Lena’s eyes widened, as her nostrils briefly flared. Lena did not ask her to clarify, or explain. Her penetrating gaze merely searched, drinking in the details of Kara’s face in a way that made her feel both seen in a warm and comforting way and horribly exposed, the chill wind from the balcony door at her back. Yet the gaze was open, permissive. Kara noticed that one of her eyes was a little more blue than the other.

Rao, Lena was so pretty. She was beautiful, yes, in the austere almost untouchable way of a young powerful woman who weaponizes her looks, but that part of her was gone now, replaced by something open and vulnerable and soft, and usually reserved for Kara, not Supergirl.

Kara sat down in front of her, crossing her legs. She wanted to reach out and sooth the trembling she saw, her hand twitching of its own accord. Lena pulled the red fabric of her cape up and tucked it under her chin, making herself small.

“It’s you.”

“Yeah.”

“You caught me.”

“I always will.”

Lena closed her eyes. “I’m tired of falling. God I’m so tired of it, I just want him to leave me alone.”

Anger flashes in Kara’s chest, sending a jolt of heat up her spine as the red-sun fire burned within her, begging for release. She kept her eyes tightly shut.

A soft cry opened them again. Lena was crying silently in the manner of one used to hiding it, her chest hitching as she held it back.

“If it weren’t for you I’d be dead, Kara.”

“I won’t let that happen.”

Something tightened inside her, clutching so hard she could barely breathe. Watching Lena fall had been like… like looking over her shoulder and seeing the green flash. Kara had pinched her eyes shut and turned away, not watching the blast, screaming in agony when the blast wave tossed her pod, too afraid to watch her world die, unable to escape it. Sometimes that feeling would wash over her and tear her from the embrace of a dreamless sleep and she’d scream.

A soft, cool hand brushed her cheek. Lena reached out from the blanket and pushed away the errant tear. Kara couldn’t help herself, and returned the gesture. Lena’s skin was so delightfully soft, and whenever Kara touched her, felt her, it gave air to something like hot coals in her belly, and they’d threaten to become an unbound flame.

Something was happening here and she wasn’t sure what it was, but it was important. Kara had a sudden sense that this moment was a real one, an important one, and that she had just started bumbling through a choice that needed her full attention.

Lena was watching her, her soft intelligent eyes darting. Her breathing had calmed but she was agitated, heartbeat too fast, heat bloom crawling across her skin as her face flushed. A deep, powerful part of Kara woke up at the sight of it, something that she would normally have disdained had she remained on Krypton, a part of her that she might even have hated.

Her hand was still resting gently on Lena’s cheek. Lena met her gaze and shifted slightly, pressing a touch harder against Kara’s palm. It was an acknowledgement. It felt permissive, inviting. Lena tilted her expressions slightly and looked at Kara through her lashes.

She was scared, Kara realized. Scared but perhaps hopeful. Things began to swirl in her head. She could drown in the heady scent of an office full of flowers.

“You just keep saving me,” Lena said.

Kara rose to her knees so she could lean in, arching over her. This need, this impulse, gripped it like a firm hand on the back of her neck. It felt so wrong, so human, so Terran, but she didn’t care. For the first time she felt like doing this because she wanted it, not to make herself feel human or soothe some itch.

She hesitated every moment but Lena’s gaze remained fixed, a faint smile curling her lips as Kara drew closer, sliding an arm under her shoulders, very carefully pulling her up.

“I thought you were hopeless after the thing with the flowers,” Lena whispered. “Or maybe just regrettably straight.”

Kara wanted this to be right. She nuzzled her nose against Lena’s, one last tiny little request, and murmured, “is this okay?”

In response, Lena closed the gap and their lips met. Kara hadn’t felt like this since the first time she stepped off the ground into the open air. This was better than flying. Lena’s kiss was just so her, at once brash and hesitant, a question phrased as a declaration.

Before long Kara was holding her.

“I won’t let anyone hurt you. I won’t.”

Lena released herself; there was no other way to describe it. It was like their past hugs but more, Lena embracing Kara as though she’d like to be absorbed by her.

“I know.”

In the morning she’d pay Lex a visit. She’d talk to Alex and J’onn, make it clear that if the DEO wanted a Kryptonian on speed dial, it was time to make her priorities their priorities, and the first thing she was going to do was tear Cadmus out of their hiding places by the root.

It wouldn’t be enough to just hobble their operations, she wanted them gone. Supergirl would work in tandem with the Kara Danvers until Lex Luthor had no friends, no allies, no resources. Even the prison guard who smuggled him his caviar would learn that any largesse towards his prisoner would summon a furious Kryptonian.

She would call in every favor, seek every ally, use every resource.

Right now none of that mattered. Lena was safe, and she was in Kara’s arms.

[cowboybeepboop]

i’ve never made a request/idea before so i thought i’d try !!

i keep thinking about the reader being there the day the tornado took up kate’s friends !! like the reader walking home from work because her car stopped working, not knowing what to do when the tornado comes, so kate and her friends help her go to the underpass. with her, javi, and kate being the only survivors.

and because of this, kate ask the reader to come with her to help javi because the reader is the only one who can understand how kate feels. maybe the reader is from a small town in texas, and she stands out with storm parr in her cute little jean shorts and cowboy boots that spike tyler’s attention 😏

Pairing: Tyler Owens x fem! Reader

Genre: Smut, angsty and romantic 

Word count: 5.6k 

Warnings: [TW: deep scarring, talking about the scar, etc.] unprotected sex, p in v, handjob, soft Tyler, kind of angsty.

a/n: I kinda wanted there to be angst in this so I tried to incorporate it, I really don’t know atp 😣 I also did not proofread this one so 😭 ALSO I JUST SAW THE TEXAS PART MY BAD

The winds picked up, sending debris spiraling through the air like a malevolent kaleidoscope, as the ominous rumble grew louder. Your heart raced as you sprinted down the desolate street, each step echoing the chaos that was fast approaching. The sky darkened to a shade of green you had only seen in your worst nightmares, the clouds swirling into a frenetic maelstrom that stretched from horizon to horizon. In the midst of this cataclysmic dance, you caught sight of a vehicle swerving off the road.

Without a moment's hesitation, you dashed towards the car as it skidded to a halt, the doors flying open. Kate and her friends, their eyes wide with terror, clambered out. "Over here!" she shouted, pointing at the sturdy overpass looming ahead. You didn't need further prompting. The group sprinted through the storm, the deafening roar of the tornado now a constant, terrifying soundtrack to your desperate flight. As you reached the concrete shelter, the fury of the winds grew more intense, snatching at your clothes and hair. 

Kate's grip on your hand tightened as she let out a blood-curdling scream, her eyes searching the swirling chaos for any sign of her boyfriend. A heartbeat later, you saw him, a mere silhouette in the howling wind, being mercilessly dragged away by the tornado's inescapable pull. The world around you seemed to slow as you watched him disappear into the gaping maw of the storm. You both screamed in unison, raw and visceral, as fear and grief clutched at your chests. Yet amidst the horror, you felt her hand tremble, and instinctively, you squeezed back, grounding her to the present. 

As the tornado's fury began to wane, its retreating roar sounded like a mournful cry echoing through the ravaged landscape. The air grew eerily still, yet the chaos around you seemed to pulse with a life of its own. You felt a sudden jolt, a violent tug at your body, and for a terrifying moment, you were almost ripped away from Kate's grasp. 

Your arm burned with pain, and you realized it was sliced open, blood seeping through your trembling fingers. Despite the horror, Kate's grip remained firm, her eyes locked on yours, filled with a fierce determination that mirrored the dwindling storm's intensity. She screamed, her voice piercing the calm, as the world around you swirled with debris. You squeezed your eyes shut, willing the nightmare to end, and held onto her hand with every ounce of strength you had left. Together, you waited for the tempest to pass, hearts racing in rhythm with the fading thunder.

You shake the memories as you glance in the front seat at your two best friends the storm brought to you. You were the only person Kate kept contact with, you both moved out to New York, sharing an apartment. So when Javi reached out to Kate she agreed to join the team as long as you came with. 

Shaking off the chilling recollections of that fateful day, you cast a sideways glance at Kate and Javi, who are now your inseparable companions, riding shotgun in the car. The tornado had been a terrifying twist of fate that bound you together, but it was the friendship that grew from the aftermath that truly defined your lives. 

Kate, ever the pragmatic one, had insisted on staying in touch after the ordeal, and when she made the life-altering decision to move to New York, you were the first person she called. The Big Apple's allure had always sparkled in your eyes, and with Kate's offer to share an apartment, it was an opportunity you couldn't refuse. 

When Javi reached out to Kate to ask her to join his team, she had one condition: you had to come with. You agreed without hesitation. The storm had brought you to them, but it was the shared experiences, the laughter, and the unspoken understanding that turned acquaintances into family.

Javi pulls into a rest stop where the rest of the storm par team was waiting for your arrival, you hop out of the truck stretching your arms while following behind Javi. Kate steps out of the car with you, her mind racing back to the events that had started this journey of yours. Her eyes drift over to you, her gaze holding a mix of gratitude and melancholy. Despite the years passed, she can't help but feel a slight pang as she thinks about what cost this new life came with.

She tries to shake off the thought as she looks around, her eyes settling on the rest of the team standing nearby. She takes a deep breath, steadying herself before nodding in greeting.

You cross your arms over your waist, not really paying attention as Javi introduces the team. You wander off to the side, eyes trained on the sky as you take in a deep breath. 

Javi glances over to you as you make your way to the side, his eyes lingering on you for a moment before he continues introducing the team to Kate. 

Once he's done, he walks over to where you're standing, his hands shoved in his pockets. He stands beside you, silent for a moment before he speaks. "You alright?"

“It’s just a little odd,” you glance over to him. “Being back.” He gives you a soft nod. The loud noise of music fills your ears as a red truck comes pulling into the lot, catching your eye. 

Javi's demeanor changes the moment he sees Tyler's truck pull into the lot. His jaw clenches, a muscle ticking in his jaw. He scowls, his eyes darkening as the truck parks. 

He crosses his arms over his chest as he watches Tyler get out of his truck. “Who’s that?” You nod in Tyler’s direction as he greets his fans, noticing the way Javi reacts to him. 

Javi's eyes narrow, a slight sneer appearing on his face. 

"That's Tyler Owens," he mutters, his voice laced with disdain. "He's a big shot storm chaser, thinks he's the king of chasing storms." 

You nod as he speaks, a soft smile tugging at your lips. “Well, you should get back to Kate. Better find out if she’s found your storm.” He gives you a small smile as you continue to watch the sky. 

Tyler's eyes linger on yours as you keep your face up to the sky. He smirks, making his way over to you. 

"Now that's a good view." He crosses his muscular arms over his broad chest. Glancing over your shoulder you notice his grin. 

“And what do you mean by that?” You raise an eyebrow at his comment, arms crossed under your chest. 

Tyler's smirk only widens as he takes a step closer to you. “I think you know exactly what I mean, sugar.” His piercing blue eyes rake over you, taking in your jean shorts and green long sleeve shirt.

You turn to face him, running a hand through your hair. Your lips press into a firm line as you take in his appearance.

Tyler stands inches away from you, towering over you. His eyes roam over your face, lingering on your lips for a moment before meeting your gaze. 

“You're not from around here, are you?” He asks, his deep southern accent rolling like the thunder outside.

“What makes you think that?” You give him a soft smile. 

Tyler's eyes rake over you again, his gaze lingering on your long sleeves in the heat of the day. "Most of the locals know better than to wear long sleeves in this weather," he points out, a hint of a challenge in his tone.

You stiffen as he mentions the long sleeves, he unknowingly hit a soft spot since you always keep your arms covered due to the dark scar that covers your left arm.

You subconsciously grip the arm, “Yeah, guess that gives me away huh?” Tyler's observant eyes catch the subtle shift in your body language. He notices the way you subconsciously grip your arm when he comments on your sleeves. He tilts his head, his gaze fixed on your arm.

"Yeah, it kinda does," he replies, his tone softer now. There's a slight pang of curiosity in his eyes as he glances down at your arm. You give him a soft smile as you walk past, heading back to the storm par team. 

________

Over the past few weeks, Tyler had been relentless with his flirting, always seeking an opportunity to be near you. Despite your secretiveness, he had become completely infatuated with you, drawn in by your enigmatic nature. Even with  your best efforts to keep him at a distance, he can't help but be drawn to you. He can't explain why, but he's determined to get closer to you.

Tyler, the renowned “Tornado Wrangler,” seems to captivate you with his carefree attitude towards chasing storms that bring destruction. There's a morbid fascination in the way he seeks thrills amidst chaos. He leaves you questioning his intentions, torn between curiosity and concern. What drives him to pursue these dangerous pursuits? Is it merely for the adrenaline rush, or does he have a deeper purpose? You can't help but feel a mix of intrigue and confusion as your thoughts dance in the whirlwind he seems to have conjured.

As Javi pulls into the motel parking lot you notice the familiar red truck, parked with Tyler in the bed, fixing something that broke during the earlier chase. 

You exit the vehicle, arms wrapping around Kate’s shoulders as you lean into her body. She laughs softly at your familiar clinginess, listening to you whine about how hot you are. Something about the heat of today has left you fully exhausted, you're sweaty and unbelievably hot. 

Tyler can't help but let his eyes wander down to your bare legs, revealing quite the view, given your shorts were already rather short. 

He watches with a smirk as Javi teases you, offering to carry you. Tyler crosses his arms over his chest, the muscles in his arms straining against the fabric.

“Hey city girl.” Tyler’s voice rings out, capturing your attention instantly. You give him a dazed smile, the intense heat leaving you drained and dizzy. 

“Hey Cowboy.” Tyler couldn’t help but smile at your dazed expression, the heat clearly taking a toll on you. 

“Looks like the heat’s got you all dizzy,” he chuckles, leaning against his truck. “You doing alright?” The concerned look in his eyes betrays his usual cocky demeanor.

“Mhm,” you murmur, “doing just fine.” Kate keeps walking, bringing your tired form with her toward the stairs. He can see how tired you are, the heat clearly taking its toll on your body. 

He pushes off from his truck, following after you and Kate. "You sure about that, sugar? You look ready to fall over."

You let go of Kate, holding the railing as you try to pull yourself together with a few steadying breaths. You’re exhausted from being outside in the heat all day as you usually spend your days inside at a desk. 

Tyler's eyes are fixed on you, watching as you struggle to pull yourself together. He steps closer to you, reaching out a hand to steady you. “You look like you’re about to pass out. Let me carry you up to your room.”

“It’s okay, I’ve got it..” you sigh, straightening up as you regain your composure. “Just not used to this,” your voice is a soft murmur as you give him a reassuring grin. 

He crosses his arms, his muscles straining against the fabric again. He shakes his head at your stubbornness. "You're not used to the heat, but you're a storm chaser?” he teases, his southern accent rolling like thunder.

“Mm, not much of a chaser.” You respond, taking a few steps up the stairs. 

Tyler's eyebrows furrow in confusion as he follows you up the stairs. "What do you mean? You're not much of a chaser?" 

His gaze is fixed on your legs as you take each step, your legs looking damn gorgeous in those short shorts.

You shrug your shoulders, “It’s a long story,” his hand moves to your lower back as he comes up behind you. 

Tyler's hand on your lower back sends a subtle shiver down your spine. He can feel the tension in your body and the exhaustion that's weighing on you.

"Long story, huh?" he murmurs, his voice dropping to a softer tone. "I've got time." He guides you up the stairs to your room, Kate giving you a suggestive smile as she says goodnight.

“I’m not much of a talker, cowboy.” You open your door, stepping inside the cool room. You let out a soft moan at the change of temperature, thankful to finally be in cold air. 

Tyler follows you into your room, his gaze following your every movement. He takes in the moan that escapes your lips as the cool air hits your skin.

A soft smirk appears on his face at the sound, his eyes rake over your body as you revel in the coolness of the room. 

"Maybe I can change that, sugar," he teases, leaning against the doorframe.

“Is that so?” You plop down on your bed, slipping out of your shoes. “And how do you think you’ll accomplish that?” 

Tyler's smirk deepens as he watches you kick off your shoes and flop onto the bed. His eyes roam over your body, lingering on your legs before meeting your gaze. 

He pushes off from the doorframe, strolling over to the bed and sitting down beside you, his body radiating heat from being outside in the hot sun all day. 

"Oh, I have my ways," he responds, his voice dripping with an underlying hint of desire. 

“Yeah?” You glance over at him, laying on your side, eyes tracing his body. Tyler's smirk never falters as your gaze scans over his body. He can see the desire in your eyes, and it only fuels his own. 

He leans back on his hands, his torso flexing slightly as he does. He turns his head to meet your gaze, his blue eyes flashing with a mix of cockiness and desire. 

"That's right, sugar," he murmurs. "I know how to make you talk." You reach out, fingertips brushing over his ribs softly. 

“I have a feeling you’re wanting something more than just a talk..” you reply, eyes tracing his face. 

As your fingertips graze his ribs, Tyler can feel a shiver run through his body. He watches you intently, the feeling of your touch fueling the desire in his eyes. 

He leans closer, his breath warm against your skin. "You're a perceptive one, aren't you, sugar?" His muscles ripple under your touch, the tension between you thick enough to cut with a knife.

“You could say that.” You move to straddle his hips, hands pressed against his chest as you gaze down at him. 

Tyler's eyes widen for a moment as you move to straddle his hips, his hands instinctively reaching out to grip your thighs. 

He looks up at you with a mixture of surprise and desire, his breath hitching at the feel of your body on top of his. He grips your thighs, his hands moving up just slightly to rest on your hips as he pulls you closer to him. 

"You're full of surprises, city girl," he murmurs, his voice low and filled with lust.

“Enough talking.” You mutter, pressing your lips to his is a gentle kiss. Tyler responds to your kiss instantly, his lips moving against yours with hunger. He lets out a low moan, his hands gripping your hips tighter as he pulls you down against him. 

He breaks from the kiss, his eyes locking with yours as he breathes out in a soft tone, "Yes, ma'am." He captures your lips in another forceful kiss, his tongue slipping into your mouth, desperate to taste more of you.

With surprising gentleness, Tyler flips you both over so that you're lying on your back, the mattress cool and welcoming against your overheated skin. His kisses become more urgent as his hands deftly unbutton your shorts, sliding them down your legs and revealing the lacy underwear beneath. 

