#last reblog has me in stitches
Explore tagged Tumblr posts
Text
konig makes me so crazy bro like ik this man loves fucking you against the wall or smthn. lets you wrap your legs around him only to chuckle when they cant even close around his bulk. and he bites so much. folds you there against the wall because he knows you got a size and strength kink-
i dunoooeoe
#last reblog has me in stitches#HE DEF NOSES ALONG YOUR TEMPLE N BREATHES U IN RAWR#konig x reader#sun rambles
284 notes
¡
View notes
Text
Labyrinth ⼠Aemond Targaryen
Summary: falling in love is easy for most people, but not for Aemond Targaryen. How can a broken cold-hearted man be able to love the most gentle human Westeros has ever seen?
Warnings: 18+ mdni! Smut, p in v, very very gentle, angst angst angst angst!!!, humiliation, reader is Daemon & Laenaâs oldest daughter, no description for reader (besides white hair) you can imagine her however you like, Aemond is a vulnerable & insecure baby girl, like he is really really insecure, mentions of murder, fluff, nightmares, chronic pain, mentions of Aemondâs injury, anxiety attack, babes are in looooove, English isnât my first language<3 itâs very heavily plotted and the smut is at the end of the story.
Word count: 11.5k (she's so long but worth it)
a/n: Iâve always wanted to write something with this kind of trope, especially when itâs from the manâs pov, and thereâre so little fics that get into the depths of Aemondâs pain and suffering so I needed to try and write something that says his part of the story as well! Please please tell me your opinions and favorite lines of this piece! Iâve worked sooo hard for this fic and I hope you enjoy it as much as I did! Reblogs and comments are appreciated<3đŠˇ
A very special thank you to my babies, @namelesslosers & @neptuneiris for beta-ing and supporting my ideasđđŤâ¨
âWhere is duty? Where is sacrifice?â
Aemond watches the scene unfold in front of him; his mother seeking justice for him, slashing Rhaenyraâs forearm with the dagger in her hand, spilling her blood in fury.
He looks around the room, finding you scared behind your grandfather, looking at him with wide teary eyes. He scowls when he sees how you look at him with pity, thinking he is a deformed monster in your eyes, to his best friendâs eyes.
You leave the hall in a rush, and he scoffs at how unbearable he must look for you to go in such haste, allowing this injustice to wreck his world and him to cope with the aftermath alone. How could you leave him like that? What happened to all the hours he helped you build that stupid sandcastle next to where Vhagar lays? Did you forget every moment, every laughter you had together?
He stands up and walks to his mother, telling her that Vhagar is worth it. But is it true? It might be worth gaining the largest dragon alive, but in the back of his mind, he thinks about how he has lost you.
No, you left him, he hasnât done anything wrong. He is the one with his eye in a tray, he is the one who needs tending to for the first time, and you left him while he and his mother were humiliated by Rhaenyra and her bastards.
The morning comes sooner than expected, the milk of the poppy knocked him out immediately last night. He walks down the stairs where his family is gathering to leave, his mother holding Helaenaâs hand while god knows where his father is, probably saying his goodbyes to his daughter and Princess Rhaenys.Â
Aemond moves toward the hill that Vhagar is sleeping on, catching the sight of you waiting for him next to the sandcastles he helped you build yesterday after your motherâs funeral.
âWhat do you want?â he asks, standing in front of you, trying not to frown too much to loosen his stitches.
âI-I wanted to ask how you were doingâŚâ
âAfter leaving me all alone? You were my friend! I needed you and you left me! And you ask how I am after I got my eye cut out?â He shouts at you, waking up Vhagar from her drowsy nap.
âI-I donât have any excuses, but Aemond, pleaseââ âNo, I hate you! I hate your stupid hair, your eyes, your laugh, even-even your sandcastles! They are so childish and-and ugly!â âI know you are upset with me, and Iâm so sorry for what happened to you, but please let meââ âNo!â he yells at you again, marching toward the castle next to your feet before he stomps all over it, screaming and crying while he ruins the perfect sculpture he himself has made for you.
âAemondâŚâ the sob that wrecks through you makes him stop, but you are not looking at his feet, you are looking at his face, crying for him. He doesnât spare a glance at you when he walks to climb Vhagarâs saddle, but guilt overwhelms his emotions and dread fills him.
You just wanted to talk, and he treated you so poorly even if his anger was justified.
Oblivious to him, as soon as he and his family were gone, you ran to your grandmother, crying in her arms and begging her to allow you to study with Maesters, in hopes that someday you may help your childhood friend with the pain he will carry for the rest of his life.
â˘â˘â˘â˘â˘â˘â˘â˘â˘â˘â˘
Jacaerysâ name day, another pathetic excuse to have his sister and her pups in the capital under the same roof, drinking and wasting the crownâs money. He canât blame them though, theyâre desperate to get on the lordsâ good sides by showing off their heritage, going with songs and praises for the heir after his mother.
Unnecessary, stupidâŚÂ
Aemond groans, running his hand over his face as he wakes up with the sounds of banging in the hallway. He knows that theyâre arriving today, and heâs aware that the royal chambers should be ready when his sister makes a face, but to wake him up at such an early hour after the rough night he had should have severe consequences.
With another deep groan, he sits up on his bed, looking at the sea from between the sheer curtains of his room, watching the sunlight shine bright on the surface of the water, Sunfyre and Dreamfyre already taking turns in the sky over the city.
He stands up, looking down at the soaked undershirt he had on during sleep, exhaling deeply as he pulls the fabric off, slamming it down on the couch as he walks to the balcony to get some fresh air. The morning breeze hits his sweat-covered chest, stinging the empty socket of his eye.
He knows he should go back inside, to cover his scar and avoid pain from the cold wind, but the contrast of the coldness of it on his heated skin is soothing his mind, calming his beating heart. He will regret it during the day, but for now, after experiencing yet another nightmare, he needs to feel alive again.
As soon as the sharp pain starts from the depths of his skull, he moves back, shutting the door and pulling the curtains closed. He stands straight, his nails digging inside his palms as he controls, or tries to control his breathing.Â
It always starts like this; a sting, then another one but sharper, then a minimal pain that surrounds his scar, and finally, the stabbing pain all over his face followed by the worst headache someone can ever endure.
He reaches for the nearest surface he can lean on, knuckles turning white as he keeps his weight up, trying not to fall on his knees just yet.
He can do it, he has done it countless times.
Aemond steadies himself on his feet before he sighs shakily, walking towards the clothes his motherâs servants laid down for him yesterday. It is a simple outfit; a leather tunic with black pants and a fresh beige undershirt. Nothing too fancy, and nothing less regal that a prince should wear.
He takes his time while getting ready, allowing the phantom pain of his eye to fade away slowly. Before he can button up his tunic, his chamber servants come running in, putting a bowl of water with a warm towel on the side desk while they prepare his breakfast. He covers the left side of his face with his hand so as to not scare them with the unbearable sight of the empty space in his face.
He watches them with a sleepy gaze as they clear the room, slamming the door behind them. Aemond sits in front of his mirror, taking the brush in his hand to untangle his unruly hair.
There are no thoughts in his head as he stares blankly at his reflection; he hates his scar with a passion that could set the realm on fire. There is no gentleness in his features, everything is sharp, angular, and rough. There is no trace left of the boy he was before his nephew took out his eye.
Doomed before he could even try to become someone worthy.
He ties his hair, revealing more of the healed wound and the dark empty socket on his face. Sometimes he gets stuck inside the labyrinth of his head, running and running until he reaches the middle, but itâs never enough. At the end of the maze, someone drops dead; whether he kills them or they kill him. There is no escape from these dreams, from these self-destructive thoughts that haunt him day and night.
He reaches for a box on the vanity, pulling out the sapphire gem before reaching for an ointment Maester has given him to help the gem fill his eye socket without pain.
He looks at himself again; he looks less like a brute, the gem adds to his beauty but in his mind, itâs not enough, itâll never be. He sees his brothers, healthy and handsome, being subjected to womenâs attention all the time, and sometimes he wishes desperately to be in their place, to be able to talk to a lady without frightening her. But he has learned that a maimed man is less worthy than a whore in Streets of Silk, so he exercises and trains daily to become worthy again, to live up to his Targaryen name. There are deep yet little scars adorning all over the skin of his hands and arms â a reminder of how he has become the man he is.
He eats his breakfast in silence, tension rising in his shoulders as the smoke of the candles on his desk reaches his eye. He drops his spoon on the table, blowing the candles out before he reaches for his eyepatch.
He has told everyone that there shouldnât be any scented candles in his rooms, but as it seems no one ever pays attention to what he has to say, not even to help with the pain of his eye.
He stands up, knocking a few plates on the table to the floor, smearing fresh fruits on his carpet. A deep groan rumbles through his chest, but he canât care less about anything other than the fact that he needs to join his family in the throne room â and he does after he grabs his dagger and secures it in his belt.
âSer,â Aemond nods at his appointed guard, earning a âgood morning, my princeâ from him. Aemond walks down the stairs with his head held high, scoffing at the servants who make a path for him hurriedly, trying to avoid being seen by him or see him.
The bustling of the castle is irritating; everyone is running from one corner to another and decorating the keep for their princessâ arrival. He is not annoyed that he has to reunite with his sister and nephews, but because he has to endure their presence for longer than necessary, to look them in the eye and act civil as if the pain he copes with already isnât enough torment from them.
He nods at Ser Cole, who follows him into the crowded hall, eying everyone who is waiting for the Realmâs delight. Aegon and Helaena are standing side by side, his sister is clutching Aegonâs arm tightly as the crowd makes her feel small under its gaze. His mother looks at the throne silently, and he can see the hesitation in her eyes â how are they going to go through these weeks of celebration, they have no idea.
âGood morrow, Mother,â he whispers as he stands behind her, his eye softening at the small smile she gives him, âyou look radiant this morning.â
âHush you, sweet talker,â she chuckles lowly, rubbing his arms lovingly, âhave you heard about the Velaryonsâ arrival?â
âLord Corlys is coming as well?â he asks, shifting on his feet nervously, his fingers tightening slightly on Alicentâs elbows, âI did not knowâŚâ âNeither did I, darling. They shall arrive at the same time as Rhaenyra, at least I know Daemonâs eldest will.â
âDriving on dragonback, obviously,â he mutters, sighing shakily.Â
Alicent notices his hesitancy, she gently cups his cheek, forcing him to look her in the eyes, âDo not project your anger on her, she was but a child.â
âYet she kept silent that night. She was supposed to be my friend,â he says, looking away from his mother, lowering his head in shame, beating himself for letting his emotions take hold of him.
âGive your courtesy and leave if you wish not to talk to her,â Alicent smiles sadly at Aemond, patting his cheek before they both look at the doors of the hall.
Something in his guts drops when he sees Rhaenyra entering, her family walking towards them, all smiling and laughing as if they arenât going to experience the most dreadful weeks of their lives.Â
âYour grace,â Rhaenyra says, trying to break the visible tension between the families. The crowd goes silent, and the only thing they can hear is the soft exhales of the people close to them, everyone waiting with bated breath to see what happens in a few seconds.
âPrincess,â Alicent smiles, âwelcome back to your home,â she replies politely, giving Daemon a half courtesy before she congratulates Jacaerys for his eight-and-ten name day.
âAegonâŚâ
Aemond looks away from his sister as she acknowledges them all, instead his eye finds Daemonâs who is staring back at him with a smirk on his face. Aemondâs gaze doesnât waver, and Daemon chuckles at that, giving him a challenging look.
He looks back at Rhaenyra who says his name, giving him a forced smile before she turns around quickly and asks for the King.
âHe is quite unwell, he shall join us in the evening,â Alicent explains, telling the maids to make haste and set the garden ready to start the celebrations; nothing too fancy for the noon, a tea gathering in the garden to reunite everyone, or at least to make sure the court has something to gossip about.
Aemond follows them slowly, taking time to observe each and every one of them. He canât shake the uneasy feeling that settles in his chest as his eye finds Lucerys Velaryon, laughing and looping his arm with Rhaena. He looks away immediately, lips forming into a sneer as he walks with his hands behind him, grinding his teeth while he thinks about how he was robbed of everything good because of that bastard, because of the hideous scar he gave him.
The garden is filled with new bushes; roses, lilacs, daisies, and surprisingly winter roses. The sight would have been quite beautiful if all this fuss wasnât for his nephew. He walks away from the crowd, making his way toward his siblings who are trying to appeal content with the events. Helaena is in her own world, lifting a worm from the ground as she counts its feet. Aegon is gulping down his wine while he listens to Daeron telling him about whatever book he has read these past few days, or at least he seems like he is paying attention.
Aemond sighs, grabbing a goblet of wine himself to nurse on it as he tries to distract himself from the chilly wind that hits his face. Luckily the eyepatch covers his eye socket fully and doesnât let the cold breeze hit his scar, but the tension in his bones has remained from the morning rush of pain he experienced earlier. Itâd be best if he left this pointless gathering earlier anyway.
âHow are you faring this beautiful morning, brother?â Aegon asks him, grinning sarcastically. Daeron groans in response, even though the question wasnât meant for him. Everyone can tell he is fed up with Aegonâs constant teasing of Rhaenyraâs family coming back to Red Keep. Â
âWell enough to know I will be leaving in a few minutes,â Aemond replies, sipping on his wine as he catches Luke stealing glances at him. Pathetic, he is too scared to even look at him properly, he is glad though, it gives him a sense of comfort to know the mark he has left on his face scares him enough to keep him away from him.
âCanât do that! Itâd be rude if you left without saying hi to our favorite Velaryons.â Aegon smirks, tipping his head back as he laughs at Aemondâs sneer.
âAs much as I hate to say this, but the idiot is right; you canât give them more reasons to resent us,â Daeron says, looking at his older brother with kind eyes, âbesides, they are here anyway.â he points at the passageway leading to the garden, catching the sight of Lord Corlys and Princess Rhaenys walking side by side toward the crowd.
Aemondâs heart stops for a second when his good eye lays upon you, following your grandparents with a gentle smile grazing your lips. You are a sight to behold; silver hair falling around your shoulders like curtains of moonlight that shine bright like a diamond beneath the morning rays of sunshine. Your gown the bluest of blue that shows your devotion to your motherâs house, and your lips painted pink in the most alluring wayâŚÂ
Aemondâs eye sees a sight his mind can not comprehend, too unreal and beautiful that makes him doubt if he is seeing you with his sapphire eye through the patch.
His face is blank, but his heart is beating so fast he can hear his pulse in his ears. His eye follows you, watching you bow before his mother and sister, looking away immediately to find your sisters already giddy to hug you. Rhaena is the first to run to you, wrapping her arms around you while Baela approaches you slowly, letting her twin have her moment with you.
He doesnât move from his spot, he canât move even if he wants to; heâs struck between shock and something he canât pinpoint; he can only say for sure that he hopes itâs a rush of adrenaline of not seeing you for so long.
The only time he looks away from you is when Daeron pats his back and encourages him to join everyone to say hello and welcome your family to the Keep. He doesnât need to say a word, just a nod at both Corlys and Rhaenys is enough, but when you turn around to greet him and his siblings, his breath gets stuck in his lungs.Â
You look at him from beneath your lashes, beaming so radiantly at him that he almost forgets the pain in his eye or the pain he has caused you the last time he saw you. The world around him fades away, the noises become distance as his sky-blue eye finds yours easily, and he has to swallow sharply while he desperately tries to keep his face stoic and serious and not show you how he is panicking from inside, palms sweaty and lips drying while he gazes at you, his childhood friend who⌠suddenly the bubble around you breaks and he remembers how you abandoned him that night at Driftmark.
âMy lady,â he says in a hushed tone, watching your reaction closely.
âMy prince, itâs so good to see you again,â you grin at him, âI hope you are doing well.â
âAs well as a half-blinded man can do,â averting his eye from you, he regrets the words he said immediately, flushing a bit in embarrassment, but when he looks back at you, your smile hasnât left your face, if anything you look at him with empathy and much kindness that he has a hard time believing you are real; itâs been too long since anyone has looked at him with such sincerity.
âDarling,â Daemon steps closer to them, ruining the moment for Aemond to say something, anything to take back what he said earlier.
He watches your smile wavering a little when you look at your father, hands fidgeting with the skirt of your dress. He notices how you try to ignore your father and Rhaenyra as they approach you, a tense smile on his sisterâs lips while she tightens her grip on her husbandâs arm.
âWe have missed you, the girls, and I,â Daemon says, reaching to caress your hair as gently as the Rogue prince can, âyou did not visit us at Dragonstone.â âI donât like it there, the castle unnerves me,â You reply softly, âI rather enjoy the silence of grandsireâs castle.â âYou are a Targaryen, you should visit your ancestorâs sit,â Rhaenyra tries her best to persuade you to think about coming back with them, leaving your lovely grandparents alone.
âIâm a Velaryon just as much as Iâm a Targaryen, but âtis not a matter we should discuss at such a joyous day, donât you think, princess?â you say, and Aemond sees it in your eyes how desperately you wish for the conversation to end. Aemond watches his sisterâs words falter, her confidence crumbling with each word that you utter. Your statement is not rude, not even filled with malicious intent, but the mention of your Motherâs side of the family makes the Targaryen couple uncomfortable.
âI would have loved to stay and talk with you, Father, but Iâm afraid the journey on dragonback has left me starving. Please, excuse me,â you nod at them before walking past them to the corner where Aemond and his siblings were sitting minutes ago, reaching for a glass of wine to gulp down.
Aemond doesnât spare a glance at the couple, following you closely so he can sit in silence and out of the sun, truly not wishing for another fit of agony that consumes his skull.
âYou have grown, Aemond,â you sit beside him, turning your head to look at his side profile, âno longer the child who used to build sandcastles with me when I would visit the Keep.â
âYes, no longer a child with friends. Spending years apart without any contact, surely you are not that surprised how I have turned out to be,â he scoffs at your words, frowning when he turns around and finds you chuckling gently, âDid I jest about something Iâm not aware of?â
âNo, no, I just remembered how we promised to never let anyone break us apart, but you were the first who did so; you stomped your feet on my sandcastles the morning after my Motherâs funeral. You are right though, no ravens were exchanged, but I do hope youâre still the sweet prince who helped me study.â your lips twist into a small smile.
You are not angry with him, how can you not be angry with him? You had spent hours after they freed your Motherâs soul into the sea to find the perfect place to build your sandcastles and he ruined them the morning he was about to leave.
Your teary eyes have haunted him from that moment to this day.
âI apologize, I did not wish to remind you of that night,â
âIâm reminded every time I look into a mirror, do not concern yourself.â his reply is curt as he gazes at you, your eyes full of sadness and sympathy for a man you no longer know. Or maybe you know him too much, he thinks.
âI look forward to spending time with you, my prince. I hope we can catch up on each other's lives.â âPerhaps we can,â he sounds unsure of himself, Getting to know you again while you have turned into a woman grown â the most beautiful woman he has ever seen at that â is going to be a challenge he does not know he welcomes or fears greatly.
â˘â˘â˘â˘â˘â˘â˘â˘â˘â˘â˘
He leaves sooner than he should, hiding in his room with a warm towel on his face as he soothes the pain of his eye, the headache he had since morning finally fading away. There are so many thoughts lingering in his head, and ironically, they are all filled by you; your gown, bright smile, and gentle personality.
He groans, so frustrated that he has met you a few hours prior yet you have consumed his every thought. If he focuses hard enough, he can see the labyrinth of his nightmares, the hedges are covered in ivy, suffocating as they reach for air â he thinks of him as the hedge, and how easily he has let you wrap yourself around his thoughts this quickly.
Weak, he thinks to himself, heâs weak.
He sits up, dropping the towel in the bowl on his nightstand, breathing deeply as he looks around his dark room, spotting a lit candle on his desk in the corner.
Sometimes it baffles him how his room represents his inner self so openly; itâs not messy, no, but if you squint you can see the abandoned book in the foot of his chair, ink dripping from his pot on the carpet, the candle illuminating the trail of black paint on his desk. It seems as if his room is showing the ugly part of itself to his eye, and for a second he thinks about how he sees himself â an ugly monster with an unsightly scar.
Aemond leaves his room a few minutes after fixing his eyepatch and hair, walking to the kingâs solar to join his family for dinner. He walks with his hands clasped together behind him, looking straight to avoid eye contact with anyone who sees him on his way up the stairs. He doesn't expect to see you of all people, heading out of your room to take the same path as him.
âAemond!â You say his name with such enthusiasm that has his heart racing again, beaming at him as if you are excited to see him. How could you be this giddy to meet him? No one has expressed to be happy to spend time with him, let alone smile at him the way you do. Is this an act of modesty? It has to be, he thinks, or else it does not make sense at all.
âMy lady,â he bows his head politely, âHow come you are late for such an interesting gathering?â
You giggle a little, walking side by side with him, âI was spending some time with Helaenaâs children. Oh, they are such sweet babes!â
âIndeed they are,â he replies quietly, watching you curiously as you round him to stand on his good side, âwhat are you doing, My Lady?â
âI did not realize I was on your blind side, Aemond, forgive me,â âThere is nothing to forgive,â he sucks in a harsh breath, pondering over your response for the rest of the way til Kingâs solar. The silence is oddly comfortable even though he gets a bit nervous when you keep glancing at him.Â
Thereâs an unusual warmth spreading through his chest, he canât understand it â it can be his heart since itâs beating too hard and fast, or perhaps even his lungs! He canât even breathe properly, but at the same time, he feels⌠right, much better than before. He blames you for the conflicted emotions, itâs all your doings, he is sure. Because whenever he looks at you, he feels as if his clothes are suffocating him, his ears ring while the world fades around him, and the center of his world becomes you.
Weak, worthless, he has just met you, yet all these years apart seem blurry to him, as if he has known you since the age of the Firstmen; so familiar and comforting, even though you left him alone the night he needed you the most.
The guards open the door to the solar, and Aemond follows you inside, his eye wandering all over the room, taking his surroundings in. His mother and Rhaenyra are sitting at the table, his nephews are standing on their motherâs side while Aegon is trying to listen to whatever lecture Otto is giving him.
He watches you walk to your sisters, wrapping your arms around Baela and Rhaena as they both start talking to you about the things they have done during the past years youâve been Lord Corlysâ ward in Driftmark.
âYouâre staring,â Daeron says out of nowhere, pulling Aemond out of his thoughts but he doesnât look away, he keeps his eye trailing on you until you turn around and catch his eye as well, smiling broadly at him.
âI am merely observing,â he replies, but knows his brother is right. Itâs only the first dinner but he can already feel his eye itching to be on you again.
âWhatever makes you happy,â Daeron shrugs, leading him to Aegon and Helaena to sit down.
He finds an empty seat next to him, thinking Daeron is the one whoâd sit beside him, but when he sees itâs you who reaches for the chair, his heart leaps to his throat before he composes himself quickly, pulling it out like the prince he is.
You give a smile that is worth countless gold dragons, and for the second time today, he questions if the sapphire is a magical eye, because the world turns a bit brighter and less dull when he looks at you. He sits next to you, his eyebrows twisting into a deep frown when he sees Lucerys at the other side of the table engaged in a deep conversation with Rhaena, playing the role of the happy family quite well.
Everyone stands up when the guards bring in the King, everyone except for Helaena but neither she nor Aemond pays any attention to others. One is busy playing with her hairpin, and he is busy admiring your ethereal face as you kiss the king, your uncleâs cheek, thanking him for having you and your grandparents in his home after so many years. As soon as Viserys sits behind the table, you take your place next to him again, giving him a small smile before you turn your head to listen to what his father has to say.Â
He knows what his father is about to say; first, he thanks them all for coming, paying special attention to his grandsons and Rhaenyra while he lies over and over again about how much he loves them all, how they should never let the House of the Dragon fall into ruins, oblivious to the fact that not Rhaenyra nor Alicent were the ones who broke the family into different agendas, but it was him who started the flame.
Tonight, Aemond doesnât look at his sister to attend to her. His eye is solely on you, taking in the shape of your lashes kissing your cheekbones, carving the silhouette of your nose and lips in his memories. He looks at the way your lips curve into a grin, cheeks forming into the most beautiful shape he has ever witnessed.
You turn your head a little to glance at him, catching him red-handed while he tries to play it cool, but he finds that he is not powerful enough to look away from your blown-out pupils and the orange hue thatâs cast on your irises softly.
He breaks the eye contact, a scowl forming on his face as he reaches for his goblet of wine, nearly throwing the goblet across the table when he hears Lucerys laughing at the two of you.
You beat him to it before he could open his mouth, âIs there something funny, Prince Lucerys?â your voice is so soft and slow, almost humiliatingly sweet, and funnily, it terrifies Luke.Â
Aemond smirks as he watches his nephew stuttering over his words while everyone around the table sits in uncomfortable silence, waiting for the young prince to say something, anything.
âI was surprised by how fast Uncle Aemond took a liking to you, given his looks and all,â he explains, sarcasm dripping like honey from each of his words.
Fucking bastard, Aemond thinks to himself as an ugly sneer sits on his face. As much as he wants to leap toward him and cut off his tongue, he canât â not when you put your hand on his over the hilt of his dagger.
Your skin is so smooth atop his calloused one. The way your fingers wrap around his wrist sets his body on fire, burning the skin in a way unknown to any man, but this is no ordinary burn; thereâs no trace of fire, no long-forgotten ashes of his bones are visible, instead his fingers twitch for more, begging for more skin to skin contact, but he pulls his hand away from you without looking away from Lukeâs blushing face.
âYour words are mean for no reason, Lucerys, given how itâs been your doing that has caused Aemond his scar,â you say, âI find him quite handsome actually. He was my beloved friend when we were younger. There are, of course, many feelings between us. Nothing has happened out of the blue for you to mock him for.â
âI-I apologize, good sister, I wasnâtâŚâ
âIt is not me who you should apologize to, itâs Aemond. I have taken no offense on my behalf but I do believe you owe him an apology.â You explain, sipping from your glass slowly while keeping your eyes on Lucerys.
No one, not even the King has the strength to intrude into the situation, maybe in doubt of saying something to hurt you, or perhaps youâre just speaking the truth, and for once, everyone fears your gentle mannerisms.
âI apologize, uncle,âÂ
Aemondâs stare is blank as he looks at Luke whoâs chewing the inside of his cheek in embarrassment. He nods, not bothering to reply to him; he will never forgive nor forget what he has done to him, crushing his hopes and ruining his worth for a lifetime.
âLet us put our differences aside, and become a family again,â the king says, coughing before he reaches to drink from his cup.Â
The dinner goes smoothly from there and to Aemondâs surprise, he engages in more conversations with you. He does not talk too much, heâd rather listen to your giggles and stories rather than talk about his boring and miserable life.
His eye always lingers on you for far longer than it should, not in an inappropriate way, but more in a sense of intrigue and curiosity, trying to understand you from his perspective. He simply canât though; you are worlds apart. He is a cold-hearted, broken, and worthless man when it comes to your bright and beautiful personality. Even if he gets to know you again after so many years, he would never think himself worthy enough to be in your presence.
âAemondâŚ?â you call his name oh so sweetly, making him feel as if he is on top of Vhagar, flying atop the city while the wind blows in his hair; it makes him feel alive.
âYes, My Lady?â
âAre you alright? You look quite flushed,â You smile sweetly, reaching to put the back of your hand on his cheek, flustering him even more than he already is.
âYes, yes, I might have had too much wine,â he doesnât know who he is trying to convince; you or him? By the sound of it, itâs him who needs to be convinced that itâs the wine in his blood and not the same unknown feeling he gets when you look at him. No, it is definitely the wine. It has to be.
âOh, well then, I wish to spend more time with you if you are not against it,â
âWhy would I be?â he asks almost too quickly, making you chuckle at his⌠enthusiasm. If he can even call it that.
âThen Iâd be overjoyed if we could rebound what we had as children.â
â˘â˘â˘â˘â˘â˘â˘â˘â˘â˘â˘
After the dinner, something between you and Aemond shifted; he spent more time outside his room, he was calmer and less serious, and the pain in his skull was almost gone. You joined him in the library a few times in the next few days, meeting each other at your door to attend the meals side by side, and almost everyone could feel how he was changing the longer he had you close, almost turning into the little boy he once was.
Both of you forget your last interactions as an act of mercy for the other.
With your insistence, he agreed to miss the tourney being held for Jaceâs nameday to sneak out of the castle and take you to the beach. He did not need much convincing, but when you gave him those doe eyes with a little pout on your lips, he felt weaker than he ever did and gave in immediately.
Aemond helps you down the rocks near the shoreline with your small hands in his, taking cautious steps down to not trip over and hurt yourself. He keeps his eye on your feet instead of his, worrying more about you than himself even though he is stepping down with his good eye on you, not looking where he is going.
That seems to be a bad decision, because the next second, not only does his foot miss a small rock, but yours slips on one too, tumbling into his arms as the two of you fall on the soft sand, Aemondâs arms wrapping tightly around your back to keep you steady.
He looks at you, panting as his eye widens at the closeness; your faces are inches away from each other, and he can feel your soft rushed exhales on his lips. You look like a goddess atop him, the sun illuminating your silver hair, reminding him of the last sennight when you arrived and your hair made your face shine even brighter.
He has never seen such a beauty before, sure he has seen the ladies of the court, but your Valyrian beauty combined with sunlight and the blue hue of the sky has him mesmerized, not realizing how his hands are gripping your waist while he stares at you.
You giggle at first, then break into a fit of laughter while you lean more into him, dropping your forehead on his shoulder as you laugh wholeheartedly.
He chuckles lowly at first, then matches your laughter and throws his head back, holding you on him by one arm while the other comes to run over his face.Â
âI have never heard you laugh so freely before,â you say after you have calmed down, putting your palms on either side of his face while you hover over him.
âI donât remember having a reason to do so,â he replies, smiling up at you.
âIâm glad that Iâm able to bring joy to your life, you deserve it.â leaning down, you press a gentle kiss on his cheek before standing up, smoothing down your skirt.
He is at loss of words, speechless to his core. He deserves it, he thinks, do you truly think a monster like him deserves any chance of happiness? How are you not disgusted by him, his scar, his sour and mean tongue? How can you ever leave a butterfly kiss on someone as unworthy as him?Â
He looks at you from where he is staying lying on the sand, watching as you extend your hand to him, rocking on your heels in anticipation so you can go and wander on the beach and reunite with the sea.
He grabs your hand, standing up on his feet as well. There is sand in both of your clothes, but you have just begun your venture and wonât stop until you are satisfied.
You donât let go of his hand when you start jogging, pulling him with you as you giggle in delight. And he observes you as he always does; wind in your hair, waves crashing against the shore while your laughter fills the air around him. He doesnât realize his smile has widened and he is following you just as excited, letting the sand and the sea separate you from the outer world.
âYou promised you would make a sandcastle for me!â you say, pulling him behind you to the spot where you would sneak away as children, sitting down to get to work.
âI did not,â he replies, unbuttoning his tunic so he can stay under the sun without being bothered by the heat.
âFine, you did not. But you ruined the one we built together at Driftmark so you owe me one!â
He chuckles at you, his dimples on display as he shakes his head, âAlright, I will make one for you.â
It took you a good few hours to finish the sandcastle; it could have finished much sooner if you hadnât thrown wet sand at him, cleaning your dirty hands with his white cotton undershirt just to annoy him â and it worked. In a second, he was chasing you around the beach with hands full of wet sand curved into balls, throwing them at you.
And here you are now, fingers laced together, shoes in one hand as you both walk on the shoreline, letting the waves cool your feet. You point at the sunset, leaning on his side when you come to a stop to watch the sky change color as the sun goes down.
Aemond on the other hand, looks at your calm face that is glowing under the pink and orange sunlight. How did he get so lucky to be blessed by such a beauty to lay his eye upon? Maybe he truly deserves this unknown feeling that spreads through him like fire and makes his fingers tingle and his heart beat in happiness. Maybe he deserves to be loved by you and love you unconditionally in return.
You turn around, dropping your shoes before you reach up to cup his cheeks. He closes his eye and basks in the attention you give him; so unique and pure. He drops his boots as well, arms circling your waist to pull you closer.
Aemond doesnât dare to open his eye, fearing that he might ruin this perfect moment as you trace the lines of his lips, his cheekbones, and his jaw. You are so gentle with him, something he is not quite used to. It has always been him, alone in a cold room, but now and here with you, he feels as if he can breathe again, and forget every pain he has endured to reach this moment of his life.
âOpen your eye, My Prince,â you whisper before you peck the corner of his lips, pulling him in so you can rest your forehead on his.
He obligates, sighing shakily when he finds you already looking at him. Your gaze is so genuine that somehow scares him, a rush of destructive thoughts comes into his head, but you seem to notice it from how his hands shake on your waist.
âDonât think about anything, just⌠just focus on me.âÂ
He does as you say, his brain shutting those annoying voices at the back of his head down as soon as your nose brushes against his, your soft lips brushing over his so endearingly. He is hesitant at first but when you peck him again, he moves forward as well, meeting you halfway until his lips are locked with yours.
You taste as sweet as the strawberry cakes you had this morning, if not sweeter. The way your lips move together makes his head hazy. You are kissing his breath away, leaving him begging for more. His chest moves up and down quickly when you break the kiss, and you caress his thin swollen lips, bruised by your kisses and lack of air, while he admires you from head to toe.
The sun has set, but the glimmer of love has risen inside of Aemondâs broken heart.
â˘â˘â˘â˘â˘â˘â˘â˘â˘â˘â˘
A kiss here and there, more sneaking around the castle and to the beach until the main event for Jaceâs birthday arrives. He is in his motherâs solar, listening to her talk about how lovely you are and how much of a wonderful couple you would make with him if only you werenât Daemonâs daughter.
