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

[sansaorgana]

I'm reading at work again... 😄 Let's gooooo...!!!

You weave strands of his hair into elaborate braids in your lap, before undoing them and creating something greater in their stead. He eventually quiets under your idle fiddling, eyes drifting shut with a contented smile gracing his face, like a cat napping in the afternoon sun. You love him like this; no cares, no worries of war.  You can soothe him like no one else, a great source of pride whenever he mentions it.

PLEASE I NEED THIS IT WOULD FIX ME AND FIX HIM, FIX US BOTH! 😩

"Whatever it is, it doesn't matter, you're the only thing that matters. We have to go!" He never raises his voice to you, so you're a little dumbstruck when he growls at you.

Creepily and obsessively protective? I WANT!!! 🥺

In the dead of night, flickering candlelight casting ominous shadows over your face, Sauron cannot help but admire you, crave you, as you corrupt his master's fate.

Well, can't blame him. The way you wrote this scene made me imagine it so vividly and she was so terrifyingly ominous. Love that. 🩷

"Forever and a day, a lonely fate will be yours.  You shall not know the word of a friend, the loyalty of a follower, or the touch of a lover.  I curse you to wander the Seen and Unseen world alone, craving the connection you sought to sunder here." 

I'm sorry but has she cursed me too, perhaps? 😭🤣

He gives you an affectionate smile; how could he not wait for you?  Even if he did partake in sleep, he would not be able to rest without you at his side.

Male-wife! 👏🏻

"The Valar will never look upon me favourably, beloved.  I could present them Melkor in chains and they would only bind me to him."

😭😭😭

"I did. And I found their response wanting." In truth he had tried to make amends, tried to do penance for the ages he'd spent in Morgoth's service, but when it came to approaching Manwë for his pardon, his fear overtook him and he fled back to Angband, but he couldn't tell you that, couldn't tell you he'd been weak, pitiful, his courage failing him at the final steps to absolution.

My pathetic little meow-meow... 😣😿

"Who do you think you are?" He hisses, venom in every word; you don't recognise him, cold terror in your heart at the sudden switch, as if someone had doused the candle burning for you in his heart with oil, engulfing him with wildfire.

Oooooooh here we go...! 🔥🔥🔥

"Please... please let me go." The look in his eye says begging will be useless, but you try anyway.

"You are my Queen.  You're free to do as you please." He replies, voice smooth, with a pretty smirk and that predatory glint in his eye that would usually thrill you so, that still sends hot arousal pooling between your thighs, mixed with icy cold terror.

"I'm sure it would..." he utters breathlessly as he takes you in, leaning over you, watching the artery in your throat jump in time to his own racing heartbeat.

I love this so much??? She can but she cannot...? She is his Queen and Queens need no permission but she is his Queen, therefore she belongs to him??? Ugh... 👏🏻

He worships at your altar, an acolyte to your pleasure.

🛐🛐🛐

"If you were to leave me," he moans against your heated skin, stroking his cock against your thigh, "there would be no rest for any bird, beast, or being in this land, no sleep, no sustenance, these lands would burn until you were returned to me."

😶‍🌫️ I need him like a bitch in heat and let me remind you, I'm reading this at work. 🤣

It is in the middle of his speech, appealing to his army for their continued support, that Sauron notices you are absent.

MY POOR BABY! NOOO!!! 😭😭😭

As he lay in a pool of thick black blood, his last thought was of you; how could you betray him? And thank the Valar you did.

NOOOO I WANT TO CURL UP AND CRY BUT I'M SITTING BY MY DESK... 🫠

Haunted (Sauron/F!Reader)

...by the kiss you should never have given me

Lots of mini-chapters add up to an omnibus of angst, as we follow Sauron through the centuries and discover exactly what happened before his coronation.

Sequel to To Have and To Hold // Prequel to In the Dark of the Night // AO3 Link

Soundtrack: Kiss Me Harder by Jordan Fiction, Judas by Lady Gaga, Angels by Within Temptation, Heaven's A Lie by Lacuna Coil, NFWMB by Hozier

Warnings: 18+! Angst, smut, fluff, hurt/comfort, canon typical violence, manipulation, toxic relationship (more overt towards the end), obsessive!Sauron, soft!Sauron (yes the two can coincide), knifeplay (just a tiny bit), blood magic, Sauron is a bit of a dick towards the end, sorry, accidental prey/predator kink, knifeplay (again, tiny bit), grinding, slightly dubious consent (you do want it, but I'll tag anyway), oral sex (female receiving), P in V sex, more blood.

A/N: little bit of jumping around in this one, sorry, we start just after the wedding, then we jump to the fall of Gondolin, a little magic ritual in the middle, then the fallout from the sinking of Beleriand (why do you keep getting caught up in this??), then we close out the First Age with a little argument before someone's coronation! Little slices of their romance in quick succession! I went a little experimental in the form of this one, with a bunch of flashbacks informing the main plot at the end. I hope it works 🤞

Special thanks to @olchr-1 for the idea for our revenge on Morgoth!!

Translation note: Amartherui translates in Sindarin to "lonely fate" [Fate (amarth) Alone (erui)]

Word Count: 6k!

Fingers entwined with his, head on his chest, you were enthralled by him, by every pretty word and sweet gesture. Every time he came to visit, you would spend days on end in your secluded glade, to make up for his inexplicably long periods of absence. Sometimes he would come to you with dizzying tales of his latest triumphs, preening under your undivided attention. But lately he had taken to returning under black clouds, tetchy where he was usually playful, and rough where gentleness once reigned.

You had pulled him close to your breast and sank down into the petaled carpet of the forest floor, stroking his hair and listening as he raged on about the war in the north. You had kin fighting the armies of Morgoth, and knew his sorrows all too well, but something behind his eyes told you it was more than he was letting on.

You weave strands of his hair into elaborate braids in your lap, before undoing them and creating something greater in their stead. He eventually quiets under your idle fiddling, eyes drifting shut with a contented smile gracing his face, like a cat napping in the afternoon sun. You love him like this; no cares, no worries of war. You can soothe him like no one else, a great source of pride whenever he mentions it.

You gaze down at his unearthly smooth features and trace each contour with your eyes; your fingers slow in their busy work, moving gently across his scalp, lazily twisting his hair around your finger, making a ring to match the one he'd gifted you, ornate and bejeweled, glittering with an impossible inner light, to replace the woven band of purple iris that he'd improvised on the night of your wedding.

"You're staring, love." He smiles, snapping open his eyes and fixing you with an affectionate expression that makes your heart melt.

"Is a wife not allowed to stare at her husband? Are there no privileges to marriage at all?" Your voice is soft but your tone is mischievous, and he smirks.

"I can think of a few, ah, privileges, dearest, in fact we have exercised a few already today." He raises his eyebrows, before pulling you down to meet his lips. "But if you need reminding, you need only ask."

-

You had agreed to meet in the same secluded glade at the next new moon, but he never showed. The hours you wasted awaiting his return were at first exciting, full of electric anticipation that only love's first bloom can give. As the moon slowly passed overhead, and twinkling stars gave way to blazing sun, you shed many a tear at your folly. Perhaps he had been some mirage, an illusion to tempt you? Or perhaps the depth of his feeling did not match yours, a fleeting thought you had to bury deep in case it irrevocably shattered your heart.

You frequent the glade every so often, convincing yourself that it was a perfectly fine place to pass your time, and that you were not reminded of his warm hands or even warmer smile, every time you visit. Deceiving yourself that it meant much less to you than it did, that if he returned now after so much time with no word or warning, you would not jump into his open arms without a second thought.

Your heartache is apparent to your friends and kin, who assume you're suffering the grief they all feel, having lost so many of their kind to Morgoth's rampage in the north. How little they knew; how little you knew.

It is only when one good friend mentions the siege at Angband, that you are struck with the terrible notion that the man you cursed for abandoning you, might not have done it willingly after all. That perhaps, Valar forbid, he had perished in the siege. He had mentioned fighting in the war after all, but you had not connected that with his absence. After all, he had promised to return to you, on the morning after you had met, having shared a blissful slumber in each other's arms. He held your hands to his lips and swore he would see you again, and now it makes sense. Now you have a real reason to grieve, you realise, and the anger roiling within you turns cold, an icy pit in your stomach as tears fall freely and your heart wrenches and cracks. You were to only have one night with him, and you might never even discover his true fate.

You reason with yourself that surely you would feel if the other half of you had flown this mortal plain. But the alternative was much crueler, and to believe him dead was somehow a less hopeless fate.

Centuries later when you look back, you curse yourself for not seeing who he was, and what he'd done, but how could you? He'd taken you as his own and that was such a strong spell to break, Eru himself would have had to step in.

-

To see your city fall at the hands of your husband’s master, you had no words, only wet hot tears as you watch your people die.

"Love, we have to go, come now," he holds you firmly by the arms, shaking you a little to clear your mind of the dust and debris and blood on the streets of Gondolin.

"I can't, I can't leave them, I have to find-"

"No, we're evacuating, you're not staying a minute longer. I should not have let you linger here when He appeared on the horizon, we should have-"

You tug your arm from his vice-like grip. "Should have what? Should have left my people to wrack and ruin? We have to..." Your mind is so murky, filled with thoughts of leaving, running as far as you can with him, despite your overwhelming urge to stay and help where you can.

"We have to leave. You know there is nothing we can do for them, He will leave none alive, and I won't have you-" he can't say it, he can't even entertain the notion of you coming to harm; his fingers tighten their grip, almost painful in their desperation.

He should have foreseen this, he should have gotten you to safety when he first had an inkling that his master finally knew where the Hidden City was.

"We have to go back, I need to go back, I can't leave-"

After a thousand years, his magic had kept your tiny wedding band of iris in full bloom, untouched by the passage of time, kept safe in an ornate gilded chest, made by his own fair hands. And it was sitting in your apartments on the other side of the city, where your kin doubtless waited for you to leave with them. The sentiment in your heart held you steadfast against his shaking and pleading.

"Love, we can't stay here-" he is interrupted by explosions overhead, as the enemy host draw closer.

"You don't understand-"

"Whatever it is, it doesn't matter, you're the only thing that matters. We have to go!" He never raises his voice to you, so you're a little dumbstruck when he growls at you.

"But we have to save them!" You stop in your tracks, feet rooted to the ground, indignant at the idea of abandoning your friends and neighbours to their doom.

"Amarië," his voice is suddenly so soft, it disquiets you, brings you back to the present. "Love, they're gone. There is no saving to be done."

Sauron is a stranger to remorse, to sorrow, but at the effect of his words, a pang of guilt sweeps through him when he tells you that in all the world, he is all you have now. He tries to ignore the warm thrill he feels in the pit of his stomach, that this great cataclysm has brought about the fate he always wanted for the two of you: just you and he, no one else to rob him of your attention.

You wanted to feel deeply all the grief and pain that one would expect at being told their life was over.

Instead you just felt numb, haunted by the consequences of his actions.

-

"I curse him." Your husband's eyes grow wide at your words, grasping your hands as if to quiet you, but you press on.

"I curse Melkor, Morgoth Bauglir, to roam this earth alone. To never know peace, to never know that which he so jealously craves."

You feel you're taking Morgoth's curse rather well, all things considered. Sauron had to beg you not to storm Angband yourself after he had told you of his master's new name for you, cursing you to a forsaken existence, sundering you from your husband in all but spirit.

You had fought your way back to him countless times, and he to you; you had both vowed to continue to do so, but the rage and grief had not lessened with time, stoked to a towering inferno of wrath that threatened to break you any time you were reminded of it.

And after the fall of Gondolin, your rage at the Enemy was insatiable.

So you had your revenge.

"Enemy. Tyrant. Now I name you again."

In the dead of night, flickering candlelight casting ominous shadows over your face, Sauron cannot help but admire you, crave you, as you corrupt his master's fate.

You slice open your hand, squeezing your palm over the parchment before you, watching as crimson splashes through the stark black lettering.

Amartherui.

"Help me." You look him in the eye, your simple plea making his chest ache; he has never said no to you, his sweet wife, but this is the first time he has been tempted.

"Amarië..." his soft sigh almost convinces you to abandon your plan, but the fury bubbling in your veins is too great.

"Beloved, will you help me or not? Your power would bring this curse to fruition, but if you will have no part in it, you should leave." You stand taller, drawing yourself up to match his gaze, impossible as that may seem.

"I have never asked you for anything. Please do this for me."

The crushing weight of the love in his hole of a heart moves his hand before he can stop himself. With gnawing doubt in his stomach, he wordlessly takes the knife from you, mixing his pitch black blood with your own on the page.

You smile, a weight lifting from your shoulders instantly, and you pull him down to kiss him hard, leaving a red streak on his neck.

"I name you, Morgoth, as my people have long titled you, Amartherui." His new name falls off your tongue like a dream, and you cannot help but smile, your wicked deed complete, as you set the parchment alight, the flames glowing a sickly grey-green as the candles flicker and the room darkens, long shadows growing where the light had tentatively reigned.