The fabric whispers against your skin as he peels away your bottoms, exposing your nakedness to the air-conditioned room. His eyes are filled with a raw hunger that mirrors the previous storm, sending a shiver of anticipation through your body. 

His hands trace the lines of your curves, memorizing every inch of your body as if it's the first time he's ever seen a woman, and his touch sets your skin alight with passion.

As Tyler kisses your neck, his calloused fingers gently tug at the hem of your shirt, raising it inch by inch. You gasp at the feel of his lips on your sensitive skin, goosebumps rising in their wake. 

His hands skim over your stomach, pausing briefly at your navel before continuing their ascent, revealing the lacy bra that matches your discarded underwear.

“N-no..” you push his hands away, desperate to keep your shirt on. As you pushed his hands away, a confused look washed over his face. 

"No?" he questions, his voice laced with a mix of surprise and confusion. 

He props himself up on his forearms, hovering over you as he looks down at you, his eyebrows furrowed. He glances down at your hands, which are gripped tightly to your shirt.

“Leave the shirt,” you murmur, hands going to his belt. Tyler's eyes darkened with desire at the sound of your voice, his body thrumming with anticipation as you go for his belt. 

He leans in close, his breath warm against your ear as he speaks in a gravelly tone. "As you wish, ma'am." He lets you remove his belt, his gaze fixated on your face, trying to discern the reason behind your request. You pull his jeans away, legs wrapping around his waist pulling him close. 

Tyler lets his jeans fall to the floor, his attention now solely on you. He groans as you wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him closer. The feel of your body against his ignites a fire within him. 

He plants his hands on either side of your head, his body hovering over yours. He gazes down at you, his eyes darkened with a mix of desire and curiosity.

“Don’t look at me like that,” you breathe out, cupping his face, pulling his lips to meet yours. Tyler responds to the kiss immediately, his lips moving against yours with a fierce hunger. He lets out a low moan, the sound rumbling in his chest. 

He breaks the kiss for a moment, his forehead resting against yours. He lets out a soft chuckle, “Can’t help it, sugar, you look like a damn dream under me like this.” 

His hands slide under your shirt, roaming over your covered breasts. His hips rock into yours with a steady pace, soft moans escaping your lips as his clothed erection pushes into you. 

You pull Tyler's boxers down, revealing his rigid length. His hands glide under your shirt, finally feeling the softness of your skin, as his lips trace a path down your neck, leaving a trail of fiery kisses. 

He groans against your skin as you guide him to the edge of your wetness, the anticipation making him ache with need. With a gentle push, you wrap your legs around him, pulling him closer, and with one swift movement, he sinks into you, filling you completely. 

His eyes fly open as he watches your face contort with pleasure, your grip on his shoulders tightening as he starts to move inside you with a rhythm that matches the pounding of your heart. 

His name is a whispered chant on your lips as you rock against him, the coolness of the room forgotten in the heat of the moment. Each thrust and moan is a silent declaration of desire that neither of you can resist.

As Tyler's mouth finds your breast, kissing and teasing the sensitive skin, his hand cups the other, his thumb brushing over the nipple beneath the fabric. The sensation sends a jolt of pleasure through you, making your toes curl and your back arch. 

You gasp into his mouth, your hands tangling in his hair as he continues to explore your body with a hunger that's only grown more intense since you first met. 

His hips move in a steady rhythm, each thrust hitting a spot deep within you that has you moaning and writhing beneath him. His kisses become more fervent, his teeth grazing your bottom lip as he pulls away, his eyes never leaving yours. 

With a need to feel him completely, you tug at Tyler's shirt, breaking the kiss momentarily to pull it over his head. His muscular chest is now bare, the heat from his body only adding to the blaze between your legs. 

As his bare skin meets yours, you can't help but let out a soft whimper, the contact sending a fresh wave of desire through you. His eyes darken further as he watches you, his breaths coming in ragged pants as he continues to rock into you. 

The friction is delicious, his hardness sliding against your slickness with every movement, and you can feel yourself inching closer to the edge of something incredible. Your nails dig into his back as you urge him deeper, the world outside forgotten as the only storm that matters is the one raging in this room.

The climax crashes through you like a wave, leaving you trembling and gasping for breath. Tyler's pace falters as he follows you over the edge, his body tense and shuddering with his own release. 

He collapses against you, his weight a comforting warmth as he nuzzles into the crook of your neck, planting soft, lingering kisses along your collarbone. 

Your heartbeats synchronize, the rapid beating slowly returning to a steady rhythm as you both revel in the aftermath of your shared passion. The room is filled with the sweet scent of sweat and desire, the air thick with the electricity that still crackles between you.

“Let me see you,” he whispers, hands sliding up your shirt. “All of you..” you gasp softly at his movements. 

Tyler's body is a mixture of fire and sweat, his eyes filled with a soft, almost pleading look. His breaths come in ragged pants, but his voice is steady and firm. 

"Please," he murmurs, his hands gently pushing your shirt up to reveal your bare chest. A soft gasp escapes his lips at the sight of you, and he lets his eyes roam over your body for a long moment. 

He swallows, his throat suddenly dry as he takes in the sight of you above him. "You're even more beautiful than I imagined.."

You pull your shirt the rest of the way off, exposing the thick scar embedded in your arm. 

Tyler's gaze falls to the scar on your arm, his eyes widening slightly. He reaches one of his hands out, gently tracing the outline of the scarred tissue. 

He looks back at you, his expression a mix of concern and surprise. "What happened?" he asks softly, his touch on your scar still as light as a feather.

“It’s a long story..” you murmur, leaning down to press a kiss to his jaw.

Tyler lets out a soft sigh as you press a kiss to his jaw. His grip on your hip tightens slightly, as if he's anchoring himself to you. 

He can sense the hesitation in your voice, the hint of something unsaid. But he doesn't press, not wanting to ruin the moment between you. 

"I'm a patient man, sugar," he murmurs, his voice deep and rough. You slide off of his body, snuggling into his side as you press your cheek to his chest. 

As you settle into his side, Tyler drapes an arm around your shoulders, pulling you closer to his body. He takes a moment to appreciate the feeling of you snuggled against him, relishing the intimate moment.

He can feel the warmth of your cheek against his chest, the steady thrum of his heartbeat echoing in your ear. Tyler gently rubs his thumb back and forth along the soft skin of your shoulder, a comforting motion that speaks volumes without words.

His comforting movements give you all the reassurance you need, “It happened when I was visiting Oklahoma last..” your voice is soft as you begin to explain the scar. Tyler's rhythmic rubbing pauses for a moment at your words, but he quickly resumes his soothing motions, encouraging you to continue with a soft hum.

His blue eyes, filled with a mixture of curiosity and concern, remain fixed on you, silently urging you to share more of your story.

“There was this huge tornado, I normally wouldn't have been anywhere near it. But I went out on a run and I got lost.” you sigh softly, your eyes fluttering shut as the memories flood back over you.

“It’s how I met Kate, she saved me. We hid under an overpass and I almost got ripped away.” your voice breaks, heart rate picking up. Tyler's hand stills on your shoulder once again as he listens intently to your words. His free hand slips into yours, his strong grip holding yours tenderly, giving you a silent, supportive squeeze. 

His expression turns somber as he senses your shift in mood, concern deepening in his gaze. His gruff voice is soft as he murmurs, "Take your time, sugar."

“A huge piece of metal came out of nowhere and it ripped through my arm. The pain. It was so bad, I thought I was dying.” your nose brushes against his skin as you press your face closer into him. 

Tyler's arm around your shoulders tightens, pulling you even closer to his chest. He holds you firmly yet gently, his thumb rubbing soothing circles over the back of your hand, the one he's holding. His heartbeat thumps steadily under your ear as he listens to your story.

His voice is low and steady as he murmurs, "But you survived. You're here now." you nod, eyes finally raising to meet his gaze. 

When you finally raise your eyes to meet his gaze, Tyler's expression is a mixture of worry and admiration. He can see the pain and fear you experienced in your eyes, but there's also a hint of strength and resilience. He holds your gaze for a few moments, the silence between you filled only with the steady beating of his heart beneath your ear.

He breaks the silence with a soft question, his thumb still tracing comforting circles on the back of your hand, "Does it hurt?"

“Not so much anymore,” you shake your head, Tyler's strong hands guide you back onto him, positioning you so that you're straddling his hips once again. His gaze never leaves you, his eyes raking over your body with a mixture of desire and concern. He keeps his hold on your hips, his fingers gently digging into your soft flesh.

His rough, calloused thumbs brush over the scar on your arm, his touch tender yet firm. "Can I ask you somethin' else?"

“Mhm, ask away.” your hands brush over the contours of his abs, relishing in the feeling of his muscles under your fingers. 

Tyler can't help but shiver slightly under your touch, his muscles flexing reflexively at the feel of your fingers tracing over them. His eyes darken with want, watching intently as you explore his body, but he stays firm, his expression serious.

His thumbs continue to rub gently over the scar on your arm as he asks his question, his deep, gravelly voice almost a rumble, "How come you always wear long sleeves?"

You take a second to think of the right wording, “I just..” you look down at his expression. “I don’t like how people stare, like the scar is all I am. I hate seeing the pity in their eyes..” 

Tyler listens intently to your words, his expression turning thoughtful as he takes in your explanation. His eyes soften as he witnesses the vulnerability in your gaze, and his grip on your hips loosens slightly.

He gives your hip a gentle squeeze as he responds, "Trust me, sugar, that's not all you are. You're beautiful, strong, and I can tell you're a pain in the ass." He chuckles softly before continuing, his tone serious once more, "I ain't lookin' at you with pity."

You grin at him, “No, you’re not.” you press a chaste kiss to his lips. “Looks more like lust,” you whisper into his ear, lips moving against his jaw. 

Tyler lets out a low growl at your words, the gravelly sound sending a shiver down your spine. His fingers flex on your hips, gripping you tighter as he leans into your kiss.

He turns his head to murmur in your ear, his voice a rough whisper, "You're damn right, sugar. I can't keep my eyes off you." He presses another kiss to your jawline, then pulls away enough to look into your eyes, a hint of a smirk on his lips. "And trust me, it ain't just lust."

“Yeah?” you cup his face, thumbs brushing over his cheekbones. “What else is it then?” 

Tyler’s expression softens as you cup his face in your hands, your touch bringing a sense of calm and tenderness to his usually rough exterior. He lifts his hand to cover one of yours, holding it against his face.

He lets out a soft exhale, his warm breath brushing over your skin. “It’s more than that, sugar.” he mutters, his eyes searching yours. “It’s this intense, pull toward you that I can’t explain. You’ve got me tangled up somethin’ fierce.” 

You kiss his lips hungrily, enjoying his softness and honesty, something about this feels like a stronger connection than just lust and you both know it. Tyler groans against your lips, responding to your hungry kiss with equal intensity. His arms wrap around you, pulling you against his chest, craving the feeling of your body against his. 

The heat and passion between you is tangible, but there's a depth to it that goes beyond lust. As your lips meet again and again, you both feel the pull, the connection growing with each shared touch. He lets out a guttural groan, his hands sliding up your back to fist in your hair.

“Ty..” you sigh out his name, body shuddering at his touch. Tyler shivers as you whisper his name, the sound of it on your lips sending a jolt through his entire body. He breaks the kiss for a second to look at you, his eyes darker now, filled with lust and desire.

He gently tugs at your hair, pulling your head back to give him access to your neck. Tyler's lips find your pulse point, nipping and sucking at the sensitive skin. His voice is barely more than a growl as he murmurs against your skin, "I like the way you're sayin' my name, sugar."

You gasp at his lips on your skin, eyes closing as you reach back, hand grasping his erection. Tyler groans loudly at your touch, his hands clenching involuntarily around your hips. He moans, his head falling back against the pillow.

His breathing is ragged and uneven as he gasps out your name, "Mmmf- fuck." His hand that's not on your hip grips the bedsheet, the fabric crumpling under his strong grip, "Jesus, sugar..  that's not fair." he mutters, his voice strained.

As you grip Tyler's erection firmly, you feel his desperation pulsing beneath your hand. His hips buck into your touch, seeking more friction, more movement. His eyes are squeezed shut, his teeth gritted as he tries to hold back the groan that builds in his throat. 

You lean in, pressing a soft kiss to his neck as your hand works him in a slow, torturous rhythm that's driving him wild. His breathing hitches, his body tensing as you whisper his name, your voice a sweet torment that sends shivers down his spine. Tyler's fingers dig into the mattress, his body arching off the bed as you continue to pleasure him with a masterful touch that seems to know exactly what he craves. 

The anticipation is almost unbearable, his muscles tightening and releasing in a silent dance of passion. "Tease," Tyler groaned, his eyes snapping open to lock onto yours, filled with a mix of pleasure and frustration. He could feel the tension coiling in his core, begging for release, but you seemed to have other plans. 

Your hand remained a steady pressure, moving in a deliberate, agonizingly slow motion along his length, making him rock his hips up to meet your touch. "Fuck, sugar," he ground out, his voice thick with desire, "You're killin' me." 

You knew you had him wrapped around your finger, and the power was intoxicating. But the storm outside was nothing compared to the one brewing within the confines of this room, the thunder of his voice matching the rumble of his need. With a quick flick of your wrist, you increased the tempo of your strokes, his hips rising to meet you, seeking more. 

The friction grew, the pressure building, and with each stroke, you could feel him getting closer to the edge. His eyes never left yours, the intensity of his gaze making your heart race even faster. His hands found their way to your breasts, squeezing and kneading, his thumbs flicking over your hardened nipples. 

The sensation sent a bolt of pleasure through you, making your grip on him tighten. Tyler's groan grew louder, his body tensing as he approached climax. With one final, firm stroke, Tyler's eyes rolled back in his head, and he let out a loud moan, his grip on the sheets turned to a clutch at your hips. 

[dinoandguitar]

hi i really like your writing, can i request a version of the dino holding his newborn baby?

could it be a baby girl?

"She’s ours & She’s real..."

New parents! LeeChan (Dino) x Afab!Reader

Genre: Pure fluff! (A little bit of crack)

Warnings: Mentions of pregnancy, childbirth . The setting is in a hospital. Reader has just given birth. Baby needs a diaper change.

A/N : Hi! Thank you so much for request and the support! So glad to hear that you like my work. Means a lot to me. Hope you like this as well 🫶🏾

Masterlist

He was crying before the nurse even placed her in his arms. (Ngl I love his man so much and ik for a fact that he'd have that tiny lost but in love look AHASGGSSHSJSSNNSN)

“I-I can’t....wait, wait-she’s so small,” Dino stammered, eyes wide and shiny, hands shaking as he reached out. “I don’t wanna break her, oh my God, she's so tiny... Is she okay???”

“Calm down Channie, She’s perfect,” you whispered from the bed, your voice hoarse but full of wonder, watching him fumble to take her with the most hilarious mix of terror and awe on his face.

He finally held her-carefully, like she was a fragile, glowing piece of art made from glass... and gasped the second her tiny weight settled into his arms.

“Oh no. Oh no no no. Why is she so cute?!”

You laughed through exhausted tears, heart full and aching, as he literally froze in place like his entire system had short-circuited.

“She just blinked,” he whispered, voice cracking. “Babe. She blinked at me. That was on purpose. She knows I’m her dad.”

“Oh she definitely knows,” you giggled, watching him sit down slowly, still staring at her like she’d hung the moon.

“She has your lips,” he breathed, completely enchanted. “And look at her eyebrows...wait, is she frowning? She's mad at me already. God I love her so much... She’s gonna be so disappointed when she realizes I don’t know what I’m doing,” he murmured, letting her impossibly small fingers clutch the string of his hoodie. “But I’m gonna learn. I swear. I’ll learn everything. For her. For you.”

You smiled, wiping your cheeks, overwhelmed. “She’s just trying to figure you out.”

Then-completely unprompted-he let out the tiniest laugh, the kind that breaks halfway through and crumbles into a quiet sob.

“She’s real,” he whispered, eyes locked on her. “She’s ours.”

You didn’t say anything...just watched the love of your life hold the new one, his entire world folding itself around hers in a single heartbeat. His cheeks were wet. His smile was soft. His hoodie was stained with tears and baby blanket fluff. And he’d never looked more beautiful.

♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡

It was late now, the hospital room dim and warm, filled only with the steady rhythm of your breathing and the occasional shuffle as Chan moved around in the rocking chair with your baby girl nestled in his arms. You had your eyes closed, but you weren’t sleeping. Not really. You were too in love with the moment in front of you.

But Chan hadn’t noticed you were awake, and he was talking to her.

Whispering.

Soft, breathy little confessions like they were secrets meant only for her ears.

“Hi, tiny bean,” he murmured, smiling down at her. “Did you know you’ve only been alive for like… a few hours? And already, I love you more than anything? Except for your mommy, of course. But iyour super close, okay?”

He glanced over at you, seeing that your eyes were closed, and sighed softly, a little smile pulling at the corners of his lips. “Your mommy��� she’s magic,” he whispered. “She made you. And she did it so strong, and so brave, and so beautiful. I’ve always known I loved her, but today? Watching her become your mommy? I don’t even have words. She’s everything, baby girl. Everything.”

He kissed the top of her head again.“You’re so warm. You smell like… something sweet. Like happiness. Is that weird?” He let out a little laugh, eyes glancing at you for just a moment before returning to the baby. “You smell like your mommy. And that’s the best smell in the world.”

She made a sleepy grunt, shifting slightly in his arms. Chan paused, waiting, then smiled like it physically hurt to contain it. “I’m gonna take care of you both, I swear,” he whispered. “Even if I mess up, even if I get scared. I’m never gonna stop trying.”

Your heart clenched, tears fightinh to slip silently down your cheek as you kept still.

And then, the tiniest noise came from your daughter- a soft gurgle, followed by a distinct sound that made Dino’s face go pale. He looked mildly alarmed. “What was that? Are you okay? Are you… are you hungry? Are you gonna poop??”

That turned out to be exactly what he thought...

Not even a minute later, a suspicious noise came from the bundle in his arms. His eyes widened.

“Oh no. No no no no no. Wait, babe? BABE???” He whisper- shouted... turning toward the bed, panicked.

You stayed still.