âMotherââ
âYou should dance with her tonight, my darling!â Alicent says, running her hands over his arms when he stands up and approaches her, âI have heard Daemon has plans of betrothing her. Obviously, he has yet to find someone suitable, but he is thinking about it.â
Aemondâs heart drops when Alicent says your father is looking for a suiter, fortunately, Alicent sees his surprise, shock, and fear. She reaches to cup his cheek, forcing him to maintain eye contact while she talks, âDonât let her go if you truly wish to have her. I know that she would stand strong against her father and Rhaenyra, but she would need your support and love as well to feel brave enough to turn down a good match.â
âThey would make her happier than I can ever do, Mother,â he replies, his voice breaking slightly. Losing you terrifies him, and he is aware that his mother can read him like an open book, shushing him while he inhales sharply.
âI have never seen her happier than I have with you, and I have never seen you this happy and lively, darling. Be selfish for once, choose your happiness this time.â
âHow can I choose my happiness over her life?!â he asks harshly, frowning at his mother.
A knock interrupts Alicent before she can respond, and the guards open the door for you to step inside the queenâs room.
âOh, I apologize, it was not my intention to interrupt you.â
Aemond seems to be struck by your beauty; your body is wrapped in a teal-colored gown with a low neckline that leaves your shoulders and collarbones on display. Your silver hair is braided with some parts of it pinned up, some strands framing your bare neck.
âYou look so beautiful, my darling,â Alicent says, nudging Aemond a bit forward when she sees how he is looking at you.
âThank you, my queen. You look very beautiful as well,â you look away from the queen, smiling when he approaches you slowly, âyou said you were going to wear something close to this color and I decided it would look quite good to match. How do I look?â
âEnchanting,â he breathes out, reaching to hold your hand, pressing a gentle kiss on your knuckles, âYou look breathtaking, My Lady.â
âSo do you, My Prince.â
âShall we then?â he offers you his arm and you accept without hesitation, looking back to see if the queen will come with you and she assures you she will come with the King.
âYou said you were going to retrieve me from my chambers for the party,â you say, leaning your head on his shoulder as the two of you walk toward the great hall.
âI am deeply sorry. Mother wanted to have a word with me,â he explains, dropping a quick kiss on the crown of your head.
âIs everything alright, Aemond?â you ask him, and he chuckles at how adorably your brows twist into a frown in worry. âYes, darling, she merely wished to remind me to make sure you have a great time tonight. You are our special guest.â
âDoes that mean you will dance with me?â you ask, holding his hands in yours before you reach the hall.
âWe shall see,â he brings your hands to his lips again, leading you toward the hall, bowing and nodding at the ladies and lords who take it upon themselves to greet you.
You come to a stop in front of the table, Rhaena coming to hug you and twirl you around, gasping at the sight of your beautiful gown, gasping even louder when she sees how your dress matches Aemondâs tunic.
A ghost of a smile finds its way on Aemondâs face as he watches you get flustered at your sisterâs attention to details, but soon, his eye hardens when he finds his uncle glaring at the two of you. Tonight will change the course of so many lives.
He watches you laugh with your sisters, pointing at the empty chair next to you so he would sit close by all night. With one last glare at his uncle, he walks to his seat and pours wine into his cup, blushing a bit when he hears you laughing again. You are not even laughing at something he has said and he is the one who gets flushed.
He is knee-deep inside these new feelings but he welcomes the challenge with open arms. Or at least he tries to do so without Daemon being an obstacle to his plans.Â
He looks at you when Rhanea and Helaena pull you to the dancefloor for the new song, pairing up with different lords to dance with, but what catches his eye, isnât who you are dancing with, but more than who Daemon is talking to. He recognizes the lord to be from the south, probably a Tyrell, and when his uncle and the lord look in your direction, he knows something is not right, an uneasy feeling settling deep in his stomach.
He watches the lord closely as he makes his way through the crowd to get to you, bowing and introducing himself before taking your hand to dance with you. He can see how uncomfortable he is making you, probably discussing his sick desire to have a wife and kids while he dances with a Targaryen-Valeryon goddess.
âStop glaring and do something!â Baela slides into the seat next to him, hissing the words at him while she keeps her eyes fixed on you as well, âI donât like you, I will never like you, but you make her happy. Do something before our father ruins her life because of Rhaenyra.â âI thought you liked your stepmother,â Aemond chooses to ignore most of the things she said.
âItâs Rhaenyraâs schemes, please, Aemond, my sister deserves to feel appreciated. I have never seen any lord take an interest in her the way you have. You are the only thing she could talk about in the last few days. I will beg you if I have to.â Aemond turns his head toward Baela, letting her words calm down the hesitancy he has toward courting you. There are far more handsome men than him in the court, yet, he is the one who is blessed to hold you and kiss you, to gaze into your eyes and see forever in them.
He hisses when he feels a sting in his skull, not now, no. The pain canât start now. He gulps his wine before he nods at Bela and stands up to walk to the crowd in the middle of the hall, catching your eyes for a second before he has to bow and start the dance with a lady he does not care to engage in a conversation with.
He thinks about how much he has changed in a few days; there will always be a part of him who thinks heâs not worthy of your affection, that you can do better than him, but also the thought of you in another manâs arms sets his skin ablaze. He is torn between keeping you all to himself or letting you have a wonderful future with another guy who can stand by your side and make you proud, who is not maimed and scarred like him.
Luckily, everyone needs to change their partner and he reaches with his hand to grab yours and pull you to his side, grinning when he hears your delighted shriek. âMy Prince Aemond,â you say, squeezing his hand while the two of you twirl around the room.
 He doesnât wish to say, but the tempo is too high for me, and it worries him that somehow he might make a fool of himself or you if he trips over someoneâs shoe on his blindside.
âLady Targaryen, you look like a Valyrian Goddess, my beloved.â
âWhy thank you, my good prince. I have to say that this color truly brings out your beautiful eye,â you reply coyly, tipping your chin up while you bite your lip.
âYou are playing with fire, darling.â he leans down to whisper in your ear, pressing a feather-like kiss on your earlobe without anyone noticing.
âIâm a Targaryen, Prince Aemond, fire is in my blood,â
âIs that so? Well, I must sayââ
He doesnât know what happens, or how it happens, but in a second he canât see you when he twirls you around him, and suddenly, the weight of your waist isnât in his hand anymore.
âAemond!â you fall down by his feet, and he sees that his boots have caught the edge of your heels, making you twist your ankle in the wrong way and causing your fall.
What have I done?
What have I done?
I dropped her.
I did this.
What happened?
His eye has widened in fear, and he is frozen in place, hands shaking slightly as he feels the crowd around you look in your direction, staring and gaping at him before the hushed whispers start to fill the room.
âAemond, lookââ
He canât look at you. He will never be able to live with himself for humiliating you in the way he did tonight.
Stupid, weak, useless good for nothing, Aemond. If another lord was dancing with her, he wouldnât have dropped her. A prince but less worthy than a common whore.Â
With trembling lips, and a pain blooming in his eyesocket, he dashes out of the room, leaving you on the floor.Â
His vision is blurry, the pain is getting worse and the air is stuck in his lungs. He canât breathe, no, he doesnât deserve to breathe. How can he when all he wanted to do was to dance with you but ended up hurting you? How could he hurt you like this?Â
He skips the steps, running to his room while he groans in pain, the stinging is getting stronger, the agony in his nerves is spreading through his skull and it only gets worse when he opens the door to his chambers to find not only scented candles but the windows and the balcony door is open as well.
âYou are dismissed!â he shouts at the guard before he slams the door shut, âAh!â He tumbles down, gripping the nearest chair to keep himself on his feet at least before he falls on his knees, clawing at the eyepatch to pull it off as if itâs burning his skin.
The pain is like a dagger, stabbing him over and over again until even his knees donât have the strength to keep him up. He falls on the floor, curling into a ball while the pain spreads through his face, and he finally breaks down, bursting into tears from agony and humiliation. If only he wasnât in pain⌠if only his eye wasnât cut outâŚ
Aemond doesnât hear when the door opens, nor he can see who the person is. Tears have flooded his vision, but as soon as he feels your soft hand on his arms, trying to help him sit up, he flinches, backing away from you while he gasps for air, feeling his tunic clinging to his sweaty body.Â
âAemond, please let meââ âNo, no, no, noâŚâ he stands up hurriedly, walking to the balcony on unsteady legs to get some air in his lungs, only to be met by a freezing wind that makes the chronic pain in his eye even worse. He drops to his knees again, this time the sounds of his gasps and painful yelps are louder than before.
You rush to his side, kneeling in front of him to cup his cheeks, kissing his clammy forehead before you wipe his tears away gently. He lets you touch him this time, too exhausted to utter a word, to push you away even if he has to.
âItâs going to be okay, Aemond, let me help you,â You help him on his feet, making sure to have your arms wrapped tightly around him while he leans his weight on you, trusting you to take care of him, even though the voice in the back of his head is telling him to push you out of his room.
âGently, my love, gently,â you help him lay down on the bed, pecking his cheek again, rising to get the smoke out of the room but his hands shot up and grabs your forearm tightly.
âStay, please,â he whimpers, his beautiful eye tearing in pain.
âI will, my dearest, I just need to blow out the candles and close the windows, and Iâll be back in bed with you.â You reach and bring his hand to your lips, pressing a gentle kiss upon his knuckles before he lets you go.
He canât see you clearly, but your shadow moves from side to side frantically, blowing the candles on the balcony so the smoke wonât get inside again, shutting the windows quickly so the cold wind doesnât bother him anymore before you come to bed again.
You unlace your gown, taking it off so you can tend to him more easily, pulling at the few pins inside your head to let the strands fall freely around your shoulders. You climb onto the bed, a jar of his salve and ointment in hand with clean rags in your other as you sit comfortably next to him, helping him take off his tunic and pants.
Aemond lies on the pillow on your lap, sniffing as you look at his face; bare and raw of emotions with his sapphire glinting in the low lights of the room.
âMy love, you need to help me pull the gem out,â you whisper, almost sound scared of him, or scared of what you might see.
âNo, it is an unbecoming sightââ
âNothing about you is unbecoming. You are the most beautiful man I have ever laid my eyes on, and for you and your suffering, I begged my grandma to allow me to study about your condition with the Maesters,â you lean to kiss the bridge of his nose, âthe skin around your eyesocket is swollen, if we do not pull it out now, it shall make it more unbearable for you.â
He hesitates for a moment. While he would love to ask you about why you studied something so gruesome because of him, he canât help but feel so wanted. The pain is getting worse, sure, he has to pull the gem out anyway but to hear you say how you have begged Rhaenys to let you partake in those classes, to maybe someday help him with his pain⌠that truly makes him feel fuzzy all over.
âAlrightâŚâ he whispers, gritting his teeth in pain as he reaches out with his fingers to grab the side of the gem, pulling it out slowly while he groans and the pain nearly knocks him out. âShouldnât we use something moreââ âTake it out, take it outâI donât care how!â
You nod, tears falling from your eyes as you watch him writhe in pain more as the two of you pull his sapphire out, leaving a heavily swollen and empty eyesocket on display. His hand falls limp on the bed while you drop the gem into a clean bowl before pouring some of the ointment on a rag, gently holding his face in one hand while the other daps slowly over the scar and his ripped eyelids, pressing a few kisses here and there to soothe his whimpering.
He clings to your arms and waist tightly, letting his tears fall freely while you soothe his pain away, falling into slumber easily beneath your gentle touch.
â˘â˘â˘â˘â˘â˘â˘â˘â˘â˘â˘
He is running.
Where is he? Why is he running?
He looks around him, finding himself in the labyrinth he always sees in his dreams.
The hedges are covered in ivy, the walls have gotten taller and the paths are thinner.
Whatâs this smell?
He steps closer to the source of it, taking different routes until the smell gets worse and stronger. He knows where the center of the maze is, he has been here countless times.
He turns around, finding the space of the labyrinth of his dream, but he doesnât expect to see you there, not while standing with your nightshift covered in maroon, hands dripping with thick droplets of blood as you look at him horrifyingly.
âDarling, are you alright?â
âDonât- donât come closer,â you say, taking a step away from him.
âI donât understand, whyââ âYou did this to me!â screaming at him, your hands cover your heart, and he finally sees how your chest has been ripped open and blood gushes out of the wound.
âI was not hereââ
âYou did this to me! You hurt me, Aemond!â
âAemond!â
âAemond!â...
He jolts up, gasping for air, hands clutching the bedsheets as he experiences another nightmare. He looks at you, finding you awake and alarmed while you rub his back, eyes filled with worry and pain for him.
âYou should leave,â his voice is barely above whispering, his nails digging into the palms of his hand while he blinks his tears away.
âAemondââ âI will only hurt you, why donât you understand?!â he asks, raising his voice a little.Â
He is torn between needing you to wishing you were gone; he canât cope if he ever hurts you again.
âYou have not hurt me, you wonât hurt me.â âI killed you in my dream! You fell in front of everyone and twisted your ankle because of me, I humiliated you! How can you say I wonât fucking hurt you? I have already done it.â He explains, but instead of pushing you away, he welcomes you when you pull him down into your embrace, holding his head tightly in your neck as he sobs uncontrollably.
âItâs not your fault, I should have been more careful. I wonât let you ruin yourself for something that was a mistake on my behalf.â you kiss the side of his face, rocking him from side to side while he calms down eventually.
âDonât push me away, I love you, Aemond. Let me be here and help you carry this heavy pain with you.â
He doesnât reply, but his arms tighten around you.
He looks at how you lay back on the pillows, gently pulling him in your arms until he is lying in your chest while you play with his hair.
âSleep, Iâll be here when you wake up.â
â˘â˘â˘â˘â˘â˘â˘â˘â˘â˘â˘
He opens his eye slowly when he feels someone caressing his hair, pressing butterfly kisses all over his face. Smiling a little, he finds you admiring him in his sleep, taking notes of every line and deep of his skin.
âItâs very rude to stare,â he says, his voice thick and raspy from all the crying he did last night.
âNot when he is my lover,â you whisper back, nuzzling your nose against his, âyou look like a fairy when you sleep.â
âNo one has ever told me that. How do you come up with such unique ways to describe me?â He leans over, pressing a kiss on your shoulder while he waits for you to answer.
âYou are a wonderful muse for poetry, I shall start writing about your hair and eye!â
He keeps his lips sealed to your skin, sucking and nibbling until he is satisfied with the marks he has left. His pupil is blown out with a newfound lust; how can he not desire you when you are lying in his arms with your wild white hair plastered over his pillows?
âYou are staring,â he chuckles at how breathless you sound. He hasnât even begun to do anything and he already has you melting under his touch.
âCan you blame me? I have the most exquisite lady of the realm in my bed.â
âWhat happened to the insecure boy I held last night?â You ask while leaning up towards him, pushing him down on his back so you can straddle his narrow hips.
âItâs still here with us in this room, but he has begun to heal. You have helped him when he had no one,â his palms rest on your thighs.
âI need you,â it comes more as a plea, but Aemond obliges and flips the two of you over, hiding his face in your neck to prep it with kisses while he whispers that he needs you too.
âI love you, darling,â he whispers, craning his neck to catch your lips in a kiss, moving them together with a rhythm that encourages him to take the next step.
His hand inches downward, pushing past the fabric of your underwear to find you already wet for him.
âI-I have already lost my maidenhandâŚâ
âI donât care, I have you now,â
He silences your whine with another deep kiss, his fingers circling your clit until you are squirming and bucking your hips into his palm, your arms pulling him in by the shoulders.
He breaks the kiss, watching you take a deep breath when he pushes one digit inside while he tugs at the front of your shift, pulling it down until your tits are on display. He covers your chest with marks and bruises the same time another finger enters you, making you gasp loudly in pleasure.
He stretches you on his fingers, thrusting them in and out slowly at first, but soon he is speeding up, his patience running thin as he scissors you open not roughly to make it hurt, but to make sure you are ready to take him.
âA-Aemond, please, need you closer,â
He nods because he too can feel the need to become one with you, to take you as his, or more so you take him as yours.
His breeches are thrown on the floor, followed by his undershirt immediately as he takes home between your spread legs, one hand holding him up while the other guides his throbbing cock to your entrance. You both gasp in union when his tip nudges past your muscles, pushing in slowly and gently until he is sheathed inside you completely.
You throw your head back, wrapping your legs around his waist while your nails dig into his naked chest as he lets you get adjusted to his size.
âCan I move?â He asks, leaning down over you as he cages you beneath him, both of his forearms holding himself up against the pillow under your head.
You nod, looking at him with pleading eyes, and he finally caves in and moves slowly; pulling his hips back a little before driving in.
The next minutes pass by him gently making love to you, circling his hips and kissing you, bringing you closer and closer to your highest point. You know you both are close when his groans and moans grow louder, and your voice matches his tone as he quickenes his pace, the loud sounds of skin slapping against each other echoing in the chambers of the prince.
You both finish together; you with a gasp of his name, and him with a loud groan of yours as he fills you and you gush around him. He trembles above you, whether it is for the climax he experiences or the overwhelming love he holds for you.Â
He watches your face twist in pleasure â the pleasure he is giving you â and he memorizes every sound, counting each lash that he can while he himself rides his high with you.
He drops face down on the bed next to you, both of you trying to catch your breath as you look at each other with a satisfied expression on your faces.
âThey would ask about our whereabouts if we are late for breakfast.â You say, giggling when he groans in absolute disgust â he is not ready to leave this room and face the world again when he knows he can stay and take you again, thrive in your attention and love for all day.
âMust you ruin this moment for us? Now I can only think about how to face your father after what we did.â
âYou should look him in the eye and ask for my hand,â you sit up, throwing the cover off of you before getting off the bed âand you shall do it with the braids I do for you,â
âYou are impossible,â he says, but he knows that behind his words, there is no hidden intent, nothing but adoration and playfulness.
âCome, sit!â You pull him off the bed as well, leading him to his vanity before pushing him down on the chair, both of you stark naked as you brush his hair slowly.
He looks at himself in the mirror, and for the first time in years, his reflection doesnât disgust him, it doesnât scare him or make him self-conscious. He feels⌠beautiful, he feels worthy again of having this life, having you as his.
âDo you wish to know what I see when I look at you?â You ask him, letting his soft hair fall around his shoulders before you lean down, wrapping your arms around him, resting your chin on his shoulder.
He nods, hands coming to cover yours where they caress the skin above his heart.
âI see a broken man who needed to be saved. I see a boy, fierce and strong as he claims the largest dragon alive. I see my friend who danced with me in different gatherings, my beloved friend who built sandcastles with me and helped me with my Valyrian studies. I see my Aemond, finally freed from the labyrinth of his mind.â
#aemond targaryen#aemond targaryen x reader#house of the dragon#aemond targaryen angst#aemond targaryen smut#aemond targaryen fluff#prince aemond#aemond x reader#rue:smut#rue:angst#rue:fluff
4K notes
¡
View notes
Text
Take My Love and Wear It
SYNOPSIS: Taking care of Charles has its own special challenges, but you didnât expect the hardest one to be the man who hired you. Distant, gruff and rough around the edges, Logan still manages to worm his way under your skin. But youâve worked your way under his, too.Â
PAIRING: Old Man Logan x fem!reader
WC: 10.8kÂ
WARNINGS: smut 18+; mdni; angst; swearing; non-explicit mentions of wounds, blood and use of stitches; extreme physical pain; Charles is a lovable, meddling little shit; fluff sprinkled in for good measure; Logan in a tub (if I had a nickel for every time I bathed him, Iâd have two nickelsâwhich isnât a lot, but its weird it happened twice, right); touch-starved Logan; handjobs; shower sex; fingering; dirty talk; oral (f receiving); sex with feelings; unprotected p in v; creampie
A/N: Thereâs something special about Old Man Logan, isnât there? Old and grumpy and desperately in need of some love and affection. I know the Charles caregiver story has been done before, but I couldnât get this idea out of my head. And then Charles starting talking in my head and well...it blossomed into this. As always, thank you to @joelsgoldrush for allowing me to send her snippets of this as I went along and offering her love, support and suggestions. I hope you enjoy this and any likes, comments and reblogs are always appreciated!
You stare down at the remnants of yesterdayâs cold and congealed dinner and sigh. Scraping the food into the trash, you resist the urge to pack everything you have and leave.Â
One month.Â
One month of helping Charlesâmaking his meals, washing his clothes, giving him his meds, making sure he doesnât hurt himself (or others), assisting with daily tasksâand Logan still regards you as a nuisance, like a gnat needing to be swatted away.Â
At best, he ignores you, moving around the house as if you donât exist.Â
And at worst, he treats you with barely concealed contempt, his scowl deepening the lines of his face whenever heâs around you. As if youâre invading his space uninvited even though heâs the one that sought out help.Â
You grip the edge of the sink, staring down into the porcelain basin as if it holds some hidden answers. Every day youâve tried to break through walls Loganâs built around himself, held onto Charlesâ promise that eventually heâll soften, just give him time, but he only seems to have grown more hostile. And youâve done nothing to incur his ire besides watching him come home every day battered and bruised, his very bones weary with exhaustion, and offering your assistance.
Part of you is angryâangry that you care so much when your main focus is supposed to be Charles. Angry that despite all his efforts to come across unapproachable and cold, Loganâs worked himself under your skin and takes a little piece of you with him whenever he leaves.Â
Angry that somehow heâs stolen a piece of your heart.Â
You hear shuffling behind you and turn to find Logan entering the kitchen, fingers fastening the last buttons on his dress shirt. âWhat?â he asks gruffly and for a moment you wonder if he can read your thoughts.
You straighten and meet his gaze head on, swallowing down your nervousness. âHow much longer are we going to keep doing this, Logan?â
âDoing what?â
âThis,â you say, gesturing between you. âYou walking around here like Iâm some stain upon your life, acting like Iâm a problem when all Iâve ever done is try and help.â Your voice is steadier than you feel. âYou asked for me to be here, Logan. Itâs not like I barged in here without permission.â
Logan holds your gaze, his jaw tight, and for a moment you think heâs going to grab his keys and leave, head off into the night and drive until sunrise. His eyes soften for just a moment, something like regret crossing his features.Â
âI know why youâre here. And I doâŚappreciate it,â he says, his words coming out low and rough. As if the words taste foreign in his mouth.Â
âWouldnât kill you to show it,â you challenge.
Youâre waiting for him to lash out and instead he sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. âLook, Iâm not good at this.â
âIâm not asking you to bow at my feet,â you say, hoping to ease some of the tension in the air. âAlthough, I wouldnât be mad about it.â You think you see the briefest hint of a smile flicker across his face. âI just want us to be able to live in the same space. Iâm here to help, Logan. Let me.â
âYou have no idea how hard this life is.â
A rueful smile tugs at your lips. âI understand more than you think I do.â
Loganâs gaze sharpens, inquisitive as he searches your face, as if heâs trying to decipher the meaning behind your words. He rubs a hand across his face, scratching lightly as his beard. âIâve gotta couple jobs tonight. Maybe more,â he finally says, changing the conversation. âShould be back before sunrise.â
You nod, his switch in topic not lost on you, but you donât push him. âAlright,â you say softly. âJustâjust take it easy, okay?â
He glances down at you, relief softening his gaze and you know a part of him is grateful you didnât push further.Â
Grabbing his keys, Logan heads towards the door but pauses just before heâs about to leave. He turns to look back over his shoulder. âThanks,â he murmurs, the word awkward on his lips.Â
You give him a small nod of encouragement as he slips out the door. He may not be ready to full open up, but you feel as if he extended a tiny olive branch tonight, cracked open the door just enough to let you peek in.
+++
Over the following weeks, Loganâs a little less avoidant. He doesnât go out of his way to make conversationâyou didnât expect him toâbut he at least as acknowledges your presence. Small nods and murmured goodbyes when he leaves and sleepy hellos when he returns. Itâs not much, but youâll take it.Â
Youâre cleaning the last of the dishes from dinner, Charles safely settled in front of the TV watching an old movie when Logan comes home. Heâs earlier than you anticipated, but exhaustion lines his face nonetheless. You expect him to slip away quietly, but he pauses instead, lingering in the doorway.Â
âSmells good,â he says softly, nodding towards the pan of half eaten lasagna still sitting on the counter.Â
Surprised, you turn around to face him. You brush the hair from your face and say, âSit. Iâll make you up some.âÂ
Logan hesitates and for a moment you think heâs about to decline, but then he nods, his shoulders dropping slightly as he sits down at the table. You fix him up a plate, setting it down in front of him with a bottle of beer as you slide into the chair across from him. Â
He tucks quietly into the food, his fork scraping against his plate as he eats, pausing only to wash it down with a few swigs of beer. You watch him, a strange satisfaction tugging at you at the sight of him actually sitting down, enjoying a meal with you, even if it is in silence.Â
âLong day?â you ask quietly, gesturing towards his bruised knuckles.
He flexes the fingers on his free hand before tucking them under the table. âNothinâ I canât handle,â he mutters, taking another bite of lasagna. âTheyâll be gone in a day or two.â
You know not that long ago an injury like that wouldnât have even marred his skin. Now, the simplest of wounds can take days to heal and itâs not the appearance of his skin that bothers you, but the newfound ache he experiences, the heaviness of constant pain.
You want to help him, ease his discomfort, like you know you could. But you know heâs not ready for that. Not yet.
âYouâre good with Charles,â Logan says then, his gaze steady on his plate. âHe seems calmer around you.â
Loganâs admission is so unexpected, you find yourself staring at him in disbelief. At your silence, his eyes flicker up to yours and you see more than simple acknowledgement in his expression. Itâs subtle, but itâs there, a current of something more, something youâre not quite sure how to address.
âThank you,â you murmur, your voice softer than you intended. âCharlesâhe means a lot to me.â You pause briefly, but something compels you to continue. âYou both do.â
His gaze is focused on you and you donât miss the flicker of surprise that breaks through his usual stoic expression. Clearing his throat, he looks down, pushing around the last bit of lasagna on his plate and then after a moment, he sets his fork down and leans back in his chair. âYou mean a lot to him, too,â Logan finally says and you wonder if heâs talking about more than just Charles.
From the living room you hear Charles call for you, his voice soft but insistent. The moment between you still crackles as you stand from the table and as you begin to walk away, Logan reaches for your hand. His fingers are warm and rough against your skin and youâre barely able to suppress your shiver.Â
âThank you,â Logan says, his voice surprisingly soft.Â
His grip against your skin is gentle, a stark contrast to all his roughness and you can feel the weight of his unspoken words curling around you. Charles calls again, his voice breaking through the moment, but Loganâs hand lingers just a beat longer before he lets go, fingers trailing along your skin.Â
+++
âHe likes you, you know.â
You glance up from shaving Charlesâ face and find him staring at you, a mischievous glint in his eye. You give a soft hum. âDid he tell you that or did you read his mind?â
Charles scoffs and waves his hand dismissively. âWhatâs the difference, dear?âÂ
You chuckle, shaking your head as you rinse the razor. âWith Logan Iâm pretty sure thereâs a big difference.â
âBah, if Logan wanted to keep me out of his head, he would. Stubborn man.â He tsks softly to himself and shakes his head. âBut, no my dear, he can be quite loud if you know how to listen.â
You raise an eyebrow, giving him a playful look. âLoud, huh? And what exactly is that brain of his telling you?â
Charles gives you a knowing smile. âOh, just little things,â he says casually with a wave of his hand, but you can tell by the look on his face that heâs holding back. âHe notices youâwhat you do for me, this place, for him. He may not realize it himself, but his thoughts linger on you more often than heâd like.â
A flicker of hope sparks in your chest and despite yourself, you feel a blush creeping into your cheeks. âLogan doesnât strike me as the sentimental type.â
âLogan has spent so much of his life running,â Charles continues, his tone and expression growing more thoughtful. âThe loss heâs experienced has led him to believe itâs better to be alone than form meaningful connections with people. But youâve somehow become something of a home for him. And he doesnât quite know what to make of that.â
Your heart skips a beat as you take in his words. The idea of being a home for Logan, a comfort, feels surreal, and yet...thereâs a part of you that dares to hope what Charles is saying is true. That this isnât some fictional truth his brain has concocted, a product of his disease riddled mind.Â
âHome.â You repeat the word softly to yourself, testing the word on your own tongue as if it might shatter into pieces.
Charles nods, his hand reaching for yours, his gaze warm and knowing. âYes, home. He feels it, deep down, in a way thatâs unfamiliar and frightening for him.â
You glance down at your hand in Charlesâ grasp, his touch grounding you as his words settle over you.Â
âLoganâs spent so long hiding from himself,â Charles continues. âI think heâs convinced himself he doesnât deserve that kind of peace.â
âAnd you think I can give him that peace?â you ask quietly, your eyes flicking back up to Charlesâ face.
He smiles knowingly and gives your hand a squeeze. âYou already have, dear.â
+++
âWant some help?â
You turn to find Logan standing in the entrance of the kitchen, hands tucked into his pockets.
Itâs a rare nightâone where Loganâs chosen to stay home, taking a night off from the almost endless driving he does. Heâs dressed down, well worn jeans and a button-up flannel, and for once you actually think he looks comfortable.
You smile, surprised, but happy to see him there. âSure, the company would be nice,â you reply as he comes to stand next to you. âWant to wash and dice the potatoes?â
Logan nods and rolls up his sleeves before reaching for the bowl of potatoes you had set aside earlier. You watch him for a moment as he settles into the task with a quiet focus.Â
âSmells good,â he comments, gesturing towards the oven. âWhatâre we having?â
âCharles has been asking for beef tenderloin for weeks now, so Iâm finally indulging him.â You finish trimming the last of the green beans and toss them into the bowl beside you. âYou know, if you have any favorite meals youâd like me to make, you can tell me.â
Logan pauses and glances at you as he shuts off the tap. He clears his throat and says, âYou already are.â
You blink in surprise as Loganâs words sink in and then the realization dawns on you. A soft smile spreads across your face as you piece together the extent of Charlesâ meddling. You canât find it in you to be annoyed and only feel a mix of amusement and fondness towards the old man as you chuckle softly to yourself.
âWhatâs so funny?â Logan asks, raising his eyebrow as he catches your expression.
âOh, nothing,â you say, waving him off with a smile.Â
Logan doesnât look convinced, but he doesnât pry as he picks up the knife and begins to deftly dice the potatoes. You watch him for a moment, captivated by the simple domesticity of the task. Itâs in direct contrast to the man youâve seen numerous times before, brooding and gruff, brimming with an almost untamed violence.Â
It suits him, you think, this quieter version of himself.
You both finish the prep with relative ease. He helps you set the table as the rest of the food cooks, plates clinking softly as he sets them down. You busy yourself with finishing the green beans in a garlic butter as you wait for for the tenderloin to rest enough to carve into.Â
âAh, my dear, this smells wonderful,â Charles announces as he rolls into the kitchen, a warm smile on his face. âAnd you managed to pull Logan out of his room. What a treat.â
Logan snorts in response, giving Charles a pointed glare.
âI dare say itâs because the company has improved much as of late,â Charles says, his eyes twinkling in amusement as he glances between the both of you. âWe all know heâs not out here for my benefit.â
You laugh as you bring the dishes to the table, noting the faintest of blushes creeping along Loganâs cheeks. âIâll take that as a compliment, Charles.â
âAs you should, dear. Your personality is quite sparkling.â He looks over towards Logan. âIsnât it, Logan?â
Loganâs eyes land on you as he answers, âYes. Yes, it is.â
Dinner begins quietly, the three of you settling into easy conversation as the first few bites are consumed. Both Charles and Logan hum in delight and a warmth blooms within you watching them both. Thisâthis is the simplicity youâve been craving with Logan.
As the meal continues, Charles launches into his usual repertoire of stories, those of the school and his students, his words brimming with nostalgia and pride as he talks. Logan sits back in his chair, arms crossed as he listens to him speak, shaking his head fondly at some of the memories.
âYou know,â Charles begins, setting his fork down with an air of mischief, âI donât think I ever told you how I met Logan, have I?â
Loganâs head snaps up. âDonât, Chuck.â
But Charles is already smiling at you, ignoring Loganâs warning. âItâs a good story, dear. See, Logan had quite the career as an underground cage fighter.â
You lift your brows in surprise and you glance over at Logan, whoâs thoroughly unamused by Charlesâ choice of topic. âCage fighting, huh?â you ask, unable to suppress your curiosity.Â
Logan shifts uncomfortably in his seat, stabbing at his potatoes with a little more force than necessary. âIt wasnât a career,â he mutters. âJust a distraction. Way to get by.â
âMmm, yes, perhaps,â Charles chuckles, clearly enjoying himself. âRegardless of the reason, it lead you to this exact moment. Didnât it, Logan?â
Logan narrows his eyes at Charles, though the glare is only half-hearted. âYou make it sound like all it all had some grand purpose.â
âDid it not?â Charles says gently, his tone shifting into something more serious. âKept you alive, for one. But more than that, it brought you to us. To me.â He pauses for a moment, his eyes darting towards you. âTo her.â
The words hang in the air and you glance over at Logan, whose expression softens just slightly. Without thinking, you reach across the table and give his forearm a gentle squeeze. His eyes meet yours, a flicker of a smile tugging at his lips.
Charles watches the exchange with quiet satisfaction before clearing his throat. âWell, I believe my work here is done,â he announces, wheeling himself back from he table. âLogan, fancy a game of chess? I havenât made a player out of her yet.â
You laugh to yourself as Logan follows Charles into the living room. After clearing the kitchen from dinner and loading the last of the dishes into the dishwasher, you join them both in the living room. Tucking yourself into the couch, you read while the two of them play, the clinking of wooden chess pieces and the occasional dry quip from Charles filling the room.