"Forever and a day, a lonely fate will be yours. You shall not know the word of a friend, the loyalty of a follower, or the touch of a lover. I curse you to wander the Seen and Unseen world alone, craving the connection you sought to sunder here."

In the back of your mind, there is some semblance of guilt. There is nothing good in the act you just performed, nothing virtuous or pure in your revenge; it's cold and calculated, vicious and spiteful.

Transcending the bounds of time and space, you can feel your curse has taken effect, something shifting in the air between you and your husband.

Sauron has never loved you more, and he shows you many times that night the depth of his feelings.

-

You watch as more refugees stagger into your haven with naught more than the clothes on their backs, waiting to help and heal and offer your comfort where you can. The war has left such a dreadful path of destruction in its wake; thousands of your kin are displaced as the host of the Valar battle their way to Angband, and your people had chosen where the river Sirion meets the sea as their secret haven.

It has been decades since the armies of Valinor first arrived on the shores of Middle Earth, and the end was drawing near, according to your husband, who was waiting with you in the safety of the havens and watching closely.

"I'll see you when I'm finished here," you whisper as you reach up to plant a kiss on your husband's lips. "It'll probably be late, don't wait up for me."

He gives you an affectionate smile; how could he not wait for you? Even if he did partake in sleep, he would not be able to rest without you at his side.

"I'll be up, return to me soon." He is reluctant to let you go, but your skills are in such dire need while the city is inundated with the sick and injured.

Before the War, it was uncommon for Elves to suffer such fates, being hardy in soul and body, but Morgoth's darkness had infiltrated much of the land and infected so many of your kin. Soldiers, innocent bystanders, there were hardly any who were unaffected, and fighting the darkness was a constant effort on your part, and the team of healers you had trained in the magics of your people.

"My lady, they are calling for you." The herald's voice shakes you from Sauron's gaze, and he huffs impatiently.

"I must go." You reluctantly begin to pull away, but he draws you back, pulling you close and wrapping you up in an embrace you could cling to for an age.

"I love you," he murmurs in your ear. "When this is all over, we shall establish the greatest kingdom this land has ever seen."

"If there is a land left." You try to remain hopeful but the news of the siege at Angband is never good, never hopeful, and you fear your home will never be free of Morgoth's influence.

"I am your home," your husband, your Mairon, reminds you, tracing your cheek softly, and you cannot help but return his radiant smile.

"I know, love, as I am yours." You press a soft kiss to his knuckles, taking the strength he offers, before departing to disperse your light where you can.

The darkness infects everything it touches, and it takes all of your energy and more to renew your broken and weary kin, who have travelled so far and fought so hard to reach the havens. Healing words and ancient spells woven into soft songs, settling over the city in a melodic shield, rejuvenating the minds and bodies of your people. You work late into the night, spreading the light where you can, easing the pitch black horror in the hearts of those who had seen the worst of Morgoth's endeavours.

The night is all-encompassing when you finally crawl into bed, nestling into Mairon's firm warmth, trying not to disturb him but feeling sweet relief when his hands trace your sides in greeting.

"I was going to come look for you," his deep voice rumbles in your chest as he presses himself against you.

"No need," you try to smile, but your voice cracks as his tenderness breaks your defences, and all the heartache of the day pours out of you like blood from a wound.

His heart wrenches. He has no business feeling such emotions as remorse, but once again you have him feeling in ways that he dislikes intensely.

"I'm sorry, my love." And he is. He is actually sorry for causing you pain, the rest of Middle Earth be damned.

You sigh and take his hand, holding it over your heart.

"I know, love." You ponder your next question, whether it is a good idea to ask, but you ask anyway.

"You cannot assist in the efforts against Him? I'm sure the Valar would be grateful for your help, might even look favourably upon you-"

He interrupts you with a sigh and a kiss to your neck.

"The Valar will never look upon me favourably, beloved. I could present them Melkor in chains and they would only bind me to him."

Of course, he has thought about begging clemency, thought about fleeing with you to the edges of the world, even thought of taking you back to his master. But in the end, it was more prudent to keep you safe, and to watch and wait for the triumphant side to reveal themselves. Better to beg forgiveness from the victor than choose the wrong side.

-

"Tell me I'm wrong." You dare him to speak against you, your voice shaking in anger as your fists clench.

"My love, I-"

"No, I don't want falsehoods, I don't want games or lies or deceit, just tell me. Did you go to Eönwë as you promised?"

"I did. And I found their response wanting." In truth he had tried to make amends, tried to do penance for the ages he'd spent in Morgoth's service, but when it came to approaching Manwë for his pardon, his fear overtook him and he fled back to Angband, but he couldn't tell you that, couldn't tell you he'd been weak, pitiful, his courage failing him at the final steps to absolution.

And he definitely couldn't tell you that in order for his pardon to be granted, he would have to give you up, to avoid blackening your soul any further.

He'd rather suffer your eternal wrath than be sundered from you for even a moment.

"So you traded forgiveness for more lies." You clench your jaw, your head beginning to pound, the subtle throb becoming a stabbing pain in your temple.

"I did it for you."

"How? How is this for me?" You mock him, incensed now that he would deflect his deceit onto you.

He stands to comfort you but you rip your hands from his grasp before he can claim you.

"I do not know what to say. I thought I knew you, I thought you would do the right thing." You shake your head and laugh, your scorn stinging him as if it were a poisoned blade.

"Love, please-"

"No! No more lies. I've had it with trickery and deception, I want out." You whirl around to face him. "Shadow of Morgoth, they call you. You gather his armies to you once more, you refired his crown! So is that what you want? Do you want to be his second coming?"

In all honesty, no. His master's plans were beneath him; Morgoth wanted to break the world, Sauron wanted to reshape it, to balance and perfect it, by any means necessary.

"Please, listen to me, I need you by my side, now more than ever." He clutches your hands, heart pounding, looking deeply into your eyes, willing you to fall for his pretty words once more.

"You didn't answer me." Tears begin to prick your eyes, but you refuse to let them fall in front of him, stepping back to take a deep breath, to steady your nerves to face the man you thought you loved.

"I don't need to. Love, you will join me." His desperation becomes honeyed, dripping with the devotion you so crave from him.

"Don't. Don't do that." You whisper, as he stalks toward you slowly, his deception burning a hole in your heart that you're sure will never be filled.

"Don't you want to be with me? For all eternity, that is what we always said." He circles you, hands on your shoulders, in your hair, overwhelming you with his lover's touch, just a mite too rough.

"Not if this is your plan. I didn't marry Morgoth, I married Mairon." Sauron, your mind reminds you, and for a second you feel a wave of nausea overwhelm you.

His face twists and he pulls away.

"That is not my name." He growls, an ugly grimace taking over his lovely features.

"I've told you before, don't look inside my head!" You retort, his presence in your mind suddenly overwhelmingly obvious.

You throw him out of your mind, slamming the door shut, refusing him access to that which would be so freely given if he deserved it.

The tic in his jaw is back with a vengeance and his eyes are ablaze with a fury the like of which you have never seen.

"Who do you think you are?" He hisses, venom in every word; you don't recognise him, cold terror in your heart at the sudden switch, as if someone had doused the candle burning for you in his heart with oil, engulfing him with wildfire.

"I chose you, of all your people, as my wife; I could have had anyone, but I chose you. Aulë’s greatest smith, Melkor's most trusted lieutenant, lord of all the dark things that creep and crawl in this world. And who are you? My beloved wife." His tone is like poison in your veins, burning and spitting fire in your heart.

Who are you? He's right; who the hell do you think you are?

"I know exactly who I am. I'm the woman who leaves you."

You shall not be forsaken this time, not that doing the forsaking feels any sweeter. It wrenches every fibre of your being, your heart pounding in your chest, but you make it to the door of his chambers, hand on the doorknob, before he breaks from his stunned daze, crosses the room and clasps his hand over yours on the cool metal.

"And where will you go? Your people are scattered and displaced, and who would take you in if they knew?" His sweetly honeyed words still bite at your heart, settling in the pit of your stomach.

"I cannot stay here, not now that I know exactly what you are." You look up at him, holding his gaze, somehow fighting the urge to scratch and claw and bite your way free like a feral animal, suddenly overwhelmed with the sense that you should run as hard and fast as you can.

His eyes betray nothing, his lips curving into a condescending smirk, as he runs a finger down your cheek, gathering the tears you'd fought not to shed. He examines them as if he'd never seen their like, as if they were precious stones from the depths of the earth, mined just for him; he licks his fingers clean, turning his attention back to you, trembling under him as he cages you against the door.

"Please... please let me go." The look in his eye says begging will be useless, but you try anyway.

"You are my Queen. You're free to do as you please." He replies, voice smooth, with a pretty smirk and that predatory glint in his eye that would usually thrill you so, that still sends hot arousal pooling between your thighs, mixed with icy cold terror.

"It would please me to leave," you try to appeal to him, softening your voice, lowering your gaze.

"I'm sure it would..." he utters breathlessly as he takes you in, leaning over you, watching the artery in your throat jump in time to his own racing heartbeat.

"Mairon... please..." His lips are on yours before you can finish your plea, his hands tangled in your hair.

He pushes his thigh between your legs, letting you grind yourself against him instinctively, and he groans, deep and low in his chest.

"Even now, your body betrays you, my love."

You sigh against him, fingers raking his hair roughly, letting him caress your neck, your waist, pulling you impossibly closer as he tries to expose you to his gaze. His clever fingers usually make light work of the laces of your corset, but his impatience defeats him, and he pulls a dagger from the lining of his robes, slicing cleanly through the fabric.

"That was my favourite," you admonish him, still angry with him; even as he takes you apart with his fingers and his tongue, you can't forget his plans, and you certainly can't ignore his gift to you, sitting by the window in all their glory.

Twin crowns, wrought in black iron, twisted and wicked, emanating a dark power that made you nauseous; ready for the heads of Middle Earth's new King and Queen. When you'd seen them, your blood ran cold, as you realised that once again, you'd been victim to Sauron’s deception.

"You will have a thousand more, dearest wife, whatever your heart desires," he promises breathlessly as he shucks off your dress, sliding it down your body, worshipping you with the lightest touch, soft kisses peppering your skin as he disrobes you. He falls to his knees, his head in line with your mound. He looks up at you, locking his gaze with yours, and delves into your folds with his tongue, seeking your pleasure.

You gasp, throwing your head back, as he spreads your legs to access your entrance, splitting you open with two fingers, still drawing every moan and whimper from your throat as he circles your clit, licking long strokes, tiny laps at your skin, letting you ride his face in your lustful haze. You grip his hair more roughly than you normally would, your wrath seeping into your lust, until you can't detect the distinction between the two.

He takes one of your legs and places it on his shoulder, letting you rest against him, both of you totally at the other's mercy. Such trust, such devotion, would you throw that away? Would you truly abandon him?

He worships at your altar, an acolyte to your pleasure, drawing unearthly sounds from deep within you, willing you to just stay and be his.

Your mind is racing as tendrils of his power cling to your lips, fighting for entrance to quiet your thoughts, and replace them with his sweet music. Wouldn't it just be easier? To let the darkness in?

You might as well, you muse in the back of your head, thoughts displaced by pleasure as the darkness feasts upon you.

He's solely focused on you; there is nowhere he would rather be in all of Arda. The unblemished shores of Valinor, the white trees that used to light the world, he can finally understand why his master was so hellbent on their destruction. For there is no beauty that should merit a comparison to you, and he would raze these lands to the ground to prove it.

You're drawing close, he realises, and briefly wonders whether to allow you your release on his lips.

You feel him pull away and moan, a tiny pitiful sound that makes him chuckle; of course you need him, of course you can't be without him, even in anger. Victory is nigh, and he pulls himself out of his robes to claim you once again.

He pushes you back, your name on the tip of his tongue, as he takes you in, breathes your air.

"You're mine," he growls, nuzzling your neck to better scent you. "Say it, say you'll always be mine."

"I will," you murmur softly, tears pricking your eyes as you hold him close.

"If you were to leave me," he moans against your heated skin, stroking his cock against your thigh, "there would be no rest for any bird, beast, or being in this land, no sleep, no sustenance, these lands would burn until you were returned to me."

He claims you in one thrust, filling you so completely, so sweetly, that you see stars, your breath stolen from your lungs as if it were the first time you'd ever laid eyes on him.

Your heart wrenches, pulling towards his, despite your entire being screaming at you.

You kiss him harder, your mind quietened as he bites your lip, droplets of blood wetting his tongue, quickening his insatiable need to be inside you in every way that is possible; mind, body, soul, all inextricably entwined.

The tears in your eyes threaten to fall, but you blink them back as he rocks into you, the chorus of your lovemaking drowning out all other notions. He plays you so well, a master in the art of drawing sweet melody from your lips; the harmony you both create together is unmatched to his ears, a Maia who helped sing the world into being.