He blinked at you, then looked back down. “Okay. Cool cool cool... You’re sleeping. That’s fine. You’re amazing. Rest, please. I got this.”

He slowly rose from the chair and placed her on the changing table the nurse had prepped earlier. He talked himself through every motion. “Okay. Diaper… there. Wipes… okay. This isn’t hard. I’ve watched videos. I practiced on that weird little doll. I got this.”

Cue your daughter peeing mid diaper change.

“OH MY GOD?! Is this normal???”

You bit your lip so hard trying not to laugh.

He scrambled for wipes, clearly trying to remain calm but also making faces like he was defusing a bomb. “Okay, no one panic. It’s just a little-okay, a lot of pee. It’s everywhere. But you’re doing great, sweetie. You’re amazing. Daddy might just cry a little bit. But thats okay, i got this”

He finally got a fresh diaper on her, held her up triumphantly (Lion King style ), and whispered, “I don’t care what anyone says...you are the most powerful creature I’ve ever met.”

Then he brought her back over, nestled her carefully into your arms, and kissed both your cheeks. “You’re pretending to be asleep, aren’t you?” he whispered, brushing hair off your forehead.

You blinked up at him, smiling. “You did great.”

“I panicked,” he said, eyes wide.

“You still did great.I saw you being a dad.”

His face softened immediately, and his lips twitched into the most adorable smile you loved. “Then I hope you saw how madly in love I am. With her. With you. With everything we’ve got right now.”

You stretched your arms out, pulling him into your embrace. Then, with your whole world in your arms, you whispered, “I saw. And I love you more for it.”

A quiet lull fell over the room as the three of you were together, basking in the overwhelming sweetness of the moment. The chaos of the night faded away, leaving just the three of you-together. He kissed the top of your head, then gently pressed his lips to your baby girl’s forehead, his voice low and full of promise...

“I don’t know what I did to deserve this,” he whispered. “You. Her. All of this. But I swear I’ll never take it for granted.I’ll spend the rest of my life being grateful for you. Both of you.”

And just like that, the world outside the room didn't matter. It was only the three of you. Your new family. And nothing else could compare.

♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡

A/N : Hope you liked it! Please make sure to send in your request (kind of hve free time off studying haha:) Your support is greatly appreciated🫶🏾)

[novaursa]

To Hold Back The Night

- Summary: The Stranger was a familiar companion for you. And Jace decides to hold your hand while you dream of death.

- Pairing: sister!reader/Jacaerys Velaryon

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne @oxymakestheworldgoround

Everybody dies.

They call it “living,” but in truth, it’s just dying slowly, one breath at a time. You know this because you see it—every death, every scream, every fire-laced ruin. You die each time your eyelids close. You dream, not of soaring, nor of love, nor even of warmth, but of endings. And though you live now, you have died before. You died even before you were born. And you will die again and again, caught in this endless cycle of death and rebirth, trapped in the web of time’s cruelty, a flame only destined to burn itself out.

Tonight, you stand alone on the balcony, looking out at the angry, storm-tossed sea. The storm rages above Dragonstone, a swirling cauldron of lightning and dark clouds, and it feels like a heartbeat—a pulse of wrath in the sky, matching the fury in your dreams. You think of your brothers, each bound to a fate you cannot change.

Jacaerys—the one they call “the Heir,” the one with a fire so fierce it rivals your mother’s, fierce enough to drown even the dreams that haunt you. You see him, armored and cloaked in the colors of your house, riding Vermax into battle. The flames lick at his heels, the heat of dragonfire tearing the sky as he fights against that which cannot be bested. And then, there is nothing. Just silence and ashes, his face turned to the cold earth, eyes empty, his crown no more than a twisted thing in the mud.

And Lucerys. Sweet Luke, with his gentle laughter and kind eyes. You feel his fear as he faces a darkness far greater than any he could’ve imagined. Vhagar’s shadow, vast and relentless, looms over him in your visions. You hear the thunderous beat of her wings, and you feel his last breath, the weight of that terror as he is torn from the sky and cast down into the churning waters below. The waves swallow him, and he is gone, just like that, leaving nothing behind but the ghost of a laugh.

Little Joffrey, too young to understand, too young to dream of anything but glory and warmth. He laughs at death as a child would, thinking himself invincible. But you see him surrounded by blood and smoke, his cries lost in the thunder of battle, his body colliding to the ground so fast it doesn't even make the sound once he hits the ground. His death is swift, brutal, the life draining from him with the innocence of his last smile.

Your mother… Rhaenyra, who burns with a fierce love for all of you, so certain that she can shield you all from the flames. But in the end, it is she who stands alone against a tide of betrayal, against the very people she once trusted. You see her, wounded and broken, betrayed by kin and throne alike. They strip her dignity, casting her aside as if she were nothing. And there, in the depths of Dragonstone, in the shadows where no light dares to reach, you see her final moments—a proud queen brought low, left to die in a darkness so deep it seems to swallow even the flame in her eyes.

You breathe, slow and trembling, as you feel each death, as real as if it were your own. Each night, the dreams claim you, binding you to a fate you cannot escape. And though you dread them, you embrace them, too, for they are all you have of them when the waking world fails to provide comfort.

“Do you think I am mad?” you whisper to the storm, letting the words vanish into the roaring winds. The heavens offer no answer, only a fresh burst of lightning, illuminating the dark waves below.

“She would say so,” you murmur, thinking of your mother’s worried glances, the way she would press her hand to your forehead, checking for fevers that were never there. “Or maybe it is the gods’ cruelty, a torment meant for those born under the shadow of dragons.”

You do not hear the door open, nor the footsteps drawing closer, but suddenly, there is a warmth behind you, a familiar presence.

“Y/N.”

His voice is soft, yet it holds that quiet strength you have always known, a steadying force amid the storms that plague your mind. Jacaerys steps closer, his hand gentle as it finds yours, fingers warm against the cold that has seeped into your skin. “Come back inside. You’ll freeze out here.”

You shake your head, your gaze still locked on the storm-tossed horizon. “I… can’t, Jace. Every time I close my eyes, I see it—all of it. How it ends. How you die. How Mother dies. How… I die, too.” The words spill from your lips, raw and unbidden, the pain of it gnawing at your chest.

His grip on your hand tightens, a gentle anchor pulling you back. “Then don’t close your eyes,” he whispers. “Stay here, with me.”

You turn, finally, meeting his gaze. His face is etched with worry, his dark eyes searching yours with a desperation that tugs at your heart. He brushes a damp strand of hair from your face, his thumb tracing your cheek in a tender gesture that speaks of years of unspoken promises.

“You aren’t alone in this,” he says softly. “Whatever it is you see, whatever you fight against, I will be right by your side.”

Jacaerys found his mother in the solar, a fire crackling in the hearth as she poured over letters and maps by candlelight. Her brows were drawn tight in concentration, shadows dancing across her face, making her look older, wearier, though her fierce beauty still shone through. When she saw him lingering in the doorway, her expression softened.

“Jace,” Rhaenyra said, gesturing for him to come closer. “What troubles you? I can see it in your eyes.”

He stepped forward, closing the door behind him to ensure they were alone. He hesitated, the words feeling heavy on his tongue, tangled with worry and fear. “It’s… it’s Y/N,” he began, his voice quieter than he’d intended.

Rhaenyra’s gaze sharpened, concern flickering over her face. “What of her?”

Jacaerys sighed, running a hand through his hair, his fingers trembling as he tried to find the right words. “She… she’s not well, Mother. The dreams… they’re getting worse. She can’t sleep without seeing death. She told me last night she sees us all… dying, over and over. She’s haunted by it.”

Rhaenyra’s face tightened, the lines of worry deepening. “I know. I’ve seen it too, Jace. The way she wanders, the darkness under her eyes… her heart is burdened with things even I can’t understand.” Her voice grew softer, almost mournful. “I wish I could reach her, soothe her fears, but she holds it all so close. It’s as if she’s bearing the weight of the realm alone.”

Jacaerys clenched his fists, his frustration evident. “She shouldn’t have to, Mother. I can’t bear to see her suffer like this. Last night, I found her standing on the balcony, drenched by the rain, staring out as if she were ready to throw herself to the waves.” He swallowed, his voice catching. “And I know… I know it won’t end if something doesn’t change.”

Rhaenyra looked at him, her expression unreadable. “What would you have me do, Jace? I’ve done all I can to help her, to comfort her.”

Jacaerys took a deep breath, steadying himself. “Let me marry her.”

Rhaenyra’s eyes widened, a sharp intake of breath escaping her. “Jacaerys… are you certain? This is not a simple choice. And that path carries its own burdens.”

“I know,” he replied, his voice firm. “But I love her, Mother. And I believe… I believe she needs someone who can be there, always, to help her bear the dreams, to remind her that she isn’t alone. I can do that. I want to do that.”

Rhaenyra studied him, her expression thoughtful, though there was a hint of pain in her gaze. “You think marriage will save her?”

“I don’t know if it will save her,” he admitted, his voice breaking with the weight of his helplessness. “But I can try to give her something solid, something real to hold onto. Every day, I see her slipping further away, lost to those visions, and it’s like watching a flame gutter in the wind. If there’s a chance—if there’s anything I can do to keep her with us, I’ll do it.”

Rhaenyra’s fingers tapped softly against the table, her own gaze turning inward as she considered his words. “When she was born,” she said quietly, “she was small and frail. The maesters doubted she would survive, but I held her close and willed her to live, every night praying that she would see another day.” Her voice trembled slightly. “And now, after all this… I fear she carries a burden I cannot lift. I see her suffering, and I know the pain it causes you. I feel it too.”

“Then let me be the one to help her,” Jacaerys pleaded. “Let me share that burden. Maybe, if she knows she isn’t alone, if she has someone who understands, it might ease the darkness.”

Rhaenyra’s gaze softened, her maternal love evident. “You truly love her, don’t you?”

“With all my heart,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. “I would do anything for her.”

She sighed, looking at him with both pride and sorrow. “You are more like your father than you know, Jace. Brave and loyal to a fault. If you believe this is the path, if you think it will bring her peace… then I will not stand in your way.”

Relief washed over him, and he reached out to grasp her hand. “Thank you, Mother. I will not fail her.”

Rhaenyra squeezed his hand, her eyes shining with unshed tears. “See to it that you don’t. Our family has already seen too much pain, too much loss. I cannot bear to lose either of you.”

Jacaerys nodded, a fierce determination settling in his heart. He would stand by his sister, would anchor her against the currents that sought to pull her under. And perhaps, together, they could find a way to break free from the nightmares that bound her.

As he left the room, he felt the weight of responsibility settle on his shoulders. But in his heart, there was a flicker of hope. He would find a way to reach her, to draw her back from the brink.

And he would never let her go.

The morning sun crept through the windows of your chamber. You lay still, eyes fixed on the ceiling, caught between sleep and waking, lingering in the half-light where dreams clung to you like shadows. Every breath felt weighted, every beat of your heart like the tolling of some distant bell. The visions had come again, the same as they always did—death and fire and faces you loved slipping away into the dark.

The door creaked open, and you felt a presence fill the room before you saw him. You knew it was Jace. There was a warmth, a steady strength in the air that belonged only to him.

“Y/N?” His voice was soft, hesitant, as though he feared disturbing you.

You turned your head, meeting his gaze. There was worry in his dark eyes, the kind that lingered even when he smiled, though his lips trembled in a faint, hopeful curve. He stepped closer, and you felt his warmth, his hand reaching out but stopping short, hovering as if uncertain.

“Are you… feeling any better?” he asked, his voice gentle.

You gave a faint, humorless smile. “Better? I think that word doesn’t mean much to me anymore, Jace.” Your voice sounded distant, hollow, as though it were echoing from somewhere deep within you. “The dreams never stop. Every night, they grow sharper, more vivid. And I… I am powerless against them.”

Jace’s jaw tightened, but he said nothing. Instead, he knelt beside your bed, looking up at you with an intensity that made your chest ache.

“Y/N, there’s… there’s something I need to tell you,” he began, his voice thick with emotion. “I spoke with Mother.”

“Oh?” You raised an eyebrow, knowing the weight of his words before he even said them. His gaze softened, and he reached for your hand, his fingers brushing over yours in a touch that was both warm and hesitant, as though he feared you might vanish.

“We are to be married,” he said quietly, watching your reaction, his eyes searching for something—hope, perhaps, or at least acceptance.

You felt a strange stillness settle over you, a quiet that almost numbed the words. You knew his intentions, the depth of his care, the fierce way he held on to hope. But you also knew the truth—the truth the dreams had shown you time and again. You let your fingers slip away from his, folding your hands in your lap as you looked down, avoiding his gaze.

“That shouldn’t happen,” you murmured, a hollow note in your voice.

He looked taken aback, hurt flashing across his face. “Why? Y/N, I… I love you. I want to help you, to share this burden, to remind you that you’re not alone.”

You closed your eyes, feeling the weight of those dreams settle heavily upon you once more. “Jace, every time I close my eyes, I see death. Our family is crumbling, falling to ruin, and I see myself at the center of it all. How can you say you love me when I bring only suffering?”

His hands reached for yours again, stronger this time, refusing to let go. “You don’t bring suffering, Y/N. You are suffering alone, and I can’t bear it.” His voice broke slightly, and you could see the raw emotion shimmering in his eyes. “You don’t deserve to carry this alone. Let me be there with you, through whatever comes.”

You shook your head, swallowing hard as you pulled your hands free from his grasp. “No, Jace. Don’t you understand? In my dreams, I see you die, over and over. I see you fall, burning. If we marry, I will only draw you closer to that fate. I… I cannot do that to you.”

He leaned forward, capturing your gaze with a fierce determination. “Then let me die by your side, if that is what fate holds,” he said, his voice a low, steady murmur. “If the future is as dark as you say, then I’d rather face it with you than run from it alone. Let me be the one to stand beside you, whatever may come.”

Your throat tightened, words tangling in a knot of fear and longing. “Jace… you don’t know what you’re asking. You don’t know what I’ve seen. I am haunted, every moment, every breath. There is a darkness around me that you cannot see.”

“I see you,” he whispered, his voice rough and resolute. “And that is enough.”

You felt a tear slip down your cheek, and he reached up to brush it away, his touch warm and gentle, like the promise of sunlight breaking through clouds. “Please, Y/N. Don’t push me away. Let me be here with you, let me share the burden.”

For a moment, you allowed yourself to hope, to think that perhaps his love could be enough to shield you, that perhaps this weight could be lightened. But then the visions surfaced again, sharp and unyielding, and you saw it once more—Jace, falling, burning, slipping from your grasp as fate tore him away.

“No, Jace,” you whispered, voice trembling as you pulled back. “It would be selfish of me. I can’t… I can’t be the reason you suffer, the reason you fall.”

He shook his head, frustration and love warring in his gaze. “Y/N, this isn’t just about you. This is about us. Don’t you understand? I would rather suffer by your side than live without you.”

The silence between you was thick, filled with all the unspoken fears and dreams, the shadows of what could be and what would never come to pass. Finally, you turned away, the words barely escaping your lips.

“If you marry me, you will only bring the end closer.”

He rose to his feet, standing over you, his hand still hovering as if he wanted to touch you but feared you would slip away. “Then let it come,” he murmured. “Let the end come, if that is what it means to love you. But I will not turn away, Y/N. I will not abandon you to the dark.”

A part of you wanted to believe him, to let yourself fall into his embrace and allow him to bear the weight of your pain. But you knew, deep down, that the darkness within you was a burden only you could carry.

“Then we will face it as one,” he whispered, determination firm in his gaze, as if he could will away your fears by sheer force of love. “Even if it means standing in the fire.”

And though a part of you wanted to protest, to argue, you felt yourself soften, your heart stirring with a fragile, flickering hope. Perhaps, just perhaps, you could stand beside him in the dark. Perhaps, with him, the dreams would loosen their hold, and you could find a measure of peace.

But the shadows lingered, and even as he held you, the visions danced on the edge of your mind, whispering that love was just another kind of flame, destined to burn out.

[moshuka]

long smutt where paige is needy but you wont touch her until she shows you her touching herself and shes shy at first but gives in

dream- p. bueckers

!! - not short!! Dancer!reader, english isn’t my first language

!! - smut, sub!paige, masturbation, wet dreams, no pre-established relationships, giving enemies with benefits, paige cums quickly, thigh riding

Paige exclaims, sitting up sharply as she looks around her room.

Her roommate stays sleeping through the noise, and Paige only has one thought going through her brain:

You.

After months of convincing herself that she and the dancer were not in any way, shape, or form, friends, the girl is still the first thing Paige thinks of when she awakens from her nightmare.

That’s right, the big bad Paige Bueckers has bad dreams.

Paige gets out of bed, pulling your black oversized jacket over her purple shirt.

Your purple shirt.

Paige shakes her head.

Stop thinking about her.

She slides on her slippers nonetheless, making sure to check her appearance in the mirror.

do my braids look okay? should i take them out? does she even want to see me? do-

Paige takes a second before opening her door and doing anything but running down the hall and to your room.

She doesn’t bother to knock, instead pushing the door open and going to stand in the middle of the dancer’s room.

“P?”

You look up from your book, warily staring at the blonde haired girl, who’s arms are crossed.

“I- I thought you might want me here.” Paige starts. “You know, with your night terrors and all.”

She whispers the last part.

“My night terrors?”

Paige looks down at her feet. “This is the part where you invite me to lay in your bed with you.”

You trie to hide your smirk, closing your book and putting it on your bedside table as you stand up.

Crossing the room, you close your door before walking to Paige. You take her jacket off of the blonde, throwing it to a corner of the room.

You place your hand on Paige’s lower back, leading her over to the bed.

Paige lays down, pressing herself against the wall, giving you as much space as she can.

You lay down as well, and it’s silence for a few minutes.

“Y/N?” Paige finally whispers.

You ley out a quiet sigh, thankful.

“Yeah?”

“Are you awake?”

“Who the fuck do you think just said ‘yeah?’”

Paige turns on her side, facing you, who doesn’t even try to hide your smirk.

“This wasn’t about ‘my’ night terrors, was it?”

Paige doesn’t dare move.

“What happened, P?”

don’t tell her don’t tell her don’t tell her don’t tell her don’t don’t don’t don’t-

“I’m the lamest baller to ever exist.”