From your spot on the couch, you glance up from your book every now and then to watch them. Loganâs brow furrows in concentration, while Charlesâ face is more relaxed as they play. You smile to yourself, wondering how often they played like this in the past, when times were simpler.
Youâre not sure when you fell asleep or how long youâve been out, but youâre jostled awake as two large, warm arms wrap around you, holding you close as youâre lifted off the couch. Loganâs familiar scentâcigar smoke and pineâfill your nose and you blink up to find him walking you down the hall towards your room.
âLogan?â you mumble, voice thick with sleep. âDâyou really cage fight?â
Logan chuckles softly, the sound rumbling through his chest. âI really did.â
âDid it hurt?â
âNo.â
You blink slowly, your sleep-laden mind struggling to process his answer. âNot even a little?â Your voice is barely audible as you nestle closer into the warmth of his chest.
âNot in the way you think,â he answers, nudging open the door to your room with his foot.
Youâre too drowsy to ask what he means and instead you hum softly, a noncommittal sound that Logan feels more than hears. Lowering you onto the bed, he moves with a gentleness youâve never felt from him before. He brushes a strand of hair from your face and pulls the blanket over you before he turns to leave.
Your limbs are heavy, eyes barely open, but you call out softlyââLogan?â
He looks back towards you. âYeah?â
âIâm glad Charles found you,â you murmur, closing your eyes.
Logan doesnât answer, but you swear you feel the lightest of kisses against the top of your head before he leaves.
+++
Itâs deep into the night when you hear the front door finally open. Your heart flutters against your ribs as you swing out of bed, unsure of what condition youâll find him in. He was expected back two days ago, those extra hours away feeling like an unfathomable eternity.Â
You find him sitting at the kitchen table, dress shirt hanging off one shoulder, the rest of his clothes rumpled and bloodied. A large gash oozes from his shoulder and you canât stop the gasp that falls from your lips.Â
Logan looks up at you, eyes narrowed and lined with exhaustion. âDonât look at me like that,â he grunts, tugging off the rest of his shirt.Â
âHow else am I supposed to look at you?â you ask, taking a tentative step forward. âNo phone call or text letting me know youâre not coming home and then you waltz in after midnight soaked in blood and covered in wounds.â Unshed tears burn in your eyes but you will yourself not to cry.Â
âDidnât ask you to care about me,â he bites back, but his tone is more weary than argumentative.Â
âOh, fuck you, Logan,â you snip, but your tone lacks venom.
He ignores you, pushing up from the chair with a heavy groan and limps over towards the cabinets. He shuffles through one of them, pulling out the makeshift sewing kit before sitting back down. You watch as he attempts to thread the needle, growing increasingly frustrated when he keeps missing.Â
Shoving down your own frustration, you pull up a chair next to him and reach for the needle and thread. He pulls his hands away from you, turning in the chair to keep you away. You chase after his movements, finally grabbing his wrists and removing the supplies from his grasp.
âI donât need your help,â he growls.Â
You sigh, tired of this same argument, this same endless loop every time he comes home injured. âGoddamit, Logan, just let me help you.â
He drags his gaze up to yours, eyes tracing the lines of your face. His chest still heaves with heavy breaths, but you can see the anger bleed from him. He nods once, turning just enough so that you have access to his wound. Threading the needle, you place a gentle hand on his shoulder, ignoring the flinch he gives at your touch.Â
âIâm not going to hurt you,â you whisper.Â
Logan huffs. âItâs a needle, darlinâ. Itâs not gonna feel nice.â
You try to ignore the flip your heart does at his use of the word darling. Despite his earlier gruffness and proclivity to push you away, Logan has softened to you over the last couple of months. Since that first dinner you shared, heâs joined you and Charles more often. Or if he comes home late, sought out the leftovers youâve kept for him. Heâs engaged in conversation, offering small pieces of himself, pieces that youâve cradled close and nurtured.Â
But thereâs a tension between you, thick and heavy in the air, and you wonder if he feels it too. Feels that same undeniable pull youâve always felt in his presence. Youâd like to think so, otherwise you were doomed to love him silently, your feelings for him bound in the quiet of your mind.
âJust trust me,â you say.Â
Slowly, you release your power, warmth spreading from your fingertips, easing his pain and discomfort as you begin to stitch him up. You try to ignore the heavy press of his gaze on your face and you can almost hear his unspoken thoughts, his words still stuck on his tongue.
âWhy didnât you tell me?â he asks, his shoulder relaxing as you continue to work.
You glance up at him then, finding his expression softer than youâve seen it. âA mutant is a dangerous thing to be, Logan,â you answer, your voice soft. âFew people know what I can do. Those I trust.â
For a long moment, Logan just looks at you, his eyes unreadable. Then, a rough, tired sigh falls from his lips. âYou coulda told me.â
You take a steadying breath, his words lingering in the space between you. âMaybe,â you say, your fingers brushing against his skin as you continue to stitch. âBut you donât make it easy to talk to you.â
Logan lets out a low huff. âNo. I guess I donât, do I?â
You finish the last stitch, securing the knot. Your fingers linger a touch long than necessary, the warmth of his skin a comfort youâre loathe to lose just yet. Slowly, you lift your gaze to his and you feel your heart beat solidly against your ribs as he looks back at you like heâs seeing something there he hadnât allowed himself to before.Â
Loganâs voice is low when he finally speaks. âWhy you keep stickinâ around? Watchinâ me come home time after time covered in blood?â
âBecause you deserve it.â The words tumble from your mouth before you can stop them. âEven if you donât see that.â
He doesnât respond, not right away, as he continues to watch you, his eyes tracing the lines of your face. Then he reaches up for you, fingers curling around your wrist, his skin warm and rough against yours. He holds you there as if grounding himself in your presence, his thumb drawing random patterns against your skin. The gesture is simple, but vulnerable and open in a way he rarely shows.
âIâm no good for you,â he murmurs, glancing down at where heâs touching you. âFor anybody.â
âHow âbout you let me be the judge of that?â you answer, your voice steady. âYouâre more than you think you are.â
Logan clenches his jaw, a flicker of disbelief crossing his features, and you know deep below the surface heâs waging a war against himself, one heâs been fighting for far too long. His thumb stills on your wrist, his grip loosening slightly, but not letting go.Â
Placing your hand over his, you give him a soft smile. âCâmon, letâs get you cleaned up.â
+++
Youâre surprised that he doesnât argue, doesnât try to brush you off or push you away as you gently nudge him towards the bathroom. He still gives you a dubious glance as he looks down at the tub, but you just ignore it, moving past him to run the tap.
You give him privacy to undress and get settled before you reenter the bathroom. The sight of him, as large as he his with his knees pulled up to his chest, makes you laugh, garnishing a terse look from him.
âYou find this amusing?â
âBig man in a little tub? Yeah, I do,â you reply with a smile. âJust relax, Logan. Thisâll be our secret.â
He huffs, but does seem to visibly relax, resting his arms over his knees. You kneel down in front of him, resting one hand gently against his forearm as your other reaches for the washcloth. You can feel the tension release from his muscles as your power floods through him and he breathes out a soft, âOh,â as all the pain and discomfort is eased from his body.
You wonder how long itâs truly been since heâs felt like this, unburdened by the pain and suffering of his own body. Your heart aches for him as you slowly begin to wash him, rubbing soft circles over the scarred flesh of his back, rinsing away the blood dried to his skin.Â
Even battered and marred as he is, you still find him beautifulâyou always have. When you first started working with him all those months ago, you felt that pang of attraction when you met him, youâd have been blind not to. Ruggedly handsome, so strong and sure of himself. But you know that wasnât all that drew you to him. Deep down, below all the tough, seemingly impenetrable exterior, you saw the man he truly was. Someone born of scars and rough edges, yet gentle. Someone who would selflessly put himself before others, even at his own expense.Â
You let the cloth linger a moment longer against his skin before dipping it back into the water, watching as his blood rinses from the fabric. Squeezing the excess water out, you press it back against his collarbone, tracing the warm cloth along his neck and over his shoulders. Logan doesnât move, his eyes half-closed, his expression relaxed in a way youâve never seen before.
Something deep tugs at you as you realize how vulnerable he is right now, how trusting. He hides behind a gruff exterior, his true self guarded so carefully so that he doesnât let people in, doesnât open himself up to the hurt that trusting another person can bring. But maybe youâve finally cracked through, broken down a little bit of that wall he surrounds himself with.
The warm water drips from his skin as you continue to wash him, letting your fingers trail gently along the newly cleaned lines of his arms. Logan shivers at your touch, but he doesnât pull away. If anything, he seems to lean into it, his breathing deepening, muscles falling even more slack.Â
âFeel nice?â you ask in a murmur, voice barely above a whisper.
He nods, finally glancing up at you through his half-lidded gaze. ââS very nice,â he replies, his voice rough.
âGood. You deserve it,â you say, repeating your sentiment from earlier.
You feel a flicker of warmth as his eyes meet yours and he simply nods. It takes everything in you to not smile too widely, to keep the moment gentle, but you take his acceptance to heart.Â
Running the cloth down his ribs, you pause when you feel the misshapen knot of a bruise beneath your fingers and glancing down, you find a deep purple hue coloring his skin. Your eyes dart to his with worry, knowing that an injury like that will take him at least a week to heal, if not longer, in his weakened state. That with every breath heâll feel the pain of his muscles pulling and the bruise spreading if youâre not touching him.
Dropping the washcloth in the water, you press your palm against his side and take in a deep breath to steady yourself. Then, a warmth spreads from your skin into his as you pull his injury from him, feeling his skin knit back together, feeling his abused muscles realign themselves under his skin. A dull, yet sharp ache, blooms along your ribs as you continue to pull his pain into yourself, erasing the injury from his body. With a final gasp, you draw back, your fingers now running along unmarred flesh knitted whole.Â
Logan tilts your chin up, forcing you to meet his gaze as the back of his knuckles brush against your cheek. His eyes flicker to yours, holding your gaze, and for a moment, the room falls into a deep quiet.
That pull between you, the magnetic force that youâve felt since the beginning, feels amplified now. Youâre acutely aware of every inch of space between youâhow small it is, how easy it would be to close it. How badly you want to close it. You swallow, feeling the tension coil in your belly as he continues to hold your gaze, unblinking, but more open and raw than heâs ever been before.
âWhat are you doing to me?â he asks.
Your breath catches in your throat at his question, voice rough and laced with something between wonder and disbelief. As if he canât quite fathom what youâve done for himâwhat youâve given him so freely.
Loganâs eyes search yours, his fingers drifting from your cheek to trace along your jaw, lingering with a tenderness that belies the man he presents to the outside world. His gaze is steady and intimate, as if heâs trying to understand you in a way that goes beyond words. But you say nothing, your heart pounding too loudly in your ears to form a reply.
âYou took it on yourself, my pain?â
You simply nod, distracted by the way Loganâs fingers continue to brush along the edge of your ear, tracing the lines of your face as if heâs afraid youâll vanish if he lets go.Â
âWhy?â
âBecause I want to,â you whisper, unable to resist the pull of his hand against your skin, the warmth of his touch that you feel with every fiber of your being. âBecause itâs the one thing I can do to help you.â
A beat of silence passes, the air thick and heavy with unspoken words. He exhales, shaky and deep, letting his hand slide to the back of your neck. The calloused pads of his fingers press gently against your skin, anchoring you in place and you can feel him pull you closer, his gaze dropping to your lips, his breath mingling with yours in the small, intimate space between you.
âI shouldnât want this, want you,â he says, voice so low itâs almost a rumble. âBut, fuck, I do.âÂ
His confession is raw, leaving him unguarded for the first time in a long time and before he can pull back, before he can throw those walls back up around himself, you close the gap, resting your forehead against his. You bring your hand up to touch his face, thumb brushing over his cheek as you breath him in, feeling the heat radiate between you.Â
Loganâs hand slides further along your neck, his fingers tangling in your hair as he finally, gently, presses his lips to yours. His kiss isnât demanding or rushed or filled with passion, but a lingering connection, the promise of something more. His lips are softer than you imagined, his touch more careful than you expected, as if heâs afraid heâll break you. Slowly, his thumb traces circles against your cheek, steadying and soothing, pulling you closer.Â
When he pulls back, he rests his forehead against yours, eyes closed. His breath is warm against your skin. âI donât wanna push you away anymore,â he murmurs.
âGood because I donât want you to.â
Logan lets out a breath, a hint of a smile finally softening his features.Â
Reluctantly, you pull away and pick the washcloth up again, intent on finishing what you started. The water turns to rust as you wash him of blood and grime, making sure you reach each cut, each bruise, each scar on his body that makes up the map of who he is.Â
You turn off the tap and hand him a towel, averting your eyes as he stands, wrapping the towel low across his hips. Logan reaches for you, tugging on the collar of your shirt to pull you closer. You stumble a bit as he pulls you in, surprised by the insistence in his grip. Loganâs eyes meet yours, an intensity behind his gaze that makes your breath catch.
âCâmere,â he murmurs, hand slipping along your jaw, his thumb pressing against your bottom lip.Â
Youâre drawn forward as Loganâs lips find yours again, but this time thereâs an urgency behind the kiss, a desperation and need heâs no longer trying to hide. He holds your face gently in his hands as he deepens the kiss, his nose pressing against yours, his beard scraping against your skin and you find yourself melting against him.
This is what youâve been craving since you met him. Despite it allâthe rage simmering just below his surface, the sharpness of his exterior, the sometimes shocking callousness of his wordsâyou always knew there was a tenderness underneath, a softness that even his tortured past couldnât erase.Â
Loganâs hands drift from your face, trailing down your neck and tracing along the curve of your spine as he presses you closer until thereâs no space between you. The dampness of his skin bleeds into your shirt and you gasp into his mouth when he shifts his hips just enough and you feel heat of his erection against your thigh.
He pulls away from your mouth long enough to husk against your lips, âIâm old, not dead.â His teeth nip lightly at your bottom lip. âIâve gotta beautiful woman lettinâ me kiss her, what did you expect?â
Your fingers trail along the edge of the towel slung low across this hips and a thrill runs through you as you feel his abdominal muscles flutter beneath your touch. You peer up at him, noting the flush of his skin, the black of his eyes as you tug the fabric just enough to loosen it. âHow long has it been since someone has touched you, Logan?â you ask, your breath warm in the space between you.
Loganâs hands urge your hips closer, seeking friction as he starts to slowly rut against your thigh. You hear him swallow as your fingers dip below the fabric, brushing along the damp hair at the base of his cock.Â
âFâfuck,â he groans, guttural and low, his head dropping down to your shoulder. âSince before you.â
The weight of Loganâs confession presses into you and in that moment you want to give him everything. Wrap him in all the love you can muster, show him something other than pain and suffering.Â
You move your hand from the towel, allowing the fabric to fall from his waist and pool forgotten on the floor. Loganâs breath catches as your fingers wrap around him fully, the heat and weight of his cock pressing against your palm.Â
A ragged groan escapes his throat. âChrist,â he mutters, voice thick and vibrating against your skin. âYou donât gottaââ
âI want to,â you interrupt, slowly and deliberately dragging your hand along his length, tracing the vein along the underside of his cock with your fingertips.
Loganâs hips jerk involuntarily, seeking friction, chasing your hand, and you oblige, tightening your grip just enough to elicit another groan from him.Â
âWhat do you like?â The question lands in the sliver of space between you, your strokes still light, teasing.
âFirmer, more ahââ He breaks off as you tighten your grip on the upstroke. âFuck, yes, like that, sweetheart.â
A shiver runs down your spine as his hands find your waist, fingers clutching at you almost hard enough to bruise. His breaths are growing uneven, each exhale warm against your neck as he fights to maintain some semblance of control.
âYou keep that up,â he rasps, lips grazing your ear, âand Iâm not gonna last long.â
His admission sends a rush of pride through you and you tilt your head back to look at him, your thumb brushing over the sensitive head of his cock, spreading the wetness there. Loganâs eyes meet yours, dark and heavy-lidded, his expression raw and unguarded. You like him like this, such a large, imposing man boiled down to pure wanton need.Â
âI donât mind,â you reply, keeping your movements steady, your strokes firm yet gentle. You focus on the subtle shifts in his breathing, the way his fingers grip you tighter each time you find the right rhythm. âJust wanna make you feel good, Logan.â
He leans forward, capturing your lips into a kiss thatâs both rough and messy, teeth nipping at your lip as his tongue licks into your mouth. He groans are muffled against your mouth as his hips begin to thrust in time with your strokes, his movements growing more erratic as he chases after his release.Â
âCanât believeâah, fuckâcanât believe how good youâre makinâ me feel,â he growls against your lips.
You smile into his mouth, your free hand brushing along his hipbone as your strokes quicken. His whole body tenses, the muscles in his shoulders and arms flexing, his abdominal muscles taut as he teeters on the edge.
âLet go, Logan,â you say. âIâve got you.â
With a strangled groan, he comes, his release spilling over your hand, hot and thick. His body shudders against yours as he buries his face in the crook of your neck. You hold him close as he continues to thrust lazily into your grip, your own movements slowing as you guide him through the aftershocks.Â
For a moment, neither of you speaks, then Logan lifts his head, his hazel eyes soft as they meet yours. âYou walked into my life and I knewâI knewâyou would ruin me.â
You smile to yourself, unable to stop the thought that floats into your headâheâs ruined you as well.Â
+++
The text comes in at a little over one AMâhurt.
You jump out of bed, adrenaline rushing through your veins as you slip into one of his discarded flannels and head out into the night. Pacing the driveway, your heart jumps into your throat at every passing headlight, your thumbnail almost bitten down to the quick as you wait for him.
The minutes bleed into eternity until you finally see the limo turn down the long drive and it takes all your willpower to not run and meet him halfway. Youâre bouncing on your heels as he finally comes to a stop, the driverâs side door opening with a faint groan of steel.Â
Your heart stutters in your chest as he emerges from the car, blood soaking through his shirt, dark and spreading, as he steps towards you on shaky legs. Loganâs face is pale in the moonlight, his breathing uneven and shallow and white-hot dread shoots up your spine as you see his arm hanging limp, two of his claws unsheathed and dripping blood.
âOh, fuck, fuck!â you gasp, rushing to his side.
Logan tries to wave you off, gritting his teeth as he grips the doorframe. ââM fine,â he grits, but the tremor in his voice betrays him.Â
You reach for him, hands already attempting to steady him as his knees buckle and he collapses to the ground beneath him. âCareful. Claws,â he rasps as his left hand seeks purchase against your shoulder.
âI donât fucking care about your claws, Logan,â you snap, although you both know your anger isnât at him. You glance up at him and for once you think you actually see fear in his eyes. âWhat happened?â
âGas. Robbery.â Each word punches out of his chest, the effort to speak sending tremors down his limbs. âGot âem.â He nods down towards his limp arm, claws still unsheathed, but slowly, so slowly starting to retract.
He winces as you help him peel off his coat to get to the shirt underneath. Your fingers shake as they trace the holes the bullets madeâone in his shoulder, dangerously close to his lungs and the other just below his ribs. Hooking your fingers through the fabric, you rip it from his chestâthe wounds are deep and his skin is hot and slick with sweat.
Panic claws at you and unshed tears burn in your eyes. Youâve seen Logan hurt before, but thisâthis was different. His breathing is painfully shallow, his usual gruffness and resilience absent.Â
âLogan, youâre not healing,â you whisper, your voice shaking as your fingers stain with blood. Logan simply grunts, trying to wave you off, but lacking the strength. âI canâtâŚI canât lose you. I can help.â
Loganâs eyes widen as he grabs for your wrist. âNo. Youâll hurt yourself.â
âI donât care!â you shout. âI love you, dammit, and Iâm not just going to sit here and watch you die!â
Before he can protest, you press your palms over his wounds, the familiar warmth of your power surging through you as it spreads from your palms into his torn flesh.
The pain hits you like a freight train.
Itâs sharp and relentless, searing through your shoulder and into the softness of your belly like molten fire. You gasp, biting back a scream as your body jerks instinctively away from the intensity, every cell in your body demanding you withdraw from the torture.Â
But you donât stop. You cling to him, tears streaming down your face as you channel your power into him, knitting his flesh back together. You can feel it, the way his muscles, bones and tissue rearrange themselves, months of healing taking place in mere moments. Every second feels like an eternity, but you refuse to let go.
Youâre dimly aware of Logan yelling at you to stop, his own pain momentarily forgotten as he watches you endure his agony.Â
Black dots dance in your vision as the last of his wounds come together, the spent bullets clinking to the gravel and you finally collapse against him, trembling, your breath coming in ragged gasps. The fire in your body begins to dull, fading to a cold, hollow ache as Logan wraps his arms around you, pulling you tight against his chest.
âHey,â you mumble against him, your voice barely above a whisper. âYouâre okay now.â
âMe?â Loganâs voice is low, disbelieving as his hand cradles the back of your head as if you might shatter. âYouâre the oneâwhy the fuck would you do that? You couldâveâdammit, youââ
His words break off, his forehead dropping to yours as his breath shudders against your cheek. You can feel the tension radiating through him, warring with himself between his gratitude and anger, between his guilt and the love heâs too afraid to speak out loud.
âI told you why,â you answer, lifting your head to look up at him.Â
Loganâs jaw clenches, his words caught in his throat, but his eyes say everything is voice wonât. You donât need him to say it, not yet, but you can feel it, pressing just below the surface.
âCâmon, letâs get you inside.â
+++
Thereâs a reverence in which Logan washes you.Â
Steam swirls around you as he works the thickly lathered loofah over your shoulders, down across your collarbones and down along the soft planes of your stomach. The water rinses away the faint metallic tang of blood, leaving behind the fresh scent of soap. He continues with a silent determination, as if the act of washing you can erase all the pain youâve taken from him.
You know better than to convince him youâre fine, that the pain is always temporary, that it only lasts for a few minutes, sometimes just a bit longer. That the pain is something youâd endure for him again and again if heâd let you.Â
His thumb brushes along the underside of your ribs, searching for a wound you know he wonât find. You reach for him, lacing your fingers together with his. He blinks up at you, hazel eyes holding far too much worry for such a stoic man.
âIâm not going to break, Logan,â you say softly.
A wordless noice escapes his throat as he removes himself from your grasp and continues to work, ditching the loofah in favor of his hands. His fingers are warm and calloused against your skin as they glide lower, down over the swell of your hips, over your thighs, down towards your knees.Â
His touch morphs from one of care and comfort to one more sensual, simmering with unspoken tension as his fingers rest in the hollow behind your knee. You glance down at him, water droplets catching in his hair, running off the slope of his nose.Â
Though youâve seen him bare before, you can help but trace the lines of his bodyâthe broadness of his shoulders, the well defined muscles of his chest, the sturdiness of his thighs, the scars that mar his skin. The sight of him stirs something deep within you and you feel your pulse thrum beneath your skin.
âLogan,â you murmur, your voice almost lost in the sound of the water.
He looks up at you then, eyes locking with yours. A storm swirls within them, a mix of guilt, affection and an intensity that takes your breath away. Leaning in, he presses the barest of kisses to the inside of your knee before he rises to his full height, pressing you close.
âDâyou mean what you said before?â he asks, voice low.
I love you, dammit!
âYes,â you answer without hesitation.
Logan exhales sharply, the tension heâs been holding coiled in his muscles loosening as he loops his arms around your waist. âIâm not very good with words,â he admits, his breath fanning across your damp skin. âCan I show you?â
Thereâs no mistaking the meaning behind his words and you can only nod, your voice catching in your throat.Â
His lips find yours, mouth moving over yours slow and deliberate as if heâs savoring the taste of you. The first touch is a spark, the second a fire, and by the third, itâs an inferno that engulfs you both and leaves you breathless. Logan kisses you like youâre his anchor, his salvation, his touch desperate and full of everything he canât yet put into words.
Your fingers slide into his hair, gripping the strands at the nape of his neck as you pull him closer, deepening the kiss. He groans against your mouth, the sound swallowed in the space between you. His tongue brushes against yours, teasing and exploring and you respond in kind, your nails scraping along his scalp.
Loganâs control is fraying. You can feel it in the way his teeth nip at your bottom lip, the way his hands press along the curve of your spine, the way he canât seem to find enough of your skin to touch, to caress. A low growl rumbles through his chest as you slip a hand between your slick bodies, finding his cock, thick and heavy against your belly.
You give one slow drag of your palm along his length before heâs gripping your thighs and forcing your legs around his waist. His mouth leaves yours, trailing down to the curve of your jaw as he presses you against the wall, the coolness of the tile a direct contrast to the heat of your skin and you canât stop the gasp that escapes your lips.Â
Despite his age, the metal bones inside him slowly poisoning him and causing him human aches and pains, heâs still able to hold you up solidly with one arm as the other trails along your hip bone and dips down to where youâre warm and wet.Â
âThis all for me?â he asks in a murmur, sliding a finger along the seam of your cunt, just barely brushing against your clit.Â
Your breath hitches and you grip his shoulders, nails pressing lightly into his skin as you nod. Loganâs eyes darken at your reaction, the faintest hint of a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.
âYes,â you finally manage to whisper. âAlways for you.â
âGood,â he growls, leaning in to nip at the skin just below your ear. The deep rumble of his voice vibrates through you, his touch deliberate and almost torturously slow as he slides his fingers through your folds, spreading your slickness with a focused and unrelenting precision.Â
âOh, fuck,â you gasp, your head tilting back against the wall as he finally presses his thumb to your clit, circling it with just enough pressure to have your thighs trembling around his waist.Â
âI got you,â he coos against your skin, his lips trailing from the pulse point in your neck to your collarbone. His teeth scrape along the curve of your shoulder, his free hand gripping your hip tighter to steady you as his fingers continue to tease and coax. âLemme make you feel good.â
Every nerve ending is afire beneath him, every motion, every stroke of his fingers against your cunt leaving your mind reeling with pleasure. Your nails dig further into corded muscles of his shoulders, desperate for something to anchor yourself to. You pull back when you see the tiny, crescent shaped cuts marring his skin.
His eyes snap up to yours, sharp and molten. âNo, do it,â he urges, fingers still moving. âMark me with somethinâ pretty.â
âFuck, Logan,â you gasp.Â
âSay my name again,â he demands, his voice rough and commanding. Thereâs a quiet desperation in his tone, as if hearing it grounds him. Grounds him to this moment. To you.Â
You canât help but obey, whispering his name like a prayer, and he rewards you by slipping one long finger inside you, the sensation sending a jolt of pleasure along your spine. Logan watches your face intently as if memorizing the way you react to his touch. When he adds a second finger and slowly begins to thrust his hand, you cling further to him, the heat inside you building to an almost unbearable intensity.
âGood girl,â he murmurs, his voice low and reverent. âYouâre so beautiful like this. So wet and warm and tight around me.â
His words barely register in your mind, too focused on the way his fingers curl and thrust inside you, finding that soft spot that makes your eyes roll back. Heâs relentless now, his thumb pressing hard against your clit as he brings you closer and closer to the edge.
âLogan, Iâm so close,â you whine, your hips beginning to roll against his hand, seeking just a bit more friction, forcing his fingers deeper inside of you.
The tension coiling low in your belly finally snaps, your orgasm washing over you in waves that make your whole body shudder as you cry out his name. Logan holds you through it, his hand continuing to thrust against you as he draws out every ounce of pleasure from you, his own breathing ragged against your skin.
When you finally come down, Logan presses a kiss to your temple as he helps you unwrap your legs from his waist and carefully sets you down, keeping you close.Â
You tilt your head to meet his gaze, your fingers tracing the line of his jaw. âI didnât think youâd be into shower sex, old man,â you tease with a smile.
His laugh is low. âI can make exceptions. I need a bed to fuck you properly, though.âÂ
âProve it,â you challenge.
+++
The heat and intensity between you doesnât diminish as Logan helps you out of the shower and guides you down the hallway towards his bedroom. A shiver of anticipation crawls up your spine as you get closer, knowing that once you cross this line, thereâs no going back, that he will have claimed you fully.
You scoot back onto the bed, watching as he approaches you with a fire in his gaze that doesnât waver. He climbs onto the mattress, knee pressing down between yours as he cages you in from above, gently pinning you beneath him.Â
Leaning down, his lips brush against yours, teasing. âStill wanna challenge me, sweetheart?â His voice is a low gravelly growl that sends a prickling rush of arousal down your limbs.
âAlways,â you reply breathlessly, arching into his touch as his hands slide down your thighs, parting them with ease.Â
His grin is sharp as he leans back to take you in fully and you acutely feel the weight of his gaze against your skin. He traces his calloused fingers over your damp skin, along the dips of your collarbones, under the swell of each breast, mapping the curve of your hips as if committing you to memory. Dipping his head, he leans down between your legs, his beard grazing the sensitive skin of your inner thighs and you canât help but shudder at the sensation.
âYouâre so fuckinâ beautiful,â he says, almost to himself, his voice dripping with desire. He drags his lips higher, brushing along your damp cunt, his breath hot and tantalizing. âAnd all mine.â
The possessiveness in his tone has you clenching around nothing, heat pooling low in your belly and your fingers tangle in his hair, urging him closer. But he ignores your silent plea, almost deliberately testing your patience as he kisses you everywhere except where you want him most.
âLogan, please,â you gasp, the ache between your thighs almost painful.
âPatience,â he chides with a smirk, though his own resolve seems to be thinning. His hands grip your hips, pulling you closer before he flattens his palms against your thighs, opening you fully to him. Then, his tongue is on you, lapping at you with flat, broad strokes in a rhythm that quickly has you teetering on the edge.
Loganâs focus is unrelenting, his low growls of approval vibrating through you as he works you over with an enthusiasm that proves to you this is about more than just pleasureâheâs claiming you, showing you just how much you mean to him. Making you his.Â
Your thighs tremble around him and his warm, rough hands hold you steady as he slips one, then two fingers deep inside of you. Itâs embarrassing how quickly you come as he thrusts his fingers against that spot inside you, your second orgasm of the night crashing over you as his name falls from his lips in a breathless moan.Â
Before you can properly catch your breath, Logan is moving from between your thighs, making his way back up your body, leaving wet, open-mouthed kisses against your skin. His lips finally find yours in a kiss thatâs messy and desperate and you can taste yourself on his tongue, sharp and bright, and the intimacy of it sends a thrill through you.Â
âYou taste so fuckinâ good,â he groans against your lips, his voice wrecked as he grinds his hips against yours, his cock hard and insistent against your hip. âCould spend the rest of my life between between those thighs.â
âWhy stop there?â you tease, your lips tugging into a smirk. âI thought you said youâd fuck me properly.â
Loganâs eyes darken, your challenge seeming to light something dark and primal in him. His grin is all teeth as he sits back on his heels, hands curling around your hips and pulling you down the bed like you weigh nothing until your hips are flush with his. âYou gotta mouth on you, sweetheart. Should we see if you can still talk stuffed full of my cock?â
The weight of his cock brushes against your slick folds and you gasp at the sensation, your nerve endings exquisitely sensitive. Logan grips himself at the base, giving himself one languid stroke before running the thick head along your cunt, teasing you with shallow thrusts. Each slow, deliberate stroke of him sliding against you leaves you desperate and aching and you lift your hips in search of more.
âLook at you,â he murmurs. âSo needy. Bet youâll take me so well, huh?â
âYes,â you breathe, nails digging into the muscles of his forearms. âPlease.â
He presses into you then, the stretch of his cock making your jaw drop as he takes his time, sinking in inch by inch, filling you completely. Loganâs gaze is locked on yours, heavy and possessive as he watches every flicker of pleasure cross your face.Â
âFuckâ he groans when heâs fully seated against your hips, his body trembling with the effort to stay still. âYou feelâŚso fuckinâ tight. So damn perfect.â
Your hands clutch at his shoulders, anchoring yourself to him as he starts to move, pulling out torturously slow before thrusting back in harder, setting a rhythm thatâs relentless and consuming. Each stroke of his hips has you crying out, your body arching into his as you meet him thrust for thrust.
âTakinâ me so well, sweetheart,â he growls, his fingers gripping the flesh of your hips hard enough to bruise as he continues to pound into you. âLike you were made for me.â
The sound of skin slapping against skin fills the room, mixing in with your whimpered moans and Logans own ragged groans. He leans down, bracing himself on his forearms, the wiry hair on his chest teasing your nipples as his lips find your neck, biting and sucking marks into your skin that feel like promises.
Your legs wrap around his waist, pulling him in deeper, your heels digging into his back as the coil inside you begins to tighten once more. He feels it too, the way you body clenches around him, and his pace falters slightly, his breaths coming faster.
âCâmon,â he rasps against the pulse point on your neck. âWanna feel you come. Wanna make you fall apart.â
It doesnât take much moreâjust a few more well-angled thrusts that hit that spot inside you and the tension finally snaps, your orgasm ripping through you with a force that leaves you trembling. Loganâs finesse is slipping, thrusts growing erratic as chases his own release.
âCome Logan,â you manage in a whisper. âCome for me.â
His hips stutter as he groans your name, spilling into you as his body tenses, lazily thrusting against you as he wrings out the last of his pleasure. He stays deep inside you, still for several moments before he shifts just enough to collapse against your side.
For a long moment, neither of you moves, the only sounds in the room being your heavy breathes and the pounding of your heart. Logan rests his head against your chest, heavy and sweat slick between your breasts. You brush at the strands of hair against his forehead before running your finger along the old scar on his cheek.