A chorus of "mine" and "please" fill the air, and you're unsure whose voice is the louder, who is more desperate in their claiming of the other.

You feel him stiffen against you, his melody reaching a crescendo before yours, as he fills you with his pleasure, low groans in your ear bringing you to your peak as well. He wrings every last moan out of you, drawing out the coda of your song until there are no more notes to be played, no more pleasure to be taken.

Sweat-slicked and exhausted, you hold each other close, entwined so perfectly. You let him carry you to his bed, laying you down reverently, climbing in beside you and nestling you close, arms wrapping you tightly, refusing to let you move from his grasp.

You'd usually find such comfort in his embrace, but tonight there is an itch under your skin that his touch only amplifies, making you fight not to squirm beside him.

You cannot sleep for fear of letting him inside your head again, so when a knock at the door comes, you welcome it.

He sighs, long and loud in your ear, as evidence of his displeasure.

"I'll be back, love, there are matters I must attend to."

"Of course," you smile, fighting to make it meet your eyes.

He regards you carefully, brow furrowed.

"Do not fear, my love," he says softly as he leans down to kiss you once more. "I won't be long."

As he departs, he gives you one final look of longing, which you hasten to return with all the eagerness you can muster.

The door clicks shut, your expression falls, and you immediately disentangle yourself from the sheets,

Finding obscene amounts of your clothing and jewellery, and books beyond measure in his room was no surprise. He must have been preparing for this for years, if not longer.

Now that Morgoth was gone, the next phase of his plan could move forward, and that involved you, his Queen, taking up her rightful residence.

You dress as quickly as you're able, taking only what you can carry, and go to leave. But you notice a small ornate chest you thought you'd lost when Gondolin fell, sitting on the dresser by his bed as if it had always belonged there.

You feel as if you've been stabbed, a gut-wrenching heartache overwhelming you as you can do nothing but stand and stare.

He went back for it. He kept it all this time.

Your feet move of their own accord, and before you can blink, you've opened the chest, staring at the impossible artefact of your love for each other.

Unfurled purple petals, revealing a stark white centre, the woven band appearing as fresh as it did on the day he married you.

You hold it up, comparing it to the ring you currently wear. He really had somehow captured its likeness in a jewel, deep purple revealing a bright light in its centre, framed by ornate silver details.

You cannot bring yourself to slip it on, after all that has happened, his lies and broken promises, but you are loath to leave it.

Movement outside his chambers sends a shiver of panic through you, and you quickly move to hide behind the door. The subsequent banging has you quaking but you stand your ground, waiting for whomever it is to leave.

The door abruptly swings open, and you hear two gravelly voices discussing... you?

"Mistress?" The first call is softer, but their annoyance quickly becomes apparent as the other chimes in.

"Where is she then? They said to fetch her, but I'm not traipsing all over to find some she-Elf-"

"He won't even notice, Adar says he's too caught up in all his planning and his speeches, who cares about one missing Elf?"

"He wants them at least, over there. He'll have your head if we forget-"

"Why my head? You're the one he told-"

"Shut it and take 'em, careful now, there's magic in it still..."

Their voices fade as they shuffle back the way they came. As the door slams shut again, you realise that your husband already has an army of orcs at his disposal, and you reconsider what you're about to do, but only briefly.

Escaping the fortress is more of a task than you thought, requiring all the skills of subterfuge and swordplay that your husband has ever taught you; which is no small feat, considering the centuries you've had to learn.

Quietly slipping through the fortress mostly unnoticed, leaving the odd corpse in your wake as your husband's servants cross your path, unfortunately for them.

Thankfully the halls are mostly deserted, and you hear a clamour coming from deeper within, but you try to pay it no mind, focusing on your exit and nothing more.

It is only when you finally see daylight, pushing open the great black doors to the fortress, that you can breathe a sigh of relief. If you can just get a headstart, perhaps you'll be able to outrun him.

-

It is in the middle of his speech, appealing to his army for their continued support, that Sauron notices you are absent.

He'd sent for you when his moment of victory seemed nigh at hand, and had assumed you were readying yourself for your ascent, but now that he had persuaded Adar and his children to his cause, the sight of your face was all he wanted to see.

As he knelt before Adar, awaiting his rightful crown, he searched for you in his mind's eye. He did not expect to find you outside the black gates, breathing a sigh of relief in the watery sunlight.

A surge of rage overtook him as he clenched his jaw, settling on his knees. The mere thought of your abandonment had always made his heart twist and shatter, and at that moment, he had no heart. Just a void where it used to be.

Distracted by your torment, he barely noticed the first blow, as Adar struck him again and again with the crown that was meant to define your future together.

As he lay in a pool of thick black blood, his last thought was of you; how could you betray him? And thank the Valar you did.

-

A great blast of freezing cold air knocks you off your feet, and for a second you thought you heard his voice on the wind. It's all you can do to just lie there, covered in frost and shaking, trying to assess if you're at least physically intact, your emotional state another matter entirely.

Clutching your head as blood trickles down your face, you shakily get to your feet. It is as if someone has emptied the heavens of all its snow where before there was nothing but arid plains. The air is suddenly glacial, the ground frozen and cracking underfoot.

It is as you contemplate your frozen breath in the air, that you realise you can't feel him. A vacuum in your mind, a void in your heart that you haven't experienced in more than a thousand years, and you can barely recognise that it is his absence that has left such a hole.

You thought you might feel free when you were rid of him, but all you feel is empty, yearning for a presence that has haunted you for millennia.

[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

[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

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 the 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 the Reader. 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.

[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.”

[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.

[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.

- Paring: 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.

[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."

[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.

[luvzshy]

pregnant!reader x Billie when she had a traumatic birth and Billie and magpie are there with her 🥹

a/n: hi so idk i feel like this is a little dark or smth but here u go bby, i hope this is what u wanted MWUAK💕✨

Heartbeats in the Dark

The hospital room is a blur of beeping machines and hurried voices. The atmosphere grows tense as the hours drag on. The labor has been long and exhausting, and complications have started to arise. The pain feels unbearable, and it’s mixed with an overwhelming sense of fear.

Billie stands by the bed, holding your hand, but she’s visibly anxious. “You’re doing so well,” she whispers, trying to stay composed, though the worry in her eyes betrays her calm tone.

The medical staff becomes more urgent, voices overlapping. “We need to move now,” the doctor announces, and suddenly, everything speeds up. There’s no time to process as the decision for an emergency C-section is made. As the bed is wheeled away, Billie’s hand slips from your grasp, and for a heart-stopping moment, she’s gone, left standing in the hallway, helpless.

The operating room is cold, sterile. The weight of the situation presses down like a suffocating fog. Numb from fear and exhaustion, her body trembles uncontrollably. When Billie is finally allowed back in, she rushes to your side, her own tears barely held back. “I’m here,” she says, her voice shaky, brushing a hand through your sweat-soaked hair. “I’m right here.”

But the terror is real. There’s a deep, bone-deep fear that something might go terribly wrong. “What if…” The words choke out, barely audible, “What if something happens to the baby?”

Billie’s eyes fill with tears she’s trying so hard to hold back. “I’m scared too, baby,” she admits softly, her voice cracking. “But you’re doing everything you can. We’re going to get through this.”

Minutes feel like hours. The room is tense and quiet until finally, there’s a small, faint cry. Relief rushes in, but it’s fleeting. The baby is quickly taken away, needing immediate care. There’s no chance to hold them, no time to bond. Just a glimpse, and they’re gone.

Left in the silence of the room, Billie squeezes your hand tighter, pressing her forehead against yours. “I thought I was going to lose you,” she whispers brokenly, her voice hoarse. The fear of that moment is still raw, the helplessness cutting deep. “I was so scared. I should’ve done more.”

Your tears flow freely now, the emotional toll of the birth crashing down all at once. “I thought I was going to die,” you confess, voice trembling. “I couldn’t protect our baby. I couldn’t do anything.” The sobs come, wracking your body, and Billie holds on as tight as she can without causing more pain.

“You fought so hard,” Billie says through her own tears. “You’re still here, and so is our baby. You didn’t give up. You were so strong.”

But despite the relief of knowing the baby is okay, there’s an emptiness that lingers. What was supposed to be a joyful moment feels tainted by the trauma of the experience. Both of them struggle with the weight of it—the loss of those first moments with their child, the fear that gripped them for hours.

When the baby is finally brought to them, the room falls quiet. Holding your newborn for the first time, tears stream down your face again, but this time they are softer, a mix of joy and sorrow. Billie sits beside you, gently tracing the baby’s tiny fingers, her own tears spilling over.

“We made it,” Billie whispers, though her voice still trembles with the emotion of everything that’s happened.

But it’s clear things won’t just go back to normal. “I don’t feel okay,” you admits quietly. “I can’t forget how scared I was.” There’s a lingering sense of fear, a doubt about whether they can recover from this emotionally.

Billie’s hand tightens around yours. “You don’t have to be okay right now,” she says, voice steady despite her own pain. “We don’t have to be perfect. We’re still here, and that’s what matters. I’m not going anywhere. We’ll figure this out together, one day at a time.”

There’s no instant relief, no magical fix. The trauma of the birth will take time to heal. But as they sit there, Billie resting her head against your shoulder, their baby in their arms, they find a small sense of peace. It’s not the ending they imagined, but they survived—together. And that, for now, is enough.

[percevalec]

THIS WONT STAY IN VEGAS {part 1}

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x Female!Reader

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

Summary: You went clubbing with your friend, celebrating her moving to Vegas. You got drunk and don't remember anything. The next morning you find yourself in bed with a stranger and a ring around your finger

Words: 3.4K

Warnings: Alcohol, Mentions of hooking up, Memory loss, (I have no idea how any of this works !) not proof read.

do not copy, rewrite or translate any of my work on any platforms.

The night was wild to say the least. You danced to all your favorite songs, drank drinks you can't even remember the name of, and apparently went back to someones hotel room.

You woke up and furrowed your eyebrows as the morning light hit your eyes through the window. Your head was killing you. 

"What the hell...." You mumbled as you sat up and looked to your left, you saw a brown haired guy laying down next to you. Whatever you shamelessly thought to yourself, this wouldn't be the first time you’ve hooked up with someone after going to the club. Everything was normal, right? Everything except the pounding headache and the memory loss you have from last night. A part of you felt bad for the guy, you couldn't even remember his name. But his name wasn't your biggest problem right now. You needed to go back to your hotel room and get to your friend so she could help you remember how you ended up here.

You also didn't fail to notice that your clothes were scattered all over the room. You quietly got up from the bed, collecting your clothes so you could get dressed. As you were putting on your dress you noticed something that you certainly don't remember owning. A cold shiny metal ring on your finger.

There's no way what you're thinking about could actually be reality, your friends would never let you marry a stranger in vegas.

Before you can think of any other explanation as to why you have a random ring on your finger, the man next to you rolls around and grunts as he slowly wakes up, “Ah... my head..." you hear him mumble as his half closed eyes slowly widen as he sees you next to him. You stare at each other, neither of you knowing what to say. It was obvious that he was also confused about the situation. He slowly pushed himself up, sitting up on the bed. You watched as he opened his mouth then quickly closed it again as if he's not sure on what to actually say.

"Uhm... what's your name." He asked awkwardly, almost embarrassed. It was obvious now that he also did not remember last night's events. “Y/N” you reply awkwardly. You didn't expect this to even be a conversation, usually you never stayed in anyone's room after a hookup, you slipped away in the middle of the night or the morning before the other person woke up. But now here you are in a very awkward situation. Not knowing what to say next you decide to ask the same question back, you were also curious to know the stranger's name. “I'm Charles” he replied to your question, looking down at the bed sheet avoiding eye contact with you. The fact that he was naked under the covers wasn't lost on him either. Especially since he was struggling to remember anything about you.

“Do you remember anything from last night?” you spoke after a second of silence. He slowly shook his head. He tried to recall anything from last night but his memories were fuzzy at best, a blur of lights and sounds that he couldn't decipher. "Not really," He admitted, his voice low. "Do you?" no. You say in a low whisper. Another moment of awkward silence goes by, neither of you daring to actually look at each other. Suddenly you notice a ring on his finger. “You have it too” you say in shock, looking at his ring noticing it matched perfectly with yours.

He looked confused as you mention the ring. i don’t remember owning a ring Charles thinks to himself.

He finally looks up at you, his eyes widening as he sees the matching ring on your finger. His face goes from confused to complete terror in a heartbeat. "What?!" He mumbled as he quickly looked down at his own ring. His jaw dropped as he saw the gold band around his finger. No way, no goddamn way.

———————————————————————————

“Something, you have to remember something from last night” you say anxiously as you pace around the room, not wanting to accept the situation you could possibly be in. 

You lost all hope in getting any answers about the events of last night as you looked over at charles. He shook his head quickly, his panic and confusion written all over his face as he tried to remember literally anything from the night before "I don't know. All I remember is drinking a lot of alcohol, and well I think we hooked up" he says looking down at the floor. 