Your gaze softens, and you wrap an arm around Paige, who tenses as you pulls her closer.

“Paige,” You whisper, “can I tell you a secret?”

Paige is certain you can hear her heartbeat getting faster.

You smile softly. “you’re my most favorite baller to ever exist.”

Crickets.

Paige has to admit that she’s a bit disappointed.

“Oh. Well, thank you, I guess. goodnight.” She deadpans, turning around so you can’t see her sad expression.

You laugh though, pulling the blonde against your chest, easily spooning her.

Paige’s heart races as you slip her hand under her shirt, your fingers drawing patterns on Paige’s stomach.

You smirk at the sound of Paige’s soft sigh, and the next time you look over to check on the girl, her eyes are closed.

For the first time in a very long time, Pauge Bueckers falls asleep with a smile on her face.

———————————————ʚɞ———————————————

Sleep doesn’t last long.

Paige wakes up from another dream, although this time, not a bad one.

She feels you shift behind her, and freezes.

“P?”

The girl keeps quiet, peeling your hand off of her body before the you can notice the wet patch on her sweatpants.

“Can I use your bathroom?” Paige asks.

“Yeah, of course.”

The blonde girl is quick to get out of the bed, running to the bathroom and quickly shutting the door.

Your head snaps up when you hear Paige’s frustrated groan.

It’s obvious that the basketball player doesn’t actually use the restroom, as there are no telltale… sounds.

Paige exits the small room a number of minutes later, and gets back in the bed quickly.

You wrap her hand around Paige’s waist once again, pulling the girl’s shirt up even higher to continue the doodles on her skin.

Paige’s breath hitches when your hand ventures lower, now playing with the hem of her sweatpants.

“Were you dreaming about me, baby?” The dancer asks, her breath hot against Paige’s neck.

don’t tell her don’t tell her you don’t have to tell her anything lie lie lie lie lie-

“Yes.” Paige uses all of her power to make her voice not waver.

A victorious smirk appears on your face.

If you told Paige Bueckers six months ago that she’d be having wet dreams about Y/N L/N, she would have laughed in your face.

“Yeah? What was the dream about?”

You hold in a laugh as your hand slips under the waistband of Paige’s sweatpants.

You tuck your leg in between Paige’s, your thigh pressing against her crotch.

“Sorry,” you smile innocently, “just getting comfortable.”

Paige sighs. “In my dream, I felt good. And not like the good i feel after making a basket.” She hints embarrassedly.

You smile. “What was making you feel good?”

don’t tell her get out leave leave leave stop being pathetic leave leave lea-

“You.” Paige breathes out.

“Yeah? And why were you getting mad in the bathroom?”

don’t tell her leave leave leave you’re an addams stop being weak leave leave leave-

“I- I couldn’t do it.”

“Do what?” You ask in mock confusion.

“I couldn’t feel good again.” Paige mumbles, “I tried everything.”

You tsk in her ear.

“Oh yeah? What did you try?”

Paige is so deep in thought that she doesn’t notice your hands gripping her hips, slowly rocking her back and forth.

well, there’s no stopping now.

“I- I tried the corner of your sink, an- and I tried using my fingers, like how you did in my dream, but I couldn’t- it didn’t-“

Paige cuts herself off with a broken moan as you flex your thigh.

“Y/N- pl- please keep-“

You smirk, rocking Paige faster against your thigh.

“You like that, honey? Do you feel good?”

“Yes! Yes, yes, good, feels good.”

Paige gasps when you slip your hand under her sweatpants, rubbing her through her boxers.

Paige quickly helps take her sweatpants off, but whines when you pull away, sitting up.

You giggle at her pout. You lean against the headboard, watching Paige sit desperately in front of you. “Show me.”

“I— what?”

“Show me what I was doing to you. Show me, and I’ll touch you.” You cross your arms.

Paige’s legs seem to spread automatically, showing off the wet spot on her boxers. She brings her middle finger lower, pressing on the wet spot softly.

You smirk, watching her hips jerk.

“Yeah, that’s right. Go ahead and get yourself off.”

Paige tugs down her boxers, revealing her sopping cunt in all of its glory. She hasn’t shaved, but you can still see her engorged clit peeking out of her fat lips.

“Fuck.” You breathe, and Paige moans. She presses down on her clit softly, and starts to rub it. Her other hand spreads her folds, and you watch her pussy clench around nothing.

Paige whimpers, slipping a finger inside of herself. “I— I’m gonna—“

“Cum,” you whisper, and she does.

Paige’s head falls back, her hips jerking and her thighs tensing as she moans out, grasping at her tits. She rides it out, lazily thrusting her finger inside of herself and staring at you with half-lidded eyes.

“Lay down.” You say, moving to hover over her. “It’s my turn.”

[heartfullofleeches]

Clem... how does Clem deal with a nightmare because I KNOW she watches us sleep?

Yan Android Maid Drabble

-

"Master."

Accelerating heartbeat- The rapid flutters of your chest before all falls still - a repeating cycle born a new a tentative hand bids to wrestle you from the realm of slumber.

"Master?."

Your knuckles whiten, mirroring the sweat bathed sheets beneath you as you toss and turn; harrowing cries of distress spilling from your lips as you submerge yourself deeper in the entanglement of blankets - fleeing from the icy, synthetic flesh trying in vein to free you from your terrors.

Try as she may to deny the existence of a bleeding heart inside herself, something within Clementine cracks at the sight of tears decorating your puffy cheeks. Left with no alternatives, the android picks up a vase from your nightstand - a lovely piece of craftsmanship modeled out of clay she purchased during one of her solo outings. Pausing momentarily to marvel at the beauty of the flowers you choose to complete it, Clementine dips her fingers into the vase - sprinkling the resulting droplets of water overhead.

"NO!"

Shooting up in bed, two glowing orbs of light prevent your eyes from adjusting to the darkness completely.

"C-Clementine?... My head..... What happened?"

Clementine dries her fingers on her apron, smoothing out the corners as she states matter of factly. "A nightmare. I was watching over you as I do most evenings when I sensed a discrepancy in your breathing."

"Yeah...." Rubbing the sleep from your eyes, you slide over to make room for Clementine. "Just a nightmare. I guess you're lucky you don't have to deal with those."

"On the contrary, Master. Whenever you are hurt. Whenever you are upset. Whenever any negativity comes your way and I am not there to protect you - Those are my nightmares, and they are a tad too real for my liking"

"O-oh.... Sorry, Clementine..."

"It's alright. You did not mean anything by it. Forgive me for speaking out of pocket. Shall I stay with you until you are able to fall back asleep? We can do something to distract you from your dreams, unless you are willing to discuss them with me."

[caitified]

can u write a paige imagine where the reader sees a nightmare in the middle of the night and wakes up suddenly drenched in sweat and paige just comforts her 😭 she would be soo caringg

nightmare

paige bueckers x reader

warnings:none

the clock on your nightstand glowed a faint red, its digits reading 3:27 a.m. the world outside was silent, but inside your mind, chaos reigned. you tossed and turned, trapped in a nightmare that felt all too real.

just as you reached the climax of your terror, your eyes flew open, and you shot up in bed, heart racing and breath coming in quick gasps. you were drenched in sweat, your sheets tangled around you like a net. reality slowly settled in, but the remnants of the nightmare clung to you, making your skin crawl.

you glanced around the dark room, searching for something familiar to anchor yourself. that’s when you noticed her—paige bueckers, your girlfriend, sleeping soundly beside you. in an instant, you felt a wave of relief wash over you, but the remnants of fear still lingered.

you took a shaky breath, trying to calm yourself, but it was no use. the nightmare had felt too real, and the anxiety bubbled up again. you shifted, the rustling of the sheets awakening paige.

“hey, are you okay?” she murmured, her voice soft and sleepy as she blinked away the remnants of slumber. she turned to face you, concern immediately etched across her features when she saw the distress in your eyes.

“i—i had a nightmare,” you admitted, your voice trembling slightly as you fought back the lingering fear.

paige’s expression softened, and she quickly propped herself up on one elbow, her gaze never leaving yours. “do you want to talk about it?” she asked, her voice low and soothing.

you shook your head, feeling embarrassed. “no, it was just… really scary,” you whispered, your voice barely above a whisper.

“i’m here for you,” paige said, reaching out to brush a damp strand of hair from your forehead. her touch was gentle, and the warmth of her hand sent a wave of comfort through you. “you don’t have to go through this alone.”

her words wrapped around you like a blanket, and you felt a little of the fear begin to dissipate. “thank you,” you replied, your voice shaky but sincere.

paige moved closer, the bed dipping under her weight as she nestled against you, her arms wrapping around your waist. “let’s just breathe together, okay?” she suggested, her voice steady and calming. you nodded, leaning into her embrace as you inhaled deeply, feeling her heartbeat against yours.

“in and out,” she guided, her breaths matching the rhythm of yours. you focused on her voice, letting it ground you, feeling the warmth radiating from her body seep into your skin. with each breath, the panic that had gripped you started to fade, replaced by a comforting calmness.

after a few moments, you felt your heart rate begin to slow, the terror of the nightmare gradually receding. paige pulled back slightly to look into your eyes. “see? you’re okay,” she said, a gentle smile lighting up her face. “i’m right here, and nothing can hurt you.”

you smiled back, grateful for her presence. “i don’t know what i’d do without you,” you admitted, your voice still soft but steadying.

“you’ll never have to find out,” she replied, her tone earnest. “i’ll always be here for you, especially when things get tough.”

you leaned in, pressing your forehead against hers, feeling the warmth of her breath mingling with yours. “i love you, paige,” you whispered, the words flowing out effortlessly.

“i love you too,” she said, her eyes shining with sincerity. “and i promise, if you have another nightmare, i’ll be right here to chase the monsters away.”

the intimacy of the moment wrapped around you like a cocoon, and for the first time since waking from the nightmare, you felt truly safe. the shadows that had haunted you began to dissipate, replaced by the light of paige’s unwavering support.

“thank you for being so caring,” you said, your voice thick with emotion. “i don’t deserve you.”

“you do,” paige insisted, cupping your face in her hands. “you’re strong, and you’re not alone. we’re a team, remember?”

“a team,” you echoed, the words warming your heart. you felt a sense of comfort in knowing that together, you could face anything—even the darkest of dreams.

after a few more moments of shared warmth, you settled back into the pillows, paige’s arms still wrapped around you. you felt her fingers gently playing with your hair, a soothing rhythm that lulled you back toward sleep.

“i’m here, just close your eyes,” she murmured, her voice a soft melody in the stillness of the night. you took a deep breath, allowing the warmth of her presence to wrap around you like a blanket.

[llamagoddessofficial]

As a scuba diver I can confirm how quickly a peaceful dive can turn scary; on a sea dive I was so caught up in the moment that I completely forgot to watch my oxygen gauge. Thankfully my buddy was there to let me use his air supply and take me to the surface.

What would the siren boys do if MC got into danger while diving, such as very low oxygen? Maybe MC was pulled by the current and drifted away from other divers? Would they help her or take advantage of the situation?

Sans: Her life entirely depends how serious the 'trouble' in question is.

He'll save her if it's a very easy problem for him to solve. Like... if she's near the surface but runs out of air, he can rush her up the last couple of metres. If she drifts away from her friends and is struggling hard against the current, he can loop her arms around his neck and swim her back to them. Things that are emergencies to her, but slight inconveniences to him, he'll help with - especially since saving her life is a very easy way to get a LOT of favour with her. He likes the way she looks at him after he saves her. Beautiful, breathless, exhausted, staring like for a moment she adores him as much as he adores her.

However... a more complex issue? He'd let her drown. Maybe she's too far away from the surface and taking her straight upward wouldn't be safe. Maybe she's entered a state of panic and is making things worse for herself and he can't convince her to hold onto him. Maybe, even, she's in trouble but she simply hasn't seen him. If she never knew he was there she wouldn't be upset he didn't help.

He'll watch. It's just a little bit of discomfort. Then? They can be together forever.

Red: Come on. It's our boy. Our respect women juice chugging world champ - of course he'll rescue her, no matter what.

Her dive buddies definitely recount the story to her. Red was goofing off like he always does, nipping and shoving people he doesn't like, making it clear he's the 'alpha' around here. But suddenly, something about him flips... something in his disposition instantly changes. He becomes completely serious, and beelines into the near distance.

... And it's only once he's with her that everyone else notices she's silently struggling. They wouldn't have known to help if Red hadn't drawn attention to her.

He acts silly and stupid. But he's always paying attention to his mate, even when far away, using his incredible senses to keep tabs. He can sense her heartbeat with his electroreception, hear her breathing in the regulator, smell her blood in her veins. He's much smarter than he acts, and if the situation gets messy, there's not much better help underwater than a massive aggressive shark who'll move mountains to keep her safe.

Skull: Surprisingly, he'll do his absolute best to save her.

You'd expect the big lug to be the one actively pulling her down. But Skull doesn't really have a plan, so to speak, with his beloved little diver, he isn't plotting her death like Sans. He just wants to be around her; he wants to court her, show her what a good mate he'll be, show her pretty rocks and gifts, win her love and pull her back no matter how many times she tries to swim away from him. So it doesn't really matter what's happening - if Skull sees her struggling, he just sees his mate in distress, and he wants to rescue her. He doesn't like seeing her in visible pain or terror.

He might be delayed in helping if she's under the effects of nitrogen narcosis, because that just makes you act silly and drunk, so he wouldn't actually know anything was wrong. But as soon as he notices something off (she takes out her regulator, passes out, etc) he'll do everything he can to save her. He's a good boy underneath all those scars and deadly tentacles.

[perfectsunlight]

[36] MOM

warnings: my eyes are wet

there are many universal things that strike fear into a person. the unknown. the dark. the things that lurk just beyond the reach of reason. but maternal fear—true maternal fear—is something else entirely.

it doesn’t creep up on someone like ordinary fear. it doesn’t prickle at the back of one’s neck or settle in someone’s gut like a bad feeling you can shake off. no, maternal fear is an all-consuming thing. it is a force that swallows you whole, claws its way into your ribs, wraps around your lungs like a vice until you forget how to breathe.

it is the fear of losing a child.

and jennie feels it now, more than ever. 

she feels it more than the cold of the floor as she runs down the staircase of her home, more than the sting of the wind as she throws open the front door. she isn’t thinking about grabbing a coat or her keys or even her phone. all that matters is getting to her car, getting to her daughter.

her pulse is a war drum, her heartbeat erratic as she moves on autopilot. fear is not just in her chest—it is in her bones, her bloodstream, her every breath. it is primal. it is instinct. it is the sharp, gut-wrenching kind of terror that unravels a person from the inside out.

jennie doesn’t remember getting in the driver’s seat. one moment, she’s sprinting across the driveway, her vision blurred, her hands trembling. the next, she’s gripping the steering wheel, slamming her foot on the gas, tearing through the streets as if sheer momentum could erase the distance between them.

the city blurs past her, streetlights and headlights merging into one long, dizzying smear of color. rain smacks against the windshield, but she barely registers it. her fingers are clenched too tightly around the wheel, her breath coming too fast, her mind screaming too loudly.

too late, too late, too late.

she shakes her head. no. she won’t allow it.

she’s gripping the steering wheel so tight her knuckles turn white, but she doesn’t notice. the world outside her car is nothing but streaks of red and white, traffic lights bleeding into one another as she weaves through the roads. she doesn’t care about the speed limit. doesn’t care about the rain slicking the asphalt or the way her heartbeat pounds like a war drum in her ears.

all she can think about is ivory.

she has lived through many versions of fear before. the fear of failure. the fear of heartbreak. the fear of standing on stage with her voice catching in her throat. but nothing—not a single thing—has ever come close to this.

because this isn’t about her. this isn’t about a reputation to protect or an audience to impress.

this is about her daughter.

and when it came to jane, jennie would do anything for her.

so she presses her foot against the gas pedal. tightens her grip. she ignores the way her hands shake, the way her throat burns, the way her mind keeps whispering too late, too late, too late.

she won’t let it be too late. she can’t.

because if there’s one thing stronger than fear, it’s a mother’s love.

the speed limit in the city was a meaningless number on a sign jennie didn’t bother to read. it was irrelevant—just another rule designed for people who weren’t mothers racing against time.

her car tore through the streets, tires screeching as she took a turn too fast. the rain made the roads slick, but she didn’t slow down. she couldn’t.

hotel dandelion was located just outside of the jongno district. a quiet, unassuming place, tucked between neon-lit convenience stores and aging office buildings. it wasn’t anywhere near luxury, but it was safe—or as safe as anywhere could be for someone trying to disappear.

ivory had been smart. careful. she hadn’t checked in under her own name. it was a cruel twist of irony that made jennie’s stomach turn. it was a silent message. a desperate one.

she swerved into a nearby lot, barely registering the jolt as her tires hit the curb. the engine was still running when she threw open the door before she quickly scrambled to turn it off, stepping out into the downpour. rain soaked through her hoodie in an instant, cold and unrelenting, but she didn’t stop. hood up and head down, she moved quickly, her pulse a frantic rhythm beneath her skin.

the lobby was dim, almost sepia-toned, with an old chandelier casting fractured light across the floor. the front desk clerk, a man in his late fifties, glanced up from his screen as she approached. his gaze lingered a second too long, and jennie forced herself to stay calm, to keep her voice even.

“what room is ruby jane in?” she asked carefully to be neutral, but her stomach twisted with every syllable, the name like a knife in her chest.

the clerk looked at her, momentarily surprised by the urgency in her tone, but his practiced composure returned quickly. he scanned the computer screen in front of him, his fingers slow and deliberate. the seconds stretched longer than they should’ve, each one making jennie feel like her skin was too tight, suffocating.

“you’ll need to provide some form of identification, ma’am,” he said, his voice level but stiff, as if his mind was already starting to question the situation.

jennie’s breath hitched for a moment. she couldn’t use her real name. she couldn’t afford to have anyone connect her to this place, to ivory. instead she did something else. 

jennie’s fingers trembled slightly as she pulled her hood back just enough for the front desk clerk to see her face. his eyes widened immediately, along with his jaw slacking slightly. she didn’t need to say anything—he knew exactly who she was.

the clerk's expression shifted, no longer rigid but now a little flustered, a bit starstruck, though he kept his professionalism intact. jennie could practically see the wheels turning in his head, the recognition finally hitting full force. jennie kim—the one and only. except right now she wanted to be nothing else but a mother.

