#let him be broken beyond repair
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elementaldoughnut12 · 6 months ago
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Made this as an offering to the wrestling gods for Hangman to come back tonight!
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cybertron-smash-or-pass · 6 months ago
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TFA Arachnus Prime
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eraenaa · 7 months ago
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Unexpected Affections
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Aemond Targaryen x Tyrell Reader Tag List
Synopsis: With just a smile, you had managed to bewitch and enthrall the stoic and cold prince. 
Warnings: Sunshine x Grumpy Trope, ¿Softer Aemond?, ¿Simp Aemond?, Jealousy, Mature, 18+, Fingering, P in V Sex, Oral Sex (f receiving), Overstimulation, Not Proof Read
Word Count: 7,287
A/N: Really milking softer Aemond bc I'm pretty sure I'm going to take a break from him once s2 is released.
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He’s broken beyond repair. Too far gone to be saved. Aemond knew fully well that is how the others see him. The boy who had his eye taken was never the same. Darkness was his only solace, the walls too far up that no one dared to scale it and reach the true him— simply taking the dark and villainous scrap of his true self that he was willing to give. All seemed to give up on him— simply let him drown in his darkness, except you. 
Like all things good, you came unexpectedly. You were a mere visitor from Highgarden, a noble lady who came with your lord father as he tended to business in the capitol. Aemond could never understand how you looked at everything and everyone with rose-colored glasses, but he supposed he should be grateful because if that trusting naivety in you were lost, your light would never come close to his looming darkness. 
“Who is that?” Aemond asked his family’s most trusted knight, Ser Criston Cole. Your figure caught his attention; it was as if you were floating along the gardens of his home. A small smile on your face and flowers adorned in your hair. He stood near the balcony, discussing important business with the knight, when his train of thought was lost and captured by your mere presence. “Lady Tyrell, her father has business here with the crown,” the knight said absentmindedly. Aemond nodded and took one last glance at you before walking away. 
The thought of you was quickly forgotten by the prince. He saw your presence as just another to add to the list of nobles at court who cowered upon his stature. However, you lingered in the back of his mind as he often saw glimpses of you walking through the halls of his home. Aemond stood in the gardens once more, this time waiting for his sister and her children when he caught your eyes. He waited for fear and apprehension to present themself in your orbs, the same reactions he would elicit from everyone. However, the prince was taken aback as you smiled at him. A small, respectable smile before you stole your eyes and continued to your promenading.
Aemond blinked his eye rapidly, trying to discern if he saw correctly or if it was a cruel trick made by his impaired vision. Aemond pursed his lips as he felt himself walk towards where you had passed. There was this odd pull about you— more than your beauty; if it was just that, a comely face was never one to put the prince in a trance. It was an ethereal element that beguiled Aemond quickly. He had not even spoken to you, yet you had already managed to put such an effect on him. 
He watched from a distance as you bent down and assessed a flower, your fingers caressing the velvety petal and bringing it to your nose to discern the fragrance of it. Aemond felt that pull once more, his feet carrying him closer to you. When you stood straight, your brows raised in surprise as you had noticed you were no longer alone. “My prince,” You greeted with a curtsy, his silvery locks the warning sign that you spoke to royalty. Aemond was rendered silent, his mind already spinning at the sound of your voice. What was this? He could not explain what had overcome him. You bit your lip as no greeting left the prince’s lips, him only staring at you with an unreadable expression on his angular face. “Are… are you well, my prince?” You asked, daring to step closer and take hold of his arm to examine if he was truly well. 
You watched as his lips parted and closed, no sound leaving it. “Perhaps you should find some shade; the heat may be too unbearable,” You say quietly and never take your hold off his arm, guiding him towards the shade of a willow tree in concern. Aemond was screaming at himself on the inside, hating that he was making a fool of himself, that he couldn’t even speak, simply letting you guide him towards the shade and making him sit on a bench. Your concern for his well-being consumes your face and his being. “Do you wish for refreshment, perhaps w—“ Aemond shook his head as he finally regained his senses. 