“But there's no way we actually got married right? it's obviously a joke, we probably just found rings and decided to put them on” you say nervously laughing. He forced a nervous chuckle at your joke. He wished it was a joke, but the matching rings on your fingers made it pretty obvious that maybe it was something serious. Charles was already dreading his family finding out about this. His manager would never let him hear the end of it.

"Yeah we were probably just messing around" He tried to reassure both you and himself. “Just get dressed and help me find my phone, I was out with a friend so she must remember what happened” He quickly nodded at your statement, thankful that there was a witness to all of this. He threw off the bed sheet and stood up, looking around the room for his clothes. "Alright. You look for your phone, and I'll get dressed." He mumbled as he found his crumpled up button up shirt and pants on the ground. He quickly put them on. Once he finished getting dressed, Charles began helping you search for your phone. He looked through the various things on the floor around the bed, and the bedside table. But no matter how hard he looked, he couldn't find it.

He looked over at you, he was still avoiding eye contact as much as possible as he sheepishly spoke. "Did you find it yet?"

“Yeah, it was on the bathroom counter” you say as you quickly call your friend hoping she will explain what's going on. He nodded as he sat back on the bed, running his hands through his hair and letting out a deep sigh as he tried to come to terms with whatever was happening. This was an absolute disaster. He was married to a woman he didn't even know. All he could do was sit there and hope that you somehow found a way out of this whole thing. He leaned his head back, closing his eyes and listening to you talk to your friend.

———————————————————————————

“Riley?” you say over the phone “Y/N, i've been texting you all morning, where are you” you hear your friend say over the phone

“I'm not sure.., just tell me you remember what happened last night” you said realizing that you were clueless as to where you woke up. 

“How could you possibly not remember what happened! There's no way anyone would forget a night like that” Riley says over the phone, you can practically hear the smile she has on her face.

“This isn't funny Ry” You say in a serious tone. “I'm with the guy from last night, neither of us remember what happened”

“Look just tell me where you're at, I'll come and explain everything”

Perfect you think to yourself, it's only a matter of time before you get the clarity on the situation you managed to get yourself in. You look over at Charles “What's the address” you ask, still on the phone with your friend. He raised his head looking over at you with a puzzled expression on his face. Charles hesitated for a brief moment, unsure of why you needed his address. "Why do you need that?" He asked in a hushed tone, his voice still heavy with a mix of exhaustion and confusion. “My friend is coming over to explain everything”

He let out another sigh, his mind still racing with questions. He glanced at the clock, which showed it was almost 12pm already. He gave you a short nod, accepting his fate. There was no point in hiding his address, he was already married to you after all. He told you his address, his voice quiet and almost defeated sounding.

You give the address to Riley. “Okay, i'll see you in ten minutes” She responds as she hangs up the call. You sit back down on the bed next to Charles. The reality of the situation was slowly sinking in.

———————————————————————————

The awkward silence was filled only by the sound of breathing as he you sat next each other. Charles couldn't look at you directly, but he was acutely aware of your presence next to him. He ran a hand through his hair, a gesture of frustration and nervousness. 

“She's only ten minutes away” you say, breaking the silence. He nodded slowly in acknowledgment, his eyes trained on the floor. Ten minutes. That seemed like both an eternity and no time at all. You swallowed hard, trying to come up with something to say, anything to distract yourself from the anxiety gnawing at the pit of your stomach. When you finally spoke, your voice was low. "So… Where are you from?" Charles glanced over at you for a swift second before looking back at the floor. He was a bit surprised by the question, it was obvious from the slight raise of his eyebrows. After a brief pause he answered. 

"Monaco." He said quietly. Charles was a bit curious as to why you were asking. But he was honestly just glad to have something else to think about besides the rings on your fingers. “I've only ever been once, it was beautiful” you say remembering your time in Monaco. “I'm from New York” you follow up, responding to your own question. His eyes looked up to yours, as he nodded. It was a bit strange to suddenly be having a relatively normal conversation considering the bizarre situation.

"I've been to New York, it's a nice city" He said casually. A beat of silence passed as he continued to stare at the floor. Charles usual confidence and charisma were noticeably absent. His mind was too occupied by the strange circumstances to really relax and be himself, not to mention the pounding headache he had. He let out a sigh, drumming his fingers on his thighs as he tried to think of something else to talk about. He didn't want to sit in this awkward silence anymore. The only issue was he was at a loss for words.

"So what do you do for a living? Besides drunkenly marrying strangers" Charles says jokingly, trying to lighten the mood. You laugh at his joke “I write for a fashion and beauty magazine” you respond feeling a bit more comfortable in his presence. Charles couldn't help but smile hearing you laugh, he was glad he was able to lighten the mood even for a moment. It was the most normal he had felt since he woke up.

"Fashion and beauty magazine?” You nod as he repeated your words. “That must be interesting”. He said, his eyes flicking to you for a moment before looking back down at his hands. Part of him still felt anxious and awkward, but at least he didn't feel as uncomfortable as before. “My mother owns the company, I grew up around it so I naturally became interested in it. I remember stealing my moms makeup when i was younger and trying my best to recreate her look” you say laughing at the memory “She would get me in trouble and wipe off the terrible make up on my face while she told me how to do it properly. Now I write makeup advice for hundreds of people” you say turning over to look at Charles. You're not sure why you randomly decided to let him know that. Charles interrupts your thoughts as he speaks up “Well then i'm sure your wedding makeup looked good" You laugh at his joke nudging him on the shoulder, he smiles at the action. You were about to speak when suddenly you heard a knock coming from the front door.

Charles straightened his back at the sound of the knock. His heart skipped a beat, his eyes darting past the bedroom door.

“That must be your friend”. He swallowed down the sudden anxiety he felt as he stood up and headed for the door. You follow him out the bedroom, walking towards the door.

He opens the door, greeting your friend with a welcoming smile. “Come in,” he says.

Riley walked past Charles and up to you, She greets you with a hug “i'm glad you’re okay” she says pulling away from the hug. Charles sits on the couch, Riley and you mirroring his movements.

“Well I would be better if you could tell me what happened last night” You say reaching for her hand.

 ——————————————————————————

“Well someone has his eye on you” Riley says as she sips her drink looking over at the guy staring at you. “At least he looks cute” you say laughing with your friend. He leaned against the bar, his eyes flickering back over to the two of you every few moments. It wasn't subtle, he wasn't even trying to hide the fact that he was watching you. He was wearing a gray button up shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. Even from a distance it was easy to tell he wasn't like the other guys that walked into a place like this, he was definitely wealthy.

 You've had about 10 drinks at this point. You desperately needed some fun. You turn to look at him again, this time he's not only staring, he's also walking up to you.

“I'm Charles” he yells over the loud music “I'm Y/N this is Riley” you say turning to look over at your friend. “You look stunning” Charles says, eyes wandering all over your body. Almost as if you were the most beautiful thing he's ever seen. You blush at the compliment “i know” the alcohol making you overly confident “LET'S DANCE!” you yell, grabbing Charles hand and dragging him to the dance floor.

He chuckled as you took his hand. Despite the surprise and your current intoxication he was quite amused at your eagerness. Once you made it onto the dance floor he spun you around and pulled you close to him, his body pressing against yours as the music blasted.

After what seemed like hours of dancing and drinking you notice Charles leaning over to whisper something in your ear. “My friend owns a club near here, want to go? I'm sure we can get free drinks" your eyes widen at the statement, Drinking has never really been something you do often. That's not what convinced you to go, It was him. You've had countless encounters with possible suitors flirting with you, but there was something about him that was different. You nod your head agreeing to follow him wherever he wants to take you. 

As you reach the new club you notice there's a small building called “little white chapel” next to it. The neon lights and the amount of people walking out of it is what made it catches your attention. You point it out to Charles not knowing you would regret this decision the next morning.

He quickly glances at it smiling before pulling you into the club.

His friend really did own the club, and it was way nicer than the place you had just left. This place was booming, there were lights and music and people everywhere. Charles led you to the bar and told the bartender his name, suddenly you had as many free drinks as you needed. He was clearly enjoying his time with you, and he definitely wasn't being shy about it. He was standing close to you, his arm around you as you both drank the night away. You lost count of the amount of drinks you've taken.

You can barely make out the words of the music.

You didn't notice Charles was talking to you until he grabbed your waist making you face him. “What?” you reply confused, not sure as to what he was telling you. “Marry me!” he shouts 

No one that knows you would ever describe you as an impulsive person, so you're not quite sure what made you say yes.

You shout it out “YES! I'll marry you, but I need to call my friend, i always said she would be my bridesmaid” Charles looked at you in admiration. He laughed, clearly surprised at how quickly and enthusiastically you agreed to his proposal. He was expecting at least some hesitation. “Just send her the location once we get there” Charles said, taking your hand making his way towards the exit.

You agreed. after all, the small chapel was right across the bar. 

Once you reach the chapel you send Riley a pin of your location and a quick text “meet me here” 

She arrived a little too late, Both you and Charles saying “i do” is the only thing she saw once she arrived. The alcohol made you move extremely fast.

“Y/N? You can seriously be doing this, How much have you drank” she said as both of you walked up to her.

T’s fine Riley i like him, hes nice” you drunkenly say. She has had a few drinks as well so she wasn't quite sure what to tell you.

“Don’t worry, you have my location. i'm gonna go have my honeymoon now” you say, winking at her, before rushing out and leaving with Charles to go to his hotel room. 

———————————————————————————

After what felt like an eternity of Riley explaining the situation, You and Charles turned to look at each other. He had been quiet the whole time, just listening as Riley described the events of the night.

The facts were now all laid out on the table, you've gotten married. In Vegas. While being drunk.

“Okay we made a mistake, but so have many people! Vegas is known for having impulsive weddings” you say laughing nervously “We can just get a divorce tomorrow” you suggest as you look over at Charles. 

Charles lifted his head, his eyes meeting yours as you suggested a divorce. He didn't even know your name this morning, and now he was suddenly contemplating a divorce. The whole thing felt surreal.He nodded slowly at your suggestion, his jaw set and his eyes flicking between you and your friend as he responded. "Yeah, we'll just get a divorce tomorrow. Easy."

“Easy for you to say” Riley says laughing “Thanks to the amount of impulsive marriages taking place here, it's required to have been married for at least 4 weeks before filing for divorce”

Both of your faces drop as you hear the words coming from your friends mouth. Charles's face went pale as he heard Riley say that. Four weeks. They had to be married for four weeks. That was a whole month.

He didn’t say anything at first, still trying to process what he had heard.

“Let's just forget this, i'll take your number and we can meet back here in 4 weeks” Charles took a deep breath, his eyes flicking between you and your friend. He nodded slowly, reluctantly agreeing to your suggestion. It wasn't like he had any other choice. The thought of having to be accidentally married to a stranger for one months was daunting, but what other choice did he really have?

“I don't think you're going to be able to just put this aside for the time being,” Riley says nervously as she hands you her phone. Your eyes widen at the text in front of you.

“Charles Leclerc and secret girlfriend spotted getting married in Vegas”

To make matters worse a picture of the incident was below the headline.

“What the fuck, Who even are you” you yell standing up tossing the phone to Charles so he can see how this problem got even worse 

Charles eyes widen as he catches the phone and looks down at the screen. He’s floored when he sees the headline and the accompanying photo. They were already in a messy situation, and now the photo is all over the internet.

He looked back up at you, dumbfounded. His mind was reeling. How the hell would he explain this to his family? And his manager. And the entire world, apparently.

Part 2

A/N: I really hope you guys enjoyed this! If you would like to be tagged in part 2, Comment below and I will add you to this story's tag list !

[sansaorgana]

— DAUGHTER OF THE MOON (II)

PART ONE || PART THREE

PAIRING — Sauron x fem!Elf!Reader (Celebrimbor's Daughter)

SUMMARY — Annatar manages to seduce Lord Celebrimbor's daughter but her visions might interfere with his plans. Unless he can make her believe that the evil her mother was warning her about is nobody else but Lord Celebrimbor himself.

AUTHOR’S NOTE — Reader's appearance is not described and her mother comes from a group of Elves that I came up with myself for the sake of this fic and its plot – the Moon Elves. I made Mirdania a bit of a mean girl here and idk I kinda feel bad about it but I also kinda don't lmao 🤣

WARNINGS — Reader's mother is dead ("madness" + suicide), manipulation, gaslighting, Reader has a vision / "is going mad" (she's basically Mirdania in this scene)

WORD COUNT — 5,190

ENGLISH IS MY SECOND LANGUAGE.

DAUGHTER OF THE MOON (II)

Lady (Y/N) interpreted his forehead kiss as both, so it seemed – both the blessing and the sign of his personal adoration. Whenever Annatar looked at her now, she was looking down, shyly. He could hear her heartbeat quicken its pace and he had to fight very hard not to smirk.

In fact, he was seeing her more often now. She was finding excuses to visit her father in the forge nearly every day and Celebrimbor was too busy to notice that his daughter was acting unusual and strange.