“room 30,” he said quickly, almost stumbling over the words. he didn’t ask for identification. he didn’t ask any more questions. he simply handed her the keycard with a nervous smile and a slight bow of his head.

the idol nodded curtly, taking the keycard from him, her pulse barely registering the relief. the weight of the moment still hung on her shoulders. she had no time for niceties or any more distractions. without another word, she turned, making her way through the exit outside, her shoes slapping against the stone floor. the air in the hotel was heavy, but she didn’t notice. every step felt like a countdown, each one echoing louder than the last as she hurried toward the elevator.

the doors closed with a soft thud, and she spotted the door outside without hesitation. the stairs creaked beneath her as she ascended, each step taking her closer to the room, but it also felt like it was dragging her further away from the calm she was desperately trying to hold onto. the soft hum of the outdoor lamps flickered in the background, their yellow glow barely cutting through the haze of rain and mist that clung to the air. every sound seemed amplified, each one a harsh reminder of how little time she had.

she took deep breaths, forcing herself to steady her shaking hands, but it didn’t help. her pulse was too loud, too frantic, and it was the only thing she could hear. thoughts swirled in her mind like a storm—what was she going to say when ivory opened the door? did she want to see her? would this even help?

jennie squeezed her eyes shut for a moment, trying to push the panic down. she couldn’t think about what-ifs. not now. not when everything depended on her moving forward.

finally, the door to room 30 appeared in front of her. it looked like any other door in the hotel—plain, with the same number stamped into the wood. her fingers hovered over the handle, trembling. and with a mother’s own strength, she slid the keycard into the door's lock, the small click sounding like a gunshot to her ears. the door swung open without resistance, revealing the dim, sparse room. her eyes scanned it quickly—the same faded carpet, the single bed with rumpled sheets, and the low light from the bedside lamp casting long shadows along the walls.

and then, there she was. ivory.

the older woman’s breath caught as her daughter stood in the far corner of the room, face half-hidden in the shadows, arms wrapped tightly around herself. she was smaller than jennie remembered, more fragile, but still so much like the girl she had once known.

jennie took a step inside, her shoes squishing softly on the floor, but she didn’t approach too quickly. she didn’t want to spook her or scare her. ivory’s face turned fully once her mother shut the door entirely behind her. 

“valentine,” her mother whispered, her voice soft and tentative, as if testing the air, afraid of what her daughter might say, afraid of what the silence between them might become. “i’m here. it’s just me. i’m not going anywhere.”

the room felt smaller somehow, the air thick with the weight of everything unspoken. jane’s gaze was still fixed on her, distant yet searching, as if jennie was some stranger standing before her. there was something in the way she held herself—like she was afraid to let anyone in, afraid to show any kind of weakness.

jennie swallowed the lump in her throat, forcing herself to stay calm, to keep her voice steady despite the storm of emotions raging inside her. her eyes stayed on her daughter, every inch of her aching to reach out, to wrap her arms around her and hold her close.

but she knew she couldn’t. not yet. not until she was sure that’s what her child needed.

“i’ve been looking everywhere for you,” the idol hushed, the words escaping before she could stop them. “i—” she broke off, choking on the rest of the sentence, the weight of all the things she had never said before crashing down on her. “i’ve made mistakes. so many of them. but please, don’t shut me out.”

ivory didn’t move. didn’t speak.

jennie’s hands curled into fists at her sides, nails digging into her palms. the silence between them was a sharp, painful thing. and then, out of nowhere, she heard it.

“mom.”

the word cracked through the air, so fragile, so quiet, but it hit jennie like a tidal wave, sweeping her off her feet. for a moment, everything in the room stilled. the noise in her head stopped. she didn’t even realize she was holding her breath until she exhaled sharply, the sound jagged.

her heart stumbled in her chest, racing out of control, as tears began to well in her eyes. she could hardly believe it.

mom.

she hadn’t heard that word in so long—so long it had begun to feel like a dream. the last time ivory had said it, she was still a little girl, looking up at her with those wide, adoring and innocent eyes. but now it was different. there was so much weight in it, so much history. 

jennie didn’t even notice the tears slipping down her cheeks until they hit her lips, salty and warm. and in that moment, all of the years of hurt, confusion, and separation collapsed in on her. all of the things she had done, or not done, all the mistakes and the silences and the regrets—they didn’t matter anymore.

without even realizing it, jennie moved before she could think otherwise. she surged forward, faster than she could think, desperate to close the space between them. she needed to touch her, needed to feel ivory in her arms like she used to years ago. and then jane was moving too—lunging toward her, her arms open, as if she couldn’t wait another second.

it wasn’t gentle. it wasn’t graceful. it was raw. it was reckless. jennie’s body slammed against ivory’s, knocking the breath out of both of them, and they clung to each other like they were drowning in the same sea.

jennie felt her daughter’s arms wrap around her so tight, so fast—desperate. she was holding on as if she feared her mother would disappear again if she let go. ivory’s sobs broke through her, tearing at the older woman’s chest, and she pulled her closer, tighter, feeling the heat of her skin, the tremors in her hands as she held onto her daughter.

“mom,” ivory whispered again, like she couldn’t say it enough, as if the sound of it in the air was enough to bring them both back to life. jennie buried her face in ivory’s hair, her hands tangled in her daughter’s clothes, her heart tearing with every muffled sob that echoed in her ears. ivory just shook in her arms, crying into her shoulder, and jennie could feel it—feel the pain and the absence they had both been carrying for so long, crashing together in a flood of desperate grief.

the years of silence. the years of longing. the broken promises. it was all too much, too overwhelming.

then came the litany of apologies from ivory. the guilt was still fresh in jane’s mind, tearing at her heart and lungs like thorns on a vine. “im sorry,” the younger kim hiccuped out, feeling the weight of each word crash over her like a wave she couldn’t escape. “i’m so sorry, mom. for everything. for making you feel like i didn’t need you, like i didn’t want you.” her voice trembled as she spoke, the guilt and shame she had carried for years spilling out in ragged breaths. 

jennie immediately just hushed and rocked her daughter gently, doing her best to calm the storm of emotions crashing down around them. her hands, steady and gentle, ran through her hair and smoothing it back as if the simple gesture could somehow erase the years of pain between them. the older woman didn’t have any answers, didn’t know how to make everything right, but she knew one thing for certain: her daughter was finally here, safe in her arms, and that was all that mattered now.

"shh, it’s okay, baby. it’s okay," the idol whispered, her voice thick with emotion. she felt jane tremble against her, every sob wracking her daughter’s body. her heart broke anew, each sob like a needle pricking her soul. she wanted to take away the hurt, the guilt, the pain her child had carried all this time. 

but for now, all she could do was hold her, let her cry, and let the years of distance between them fall away, piece by piece.

the sound of ivory’s sobs filled the room, raw and unrestrained, and jennie held her even tighter, as if she could shield her from the weight of everything she had been through. she didn’t need to speak; the silence between them was all-encompassing. it was the kind of silence that spoke volumes—of missed moments, of broken phone calls, of unspoken apologies that hung between them like a thick fog. but now, as the sound of jane’s grief filled the air, her mother understood that those words didn’t matter anymore. the past was the past.

jennie kept her voice soft, soothing as her daughter clung to her. "you don’t have to say sorry, sweet girl." she murmured, her heart aching as she spoke. ivory’s hands gripped jennie’s damp hoodie, her fingers digging into the fabric as if she was afraid of losing her again. the sheer desperation in her hold was overwhelming, and her mother wanted nothing more than to shield her from all of it. she could feel the tremors running through ivory’s body, could hear the ragged breaths she was trying to take between sobs.

"i wasn’t good enough for you," jane cried out between gasps, her voice breaking on each syllable. "i wasn’t a good daughter. but i was so angry, and i thought if i made the world believe you weren’t my mom you’d be better off.”

jennie felt her chest tighten at those words. she could feel the weight of them like a lead ball sinking deep into her heart. but she didn’t want to let her daughter spiral further. she didn’t want ivory to keep blaming herself for something that was beyond her control. because jennie knew she was responsible, too.

"jane," the idol whispered, pulling her child back just enough to look into her eyes. the sight of her daughter, still so fragile, still so broken, made jennie’s heart ache in ways she couldn’t put into words. "you were never a problem. never. you were hurt, and i failed to see that. i failed you, too. i should’ve never let you feel like you were alone. but i was scared too. i was scared you didn’t want me, that i wasn’t enough. i’m so sorry for that, valentine. i should’ve never let you think i wasn’t here for you."

ivory wiped her tears away with the back of her hand, her face flushed with the rawness of her emotions. her voice trembled, but she tried to speak, to explain herself, to justify the years of distance. jennie felt a lump form in her throat, and she fought to swallow it down. there was nothing else to say, no other way to make this moment better. all she could do was hold her daughter close and let her feel the warmth of her love. she kissed the top of ivory’s head, holding her as tightly as she could, never wanting to let go again.

there wasn’t any specific amount of time that passed, but it felt like a small eternity. the room was heavy with their shared grief, but it was also filled with the warmth of being together again. eventually, ivory’s sobs began to subside, her breath evening out as she rested against jennie, no longer crying but still holding onto her tightly, as if afraid to let go.

jennie, still gently rocking her, let the silence settle between them for a moment. she could feel the weight of the moment, but at the same time, she knew that they needed to find a way to breathe again. so, in her usual way, she broke the tension with something light, something to bring them back to the present, to remind them that, despite everything, they could still laugh.

pulling back just a little to look at her daughter, jennie wiped away a stray tear from ivory’s cheek, her lips curving into a small, teasing smile.

“using my name to check into a hotel,” jennie said softly, her tone playful despite the emotions still swirling around them, “that’s...very creative, i’ll give you that.”

jane blinked, a hint of confusion still in her eyes. and then, slowly, a small smile formed on her lips. the first real sign of lightness in the air between them. jennie’s heart soared at the action, even if it was just a tiny glimmer of relief in their otherwise tense situation.

“you know,” jennie added softly as she reached over to the nightstand and handed her daughter a tissue to blow her nose. “i almost named you ruby.” 

“that’s basic.” ivory commented before blowing her runny nose. her mother chuckled at the comment, the sound warm and full of affection. it was such a small moment, but it was everything. the tension in the air seemed to lift just a little, like the first rays of sunlight breaking through the stormy clouds. 

“basic?” her mother repeated, raising an eyebrow. “i thought ruby had a nice ring to it, actually. a little vintage, a little timeless. you’d look good with it.”

her daughter shot her a sideways glance, a spark of her usual character returning to her eyes. “yeah, but jane is more unique. it’s original.” “valentine, you do realize jane is still part of my name right?” jennie smirked a little. ivory blinked, then let out a soft laugh, realizing the irony. "oh, right. i guess you’re right. jane is technically unique, too. just not in the way i thought." she sniffed, wiping her nose one last time before tossing the tissue aside.

jennie’s smile widened, feeling that small but significant sense of comfort settle between them, the weight of the past slowly starting to lift. “well, there’s always a bit of me in you, whether you like it or not,” she teased, giving her daughter a playful nudge. 

ivory rolled her eyes but didn’t fight the smile creeping onto her lips. "i guess that’s not the worst thing."

jennie smiled softly, pulling her daughter into a tight hug again. this time, there was no hesitation. no distance between them. just the warmth of a mother’s love and the quiet strength of someone who knew they’d do anything to make things right.

“don't worry about any of the other messes. i’ll take care of everything,” jennie whispered, her voice steady and filled with conviction. there wasn’t anything she could do to change the past, but she was determined to make sure their future would be different. now, more than ever, she was going to make sure of that.“i promise.” 

and for the first time in a long time, jennie felt like she could keep that promise.

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CLOSED.

[wordsarelife]

⛧༺ NO BODY, NO CRIME ༻⛧

EPISODE 02: no, there ain't no doubt

pairing: theo nott x potter!reader

summary: you and theo begin to investigate the murder, while trying to keep the operation under wraps and each other save from the killer

warnings: extremely big trigger warning for the whole series, in this chapter: mentions of blood, a corpse, murder

note: hello guys, welcome back to the second episode of nbnc!! i hope you like it so far! if you have any theories, do not be shy and share them in the comments!!!

you were staring at the wall across from you. dumbledores office was different than you would have imagined. you could hear the teachers voice, but it didn’t really reach your eyes, your mind wandering back and forth between what had happened prior.

professor burbages face was such a clear image in your mind. way too clear, way too disturbing. you could feel her eyes linger on you, feel the pain that had etched itself onto her features and the wetness of the blood on your fingers, that you had picked up as you had fallen back into the snow.

you felt theo’s arms around you, as he pulled you into the castle. you had felt his quick heartbeat against your ear, his shaky breath had been louder than yours and you hadn’t been able to stand on your own. 

“it’s okay” he had muttered, pressing you to his chest, as if to shield you from every bad thing in the world. “you’re okay” his voice was muffled as he spoke into your hair, hiding his own face as if to gain some sort of comfort from the close proximity.

“did you see anyone?” mcgonagalls voice reached your ears and your mind broke free off the memory.  

you shook your head, not having the ability to speak. theo send a worried glance in your direction. you were fiddeling with your hands in your lap, the look of terror still on your face. 

“there was no one there” theo said. “we didn’t hear or see anything apart from what we told you” his voice had grown aggravated through all the questions you had had to answer. “can we please continue this another time?” 

“just a few more questions, mr. nott” dumbledore said softly, holding a bowl filled with lemon drops towards you. both theo and you shook your head. 

theo sighed, but nodded at the professor’s request. then, all of a sudden, he reached over and took your hand in his, so you could hold onto something and knew that he was there. 

you looked up and theo send you a reassuring smile. 

you ended up at the common room at half past three. the questioning had continued all throughout the night, with the teachers grappling to find answers. you were sure that they knew more than you, as they exchanged mysterious glances at everything theo and you told them. 

you couldn’t stop thinking about it and you were so incredibly scared. you wished theo was there, he was the only one that understood what you were going through. 

you climbed the stairs to your dorm, deciding that it was to no use to sit around the common room all alone. hermione was fast asleep when you opened the door. the teachers had probably informed them that you were being held back, but probably without disclosing the real reason. 

you got rid of your uniform and changed into your pyjama. you took another glance at hermione, before you quietly walked to her bed and crawled under the blanket. she stirred a bit in her sleep, but didn’t wake up, as you pushed your face into the pillow next to her. 

you needed some sort of comfort and just knowing she was there was enough to send you to sleep, the exhaustion taking over before your mind could wander back to the nights events again. 

the next morning, the castle felt strangely quiet. you awoke after hermione, who had probably already left for breakfast or something else. for a moment, you simply lay there, staring at the ceiling, letting the stillness linger. but the memories crept back in as they always did—professor burbage’s face, the coldness of the snow, and the horror that gripped you when you realized something was terribly wrong.

you slipped out of hermione’s bed, there was no point in staying any longer, pretending that a few more hours of sleep could wash away what had happened. your limbs felt heavy as you dressed, your mind replaying the details over and over. every time you closed your eyes, it was there again—her face, twisted with fear, and the blood, so much of it, on your hands.

downstairs, the common room was empty, except for theo, who was waiting for you. his back was turned, his posture rigid as he stared into the fireplace.

“theo” you said in surprise. he turned around and send you a soft smile. 

“i couldn’t sleep much” he muttered, “thought you might want some company”

“but the password?”

“it was way too easy to find out” he shook his head, laughing softly. “you guys should better change it” he added, a bit more worried, realizing the danger a security breach like that held. 

you quickly nodded, your eyes wandering over his features that softened when he noticed the tears brimming in your eyes. 

he stepped closer, pausing for a second, before he finally opened his arms, so you could cry against his chest. 

“i’m sorry” you muttered, ruffling your nose. “i’m sorry” 

“what for?” theo asked, voice calm and warm like he could send all your fears to sleep with a simple word. “you saw something terrible and rightfully it messed you up, it messed me up too” 

“i’m glad you’re here” you whispered and you could feel him nod his head. “you’re the only one who understands” 

“just like you” he smiled as you stepped back. “but i’m also here because of something else” he waited for your permission to explain. 

“go on” you urged, cleaning the left over tears from your face with the back of your hand. 

his hand went into the pocket of his trousers and he took out a folded piece of paper that he then held in your direction. you took it and opened it up. “professor burbage had that with her. outside” 

your eyes studied the symbol on the paper. it looked familiar, but you couldn’t quite place it. the lines were sharp, forming an intricate design that seemed purposeful, almost like a rune. your heart started to race as you stared at the symbol, trying to pull the memory from the back of your mind.

“i’ve seen this before” you whispered, but your voice was uncertain. “i don’t know where, but i’ve definitely seen it”

theo leaned closer, his eyes scanning the paper along with you. “i thought the same thing when i found it. it was clenched in her hand. almost like… like she was trying to hold on to it.”

“did dumbledore see this?” you asked alarmed. “why did you take it?” 

“i didn’t think properly before i did, it was the first thing that i saw, i realized only later that she had probably held it in her hand. otherwise it would’ve been wet”

“this is evidence, theo” you shook your head, brushing back your hair with the piece of paper still in your hand. “you can’t just take evidence from a crime scene!” you scolded.

“well, i didn’t know it was a crime scene when i took it” he excused. “apart from that, maybe the rune entails a secret message or something? something the killer could’ve used to get burbage outside” 

your eyes widened, before you quickly nodded. “okay” you pushed the paper back into his hand. “what do we do now? go to dumbledore and tell him?”

“because that worked so great before” theo said softly, but you could hear the annoyance in his voice.

“he just said that we can’t be sure it’s a murder” 

“well it looked like a bloody murder, didn’t it?” he grimaced, “all the blood” 

“yeah” you agreed. “it definitely did. but what do you suggest we do if we won’t tell dumbledore? who could we tell then?”

“no one” theo shrugged. “we keep it between us, until we find out more”

“find out more?” you asked surprised. “do i look like sherlock holmes to you?”