He lifts his head to look up at you, his gaze soft yet still simmering with hunger. âI do, you know,â he murmurs. His fingers brush idly against your skin. âLove you.â
A smile spreads across your face, warming blooming in your chest.
âI know.â
+++
You wake before he does, rolling over to find him prone, face buried in the pillow he hugs close to his chest. Sunlight filters in through the half slatted blinds, catching on the silver in his hair and beard and you canât help but admire how handsome he looks, how at peace he is beside you. Heâs relaxed in sleep for the first time since you came here. Youâve heard his growls and yelps of terror that echo in the night, seen the claw marks that pierce his sheets.
Your mind filters back to last night and how he looked as he came apart inside you, how desperate and needy he was for your touch upon his skin. The memory of his gasps and groans send a rush of warmth over your skin, making you dimly aware of the ache between your legs. Logan, so guarded, so unyielding and seemingly unbreakable, trembled as he came, his voice rough and wrecked as he called out your name. You shiver thinking about it.
You want to hear it again. But not now.
Resisting the urge to reach out and brush the hair from his forehead, you leave him undisturbed and slide out of bed. Padding into the kitchen, you find Charles sitting in his chair at the kitchen table, the newspaper spread out in front of him. He looks up at you with a warm smile as you start a pot of coffee, the machine humming to life.Â
âAh, I see,â he comments, a smirk tugging at his lips.
You glance over at Charles, his eyes back on the paper in front of him, but his smile still paints his face, sly and knowing. Heat creeps up your neck as you busy yourself with the coffee. âAre you reading my mind?â you ask, trying to force nonchalance into your tone.
Charles chuckles softly and taps at his temple. âI donât have to. Youâre projecting. And quite loudly, at that.â
You bite your lip as you fill your mug, leaning against the counter as the coffee warms your hands. You attempt to clear your mind, trying to think of anything mundaneâthe weather, baseball, laundry. Charles just shakes his head. âRelax, my dear. What the two of you do together as consenting adults is none of my business.â
âOh, God,â you groan, your cheeks aflame. âThatâs what Iâm projecting?â
âNot that explicitly, no. You think more in feelings, rather than words. But theyâre quite powerful emotions and rather hard to ignore when theyâre radiating as strongly as yours are this morning.â
You bury your face in your hand, peeking at Charles through your fingers, which only seems to amuse him further. âYouâre enjoying this far too much,â you mutter.Â
âPerhaps,â Charles says with a laugh. âBut youâre helping him. Healing him. And that, my dear, is worth everything.âÂ
Before you can respond, you hear the sound of heavy footsteps coming down the hall. Logan rounds the corner, hair tousled from sleep, his body still bare except for the pair of low slung sweatpants clinging to his hips. His eyes find yours first, softening in a way they rarely do for anyone else as he scratches at the back of his head and mumbles, âMorninâ.â
âMorning,â you reply with a smile, thankful for the distraction. You pour a second cup of coffee and offer it up to him. âCoffee?â
Logan grunts in affirmation, moving towards you, but instead of reaching for the mug, he loops an arm around your waist, pulling you against him. He buries his face in your neck, beard scraping against your skin as he sighs. âDidnât like wakinâ up with you not there,â he breathes into your hair, his voice so low you almost donât hear him.
âSorry,â you whisper. âI didnât want to disturb you.â
âSâokay,â he says softly, pressing the lightest of kisses just under your ear. âNext time, wake me.â
Your heart stutters against your ribs at his open display of affection, the softness and warmth in which he holds you, and the promise behind his words. From over his shoulder you see Charles give you a slight nod, a bright smile on his face before he turns his attention back to the newspaper in front of him.
You think back to what Charles told you all those months ago, about how you were a home for Logan. Those words echo in your mind as you feel Loganâs steady weight against you. Heâs so different now, soft and unguarded and in that moment you know.
Youâre home, too.
#logan howlett#wolverine#wolverine x reader#logan howlett x you#logan howlett x reader#wolverine x you#deadpool and wolverine#logan howlett fic#logan howlett fanfiction#logan x reader#logan howlett smut#logan howlett x fem!reader#wolverine smut#wolverine x men#wolverine fanfiction#old man logan#old man logan x reader#old man logan smut#logan x you
1K notes
¡
View notes
Text
TAKE CARE! â DABI
SYNOPSIS...dabi has always been stubborn, always been trouble, so whenever he gets hurt youâre the only one willing to help him even if he says he doesnât need it
INFO...ex bf!dabi x fem!reader, slight angst mentions of blood, kissing, makeout, groping, mentions of a breakup, not proofread
OTHER...likes and reblogs are appreciated
Your eyes were fixated on the tv in front your as you watched one of your favorite movies. It was late at night and you were finally granted a day off from work after working seven days straight. You were exhausted and just needed time to yourself after the last hectic week. This was the perfect way to unwind. You sipped on your cup of juice, letting a small giggle at the scene from the movie before there were three loud knocks on your door.
Quickly, you paused the movie and waited in silence as you looked towards your front door. It was nearly one in the morning and you didnât have the slightest clue who it could be. That wasnât until you heard their voice. âY/n, come on! Open up!â They knocked on the door again. Your eyes went wide as you recognized who it was. Jumping to your feet, you ran over to the door and unlocked it, only to see Dabi standing there slightly hunched over with his hand holding his side. âFuck!â He hissed.
âDabi? Whatâwhat the hell happened?â You look to see his jacket and hand are soaked in blood and you quickly pull him in and rush him towards the kitchen. Heâs stumbling over his feet and groaning in pain before he plops down in one of your kitchen chairs, eyes half open. You quickly remove the jacket and discarded on your floor, a part of his white shirt covered with his blood, but all Dabi could do was chuckle at the sight.
âMotherfucker got me good. Shit!â He chuckled. You carefully lifted his shirt to see he had me slice with a knife. It didnât seem too deep, but with the way Dabi was bleeding you werenât sure if he needed stitches or if he was too stubborn to get help. Probably the latter.
âMy gosh.â You shook your head. âIâll be right back.â You ran to your bathroom to grab the first aid kit from the bottom cabinet, hoping you had enough to even get this gash covered up. It look to be about three to four inches in length, but you couldnât really make it out. When you walked back into the kitchen you placed the kit on the counter and quickly washed your hands. âWanna tell me what happened?â You asked, voice calm. You dried your hands off before opening the kit.
Dabi looked towards you, you were facing away from him as you grabbed supplies. How long has it been since he last saw you? Spoke to you? He canât even remember. âDoesnât matter now.â He answered. You hummed in response knowing you could never be too pushy with Dabi and his business. He always seems to hide it anyway even when you guys were dating. Youâd bet money that he doesnât even remember the last time he was here. Itâs been maybe six to eight months when you saw him last, doing the same thing you were doing now, fixing him up. The breakup with maybe two years ago now, tired of the way he lived, tired of his secrets and closed off personality.
You felt like youâd never be able to get through to him no matter what you did and you reached a breaking point. Called it quits out of the blue and threw him out of the house you two lived in. Now, itâs just you. âKeep the shirt lifted,â you ordered, putting pressure on the wound. Dabi groaned in pain, cursing under his breath as his eyes clenched shut. Truth be told, he waited an hour before finally coming to you for help, contemplating whether or not he wanted to see you again after everything that went down. But he knew no one else would be willing to help him, no one would patch him up as good as you do and he sure as hell couldnât go to a hospital.
He remembers the breakup very clearly, remembers your frustration and anger towards him and throwing all of his things out the door. But damn you two had a good thing going. You were his girl, the one he could always count on to hold him steady and keep him safe and heâll do the same to you. He just didnât know that keeping his secrets and keeping his lifestyle from you would drive you crazy. He just wanted to keep you safe from all of it, keep you from seeing what life was really like for him. Overtime, he came to an understanding of how you felt, so he left you alone. That was until the first time he got into a fight and then another and then now.
âDonât be so rough!â Dabi shouted, gritting his teeth as you cleaned the wound.
âMaybe donât go getting into random fights and I wonât. If anything, you deserve this,â you retaliated, glancing up at him. All he did was let out a loud sigh, gripping onto the table. âThis is gonna burn.â You took the alcohol wipe and placed it on the gash.
âGoddamnit! Shit!â He hit is fist on the table as his leg bounced up and down. He took a deep breath in and exhaled through his nose. The stinging pain ran deep and lasted more than a few seconds as he tried to adjust to it. You lifted the alcohol pad and tossed it in the trash beside you, standing up to walk to the first aid kid to grab a bandage and gauze. âAfter this Iâll be out of your hair,â he spoke.
You shuffled through the contents of the box, ignoring his words as you grabbed what you needed. He looked towards you, hoping that youâd at least say something back or even look at him, but you didnât. He looked over your figure noticing the crop top and shorts you had on, your excuse for pajamas. He quickly looked away when you walked back over towards him. "Sit up," you demanded.
Dabi grabbed onto the table for support as you gently placed the bandage on the wound, holding it in place as you wrapped the gauze around his abdomen tightly. "I appreciate this, really." He looked down at you. You hummed in response, not even glancing his way before standing to your feet. His jaw clenched and he reacted before thinking, his hand reaching out to yours. Snapping your head back to look at him, his eyes bore into yours. "Will you just talk to me for a moment? Come on, y/n."
A scoff leaves your lips as you pull your hand away from his grip. "You show up to my apartment bleeding after not seeing each other for months, don't tell me what happened, and then expect me to act like your friend?" Your brows furrow as you stare at him. Dabi then uses the strength he has to stand to his feet, now merely inches away from you.
"I know and I'm sorry-"
"This is the last time," you bluntly state.
"You know it's not," he responded. He gets into fights on purpose, gets himself hurt on purpose as an excuse to see you. There's no other way you'd talk to him, let alone let him see you. So, he gets into pointless fights just so he could come to you to get fixed up because the truth is, he misses you. He misses your presence, your touch, your voice, he misses everything about you. Then, he tells himself he doesn't want your help, he doesn't need it, but his legs are moving on their own and before he knows it, he's at your front door. "I miss you."
"Dabi...don't." You sigh, closing your eyes.
Your feel his hands wrap around your waist. "I do. I know you feel the same way otherwise you wouldn't help me."
You stay silent, looking down at your feet, afraid to look him in the eyes, but Dabi forces you either way. His finger hooks under your chin as you meet his gaze. There's tension in the air, tension so thick that it could be cut with a knife. You already know what he's thinking, the look in his eye is all too familiar with you. It hard to resist, hard to ignore the feeling bubbling in your chest and the thoughts flowing freely through your mind.
You kiss him. You broke your own rules and kissed him. Though it's been forever, your lips still feel like they belong on his, the way your bodies melt into each other feels like two puzzle pieces that fit perfectly together. His hands squeeze your waist, groping your skin before they sneak down to the plump of your ass. Your hands entangle in his hair, pulling him in and deepening the kiss. Before he could think, Dabi pushed towards the counter, lifting you onto it without breaking the kiss.
"Dabi-"
"Shhh." His hands move up under your shirt, caressing your skin. "Let's just have this moment. Together."
You break away from the kiss, panting heavily. "But, you're hurt. I don't think-"
"I don't care. I need you."
#ââclassyrbf#anime#mha#mha x reader#my hero academia#mha angst#mha x reader angst#dabi x reader#dabi x you#dabi x y/n#touya todoroki#dabi#mha dabi#touya x reader#mha touya#touya todoroki x reader#dabi angst#dabi x reader angst#touya todoroki angst
504 notes
¡
View notes
Text
quietus!
to find peace in eternal rest ; "death or something that causes death, regarded as a release from life."
in which â elio finally fulfils bladeâs wish for death, in an unexpected way.Â
pairing â blade x gn!reader
â§Ëâ・° â wc: 1.1k, grgrrrr angst, haha cry hurt/no comfort, bladie my fav edgelord, tw blood but dw thereâs no detailed gore, spoiler for bladeâs previous name, okey thats all enjoy!!!! likes n reblogs r appreciated <3
the promise of death was a distant yet tantalizing dream for blade. years of endless suffering, a paradise he's been yearning forâ finally comes to an end. no longer will his body stitch up the wounds caused by his own hands; the scars holding memories, marked by countless battles fought and the years that went by, to be forgotten.
shackled by the chains of immortality, you too, know how it feels like. you knew yingxing like the back of your hand, both of you had witnessed xianzhou's rise and fall, and felt the crushing weight of loneliness as time went on inexorably. though you managed to find solace in each other, blade never stopped his pursuit for eternal rest.
coming home to you as the scent of blood wafts through the air, a reminder of the price he had to pay, and the sacrifices he made in pursuit of a âdreamâ that remained just out of reach. his body, marred by countless wounds, bore the scars of a life spent on the knife-edge between life and death.
for too long, you had been bound together by the scripts given by elio. you had played your parts, adhered to the lines etched into the fabric of your existence. but now, as the last act draws near, you feel the impending doom pressing down upon you.
perhaps it's unfair that blade gets to taste the sweet release of death, the peace that has eluded him for centuries. perhaps it's unfair that you are the one who has to deliver his timely demise, to be the hand that grants him the freedom he has longed for.
despite understanding his desire for peace, it tears at your heart.
you grasp at bladeâs sword as he stands before you. you meet his eyes in a wavering look, the steel gleaming in the dim light, reflecting both your dishevelled state.
"whyâŚ" you whisper, your voice breaking as tears cloud your vision. "why must it be me?"
blade reaches out to touch your face, his blood-stained fingers gentle against your skin. a softness reserved only for you behind closed doors.
"âbecause only you can understand the depths of my suffering, and only in your hands can i find the peace i seek."
you know heâs right. no one else could understand the torment he has endured, only you were there with him throughout every part of his life. you were there when he was yingxing, a name lost to history; and now blade, a mere tool burdened with the curse of immortality.
but i donât want to lose you
blade seems to know what youâre thinking at this very moment as he reaches down to your wrist, his touch is firm yet tender, guiding your trembling fingers to align the sword against his own neck. the cold steel presses against his skin, and when he begins to speak, the slight movement causes the sharp edge to bite into his skin, a small trickle of crimson welling up and tracing a delicate path down his neck.
âi love you.â
his eyes remain boring into yours, youâve always hated when he deliberately hurt himself, but this time itâs different, because now you are the one hurting him. you start to quiver at the thought, breaking eye contact and just as you retract your hand, you feel his grip tighten.
he continues, ââŚarenât you going to say it back?â his blood glistens in the dark, a stark contrast to the pallor of his skin. âi love you tooâŚyingxing.â you dare not meet his gaze when you uttered those words back, your voice visibly quivering.
an uncharacteristic smile spreads across his face at your predicament. âdonât regret it now.â he whispers under his breath as he uses his free hand to pull you closer by the waist, the sword digging slightly deeper in his flesh, drawing out a fresh gush of blood.
your face immediately contorts with worry, and instinctively, you try to pull your hand back. however, he laughs at your attempt and keeps his grip firm on your wrist. âdonât resist. you have to follow throughâ, his voice tinges with an indiscernible emotion.
as a final expression of his love that he rarely ever shows, blade leans forward, his lips capturing yours in a tender, desperate kiss. his free hand moves to cup your face, gently wiping away the trickling tears with his thumb.
âdo it now."
the scent of blood mingled with the faintest hint of regret.
with a final, shuddering breath, you push the blade deeper. as he guides your hand to the side, the steel slices through with a sorrowful finality. he collapses to the floor.
you fall to your knees beside him in despair, cradling his head in your hands. a spread of crimson staining your clothes, seeping through your fingers. his eyes, though dimming, remain solely fixed on yours, a faint smile still playing at the corners of his lips.
âthank you⌠for everything.â he murmurs, barely audible.
your tears flow like a ceaseless torrent of waterfall, streaming uncontrollably. you want to scream, yell, but nothing comes out, you could only stare as the life in his eyes gradually ebb away. the world around you fades into a blur, you clutch him closer, your hands trembling as you feel his body get heavier for each moment that passes by.
you press your forehead against his, your gut-wrenching sobs linger in the air. "yingxing," you whisper, your voice cracking. "please⌠donât leave me"
i love you, i always will
for too long, you had been bound together by the shared burden of immortality. blade had endured more than any soul should bear, and the memories of his suffering now yours to carry. his body remains motionless, indicating that his agony has finally found its end; and with it, a part of your soul now irreparably torn. every breath you take, every dream youâll have, every thought that occupies your mind will be engraved by his final moments.
you brush a stray lock of hair from his forehead, your fingers tracing his features, committing every detail into your memory; your heart clenches as you weep silently. the thought of facing eternity without him is unbearable, a pain sharper than any blade.
â§Ëâ・°
masterlist
#â§renwrites!#âstellaronhvnters.#hsr x reader#honkai star rail#honkai star rail x reader#honkai starrail x reader#star rail x reader#hsr x you#honkai star rail x you#hsr x gender neutral reader#hsr angst#hsr fanfic#hsr imagines#blade x you#blade x y/n#blade x reader#hsr blade#blade fanfic#yingxing#yingxing x reader#yingxing x you#yingxing hsr
377 notes
¡
View notes
Text
but who wants to live forever, babe?
summary: you're too sweet for dabi.
wc: 1.45k
cw/tags: gn!reader but dabi calls them pretty, swearing, brief reference to blood and injury, pet names (doll, baby, pretty), dialogue driven, emotionally constipated touya todoroki
note: this is very shamelessly written because of hozier lol. hope you like it :)
likes, reblogs, and replies are appreciated <3
You were irritating, excessively irritating.Â
You woke up too early to watch the sunrise and stayed out too late to see constellations. You lingered in flower shops to touch the prettiest blooms and gave the last of your coins to street musicians. You were the first to suggest the tastiest food around and always volunteered to pay for everyoneâs meals, no matter how large the group. You were thoughtful, selfless, and frustratingly kind. He wouldnât have as much of a problem with it if you werenât the deadliest killer-for-hire in Musutafuâs criminal underground.Â
âYouâre too nice,â Dabi says one night after a period of calm silence following the chaos of him crashing through your window and bleeding all over your floor. You glance at him from your spot on the windowsill, peering carefully over the construction blueprints for the following dayâs assignment. He sits up with a groan, his hand grabbing the the spot on his abdomen youâd stitched up a few hours prior. âItâs infuriating.â
âA simple âthank youâ would suffice, you know,â you deadpan and he scoffs, wincing when pain shoots across his side. âHad it been anyone else who broke into my apartment, Iâd have to deal with a fully dead body instead of a semi-dead one.âÂ
âThatâs exactly my point,â he argues, straining his arm to grab the cup of water on the side table. Before he can get a good grip on it, you stand and snatch it from his fingers, holding it enticingly with a hand propped on your hip. âCâmon, doll. Now, youâre just being mean.â
âIâm being nicer than you are,â you counter with an iron grip around the cup. âCalling me infuriating after I just saved your barbecued ass from dying. Didnât your mom ever teach you manners?â
âMy mom didnât teach me jack shit,â he reminds you, making another futile swipe for the water that you easily pull away. âWhat do you want me to do, take it back?â You shake your head with a tired sigh, finally handing him the cup. âIâm not taking it back,â he mumbles as you sit on the edge of the bed. Against his better judgment, he doesnât immediately flinch away when you reach out to check his bandages, your fingers brushing delicately across his skin. Â
âI know you arenât,â you murmur absentmindedly.Â
âArenât you gonna ask why?â
âWhy should I? Itâs not like youâre going to tell me why you hate me,â you concede and a muscle in his jaw tenses.Â
âStop being a brat and just ask.â You resist the urge to jab your pointer finger straight into his stab wound but settle for pulling back your hand from his body, leaving him craving your touch no matter how his logic told him to resist. He has half the mind to reach out and grab your hand, part of him ready to beg you to just stay with him. But, when his palm covers the top of your hand, it sits there awkwardly until he clenches it into a fist and pulls away. He tries another tactic. âLook, all Iâm saying is you shouldnât open your window for every stranger that crawls up your fire escape.âÂ
âBut youâre not a stranger, as much as I wish you were one.â You return to your papers at the windowsill and heâs alone in the bed again.Â
âYou donât mean that,â he says, his voice barely a whisper. âTell me youâre lying.â His voice is almost too quiet for you to hear it break. Almost.Â
âNo,â you admit. âOf course, I donât mean it.â You were looking at him too softly, too tenderly. Taking him in, stitching him up, and letting him rest while you kept watch was infintely more than what he deserved, especially after banging on your window and immediately passing out when you opened it. âTell me you donât mean what you said.â
âI do, though.â You nod and he watches your walls go up in real-time, closing yourself up so his words, good or bad, canât get through. A million thoughts of panic race through every nerve in his body and only one command makes its way through: Fix it.Â
âI understand.â
âNo, you donât.â Your blank expression becomes a frown and you look ready to kick him out onto the streets, or at least reopen his wound. âLet me explain first before you beat the shit out of me.â
âYou have thirty seconds.â
âI think youâre too good for me,â he declares simply. He canât see his truth make your heart stutter. âI think youâre too good for this life in general, and I think you should get out of it.â You scoff humorlessly, rolling your eyes to the side.Â
âBecause you hate me?â
âBecause I donât,â he corrects. You dare to meet his eye and feel your breath catch in your throat. His eyes are shining bluer than youâd ever seen them before, the scarce moonlight leaking through your window catching in his eyes just right. Theyâre scorching, hotter and more intense than anything his Quirk could create. âI should, but by some cruel twist of Fate, there are no words for how desperate I feel when Iâm not with you, however much I despise that feeling.â In any other circumstance, you wouldnât be able to waterboard this information out of him; yet here he was, bitterly lovesick and scowling as he told you that heâd rather burn alive than hate you. You fail to stifle a laugh and his scowl deepens. âYou laughing at me?â
âA little bit, yeah,â you confess, standing to check his temperature with a hand on his forehead. Itâs scathing hot and you suddenly notice the shivers he was trying to conceal. âYou must be delirious if youâre admitting this all out loud, and youâre probably going to start burning up if you continue talking.âÂ
âIâm not delirious,â he grumbles. âAnd itâs normal for me to get like this when I⌠overdo it on missions.â Your mouth opens in understanding and he lets you touch his forehead once more to confirm the fever. âI figured youâd know this by now after all the times youâve had to fix me.â
âForgive me for thinking that you were becoming ill because you were forced to say one nice thing about me,â you say with a smirk, grabbing a small towel and heading to the bathroom. His voice calls after you while you turn on the cold water.Â
âThere you go again with your stupid sweet-talking sarcasm. You can at least acknowledge what I just confessed to you.â You chuckle again and re-approach him at the bed, draping the wet towel over his forehead and gently pushing him back onto the pillow. âYouâre doing it again.â You make a split-second decision to mess with him, just for the hell of it.Â
âDoing what, baby?â The petname disarms him and he blinks at you once, then twice before regaining consciousness.Â
âBeing too sweet for me,â he manages to force out and you let yourself smile at his obvious blush. You flip over the cloth to the cooler side and he sighs, closing his eyes in contentment. âYou donât do this with everyone, do you?â
âNo, Touya,â you answer patiently and something in his chest tightens at the use of his true name. Heâd forgotten he told you his true identity, most likely a result of a circumstance similar to the one you were in where he was too tired and weak to think clearly. âYou are the only one I will take care of and allow to barge through my window at three in the morning. Not because Iâm âtoo sweet,â like you say, but because I care about you. Got it?â
âMmm. Yeah,â he rasps. âThanks, doll. You mind getting in here with me? Iâll sleep better ifââ
âYou donât even need to ask,â you finish, slipping under the covers and settling against his chest. âJust stop being an asshole for a second.â
âHey, careful on theââÂ
âIâm aware of your wound, stupid,â you interject. âIâm the one who fixed it, remember?âÂ
âRight. Yeah, sorry,â he mutters, his lips brushing the top of your forehead. The tension in his body gradually dissipates the longer your skin is against his. âCan we sleep now?â
âIf you shut up for long enough, yeah,â you joke and he lightly pinches your side.Â
âI finally get in bed with you and youâre not so sweet anymore.â You snort against his chest. âWhat happened?âÂ
âI think we both have a lot to learn about each other. For now, please shut up and sleep.âÂ
âAs you wish, pretty.â
if you enjoy my writing and would like to support me, you can buy me a coffee on my ko-fi! you can also check out my full masterlist here :)
#dabi x you#dabi x reader#dabi x y/n#touya x you#touya x reader#touya x y/n#touya todoroki x you#touya todoroki x y/n#touya todoroki x reader#mha x you#mha x reader#mha x y/n#bnha x you#bnha x reader#bnha x y/n
621 notes
¡
View notes
Text
Sum of All 5
Warnings: non/dubcon, mentions of crime, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.
My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.
Character: mob!Steve Rogers
Part of the mob drabbles au
Summary:Â you are given an unexpected assignment.
As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. Iâm happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging â¤ď¸
âYou look upset?â Rogersâ voice startles you. You sit straight and rub the stitch from your forehead. How long has he been there?Â
âDo I?â You wonder. Â
Three days in this place, sifting through scraps and musty old receipts, and itâs starting to bleed through. Oh, donât think of the blood. You grip the desk and shift in the chair.Â
âI guess,â he shrugs. âSomething wrong? I can get you a different chair.âÂ
âChair, uh?â You look down, âno, thatâs fine. Actually, I think Iâm probably almost done.âÂ
âGood,â he says. Â
He crosses his arms and turns on his leather sole. He starts to pace. He does that a lot. If heâs not sat in the arm chair or disappearing to wreak havoc out of sight, heâs there, walking back and forth. Back and forth. Combing his fingers through his hair, waving his hand in a wordless argument, moving his lips silently. Even if you hadnât witnessed it that first day, you could tell heâs a man with a lot of pent-up anger.Â
You go back to tallying it all up. Your stomach somersaults as you hover the pencil along the columns and review the numbers. Honestly, you are done, you just donât know how to say what you need to. To tell this man what you discovered.Â
âYouâre breathing heavy again,â he stops and turns to you, âwhatâs the matter?âÂ
âAsthma?â You lie. He grimaces.Â
âYou got something for that?â He asks.Â
âNo...â you look away guiltily. âAlright, I donât have asthma,â you wiggle the pencil nervously then tap your nose without thinking. What are you doing? You still it and put it down. âIâm done, okay, and, er...â you suck in air through flared nostrils, âyou gotta promise youâre not going to freak out.âÂ
âFreak out?â He echoes as if the concept is absurd to him.Â
âYeah, because itâs not good news.âÂ
âSpill it,â he steps closer to the desk.Â
You lean back in the chair and look up at him. A shank of his dark hair slips past his ear and the sheen of silver strands on his chin catch the light. His jaw squares under his thick beard.Â
âOkay, but like just remember that itâs this Warren guy...â You clasp onto the armrests as you talk. âOh boy, right. Iâm not sure how to say it...â your eyes skitter back and forth. When you look back to him, that vein is bulging in his head. Just say it before he explodes! âHe stole. A lot of money. And he actually hid it quite well but... yeah, I can show you--âÂ
âAmazing!â He claps and his face lights up. You flinch and your eyes go wide. Huh? He looks almost happy.Â
âIt is?â You flutter your lashes as the fog fades away from the edge of your vision.Â
âYou did it,â he said. âGet up. You gotta tell the boss.âÂ
âHuh? Me? You canât--âÂ
âYouâre the one who knows numbers. Grab the book, letâs go,â he commands.Â
You donât dare disobey. You grab the ledger and stand so abruptly, the chair snaps on the axle. You give a sheepish smile and scurry around the desk.Â
He waves you out of the office. Youâre all too happy to oblige at the realisation that youâre close to being out of here. He takes you down the hall and stops you at that same door. He knocks and waits until he gets an answer from within.Â
He ushers you in ahead of him and shuts the door with a heavy click. That man, Buck, or Bucky, or Barnes, or whatever he wants to be, sits behind his desk. He is just as unimpressed as the last time you saw him.Â
âSteve,â he greets the other man.Â
âGo on,â Rogers nudges you with his knuckles. âTell him.âÂ
You hold the book up in front of your chest and sway, âmay I?â You nod towards the desk.Â
Barnes gestures to the empty space and you approach. You put the ledger down, flipping it to face him. You turn the pages back and start at the beginning.Â
âSo, I was going through it all. This Warren guy. You see, here are the expenses, then--âÂ
âI donât need the exes and ohs, doll, just get to the business,â he insists.Â
âRight, I know youâre a busy man so I wouldnât want to waste your time,â you chuckle nervously. âAlright, well,â you stand straight. Your head feels bubbly. âHe stole a whole bunch money!â You say it a bit more chipper than you mean too. âOops, well, not that itâs a good thing but...âÂ
Barnesâ eyes narrow and his chin ticks. You gulp and chew your lip. Shoot.Â
âSorry, donât be mad. It wasnât me, you know, I just added it up and--â You rock backwards and tip. Â
Youâre saved from hitting the floor as Rogers catches you and puts you back on your feet. He keeps hold of you, an arm across your back and his other hand on your shoulder. Barnes watches with unyielding derision.Â
âHoly hell, she got something going on in her head?â Barnes asks.Â
âSheâs fine.â Rogers insists. âLook, Buck. We figured it out. You got everything you need to off that guy.âÂ
âOff... youâre going to kill Warren?â You squeak.Â
Barnes gives you a sharp look and you seal your lips. Why did you say that? Your vision pulses and the colours blur. You feel yourself tilting and your head falls back. You slip into darkness to the shallow noise of your own breaths.Â
When you wake again, youâre in a car. Rogersâ car. Itâs dark and heâs silent. You look over at his shadow as he drives. You donât recognise the streets outside the windows.Â
âNoooo,â you sit up and pull on the handle as panic course through you. âNooo, please, donât kill me--âÂ
âHmph?â He grunts and grabs your arm, pulling you back against the seat. âSweetheart, if I was gonna kill you, you wouldnât be awake right now.âÂ
âOh god, so you would?â You screech. âI donât know anything. Consider it all forgotten. Out of my head... oooh, my head.âÂ
âCalm down. Have some water,â he points to the cupholder. Your water bottles firmly in it. âBoss is happy. You did a good job.âÂ
âOh, okay, right. Yeah. Iâm a good accountant,â you say. You cringe and take the water bottle. You uncap it and clear your throat. âIâm sorry.âÂ
You drink deeply as he keeps his foot on the gas. You feel a bit better. You put the water back and wipe your hands on your skirt.Â
âUm, Mr. Rogers?â You eke out. âWhere are we going? You donât have to say but Iâm just asking.âÂ
He snorts quietly, âgotta pick someone up. You just stay quiet and donât move.â He pulls up in front of a house. It looks like a really normal one. âCan you do that without passing out?âÂ
âI...â you look between him and the window, âIâll try.âÂ
#steve rogers#dark steve rogers#dark!steve rogers#steve rogers x reader#series#drabble#au#mob au#sum of all#captain america#avengers#mcu#marvel
173 notes
¡
View notes
Text
the brie
buttercup, chapter two
a/n:Â i was originally gonna go into more detail and dive into and actually write the traumatic moments, but i decided to go a little bit more easy on myself, just focus mostly on the healing part and regaining the good.
summary: âwell, weâre going out to our usual watering hole, or itâs not just us, Karen, who works with us, is also tagging along. Would you wanna join? Might be fun⌠might tear the city up, dance all night and watch the sunrise or whatever kids do these days.â
warnings: matt murdock x baker!reader, neighbours to lovers, rape recovery, ptsd, wingman foggy, reference to croissant theft, alcohol consumption, drunk munching on cheese, kissing, crying, retelling of trauma (if it gets too much for you, then please feel free to just skip the last part of this chapter)
word count:Â 4978
âź gentle reminder that feedback, but especially reblogs are the way you support writers on here â˝
previous chapter | series masterlist | next chapter
masterlist |Â join my taglist
Scooping one divided lump of dough closer with the bench scraper in your grasp, you put it down before first folding the bottom of the blob over itself, then the sides and then stretched the top down as well before you rolled it all up to create that much more tension in the loaf. As you plopped the soft mass into one of the nearby dusted bannetons, nippily pinching the seam and giving it a few stitches, the ingrained dance only kept on as your fingers moved on to shape the next loaf of sourdough.Â
To your left, not at the central table where you worked, stood your uncle Howard, a piping bag of vanilla-flaked cream in his grasp as his rotund frame bent over rows and rows of delicate, flaky little pastries, filling the sunken centre up before he could top them off with little chunks of crimson berries.Â
âAre you alright, cupcake?â you glanced up to see Walter leaning against the doorframe that led directly behind the counter, âyou look like youâre about to nosedive into the dough and use it as a pillow.â
âIâm alright, just didnât sleep much last night,â you blinked back down at your work, noting how your weary eyes stung slightly from the lack of rest, âI had a nightmare that was really, really not fun, and immediately when I woke up I started crying and shaking, like instant panic attack, so I couldnât really fall asleep again after that,â you glanced back up at him and offered a tight-lipped smile.Â
âOh, Iâm so sorry.â
âI just donât get why it has to feel so real,â you let your hands halt their waltz as you shared, Howard too glancing over in your direction, âwhy my body needs to remember it so vividly when I fall asleep. It hasnât forgotten it while Iâm awake, so I donât feel like I need the remindersâŚÂ sorryâŚâ
âDonât apologise, itâsââŚâ instead of uttering the painful truth, Walter instead let a heavy sigh flow and offered, ââŚdo you want me to make you a cup of coffee? Maybe that could be nice, just a little bit?â
âYeah,â you exhaled, âthanks,â before clapping the worst of the flour off your hands, briefly wiping them against the chocolate brown apron that partially covered your t-shirt and jeans, and wandered around the table, shadowing Walter as he fiddled with the espresso machine, making it hum and puff, till he handed you a steaming mug that had a little heart in the frothy foam floating on the top.Â
âHere you go.â
Bringing it up to your lips, you offered him a genuine smile, âthank you, Walt.â
Staying behind the counter as Walter disappeared into the back, the chime of the small bell above the door brought your attention to the pair that then strolled in. Setting down your latte and expecting it to be just any other customer, your eyes instead went wide as you saw who it was. Â
âHeya, neighbour!âÂ
âY/n, hi,â Matthew smiled as both he and the floppy-haired man beside him came to a stop on the other side of the stocked display case, âuh, Y/n, this is my friend Foggy Nelson,â he gestured to the friendly looking fellow, âFoggy, this is my new neighbour Y/n.â
âThe pastry goddess!â Foggy exclaimed excitedly, âI bow to the.â
âGoddess?â you giggled, feeling the heat rise in your cheeks as you glanced over at Matt, secretly in hopes that heâd gotten that nickname from him, âoh, I donât know about that. My uncleâs the one who oversees most of the pastries. He studied in Paris back in the 70âs, so in other words heâs a bit of a control freak. But, he is getting better! Slowly letting me take care of more things that Iâm more than capable of doing⌠Iâm talking a lot, arenât I?â you sucked in a sharp breath as you noticedÂ
your rambling, âIâll shut up. The point was just that he is the one who makes most of the pastries here, not me. Heâs the goddess.â
âWell, I tasted one of your croissants the other dayââ
âActually,â Matt raised a hand and interrupted his friend, âyou stole it.â
âI did notââ
âYou came over and I turned away for two seconds and the next thing I knew youâd obliterated the entire bag.â
âThat sounds more like your problem,â Foggy joked, managing to keep a straight face as Matt chuckled, âyouâve known me how many years now? You should know not to trust me with baked goods unless you mean for me to enjoy them,â turning his attention back to you, he leaned his folded arms against the tall section of the counter, âanyways, Y/n, that croissant was properly one of the best things Iâve ever tasted.â
âReally?â your face lit up with a bright grin.Â
âYes, it was so buttery and flaky and urgh!â
âWell, if you liked that, you might like todayâs specialâŚâ your feet began to carry you further to the left to the very far side of the counter.Â
âOh, please do tell me,â he followed along like a magnet.