One time, Annatar overheard two women gossiping about his new friend’s daughter.

“Lady (Y/N) seems to be quite fascinated with Lord Annatar,” one of them chuckled quietly, not knowing that he was standing nearby. “Did you see her yesterday? Bumping into him as if it was an accident… She is not an actress good enough to pull that off.”

“Oh, I did see. I do wonder what her excuse will be today,” the other one giggled and covered her mouth. “He is so kind and patient for not rejecting her already because she is starting to get annoying.”

“Well, she is Lord Celebrimbor’s daughter. I suppose he cannot just–”

“Please,” her friend interrupted her. “He is the emissary of the Valars. He is above Lord Celebrimbor,” she insisted and Annatar could hear jealousy in her voice. He knew her because he worked with her in the forge. Her name was Mirdania and she had a crush on him – as silly as it sounded but it was true.

He was trying to charm everyone but it was not his intention to bring the romantic feelings out of his every victim. However, sometimes, not everything was going perfectly well and according to the plan.

“I cannot blame her,” Mirdania’s friend added, sadly. “Lady (Y/N) has been in so much pain after her mother’s passing and her father has always been the most overprotective but also neglecting her because of his work. Lord Annatar is the very first man her father trusts around his daughter and who pays her so much attention.”

“It is not very kind to gossip about your Lord’s daughter like that,” Annatar decided to step in with his hands clasped behind his back. His smile was gentle but his eyes showed a bit of harshness as both of the women looked at him in terror.

“L-lord Annatar…” Mirdania bowed down. “Forgive me, my Lord, I… We…”

“We have so much to do and I am certain that gossipping is not something we should bother ourselves with whenever we get a free moment for ourselves,” he insisted, calmly.

They both walked away as fast as possible, ashamed and with their heads kept low.

Jealousy was an ugly thing, Annatar thought. Lady (Y/N) was the most special woman inside this city – half Moon Elf after her mother, with powerful blood inside her veins and her hands blessed with so many talents. She was also a daughter of the Lord of this city and she had the biggest amount of power out of all women there. Of course they were jealous of her but they did not fear her, therefore instead of admiring her, they were whispering such nasty things.

Annatar felt bad for (Y/N) in a way. She deserved so much better and he would give it to her. He was sure that she would never deny such a gift.

“Lord Annatar!” Her voice made him turn around with a wide and kind smile. Here she was, walking towards him with her skirts gathered in her hands and yet another excuse to spend time with him on that day just like the gossipping women had suspected.

“My Lady,” he nodded at her. “What has caused you to come here and bless me once more with the sight of you?”

Oh, how she loved those compliments and sweet assurances. She froze for a moment and looked away, flustered. Her breath was becoming faster and her hands started to tremble a little.

“I was on my way to see my father,” she lied, “but seeing you on my way is a blessing as well, my Lord,” she gave him a shy smile and walked past him, very slowly.

Annatar closed his eyes for a moment, inhaling her scent. Then, he grabbed her wrist and made her stop as he opened his eyes once again and met her confused gaze.

“Please, my sweet (Y/N), you do not have to address me so formally,” he insisted. “I am Annatar to you. No Lord.”

She gasped a little and then she nodded her head as her lips curled up into a wide grin.

“Annatar,” she repeated his name. Devotion and sweetness were so audible in it that he wondered how could she not be ashamed of them but perhaps she was not even realising it.

Perhaps she needed one more push.

He visited her once again in her chambers in the evening. Actually, he had been doing that very often these days as they talked and she kept revealing to him nearly every moment of her life. So innocently handing herself out to him on a silver plate.

She opened the doors without a word and nothing but a smile. She was no longer surprised by his visits and she had been awaiting him, it was obvious. Her workshop was no longer messy and the gowns she was wearing in the evenings were the most exquisite. Even the jewellery she was wearing – her own creations – were breathtaking whenever it was time for his nightly visit.

Their shared moments were of a nocturnal nature and they both preferred it this way although the reasons differed for them both. She was simply a half Moon Elf and he was the Dark Lord. Nevertheless, under the moonlight they both thrived and so did their bond.

(Y/N) stood on the balcony as Annatar followed her there, watching the moonlight dancing in the light that reflected upon her hair. 

“You are breathtaking,” he gasped and perhaps his reactions were exaggerated but he truly meant his words.

Of course, Celebrimbor’s daughter was a prize. And a woman of such power and such potential was an ally he wanted by his side no matter what. But still, with time, he grew quite affectionate towards her in the most genuine manner. Her innocence seemed to draw him in.

“Annatar, please,” she shook her head and looked away with a nervous smile. “Do not…”

“Why not?” He stood even closer as he put his hand on her arm. She flinched slightly, trying to get away from him but he stood behind her and even though he was gentle, now his body was completely over hers and keeping her still, making it unable for her to walk away without his permission.

“When you finish your work with my father… You will leave us, right?” She asked and swallowed thickly, fighting the tears in her eyes. “And what will be left of me then? I cannot handle another loss,” she confessed.

Annatar stood there still as a short silence occurred. He let her sob in his arms as he caressed her shoulders before leaning in to whisper into her ear.

“I would not be the first emissary of the Valars who chose to stay in Middle-earth because of a woman,” he confessed.

“Because of a woman?” She asked as she looked up to meet his gaze. She stopped sobbing but her forehead was furrowed and he realised that the word he had used was not the most proper.

“Because of love,” he fixed himself and raised his hand to wipe her cheek. Her tears felt like little stars upon his fingers in the moonlight.

“Oh, Annatar, I–” she gasped but he did not let her finish as he leaned in to join their lips together.

She turned around in his arms as he loosened the grip for her to be able to do so. Her own arms wrapped around him nearly desperately as her kiss grew more and more hungry. She would give herself to him right there, right now, on the balcony under the moonlight. And he would not mind that at all but he had to play the role of a pure and noble creature, therefore he took a step back, breaking the kiss.

“My Lady, we shall not,” he breathed out.

“Forgive me, I do not know what has possessed me,” Lady (Y/N) shook her head, embarrassed of herself. Still ashamed, she walked past him and went back inside.

He observed her. She felt so stupid for her behaviour that she nervously grabbed the small chisel on her desk and went back to some of the work she had abandoned throughout the day, trying to grind the piece of diamond laying on the table nearby.

Annatar leaned in on the wall as he watched her with a gentle smile. Her nervousness was making her look even more adorable but to witness her creation was as fascinating as watching her father.

As her skillful hands worked quickly, she suddenly hissed out of pain and dropped the chisel. Annatar furrowed his brows out of worry and found himself by her side in an instant.

“(Y/N), my darling,” he put his arm around her and raised her hurt hand up as he glanced upon the precious blood leaking out of the fresh wound. “You ought to be more careful, my sweet,” he swallowed thickly and even though he wanted to look into her eyes while saying those words, he couldn’t stop staring at the red liquid staining more and more of her hand.

“I just… I do not know what to think of all of this. Who am I for you to forsake the Valars for me?” Her eyes filled with tears and this finally made him look up to meet her gaze.

“Who are you?” Annatar asked gently and cupped her face. “The grandest of the Elven maidens, Lady (Y/N) of Eregion, creator of the most beautiful artistry that is admired in all the realms. Daughter of Lord Celebrimbor and Lady Dúlinnel, granddaughter of Lord Commander Nillendur. The very last Moon Elf of Middle-earth,” he spoke these things with all confidence and devotion as she kept blinking her tears away and staring at him.

“And what is all of this to a man like you?” She asked, still unsure.

“You are everything to me,” he whispered, joining their lips together once more.

Celebrimbor was in his study. It was late at night as he liked to work in silence and solitude. He was looking through the pages full of drawings and projects when he heard the doors creaking and then the footsteps.

“Who is it?” He asked as he stood up to approach the railing of the stairs leading up to his study from the forge.

“It is only I,” Lady (Y/N) smiled at him as she walked inside but then another person walked right after.

“And I,” Lord Annatar announced his arrival.

“Oh, I see,” Celebrimbor did not mind their presence out of all people. In fact, they were the closest to him. Therefore, he went back to his desk and his papers.

But when Annatar and (Y/N) stood above him, arm to arm, he raised an eyebrow at them, curiously.

“What is it again?” He sighed a little, expecting them both to try to talk him into doing something or to stop him from doing something. These past few weeks, they had become quite close and (Y/N) often accompanied Annatar when he was trying to convince her father to his ideas.

“My dear friend, we have come here with nothing but our love for you in our hearts… And a hope that you would choose to bless us,” Annatar spoke softly as (Y/N) only stood there. It was her idea that he should be the one to speak because his words were like honey.

“Bless you in what?” Celebrimbor asked, confused.

“I wish to make your sweet and precious daughter my wife,” Annatar announced softly as his lips curled up into a smile. (Y/N) held her breath, watching her father’s reaction closely.

And there was a lot to watch – Celebrimbor’s mouth opened, then closed. He looked around only to lay their eyes upon them once more. His face went a shade paler and he was visibly shocked.

“But… That would mean that…” He could not find the right words.

“That would mean that I would choose to stay in this form and live the rest of my days in Middle-earth alongside your daughter, yes,” Annatar nodded and (Y/N) looked up at him lovingly. “I am aware of the consequences of my choice, however the Valars would never go against love so pure and they have already blessed us themselves,” he lied so beautifully and (Y/N)’s eyes filled with tears at those words.

“Well, if the Gods themselves have blessed you, I cannot say no,” the Lord of Eregion chuckled nervously as he laid his eyes upon his daughter. “My darling, are you sure?” He asked, a little nervously.

“What do you mean, father?” She gasped, wrapping her hands around Annatar’s arm.

“I mean… It is rather quick…” He tried to make a reasonable excuse for his slight suspicions.

“You fell in love with my mother the moment you saw her, did you not?” (Y/N) reminded him in a gentle voice and Celebrimbor smiled at that sadly as he looked away.

He remembered the very first time he had seen his future wife – bathing in the moonlight on her balcony. She had not seen him but he spotted her, on the highest tower of one of the most beautiful mountain cities of her kin.

“Yes, I did,” he nodded and looked up at Annatar and (Y/N) again. “I bless you. It is an honour to give my daughter to a man like you, Lord of Gifts,” he smiled at his new friend and Annatar smiled back. “I shall throw you a feast to announce the betrothal,” he announced happily and his daughter’s eyes sparkled a little, too.

“My friend, please, do not,” Annatar winced as both Celebrimbor and (Y/N) froze slightly. “This is not a proper time to throw feasts for it is a privilege to be able to celebrate anything when so many people suffer now in Mordor,” Annatar reminded them. “I am of a humble nature, too, I do not require such festivities. Your daughter’s love is all I need and I am aware she prefers peace and solitude as well,” he looked down at (Y/N) and she cracked an affectionate smile at him.

“I understand,” Celebrimbor nodded. “And when do you wish to be wed? In a year as the custom says?”

“Perhaps sooner. When the Rings are forged and we can all truly celebrate,” Annatar proposed.

Surprisingly, despite his friend’s surprised expression, there was no audible protest.

“Dwarves and Elves working together. It was said to be impossible, but our cooperation has achieved this wonder,” Celebrimbor spoke from the top of the stairs to the gathered Dwarves on his left and the Elves on his right. And in front of him, with their own goblets of wine, stood Lord Annatar and Lady (Y/N), wearing each other’s silver rings now. “And today, we embark upon a new dream, to enshrine our friendship in stone,” he glanced upon his friend and daughter.

Lady (Y/N) reached out to squeeze Annatar’s forearm and he looked down at her with an affectionate smile.

“Narvi?” Celebrimbor addressed one of the Dwarves and walked down to join the rest.

“Behold!” Narvi announced as he stepped out and grabbed the rope on the ground to pull it and reveal Celebrmibor’s new work of art. “The Doors of Durin!” The Dwarf introduced the beautifully carved doors made of stone. “The new West-gate of our mountain. Unbreachable. Visible only by moonlight and guarded by a password known only to friends.”

“It is a craft my father has learnt from my mother’s kin,” Lady (Y/N) whispered to Annatar and he smiled softly at her. Her eyes sparkled as she mentioned that, remembering the love her parents had shared.

Truly believing that her own would be the same.

But as her father chatted and kept making lighthearted jokes, Annatar pretended to be not impressed as he moved away. (Y/N) tried to stop him but he shook her hand off.

“I need some air,” he told her and when she furrowed her brows and wanted to follow him, he turned around to stop her. “Please, I want to be alone. I shall come to you later,” he told her.

He knew that the conversation he would have with Celebrimbor now would not be of the nicest kind, therefore he did not want her to witness it.

“If that is your wish,” (Y/N) looked down and he could sense that she felt rejected, so he grabbed her wrist to hold it lovingly.

“I am not angry with you, my love. It is the burdens of far greater matters than the two of us that I have to carry,” he explained.

“I am aware,” she nodded, relaxing her muscles. She nodded at him with a shy smile. “I shall retire to my chambers and wait for your visit.”