“no, but you come close to doctor watson” 

“ha ha” you shook your head and crossed your arms, before you thought for a second. “alright” you finally said “let’s get some breakfast, i might know someone who can help with that after” 

he nodded, ready to leave the common room, but you held him back by his arm. “but not together, no one should know what we’re trying to find out. and no word about professor burbage, we don’t even know if it’s public knowledge yet”

“okay” theo muttered. “for someone who claims to have no idea about this, it comes to you pretty naturally”

“i’ve read a lot” you shrugged, but couldn’t bite back the smile that crept onto your face. “come on” 

theo and you split up. you sat down at the gryffindor table next to ron and across from harry, while theo wandered off to the slytherin table to join his own friends.

“morning” harry greeted. “where have you been so long?” he wondered, before he raised his brows and touched your cheek. “have you been crying?” 

you shook your head, quickly wiping over your cheeks to get rid of the remaining wetness. “no” you muttered. you couldn’t even trust your own voice. theo and you had sworn not to tell anyone what you knew and that probably included your brother. he would find out soon enough anyway.

“good morning” dumbledores voice rang out loud and clear throughout the hall, before harry had the chance to question you further. “something terrible happened yesterday” he paused for a second, before he added. “professor burbage has been found dead”

waves of shock went through the hall, as gazes were exchanged and heavy whisper broke through. 

you looked at theo across from you. neither of you had thought that the teachers would share the news so fast.

“we can’t be sure what happened yet, but professor slughorn is currently trying to inform the aurors in the hope that we will soon have an answer to every question you might have” he smiled softly. “for now, please remain calm and—“

the door to the great hall flew open, revealing professor slughorn, who quickly hurried inside. “albus!” he called loudly, not caring who was listening “the castle—, it’s been” he shook his head, as if to try and rearrange his thoughts. “a terrible snowstorm has cut every tie to the outside world” he finished, having reached the teachers table, face reddened and trying to catch his breath. 

no one in the hall dared to matter a word, not even ron, as the three of you stared up at the teachers table where dumbledore and slughorn were hurriedly whispering with each other. 

“alright, alright” dumbledore nodded finally, as slughorn sank down in his seat. mcgonagall slightly tapped his shoulder in comfort, but slughorn looked like he was about to faint as he wept a hand through his thinning hair. 

“it seems like another problem just introduced itself” dumbledore’s smile was unwavering, but you noticed a hint of discomfort on his face. the same discomfort he had worn the day before, when you had told him about professor burbage. “it’s seems that a magically forged storm has reached the hogwarts grounds. there is no need to worry, as this will be taken care of. as stated before, please remain calm, make sure to stay together and continue on with your day” 

“magically forged?” harry muttered. “and what about professor burbage? what does she have to do with everything?”

“i don’t know” you replied warily, locking eyes with theo across the hall, before you nodded to the door. “i have to go” you told harry and ron, before you got up to leave. 

“what? where?” harry tried to reach for your hand, but you drew it back quickly. “you’re acting strange, y/n. what’s going on?” 

“nothing” you shook your head, quickly searching for an answer that would leave him satisfied. “well, i have this uh— girl problem that i need to talk to hermione about” you eventually replied, acting as if you were embarassed. 

“oh” harry muttered, while ron’s cheeeks quickly grew rosy, as he averted his eyes. “okay, then go on” harry encouraged uncomfortably. “but, let me know if you need, uh, any help, yeah?” 

you nodded and finally left the hall with a last wave to your friends. “bye” they answered your greeting, before they quickly turned their heads, falling into conversation with neville and ginny. 

theo, who had caught your hint, met you in the corridor outside the great hall. “did you know they would tell everyone?” you blurted out as soon as he arrived. 

“what? no!” he shook his head. “what’s even worse is the storm. do you think there’s a connection?” 

“maybe the killer is not finished” you muttered, finger pressed to your chin, thinking. 

theo kept silent, watching you with wide eyes, as he thought about what you said. “that means—“

“yeah” you nodded “he’s still here and his next victim is too” 

“shit” theo shook his head, his hair moving and a few curls falling into his eyes. he tried to push them back, but it was to no use. his hair perfectly displayed how he was feeling on the inside. he sighed. “you might be right, but we have a chance to stop him, before anyone else gets hurt, so what do we do? you said you knew someone who could help with the rune?”

“hermione” you simply answered. 

“of course” theo smirked. “who else?” 

as you had expected, hermione hadn’t been at breakfast, not so late in the morning at least. not even the approaching christmas feist was an excuse for her to rest. 

you found her in the library, sitting at a table, accompanied by various stacks of books. she was concentrating on a piece of parchment, as her finger expertelly swerved over the book in front of her. 

“wait” theo said, holding your arm, before you could walk around the shelf you were standing behind. 

“what?” 

“maybe i should wait here” theo shrugged. “we agreed to tell no one that we are trying to find out more, remember?” 

“yeah, uh, of course” you nodded, outstretching your hand to take the piece of paper with the rune on it into your own hand. 

“i’ll wait here” theo promised and you smiled at his assurence. 

hermione didn’t even look up when you called her name. she blessed you with ignorance, as she turned the page of her book. 

“oh, y/n” she finally said, when you repeated the calling. she pushed one of the stacks of books to the side, so she could have a proper look at you. “are you alright?” she asked, brows furrowed as she stared at you in deep concentration. 

you answered her question with a stunned expression to which she sighed, concluding she had to explain herself. “well, you slept in my bed last night, which you only do if you’re feeling unwell or scared” she paused and took another look at you “and you’re in the library before eleven” 

“maybe i just wanted to sleep next to someone?” you muttered, cheeks turning red as you thought about theo hearing that you had been so scared the night before you had to sleep in someone elses bed.

hermione shot you a look that clearly said, don’t be ridiculous. 

“okay, fine” you nodded. “professor burbage was found dead. i found her” 

“i know” hermione said as if you were talking about the weather. 

“how?” you asked confused. “dumbledore only announced it before i came here”

“you speak in your sleep” hermione informed. “i went here as soon as i finished eating. i’m trying to find out something about the magically forged snow storm outside”

“how did you—“

“my parent’s letter arrives every tuesday, eight a.m. sharp. this morning it didn’t” she shrugged. “that could only have two reasons: first, my parents forgot to send it, which they never did in six years and let’s be honest, they’re dentists”

you nodded, as if you understood the correlation between the punctuality of letters and dentists. 

“or” she went on “somehow the owls had a problem coming through, which they never had before, not in a thousand years” she pointed to the edition of a history of magic in front of you. “then i took a look outside and there it was: snowstorm” 

“yeah, okay” you nodded, impressed that she had found out all of that on her own. 

“so, what do you need my help with?”

“how do you—“

hermione sighed. heavy. “library, you, eleven a.m., remember?”

“sorry” you winced, before you held the piece of paper in her direction. “professor burbage held this in her hand when i found her”

“this is evi—“

“it’s just a copy” you quickly lied, not willing to risk her going to dumbledore about this. she was your best friend, but she was still hermione. 

hermione inspected the paper, before she sighed once more. “would you please tell nott to stop hiding behind the shelf? his eagerness is distracting me”

you didn’t even question how she knew about that, as theo stepped around the shelf and into the open. “hey, granger” 

“hello” hermione didn’t even aknowledge the boy, instead she kept staring at the rune. “so you were there too, huh?” she finally said, as she gave the paper back to you.

“huh?” theo muttered, taken aback by her question.

“how did she look?” hermione continued without being fazed by theo’s lack of an answer. it seemed that she had already made up her mind about his involvement. “was there blood?”

“a lot” you nodded.

“well, it was obviously murder” hermione concluded. “but not by magic as it seems.”

“so you don’t know what this is?” you asked. she had not mentioned anything about the rune. “i think i have seen it before, it seems familiar”

“of course i know what it is” hermione replied almost offended. “and you recognize it, because you have seen it before. it was the coat of arms for an old underground organization at hogwarts— the nocturne society”

“of course” theo smiled in recognition. “it apparently got forbidden a few years ago”

“and rightfully so” hermione nodded, as she pushed one of the opened book into yours and theo’s direction. “here. they had connections to the dark arts, sometimes that ended in some real trouble”

you overflew the passages, which talked about various situations where the doing of the organization had led to injuries or other incidents in the school and grounds around it. 

“well, why would someone draw this coat of arms on a piece of paper and give that to professor burbage?” you wondered. 

“maybe to threaten her?” theo shrugged. 

“actually” hermione interrupted, her voice cutting through the room as she glanced between you and theo. “it’s a warning. there have been rumors that the organization had returned, with new members of course, but this was always their way of warning those who came too close to their business”

“so professor burbage might have found out about something she shouldn’t” you concluded. “but would one of them go as far as murder? i mean if it’s someone from the nocturne society it has to be a student, right?”

hermione nodded. “a student with a broken moral compass and no respect for rules”

“i think rules are the least of their worries, granger” theo laughed. 

hermione crossed her arms, unimpressed. “well, i wouldn’t know about any of those delinquents” she looked between the two of you, before she added “but i hear your friend riddle has a special appreciation for the dark arts—and certainly no less for forbidden underground organizations.”

you and theo exchanged a glance, before you nodded. “thank you hermione, you’ve been of great help” 

“of course” hermione smiled and you and theo got up to leave, but she held you back. “be careful with him” she send a pointed look against theo’s back. “someone who’s so close to people who practice the dark arts might not be far from practicing it himself. he could be dangerous, y/n” 

“i’ll be careful” you promised, intentionally ignoring everything else she said. “don’t mention it to harry”

“i won’t” hermione assured. “as long as you get out alive” 

you caught up with theo, before he had even noticed you were missing. hermione continued her research on the magically forged snowstorm as the both of you left the library and her behind. 

you found mattheo in the corridor to the slytherin corridor. he wasn’t alone, but heavily making out with a girl, which turned out to be millicent bulstrode. they didn’t notice either theo or you as you approached and theo had to physically tear them apart, after repeatedly calling mattheo’s name didn’t work. 

“nott” mattheo groaned loudly, millicent still in his arms. she didn’t even acknowledge you.

mattheo furrowed his brows, as he noticed you behind theo. “potter” he exclaimed surprised. “came for a kiss, i suppose?” he kissed the air in front of him.

“hey!” millicent muttered, slapping a hand against mattheo’s chest, but making no move to leave. 

“we need to talk to you” theo said coldly, not impressed by mattheo’s attempt to flirt with you. 

“we?” mattheo laughed. “who’s we? you and potter dating now or what?”

“no” theo muttered between clenched teeth and even though you didn’t knew him well, you could tell that he was beginning to get angry. “we need to talk” he repeated. 

“well, you can talk to me later” mattheo smirked unimpressed. “i have other things to do” he took a look at millicent, before he returned his eyes to theo and you. “everyone has to wait their turn.”

“you disgust me, mattheo” theo spit, before he took your arm to lead you out of the dungeon. “come on, we’ll come back later”

you nodded, quickly tearing your eyes away from millicent and mattheo, who had already begun kissing again. “is he always like that?” you asked and theo sighed, before he nodded. 

“usually he is a bit more likeable” 

“i hardly believe that” you laughed and theo smiled at you. “but maybe we can use the spare time to look for more clues in professor burbages office”

“you think that is a good idea?” theo quirked a brow, clearly challenging you. 

“well, you thought investigating a murder was a good idea, so i won’t take any judgement from you” 

theo laughed and you thought it was the most beautiful sound in the world. you found it almost unbelievable how close the two of you had grown over the span of hours. theo had been practically a stranger all those years you had spent in the same school, but now he felt like he was the closest friend you had. trauma was a really bonding experience it seemed. 

professor burbages office was right behind her classroom. a small staircase led up to the door, that held all the clues you were searching for. 

“it’s locked” theo concluded when he tried opening the door. 

“did you bring your wand?” you asked, but theo shook his head and you had to do the same, after he returned the question. 

“well” you smiled, kneeling down in front of the keyhole. “then we need to do it the muggle way” you grabbed one of the bobbypins out of your hair and pushed it open, leaving a long and thing metal stem. you picked the lock expertly and the door sprung open in a matter of seconds. 

“where did you learn that?” theo asked, surprised by your unusual skill. 

“my aunt loved to lock the kitchen when harry and i were children” you shrugged. “sometimes we were so hungry, there was no other way”

theo nodded and you missed the look of compassion on his face, when you walked into the office before him.  

once in the office, you split up, each of you searching a different half of the room. 

you sorted through a stack of paper in the cabinet that stood at the back of the room, when you heard theo sigh loudly. 

“this is just a bunch of school stuff” he muttered. “i had hoped for something clearer”

“like what?” you laughed. 

“i don’t know” he shrugged, as he opened another drawer. “maybe a death threat?”

“i think the killer might be a bit smarter than that” you exclaimed, right as your eyes fell on an opened bottle on the dresser next to you. you raised your brows, before you took the bottle into your hand.  

to burbage— for when the pressure gets too much. consider this a parting gift.

you frowned, rereading the cryptic message. "parting gift?" you glanced at the wine again, and suspicion clawed at your thoughts.

suddenly, a sickening realization dawned on you. the note wasn't a friendly gesture—it was ominous, almost mocking. as you examined the bottle closer, a faint but unmistakable scent lingered in the air—bitter almonds.

poison.

“theo,” you called, your voice tight as you held up the bottle. “come look at this—”

but before you could finish, a loud noise echoed from outside the office. both of you froze. heavy footsteps approached. they weren’t casual, nor hesitant. they were deliberate.

theo shot you a sharp look, his hand instinctively moving toward professor burbage’s wand that was still laying on top of her desk. you quickly placed the bottle back on the dresser, your heart pounding in your chest.

the footsteps grew louder, closer. someone was coming. someone who might have known exactly what you were about to find.

theo moved to the door, his face tense as he mouthed. “what now?”

before you could answer, the handle to the office door rattled.

go to the next part

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[robo-writing]

this is like. only a request if the spirit takes you there but lord knows i’d read it. idk if this is a thing? it feels like it should be but i literally have never seen it before. anyway i just… had the thought of logan teasing R with his knuckles and her getting so into it she’s basically (externally) riding his fist… idk why this overtook my brain but it’s so so hot to me i could pass away. something about the thought of using that part of him that is so often solely a weapon for your pleasure, of claiming his hands as yours for something overwhelmingly positive …. houghhhh

You watch the apple of his throat bob, the audible intake of air ringing sharp against the empty silence, his eyes darting from your face to where his knuckles rest against your mound.

Your fingers circle his wrist, your eyes pleading. “I trust you. You can’t hurt me—you wouldn’t.”

It’s easy to say, easier to believe when it’s you saying it. You don’t know what his hands have done, the blood that stains them, you don’t know and he’d never dream of telling you. A bit selfish, but a necessary lie; if you knew the truth, you wouldn’t dare look at him the way you do now.

Satyric, aroused. A hand at his chest, your weight against his lap, his hand just barely grazing against your needy center. He can hear his heartbeat pounding in his ears, a cocktail of anticipation and terror at the thought of you—sweet, innocent you—finding any resemblance of attraction in the weapons that lie beneath his skin.

I trust you, you said, but it’s not you he’s doubting; it’s himself.

You can see the hesitation on his face; the denial that leaves him frozen. At the same time, you also see the sliver of curiosity, hope, desperation.

He wants this just as much as you do, and it’s your job to help him realize it.

Slowly, you bring yourself forward, your lips tenderly brushing against his while your hips sink onto his outstretched hand, swallowing the gasp that leaves him soon after. He quickly tries to pull away, only to still at the pressure of your fingers against his wrist.

“Don’t,” you beg, free hand tangling in his dark hair. “Want you to feel this, Logan.”

“You don’t know what you’re askin’.” He answers, still caught between two worlds.

You couldn’t find him beautiful like this, you just can’t, and yet he can feel the proof against his hands, feel the heat emanating, smell the arousal that pours from your body. Just barely, he chases your lips before stopping himself, groaning when you close the distance.

“I love you Logan, all of you,” you moan, smiling when you feel his fingers becoming more adventurous. “Let me show you just how much.”

[trippinsorrows]

looking through your eyes + two

authors note: holy shit, i didn't expect so many people to be interested in this story! thank you all so much for the kind comments. this one is heavier than the first, but the following should be a little lighter.

i also just want to clarify something that a few of you mentioned: roman will not be abusive in this story. i know that's a plot used frequently, but it's not my thing, so i just wanna make that clear. :)

he is an ass though.....for now.

also, please, please, please heed to the cw/tw's! i will update them to reflect the content of each update. it's up to you, the reader, to prepare yourself properly by reading them to avoid being triggered.

if any cw/tw’s are missed, please let me know, and i will add them!

cw/tw: language, violence against women, a scene of torture, depiction of ptsd, trauma responses (panic attacks), mentions of suicidal thoughts, brief line of dialogue referring to past childhood sexual assault, trauma response due to past childhood sexual assault

song inspo: 'looking through your eyes’ by leann rimes

masterlist

words: 7k

“You’re going to kill Roman Reigns for us.”

If Solana was capable of feeling and experiencing any emotion other than sadness and fear, she would laugh. 

She would laugh because no one sane truly thinks that they can kill the head of the table, least of all someone like her. But, it really does settle in that her father and brother truly believe that she, of all people, can do something like that.

Can take someone’s life. 

Just the thought alone unlocks a new level of dread and terror. 

Eyes watering, she shakes her head, protesting. “No. I—I can’t do that. I—I won’t.”

Rarely, if ever, does Solana push back on what she’s asked or told to do. It only results in more severe beatings that lead to ER trips vs having to patch herself back up in her bathroom. She’s accepted that acquiescence is always a better alternative. But this….this she can’t get behind.

Wes smiles. “I was hoping you’d say that.”

As soon as the words leave his mouth, Solana knows exactly what’s about to happen next. Stupidly, she tries to escape, climbing up on her feet and making it centimeters past Wes when he fists her hair, yanking her body back. She hisses in pain and starts to cry and protest as he drags her across the first floor of the house.

“No! P-please! I–I’m sorry!” She begs, all the while Xavier follows lazily behind, keeping his cigar near his mouth. 

“Shut up,” Wes snaps. She cries, heartbeat sporadic, so much so that it’s becoming difficult to breathe. That’s one of the worst things to happen considering what she knows is about to occur. He kicks open the bathroom door, and sure enough, the tub is already full and ready.

“No…..” Wes shoves her toward the tub, kicking her in her back to force her to the knees, Solana’s head banging against the side of the tub. She can only blink two or three times before water is burning her eyes, filling her mouth, drowning her.