Pointing down to the pastry row on the other side of the glass, you explained, âit is this rhubarb danish that also has a little base of pastry cream at the bottom to balance out the tart compote.â
âOh⌠my⌠godâŚâ Foggy nearly salivated, his hypnotised gaze never straying from the treat, âyou gotta be some angel sent from above.âÂ
Busting out a laugh, you grabbed a brown paper bag, âshould I take that as confirmation?â
âYes, please,â he nodded as you plucked one up with a set of tongs.Â
âWill that be all?â
âI donât know if it ever can be all, but slowly but surely Iâll get through your spread, and that is a promise,â Foggy accepted the bag into his waiting fingers, âbut for now, yeah.â
âMatt, do you want anything?â you asked, feeling the flutter of butterflies wake up within your stomach as you returned your attention to him, âdo you want me to describe the options for you?â
âNo, Iâll just have the same as Foggy, as well asâ, do you sell coffee?â
âOh,â the scent wafting off your half-empty mug probably caught his attention, âyes, we do.â
âThen Iâll have a cup as well.â
âOh, one for me too,â Foggy interjected. When youâd packed up another pastry and filled up two to-go cups, the shaggy-haired man pipped up as they were paying, âhey, what are you doing later tonight?â
âUh, I donât know. Properly just head home and rewatch some series for the billionth time,â you said, putting the cash theyâd handed you away in the register, âwhy?â
âWell, weâre going out to our usual watering hole, or itâs not just us, Karen, who works with us, is also tagging along. Would you wanna join? Might be fun⌠might tear the city up, dance all night and watch the sunrise or whatever kids do these days.â
A laugh then rumbled within Mattâs chest, âweâre not gonna go dancing, Foggy.â
âYou never know,â Foggy sang, âIâve got moves like you wouldnât believe!â he snuck a small sip of his steaming coffee before meeting your eye, âso, Y/n! Please tell me youâre coming?â
ââŚand then Karen was like whatâs that? Turns out a giant piece of glass had stabbed my side,â Foggy clutched onto his drink as he told his dramatic tale, âI nearly died.â
Cutting her sip of beer short, the golden-haired woman sitting beside him at the round bar table objected, âyou did not nearly die.â
âOh yeah?â Foggy squinted light-heartedly back at Karen, âsays the person who barely got a scratch. I single handily rescued both you and Mrs. C from that building and got a sick ass scar to prove it.â
Their voices faded away like grown-ups in a Saturday morning cartoon as you glanced back down at your drink and let the radiating heat of the man next to you seep into your bones. As your fingers brushed down the sides of the glass and played with the condensation, Matt suddenly reached out for his own, though in his search for the stout glass that stood ever so close to your own, his touch briefly grazed against your skin. But if that wasnât enough to spike your heart rate, when his long fingers enveloped his short glass, the back of his hand pressed up against yours at the proximity.
You werenât sure how long it persisted before he raised his dark drink up to his lips, but it didnât seem like he was in a rush to let the contact fade. Your breath managed to grow ragged in the chunk of time you got to stare down at his hand, it looking so massive up against yours. Though the light in the dingy bar was low, you could still manage to make out the dizzying pattern of prominent veins that cascaded off the back of his hand like a calm rainfall rolling down a windowpane.Â
For a moment there, assisted by the few drinks in your system, you let yourself dream, just for a little while, just until Foggyâs voice cut through your haze and stirred you from your fantasy.Â
â⌠I mean, am I right? Iâm right. Come on, Y/n, back me up here!â
âHuh? Iâm sorry, uhmâŚâ you blinked, in some ways feeling more drunk than you had a minute ago, âwhaâwhat did you say?â
As Foggy then began to explain what youâd missed, Matt leaned down close to your ear and whispered, his hot breath tickling your skin and causing goosebumps to erupt.Â
âYou okay?â
âMhm,â you hummed fuzzily.Â
âYou sure?â
âYeah,â you glanced down and noticed how rapidly your chest was rising and falling.Â
âDo you wanna go home? I can walk with you if you want,â he offered quietly.Â
âUhmâŚâ you blinked up at him before uttering, âsure, but I donât wanna end your night before you want to.â
âNo, youâre not,â he reassured you, âIâm ready to go home myself.â
âAlright then,â you nodded before Matt turned to the others.Â
âGuys, weâre gonna head home.â
âNo!â Foggy boomed, âreally?â
Throwing her hands up, Karen added, âbut we havenât even gone dancing yet!â
âSorry,â Matt got up from his tall stool, âanother night.â
âThanks for inviting me,â you tugged your jacket back on, âI had a lot of fun.â
To your surprise, they both got up and hugged you in return.
âThank you for coming!â Karen gave you a tight squeeze before Foggy took over.Â
âAnd weâll be seeing you for the next one, right?â
âUh, sure,â you gave his back a light pat, âif I have time and stuff the day that it happens, then Iâd love to tag along.â
Casting his glance upon the other lawyer, âbye, Matt,â Foggy then yanked him into an embrace, âI love you, you know that?â
âYeah,â Matt chuckled, clapping his friendâs spine, âI know, buddy.â
âYou love me too, right?â Foggy pulled back, though still kept his hands fast on Mattâs broad shoulders, âdonât leave me hanging, itâs bad for a manâs health.â
âFoggy, I started a firm with you. Of course, I love you,â Matt smiled back at his sloshed pal, âgood night.â
âNight, night,â Foggy patted his scruffy cheek before letting him out of his gasp, though adding as you turned to exit the bar, ânight, Y/n! I love you too! I just met you today, but I love you!â
Soft giggles bubbled out of you as the door slammed shut behind you.Â
âSo, those are your friends...â you smiled into the night, âI like them. Theyâre nice.â
âYeah,â the corners of Mattâs lips turned further up till dimples bloomed, âtheyâre good eggs.â
As the two of you began to move along, the silence didnât last very long at all.Â
âThis is really nice of you, walking me home like this,â you uttered, âI know itâs just because weâre neighbours and headed in the same direction, butââ
âItâs not.â
âWhat?â your eyes found him.
âItâs not because weâre neighbours. Itâs just, you know, the decent thing to do.â
âRight,â you exhaled, casting your glance back down onto the sidewalk as you momentarily got your hopes up.Â
âAnd you know how this city can be,â Matt went on, âitâs not smart for anyone to walk alone at night.â
âYeah,â you nodded, trying to keep your tone nonchalant, âof course.â
When a street then appeared before you, slicing the path you journeyed on, and even though there wasnât any traffic in sight, your hand still instinctively shot down to grasp Mattâs forearm before the two of you could cross.
Realising what youâd done, you quietly muttered, âsorry,â though couldnât find the strength to withdraw your touch just yet.Â
âItâs okay,â his low voice slid from his lips like silk.Â
âI just didnât want you to walk straight out into ongoing traffic...â you tore your gaze away from him and forced yourself to look at the road before you, âbut there arenât any right now, so we can cross the streetâŚâ
Guiding his palm up to the curve of your elbow, he accepted the gentle aid as you began to cross the lane.Â
Once youâd reached the other side and his grasp slowly began to drift back down. When his palm reached the height of your own, you softly caught it before timidly testing, ââŚdo you mind if weââŚâ
âHold hands?â with a gentle smile, he filled in before you might wonder if he could even sense your shy touch at all.
âYeahâŚâ
âNo,â you felt him weave his fingers with your own, ânot at all.âÂ
His touch somehow felt even better than youâd imagined. Though surprisingly gruff, with harsh calluses all throughout, he cradled your palm with such care, like heâd held it a thousand times before, occasionally swiping his broad thumb over your knuckles, presumably just a subconscious gesture from his end that still caused shivers to trickle down your spine every time he did so.Â
You wanted the latter part of your walk home to last forever, engulfed in the comfortable silence of endless possibilities. But alas, when you did reach your buildingâs front door and then climbed the steps all the way up to your respective apartments, you couldnât get yourself to let go just yet.Â
âAre you hungry? Because I kinda am,â you werenât really, but anything to just stretch the night a little longer, âor maybe itâs just my subconscious taking care of me and lessening my hangover by giving me a sudden craving for cheese.â
âI donât think I have any cheese.â
âI do,â you said maybe a bit too fast, âdo you want some?â
Exhaling lowly, a soft smile twitched at his lips as he then uttered, âsure.â
As you unlocked your door, you finally let go of his hand, âmake yourself at home!â you placed your keys down on the slender entry table before kicking your shoes off and peeling off your coat, hanging it up on the row of hooks, âoh, do you want me to, uh, describe the layout for you? Or just plant your down on the couch?â
âJust tell me the direction and I think Iâll be fine.â
Facing him, you haphazardly explained, âalright, the hallway goes on for a few steps and then itâs to your rightâ, no, wait, my right, thatâs your left. Itâs to your left.â
Whirling around, you delved deeper into your home till you reached the kitchen. Ripping open the fridge, you snatched up a block of half-eaten cheese before seizing a clean butter knife from the dishrack and a roll of seedy crackers from a cupboard.Â
Matt was already comfortable on your sage couch as you laid the humble spread out on the coffee table and joined him.Â
âI hope you like brie because thatâs what I got. Unless you want a single slice of american cheese, then this is all the cheese I have to offer.â
âBrie it is then,â he relaxed into the cushions as you unwrapped the snack.Â
âHere, let me make you a bite,â slicing off bits of soft cheese, you spread it both on a cracker for him and one for you. Gently picking up his hand to place his snack in his palm, you then popped your own in your mouth and nearly melted into the couch next to him, âyep⌠thatâs the spotâŚâ you grinned hazily out the tall windows at the night sky as you chewed, âthereâs just something about eating cheese when the moon is out thatâs just so right in a way I canât describeâŚâÂ
Your murmuring conjured a light chuckle to rumble within Matt, one that swayed your gaze to train on him. Resting your head against the back of the couch, you watched as the moonlight reflected in his tinted glasses.Â
When the silence stretched on, Matt eventually cocked his head, ââŚwhat?â
Not tearing your eyes off of him, you breathed, ânothingâŚâ
âYouâre quiet,â his dark brows furrowed gently, âwhatâs going on?â
âNothing,â you repeated, feeling almost like you were floating in a calm sea.Â
âYou tired? Do you want me to go so that you can go to bed?â
âNo, please donât, IââŚâ you reached out and grazed his arm, âcouldâ⌠do you want to go?â
Letting his body relax once more, he breathed, ânot particularlyâŚâ
Gazing up at him, your bottom lip snuck its way in between your teeth, âMattâŚâ
âYeah?â
âYouâ⌠youâreâ⌠IââŚâ your pulse pounded in your ears.Â
âMhm?â
âI really, really wanna kiss you right nowâŚâ you uttered thickly before you had the chance to chicken out. Like a wave crashing a shore, you didnât even think as you let yourself dive in and press your lips to his. The kiss however didnât last too long as you swiftly drew back as soon as your brain turned back on and you realised what youâd done, an apology hastily rushing out of your lungs, âOh my god⌠I am so sorry.â
âY/n,â hearing your name on his silky tongue did not help matters.Â
âI didnât mean to justââ
âY/n,â he repeated, trying to cut through your fog.Â
âWe can just forget any of that ever happened, I totally get it if you donâtââ
As he brought his hands up to cradle the sides of your face, your nervous ramble fell short. When he ghosted his thumb across your cheekbone, you swore that you stopped breathing entirely.Â
ââŚcan I kiss you?â he slowly asked, leaving you utterly dazed.Â
âW-what?â
Drawing in a breath, he repeated for you, âcan I kiss you, Y/n?â
Blinking back at him, you hazily hummed, âmhm,â before he leaned in and brushed his lips against your own. The kiss was soft, just as your shoddy attempt had been, but it made your limbs feel like they morphed into jelly. When the pecks soon departed, you filled your lungs with a shaky breath as you gazed back at him in total awe, âholy shitâŚâ only staying there a moment before you had to have another taste.Â
Slowly growing more confident, the intoxicating kiss gradually grew more hungry. When his fingers then weaved into your hair, you realised that up till now heâd been holding himself back, gatekeeping a kiss that caused your frame to crawl into his lap, starving for more. Your little whimpers vibrated against his tongue as he danced it against yours, growing dizzy as you melted into the heart-stopping sensation.Â
But suddenly a tormenting flash stabbed your being, and you abruptly tilted your lips away from his, breathlessly uttering, âwait, wait, thereâs-, thereâs-, uhâŚâ
âWhat,â he breathed thickly, nose grazing yours before you retracted further, âare you okay?âÂ
âIâmâŚâ carefully crawling off his lap, you kept going till you were a safe distance away on your own side of the couch, âMatt, thereâs something I need toâ, uhm, tell youâŚâ
Staying silent, he patiently waited as you gathered up the courage needed to jump off the cliff and tell him.
Casting your gaze up to the tall and dark ceilings above, you felt your limbs begin to tremble, âokay, alright⌠I have no idea how to, uh, say this, so Iâm just gonna do it,â and like a band-aid, you uttered, âI-, I was raped,â your eyes squeezed shut, not daring to risk glancing at his reaction, âa little over a year ago⌠and I havenâtâ, uhm, done or tried anything with anyone since⌠so yeah, I just thought that was a good thing for you to know since even though I hope for there not to be any problems, I just donât know, I donât know what it will be like for me, if my body will suddenly freak out, but I just wanted to tell you so that in case something does happens, that you know not to automatically take it personally...â drawing in a shaky breath, you fluttered your gaze open and waited for his response, âMatt?â
âYeah?â he answered carefully.Â
âPlease donât say that Iâm scaring you away right nowâŚâ you shifted your position, turning to face him once more. Â
âYouâre not, youâre not,â his head softly shook from side to side, âI justâ⌠I really, really sorry.â
âYeahâŚâ you exhaled slowly, feeling tears sting the corners of your eyes, âme tooâŚâ staring at him a moment, you then bared your all and uttered, âI really like you, Matt,â a faint smile accompanied the declaration, âI think you might be the only guy in all of New York that Iâm not scared of,â every other man you could think of had all had at least a second, a little flicker, of something that over the past year had terrified you, âand I donât want you to think that Iâm made of glass, thatâs not what I want, thatâs not why Iâm telling you this. Please trust me when I say that I want to, I wanna doââŚâ a weighty exhale flowed from your lungs as your lips remembered his taste, âI wanna do everything with you⌠ifâ, if thatâs something youâd like as well⌠but if we do, even though I really, really want to, I think itâs probably smartest to go slow, no pressure, you know, just in case, so that my body doesnât freak out. Also, Iâd really appreciate it if I at any point indicate for you to stop or even just pause a moment, that youâll do that, that youâll listen to me,â you briefly glanced down at your fiddling fingers, âand you know, Iâm not saying letâs only do PG things, there are so, so many wonderful steps on the way that we can have fun with⌠I justâ, I wanted to let you know now, before, so that we wouldnât potentially have this conversation when something did happen.â
Only parting his lips when he was sure you were done, he uttered, âthank you for telling me. Are youâ⌠are you okay? Was what happened before too much?â
âNoâŚâ you shook your head gently, âno, it wasnât,â taking his hand in yours, you shared, âand Iâm okay, I think⌠I mean, some days it still feels like it just happened, and others I notice something, something small, that Iâve gotten back, that Iâve regainedâŚâ absentmindedly tracing the lines of his palm with your thumb, you asked, âdo youâ⌠do you have any questions? Is there anything you wanna know?â
âNo, Iâ⌠I just want you to tell me however much or little you feel comfortable with sharing.â
ââŚcan I tell you? About it?â you asked slowly and he swiftly offered you a soft nod. Drawing in a deep breath, you began, âIt, um, it was a Saturday night⌠Iâd just gotten back from the bakery super late, maybe close to midnight⌠and when I was getting ready for bed, my roommate came home, heâd been out drinking as he usually spent his weekends. I remember we stayed up a while, just talking about the mundane stuff we always did. It was like any other Saturday, really. That was until I got too tired and went to go to bed, but he didnât wanna stop talking, so he followed along into my room while I got ready and stuff,â averting your gaze, your bottom lip began to tremble, âwe were just talking, it wasnât anything special and then the next thing I knew, he was kissing me. It justâ⌠it happened so fast⌠his hands were all over me⌠I remember he pushed me up against my closet so hard that my back was bruised the next day, and I donât bruise that easily. He was just so wasted that I donât think he realised or maybe even cared what he was doing. I tried to say something, tried to make him stop, but he didnât listen to me. If he heard me, then I donât think he understood what it was that I was saying⌠I would have pushed him away, slapped and hit him, but I couldnât, I couldnât move my body, not even a little, I just frozeâŚâÂ
âI can still feel what he felt like⌠like my skin wonât let go of the memoryâŚâ tears rolled down your cheeks as you squeezed your eyes shut and tried to ignore how your palm tingled with recollection, âhow he forced me to touch him and held his hand over mine, making it move as if he just thought I didnât know what to do⌠he was my friend, you know? He wasnât just some stranger who dragged me into an alley and held a knife to my throat. He was my friend. He would always make offhand jokes about seeing me as just a little sister and how he wasnât attracted to you at all. Made such a big deal of it that I never thought heâd try anything⌠I have no idea how long it actually went on⌠I donât even remember when it was that I landed on the bed, if it was before or after heâ⌠after heâ⌠did stuff, t-touched me⌠I just remember I was laying there when it happened. The masked man, the devil of hellâs kitchen, he ripped him off of meâŚâ
âHeâd somehow heard⌠I think maybe if I hadnât opened the window that night to air out the room, he wouldnât have saved me⌠he beat him up... knocked him out⌠he told me to call the police, but I couldnât, so I instead asked my uncle to come get me⌠my bodyâs never shaked the way it did that night⌠I remember I was so confused because I wasnât cold, didnât get it till the masked man said I was in shock⌠it didnât stop till the next night⌠when he was about to leave, I asked what if Miâ,â you couldnât get yourself to utter Michaelâs name out loud without feeling as if your whole world would crumble around you, âwhat if he woke up before Howard arrived, and so he just stayed there with me, right till he somehow heard my uncle walking up the stairs and then he slipped out the way he came in, right before I heard the front door unlock.âÂ
Letting out a long and unsteady breath, you raised a trembling palm up to wipe your cheeks.Â
For a while, the silence got to encompass the space completely, your left hand still shaking in Mattâs as you eventually heard him ask.Â
âDid you ever go to the police?â
âNo. In the small window that I had to do one of those kits, I was just way too overwhelmed and confused and I just couldnât think straight, I couldnât do anything but relive that moment over and over again, so I didnât do anything in time. But the longer time that passes and the more it sinks in what he did and the ways that Iâm still paying for it, the things he ruined inside of me that Iâm not sure if Iâll ever be able to get back, the more I wish that I had gone to the police. But itâs too late now.â
âNo, itâs not,â his fingers squeezed slightly around yours, âI could help you, Iâm a lawyer after all.â
âNo, Matt,â you said firmly, âit is. I donât wanna sit there and hear them go oh, itâs your word against his, sorry, and have them think that not enough happened technically for them to take it seriously. Enough happened, trust me. Iâm eternally grateful that Daredevil saved me from whatever else he could have done to me that night, but enough happened. Just because he didnât stick it in me doesnât mean nothing happened. That is the kind of belief that only belongs to people who think that the only sexual act that counts as sex is when a penis is in a vagina, and that is just so incredibly wrong,â an enraged laugh tumbled out of you as you fumed, âthey are the kind of people who think that someone queer, disabled or just someone who isnât into that sexual act isnât actually having sex when they are. Sex is about connection, itâs about pleasure and there are endless amounts of things that can give a person pleasure,â clenching your jaw, you let out a heavy sigh, âI wish it could be different, I wish many things, I wish it hadnât had happened at all, but it did, and I hope that at the very least he learned something from it, that he changed, that he wouldnât do it again to someone else.â
Š 2024 thyme-in-a-bubbleÂ
#leaâs writing#buttercup series#matt murdock x reader#matt murdock imagine#matt murdock fanfiction#matt murdock fanfic#matthew murdock imagine#matt murdock x y/n#matt murdock x you#daredevil x reader#matt murdock series#matthew murdock x reader#matt murdock fluff#matt murdock angst#matt murdock hurt/comfort
536 notes
¡
View notes
Text
Love That Burns ~ 34
LOVE THAT BURNS MASTERLIST
< previous chapter
Word Count:Â 4,645ish
Summary:Â You and Logan continue to protect Mariko despite your dwindling abilities
Warnings:Â wounds, fighting, character death(s)
Notes: Please share reactions! People have been sending in less and less reactions as the series has gone on⌠I hope you are still enjoying it! And a big shout out to those who are still reacting! Your reactions always make my day!
Reminder:Â IÂ DO NOTÂ do taglists. Please donât ask. Please follow and interact! I appreciate any reblogs, likes, comments, and asks!Â
Sometimes, you forget how heavy Logan is. He carries the adamantium skeleton so easily, that now you and Mariko are trying to pick him up off the ground, you are reminded of the metal. The two of you ended up having to drag Logan back into the room.
âIâm going to get help!â Mariko exclaimed, rushing from the room.
You should have gone for Marikoâs safety, but right now, Logan was your priority. You wiped his face with your hands, trying to get the rain and hair away. The wounds in his abdomen were still bleeding heavily, letting you know that blood loss was probably the reason for his passing out. Ignoring your own pain, you began to take his layers off until his chest was bare.
Mariko returned with the front desk attendant and a young man. It took all four of you to get Logan down to the basement of the hotel, where the young man was running a small vet clinic. Mariko talked the young man into pulling the bullets from Logan's chest. You sat silently at Loganâs side, gripping tightly to his arm. Logan unconsciously fought as the young man stitched him up, mostly cutting you in the process. You wouldn't allow Logan to hurt anyone else. You could sense when his claws were coming and warned the others.Â
Mariko spoke in Japanese to the young man once Logan was all stitched up. The young man grabbed some supplies and came to your side.
âYou need help, too,â Mariko stated.
âIâm fine," you said with a shake of your head.
âIâm sure your husband would not like it if he woke and you werenât taken care of.â
You knew that Mariko was right. You let the young man work on you as you stayed at Logan's side. You were done getting stitched up when Logan came to.
âLogan,â you whispered as his eyes scanned the room. His eyes snapped to you, and he looked relieved.
âY/N,â he rasped. Logan grunted as he pushed himself to sit up.
âYou need to lay back down.â
âIâm fine,â he waved you off, staring at the two strangers.
âThis is Mieko from the hotel,â Mariko introduced, âand her grandson, Hitoshi.â
âIs he a doctor?â
âIn a manner of speaking, yes. Heâs a veterinarian⌠student. Large animal.â
âUh, thanks,â Logan reached out to shake the young man's hand. The young man scrambled back, not wanting to be near Loganâs hand. âWhoa.â He looked at you for an explanation.
âYou may have let your claws loose a few times while he was stitching you,â you explained. Loganâs eyes fell to your arms where he would see the marks his claws left on you.
âOkay, okay, okay, okay, okay,â the young man breathed out, trying to calm Logan down though there was no need.
Mariko spoke to the two in Japanese, letting Loganâs eyes fall on you. His hands carefully reached down and took your arms in his hands, thumb rubbing against your skin.
âAre you alright?â Logan asked.
âIâm fine, Logan,â you replied softly. âJust a little scratch.â You stood up and kissed the tip of his nose. âYou had me so worried.â
Loganâs arms wrapped around you, pulling you to stand between his legs more. âIâm sorry, sweetheart.â He kissed your nose. âThank you.â
âFor what?â
âGetting me help.â
âIt was mostly Mariko. I was a nervous wreck.â
He looked up at the other woman. âThank you⌠Iâve never needed this before.â
âWhat? Help?â Mariko questioned.
âThat doctor, the one who helped your grandfather, the blonde. Who is she?â
âHe met her last year when he was in America for treatment.âÂ
âYour grandfather told me my healing could be taken from me, passed on. Iâm not getting better, not like before. Neither of us are. She did this to us.â
~~~
Mariko was still insisting on going South, and at this point, neither of you had any energy to argue with her. The three of you loaded onto a crowded bus. Mariko sat in front of you while you and Logan took the bench behind her. Both of you were exhausted. It didnât take long for Logan to be leaning against the window, grunting as he slept, with his arm slung over you. You were leaning up against Logan, asleep as well.
The bus stopped harshly, causing you and Logan to jerk forward, waking up. Loganâs arm held you to him tighter while you both looked around. Mariko stood up and glanced back at the two of you.
âWe get off here,â she said, heading off of the bus.
âLetâs go,â Logan grunted, helping you up to your feet as he stood.
You gripped Loganâs hand tightly as the two of you got off the bus and followed Mariko through the town.
âWhere are we?â Logan wondered.
âJust outside Nagasaki,â Mariko replied.Â
Logan tensed as he took in the area.Â
âYou okay?â you whispered.
âI'm fine,â he muttered, pulling you after Mariko.
The three of you stopped by a nearby market. Mariko chose all the groceries while Logan carried them all. That allowed you to take in the beautiful scenery.Â
After shopping, you followed Mariko through town to a small house. With every step you took, you could see Mariko release some of the stress of the last few days. It was nice to see her so carefree. Mariko went straight to work in the kitchen, allowing you and Logan to rest a little.
The bed was a mat on the floor meant for a single person, but that didn't matter to you or Logan. Logan laid down first, taking you with him. You were practically on top of him, facing him. Both of you fell asleep quickly.
Logan was the first one to wake. He kissed your head before carefully slipping out from underneath you and heading for the kitchen. A picture on a pinboard caught his eye. He took it off and held it in his hands.
âThis is the guy from the funeral, the archer," Logan stated. âHe was your boyfriend.â
âThatâs Harada,â Mariko explained. âWe were village champions that summer. He with the bow and me with the knives. Hard and I were planning to get married.â
âWhat stopped you?â
âGrandfather. He said we had to wait until we were at least 15⌠How did you and Y/N meet?â
âIt's a long story.â A small smile formed on his lips at the thought of you, and he glanced back to see you still sound asleep.Â
âItâs clear that you two care greatly for each other.â Logan grunted in agreement. âWhy donât you go wake her? Dinner's ready.â
Logan nodded, turning back around to head to you. He knelt down with a small smile on his face. He leaned close to your face and began pressing kisses to your face, trying to ignore the fact that every time he touched you, your skin was noticeably cooler. Your lips pulled up as you moaned, pushing back into Logan.
âTime to wake up, princess,â he whispered. âDinnerâs ready.âÂ
You turned to look up at him. It never ceased to amaze you at how beautiful Logan was. Your hand reached up and rested on his cheek, thumb rubbing against his stumbled cheek.
âHi,â he whispered, grabbing your wrist and pressing a kiss to the palm of your hand.
âHi,â you whispered back.Â
âHow are you feeling?â
âFine. You?â
âFine.â
âIâm glad we both decided to lie to each other.â
âCancels it out.â He leaned down and kissed your lips. âCome on.â He pulled you up. âLetâs go eat.â
Logan led you to the kitchen, where Mariko had already set the table and was sitting to eat. He helped you to the ground before joining you. Logan immediately grabbed the chopsticks and stuck them into the noodles before grabbing the spoon. Mariko was clearly displeased, reaching over and resting the chopsticks back on the table.
âChopsticks upright are a bad omen," she explained. âIt resembles incense at a funeral. Nothing is without meaning.â
âSo, the other night at the house, when you, uh, ran out in the rain, what did that mean?â Logan asked before taking a spoonful of liquid.
âMy grandfather was dying."
âYou knew he was gonna die. Heâd been sick for a long time.â
âLogan,â you scolded.
âWhat?â
âItâs alright,â Mariko said. âIt wasnât his death I feared."
âSo, what, then? What did he tell you that night? Mariko, why did your father hit you?â
âI was trying to warn him.â
âAbout what? What did your grandfather tell you?â
âSeriously, Logan,â you cut in. âLet her eat.â
âNo, you both deserve to know,â Mariko said, sighing. âHe told me⌠that⌠in three days⌠when they read his will⌠I will become the most powerful person in Japan⌠He gave it all to me.â
âThe company?â Logan clarified.
Mariko nodded. âI didnât want it. He knew that. I don't understand why he gave it to me. It was all my father dreamed of."
âWell, thatâs why. What about this fiancee of yours? Nostromo.â
âNoburo.â
âDoes he know about this?â
âNo.â
âWhy are you marrying him? He seems like kind of an asshole.â
âAnd now Iâm questioning why I married you,â you muttered, continuing to eat. You hadnât realized how cold you had gotten until this warm food began filling a void.
âMy father arranged it last year,â said Mariko. âIt gives him a better access to the political theater. To disobey my father would be to dishonor him. I don't expect either of you to understand. You're not Japanese.â
âIâm sorry for all that youâre having to deal with Mariko.â
âThank you, Y/N.â
âIâm also sorry for my husband here.â You reached over and patted his arm. âHe hasnât been socialized a whole lot in the last ten years.â
âHey!â Logan exclaimed. âIâm not that bad.â You gave him a look that quickly got his shoulders slumping.
~~~
The next morning, you found Logan in the bathroom shaving. You leaned against the doorway, shamelessly watching him shave and watching the way his back muscles moved without a shirt on. Logan caught your eyes in the mirror and smirked.
âLike the show?â He taunted.
âLove it,â you replied before biting your lip.Â
You walked up and wrapped your arms around him, resting your head against his bare back. Logan gave your arms a squeeze before going back to shaving. It was moments like these that Logan loved the most. The simple, tender everyday moments that the two of you shared. He only wished that they were happening in the safety of your home. Your head lifted up as you heard someone calling for Mariko from outside. Logan immediately tensed, cleaning up quickly before leading you outside. The two of you stood at the door, watching Mariko speak to an older woman.
âA tree fell in the road,â Mariko stated as she headed back to the house. âTheyâre wondering if Logan can help.â
âSure,â Logan answered, grabbing his tank top and pulling it over his head.
âAre you sure?" You asked. âYou still havenât healed.â
âSweetheart, itâs just some wood and an ax. I do this every day for work.âÂ
He kissed your head before taking your hand. Mariko guided the two of you to where the tree was. Logan was handed an ax and immediately got to work. A few of the kids swarmed you, speaking quickly in Japanese.Â
Mariko laughed. âThey want to know if you can do any tricks,â she told you.
âOh,â you said. âI think I have one or two up my sleeve.âÂ
You held your hand out, palm up. You winced at the amount of energy it took to produce a small flame. Logan noticed immediately, having to stop himself before running towards you. There was nothing he could do about your dwindling powers, though he wished he could.
You smiled as the kids oohed and aahed at the small, dancing flame. They clapped as you closed your hand, forcing the flame to die. Loganâs lips lifted at the sight of you with the kids. You and Mariko distracted many of the kids while the men from the town and Logan worked to remove the tree from the road.
Mariko began walking down a path near the water after the tree had been fully removed. Logan was panting and dapping his head with a cloth. You looped your arm through his arm as you followed Logan.
âDo you need to sit?â You quietly asked, worried about him. He nodded, pulling you down with him to the nearby brick wall.Â
âAre you okay?â Mariko asked.
âTired,â Logan panted.
âDo you need something?â
âNo.â
Mariko stopped a nearby cart vendor, buying three apples from him. She tossed two of them to you and Logan, who caught yours for you. You rested your head against Loganâs shoulder as you both took bites of your apples.
âThanks,â you told Mariko.
Looking around, something caught Loganâs eye. He stood up, eyes on the archway not too far away, and began walking there.