And so she did but when he came back to her, his mood was somehow even worse and she only watched with terror as he kept talking to her about her father’s stubbornness when it came to the Rings for men.

“Was he not lying to the High King himself about the Rings for the Dwarves, defending them?” (Y/N) was as outraged as her betrothed. “And now he is showing such hypocrisy by denying you… The emissary of the Valars… Oh, Annatar, I am so ashamed of him!” She exclaimed. “It is as if he denied the Gods themselves!”

“Do not worry, my darling,” Annatar approached her to caress her arms soothingly. “I told him already I shall be the one to create those rings then and as I said, I shall do.”

“But… But can you?” She asked, shyly, as she looked up. “I mean, if you could do it yourself, you would have done that already without his help.”

“I do not know… But I have to try for all the people suffering now after Mordor’s rise,” he explained.

“If I can be of any help… Talk to my father to try to reason with him or perhaps there is something else I could do…” (Y/N) started as Annatar smirked a tiny bit, knowing very well she was too affected now to even notice.

It was too early to ask her for such a sacrifice, though. She would get suspicious because she was sensitive about the matter. She knew the dark history of the Moon Elves and she was afraid of becoming the darkness that so many of them had been naturally inclined to.

No, he had to wait some more time.

“Do not worry about it, please,” Annatar shook his head and kissed her forehead. “Have your faith in me and I shall be alright.”

Celebrimbor was sitting upstairs and staring at his papers but the only thing he could focus on were the sounds coming from the forge as his smiths were trying to create the Rings with Lord Annatar’s help. He could hear that they were not doing well and his new friend was growing frustrated but he also did not want to give up and help them.

After hearing Annatar scolding Mirdania gently, Celebrimbor stood up with a sigh and approached the railing as he leaned on it to watch more intensely. Annatar looked up at him as his eyes intensified but then they both looked away, avoiding each other’s uncomfortable gaze.

The usual noises of the forge were suddenly interrupted by a loud scream of terror coming from the outside. Everyone froze, staring at each other’s faces. Lord Celebrimbor’s heart skipped a beat as he recognised the scream immediately. He rushed down the stairs and spotted nothing but fear and worry on Annatar’s face as the scream was familiar to him as well.

“Lady (Y/N)...” Annatar whispered, dropping down his hammer and hurrying to the doors, giving a perfect show of nothing but pure concern.

Truth to be told, he was a little worried. He had no idea what could have caused her scream of terror but he knew one thing – that was not a part of his plan.

He was running towards the tower where she resided, with her father hurrying right after him. The people of Eregion were staring up and whispering between each other, curiously and worryingly. 

Annatar and Celebrimbor opened the doors leading to (Y/N)’s workshop and they saw her standing in the middle of it as shattered gemstones laid upon her feet all around the floor. She was squeezing a small hammer in her trembling hands as if she was trying to protect herself with it from something and her hair was ruffled while her cheeks were wet from tears. She was gasping for air and took a step back at their rapid arrival to her chambers.The way she presented herself at that moment was the most pitiful.

“My darling… Breathe…” Celebrimbor took a step further and tried to approach his daughter calmly with his hand extended, wanting her to give him back the hammer. (Y/N) was looking around, lost and stressed, squeezing the hammer even tighter. “My sweet child, please, I do not want you to hurt yourself,” Celebrimbor’s voice filled with pain.

After a while of hesitation, as the feeling of confusion was slowly disappearing and her breath was calming down, (Y/N) handed the hammer back to her father.

“What happened?” He asked, taking it away from her immediately.

“I was in a place like this, but shrouded in mist and darkness, and…” (Y/N) struggled to explain, shaking her head. Her wet eyes found Annatar’s worried ones. “I saw, I…” She looked back at her father. “At first, I thought it was the forge burning… But it wasn’t.”

“What was it?” Celebrimbor asked, calmly. 

His daughter hesitated with the answer as she shot a quick glance at her betrothed. She was afraid of him thinking badly of her – that she was descending into madness like her mother.

“I saw what mother had been seeing,” (Y/N) whispered as she looked down. “It was tall… and its skin was made of flames,” she continued but her gaze was being kept down, so he could not see the burning intensity of her lover’s gaze upon her. “It came toward me, breathing, reeking of death and I saw… I… I saw its eyes. Pitiless and eternal…” She began to sob again as she hid her face in her hands. “I think mother was right… It is here, it is already here…”

“My love, please,” Annatar moved finally as he approached (Y/N) softly to put his hands on her trembling arms. “You are with us now. There is nothing to fear,” he tried to comfort her in a delicate whisper as he looked up at Celebrimbor.

His friend was speechless and scared. Annatar understood why – he had lived through this before with his own wife and her ending had been nothing but tragic. Seeing the same thing happening again to his daughter had to be traumatic. And even though Annatar did not like the fact that Lady Dúlinnel and her daughter had visions warning them about him, he was sure he could still use their abilities in his game.

“Look around, my gentle darling,” Annatar whispered to his betrothed and lifted her chin up. “All is well, my love,” he smiled kindly at her and she sniffled her tears back before reaching her hands out to squeeze his desperately, seeking comfort. “All is well, I am here…” He assured her and gave her hands a gentle squeeze back.

“You must think so lowly of me now,” her lower lip trembled once more.

“No. No, my darling, no, how could I?” Annatar extended his hand out to caress her wet cheeks, glancing at her father from the corner of his eyes. Celebrimbor could do nothing but stare, being eaten alive by guilt that he could not offer the same comfort to his daughter but he was too scared and too shocked to even move slightly as he was still squeezing (Y/N)’s small hammer in his hands.

“You are the most understanding,” she sniffled her tears and closed her eyes as she leaned her cheek on Annatar’s hand. She looked so beautiful, he thought, with her cheeks wet from tears, while she was putting so much trust in him and him only.

As they stood there like that in silence, two guards stood in the doorway.

“My Lord, Celebrimbor,” one of the guards addressed him as he finally turned around to glance at them. “Forgive me, my Lord,” the guard bowed his head, “but Durin the Younger is arrived from Khazad-dûm.”

“No,” Celebrimbor shook his head, worryingly. “Tell him to wait, it is a family matter…”

“He says it is urgent. Something about the Rings,” the guard announced and now both Celebrimbor and Annatar seemed to be interested.

“I will see what he wants,” Annatar stepped out, moving his hands away from (Y/N).

“No,” Celebrimbor looked at him and put the hammer down on his daughter’s desk. “No, you stay here with (Y/N) for you are a far better comfort to her than I am these days. I will go,” he smiled widely at his friend but Annatar could sense that the Lord of Eregion was hiding something from him.

“Very well then,” Annatar nodded with a fake smile as well and he watched Celebrimbor disappear with the guards before turning around to look at his betrothed again. “My darling, sit,” he hurried back to her side and helped her to sit down on the armchair near the balcony as he opened the doors to let the fresh air inside. “Rest, gather your strength and your thoughts, I am not going anywhere,” he assured her and squeezed her hands lovingly as she looked up at him with the most devoted and affectionate eyes.

“Thank you,” she breathed out.

Annatar caressed her head and looked down at the mess on the floor. He quickly cleaned it up, making an impression of someone who would always pick up the broken glass pieces and calmly deal with the aftermaths of trouble. And once it was all done and the bigger gemstone pieces recovered from the dust were placed upon her desk, he took a deep breath in and walked outside to stand on the balcony to overhear the conversation between Celebrimbor and Durin from afar.

And just like he suspected, that awful Dwarf not only had arrived there to complain about the Ring seeming to be corrupted but he also dared to accuse him – Annatar himself, an emissary of the Valars – of having bad intentions.

And Annatar knew that Celebrimbor’s mind was already trying to shut him off more and more often. Now, Durin’s words planted yet a new seed of mistrust. Annatar was furious but he still had his plan B – sitting behind him and sniffling her tears away.

He composed himself and his angry facial expression turned into a soft one as he turned around to join (Y/N) in her chambers again. He crouched down next to her armchair and squeezed her arm.

“I am mad…” She whispered, feeling utterly defeated.

“No, you are not mad,” Annatar assured her, calmly. “You are very brave,” he caressed her arm now and reached all the way up to brush her cheeks with his fingertips. “Some who behold the Unseen world are never quite at home in this one again.”

“Like my mother?” (Y/N) turned her head around to look into his eyes with curiosity and desperation. She wanted answers to calm down and he would gladly give them to her.

“Yes, like your mother. She was not mad either. Simply… more delicate than you,” Annatar smiled at her, lovingly. “It is a gift to be able to see the Unseen world but it comes with a terrible price. A terrible burden,” he explained.

“Have you seen it, too?” (Y/N)’s eyes filled with pain and compassion for him even though she was the one who had just suffered.

“Yes,” Annatar nodded, softly. “In its light, things appear as they truly are. Beings of different shades of light…” His eyes wandered somewhere else, leaving her face and staring at the wall in front of him. “And its darkness…” He hesitated, making sure that she catches on to that and her curiosity would make her ask for more.

“There is something you hide from me, my love. Please, I wish to understand what has just happened to me… What happened to my mother,” (Y/N) reached her hands out to grasp his wrists and to lower them away from her face as she intertwined her fingers with his, looking down at them as she smiled sadly at the sight of their silver rings.

“It pains me to say…” Annatar faked as much suffering as he could in his eyes as he laid them upon her scared face. “For what you saw, I did not wish you to see, until I had helped him to heal.”

Long silence occurred and he could not only hear but also feel her heartbeat quickening its pace.

“You… You speak of my father?” (Y/N) asked, confused. “But we spoke about it, I suggested it in the very beginning and you–”

“I never denied it,” Annatar reminded her, his voice growing a tone harsher but not too much. He just wanted to emphasise his seriousness. “I simply changed the subject, I hoped to distract you because I did not want to worry you.”

“I… I do not understand…” She shook her head as fresh tears streamed down her cheeks.

“The toll that creation has exacted from him in crafting The Three and The Seven has left him diminished. Vulnerable to the shadow,” Annatar squeezed her hands to comfort her. 

“But he created them because of you…” The glimpse of doubt and clarity in her eyes made him freeze for a moment as his jaw clenched.

“Your father is the greatest of the Elven smiths. The task given to him might be a burden but it is an honour. He was chosen by the Valars,” Annatar answered quickly. “Promise me, you’ll speak to no one about it, my love,” his voice turned much sweeter once again as he leaned in to be closer to her. “Including him.”

(Y/N) hesitated but having Annatar’s face so close to hers, to the point of their breaths mixing, his warmth comforting her and his hair brushing her cheeks while his gaze was the most intense. How could she ever say no to this man?

“I promise,” she breathed out and he cupped her face to pull her even closer and join their lips together in a loving, bittersweet kiss.

MASTERLIST

[lyssak09]

Hi how are you?

Maybe this request of mine can be complicated so if you want not to do it, I understand...

Well, what if the reader is the new survivor in the entity's Realm and catches the attention of the yanderes, making them obsessed and in love with the reader, and of course the reader doesn't realize that... What would happen?

The Yanderes would be: Nemesis, Michael Myres, Pyramid Head, Pinhead, Trapper, Leon, Dwight, Felix, Jack.

I only wrote for Michael, Pyramid Head, and Pinhead for this one. I'm spliting this up so this part will have the killers and another post will have the survivors. I have the killers done but not the survivors so instead of waiting to finish them to post this, why not split it up? Thanks to my sister for helping me out with this one as well!! Happy reading

Michael Myers:

Of course, like most killers, he first saw you in a trial. 

He saw you working on a generator with Claudette. Her face went pale as she pulled you away from the generator.

You, being new, didn’t know what she was doing and just followed her not questioning anything that she was doing. 

Michael took a great interest as a way to play with his new prey.

Even though Claudette seemed to have dragged you away, she didn’t go far enough since Michael appeared out of nowhere. 

You had heard him tier up once already, and this was now the second time. 

He grabbed Claudette and stabbed her, leaving you too scared to move. You didn’t know he was there, how had he snuck up on you guys so fast?

He dropped Claudette’s lifeless body on the group, looking back towards you. 

The fear on your face was amusing to him.

He wanted to see more of it. 

He walked towards you, trying to make you move.

Which worked amazingly, since you turned and sprinted in the other direction.

He trailed behind you a ways away, making sure that his heartbeat would fade away, making you think you were safe.

You wandered towards your last two teammates, Dwight and Meg, working on a generator together.

You tried to help them work on the gen, but of course, Michael had to make sure to implement more fear into you.

His heartbeat got closer and closer, but none of you guys knew where he was

That was until he grabbed Meg off the generator and stabbed her.

Dwight ran away, also causing the generator to blow up.

Then it was just you and him.

You froze in fear, expecting him to hook you or just straight up stab you. But he didn't

Michael was confused. He couldn't kill you. This was nothing like how he normally feels. He feels satisfied when killing. But now, he was frustrated.

What about you makes him like this? He had to find out. So he didn't kill you. Just downed you and placed you in the shack. 