Solana flails against Wes whose strong hand holds her down under the water by the back of her head. It’s a wasteless effort, trying to fight against him, when her energy would be better spent trying not to drown.

Not that Wes will allow that. He’s adept at bringing her to the edge of unconsciousness, pulling back just in time to taunt her. And that’s exactly what he does, pulling her head back, finding a level of enjoyment at her violent coughs and tears. 

His favorite form of torturing her.

She’s not sure how long it lasts, only knows there’s a tremendous amount of relief when he finally lets her go long enough for her to plant her palms on the ground to gather herself. 

Xavier, who stood there watching the whole time with pleasure, walks towards her. Solana gasps and moves her body back against the tub, wanting as much distance between the two of them as possible.

His face is blank, no emotion in his eyes. “You either kill Reigns.” Solana’s eyes shut as Xavier caresses her wet cheek. “Or we kill you.”

It’s impossible to hold back her tears, as Solana breaks down in front of her father and brother, the both of which simply walk away with an astounding amount of indifference. 

They slam the bathroom door shut, allowing her the privacy of at least deteriorating without their judgmental glares. 

Pulling up her legs against her chest and wrapping her arms around them, she sobs into her thighs, confused as to just how in the hell she ended up in this situation.

Solana isn’t a killer. Has never even had the desire to kill anyone. Not even the two men who just made it abundantly clear that her only two options are to kill or be killed.

Just how all of this is supposed to work is beyond her. Roman is a boulder of a man, body covered in ropes of pure muscle with a kill count that rivals some of the world’s leading assassins. She’s barely 5'1, can’t seem to get the scale to budge no matter how many diets she tries, and trembles in the presence of anyone who has an XY chromosome combination.

Many have tried to kill Roman, and all have failed, meeting gruesome, torturous deaths. 

What chance does she have?

————

Any prayer sent up requesting some type of divine intervention to stop this unholy union is either denied, ignored, or planning to be answered at a much later date and time, because the next two weeks speed by faster than the speed of light.

Solana’s days are filled with wedding preparations that require little to no of her say in what she wants. Not that that’s any different from most things in her life.

Granted, there’s a small part of her that mourns when she’s presented with her wedding dress.

The dress she doesn’t want to wear for a wedding she doesn’t want to have. There’s an alarming lack of autonomy that suddenly feels so much heavier and suffocating despite it being a consistent, dominant theme in her life.

A large part of her recognizes how it’s probably largely due to the whole reason why all of this is happening.

Her father and brother want control of the bloodline.

Objectively speaking, she can see why this would be a goal. It’s everyone’s goal. To have control and power over the most powerful crime family in the entire continent. Maybe beyond. The Bloodline’s true stretch has never really been made public, per se. She’s certain that’s partially what makes them so dangerous. One can never really know who is a member and who is not, who has ties and who is an enemy.

A secret that gives them a forever advantage.

The day of the actual wedding, like everything else, comes much quicker than Solana feels prepared for. Truthfully, she doesn’t feel prepared for any of this, doesn’t want any of this, but much like most things in her life, her wants and desires don’t matter.

No one cares to hear them, and no one definitely cares to respect them. 

On the day of the wedding, shortly after arriving at the church, she’s left alone in one of the back rooms. Someone mutters something about the makeup artist and hairstylist to come in shortly before slamming the door and leaving her by herself. That’s mostly a bad thing. Being alone with the thoughts she’s been having lately……they typically don’t result in anything good. 

Overwhelmed and in her head too much, Solana grabs her purse and takes out the latest journal she’s been working out of.

And she writes.

Dear Mom,

Today is my wedding day. I should be happy. You should be here. None of that is the case though. The truth is that I feel so empty. This won’t turn out well. I either try to kill Roman and he ends up killing me as a result or I refuse and dad and Wes kill me.

There is no outcome where I make it out of here alive.

And mama, I know you always told me to never forget that life is a gift, but mine isn’t. It hasn’t been since they took you from me.

And truthfully……I don’t think I really care anymore.

Life is hard. Maybe this is a blessing in disguise.

I’d rather be with you instead.

The knock on the door startles Solana as she hurriedly moves to close up her notebook, stuffing it back in her purse as she calls out for whoever is on the other side to enter. The door slowly swings open as Solana quickly swipes at her eyes, feeling the burning of pending tears.

She can’t let them see her cry though.

No matter how badly she wants to.

While Solana expects another set of hard eyes and an indifferent scowl, she’s met with a woman around the same age as her with half her head shaved, the other side full of dark purple hair that grazes her shoulder.

“Damn, got the right room on the first try. Let’s fucking go.” Solana stands up as the woman walks over, adjusting the black makeup kit on her shoulder. “I’m Bayley.” She extends her hand out for a handshake, and Solana takes a second to reciprocate, caught off guard by her relaxed disposition. The way her smile meets her eyes, not a trace of irritation or disgust in having to assist her.

Solana has only had minimal interaction with representatives of the Bloodline, namely the women who accompanied her at the tailor shop and made comments, most likely about her, in their native Samoan. Nina always taught her daughter not to assume, but it’s hard to not believe cruel things are being stated when they’re conjoined with pointing, eye rolls, and curt exchanges when they needed Solana to move a certain way.

So Solana, understandably, is cautious. 

“Solana,” she shares, shifting in her seat.

“I know,” Bayley snickers, placing her makeup kit on the counter and starting to lay out products. “I’d be a bit of a shitty makeup artist if I didn’t know who the bride was, am I right?”

Solana doesn’t say anything. The silence doesn���t come from a place of rudeness but rather continued confusion. She can’t comprehend why this woman is being so nice to her?

If Bayley is bothered by the lack of responses, she does a damn great job of not showing it. “Now, I have a couple ideas of what look I think I wanna go for with you, but as it’s your big day, what are you thinking?”

That…..that is what triggers another one word responde. 

Cautious, she asks, “me?”

Bayley pauses in the midst of starting to pick out foundation options and leans back against the counter, a small, sympathetic smile on her face. “Arranged marriages suck ass. You already don’t get to pick who you’re gonna spend the rest of your life with. The least you can do is pick out some makeup.”

There’s something so insanely comforting about her otherwise simple words. Something freeing and liberating about being given an option, even if it’s about makeup. For the first time today, Solana actually smiles.

“I—I like neutral colors. Gold…maybe would be okay too.”

And just like that, the deep smile that revealed the dimple in Bayley’s right cheek returns. “Great minds think alike. That’s exactly what I was gonna go for.”

“And—” Solana adds, voice an octave lower, insecurity creeping back in. “If—if you could cover the scar as best you can.”

“What scar?” Bayley gives her a wink before finishing up the laying out of products. “I got you, girl.”

It’s not very often, if ever, Solana feels beautiful. And even when those once in a blue moon moments occur, they’re fleeting or surface level, typically dashed by a cruel comment from her family. But today, standing in front of the mirror, makeup completed, hair done, and dress on, she actually feels beautiful.

The first time she tried on the dress, it was an unpleasant experience for a variety of reasons, on top of the fact that she hated the style. Strapless and form-fitting with a sweetheart neckline. Solana hates her arms and especially bringing too much attention to her chest and body in general.

But conjoined with the hair and makeup, she actually doesn’t immediately want to turn away from the mirror when she sees the outcome.

Bayley comes behind her, still wearing that smile that Solana is now convinced, despite the odds, is genuine. “Reigns is a lucky bastard. You look fuckin’ gorgeous.”

Solana really does mean it when she offers a sincere “thank you.” Bayley’s positive energy is exactly what she needed. It doesn’t change anything, but it definitely does help her not to be consumed by thoughts she hasn’t had since she was a teenager.

“Hey, uhh, I’m sure being married to Mr. Tribal Chief himself means you’ll probably have to make appearances from time to time, hold his arm and shit.” She hands Solana a small piece of paper. Unfolding it, Solana sees numbers scribbled down in red ink. A phone number.  “Ever need glam again for any of it, hit me up. Or even….even if you just need someone to talk to.”

“Thank you.” Solana’s voice is stronger this time, firmer, the small act of kindness traveling such a long way. She holds up one side of her gown to walk over and slide the paper in her purse. 

She’ll make sure not to lose it. 

There’s a hard knock on the door that reminds her where she is. Reminds her that people like Bayley are anomalies. One doesn’t get to experience kindness for too long. Not in her world. 

Solana honestly didn’t expect her father to walk her down the aisle, didn’t see it as something he would have any interest in nor find an exciting opportunity. And those two reasons are very much true, but his desire to issue last minute warnings outweighs both of them.

Xavier’s frame fills the door as he looks at Solana from head to toe. Instantly, he’s scowling with disapproval. 

“Why is her hair not down?”

Solana was partially worried about that. She knows her father has always told her she needs to keep her length so that she can always wear her hair down as it helps to “hide how fat your face is.”

She doesn’t know how wrong or right he is about that, but she’s wanted to cut it for ages, being unable to do so because she knows it’ll upset him.

Bayley, however, doesn’t seem to give two shits about Xavier’s disapproval. “Updo’s are typically better for formal events. Granted, up or down, she still looks beautiful.”

Solana can’t tell entirely if Bayley is defending her work or Solana. Either way, she has a tremendous amount of respect for this woman who doesn’t seem to give two shits about who Xavier Miller is.

If only Solana could do the same.

Xavier cuts his eyes in Bayley’s direction but says nothing, instead walking over to Solana and whispering in her ear. “You should have started your fast three days ago instead of two. You still look fat. Hold your stomach in as you walk down the aisle.”

Any relief or peace felt from her interaction with Bayley is dead the second those cruel words leave his mouth. As soon as he entered the room, really. But Solana doesn’t have time to be sad, because he moves to drop her veil over her face and loops his arm with hers. 

He walks her out of the room, depriving her of a chance to tell Bayley goodbye and thank you again. 

Xavier leads her down the hall, a left, and then a right before they’re standing before the double doors that lead to the sanctuary. She wants to ask for a second to gather herself, feeling the panic starting to rise, but Xavier barks for the guards standing outside the door to open said door.

And they oblige without protest.

The veil is more opaque than she remembers, partially obscuring her view of Roman and the others who wait for her at the end of the aisle. There’s a sea of people on either side of the pews, many and most, Bloodline members. But, she can’t focus on that.

All she can focus on is the low, warning voice of her father. “You will please him and do exactly as he asks.” What other choice do I have? “Earn his trust. We will tell you the rest when the time comes.”

Solana would give anything for that time to never come.

And once they reach the end, before he frees her hand for Roman to take it, he snatches the chance to put on a good display of faux love, leaning over for a hug. Solana instantly tenses at his touch.

“Don’t fuck this up,” he whispers and pulls away with a smile that has her empty stomach knotting.

Swallowing, Solana channels her focus back on Roman. Like the past two times she'd seen him, his hair is neatly pulled back, but unlike those exchanges, he’s dressed to the nines. Expensive, designer suit, all black, the only red in his appearance, the red Ula Fala he wears around his neck. Representation of his status as Tribal Chief, his role in his family’s dynasty.

Solana can admit that he looks good. Very good.

If only everything else just wasn’t so bad.

Roman has no reaction at unveiling her, and Solana can’t tell if that’s a good or bad thing. She’d like to just say he has no reaction to anything, really, but that’s untrue.

He’s notorious for his angry reactions to the most minute situations sometimes. 

So perhaps no reaction is the best reaction she can receive.

Still, it unsettles her. Has she upset him already?

The two of them are directed to kneel by the pastor, or maybe Shaman, or maybe just an official. She’s not really sure, but whoever he is, he wastes no time in starting with the formalities of the wedding. He says many things, but Solana’s mind is elsewhere, not that it’s an intentional avoidance.

Her father reminding her of the fact that she hasn’t had anything to eat for two days is suddenly bringing on the extreme exhaustion and weakness she’s pretty sure she’d managed to put on the back burner in exchange for mental anguish. 

She’s so incredibly tired. And it feels impossible to be present for the vows or to stand when she’s prompted so by the officiant. It’s even more difficult to stay cognizant enough to acknowledge what’s being asked of her, forced of her, with a set of “I do’s.”

But, it’s when a knife is pulled out that her face pales, flashes of numerous, previous exchanges where that little piece of silver was used to mentally and physically terrorize her. Roman somehow notices this and quietly murmurs, “relax. It’s tradition.”

Before she can speak, the officiant continues. “Now, as are the ways of our ancestors, we shall seal this union before God, family, and all with blood.” Roman offers his hand, palm faced upward and nods at Solana to do the same. Reluctantly, she follows, eyes shutting, not wanting to see whatever is about to happen next.

“Careful,” Roman warns. She’s unsure who it’s directed to, but it’s followed by a brief, burning pain across her palm. She’s been cut, nothing major, but enough to draw blood. 

Her hand is moved followed by instant, coarse, warmth. Eyes opening, she sees that her and Roman’s hands have been joined together.

“In the eyes of the ancestors, you two are now officially bound to one another not just by law, tribal and government, but blood. A curse be placed upon anyone who dares interfere with this marriage.” Separating their hands, Roman takes the red cloth and wipes her palm before his own, tossing it to who she recognizes as his enforcer/cousin, Solo. “And now, you may kiss the bride.”

For whatever reason, probably several good ones, Solana hadn’t thought about this part. The part where Roman would have to touch her, would have to kiss her, in front of everyone.

There’s a quick increase of anxiety and panic that ensues when Roman takes her hand, pulling to force her to angle her body toward him. Her heart is smashing against her chest with the weight of a ton of bricks. 

But just as quickly as the anxiety rushed in, it’s gone because Roman’s head dips lower to hers and his lips are on and off her faster than she can process, than she can freak out over.

She’s unsure about this brief interaction, a possible indication he’s just as uninterested in this union as she is. 

A business arrangement.

That’s what he called it.

That’s what he called her.

Even her hand in his as he leads her down the aisle, stoic expression the polar opposite of one would expect for what should be the happiest day of someone’s life.

She wonders if he views this as the exact opposite.

Because Solana certainly does.

————

Despite her best efforts to power through, the weakness gets worse and is complicated by a sort of dizziness that makes Solana partially grateful her arm is linked with Roman’s. She tries not to show that she’s leaning more on him than her own two feet, not trusting them to give out on her.

But, this man is perceptive as hell, she should know this. One doesn’t get to be where he is, accomplished all he has by being oblivious. 

He’s escorting her into the reception area, already lively and full of people, most of which she doesn’t know, many of which she’s not sure she wants to know. 

But instead of leading her toward an individual or group of individuals, he pulls her to the side, asking in a low but steel voice. “What’s wrong?”

Solana stills. The last thing she wanted to do was bring attention to herself, and that’s exactly what she’s done. Trying her best to do damage control, she answers in as firm a voice she can muster. “Nothing. I’m just—I’m just tire……” Free hand to her forehead, Solana only recalls her eyes briefly closing before her body sways into something hard and firm, arms around her, holding her up.

Roman says something, calls for someone, but Solana is solely focused on centering herself. 

A woman is suddenly standing before her with a deep, beautiful complexion similar to her father’s. However, that’s where the similarities stop, because this woman and her bold makeup is absolutely stunning. 

“You don’t look well,” is the first thing to leave the woman’s frowning mouth.She takes the back of her hand to Solana’s forehead and offers what could be perceived as a sincere, sympathetic smile. “Girl, when was the last time you had something to eat?”

Solana manages to answer, unfortunately being honest when she should probably lie. “Y-yesterday, I think. Maybe—maybe the day before.”

A deep frown falls on her face, but Roman is the first to speak. “Why the fuck haven’t you been eating?”

It’s the irritation and anger in her voice that makes her wince, but Solana can’t account for what makes her eyes dart over to where her dad and brother are watching closely. She does her best to redirect her gaze before Roman notices, but it’s a stupid thought.

He sees everything.

His expression turns dark as he mutters something she can’t hear and then directs the woman. “Naomi, take her to get something to eat.”

Naomi. That’s her name. For some reason, it just fits her. Naomi places her hand on the small of Solana’s back, gently taking her from Roman’s grasp as she starts to guide her away. “Come on. There’s definitely plenty of options to choose from.”

Meanwhile, Roman sets his sights on another goal, knowing Naomi will see to it that Solana is taken care of.

Xavier isn’t a hard man to find. He’s laughing it up with some of the other guests at the wedding who aren’t members of the Bloodline per se, more along the lines of allies. Not that Roman gives a shit. His stride is intentful and purposeful, Solo naturally flanking at his side, Xavier’s gaze falling on them with an insincere smile.

“Ahhh, the groom. Congratulations—”

“Why wasn’t she eating?” All Roman has to do is nod for the other men to disperse, and like ants, they do just that, leaving him alone with Miller and his boy.

Xavier steps forward, lowering his voice and clearly playing up the facade of a concerned, loving father. “I believe she said something about looking her best on her wedding day. And as you can see, Solana is not a small woman. She probably thought that was the best and quickest way. Poor girl.”

Roman has this thing he likes to do sometimes when people think they can get one over on him. He likes to tap into the deeply rooted part of himself that can maintain his temper, keep him from acting on his emotions, and instill some well crafted self-control. He puts all of that on the back burner in favor of something else almost equally enjoyable.

Playing with his prey.

Roman knew five minutes into the conversation with Miller that the man’s death would come at his hands. Preferably sooner rather than later. Xavier is the type of man Roman hates the most. The kind who fails in all important areas of his life and spends the rest of it making others miserable for his shortcomings. The kind of man who refuses to see the simpleton he has for a son yet seems keen on turning him into a mafia head.

It’s almost comical. The amount of delusion.

Wes also decides to answer, chin jutted, shoulders straightening. This actually is humorous to Roman, the fact this kid thinks that he comes off remotely intimidating. That shit may work on his sister, but not the Tribal Chief. 

“Solana’s a grown woman. She does what she wants.”

Xavier shoots his son a warning look. A look indicating that he can’t believe Wes would be foolish enough to challenge the man before him. “Wes….”

This only brings a smile to Roman’s face. He steps toward him, vowing in Samoan. “I’m going to enjoy killing you.” His eyes dart toward Xavier. “The both of you.”

Solo also steps forward, asking in their same native language. “Want me to handle this for you, my tribal chief?” 

Roman shakes his head, advising in a deadly calm voice. “Patience, Solo. I’m going to have my fun first.” 