âLogan?â You called, you and Mariko following after him.
He walked past the archway to a metal circle in the walkway not too far from it. You watched curiously as he crouched down and placed a hand on the metal. Mariko stopped you before you could get too close.
âI was here⌠when it happened,â Logan stood up and said. âItâs how I met Yashida⌠We hid in there.â
âI heard the stories,â Mariko said. âMy grandfather would say, âwhat happened here was proof that everything in the world finds peace⌠eventuallyâ⌠that man can recover from anything. Maybe you, too.â Marikoâs eyes glanced at the sky. âWe should go back. There's rain coming.â She turned away.
You reached over and grabbed Loganâs hand. âAre you okay?â You asked.
âI will be,â he replied. âOnce we get this taken care of and get you feeling better.â
âYou need to heal, too, Logan.â
âI saw that flame, Y/N. I can feel your warmth leaving. Something is not just preventing you from healing, but preventing you from using your mutation.âÂ
âIâll be fineââ
âWhat if it kills you? What if you get too coldââ
âLogan, Logan, hey,â you grabbed his face. âIâm here. Iâm not going anywhere.â
Logan's lips captured yours in a fierce kiss. You could taste the desperation and fear as he tried to pull you impossibly closer.
âWe need to get back to the house,â he whispered against your lips. âI need to feel you⌠need to get you warmed up.â
You nodded. âOkay.â
~~~
Logan did what he could to feel you and keep you warmed up long into the night. He needed to show you how much he needed you and to remind himself that you were still with him despite the fact that his mind was convinced you were fading away. He woke up before you did, heart immediately dropping. You were much colder than you had been before he had worked so hard to warm you up. Logan immediately pulled you into him and tugged the blanket over you both.
âLogan?â You mumbled against his chest, being woken up by something so unfamiliar.
âSshhh, sweetheart,â he cooed, holding you tighter.
âLogan... Iâm cold."
Loganâs heart sank. In all the time he had known you, you had never admitted to being cold. It just meant that something was very wrong. âI know, honey, I know. Iâm going to warm you up, keep you warm, alright?â
âLogan!â Marikoâs scream came from outside. âLOGAN!â
âGo,â you urged. âIâll stay here in the blankets.â
âButââ
âLOGAN!â Mariko screamed again.
âGo!â You yelled, rolling off of him.
With hesitancy in his eyes, Logan got up and ran out, following Marikoâs screams. Your movements were slow as you put clothes on and buried yourself beneath the blankets. Logan was limping upon his return, and Yukio was with him. With a pained grunt, Logan picked you and the blankets up. He carried you to Yukioâs car, getting you situated in the back seat before he took the front passenger seat and Yukio took the driver's side.
âTake us to Noburo,â Logan demanded.
âLogan,â Yukio said.
âTake me to him.â
âI need to tell you something.â
"Do it. Now!â
Without another word, Yukio sped off.Â
~~~
âWait in the car with Y/N," Logan ordered once Yukio pulled up to the building.
âLogan,â Yukio called.
âWhat?â
âI saw you die.â
âWhat?!â
âI saw you die.â
âWhen? Just now?"
âA while ago. But itâs not like I get a complete picture. more like looking through a keyhole. But Iâm always right. All I can see is one part of a person's life... their death. And I saw yours⌠and Y/Nâs.â
âWhat?â You gasped from the back, still curled up for warmth.Â
âWhat did you see?â Asked Logan.
âI saw you on your back. Thereâs blood everywhere. Youâre holding your own heart in your hand. Itâs not beating.â
âWhat about Y/Nâs?â
âHer chest was cut open⌠blood was everywhereâ
âI donât have time for this shit.â
âWhen I was five, I knew how my own parents would die. Then I watched it happen from the back seat.â
âLook at me. A lot of people have tried to kill me, and Iâm still here. Y/Nâs still here. â
âYeah, but youâre different now, aren't you? They can hurt you. They can kill you.â
âJust wait in the car with Y/N.âÂ
Logan slammed the car door as he left and slipped into the building. Yukio anxiously tapped the steering wheel as you waited for Logan.Â
âYukio?â You called. âDid you see anything else with my death?â
âLoganâs claws⌠Loganâs hands⌠they were covered in your blood,â she responded.
âHe canât know that.â
âY/Nââ
âYou can't tell him. Especially if I die by his hands. He will never touch me again. He will run. You cannot tell him the rest of what you saw.â
âOkay.â
~~~
When Logan returned to the car, he informed you and Yukio that Shingen had ordered the hit on Mariko. Yukio drove as fast as she could to Yashidaâs house. Upon arrival, Logan helped you out, and the three of you headed into the house.
âWhere is the security?â Yukio wondered.
âShingen!â Logan called.
Logan kept a hold of your hand as the three of you made your way towards the medical room. The lights were on in the room, but all the screens were off.
âLogan,â Yukio called.Â
You and Logan went over to see what Yukio was looking at on the floor. There was a dead security man with a picture stabbed into his chest. On the page, there was a building and a bloody note: come and get her. Logan reached down and ripped off the page.
âThis. This here," Logan pointed to the building. âWhere is this?â
âMaster Yashidaâs birthplace,â Yukio said, moving over to the large painting on the opposite wall. She pinned the picture to the painting. âThe company built a facility into the mountainside.â
âHow far?â
â500 kilometers from here.â
Looking around, Logan noticed that something was missing from two of the large glass containers. He dropped your hand and went over to the medical bed. He grabbed the remote and turned on the machines. With a grunt, he lay down and let the machine scan over him. You and Yukio watched as the scans revealed a large, spider-like thing wrapped around Loganâs heart. Logan looked down at his chest and ripped his shirt off.
âLogan,â you called, coming over to his side. âWhat are you doing?â
âI gotta get that thing out of me,â he murmured.
âHow?â
âNo, stop, Logan,â begged Yukio. âI saw you die! Iâm never wrong. Iâm never wrong!â
âYouâre not always right,â Logan retorted. âYou didnât know the old man was gonna bite it.â
âI saw you die in a room like this with your heart in your hand.â
âIâm the only chance Marikoâs got, but not with that thing inside me.â
âYouâre going to die, Logan," you cried, gripping onto his arm.
His free arm raised, with his middle claw poking out of his fist. Logan looked at you, his eyes trying to say everything he wished he could. âKiss me.â You didn't waste a second, pressing your lips to his. âI love you, sweetheart. No matter what. I love you.â
A few tears escaped your eyes. âI love you, too.â
Before either of you could say anything else, Logan used his claw to cut open his chest. Yukio pulled you back.
âYouâre not gonna want to watch this part,â Logan groaned. He suddenly stuffed his hand into the large cut.
âLogan!â You shouted, fighting Yukioâs grip as he pressed his hand further into himself.
He groaned and cried out in pain, making you cry more. You shrieked as the glass wall behind you suddenly gave way. An armored Shingen stepped in, sword ready to fight.
âMove!â Shingen ordered as Yukio jumped in front of you and Logan.
âStay away from him!â Yukio shouted.
âHe killed your master. Put hands on your sister. And now you want him?â
Shingen pushed the scanner away, preventing Logan from seeing where his hand was going. Yukio jumped over Logan to keep Shingen away. You stood at Loganâs side as Yukio and Shingen began fighting. Suddenly, Logan gasped. His bloody hand retreated from his chest, the robotic spider writhing in his hand. Logan continued to groan, struggling for breath.
âLogan!â You cried, trying to get him to focus on you. âLogan!â
âYâY/N,â he stammered, eyes struggling to focus on you. The machines made a long, droning beeping sound, and Loganâs eyes rolled back into his head.
âNo! Logan!âÂ
Loganâs arm gave way, falling to hang off of the bed. Tears freely rained down your face as Yukio and Shingen continued to fight around you. You tried to shake him awake, but Logan wouldnât budge. Shingen kicked Yukio into a machine, knocking her out and causing his attention to turn to you. You barely missed the sword that he swung your way. You threw your hands to the side and tried to summon fire. Shingen chuckled as the flames in your hands appeared dim and fluttery.Â
âWeak,â he spat. âCanât even form a flame without your Kuzuri.â
You grabbed a nearby sword that was hanging on the wall and tried to use it to defend yourself. But you were weak, Shingen was right. With one swift swing of his own sword, your sword was dropped, and you were stumbling back until you were on the ground. Shingen lifted up the sword to end you when his sword was suddenly caught in three metal claws.
âNo one hurts my wife,â Logan growled.
Logan used his returned strength to fling Shingen across the room, away from you. Logan stalked forward with his claws out.
âWhereâs Mariko?â Logan demanded.
âSheâs gone,â Shingen responded. âThat Viper bitch took her. It was my fatherâs obsession with mutation, with God's mistakesâŚâ Logan easily deflected the swinging swords, "Like you and your wife, that ruined this house.â
Logan and Shingen pushed their fight into the hallway. Shingenâs sword caught Loganâs cheek, cutting it. Logan turned his head back to Shingen, showing the man how quickly it healed. The two swung their weapons at each other while Yukio rushed to your side.
âAre you alright?â She worried over you. She noticed how you were shaking. She placed her hands on your arms and felt how cold you were. âLogan!â She shouted over the clanging of mental.Â
âLoâLogan,â your teeth clattered together. âI need⌠LoganâŚâ
âI know, I know. Logan!â Yukio helped you up and got you onto the medical bed.
âY/N!â Logan shouted as he rushed back into the room. He came to your side, hands shooting to carefully cradle your face. âSweetheart, Iâm here. Iâm right here.â He looked at Yukio. âGet the machine back up!â Yukio nodded, quickly getting to work, allowing Logan to focus back on you. âWeâre going to see whatâs wrong, princess. Weâre going to see what we can do.â
âI was so scared,â you rasped.
âI know," he pressed a kiss to your head, âI know. Iâm sorry.â
âItâs ready,â Yukio stated.
Logan stepped away from you, allowing the machine to scan your body. Just as Logan thought, you had a machine robotic spider wrapped around your heart.
âYou need to cut it out of me,â you said.
âNo!" Logan retorted, back at your side. âWe don't know if you'll survive. Your abilities are different than mine.â
âThereâs no time, Logan. You have to try.â
âNo!â Yukio cut in. âI saw you die too. Logan had your blood all over your hands.â
âLogan didn't stay dead. And⌠Iâve died before.â
âI don't know if youâll survive,â Logan said, shaking his head, tears shimmering in his eyes. âI canâtâI wonât.â
âLogan,â you grabbed his hands, âitâs got to go. Iâm dying with it inside of me⌠I trust you⌠I trust youâŚâ
âI⌠I canât lose you.â
âI almost just lost you. We can call it even.â
âWhat if you die for good this time?â
"Then you save Mariko and go back to New York. Back to our friends.â
âNot without you.â
âLoganââ
âNo!â
You let your eyes find Yukio. âDo not let him be alone if I don't make it.â
âI promise,â Yukio whispered.
Your focus went back to Logan. You reached up and brought his head down for a searing kiss. âI love you. Donât forget it.â
âI canât do this,â Logan whispered, allowing himself to cry. âI canât hurt you.â
âYouâre not hurting me. Youâre saving me⌠James, please, I trust you.â
âI love you.â
âSo save me.â
Logan stood up and pushed out one of his claws. Tears streamed down his face as he took a deep breath. Your eyes kept a lock on his eyes. He needed to know you werenât mad at him. That this wasnât his fault. Suddenly, Logan began cutting into your chest. You screamed out in pain.
âIâm so sorry, sweetheart,â Logan cried. âIâm so sorry. Iâm going to fix it. Iâm going to save you.â As soon as the cut was big enough, Logan pushed his hand inside of you. You gasped as you began to struggle for breath. âStay with me, princess⌠Stay with me.âÂ
Logan gripped the robot and ripped it out of you. You lurched up with a gasp before going limp. The monitors beside you signaled that you werenât breathing. Logan tossed the intruder away and pulled you into his arms.
âCome back to me,â he sobbed. âI got it out⌠Come back to me.â
âLoganâŚâ Yukio whispered after Logan sobbed and rocked you for a few minutes. She rested her hand against his bare back. âWe should go.â
âNo!â Logan jerked away from Yukio. âI canât leave her! Not when this is my faultâŚâ
âLoganââ
âNo!â Logan buried his head into your neck as your body remained limp in his arms. âIâm so sorry, honey⌠I failed you⌠Iâm so sorryâŚâ
âWe can come back for her. No one will disturb her body here⌠Sheâs safe.â
Logan knew that Yukio was right. Besides, you wanted him to save Mariko. He would be letting you down more if he didnât. He pressed a light kiss to your unresponsive lips before holding one to your forehead. Slowly, he set you back down on the bed.Â
âI will come back for you,â he whispered. âI promise.â
It took a lot of strength for Logan to turn around and leave you there. Yukio followed close behind. He clenched his fists as Yukio drove them off, looking back at the house until he couldnât. Barely missing the sight of smoke rising from the house.
next chapter >
#james logan howlett x reader#logan howlett x reader#logan howlett imagine#logan x reader#logan howlett#james logan howlett#logan howlet x reader#logan howlett x y/n#logan howlett x female!reader#logan howlett x you#logan howlett x mutant reader#logan howlett x f!reader#logan howlett x fem!reader#wolverine fanfiction#the wolverine#wolverine#wolverine x reader#x men x reader#marvel fanfic#marvel fanfiction#marvel x reader
119 notes
¡
View notes
Text
Before TBB Ends...Regardless of HOW it Ends...I've Got to Say Something...
In 2021, TBB was released, and over the last few years, it's grown to mean a lot to me. Not just the stories, the storytelling, the characters whom we've fallen in love with and hope to see more of someday, whose stories we've learned important lessons from, but how it profoundly affected my life.
And it is something I am incredibly grateful for.
Regardless of how the show ends, if it's something I'm going to love or be totally heartbroken over and hate, I'm so glad it happened and went on this journey.
For one, it gave me the plug to start writing. Writing was always a dream of mine but it wasn't until I discovered fanfiction, because of TBB, that I actually realized it. I had this idea of writing and thought I'd never really be able to accomplish that. The show enabled me to move past that and I've been able to be enflamed by my love for writing. It brings me so much happiness. No other show pushed me to write like this one.
Secondly, my writing has allowed me to touch and interact with people. I can't tell you how much it means to me and how thrilled I am to hear and learn my work has touched you in some way. I'm humbled by your words and taking the time to actually read and appreciate what I've written.
Thirdly, I've gone on so many adventures, crazy amazing adventures because of what other brilliant minds I met through the show have written. There are SO many great stories that just hit me so.....I was touched by your stories that you wouldn't have written if you hadn't watched the show!
Lastly, but CERTAINLY not the least, I have made SO many friends and writing buddies because of this show. It has connected me to so many cool people that I otherwise may never have found. I've grown really close with some of you, while others, though we may not be friends per say, I hope we can someday. In the meantime, I will admire your work from here. You guys mean so much to me and I can't even begin to express how wonderful it's been getting to know you over the past few years. The fun experiences we've shared, the theories, the stories, all of it. I am not putting this as well as it was in my head so please forgive that.
This includes but isn't limited to: @eclec-tech @photogirl894 @apocalyp-tech-a @lizartgurl @jedipoodoo @arctrooper69 @carolinetano7567 @trapezequeen @ghostofskywalker @masterjedilenaaa @ladysongmaster @moonstrider9904 @klmwrites @techs-stitches @ovaa-bi-bia @frostycatblr-fandom-files @imabeautifulbutterfly @sverdgeir @oceansssblue @marvel-starwarsfangirl @jedi-hawkins
How about you? What are you guys grateful for? Reblog and share what TBB meant to you!
Copy and paste the red as your header and let's see how many people we can get so share their stories!
I will end with no other quote than this!
"With love comes loss; it's part of the deal. Sometimes it hurts, but in the end, it's all worth it. There's no greater gift than love."
#the bad batch#tbb hunter#star wars#tbb wrecker#tbb crosshair#tbb tech#tbb echo#tbb omega#star wars the bad batch
352 notes
¡
View notes
Text
The primary alteration I did was insert a drawstring in most of the waistbands of my skirts step one is to unpick about 3-5in of the center (ish) of the front of the skirt (or wherever you're sticking your grommets and tails)
I used a pair of pins to mark the start and end of my section. There's two rows of stitching at the waistband you'll have to undo.
The next thing you'll need to do is poke your holes for your grommets (grommets are important to prevent wear on the waistband and unraveling)
Because the materials you are setting the grommets in are very stretchy you want to make that stretch work to your advantage and make the tiniest hole you can get away with (if your hole is too big the material will stretch away from the grommet and the grommet will fall out) I found that only cutting vertical threads in the elastic worked best (and not more than like 3) I used the tip of my seam ripper to gently move the threads over to the sides of the grommet.
The placement of your grommets is very important. You need to make sure there is roughly 1/2 in between the edge of the grommet and the end of your open section so you can fit your setting tool in and that the pair of grommets are not too close together (for me that is about 1-3 in apart, you do want to be able to bridge that gap with your lace)
Next you will thread your drawstring. I'm using 72in shoelaces, use whatever you like. I chose shoelaces because they come with nicely finished ends, are fairly durable and come standard in several sizes. Whatever you use you'll want it to be about 16in longer than your body's widest point (roughly 8in per end to tie with at the most relaxed)
Now while you can feed it without a tool (so long as it has a hard end you can feel and move from outside the waistband a safety pin works ok in a pinch) I strongly recommend using a tool of some kind. The ideal tool for the job is a bodkin (a clamping lacing tool specifically designed for this sort of thing) of course I have consistently failed to aquire one for the last decade or so so I'm using a pair of clamping tweezers (not ideal but workable)
You'll also want to secure the other end (not the feeding end, I usually feed it through the eyelet and tie a decent knot in it and that'll handle it. You will want to start feeding into the waistband on the same side as the eyelet you used as an anchor and away from the other eyelet
Some tips for feeding drawstrings (particularly those paired with elastic)
-Feed your drawstring a few inches then grip the waistband and string in one hand while shoving the gathered material away towards the other end of the channel
-The seams and pockets are the fiddliest bit but a bit of careful wiggling will get you past them (it is an open channel all the way around!!) DO NOT force it gentle wiggling is your friend
-Your hand will probably get tired after a bit don't hurt yourself and feed the next one the opposite way.
-Because of the construction of these skirts I ended up feeding my drawstring along the outside of the elastic inside the outer portion of the waistband feeding from the same side as your drawstring is much easier (even though your grommets are in the inside of the skirt)
Once your drawstring is fed through you are on to the next tricky bit. Sewing.
You probably can hand sew it. I didn't. I'd guess that an invisible hem stitch and a running stitch might be the best way to do that but ymmv. I did mine on a machine, which had it's struggles but also was easier for me.
Sewing directions wil be continued in the reblog because I seem to have hit the image limit.
195 notes
¡
View notes
Text
For The Love Of A Daughter: Chapter 2
Summary: After waking up from what you were sure was a dream, you receive an invitation from your Lord and host.
Spoilers for Elden Ring and SOTE (got tired of writing out the full name lmao). No warnings, just a soft morning and Sianet being the best.
It seemed like people really liked my first chapter, so boom, have another! Have some Sianet backstory! (Bonus points if you look up the meaning of her name). Have my clueless ass trying to describe clothing! Have some good feels! God I love this man. Next chapter breakfast date with snakes??? I think so!
As always, thank you for reading, liking, commenting, and reblogging! It means so much to me. I hope you enjoy!
When you woke up this morning, you were terrified to open your eyes and find that yesterdayâs events were a pleasant dream. But your fears were put to rest once you realized it wasnât a figment of your sleeping imagination. Jasmine was still next to you, her small body tucked into yours. Her face is peaceful. Smiling, you carefully shift your way out of bed so you donât wake her by accident.
The marble floor is cold on your bare feet and it helps you wake up. You hadnât noticed last night, but you had a balcony. Opening the beautiful glass door, youâre greeted by the sweet morning sunshine and fresh air. You look over the landscape before you, and itâs only now you realize its quiet beauty. The grass, tinted a delicate gold, sways in the breeze. Below, you can see a few animals grazing and some of Messmerâs soldiers patrolling. Even a place such as this can hold some semblance of serenity.
Your thoughts are torn towards the sound of your door opening. You pull your robe around you tighter and smile when you realize your visitor is Sianet.
âGood morning. I trust you slept well?â Her pleasant, motherly voice echoes around the room. Her hair is tied up today.
âI did, thank you. Jasmineâs still asleep.â You gesture towards the small bump in the sheets.
âPoor thing, she must have been exhausted.â You notice her eyes are a pale blue, almost white. Theyâre beautiful.
She has clothing draped over her arm and a small bag slung over her back, and when your gaze shifts to it, she smiles. She moves to the gold wardrobe to the left of your bed with light steps. You follow her.
âLord Messmer had our seamstress make new clothing for you and Jasmine. Right now, you only have a few options, but in a few days, you should have a full wardrobe to choose from.â She carefully lays out your clothing on the large vanity table, a few elegant tunics with delicate embroidery, and a couple pairs of pants with gold stitching. She opens her bag and reveals a pair of leather boots for you and some sandals for Jasmine.
You hear a loud yawn behind you and you turn to see Jasmine stretching and slowly making her way out of bed. Once she notices that you and Sianet are awake, she toddles her way over to you both.
âGood morning, Jasmine.â You reach down to smooth out her horrible bedhead.Â
âHi. What are you guys doing?â She yawns again.
âI brought some clothes for you, little one. Would you like to see?â Sianet gestures to the remaining clothes on her arm.
Jasmineâs eyes light up and she bounces excitedly. She is no longer tired at the mention of gifts, it seems. âPlease! I wanna see!â
Sianet laughs and begins to lay out the little dresses. All of them are beautiful and they all vary in color. Some are somber greens and reds, but there are a few colored lilac and cerulean. The seamstress did a wonderful job. Jasmine carefully touches each and every one, awe evident in her eyes.Â
âThese are all for me?â She speaks like she can barely believe her eyes.
âYes, and you may wear whichever one youâd like.â Sianet lays a gentle hand on her back.
âCan I wear the purple one? I like purple.â
âYou may. Letâs get you dressed up.â She smiles and looks back at you. She grabs a small envelope from her bag and hands it to you with a golden letter opener. There is a red wax seal on it with Messmerâs insignia.
âThis is from Lord Messmer?â
âYes,â she answers. âHe instructed me to give it to you.â
âThank you.â Sianet nods in response and begins to help Jasmine get dressed.
You walk back to the bed and sit, delicately dragging the letter opener across the top. With shaky hands, you unfold his letter and read his loopy writing.
Good morning. I hope thou hast found thy bed comfortable and sufficient for plentiful rest. I am writing to request thine presence at breakfast. Jasmine is welcome if it pleases thee. If thou art overwhelmed by my request, I shall not be offended if thou wisheth to spend this day in isolation. Give thine answer to Sianet, and she shall see to it that whatever thy choice, thee and thine child shall eat.
Lord Messmer
He was writing to invite you to breakfast? Your heart raced and you found yourself nervous. He is a Lord, and he wants to have breakfast with you and Jasmine? Youâre not worried for your safety, heâs proven that he doesnât want to hurt you or her, but youâre afraid that you will offend him. You have no clue on proper eating etiquette outside of the basic donât chew with your mouth full.Â
Jasmine bounds up to you, flaunting her new dress. The delicate lilac compliments her green eyes, and you smile. She looks so happy.
âWhat do you think?â She spins around so you can see the entire dress.
âYou look like a princess, sweetie.â She beams at your praise and dances around the room, her skirt swishing and swaying with every movement.
Sianet approaches you, laughing at Jasmine. âWhat would you like to wear today?â
âIâm not sure, honestly. Lord Messmer asked if weâd like to join him for breakfast, but Iâm not royalty. I donât know proper etiquette and Iâm terrified Iâll offend him.â
âLord Messmer never requests anyoneâs presence for breakfast. You would be a special exception, therefore I donât think heâd be offended if you went.â
âIâm not worried about going. Heâs very polite and heâs given us so much already. Iâm worried Iâll do something or say something wrong.â
Sianet sits down beside you on the bed and grabs your hands in hers. She smiles softly at you. âI cannot make this decision for you, but I have known Lord Messmer for a very long time, and he is not like his enemies describe him. He is sweet and considerate, though youâve seen this already. I ask you trust yourself and not give into these anxious thoughts.â
She had a point. Maybe you were just allowing yourself to spiral.
âHow long have you known him?â You ask.
âGoodness, Iâm not sure anymore. I was his nanny when he was around Jasmineâs age.â
Your brows almost launch off your face in shock. She looks good for her age.
âYou took care of him when he was little?â
âOh, yes. Marika-â she stops herself, huffing. âQueen Marika wasnât around much during his childhood. She had responsibilities that took priority over her son, I suppose.â She trails off. You can almost taste her disgust in the air and the scowl on her lovely face looks unnatural for someone so sweet.
âWhat was he like as a child?âÂ
Her smile returns immediately. She squeezes your hands. âHe was well-behaved, most of the time. He loved to read more than anything. Some children prefer to be social and play, but his favorite spot was the library, somewhere quiet and secluded. To this day, he enjoys reading above most things.â
âHey, I like books too!â Jasmine climbs up onto the bed, eager to join the conversation.
âPerhaps you can ask Lord Messmer to lend you some at breakfast.â Sianet quirks her brow at your words.
âYouâve decided then?â Thereâs a hopeful glimmer in her voice.
âIt would be impolite to refuse after all heâs done for us.â
âWeâre going to have breakfast with Lord Messmer?â Jasmine leans her head against your shoulder and you wrap an arm around her.
âYes we are. Is that okay with you?â
âMhmm! Heâs nice. Very tall, but nice. Do you think heâd let me pet his snakes?â
âMaybe, but we have to be very polite, okay?â
âOkay.â She nods, then looks down at your robe. âYouâre not going to go to breakfast like that, are you?â
You laugh and squeeze her arm lightly. âNo, I am not.â
You rise to get dressed, leaving Sianet to brush and tame Jasmineâs hair. You look in the mirror and you realize you should probably do something with your hair, too. You comb it back and make it look presentable, then slip on a dark green tunic and black pants. The gold embroidery on it dances along the fabric, making you look almost regal. Your new clothes are quite comfortable, and you take one more look into the mirror. Youâre pleased at the results.
You pull on some soft cotton socks and then your boots. Theyâre a perfect fit. Maybe the seamstress knows magic?
You return to Jasmine and you see Sianet carefully braiding her hair. Sheâs pulling the long brown hair into a braided bun, which looks beautiful. Youâd have to have her teach you how to do that sometime. At the mention of her hair being done, Jasmine runs towards the vanity and climbs into the chair, shaking her head back and forth to try and see the bun. You chuckle and hand her a small mirror, turn her around, and when she sees her hair, she lets out an audible gasp and looks on, transfixed.
âYou look wonderful.â Sianet compliments you.
âThank you. Would you tell Lord Messmer that weâd love to join him for breakfast?â
She smiles and bows her head. âIâll tell him right away.â
She exits quickly, steps light and hurried. The door shuts behind her and you try your best to keep anxiety at bay.
Jasmine tiptoes over to you and grabs your hand. You look down and smile at her.
âI think you look wonderful, too.â
âThank you, sweetie. You always make me feel better.âÂ
She thunks her head against your hip. âSo do you.â
#messmer the impaler#messmer x reader#messmer x tarnished#messmer the impaler x reader#elden ring x reader#elden ring messmer#he's so soft#i love him#sianet being a wingwoman#sianet being the best and jasmine being a cutie
167 notes
¡
View notes
Text
HÄzÄŤr, ÄbrazČłrÄŤtsos (What is Broken!Aemond x Sister Wife!Reader) 18+
Translation: From Now On, Little Wife
The day she has been waiting for all her life is finally here. She is at last wed to her dear brother, Aemond, and all is right in the world. For now, she does not have to be patient to get what she's been craving for so long...
Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x fem!reader (third person, no use of Y/N)
Warnings: Smut (vaginal fingering, p in v), sadness but only if you've read What is Broken
Author's Note: This was written for @queen--kenobi 'set Table Sex Event but I'm so fucking late lol my b
I will be setting up a side blog for me to reblog fics to in place of a taglist
HÄzÄŤr, ÄbrazČłrÄŤtsos
The time between Aemond kissing her at the altar and leading her into the Great Hall for the wedding feast was a blur.
She was fairly sure he had kissed her again in the wheelhouse before it made its journey back to the Red Keep. The King, who, according to their grandsire, had been too weak to attend the ceremony, greeted them upon their arrival. She did not recall what he had said, but she doubted he had either, so she did not concern herself with remembering. And at some point, she had been undressed and redressed, for she now wore her second wedding gown â the one that had not had its hem dragged through the mud outside the Sept and in the castle courtyard.
But to her, it seemed as if only a moment had passed between Aemond pulling away from her at the Sept and him leaning in to kiss her again in front of the Iron Throne.
âĂuhon,â Aemond whispered against her lips. Mine.
âAĹhon,â she replied. Yours.
Though the crowdâs cheering was their cue to take their seats, she could not resist leaning forward to kiss him once more.
âI see my wife is a greedy little thing.â Aemond was grinning when he pulled back, noticing and delighting in the way she blushed when he called her âwife.â He took her hand and helped her into her seat before taking his.
By tradition, he should have been seated directly to their fatherâs right, with his new bride on the Kingâs left. But tradition had always been disregarded for them. Or rather, for their half-sister, who now occupied the seat at their fatherâs right hand. Thus, he and his bride were both on the Kingâs left, two seats down. She took the seat closest to their father to avoid her being on his blind side, and he loved her all the more dearly for it.
Despite the slight, all eyes were on them â on her. How could they not be? She was radiant, her eyes sparkling with the reflection of the gold stitching on her dress. Her smile was bright enough to outshine the sun and stars themselves. And while their guests were fortunate enough to witness it, he knew it was all for him.
No longer just his hÄedus. More than his zaldrÄŤzÄŤtsos or maegÄŤtsos. More precious even than his raqiarzÄŤtsos. Now, and forevermore, she was his ÄbrazČłrÄŤtsos. Little sister, little dragon, little witch, little darling.
Little wife.
They were kept busy enough by receiving congratulations and praise from the various noble well-wishers who attended the wedding that they were hardly able to eat their meal, much less speak to each other. It frustrated her to no end. This day was about them, so why was she prevented from speaking to her new husband?
By the time Aemond finally leaned toward her, she was buzzing with anticipation. âEat your fill,â he said, pushing her plate closer to her. âYou will need your energy for tonight, ÄbrazČłrÄŤtsos.â
Gods, the effect that one simple word had on her.
No, it wasnât just the word. It was who was saying it and how.
Aemondâs voice was as it was when they were alone. When they had taken refuge in their rooms to kiss and kiss and kiss each other in ways that were not at all proper for an unmarried couple. When he pulled her aside at an event to whisper in her ear how her dress was driving him âtruly mad.â When he had snuck into her room the past three nights to lay her gently on the bed and demonstrate â without truly taking her maidenhead â precisely what they were to do tonight.
Heat scorched through her, so fast and hot that she was surprised fire did not come out of her mouth when she took a steadying breath.
âYou like it when I call you that,â Aemond observed smugly. She knew he had likely only said it because he knew it would cause this reaction from her.
She looked at him, then turned away. If she looked at his handsome face right now, when her entire body was screaming at her to kiss him already, to let him tear away her clothes while she tore at his, to finally become his in every sense of the word⌠Well, she would do just that.
A deep sip of her wine cooled her enough to answer. âI do, valzČłrys. Very much.â Husband.
He smiled and flushed, as well, but only slightly. Always so stoic, her husband.
âAre you well, my dear?â Their grandsireâs cool voice and large hand on her shoulder shattered the burning spell Aemond had put on her. He rubbed large circles on her back, as he had when she was ill as a child.
âI â â
Aemond took her hand, squeezing tightly. A signal they had years ago devised during nights spent in the library when they were meant to be in bed â quiet. âPerfectly well, Grandsire. Perhaps a touch overexcited. I will take her for some air.â
Otto raised a brow in a way that usually meant he was suspicious â though she didnât know why. Fresh air seemed to be a wonderful idea. Nevertheless, he nodded to his grandson.
âCome,â Aemond said as he stood, brushing a stray curl away from her face. âI think we both need a little escape, donât we?â
She nodded with a dreamy smile before dutifully following him as he led them toward the back of the Great Hall.
âDo not be too long,â Otto called as they passed him. âThis is your wedding feast, remember. You are expected to be in attendance.â
âWe will!â she assured, pulling Aemond back for a moment so she could kiss their grandsireâs cheek. âI promise.â
Oddly, he was still looking at them dubiously when she looked back at him just before Aemond pulled her into the corridor.
âWhere are we going, Aemond?â They had passed several balconies now, along with a few throngs of guests who attempted to offer their congratulations. Aemond hastily brushed them all aside and continued walking through the mazelike halls until the sounds of the celebration faded entirely.
He did not respond, only grinning back at her in a way that both comforted and excited her.
âAemondâŚ?â
At last, he stopped before a small, shadowed alcove between two torches containing nothing but a small table topped with dried flowers in a brass vase. He drew her close, turning his head to examine the corridor. Slowly, he looked back down at her, his violet eye darkened, cheeks flushed, and the corner of his tempting mouth turned upward.
âÄbrazČłrÄŤtsos,â he whispered as he bent toward her, sending another wave of heat through her blood. âIâm afraid I simply cannot wait any longer.â
âWait for wh â â
He kissed her harder and fiercer than ever before. One hand fixed on her waist while the other climbed to cradle her neck, holding her upright when she nearly fell from the intensity of the kiss. She hardly had time to breathe between kisses, but she hardly cared.