Right on top of the hatch.

Pyramid Head:

Pyramid Head is a bipolar yandere. He is also obsessive and possessive.

So he is definitely not gonna share. 

He is usually a ‘kind’ (by yandere standards in dbd) yandere, but on some days he can be cruel. Not as cruel as others though.

When he learned about your presence, he knew he didn’t want to leave you.

It did not take long for you to get put into a trial with him. 

Like Michael, he tried his best to kill all of your teammates before you could save them. 

Forcing them into his trails and putting them in the Cage of Atonement when you got too close. 

But, if you got too close to the Cage, he would just walk closer towards it, making it teleport away from where you both were. 

It was basically a game seeing who would get to the survivor first.

If someone else tried to save them, he would force them to go down and trade with the person in the cage.

He repeated this until you were the last one left.

You were all his now.

You scurried like a mouse, trying to find the hatch, before hearing its winding presence of freedom. 

As you ran towards the noise, you saw him standing over the hatch, his terror radius was completely gone. Behind him, a broken generator, that was nearly done, was left sparking. 

He had Trail of Torment. 

But he didn’t close it even though he could see you.

He just stood there.

You turned to run away, but you could hear the swing of his metal sword going through the air.

You turned back around to see him still standing on the hatch, but he was gesturing towards it with his head.

He wanted you to have it.

On days/trials where he has been pissed off, he is not so nice, even to you. Will he torment you as much as the other survivors in the trial? No. But he is gonna give you the hatch like usual? Hell no

Pinhead:

Pinhead is a Possessive yandere, but he is also very narcissistic and sadistic.

So he won’t share, but he will also talk about himself and himself only.

If you ever heard him while he was talking to anyone, he would literally only talk about himself.

But, you had only heard him talking to someone else once.

Needless to say, that was the last time you ever wanted to hear him talk.

He is sadistic, so he is mean. He’ll purposely tunnel you in trails just to hear you cry.

It's one of his favorite noises.

When you first met him in a trial, he wasn’t nice to you once so ever. He learned that he loves to hear your cry in agony. He repeatedly knocked you down, picked you up, and let you wiggle off, then knocked you down again.

He was playing with you.

Of course, it didn’t feel like he was just playing with you, it felt like suffering.

He did this the whole course of the trial. Only stopping when one of the other survivors runs past him. He’d drop you then go after said survivor for a bit, making you think he’s done torturing you.

Boy were you dead wrong.

As soon as you are about to reach one of your friends to help get you off of the ground he snatches you up and starts the cycle all over again. 

Until the other survivors (those who aren’t dead) fix up all the gens and open the gates. 

They’ll try to save you but can’t without being hooked or moried. So they’ll have to leave you

What a great introduction to this guy right?

Anytime you had a trial with him you felt so much agony, after the first couple trials with him your friends gave up on trying to help you. Anytime they did they’d get downed, hooked, or moried. It seemed pointless to them.

Pinhead doesn’t understand his feelings towards you, nor does he care to understand them. He’ll just keep doing whatever it takes to get these feelings to either lessen or will do anything for his feelings if they please him.

So you can either expect a sadistic Pinhead or a creepily nice/stalkery Pinhead during a trial with him. 

Good Luck

[natalievoncatte]

Kara knew something was wrong from Lena’s heartbeat. That alone, the barely detectable change in rhythm and tempo, was enough, but her breathing was erratic and as Kara drew nearer, drifting through the afternoon air, she could hear the soft sobs.

A bad feeling had come over Kara. Things had been quiet between the two of them ever since the wedding; there had been a strange tension between them on that happy day and Kara couldn’t say why

(she knew what she wanted it to be but didn’t dare hope)

and with Alex and Kelly away on their honeymoon, Kara had mostly been on her own. Nia was spending most of her free time with Brainy and Kara sensed a proposal coming, and she was busy preparing for her public interview with Cat Grant. She was going to rip the bandages off and reveal her identity. There was a great deal of work involved, and Kara had spent a lot of time fretting over the details, and in the back of her head she was worried about the ramifications of years spent reporting on Supergirl and using “her” as a source. It was a massive ethical dilemma, and thought it always made sense at the time…

Right now all that mattered was the heartbeat. Kara had been giving Lena the space she sensed she needed, but Jess had called Kara from the Foundation and told her that Lena hadn’t come to work in three days, and no one had heard from her. It was uncharacteristic of someone who ran her life with almost military precision. Kara had even asked Alex to text Lena, but they’d gotten the same single word replies.

Kara pulled in a big breath, feeling her stomach churn as she lighted on the balcony and slid open the door, knowing it would be unlocked. She wished Lena would stop doing that, but also felt a little tilt in her chest from knowing Lena hadn’t locked her out.

She was on the sofa, curled up on her side and asleep. She’d probably had the same pajamas on for two days and there were empty bottles of wine in a neat row on the table in front of her. Her eyes were puffy from crying and her cheeks a little raw. Kara felt an instant pang and reached for her, before stopping to deactivate her suit.

Kneeling next to the sofa, Kara touched her fingers to Lena’s shoulders. Lena woke instantly with a start, head jolting up as she sucked in a reedy breath and her heart raced explosively, sending a shock of terror up Kara’s spine.

“Oh fuck,” Lena blurted, kicking out her legs as she bolted upright. “Oh God, Kara what…”

“Hey,” Kara said softly. “I was… I’m sorry. Are you okay? I came in through the balcony. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

Lena’s chest heaved as she gasped for breath, staring at Kara with watery eyes. “Are you real?”

“What? Yes, of course I’m real.”

“I must have been dreaming. It was a dream. Just a dream. I was dreaming,” Lena muttered.

Kara rose from her knees and sat down on the couch.

“Come here.”

Lena almost crashed into her, wrapping her arms tightly around Kara and squeezing hard. She smoothed her fingers over the soft dark waves of Lena’s hair and pulled her in as she began to sob into Kara’s shoulder.

“I dreamed he killed you,” Lena choked out. “He came back again and he killed you and I couldn’t stop it. It felt so real.”

“I’m fine. I’m right here.”

Lena continued to sob, her entire body shaking with the force of it. Kara wrapped her in a fierce hug, trembling as she did.

“Every time I close my eyes he’s there, and when I’m awake all I can think about is that I killed my brother.”

“That didn’t happen in this timeline.”

Lena choked out an angry, frustrated sob. “It happened for me. I aimed a gun at my own brother’s chest and I pulled the trigger. And he came back! He came back and he almost killed you two or three fucking times, I can’t count.”

“He’s gone. He’s not coming back.”

“You can’t just say that!” Lena screamed into Kara’s throat.

Stunned, Kara softened her grip on Lena, only for Lena to pull her in harder, like she was trying to climb inside her.

“Why can’t I stop mourning him? He ruined my life. He was the person I trusted most and he turned out to be a monster. He used me my whole life and my emotions were just a game to him. He tried to to kill the woman I… tortured you, took you away for months and I thought I’d never see you again. I just wanted to tell you how sorry I was and how much…”

Lena cut herself off with a sob.

“I know it’s not the same,” Kara murmured, “but when I was a little girl I worshipped my father. I wanted to grow up like him and do what he did. I was going to be a scientist too.”

“You’d have been a good one.”

Kara shook her head. “My father was responsible for the Medusa virus. A bioweapon designed to eradicate non-Kryptonian life. A weapon of genocide.”

Lena shuddered.

Kara swallowed, hard.

“My world wasn’t a paradise. It felt that way because it was simple for me. There wasn’t all the pain of learning alien ways and an alien language and controlling superpowers and everything else. My father taught and protected me and my mom maintained order. But it was wasn’t a paradise. My people were… Krypton was… I think in a lot of worlds out there, we were the bad guys. Okay, the Daxamites were slavers, but on Krypton people were born into the labor guild and did menial jobs their whole lives, while people like me were born into privilege. Is that much better?”

“I don’t understand.”

“I don’t judge you for mourning Lex, Lena. He was your protector and your friend, and it was real to you. If there’s anything I hate him for, it’s hurting you.” Kara swallowed. “The one thing I can’t abide is anyone hurting you. I’ll break all my rules to keep you safe.”

Lena’s breathing eased and Kara could feel her relax.

“I’ve been avoiding you.”

“I figured you needed space. I wasn’t sure why but I trusted you to tell me if you need to.”

There was a long, heavy pause, and then Lena said.

“Kara, I can’t do this. I can’t share you.”

“Share me?”

“When you reveal your identity,” Lena pulled back, “you’re going to be the most famous person in the word. Everyone is going to be all over you. The press, politicians, everybody, and everyone who has a grudge against you or your cousin is going to know exactly where to find you, all the time.”

“I’ll keep you safe, no one will…”

“I didn’t say anything about me. You, Kara. What about you?”

“I’m Supergirl. I’ll be fine.”

“And what about me?” said Lena.

“I told you…”

“No. What about me when I have to watch you getting beaten to a pulp by another alien? What about me when you’re in a coma on the sun bed? What about me when I see on the news that a bomb went off in your apartment and I have to wonder if it was laced with Kryptonite shrapnel? I’m not worried about people coming after me. I’m a billionaire with magic powers. I could put on a goofy costume and join the club if I wanted. I’ve already lost you so many times and I can’t do it again.”

Stunned, Kara sat with her eyes wide, not sure when exactly she’d lifted Lena into her lap.

“It’s so selfish of me,” Lena went on. “You don’t belong to me. I don’t get to make demands of you. But don’t want you to out yourself. I don’t want to lose you again. As soon as you do this you’re going to be hounded by the whole world and they’ll claw you away from me again.”

Kara’s own heart raced now, hammering in her chest. Lena sounded so desperate and so sure, clinging to a Kara like she might disappear.

“I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay. It’s your choice and I have to respect it. It’s okay,” she was clearly telling herself.

“No,” Kara choked out, “no it’s not. I can’t believe how stupid I’ve been.”

“Kara,” said Lena.

“No. I have been. I can’t believe I said what I said to you at the wedding, about not being my authentic self. To you, of all people.”

Lena swallowed hard. Kara drew back and looked at her, really looked at her, drinking in the soft beauty of her eyes as she swept back a tear with a brush of her thumb. Lena’s eyes were huge, her lips trembling, and Kara felt an almost painful pang of sorrow and regret and a powerful stirring, long thrust down and buried and now clawing its way forth as Lena stared back, the deep sadness and loss in her own eyes tinged by a hint of forlorn hope.

“I can’t believe that I can see through walls and I’m so blind.”

“Kara?” Lena whispered.

“I’m calling it off. I’ll keep my secret.”

“You don’t have to do that just to please me.”

“I don’t need them. I need you. I’m yours, if you’ll have me.”

Lena’s heart raced so fast that Kara briefly thought she might have to fly her to the hospital. Instinctively, she slipped one arm under her knees and the other around her shoulders and stood, lifting Lena as if she weighed nothing.

Eyes wide, Lena bit her lip.

“What do you mean?”

“What do you mean when you say you’re mine? I need you to say it, Kara. I was too scared at the wedding. I can’t do this. I need you to.”

Oh.

Kara shifted her Lena’s weight in her arms, bring them closer together. She’d danced this dance before; she thought of the day she came back from the Phantom Zone, when she held Lena in her arms and felt the sun again and she almost did it, she almost just fucking did it…

And she did it.

She kissed Lena, already ready to sputter an apology and find a way out of this, but her words were lost when Lena’s soft lips met hers and Lena was ready to devour her, happily rocketing past chaste first kiss as she grabbed Kara with both hands and pulled her in.

Kara’s stomach flipped. She didn’t know what to do. She’d been kissed, she thought she’d been intimate, but she could see now that those things had been mere stimulation and nothing more. Something soared inside her as she had soared in the sky the very first time she flew. Joy unbridled swelled in her chest and she could feel Lena laughing exultantly into her mouth and even as tears mingled on her cheeks.

She wanted this. She wanted this. It was right here all along.

“Kara,” Lena whispered. “I…”

“Should I put you down?”

“On the bed.”

[navybrat817]

Jump Scare

Pairing: Motocross!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader Summary: You get quite the jump scare during a movie night with Bucky. Word Count: Over 2.8k Warnings: Implied sex, scary movie (violence), jump scare, prank, scary vibes, slight feels, established relationship, swearing, Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?). A/N: Fic #9 for Navy's Trick or Treat Nonsense! A bit further down the line for Hothead and Spitfire. @tavners, @maskedmistress87, @drabblewithfrannybarnes, this did NOT go the way I wanted it to, but that's okay!❤️ Edit: Also submitting for @witchywithwhiskey's Horror Movie Hoe-A-Thon with "What's your favorite scary movie?". Not beta read and written on my phone​, so any and all mistakes are my own. Divider by the talented @firefly-graphics. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

The sound of the basement door creaking open permeated the air in the otherwise silent house, fear paralyzing the soon-to-be victim who hid under the staircase. Terror mounted with each heavy footstep, as if they were a countdown to her impending doom. The masked assailant surveyed the dark space with his sharp knife in hand, still stained with the blood of the girl’s boyfriend who tried and failed to protect her. She covered her mouth as the killer got closer, her nostrils flaring as she desperately tried to keep from making any sounds. Maybe there was a chance he wouldn’t find her.