Xavier is visibly irked by the conversation happening in front of him that he can’t understand. But, he does a decent job hiding that irritation. “Perhaps I should go check on her—”

Roman extends his arm, blocking the man. “No.”

Xavier pauses. “What?”

Roman is suddenly ready to get the fuck out of here. He promised his cousins that he would go the day without killing anyone, but this fucker is pushing it. “She’s my wife. I see to it that she’s fine.”

Anger flashes in his eyes, but he covers it with a tight smile. “She is my daughter.”

“The same daughter you knew was starving herself yet did nothing about it?” Roman’s retort is blunt and to the point. He may plan to play with his prey, but that doesn’t mean he can’t call this man out on his bullshit along the way.

Xavier paints on a face of shock and indignation at Roman’s accusation. “I did—"

Roman is directly to the point, advising in a way that makes it clear there’s no room for debate. “Solana is my responsibility now. Any issues she has, I will handle. Any threats she faces, I will eliminate.” One glance at Wes shows that the younger Miller is struggling to control his temper, hand clenching and unclenching at his side. The impulsive side of Roman wants the kid to try something. This will be a beating he’ll enjoy. Thoroughly. 

The kid is as insufferable as his father.

Roman refocuses himself, talking and directing his conversation to Xavier. “Solana will be unavailable for the next few weeks.”

Roman swears he can see the vein forming in the older man’s forehead. “What? Why?”

“She’s a member of the Bloodline now. She must get familiar with our ways. Any messages you need to relay to her will go through me.”

It’s partially true. But mostly, he wants to fuck with Miller. A man who obviously gets off on control needs to be humbled, Roman knows it must kill Xavier to be humbled by someone younger and more accomplished than himself.

He’s also certain Solana won’t be heartbroken by not being around her abusive piece of shit family. 

“I don’t—”

“When she wants to.” He gestures to Solo, explaining, “Solo will accompany her for any outings she has outside of the estate. That includes your home as well.” 

Roman is certain Solo, if not for his adept skill at maintaining a poker face, would be looking at him with surprise. He’s yet to discuss this with his enforcer, but Roman’s word is law. So however his cousin feels about it is irrelevant. It’s painfully obvious Solana is incapable of keeping herself safe, hence her need for protection.

Solo would be the perfect person for just that.

Xavier clears his throat, wrinkled hand adjusting, loosening his tie. “Is that really necessary?”

“As my wife, she now has a major target over her head. I won’t take any chances.” Roman’s smile is mocking. “This is your daughter, right? Surely, you don’t want me taking any chances.” Roman adds on, partially to continue to twist the knife but also because it’s the truth. “I will keep her safe.”

Regardless of how he feels about this marriage, Solana is now a part of the Bloodline. That means, just like for anyone else in his family, he’ll protect her with his life. It’s his duty to do so.

Xavier’s deep complexion is tinged red. The man is fired up. But still, he knows better than to express that rage to the man in front of him. “That is—-was—-her home. What safer place is there to be?”

Now, Roman is getting pissed off. It’s obvious by the faded bruises and pure terror that Solana exhibits in the presence of her family that she’s anything but safe with them. 

Roman steps towards him. “With me.” Tired of these games, he gets straight to the point. “These are not suggestions. They’re orders. Orders you will obey.” He searches Xavier’s face for any signs of indication that he’d be stupid enough to try something. There’s nothing there. “Am I understood?”

With a clenched jaw, Xavier answers. “Yes.”

Roman’s intense gaze burns into him, his undisputed authority surely a thorn in Miller’s side. “Yes, what?”

“Yes…..my Tribal Chief.”

Roman smiles. Pleased with his assertion of dominance, he turns away, venturing off to find his bride.

Time to get the fuck out of here.

————

Solana spends much longer in the bathroom than necessary. She halfheartedly expects for Roman to come beating on the door, demanding for her to come out and fulfill her wifely duties.

But that moment never arrives, so she values every second of time she’s granted to prepare herself for what she’s refused to think about the past two weeks.

Her wedding night.

Solana knows what’s going to happen, what has to happen, but it doesn’t do anything to help the terror she feels in every corner of her body.

The shower water blends with the tears shed at the thought of what she has to do, the act she can’t even think about without her chest tightening.

She hoped that reminding herself this wasn’t that, that this isn’t that, would help. But, it doesn’t. Because this is Roman Reigns she’s about to be intimate with.

He’s not known for being gentle in any area of his life, and bedroom activities certainly can’t be an exception. That’s when her anxiety grows even stronger, especially as she forces herself to dress in the red lingerie that was provided to her.

The silk robe included provides a slither of comfort, and she makes sure to tie it so it covers as much of her body as possible. A silly act considering Roman will rip it off, along with everything else, the moment he gets her onto the bed. 

It’s only when she’s certain she’s stretched out every bit of patience this man is capable of offering that Solana decides she needs to leave the bathroom. Upsetting him is the last thing she wants to do.

So without an ounce of hope that anything moving forward will be remotely good, Solana hits the light switch and opens the door.

She finds Roman sitting almost slouched in his chair located in the corner of the room. He’s lazily scrolling on his phone when his eyes lift and land on her. She stills. There’s a brief second of a delay when he hits the button on the side of the phone and stands up. 

Solana refuses to focus too much on the fact that he’s about as covered up as she is, wearing only boxers.

Because of his size, it seems he’s across the room directly in front of her in a matter of seconds. Eyes taking her in from top to bottom, he asks, “you good?”

Far from it. 

Regardless, Solana nods.

If only that worked for the head of the table.

She gasps quietly when he brings his hand to her chin, forcing her to look up at him. “I don’t do non-verbals.” His eyes search her face for something she can’t identify. “Words.”

Blinking, she answers with a low, “y–yes.”

He pauses and then demands, “lay down on the bed.”

Solana licks her lips and makes her feet move over to the mattress, climbing on top and clenching her eyes shut as she lays her head back on the pillow.

Her fingers mess with the material of her robe, trying to distract herself from the sound and feel of him climbing on the bed. She doesn’t need to be looking to know he’s above her, intense eyes probably studying her.

His deep voice sounds at the same time she feels his finger glaze across her clavicle. “It’s just sex.”

If only that was true. 

Still, she manages to nod, eyes and mouth snapped shut.

Solana takes in a deep breath that makes her stomach cave when Roman’s lips are pressed against the soft skin of her jawline, moving downward at a tantalizingly slow pace at the same moment his hands move to her robe. 

She releases another shaky breath as her robe comes undone, revealing so much skin, so much of her she’d do anything to keep hidden away.

A thin sheen of sweat is starting to form all over her body. The room is suddenly much hotter than she remembers. There’s difficulty paying attention to what’s happening because her mind is taken to another place, another time.

A much much darker place and time. 

And suddenly, she’s not in Roman’s bed. It’s not him hovering over her, not his mouth on her neck or his hands on her body.

It’s theirs.

His stench is strong and almost sour, breath tinged with alcohol. “You’ve got some fire in you, girl.” A sinister smile reveals yellowish teeth contrasted against pale, dehydrated skin. “But, I like it when they fight back.” His strong fist connects with her jaw, forcing her head to the side and nearly knocking her unconscious. “Rob, come hold her down for me.”

Solana tries her best to stop it, tries to keep it at bay, tries to do what she’s never been able to do prior to this moment but somehow thinks this will be different. It’s a stupid thought, because moments later, she’s hyperventilating, her body feeling like it’s on fire. 

“No!” 

With strength she didn’t know she possessed, Solana shoves them, Roman, whoever, off of her, scrambling to climb off the bed. She’s standing in the middle of the room, doubled over as the demons overcome her.

Hand to her chest, she starts clawing at her neck. 

Deep down, she knew this is what would happen, knew that she’d fall apart the second he started to touch her. 

What she didn’t expect was a set of firm, calloused hands forcing her upright, carefully holding her arms away from her neck where she’s certain she just drew blood. And she definitely doesn’t expect Roman’s intense gaze on her, studying her with what one might consider to be concern.

But, Solana is too caught up in her panic attack to know for certain if it’s concern or not as she realizes that he’s talking to her.

His voice is distant but eventually travels close enough where she can make out words. “Breathe.” She’s still gasping for breath, trying to find that place of regulation as he continues to speak to her in an almost soothing manner. But, that can’t be possible. This is Roman fucking Reigns. Nothing about him is soothing. 

“Look around the room. Tell me five things you see.” 

Solana doesn’t know how, why, or even where she finds the wherewithal to be present for his directions, but she is. She’s even able to follow through. Eyes moving around the room, the first thing she lands on are the double doors leading to the balcony.

With speech still almost an impossible thing, she lifts her arm and points in that direction. 

He doesn’t even turn to see what she’s pointing at. “Keep going.”

Confused but also not wanting to make things worse by being disobedient, she scans the room, settling on the dresser. Solana points again.

Roman’s eyes bounce from her eyes to her mouth. “Three more.”

At some point in this random exercise, Solana’s breathing began to regulate, so much so that instead of pointing to the chair in the corner of the room, she whispers, “the c-chair.”

His voice grows seemingly softer. “Two.”

The next thing to catch her attention is the painting on the wall, and it’s after she does so, Roman provides her with a reminder that she still has one more. And when she points to the ceiling fan, he provides another set of directions, tasking her to identify four things she can touch.

She struggles initially, realizing she can use herself, going on and identifying several and actually feeling various parts of herself, like her hair and robe. 

And when she’s asked about three things she can hear, it’s only then that she realizes something she’d missed in the midst of following his guidance. 

She realizes that she can breathe.

Solana can actually breathe. That anchor isn’t on her chest, weighing her down to a state of unconsciousness, that heat that made her feel like flames were lapping at her body is extinguished. 

She almost….she almost feels calm. 

While panic was the dominant emotion not even 10 minutes prior, confusion is the primary emotion now. 

And it's with partial confusion and partial recognition that she acknowledges softly, “I’m okay…”

He doesn’t say anything, and it’s in that brief time of silence that Solana tries to process what just happened. Having suffered from panic attacks since she was a child, she’s never been able to calm herself down, never experienced one as short as this one. 

But he….he just changed that. He just helped her through it.

Shaking her head, she stammers, “how….how did you—”

Solana didn’t realize he was still holding her forearms until she looks down. Roman suddenly jerks and steps away from her, forcing her arms back at her side. 

Instantly, she’s contrite. He seems….disturbed. Triggered, almost. “I’m sor—”

“Quiet.” Solana watches with just as much confusion as he moves across the room, dressing himself, back towards her, like he’s physically unable to look at her. There’s a level of aggression in his movement, a wave of irritation radiating off his large being. “Why—why are you….”

She can’t bring herself to finish her sentence, but she definitely thinks it.

She wants to know why he’s leaving, even if it should be painfully obvious.

Truthfully, Solana doesn’t quite understand why she’s suddenly wondering why he’s leaving. It’s obvious she can’t do what needs to be done. More importantly, she doesn’t want to. Him leaving her alone should be sweet relief.

But it can’t be sweet relief because while it may fix one issue, several others are created.

She was told not to upset him.

He’s upset.

She was told to please him.

He’s far from pleased.

She was told to do whatever he asked, and she’s done the opposite of that.

So far, Solana is failing. She’s failing miserably, and that can only lead to one grisly outcome. 

“Where are you going?” Asking while holding her robe closed over her body, she weakly reminds, even if it kills her to do so. “We—we have to—”

“You think I’m dealing with that shit again?” Roman snaps, finally turning to look at her. “I can’t even fucking touch you without you having a nervous breakdown.”

His words, while true, leave a sting. It’s also a bit confusing. How is this the same man who only minutes ago talked her through her panic attack with such patience and compassion.

She suddenly feels even more embarrassed and stupid.

“But, we’re—”

“I can get pussy anywhere, preferably without the headache of dealing with someone clearly unstable.” Solana still isn’t quite sure how to take his sudden change in demeanor. Roman finishes dressing and curtly informs, “the room on the end of the hall on the right is yours. Don’t still be in mine by the time I get back.”

“When are you—” The sound of his heavy double bedroom doors slamming in the wake of his exit prematurely silences her question. 

It’s only when she’s certain that she’s alone that Solana breaks down again.

He’s upset.

She’s upset him.

Nothing ever good ever came out of an angry man. Not for her, at least.

Her mind creates and races with a million and one thoughts regarding not about where he’s going but what will happen when he’s returned. She wants to believe he’s going somewhere to work off his anger, but experience has proven she’s the way that men work off their anger.

Roman indicated that day in the library that he wouldn’t put his hands on her, and while she wanted to believe he was being honest, this was also before she pulled this. He has every right to be upset, but that anger and not knowing what will come from it….it terrifies her.

It terrifies the shit out of her.

Falling to the floor, legs against her chest, she sobs into her legs, one thought and only one thought on her mind now.

What the hell did I get myself into?

[novaursa]

Aemond's Lament

- Summary: Aemond faces Daemon above the God's Eye, for you.

- Pairing: sister!reader/Aemond Targaryen

- Note: I wanted to write something short and heart-wrenching, because I'm a tragic person. It's inspired by Bear McCreary's song.

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Word count: 1 100+

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff

The sky above the God’s Eye is painted in shades of dusk and fire. The crimson dragon Caraxes cuts through the darkening heavens, and below, the still waters of the lake ripple beneath the thrumming beat of Vhagar's wings. Aemond Targaryen, his one good eye fixed on the sky, does not see the beauty of the scene. His heart is a hollow shell, echoing with the loss of everything that mattered.

His thoughts are not on the battle, nor on the death that looms close with each heartbeat. Instead, his mind is consumed by a single name, a single face. Y/N, his sweet sister, slain by Daemon's hand. She had been the light in a life filled with shadows, the warmth in the cold halls of the Red Keep. Now she lay beneath the earth, lost to him forever.

Alone, she sleeps in the shirt of a man…

The words sing in his mind, a haunting melody of sorrow and regret. His three wishes had been simple once, whispered to the gods in the dead of night. The first, that she be spared the pain of this world—the treachery, the blood, the horror of their family's war. Aemond had wanted nothing more than to shield her from it all, to see her smile remain untouched by the darkness that surrounded them.

But his wish had failed. She had known pain, known the fury of battle, the terror of seeing her beloved dragon, Silverwing, torn from the skies by the very man who now circled above Aemond like a vulture over a dying beast.

With my three wishes clutched in her hand…

His second wish, oh, how he had longed for it—for her to know love, true and pure, the kind he could never give her as her brother. He had wanted to see her cherished, but jealousy had burned in his chest whenever he imagined her with another. Still, he had wished it, even if it was a lie. Because how could she have ever loved another? Not when he had been there, watching over her with eyes that lingered too long, thoughts that strayed too far from what a brother should feel.

The love he felt for her had been a curse and a blessing all at once. A poison that had seeped into his veins, twisting his soul with desires that no man should harbor for his blood. He had never spoken of it, never dared, but it had been there, a constant ache that only deepened as the years passed.

When she finds love may it always stay true…

His second wish had been for her happiness, but what did happiness matter when her life had been taken from her? Daemon had stolen her from him, ripped her from the world like a cruel joke. The bastard had known what her death would do to Aemond, had done it with glee, had smiled that dark, laughing smile as Y/N and Silverwing fell.

Aemond’s fingers tightened on Vhagar’s reins, the knuckles white with fury. The rage that burned in his chest now was all that kept him moving. His sister, his sweet, beautiful sister, was gone. Her laughter, her soft voice, her teasing smiles—all gone. And he had not been there to protect her.

Daemon had known that killing her would be the only way to draw Aemond out from Harrenhal. It had worked. Aemond would not have stayed hiding behind stone walls while his sister’s death went unanswered. He had come, with Vhagar’s fire in his heart and vengeance burning brighter than the flames.

But wish no more…

The final wish had been the cruelest of all. He would have given anything—everything—to have her back. He would have traded his life, his soul, the entirety of the realm, just for one day. One day to hear her voice again, to see her eyes open, to feel her hand in his. One day to tell her what he could never say.

My life you can take…

He would have done anything. But wishes were for the weak, and gods did not listen to the cries of the damned. Aemond knew that now. There would be no waking her from the sleep of death. No return from the dark depths where her soul had gone. His wishes had been empty, hollow pleas to a world that cared not for love or grief.

To have her please just one day wake…

Daemon circled above, his dragon screeching in anticipation. The Prince of the City, the Rogue Prince, had been the cause of all of Aemond’s misery. This was not just about the war, the throne, or the realm. This was personal. This was vengeance. Aemond could see it in Daemon’s eyes as he descended lower, closer. There was nothing but hatred between them now.

“Come down and face me, coward,” Aemond snarled, his voice raw with fury. His eye glowed with the fire of vengeance, the urge to kill. “You took her from me!”

Daemon's laughter echoed through the skies, a cold, mocking sound. "I took what was always meant to be mine, boy."

The words ignited a deeper rage in Aemond, a fire that threatened to consume him. His hand reached for his sword, the weight of Dark Sister on his back a grim reminder that death was near.

"You will die for her," Aemond growled, urging Vhagar higher. "You will burn."

Daemon's smile was cold as ice, his own sword glinting in the dying light. "We shall see, nephew."

And then the battle began.

Caraxes dove with the grace of a serpent, his claws outstretched, and Vhagar answered with the fury of a storm. The dragons collided in the sky, their roars splitting the heavens, and below, the waters of the God’s Eye churned as if in fear of the blood about to be spilled.

Aemond fought with all the strength he had left, but his heart was not in the battle. His mind was with Y/N, his sister, his love. He could almost hear her voice, soft and gentle, telling him to let go, to find peace. But there would be no peace, not for him. Not until Daemon lay dead beneath his blade.

But fate had other plans.

In a final, terrible moment, the two dragons twisted together in a deadly dance. Claws ripped through scales, teeth sank into flesh, and the sky turned to fire. Aemond’s grip slipped, and he saw Daemon leap from Caraxes with Dark Sister drawn. There was a flash of steel, a scream of dragons, and then—Darkness.

The cold waters of the God’s Eye rose up to meet him, swallowing him whole. As he fell, his last thoughts were not of vengeance or war.

They were of her.

Y/N.

If he could have just one more day... one more day with her…

But there were no more wishes left to make.And so, Prince Aemond Targaryen, last of his name, died with his sister's name on his lips, lost forever in the depths of the God’s Eye.