She was kissing her husband.
It was not the chaste kiss they shared at the Sept or the gentle kisses filled with laughter from the carriage. It was not even the hungry, desperate kisses they shared when he came to her room late at night. This was a kiss of possession and possession alone.
She was his, as he was hers.
They had always known it. From her first breath, they had known it. Now, so did the realm, the world, and the gods themselves.
âAemondâŚâ She pulled back as far as she could when she felt a familiar hardness pressing at her stomach through the mass of her dress. âIt is not time â â
âI know.â He buried his face in her neck as though he needed the scent of her to breathe. âBut I cannot wait any longer, my love. I have already waited all my life.â He wrapped his arms around her legs and lifted her onto the table, the vase screeching as it was pushed against the wall.
âBut⌠weâre supposed to undress each other,â she argued, even as she helped Aemond bunch her skirts around her waist. âYouâre supposed to carry me to my bed. That is what we practiced.â
The sound of her smallclothes ripping echoed in the hall as Aemond tore them away, stuffing the scraps into his trouser pocket before fumbling with his laces. âI know what we practiced, raqiarzÄŤtsos. I promise we will do it all. But later.â
Any further argument she had vanished the moment his hand touched her, stroking the bare skin just above her stockings. The yearning she had become so familiar with in recent days roared to life. In an attempt to find words, she only gasped a short âAemond.â
âI need you,â Aemond breathed against her cheek. âNow. Please, let me have you?â
She was his â his to protect, to care for.
His to have, in whatever way he wished.
How fortunate for her, then, to wish to have him in the same way.
âNykÄle aemÄs, valzČłrys.â Have me, husband.
His lips found hers again, claiming, devouring, worshiping, as his hand rose up her thigh to her core. He shuddered when he found her already wet for him. âPerfect,â he moaned. âYou are so perfect for me, ÄbrazČłrÄŤtsos.â
âFor you, Aemond.â She wrapped her arms around his broad shoulders as the pads of his fingers finally reached the spot he had previously ground against, pleasure sparking through her with an intensity their past escapades had not reached. âAemond!â
He laughed, pushing his brow against hers. âGood girl. You like that, donât you?â
âYes, very much.â
âGood, now look at me.â
She had not realized that she had shut her eyes, but it was so hard to control her body when he was making her feel like this.
âThatâs it,â he kissed her once. âNow, Iâm going to do something we did not practice. It may hurt for a moment, but I promise it will feel good if you relax, yes?â
She would do whatever he wanted, so long as he kept touching her, kissing her, and smiling at her like that, his eye sparkling. She trusted him implicitly. If he said it would feel good, she knew it would.
âTell me youâll relax, raqiarzÄŤtsos.â
âI will.â
âGood.â
His thumb stayed on that delightful spot, pressing in tight, wonderful circles while his fingers traveled lower. He laughed slightly as he played with the wetness that coated her. âAll for me?â
She didnât understand. What was all for him? Her body? Her love? Her maidenhead? Of course it was all for him. âYes, all for you.â
Her answer pleased him, earning her another deep kiss. âAvy jorrÄelan, ÄbrazČłrÄŤtsos.â I love you, little wife.
âĂuho glaesot rČł avy jorrÄeltin,â she whispered, her eyes scrunching shut as he slowly sank a finger inside her. I have loved you all my life.
âHurtâ wasnât the right word for what she felt. Discomfort, yes. An unfamiliar pressure within her. It was an intrusion, but one her body was made for â made for this, made for Aemond. Besides, he told her it would feel good if she just relaxed, and he wouldnât lie to her.
Indeed, it lasted only a moment before the feeling changed. There was still pressure, but it was no longer a discomfort. His finger â fingers, now, as he had somehow slipped another in without her notice â stretched her in a way that brought both pleasure and relief. It was almost akin to the feeling of extending her arms when she woke each morning to banish her stiffness, but so, so much more.
Combined with his thumb still playing with that little bud, it was an intrusion she gladly welcomed. Even more so when the pads of his fingers curled inside her, finding something that lit a roaring fire of ecstasy throughout her veins. She keened as her toes curled within her slippers, and her fingers tightened on his shoulders.
âAemond!â she cried, holding him tighter, tighter, tighter as he continued to stroke her, inside and out. The fire within her grew and burned and blazed, white heat gathering in her core. âPlease!â
But then he withdrew his fingers, and she whimpered like a small child whose toy was snatched from their hands. Her head dropped against his shoulder, her budding tears of frustration wetting the velvet of his tunic. âWhy did you stop?â
He turned his head to kiss her temple, and she vaguely registered the sound of rustling fabric. âI promise I will continue later.â His hot breath ruffled her hair as he half-laughed, half-moaned. âAnd then, I will not stop until you beg me to. But now, we unfortunately have rather limited time. As you already know, ÄbrazČłrÄŤtsos, I am quite impatient.â
Something new pressed against her entrance, wet and hot and heavy. She knew instinctively what it was, but still, she dragged her head away from Aemondâs shoulder just enough to gaze down between them and see it â her husbandâs cock.
Truthfully, she did not know what a cock was supposed to look like. She knew she had seen them before â seen Aemondâs before â when they were little and were still bathed together. There were even vague memories of Aegon slipping away from his nursemaids before they could dress him, leaving him to run naked throughout the nursery.
Those memories were old, and the details of their cocks had long faded, for they were not what made those memories special. It was the way she had splashed Aemond and he splashed her in return, and the way he would run his hands up and down her arms when they got out of the water and she shivered. The way Helaena would also tear off her clothes to run behind Aegon while Aemond shouted at them for being uncivil, and she simply laughed.
But she did know that seeing him naked then had not inspired what she was feeling now. What had once been the source of mischievous laughter now fanned the flames of desire in her heart, her blood, her core.
Her mind was too hazy to take it â take him â all in at once. She noticed each detail individually.
The sheen of wetness on his reddened tip. Was it from her or from him? Perhaps both?
The stones that hung beneath. What would they feel like as they slapped against her? What would they feel like if she took them in her hand?
The large vein that crossed the taut, pale skin reminded her of a river across a map. She wanted to trace it with her finger, with her tongue. Would he enjoy it? Would it make him feel what she felt when he drew his finger across her?
Unconsciously, her hand fell from his shoulder, reaching for him. He caught her hand with his, halting its path. But he smiled at her, his eye filled with something like pride. Even with his cock pressed against her, that look made her blush like a silly, lovesick girl.
âAnother time,â he returned her hand to his shoulder and his own to her hip, âyou may explore me however you like.â
She smirked. âBut now, you are âquite impatient.ââ
âUdrimmi riùčtsos.â Clever little girl.
Aemond trailed his hands from her hips to her thighs, grinning wickedly at the shiver his light touches pulled from her. âSyt nykÄlo drÄmmon, ÄbrazČłrÄŤtsos.â Open for me, little wife.
She obeyed, letting him spread her legs as far as he wished, not feeling the burning of her joints for the pure adoration and desire she saw in his gaze, unfaltering as he pushed inside her with agonizing slowness. Though her eyes watered from both the intensity of their closeness and the single moment of pinching pain that faded after no more than a heartbeat, she never looked away from him, either.
After a moment and an eternity, he stilled, raising a hand to cup her cheek as he kissed her again, soft and sweet. âAĹ syt jaehossa avy sÄtetis.â The gods made you for me.
âSesÄŤr aĹ syt avy,â she whispered back, her voice soft and her words for him alone. And you for me.
Aemond had done his best to make them both presentable again, but as they snuck back into the Great Hall, he knew his new wife was paranoid that everyone in the room could tell what they had done. Her sweet, dark eyes were still somewhat glazed with pleasure as they darted about the room, looking for confirmation of her worst fear. It only made him smile.
âNo one knows, ÄbrazČłrÄŤtsos,â he assured her as he led her back to their seats â her legs still somewhat wobbly. âThey are too consumed with their own gossiping and drunkenness to even think about where we might have gone â if they noticed we left at all.â
She settled into her chair, shifting slightly before smiling at him as he sat. The deep blush on her cheeks had reignited, and he cupped her cheek to feel its warmth. It was nearly enough to make him steal her away again.
He got no further than reaching for her hand before their grandfather cleared his throat, leaning forward to glare at him. âYou were gone some time,â he drawled, âI was beginning to worry.â
âThere is no need for that,â Aemond replied cooly. He plucked the carafe of wine from in front of his brother, pointedly ignoring Aegonâs protests, and refilled his wifeâs goblet. âThe fresh air and quiet was quite beneficial, I assure you.â
Ottoâs face was drawn with exasperated disbelief as they both watched the bride down half her wine in a single gulp, steadfastly avoiding both their gazes. âYes, I feel much better now. Though I appreciate your concern, Grandsire.â
Aemond held back a smug smile as Ottoâs attention was drawn away, leaning closer to his wifeâs ear and brushing a still-mussed lock of hair behind her ear. âI have not forgotten my promise, ÄbrazČłrÄŤtsos,â he whispered against her flushed skin. âWhen can at last leave this feast, I will keep you in our bed until you beg me to release you.â
She brushed her lips against his cheek, savoring the shiver it elicited. âIf there is one thing I will never beg for, valzČłrys, it is for you to leave me.â
#aemond#aemond targaryen#aemond targaryen fanfic#aemond fanfic#aemond targaryen imagine#aemond imagine#aemond fluff#aemond one eye#aemond smut#aemond the kinslayer#aemond x reader#aemond x you#aemond x y/n#aemond x fem!reader#hotd#hotd aemond#hotd fanfic#hotd smut#hotd imagine#hotd x reader#house of the dragon#house of the dragon fanfic#ewan mitchell#what is broken
185 notes
¡
View notes
Text
First Sight
Chapter 1 of 2. Part five of the Sassy series. Reblogs, comments, likes, interactions, etc are cherished by me. đ¤
Simon Riley/female reader 5.9k words - AO3
Warnings-tags: 18+ Minors DNI, pregnant reader, PTSD, thigh riding, Simon talks you through it, praise kink, explicit sex, jealousy, possessive Simon, angst, tenderness, mentions of blood and violence, nightmares, childbirth, medical procedures, Simon is bad at feelings; Simon is learning how to have his feelings. Simon has felt this before.
âAnd you are?âÂ
âIâm her⌠Iâm the babyâs father. We had her information updated two weeks ago, at the office. Iâm listed as her emergency contact.â The doctor looks skeptical but taps a few keys on her laptop before she glances back to him.Â
âLast name?âÂ
âRiley.â
âSorry, Mr. Riley. Sheâs been my patient for nearly seven months, and Iâve never seen or heard of you.â Bloody hell. His jaw clenches together so hard he thinks his teeth might shatter.Â
âIâve been overseas.â The lights and sounds are scratching under his skin, making him tense, priming him for a fight. âI came in on the ambulance with her... I have to be with her. She canât be alone when she wakes up. Sheâll be scared. She wonât⌠she has P-.âÂ
âI am aware of her history.â The doctor snipes and his fist tightens, tendons curling until his hand becomes a weapon, not thing the of comfort it was a mere ten minutes ago.Â
âLook. Iâm on her list. So you can let me back there or-â She holds her hand up to silence him and the vein in his forehead pulses.Â
âIâve already paged a tech to bring you to her room, Mr. Riley. Itâs just going to be a few minutes.â She gives him a reproachful look before she says something about coming by to check on you shortly, and he lets out a long breath.
Youâre somewhere else. Your eyes are trained on the e-reader in your hand, but theyâre not moving across the screen. Youâre not blinking. Your breathing is even, and deep, but your fingers are fisted in the blanket, and your gaze is burning a hole through the bed, through the floor, possibly right down to the core of the earth.
It makes Simon nervous.
Not because he is afraid of your PTSD.
He is afraid of you slipping away. Sometimes, you leave and come back a different girl, the guarded one, the one that hasnât tried to forgive him, the one who is reliving the pain he caused her every second. The one who takes your place when you disappear right in front of him, whoâs memories burn too bright.
He knows he may never be fully absolved in your mind, but you still show him mercy. You still let him in, still let him have you, except in the moments when you fall through his fingers like tiny grains of sand. Those moments may have been earned, but it doesnât make their sting any less painful, and he struggles in throes of them.
âSass?â He calls, cautiously, reaching for where your hand is clenched. His fingers graze the sheets, the softness of the fabric much like your skin. They must be expensive, he figures, the cotton luxurious against the rough scrape of his palm. He thinks he likes the color, the soft green that matches the chair and the trim in the babyâs room. âGlacial green,â you correct him every time he calls it light green, or blue green, or pea soup. Itâs a natural tone, earthy, and you seem to gravitate towards it, always telling him you think the color is âsoothingâ or âcalmingâ. You have a few shirts and sweaters in the same palette too, and an old, faded sweatshirt that you used to wear when you were with the 141, worn out lettering stitched across the chest. It was too big for you then, always drooping below the flare of your hips, the hem stretched out and curled. Now, it pulls snugly across your middle while you lay in bed beside him, where the e-reader sits in your dainty fingers. He doesnât know how youâve done it, keep your fingers so velvet and smooth, even after your years in the desert. âSass.â He tries again, louder, squeezing with the lightest bit of pressure until you blink.
âIâm here.â
âI know.â You turn your face up towards him with a sleepy smile, and he reaches for you without hesitation. âTired?â He murmurs into your hair, your nose just slightly smashed into his neck.
âMmm. Yeah, sleep sounds nice.â He finds the light easily, pulling the room into darkness with a flick of the chain, and returns to press his face to yours before succumbing to the pull of sleep.
âI mean, did you get a good look at her?â
âShit. Iâd bury my face in that ass. EOD is air force, right? Think sheâs got a landing strip?â
âDunno but Iâd be coming in for a landing all the time if she was on my squad.â The table of privates laugh to each other, and Simonâs fingers curl around the bottom of the beer bottle in front of him. He briefly considers, for a moment, if Price would dismiss him if he broke it over one of their heads and then used the shards to slit the rest of their throats. Bleed âem out right there on the table.Â
He shifts on the stool. Johnny gives him a skeptical look. One of them, says something else. Sounds a little like âtightâ and âpussyâ strung together. Another one snickers.Â
Heâs on his feet behind them before anyone realizes. The low drone of rage pressurizes inside his skull.Â
âWant to share whatâs so funny, private?â The table falls silent immediately, all of them staring up at him, dumbfounded.
âN-nothingâs funny, sir.â
âYa sure about that?â Johnny chimes in before Simon can say anything.Â
âThe bomb tech, we were just⌠appreciating her. Saying how nice it must be nice, having something like that to look at all the time.â Simon can feel the heat of Johnnyâs gaze on the nape of his neck.
âThe bomb tech outranks you, private. You will address her as Sergeant.â
âY- yes, sir.â
When he gets back to the base and little house the 141 is crammed into, youâre already asleep in your room. Sprawled across the shitty thin mattress, your shirt rucked up around your stomach, little boyshorts riding the curve of your hips. The scar from Belize is still shiny across your ribs, peachy and puckered. The sight of you safe and sleeping soothes the raw buzzing of anger in the back of his head.Â
His girl. His.Â
Heâs already got his hands all over you by the time he gets his boots off, and you shift a little when he presses his face into the top of your ass.Â
âSimon?â you mumble. âYâokay?â Simon, Simon, Simon. Itâs always Simon with you now. Youâre constantly stripping him bare with it, and he doesnât even know your name.
He teases a hand across your skin, over the scar and up under the peak of your breast to your nipple, where he rolls the already hardening bud between his fingers. You shudder with a moan, shoulders twisting to turn yourself on your back, but he stops you. His teeth find the swell of your ass, and he sinks them deep. You squeak.Â
âCan you hold still?â He says, your body answering for you with a shiver. The bite woke you sharply, and you watch him out of the corner of your eye.Â
He pulls the underwear down your legs until they disappear, and then sinks his fingers into your cheeks. The glisten of your cunt shimmers, already wet, already waiting for him.Â
âScoot back, sweet girl. Up on your knees.â You do as he says, shimmying down until youâre pressing against his thigh, clit ghosting against the fabric of his jeans, just barely. Your hips are shifting, slowly, and he knows youâre trying to get just a little bit more friction. He leans over you, gloved hand in your hair. âNow be good for me and rub your desperate little clit on my leg until you come.â You shake your head no and he rears back, pulling off his shirt and gloves, leaving the mask and his jeans the only thing on his body. He slaps you across your ass, just hard enough to watch the skin turn under his palm, and you jolt with a moan, cunt pushing back against his leg. âDo you want me to give you my cock, Sass?â you nod frantically. âThen ride my thigh until youâre coming on it.â The curve of a smile, a smirk, pushes at your cheek, and you start to move your hips, slowly at first, and then fevered, chasing your high while he watches. âThatâs my girl, just like that.âÂ
You start to jerk erratically, your face screwing up into the little pout and he knows youâre close. âYou going to come Sass?â You mewl pathetically, mouth making desperate sounds and he watches you rub yourself all over him. âSweet girl. Thatâs it, just a little more. There you go.â Your gasps reach a fever pitch, and he groans. âRide it out, good girl. Come all over me.â His jeans are smeared with you, but he praises you, telling you how good you were, how much he likes that you made a mess on him. Once you come down from it, he strips and presses himself along your back, rucking the balaclava up to his nose to pull the skin beneath your ear between his teeth. He wants to mark you, hard. Leave an impression of himself on your body, brand you down to your bones. Tomorrow, when those fuckwit privates line up for brief, he wants them to know.Â
He sinks into you as deep as he can, little noises coming from your mouth as he splits you open on his cock, your cunt so tight it feels like itâs choking him.
âSi-Simon.â Itâs his name, again. Youâre flaying him alive with it. When you say it, it feels like heâs not wearing the mask, it feels like he is Simon, and not Ghost. Heâs becoming addicted to it, consumed by it. It makes his head foggy, makes him do things that heâs never done, like approach a table of infantry and scare them out of running their mouths, or mark you like you belong to him. You cloud his judgement. You make him want things, things he doesnât deserve, things he could never have. You make him soft, and desperate, and when you turn and look over your shoulder as he slams himself to the hilt, your gaze burns into him like youâre seeing him. Like you know.Â
âPlease, donât.â Your voice breaks as you beg, clutching the baby to your chest. Your face is bruised, nose probably broken, and tears stream down your cheeks. Youâre trembling, eyes desperate as you plead. âSimon. Simon, get up. Please, get up.â He tries, but he canât. He is beaten. His body is broken, bones shattered, organs bleeding out slowly inside him. The cool metal kiss of a barrel presses to your temple and you scream at him, for him, heâs not sure anymore. âSIMON GET UP.â His body weighs a thousand pounds, and cannot lift himself to help you, to save either of you. The gun cocks, and you close your eyes right before the finger on the trigger moves, the bang echoing across the room and your-
He jerks awake, immediately seeking the warmth of your body next to him in bed. When he feels you, his chest loosens, and you shift onto your side, cracking an eye open.
âHey.â Your voice is thick with sleep, but still sweet as honey, and he takes your hand in his. Your pulse flutters under his palm. Strong. Stable.
âHey.â
âNightmare?â He nods.
âGo back to sleep.â You roll your eyes, flicking on the light that sits at your bedside table.
âIâve been sleeping forever, I am practically sleeping beauty at this point.â You stroke through his hair, nails scratching against his scalp. âWanna talk about it?â you whisper, and he shakes his head. Yeah, Sass. Want to hear all about how I keep dreaming of your bloody corpse? Or about how I keep seeing you and our son being murdered right in front of me, over and over and Iâm powerless to stop it? Thatâll do real well for your stress level. Instead, he smooths his hand over the swell of your belly, where the baby sleeps, warm and protected, safe from everything out here that might hurt him. âYou promised.â You needle, and the slight push is all thatâs needed to relent.
âI keep⌠dreaming of you dying. Or being killed, in front of me. You and the baby.â You sit up a little and he immediately pulls the second pillow down behind the small of your back for support.
âDying how?â He swallows.
âSomeoneâs holdinâ a gun to your head and youâre begging me to save you, but I canât. Iâm lying on the floor, bleeding out.â
âSounds pretty scary.â There are a lot of things, that he hasnât found the courage to say out loud to you yet. Promises and pledges, thoughts about being grateful and feelings of adoration. He wants to tell you how much he appreciates that you listen to him, that you validate him, but the words never come out, so he presses a kiss to your forehead before sliding down so his head is resting on the side of your belly.
The memory of the dream skips across the forefront of his mind, and he can still see you lying in a pool of blood, little boy lifeless in your arms. The blood, that looks just like the blood that covered the walls and the floor of his familyâs house. His momâs blood. Tommy and Bethâs. Josephâs. The blood, that looks just the same as it did when he found you unconscious a few weeks ago, smells the same as when it poured out of the wound in your stomach in Belize. The blood, the blood, the-
âSimon.â He doesnât even realize heâs breathing harshly until he hears you saying his name. âHey, Si. Simon, itâs alright.â You stroke up and down his arm, tracing a faded pattern in his sleeve. âYouâre here, in my house. In my bed. With me. There is no danger.â Â
âWith you.â
âWith me. And the baby. Weâre here, together. Weâre safe.â He turns his head, pressing his ear to your skin. Swoosh swoosh swoosh. The heartbeat soothes the frayed edges of his nerves, and the two of you sit just like that for a while, content. âShit.â You groan, the sound a low whisper, and anxiously rub your belly. He waits for what he knows is coming, the pure, sweet melody that you hum when you try to settle the baby. The once guilty pleasure, when he would stand just out of sight so he could hear it, is now a full indulgence, as heâs able to lay beside you and rub circles into your skin while you hum softly.
It doesnât come.
Instead, you gasp in surprise.
âSass? What is it?â
âI⌠I think I peed myself.â Â
âHey!â No. How did you find him so fast? âSimon, wait.â When you say his name, it jams into his brain, scrambling the signal, and forcing his steps to falter. Itâs just enough for you to catch him. âLook. I know youâre mad. I know I fucked up.â Youâre breathing heavily, probably from sprinting down the row of tents that he had ducked past, and you push your hands out in front of you like youâre trying to cage him in. âBut I made sure Gaz was alright, and I still had a job to do! Those charges were my priority, I wouldnât have split up otherwise. Simon, I understand-â He cuts you off swiftly.
âYou can address me by my call sign, Sergeant.â You startle. He looks away, looks anywhere else but your face, where your gaze waits to peel him open.Â
âWhat?â
âYou will address me as Ghost, or Lieutenant.âÂ
Youâre guarded now, expression wary, but thereâs still something hopeful in your eyes, something thatâs calling him home to you.
He has to get away. Now.Â
You take an uneasy step forward, hand extended like youâre going to touch him.Â
âSimon.â You whisper.Â
He steps back.Â
Your face falls.Â
Heâs tactical about it. The bag, the extra pillow, your shoes. A phone charger, the collection of snacks youâve been hoarding recently, like a dragon hoards their gold. He remembers everything.
Almost everything.
His phone rings when heâs buckling his seatbelt.
âSo, should I like, call an uber or are you going to help me get in the truck?â Bloody hell. He nearly beats his head against the steering wheel before heâs unbuckling and running towards the door. Youâre standing in the living room, hands on your hips, unimpressed, with a hint of a smile on your lips.
âIâm sorry, I-â you wave him off, reaching for his arm.
âCome on, you gotta boost me up.â
His eyes dart back and forth from the road, to where you sit, stone-faced in the passenger seat. Youâve been quiet since he pulled out of the driveway, the silence an uneasy thing that rests heavily between the two of you, and he reaches for your hand that lays limp on the seat.
âHowâs the pain?â
âNot too bad.â Youâre chewing on your lip, still lost in thought for a moment before you speak again. âSimon. If something happensâŚâ his blood freezes.
âNothing is going to happen.â
âWeâve never discussed it though. What to do if something goes wrong.â
âWhat do you mean?â Something has already gone wrong. Everything has gone wrong. It canât get worse. It canât.Â
âWell, if there are complications and we have to chooseâŚâ He almost pulls the truck over, his heart seizing in his chest like heâs been electrocuted. A million scenarios slam through his brain at record speed, flipping open in front of him like a picture book. Everything heâs imagined before, but worse. This time, itâs not mercs, or a stray bullet, or shadowed government assassins that take you away from him, but your own body, or a doctor, or-
No. He would not be without you if there was a choice. Not again.Â
âThere is no choice, Sass.â His voice is gruff, and you palm your belly with a gulp. âWe⌠I, would choose you. A million times. A million and one. There is no other choice⌠for me.â
âOkay.â You whisper. A tear rolls down your cheek before itâs hastily wiped away, and you turn to him with wide eyes.
âOkay.â He echoes, taking your hand in his.
You almost died. You almost died, and he wasnât there. Johnny almost died, and you almost died, and he canât stop thinking about the two of you wandering around trying to find the 141, trying to escape without a weapon, or comms, or anything. He canât stop thinking about how vulnerable you were, how close you came to being dead. Being gone. Like everyone else. Like his family.Â
The feeling fills his body with ice. It paralyzes him before panic seizes his nervous system, pouring fear into every synapse flitting through his brain.Â
His family. You could have been lost, like his family.
He barges through the door of the office, eyes wild behind the mask.
âI need her gone.â Price looks up at him, perplexed.
âWho?â
âSass. Transfer her. Put her on leave. Anything.â
âWhat are you on about?â
âI canât⌠I canât have her here. Sheâs fuckinâ with my head.â His chest feels tight, like thereâs a thousand pounds sitting on his ribcage. Itâs terror that is pumping through his veins right now, unbridled, and raw, threatening to wreck him where he stands.
âGhost, calm down.â
âI canât!â Itâs practically a shout. Heâs losing it. The empty echo of the dead radio replays over and over in his head. The image of Johnny, bleeding out, slumped against your small frame, the panic on your face, the two of you covered in blood loops repeatedly every time he closes his eyes. It melts into the memories of finding his family dead and then twists together, over and over until he thinks he might be hallucinating.Â
âTell me whatâs going on.â Price is standing now, voice calm, gesturing to the other chair. Heâs not a loose cannon, not anymore, but itâs been a long time since heâs raised his voice at the captain. Guilt swells inside him.
âIâm fuckinâ her.â He paces in front of Priceâs desk. âAnd itâs⌠Sheâs messing me up. Canât think clearly.â
âYouâre what now?â
âIâve never⌠Iâve never asked you for anything-â
âSimon-â
âand I know this is unfair. Sheâs great at her job, Price I know that. But I have the seniority. And I need ya to do this for me.â
âI canât just dismiss her. I brought her here, asked her myself.â He grits his teeth.
âPriceâŚÂ sheâŚ.â His lungs are screaming now, his breath coming in short gasps but thereâs no oxygen in this room. âItâs not⌠I canât. Itâs not safe.âÂ
âSimon, sit down.â Itâs an order, and he complies, slumping into the chair and cradling his head in his hands. âNow. Start from the beginning.â
âI know youâre disappointed.â
âYou said I would be able to try.â You doctor is sitting on a chair at your bedside, across from Simon. Sheâs wearing a very serious expression, and youâre wearing your âdonât fuck with me faceâ, the one heâs seen time and time again, before and during ops. You open your mouth to argue with her again, but a contraction steals your breath, your nails sinking into his skin like tiny razorblades.
âJust breathe.â He soothes, stroking over the crown of your head until you fall back onto your pillow, tense lines of your forehead relaxing as your eyes close.
âIf the placenta separates any further from the wall of the uterus during the rest of your labor, it could be life threatening for both you and the baby.â She doesnât handle you with kid gloves, and you lift a lid to glare at her. He swallows the chuckle in his throat. Surefire way to catch a fist in the jaw.Â
âFine.â Â The word is hissed through clenched teeth, and she pats your hand reassuringly.
âTheyâll be some paperwork to sign, and then weâll get you prepped. Nothing to eat or drink in the last six hours, right?â
âIâve been in labor for the last seven and a half hours, so no.â you deadpan, before looking longingly over to your bag of snacks. The doctor glances at him with a gentle smile.
âMr. Riley, youâll need to change, we can⌠hopefully, provide you with scrubs that fit. Weâll also give you a surgical mask, and a cap. Sound good?â He nods in thanks as she leaves, and he turns back to you, pulling the mask down to his chin to rest his cheek against your palm. You raise an eyebrow at him.
âYouâre not gonna pass out in there, right?â
âMe?â
âWell, they are going to pull my guts out.â What?  You giggle, just a little, and heave a sigh. âBut seriously. Donât faint. I donât think they have gurneys big enough for you.â
âIâve seen plenty of guts, Sass.â
âYeahâŚbut not mine.â
Price announces his presence with a knock. âHeliâs almost here.â Simon says nothing. His elbows dig into his knees, fingers rolling the elastic band between his thumb and forefinger, strands of your hair wrapping around and around the tie until they become tight, little strings that make indentations. âGhost.â He knows what Price wants. What he wants to hear. He still says nothing. âI did this for you against my better judgement.â Price says, like he doesnât already know. When Simon looks at him, he sees the weight of their decision. The shame. The guilt. And he feels it, too. âYou should say goodbye, Simon.âÂ
His voice is rough, on the verge of a scream, or something worse when he finally speaks.Â
âI canât.â
âSo, when you get in the room, youâll notice sheâs lying on a table, and thereâs a drape thatâs a visual barrier between her chest and the rest of her body.â The nurse, the super friendly one that you said you liked, is talking him through whatâs happening while he walks down the hallway next to her. Her shoes squeak a little bit against the linoleum, and he focuses on the pattern of the sound. Step squeak, step squeak, step- âNow, she canât feel anything, but C-sections can be nerve-wracking, and she got a little anxious when we got into the OR.â He nods. Of course youâre nervous. Youâre strapped to a table where theyâre about to cut a hole in your abdomen. âSheâs asked for you a few times, I promised Iâd deliver.â She gives him a wink and pushes open a door. âHere he is!â She calls cheerily, and you turn to look, eyes finding his within a second, like always.
âSimon.â You wiggle your fingers towards him, and he wastes no time, sitting in the chair that the nurse pointed to and bringing your hand to the mask, right where his lips are.
âHi sweet girl. You alright?â You nod.
âI think Iâm a little high.â
âShe had just a bit of midazolam, for the nerves.â Your doctor says from the other side of the drape.
âThatâs alright.â He smoothes some hair from your face and tries to remember to breathe. Everything about this room sets him on the edge, and thereâs a live wire running through his bones, all the way down to where his hand holds yours. There are too many people, too many lights, machines, and his skin is crawling, the desire to snatch you from the table and disappear down the hall repeating in the back of his mind, again and again. He canât stop thinking about what could go wrong, terrible scenarios that leave you dead or the baby dead, or both. They push and pull at the logical side of his brain, fighting to get through, desperate to derail him, insistent and-
You smile up at him, all sweet, a little daft from the drugs, and everything feels quiet again. The tension between his shoulder blades lets out like air from a balloon, fast and easy.
âYou ready?â He thumbs at a tear escaping from the corner of your eye. Youâre looking at him, looking beneath the mask, kicking and tearing past the pieces of Ghost until you strike true, until you reach Simon. You always do.
He pushes his forehead against yours, and breathes you in, the stench of sterile hospital and all.
âYeah, Sass. Iâm ready.â
Heâs pulling the balaclava back over his face when you bust through the door and ram right into him. He recoils, the reaction second nature, and his eyes find yours in the little bathroom mirror immediately. You step away, the room stretching too big all the sudden, the distance between his body and yours too far, and his brain stumbles over the realization. Something stutters in his chest, his breath catching when he looks at you, watching as you flail before you look away.Â
âShit! Fuck. Sorry.â You glance at the wall, then the floor, then turn to run before he figures out how to make his mouth work.Â
âYouâre alright, Sass. Iâm finished.â Youâre standing half in the hall, half in the bathroom, bleeding, and something twists in his gut. Blood and injury are not uncommon in the 141, but heâs surprised at how unsettled he feels when he sees the trickle of red on your shoulder.Â
âGet that cleaned up.â It comes out rough, like an order, and your throat bobs with a swallow.
âOkay a little bit of pressure and then youâre going to feel a lot of relief.â The doctor says and you nod, fingers pressed into his palm.
âSimon.â Your voice wavers.
âIâm right here. I got you.â He keeps his eyes trained on yours, willing himself to get lost in the hue of your irises, tuning out everything else in the room until-
A baby cries.
âCongratulations mom and dad!â Someone calls and the room spins. Mom and dad.Â
âCan I see him?â your fingers are still entrenched in his, the words watery and light.
âBreath sounds are good.â A voice says, and then thereâs a squalling baby next to him. A baby. Your baby. His.Â
âOh. Oh.â Youâre in shock, he thinks. Heâs not sure, because he might be too, and he blinks rapidly as you place a few fingers on the babyâs cheek. âHi, Theo.â You coo and cry, smiling through the tears that dot your face. The nurse says something to you, and then she places the baby on your chest, where you cradle him with your other arm, pulling Simonâs hand up towards Theoâs back for support, holding it against his skin. You glance up at him for a second, teary happiness morphing into concern, and then back before your finger lifts from Theoâs cheek to his, swiping along his cheekbone. He presses your palm to his face with his free hand, over the mask, and closes his eyes for a second.
When you pull away, your fingers shimmer under the white lights of the operating room, and the tips of them shine with something wet.
His tears.