Her prayers were seemingly answered as the killer began to walk back up the steps, daring her to crawl out from her hiding space once she thought it was safe.

The bloodcurdling scream she let out as the knife plunged into her chest a heartbeat later was the last sound she ever made.

You stifled a yawn as you stared at the television, red light from the screen illuminating the darkened room as the killer stabbed his victim over and over again. “Why do people in horror films immediately pop their heads out when they think the killer’s gone? Do they just think they gave up? Or that they outsmarted them somehow?”

Bucky chuckled as he threw an arm over your shoulder. “I think that’s one of the rules of those films.”

“Which part? Running into a terrible spot where the killer is inevitably going to find you or thinking the coast is clear when it isn’t?”

“Both,” he replied.

You huffed and grabbed a handful of popcorn from the bowl in Bucky’s lap. You had to hand it to him. When he asked you over for a movie night, you figured it was an excuse to get in your pants. So when he invited you in and took you to the living room instead of the bedroom, it both surprised and disappointed you. It wasn’t that you wanted sex to be the main thing between you two. You enjoyed talking to him.

But, fuck, was he amazing in bed and you were only human.

Your new boyfriend, which was both exciting and nerve-wracking that it was official, had set up a few blankets and pillows on the couch so you’d be comfortable while watching the films. He shut off the lights to create, in his words, a spooky ambience. There was no reason not to indulge him. He even had a couple of your favorite snacks nearby so you wouldn’t have to get up and go to the kitchen.

Who said motocross riders couldn’t be a little bit romantic?

Bucky took your hand after you finished your helping of popcorn and slowly licked the salt and butter off one of your fingers. The cheeky little shit smirked when you sharply inhaled. “What’s your favorite scary movie?”

“You’re really asking me that right now?”

“Just curious,” he said, gently licking your middle finger when you held it up in his face. It was difficult not to feel aroused with his amazing tongue lavishing you with attention. “Are you giving me the middle finger to insult me or is that a promise?”

“It’s both. Fuck you and fuck you, Hothead,” you said, gasping when he lightly nibbled the tip.

“That can be arranged,” he smirked.

He isn’t romantic. He’s horny just like me.

“See? I knew there was a reason other than movies for having the blankets out here,” you smiled. You knew deep down he wanted you to stay the night. The man was a cuddler. “As much as I joke about some of the cliches, I like a lot of scary movies. The jump scares are always fun, especially when you don’t see them coming.”

“Name one movie,” he said, finally allowing you to take your hand back as he shifted to face you more. Neither of you were paying attention to the movie on the screen now. “Just one.”

“Okay,” you said after a moment, one recent film you watched popping up in your mind. “I like ‘Ready or Not’.”

His brows pinched a bit. “That’s the film about the bride getting hunted down by the groom’s Satan worshiping family, right? Why that one?”

You lifted your chin and looked back at the screen momentarily. “Grace was kind and caring, but also determined and resourceful. She was a survivor and I found it easy to root for her,” you replied, avoiding Bucky’s gaze when your voice softened. “At the root of her character, she just wanted to be part of a family.”

It was one of the reasons you moved to town. There was nothing for you back home. Friends didn’t stick around, some wrote you off because of your outspoken attitude, and things went south with Frank. Bucky was aware of all of that. It almost sounded like you ran away, but you didn’t see it that way. You made a choice to change your path for the better.

And thanks to Natasha, you not only met Bucky, but made other friends as well.

A soft kiss to your temple made you jump a bit. “You see yourself in Grace, don’t you, Spitfire?”

You swallowed, not wanting to get emotional. It was almost unnerving how Bucky could take down the bricks of the inner wall you sometimes built up. “I guess I do,” you whispered, clearing your throat. “But if you marry me one day and you try to sacrifice me so you can keep winning races or whatever, I will haunt your ass forever.”

Bucky’s nose scrunched as he laughed, bringing a smile to your face. “Listen, we both know if I’d try to sacrifice you that you’d knock my ass in the dirt,” he joked. You were glad he went along with the humor you shifted to instead of delving into a deep discussion. You could save that for another day. “And I wouldn’t do that anyway because I’d fight beside you.”

His declaration spread warmth from your chest as you snuggled close. It meant more to you than he knew. “Keep saying sweet things like that and we won’t make it through the next movie.”

“I’ll say all the sweet things you want,” he promised, resting his head against yours. “I actually did have an ulterior motive for movie night.”

I knew it.

You narrowed your eyes even though you directed your gaze at the television and not him. “Well, you have to tell me what your motive was.”

“I wanted to watch scary movies with you in the hopes you’d get a little scared and cuddle in my lap,” he admitted, the screams from the speakers not affecting either of you in the slightest. “But I should’ve known you don’t scare that easily since you’re a badass.”

It was so endearing that you couldn’t help but smile. “Being a badass doesn’t mean I don’t get scared. I’ve just seen most of these films. I know what’s going to happen,” you said. You weren’t usually the type to jump out of your skin, especially since they were movies and nowhere close to reality. “Would you like me to pretend I’m afraid? I can do that.”

He sighed and you could easily picture the pout forming on his stupidly handsome face. “It isn’t the same when I know you’re faking it.”

“That’s what she said,” you said, making him snort as you moved the bowl of popcorn from his lap and scooted closer. “And I can easily pretend that you’ll keep me safe from the scary masked killer who isn’t actually here because he’s on television.”

“Now you’re just making fun of me.”

“He’s walking slowly and he’s managing to catch up to the girl running at full speed because of reasons. Wait! She tripped over nothing. He’s going to get her! Oh, no!” you cried before you hid your face in his chest, which rumbled when he began to chuckle. You didn’t lift your head immediately since the whiff of cologne you caught distracted you. He always smelled so good. “See? Easy.”

“That’s not very believable, but thank you for trying,” he teased before the room got quiet. “What the hell?”

“What is it?” you asked, turning to look at the television. The screen was black now, leaving the room darker than before. “What happened to the movie?”

“I don’t know,” he said, glancing behind him. “Maybe something happened with the connection. I’ll be right back.”

“You know you’re never supposed to say that. One of the horror movie rules,” you said, moving back to give him room to stand and checking your phone for messages. The light from your screen gave you a chance to catch a glimpse of his abs through his shirt when he stretched. It tempted you to pull him back down beside you. “But I’ll send a search party if you don’t come back in ten minutes.”

“How generous of you,” he said, tilting your chin up as he leaned down. “I’ll be right back,” he whispered against your lips.

You barely brushed your lips back against his in a kiss before he left you alone. “You said it twice. I’m not responsible for anything that happens to you!”

A minute passed by as you mindlessly scrolled through an app. You felt a little bad about your teasing, even if Bucky didn’t say it bothered him. You didn’t scare easily, but you could’ve allowed yourself to be a bit more vulnerable. All he wanted you to do was turn to him. When he got back, you’d do just that.

But a few more minutes passed and he still hadn’t returned.

“Bucky? It hasn’t been ten minutes, but I’ll send the search party,” you said, looking behind you when you didn’t get an answer. You still couldn't see much of anything. “Bucky?”

THUD.

It sounded like Bucky fell to the ground in another room. At least, you thought it was him. “Are you okay?” you called out, using your phone to light a path as you got up and left the room. “Do you need help?” you added, flipping the switch for the hallway light.

Which didn’t turn on.

If this were a horror movie, his body would either fall out of a ceiling somewhere or he’d be the killer.

“Of course,” you mumbled to yourself as you slowly walked down the hall. You were familiar enough with Bucky’s place, but it almost felt empty and cold as you searched for him. The wind picking up outside only made the unsettling feeling grow. Why wasn’t he answering you? “Bucky, come on. We can just watch a movie on my phone.”

BANG.

You jumped when the office door slammed shut, a nervous laugh bubbling up as you took a step toward it. “Well played. You got me to jump,” you said, hesitating as you reached for the doorknob. There was something red smeared on it. No way was that blood. It couldn’t be. “Bucky?”

It’s just a prank, right? He’s fine. He’s perfectly fine.

You pressed your ear against the door to listen for any noises before something slammed against it on the other side, making you jerk back. Your heart admittedly leapt in your throat. You wished Bucky was beside you to hold your hand.

“Okay, Bucky! You win! I’m officially creeped out!” you announced, hoping it would get him to jump out before something hit the door again. “Fine, asshole! Ready or not, here I come!”

The door flew open before you could twist the knob. You held up your phone with a shaky hand and spotted a large figure in the light. He wore what you guessed was a dark robe and a Boogeyman mask, the eyes and mouth completely blacked out. That wasn’t the thing that made your mouth fall open with a scream.

It was the bloody machete in his hand.

Your eyes scanned the darkness for Bucky, worried more about him than yourself. “Run,” the figure whispered, lifting the weapon over his head.

Fight or flight kicked in and you chose to fight, though you didn’t have anything to use as a weapon. “Fucker! What did you do to my boyfriend, you piece of shit?!” you yelled, kicking him as hard as you could in the shin when he got close enough. He hardly budged, but you hobbled back and grabbed your foot as pain shot through it. “Ow, fuck! Are you made out of pure muscle?!”

The Boogeyman dropped the machete immediately. “Shit, are you okay?” he asked in a normal voice as he took out a phone and pressed the screen, the lights in the place coming on a moment later.

You recognized that voice.

Bucky. Fucking. Barnes.

“Bucky,” you said through your teeth when he removed the mask and brushed his long hair from his eyes. “What the actual fuck?!”

“I'm sorry. I was trying to scare you a little, not hurt you,” he said, going to look at your foot. You almost kicked him again. “Is it okay?”

“It’s fan-fucking-tastic, asshole!” you hissed as you hit his right arm with a ringing slap. “Shithead!” you added, smacking his arm again as he laughed. He was laughing at you. “Fucker!”

And to think I felt bad for not acting more scared during the movie.

You tried to get another hit in, but he grabbed your wrist before the blow landed. “Easy, Spitfire. Okay, I deserved a couple of hits. It was a stupid joke.”

“So stupid,” you snapped when the corner of his lip twitched. If he laughed again… “How did you shut everything off?”

“App on my phone for the lights and streaming service. I got ready and hid here until you went to look for me. Though I had to make a loud noise for you to do so,” he said, the humor in his blue eyes almost outweighing his worry. “I really am sorry.”

“And where the hell did you even get this?” you asked, tugging on the robe.

“Remember, all the guys are helping out with that haunted hayride this weekend? We each got scary costumes for it,” he reminded you. All the riders planned to help out, followed by a party once it wrapped up “Are you really okay?”

Your heartbeat returned to a slower pace as you took a breath. There were tons of films where boyfriends pretended to be killers to scare their girlfriends. It was somehow oddly endearing that Bucky did the same thing.

“I’m fine,” you said, even as unshed tears burned your eyes. “But I did think for a moment something may have happened to you. And it isn't like watching you at the tracks when I know there's an element of danger or watching a movie. This was different.”

And that scared me.

“Hey. I'm right here and I’m okay,” he whispered, touching your cheek. “I just wanted to scare you so I could comfort you. I'm sorry.”

Stupidly sweet logic.

“That’s such a guy thing to do,” you said as he gave you an abashed smile. “Okay, I’ll let you comfort me. You’re also going to rub my foot,” you added, which actually felt perfectly fine now, but he didn’t need to know that.

“I’ll give you the best foot massage,” he promised. “You really tried to beat the ‘killer’ up for thinking he did something to me. I’m touched.”

“Well, I didn’t have a weapon, but I’ll aim for the crotch next time,” you teased a little, giggling when he winced. “I guess I’m just as dumb as some of those horror movie victims.”

“You’re not dumb. You’re a badass. And I would’ve done the same thing if I thought someone hurt you,” he smiled, making your heart race for a good reason this time. “And I’m still your boyfriend after this, right?”

You smiled softly, but poked him in the chest for good measure. “Yeah, but I’m not sorry for kicking you in the shin, you can fuck yourself tonight, and I’m telling Nat what you did.”

Because if anyone is scarier than an angry girlfriend, it’s Natasha Romanoff.

“You know, you’re hot when you’re pissed off. Very hot,” he smirked. The vicious glare you gave him didn’t sway him as he gripped the back of your head. “And let’s see if I can convince you to let me fuck you.”

“It’s going to take a lot of convincing.”

You opened your mouth to accept the slide of his tongue against yours and allowed him to press you against the hallway wall. Nat would surely give him a piece of her mind tomorrow for scaring you. Tonight though, you’d let Bucky convince you to snuggle again and sleep with him. Because you had to hand it to him.

He delivered a worthy jump scare.

Motocross!Bucky was sharing a brain with lumerjack!Steve, wasn't he? Love and thanks for reading! 🧡

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[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

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?