âI donât see cabbage. What about romaine?âÂ
âNo. It has to be cabbage. Or kale! But I really prefer cabbage, and so does your kid, you know. Romaine is totally different.â You babble, and he stares at the heads of green leafed things underneath the misters, eyes scanning for the label that says cabbage.Â
âI donât see any cabbage, Sass.â A woman whoâs inspecting a shiny red pepper a few feet away from him looks over, curiously.Â
âItâs a staple food, Si. It never sells out; it has to be there.âÂ
âItâs not.âÂ
âAsk someone.â Irritation is bleeding into your voice now, and the idea of approaching a store employee makes his skin itch. Maybe he can just buy the romaine and ask for forgiveness, or go to a different supermarket. Itâs not quite midnight yet, something else could be open.Â
The woman inspecting the peppers has sidled closer to him, close enough that he can see her face turned upwards towards his, eyes studying the balaclava before she clears her throat.Â
âExcuse me?â He turns, eyes narrowed.Â
âWho is that?â your voice rings through the speaker. âIs that a woman? Ask her where the cabbage is!â He pulls the phone away from his ear and blinks down at her.Â
âThe cabbage is up here.â She says politely, pointing to the top row of light green, rounded vegetables. Nearly in front of his face.Â
âThanks.â He says roughly, but she smiles at him all the same, while you call his name over and over on the phone. âI got it.âÂ
âYes! Oh my god thank you.âÂ
âYeah, yeah. Bloody lucky I love you.âÂ
The line is silent. His heart lurches, thundering into a frantic beat that thrums through his entire body. His limbs feel numb, and he doesnât say anything else, just holds his breath. He can hear you breathing, just barely, through the phone, but it sounds like youâre trying to hold your breath, too. Like youâre listening for him.Â
âSimon-â
âI still gotta get the potatoes. See you in a bit.â The line goes dead.
âOkay, sit here.â The nurse instructs and he forces his legs to move, makes his knees bend so he can lower himself in the chair. He canât look away from what sheâs holding in her arms, the infant, the baby that is his and yours. His kid. âSkin to skin is very important for newborns. It helps regulate their heartbeat and breathing and can help maintain their temperature.â She continues, motioning for him to relax against the backrest.
âSkin to skin?â
âYes. Youâll need to take off your shirt.â He shakes his head. He canât do this. You should be doing this. Youâre his mother. Heâs⌠heâs not you. Theo wonât want him, heâll want you. He- âMr. Riley? You donât have to, but while we wait for her to get back, itâs a good opportunity for it.â
âWhat do I do?â The idea of holding Theo to his scarred chest makes him feel sick.
âOnce you take off your shirt, Iâll put Theo in your arms and cover you both with a blanket.â
âI donât thinkâŚâ
âDonât worry. Iâll show you how to hold him if thatâs what youâre worried about.â Theo cries out, a sharp, shrill sound that draws her attention downwards before she looks back up at him with an expectant expression. Skin to skin is very important for newborns. He knows you would want him to do this. He knows that you would understand too, if it was too much, if he felt too exposed. But itâs important. Theo needs this. He needs⌠his dad.Â
He pulls the scrub top over his head, careful to keep the mask in place, and leans back slowly against the chair.
âYouâre going to support his head just like this-â she moves him into the crook of his elbow, positioning his little legs and arms so that heâs laying flush against his chest. âand his body will just rest right here in this space⌠and there you go.â Simon doesnât breathe. He doesnât move, he can hardly think. He doesnât even feel her place a blanket over his body, curling it beneath where he cradles the baby. All he can see is Theo in his arms, so tiny, his eyes scrunched shut and small hand curled into a fist.
The lights in the room go dim, and he looks up, realizing that the nurse is by the door. âIâm going to give you some privacy. They should be finishing up with mom soon but thereâs a button right there, next to the bed. The red one. Press it if you need anything and one of us will be here right away. Okay?â She gives him another encouraging smile and he nods.
âOkay.â When the door clicks shut, he finally lets out the shakiest breath of his life and reaches up to pull the surgical mask from his face. Theoâs eyes arenât open, but his chest rises and falls, soothing some of the fear that has a grip on his heart. He gently touches Theoâs hand, and his tiny fingers curl around Simonâs giant one. He gets lost, staring down at the small boy. Looking at every single feature, his ears, his nose, the bow of his lips. He tries to memorize it all, the way the tuft of his hair sits, the creases of his skin around his elbows and knees, the soft pant of his breath. It fills him with emotion, so much heâs afraid it might overwhelm him, bury him beneath its weight. He knows this feeling, has felt it grow inside him since the very first day he laid eyes on you. Has watched it fight through a forest of dark and snarled roots, cutting and biting away at the things that have died and festered inside him. He knows it better than he knows himself now, knows the truth, cannot deny this knowledge that he would lay down and die for you, for Theo. He understands the pure terror that has blazed within him since that day in Belize, and he knows that he would spend the rest of his life, waiting in agony with bated breath, just to kiss you once more, or hold his child in his arms.
It terrifies him, but he knows its name. Â
He knows itâs love.
Simon leans down and brushes his lips across his sonâs forehead, gentle and light, before murmuring to him as softly as he can manage.
âHey, Theo. Iâm your dad."
The next fic in this series is here.
#simon riley x reader#simon ghost riley x reader#female reader#sassy series#simon riley#pregnant reader#simon riley x you#cod mw22 fanfiction#cod fanfic#tw pregnancy#peaches writes#ghost x reader#simon ghost riley x you#simon ghost riley#simon riley x female reader#dad Simon Riley
2K notes
¡
View notes
Text
â°â⤠18+ none of these stories belong to me! this is a masterlist of all the fanfics iâve read and reblogged! just thought it would be nice to have them all in one spot! (if your fic is on here and you wish not to be, please let me know!) some will have summaries if provided <3
ᥣđŠ how you can help palestine . fic recs m.list
@moralesispunk
â Simon is a tummy man
@guttednights
â olderboyfriend!simon
@youronlydarlin
â loser!simon
Just loser!Simon who's unknowingly a sex god
â sucking Simon's dick like crazy
Suckin Simon's dick so good he starts beggin'
â loser!simon who's unaware of just how big he is
â jus suckin simon's dick til hes overstimulated
@undercoverpena
â Keep You Close
he's pretty sure he's in love with you. not that he'll admit it, acknowledge it.
â I'm With You
he knows how he feels, he knows how she feels. yet he fucks it up all the same.
â About Someone, That Isn't You
memories that cloud reality, forcing him to blink them awayâfinding less glimmer, less shine greeting him as your eyes try to go dull.Â
@bingoboingobongo
â In His Eyes
Gaz swears that thereâs something going on between you and Ghost. Soap refuses to believe it until he sees it for himself.
@ohmygraves
â After your leave you came back with a ring
memories that cloud reality, forcing him to blink them awayâfinding less glimmer, less shine greeting him as your eyes try to go dull.Â
@peppermint-toads
â The night Simon retires
@oceantornadoo
â Simon in love
simon riley being in love but he actually just doesnât know it.
@shoukiko
â Ghost vs. Simon
@konigsblog
â hickeys w Simon
@suguann
â Husband!Simon
@slvtforsimon
â bouncing on Simon's cock
@tacticaldiary
â Capture in Tandem | Recovery in Tandem
"I'll give you a choice." He says, cocking the gun. "Shall I put a bullet through you, or her?"
â A Fighting Chance | Frayed Stitches Don't Hold
"When was the last time you kissed me and meant it?" Her voice drops into something akin to defeat.
â It All Comes Crashing Down
She presses the metal radio against her lipa and mumbles her final words, hoping that although he has not spoken, he would hear.
@halcyone-of-the-sea
â Til It Hurts | part 2
You thought that it would be easy - moving on and blazing your own trail, but at every step, memories seem to come back and haunt you. And the biggest memory takes the shape of a man with a skull mask. Can you still deny what you had always felt when he stands at your side once more?
â Harvest Storms
In the process of trying to keep you happy and separate from him, he was leading you down the exact path he had tried to steer you from.
â Another Word for Protection
Simon Riley x Niece!reader (platonic series)
â Black Metal Bourbon
â Between Dreams and Sugars
Your screams will haunt his dreams until the day he dies.
@lovelyghst
â soft tummy simon riley
@a-small-writer-in-a-big-world
â The Roomate Series
Three years ago you decided to go to college after being out of high school for so long but the only problem was that you needed a place to stay. You found an ad about someone needing a roommate for their apartment and ended up becoming roommates with a man named Simon Riley.
#codmw2#call of duty#simon riley#simon ghost riley#simon riley x reader#simon riley x you#soap might've died but at least we got to see ghost's bare hands#lets hope he can pound the sadness out of me âšď¸â¤ď¸#simon riley angst#simon riley fluff#simon riley smut
224 notes
¡
View notes
Text
Love That Bites Pt. 12
Hiii! Itâs been a while! Sorry for such a long wait, my life has been chaos non-stop with one bad thing after another, but I was determined to finish this chapter! Ď(ăťĎăťď˝ ) Forgive me if the pacing and formatting is a little off, but I finally got it done, even if I didnât get to stuff everything I wanted into this chapter. But that just leaves more for the next one. I do hope you all Enjoy!
Summary: You begin to seriously dwell on your situation, but it seems even as much as you would like to stay, home comes calling. With home on the other line, it seems your fantasy must eventually come to an end. Though it seems Dracula may want a few wordsâŚ
CW: Anxiety, budding feelings, dark thoughts, brief thoughts of murder, mentions of toxic family
Word Count: 5367 Words!
Like my work? Please consider checking me out and supporting me here: Link
Likes and reblogs appreciated!
Tag List: @tilldeathripsusapart @thedeadlynights, @pumpkinvampie @bethleeham @mshope16 @sixsixtwenty @haleypearce @rvautomatic @tinystarfishgalaxy @marshmelloe @maorizon @ursamajor17 @sapphicsfordracula @dame-sunflowers @sleepyendymion @starrlo0ver @onewiththebeanbag (iâm sorry, sometimes the @ doesnât work?? ;~; )
First: Here
Last: Here
Next: Here
â
If you were being honest, you were beginning to wonder if staying in Draculaâs castle was driving you mad.
It had only been about three days, give or take, and yetâŚ
How else would one rationally explain why you were actually enjoying your stay here at his castle? Or enjoying his visits with how tenderly the Dracula treated you?
Answer was, you didnât.
At the moment, you were pressing your face into one of the soft pillows on the bed of your room. Outside of the castle, you could faintly hear the sounds of rolling thunder, and raindrops hitting the window.
Somehow, what normally would have been an eerie atmosphere had also become a comfort for you.
You werenât as tense here. Despite being in Draculaâs castle, and that someone had already tried to kill you, you didnât feel like you were in survival mode 24/7.
Not like how you were at your old home.
Clutching the pillow closer, you inhaled the pillowâs scent, before letting out a muffled groan.
There was also something you didnât want to admit. The fact you were beginning to feel really weird about Dracula himself.
And it wasnât even a bad weird.
Itâs something you had been wanting to just shove into the back of your mind and never think of again, but it was beginning to be really hard to do that with how gentle and careful the Vampire Lord was with you.
Especially with the way he oh so gently held parts of your body when overseeing your healing injuries.
Your mind wandered to when he first picked you up, how he held you so effortlessly, holding you against his large frame as he carried you across the castle to this guest room.
Or how his large hands carefully cradled your midsection as he looked over your stitches that you had accidentally messed up. How his cool hands sent electric tingles across your skin-
Heat rushed to your face.
His voice had been so low, and those gorgeous ruby eyes looking at you with genuine concern.
And then his smirk.
How he smirked at you as he teased you, no malice to be seen on his face.
âIâm such a fucking goner, holy shit.â you mumbled into your pillow as heat flushed through your body.
You didnât dare admit it out loud, but deep down, you knew what this meant.
Heart thudding in your chest, you gripped the pillow tighter.
You had a crush on Dracula.
It wasnât something you could keep denying, not when your heart fluttered when he gave you such tender looks, or when his lips curled into an amused smirk when he teased you.
The urge to yell was strong.
âI must have really hit my head.â
Of course, that was an excuse you could only use so much until it was just a convenient lie. With the potion Dracula had made for you, the injury to your head had mostly healed.
With the injury to your skull no longer an issue, you knew deep down these feelings you had were unfortunately very natural.
Lifting your head from the pillow, you looked over to the window, idly watching a few flashes of lightning followed by thunder.
Swallowing thickly, you thought back to how he was just so⌠kind to you.
Even when he was being truthful, it was kind. Dracula didnât have to tell you that the first batch of potions had been tampered with, but he wanted to be honest with you. It was clear he was putting his cards on the table so you could make your own decisions.
When had someone last been so⌠open with you? Willingly?
Just the thought had your heart pounding.
Was it really that simple? Someone just had to show you basic kindness for your heart to grow fond of them?
Another flash of lightning struck outside the castle, and you rolled onto your side.
Your mind idly wandered to something Dracula had told you while trying to make conversation. Something about how even the weather was connected to him, to a degree.
Despite the lightning and thunder, it wasnât angry, like a beast lashing out. Not like it had been earlier.
Another part of you wondered if that heavy storm had been when Dracula found out the potions meant for you had been poisoned.
An even smaller part almost wanted to believe it, imagining how angry he could have possibly been on your behalf. Just like he had been when he broke free, how he wanted to know who had hurt you.
In truth, it was the storm earlier that had caused you to trip and tear some of your stitches.
A loud crack of lightning had shaken the castle earlier, all while you were getting up to use the restroom connected to the room you stayed in. It startled you enough to make you trip over your own feet, and collapse on the floor.
If it had been Draculaâs doing, you didnât blame him. You doubted he was aware you had been up walking when he had been so angry.
âŚAnd because of it, you got to feel his hands on your body, even if it was brief.
A moment passed.
âAm I really that down bad?â you asked yourself, eyes drifting to the ceiling.
You wanted to scream.
This was not fair. Not fair at all.
Why Dracula of all people? The very man you were âdestinedâ to fight?
Deep down, it wasnât hard to figure out the answer.
You were lonely.
Lonely, and a bit broken.
To have someone, even your biggest âenemyâ treat you with respect and kindness⌠Looking at it from an outside perspective? It wasnât particularly surprising your heart was trying to latch onto him.
It didnât make things any easier, though.
Especially when he gave you such fond looks. Looks you could almost imagine a good friend or lover giving you.
âYup, Iâm losing it.â You spoke, your eyes narrowing.
If anything, this made things way more complicated.
What on earth were you going to do now?
Youâve toyed with the idea of maybe politely asking Dracula to, you know, not destroy all of humanity in a attempt of mass genocide.
But would it be that easy?
Just because he seemed to respect you, did not mean he would give the same pardon to the rest of your kind. Especially how he didnât seem too pleased when you mentioned you got your injuries from personal business.
It wasnât a lot of info, but you had a feeling Dracula suspected it was humans that had done this to you. No doubt that wouldnât help you with pleading your case.
Still⌠You also found your mind wandering over possibly trying to talk Dracula out of killing all humans, despite the odds.
It was something you had wanted the moment you found his statue, though you never really thought youâd get this far.
Could you really do it? Convince the Lord of the Night to leave humanity be?
Perhaps you could make a compromise? You knew he had to drink blood to live, perhaps heâd be interested in the few supernatural blood drives that existed?
âŚOr even your own blood?
You quickly shook your head, trying to get the image of Dracula intimately biting into your neck out of your mind.
That image pleased you a lot more than youâd like to admitâŚ
With a huff, you brought a hand to your face, and rubbed your eyes.
âWhat was I thinking about again? Right! CompromiseâŚâ
It wasnât like you could just stop hunting, either. Even if Dracula agreed not to kill humans, that didnât mean other people who lived independently of him would follow such a lifestyle. If a beast or something of paranormal nature was out causing harm to innocent people, youâd have to put a stop to it.
But, perhaps⌠Perhaps you could convince Dracula at least to leave humanity be, unless someone personally spites him?
In that case, you could hardly feel the desire to stop him. Fuck around and find out and all that.
You would no doubt though have to give something up in return, no?
Not hunting Dracula wouldnât be enough, you were sure. The King of the Night had sworn to destroy humanity for killing his wife. You doubted he would simply just stop in his crusade because you asked nicely and swore not to kill him for it.
âPerhaps if I added his castle and the covens that follow himâŚâ
So long as his underlings werenât out hunting innocent people, you generally had no reason to hunt them. The life of someone from the paranormal was tough, that you knew from the few supernatural acquaintances you had.
Not every dark being wanted to kill, they simply had to for survival. More often than not, it was humans that didnât give them any options, hunting them down for being a dark being, or not helping them control their hunger.
On one hand, you understood the human perspective, to a degree. Why help something that needs to feed on your lifeblood to survive?
But on the other hand⌠If humanity helped them instead of scorned them, they would have no reason to hunt humans in the first place. Such as the blood banks to help feed vampires, so they were fed and didnât have to give into their instincts.
Unfortunately, those werenât incredibly popular as youâd like them to be. At least some of humanity was giving it a shot thoughâŚ
Blowing a tuft of hair out of your face, you scowled. It really was an unending battle.
Didnât help humans and many of the supernatural thought themselves above the other. No doubt if Dracula miraculously agreed not to kill humans, others would just find that stupid and do it anyway.
And you also figured others would come to hunt Dracula themselves. Even if the man agreed to leave humans alone, you doubted humans, let alone the church would take kindly to him just existing.
Hell, was his son even still alive? Alucard, you think his name was?
You had read about him from different journals of different Belmonts. It was clear the man was immortal, despite the human blood running through his veins
How the man was Draculaâs son, who had sworn to kill his father any time he should rise.
Swallowing thickly, you suddenly felt a bit sick.
Would you⌠Would you have to fight Alucard? The same man your ancestors thought so fondly of?
Somehow, that thought made your stomach churn.
You didnât even know if the man was still alive. Could he be? Could Alucard really have hidden himself, even in modern times?
Or perhaps he had put himself to eternal rest until Dracula had awakened once more? You read something about him doing that in one of Richterâs journals. Something about how Alucard awoke to the call of Castlevania after Richter had risen the castle.
You felt your heart tick up a beat. Did that mean Alucard might come here and fight Dracula himself?
Turning onto your other side, you reached out and gently gripped your whip. Its old presence brought you a small comfort.
Chances were, you donât think youâd have it in you to fight Alucard yourself.
Just like how you didnât want to fight Dracula, just a little different in reasoning.
Would Alucard even listen if you tried to tell him Dracula didnât want to kill humans? That is, if you even got Dracula to agree?
No, you doubted it would be that simple or easy.
Perhaps you could just stay out of it? Or at least try talking to him?
âHah, am I really debating this?â You whispered to yourself, thumb running over some of the grooves of the whip.
You hadnât even talked to Dracula yet about him leaving humanity alone, and here you were, thinking ahead as if you already accomplished such a feat.
Heaving a sigh, you slid the pillow out from under your head, and placed it on your face with a groan.
The weight of the world was still very much on your shoulders. Even if you didnât have to fight Dracula now, you still had a job to do.
Protect humanity.
ButâŚ
Was it really that bad you were hoping you didnât have to fight Dracula to do that?
Not just because of your complicated feelings, but would it not be better just to have him be neutral again?
If you did end up fighting and killing him, he would simply come back within a hundred years! It didnât matter what you would do, fate would no doubt put your family through the ringer once more to defeat him.
Or at least have someone step up to the challenge if not your own family. Perhaps someone from the Morris clan?
Though, if you could make him no longer a threat because he wants to stay out of it, would that not be better for everyone involved?
Of course, you could only hope it would be that easy. Your life had never been simple, and it loved to screw you over time and time again.
However, you found some of your motherâs words echoing in your head.
âExpect the worst, but hope for the best.â
Moving the pillow on your face to the side, you sighed.
âI can do that. I guess.â
You sat in silence for a few moments, idly listening to the thunder rolling overhead. You still couldnât get over how this castle seemed to have a peaceful ambience your own home seemed to lack.
A buzz brought you out of your thoughts, and your eyes narrowed.
Hand flinging to the side of the bed, you patted the sheets until you felt the familiar shape of your phone. Picking it up, you felt your heart drop into your stomach.
âWhen are u coming home? Dadâs not happy.â
Your mouth went dry, and you felt your body beginning to shake.
Thatâs right. You have been gone for several days now. It was only a matter of time before someone at home contacted you, asking where you were.
âFigures I couldnât even have a weekâŚâ you mumbled, staring at your screen with badly veiled disdain.
Putting your phone down, you ignored the urge to puke your guts up. Just thinking of heading back to your family home made you nauseous.
Especially if Jason was growing upset you were gone.
âUpset if Iâm there. Pissed if Iâm away. Bah.â
It wasnât incredibly surprising. Anytime you had injuries or were sick, you were always expected to âpick up the slackâ, as theyâd say.
Maybe theyâd leave you be for a day or two at best if it was noticeably bad. However, you never got your hopes up, especially when it came to injuries.
In their eyes, if you could walk, you could work. If not doing the dirty jobs, then you could at least clean the house while they did the ârealâ work.
A flare of irritation and anger rose in you.
Sure, you were always annoyed with them, but especially now after everything you have been through over the past few days.
Nearly dying because of your step family, having a manic episode and accidentally reviving your nemesis, said nemesis then caring for you better than anyone has before since your mother passedâŚ
And⌠you had admittedly enjoyed the past few days, even if you were in enemy territory.
Dracula kept a slight distance with you, that much was obvious. It was clear, however, he was doing so for your comfort.
Even then, he still regularly checked up on you every few hours. You could technically even leave if you wanted, he said he would not stop you or hurt you for doing so.
Just yesterday, he had offered to bring you some books if you needed them, which you had declined.
It had shocked you more than anything that he was willing to offer entertainment, though you suppose you shouldnât have been too surprised either. Declining had been a gut reaction from surprise, but you made sure to let him know you appreciated the offer.
You werenât sure you could really even read anything he gave you, given you didnât know what books he had. You would have had to see for yourself, and you didnât want to bother him about it.
Though⌠It wasnât like you could have gotten too much reading done with how much you had been sleeping and thinking. The few times you did need a distraction, you still had your phone too, which miraculously still somehow had a data connection.
Given how you were healing though⌠You wouldnât mind a book now. A bit too late to ask for it though, you supposed.
Letting out a shaky breath, you looked at your phone once more.
The text almost seemed to taunt you.
They wanted you back, after hurting you, nearly killing you. All over âtrainingâ. As if nothing had happened.
Granted, you did tell them as you left to pretend it never happened. You think. Your memory of that fight was a bit hazier than you would like to admit.
Probably bloodloss.
StillâŚ
Did they think they could just make demands? Just like that?
A part of you wanted to call Seth, the one who had texted you, and chew him out. Tell him about the hell you endured because of them, and how you almost died because they didnât give a single shit about you.
How you wanted to rip into them, unload every single thing they have done to piss you off and ruin your life.
How a part of you wanted to go home and cut them to pieces slowly and-
You froze.
The grip on your phone was tight, and you felt your breathing grow heavy.
Carefully, you put your phone down on the bed, and took a deep breath.
You were angry, but you hated when those thoughts began to show. It never led to a good place mentally when you thought about killing them.
It wouldnât be worth it.
Even if you did feel a sick satisfaction from it, which you know you would have, you would still suffer.
Being a Belmont only protected you from the law so much. The city you lived in didnât know what went on behind closed doors. To the city, your little step family did everyone a favor by keeping the âbeastsâ away.
If you killed them, you would be arrested. You would lose everything you worked hard for.
Your home, your heirlooms, your whip.
Sure, you could survive on the run for a while⌠But it wouldnât be worth it.
The whole reason you put up with those jackasses was because you wanted to keep your home safe. You couldnât exactly do that if you couldnât go home.
Life really sucked right now.
But at least⌠you found temporary peace.
Idly, you clutched your phone again, wondering if you should answer Seth, or ignore him like you wanted to.
Given just looking at your screen and seeing the message made pricks of anxiety and frustration bloom in your chest, you decided to ignore it for now.
You couldnât ignore it forever. Things would get worse if you did, and you already dreaded what the house must look like since youâve been gone.
No doubt Jasonâs attitude has been foul, you wouldnât be surprised if he took it out on your home, just for you to clean up.
Scowling, you let out a small noise of annoyance.
After another moment, you decided to sit up. The soft sheets slid to your hips, and you winced as some weight shifted to a wound.
Hand twitching, you resisted the urge to open your bandages to look at your injuries.
Most were beginning to heal rather nicely since Dracula had brought you a potion. However, you still had a long way to go before you were fully recovered.
At the very least, maybe it wouldnât be that long if Dracula truly intended to keep having potions made for you.
Yet another concept that floated around in your head that still managed to surprise you.
Itâs almost funny. If you had been any other Belmont, you were certain you probably would have been mocked and tortured for having injuries. You doubted he would have extended the same kindness as he had you.
This didnât help the fuzzy feeling in your chest when you thought about him, in an odd way.
You were special to Dracula, at least right now you were.
He wanted you alive for now. Alive and well.
Wringing your hands close to your chest, you tried not to sigh again.
What were you going to do?
As you tried once again to think over your options, your eyes caught your figure in one of the mirrors in the room. One near a dresser meant to look over outfits, you presumed.
Though you couldnât help but scrunch up your face when you noticed your reflection.
You looked awful. Felt it too, even if your injuries were doing better.
Despite this, Dracula still treated you so gently, and with respect.
As you were deep in your musings, you ended up jumping a bit when you heard the familiar brisk knock at your door.
You knew right away who it was, having memorized just how particular Dracula had been knocking on your door.
Perhaps it was on purpose? A knock you would grow to recognize in case someone else knocked on your door?
Regardless, you didnât keep him waiting, telling him to come in.
You would admit though, you never got over the slight surprise you had as he entered your room each time.
His presence alone was intimidating, even as he made a point to try and not be as such. How he seemingly called for attention as he entered a room, even if he didnât utter a word.
It was both impressive, and you werenât entirely sure how to feel about it.
Nervous? Sure. Into it? You had to mentally smack your brain a little to avoid your thoughts going in that direction as he was in the same room as you-
âGood afternoon.â He spoke as he closed the door behind him, his voice deep and quiet. You know for a fact he had a voice that could lead an entire army, or gently put you to sleep.
A dangerous voice, one you liked a bit too much.
-Nodding to him, you gave him a small smile. It was strange, how relaxed you were becoming around him with each visit.
A part of you still yearned for it to never end.
But your phone weighed heavy in your hand, a solid reminder you couldnât stay. Unspoken consequences idly rolled around in your head, which was beginning to make you grow queasy.
Draculaâs eyes seemed to see through you, and you wondered if he could read your mind with how his gaze seemed to look at your very soul.
You certainly hoped he couldnât read your mind, otherwise things would be pretty awkward with all the suggestive thoughts you have been mentally fighting off with a bat that floated through your head.
Thankfully, Dracula didnât say a thing about that, simply sitting down in the chair you decided to keep next to your bed.
âAre you feeling well? Has the potion helped?â
He asked, bringing you out of your thoughts.
Heart pounding slightly, you smiled a bit wider.
âYes! It has helped tremendously. My head no longer feels as if someone hit it with a hammer, and Iâm mostly just sore at this point.â
Granted, that didnât mean you were out of the woods yet. Your pain tolerance was higher than most. Just because you felt better, didnât mean you were greenlit to go do any serious activities or hunting.
Despite your inner musings, Dracula seemed pleased.
âGood, goodâŚâ
He then reached into his cloak, and pulled out what you assumed to be another bottle filled with potion.
It had been a little while since he gave you that first dose, so it should be safe to consume more..
Potions could be taken in large quantities, but it wasnât exactly recommended.
The concoctions filled a personâs stomach, but didnât offer any nutritional value other than healing wounds. It could even make a person sick if consumed too much without a break or food in between major doses.
Not that it stopped you before. You didnât exactly have the luxury of being picky at home when constantly fighting illness and injury. Growing sick from too much potion was a risk you often had to take.
You decided to keep that thought to yourself as you took the bottle from Draculaâs hands.
âIf your healing continues to progress, you should be completely healed in less than a week. Maybe even sooner once those other potions are finished.â Dracula spoke, drawing your attention back to him.
A week? You didnât think you had that kind of time. Youâd probably need to be home at most, three days from now.
Dracula gave you an odd look.
âIs that not satisfactory?â
You blinked, eyes widening slightly.
âOh, no! That⌠that isnât the issue at all. Itâs⌠Itâs justâŚâ you stumbled over your words, running a hand through your hair as you tried to figure out how to explain without seeming unthankful.
Dracula remained patient, letting you figure out what to say. His gaze was cool, yet curious.
A part of you also swore you saw amusement as you fumbled your sentences together.
Nervously, you began to wring your hands together, and fiddle with your shirt.
ââŚI just⌠Iâm uh, Iâm expected to be home soonâŚâ
Dracula raised a brow at your small explanation.
Immediately, you also felt the temperature of the room drop. Enough to make the hair on your neck stand on end, and send a shudder down your spine.
You hoped you hadnât pissed him off by saying thatâŚ
The gaze on Draculaâs face shifted, going from barely concealed amusement, to something⌠darker.
Old instincts began to wake, and you seriously hoped this wouldnât be the end of the small little bit of peace you have had up until now.
The last thing you wanted was a fight.
An intimidating silence took hold of the room, and you forced yourself not to reach for your whip out of nerves. After a few moments, Dracula then broke said silence.
âThis home of yoursâŚâ
He leaned close to you, his eyes bearing into your own.
ââŚIs it the same place where you received these injuries?â
For a moment, it felt as if the wind had been taken out of your sails.
ââŚHuh?â
You were confused. Was he⌠not upset with you?
Dracula tilted his head, those same ruby eyes flickering over where you were still injured.
âForgive me for being presumptuous, but is that not where you were attacked? Was it within your own home?â
The question had your eyes wide.
âI uh-â
Dracula leaned back, though the odd feeling in the room didnât settle.
âOf course, you donât have to answer. But if I am right, is it that pressing to return before you are fully healed to handle whoever, or whatever dealt such blows?â
His questions had you pausing, and you felt your mouth run dry.
If you didnât know any better, youâd say Dracula seemed apprehensive about you returning home where you were hurt.
Almost as if he cared.
The very thought had your mind whirring in overdrive. If someone had told you months ago that Dracula himself seemed to care about you, you would have laughed in their face.
But with everything he has done for you⌠was it really that far fetched?
If anything, you could at least argue heâd hate to see all the hard work done in healing you go to waste, but you were certain it was more than that.
Again, not good for your conflicted feelings on Mr. Lord of the Night himself.
Rubbing the back of your head with a sigh, you felt yourself droop a little.
âItâs⌠complicated, but yes. I have to return home soon, or things might get messy.â
The very thought of what might happen if you disappeared too long left a sour feeling in your stomach.
Your eyes flickered up to meet his, and he held your gaze for a few moments.
ââŚI assume you canât put this off then? That it must be urgent?â He asked, his voice low.
Nodding, you tried to keep holding his gaze, not wanting to seem weak about it.
âUnfortunately. I⌠I risk a lot if I wait too long.â
Draculaâs eyes narrowed on you, before he closed them with a sigh.
âLike I have mentioned before, you are my guest here. You are free to leave at any point you wish, nor are you to be attacked as you do so. HoweverâŚâ
Your head tilted slightly, heart picking up at the end of his sentence. However�
âAre you⌠certain this is wise? That there is nothing else that can be done?â
Shaking your head, you finally looked away.
ââŚWill you be hurt again?â
You stayed silent, telling Dracula all he needed to know, even if you refused to elaborate.
Why bother making an empty promise? Even if you donât get hurt this time when you head home, what about the next? You knew all too well it was practically a waiting game until you were sick or injured again.
With your silence, the room somehow became increasingly colder.
Daring to look up, you were surprised to see the red of his eyes glowing slightly, much like how he had found you.
He really didnât seem to like the implications you left him with.
But what could you say?
âYeah, my step family might try to beat the shit out of me or leave me the rotten leftovers to eat, or even make me do the yucky missions. No doubt Iâll be injured or sick again by the end of the month!â
Yeah⌠that probably sounded a bit pathetic. Some Belmont you were, allowing your own âfamilyâ to use you as a punching bag.
Dracula eventually let out a sigh, and reached up to pinch the bridge of his nose. He looked frustrated. Or worried? You couldnât be too sure.
A moment passed. Then another. You werenât entirely sure what to say.
Another sigh left his lips, and when he moved his hand to look at you, his eyes briefly glowed once again, before returning to their same ruby red they were before.
The room remained cold, though the look in his face wasnât quite as scathing or irritated.
âVery well then. It seems this is personal and important to you. Whenever you wish to leave, I will personally escort you out of the castle.â
A part of you grew warm and fuzzy at that. And they say chivalry is dead.
However, before you could bask in that warm, fuzzy feeling, his voice rang out once more.
âBefore you leave however, we have much to discuss.â
You blinked.
âHuh?â
As if a switch had been flipped, his entire posture seemed to shift.
His back was up straighter, and he crossed his legs. He then rested his elbow on the arm of the chair, resting his head on his fist.
His eyes seemed to sharpen as his gaze then zeroed in on you.
Your mouth went dry.
It was as if his entire demeanor changed.
Hair on your neck stood on end, and out of nowhere, it was as if a stone settled uncomfortably in your stomach.
âYou had mentioned wishing to talk back when I was⌠imprisoned. If you are going to leave, I imagine you would wish to discuss this before you do so.â
You felt your blood run cold.
Ah. That.
Now you understood why his demeanor had changed so much in a matter of seconds.
No longer were you just talking to Dracula, your polite host.
You were now discussing terms with Dracula, King of the Night.
#castlevania#vlad dracula tepes#dracula#dracula x reader#castlevania x reader#x reader#reader insert#vlad dracula ČepeČ#reader x dracula#zed.writes#love that bites#belmont!reader#long post
225 notes
¡
View notes