You chewed on your cheek as the prince stood. “I am fine; I apologize for the— the intrusion, Lady Tyrell,” He said stoically, and you shook your head and smiled at him. “No need for apologies, my prince; no intrusion was made. But are you certain that you are well… you look a bit pale, my prince.” You say and quickly regret it as your mind reminds you that maybe that was just his true complexion. You swallowed thickly as you saw him pursed his lips, fearing that you had offended the prince. Aemond did not know how to take this concern— this kindness that he was never the receiver of. “I am quite well; good day, my lady.” He walked away in haste as he feared that if he stayed longer in your presence, he would make a further fool of himself. You stood there in confusion; your lips parted as the prince almost ran from you. 
The thought of you haunted Aemond until the night, his arm still tingling from where you had placed your touch. He replayed the scene in his mind over and over again, trying to convince himself that your concern was fictitious— that it was a ploy to be in the good graces of the prince. But as he recalled the way your eyes bore into his, nothing but sincerity was evident in your orbs. How are you this kind? To a stranger, no less. Aemond was restless as he lay in his bed; his mind kept conjuring your interaction in the gardens, refusing him any other thought than you. 
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When morning came, Aemond had made great lengths to avoid you, silently embraced as he had made a fool of himself in the gardens. As his training ended, Aemond tried to find reprieve from the loud keep in the library. Aemond believed he was successful in his avoidance of you, but as he stood by the threshold of the silent room, he saw, as you were seated in one of the chairs, a book in your hand as you silently read. His presence was still not noticed. He could easily slip away and be successful in his avoidance of you, yet, just like the other days, his body could not help but be pulled towards you. 
When you noticed a presence standing before where you sat, you flickered your gaze upward and locked eyes with the prince once more. “Prince Aemond,” You acknowledge and move to stand to greet him, but he silently raises his hand and hinders your actions. You copied his silence as he took the seat across from you. You traveled your gaze through the library, uncertain what to say or do. “I hope you are feeling better,” You say quietly. Aemond licked his lips as he was subjected to your dazzling presence once more; even though he had willed himself to avoid it, it seemed you were inevitable. 
“I am; I was simply tired,” He said, making certain to place coldness in his tone, hoping it would deter you and no longer present him with your kindness he stubbornly took as deception. Aemond felt his breath catch as you gave him another smile. A relieved smile for his well-being that was so genuine that he could not stubbornly convince himself that it was not. 
You stayed silent as you felt that that was what the prince preferred. You tried to return to your reading, but his velvety voice sounded through the room. “What business did you have here?” He asked. Aemond was testing you, presenting you with his cold and calloused self to see if it would have any effect on you just like it did the other. He watched calculatingly as your lips parted, and he found trouble to remove his gaze from your plush lips. “If I am being honest, I am not quite certain, my prince.” You said truthfully. You watched him raise his brow at you to explain further. “My father has business he needed to tend to here, but he had not disclosed to me the reason for it or why I needed to join.” Aemond nodded and watched as your eyes were never removed from his gaze, surprised that you could hold onto his intensified stare. 
“So you have no purpose here?” He asked harshly. He expected a frown or a look of offense on your face, but he watched as you smiled as if you were amused and shrugged, “I suppose not.” Aemond stayed silent and continued to asses you as you returned to your reading. 
“Do you like philosophy, Prince Aemond?” You asked after a stretch of silence, unable to bear the eerie and suffocating quiet. Aemond took a moment before he answered your query that no one had been interested in asking him before. “I do,” Another small smile appeared on your lips as you nodded. “Then have you perhaps read this? I have been mulling over the proposition of the archmaester for days now, but I cannot seem to comprehend it fully,” You say and turn the book you read towards him. Your fingers brushed as the prince took the book from your hands, and you could not hinder the chill that ran down your spine as you felt his cold, calloused fingers against yours. 
You listened earnestly as the prince began to speak and explain the proposition you had trouble comprehending, going to great lengths to explain his thoughts on it, assisting and receiving any questions you had. Aemond paused in his explanation, feeling as if his mouth had gone dry by his prolonged speaking. He turned to the window and saw as the once high sun began to set; he returned his gaze to you, your chin resting on your palm as you had listened to his every word, clinging onto every syllable he had uttered. Aemond gulped as he realized his mistake. He had revealed too much of him; too much of his thinking was poured out in his explanation of philosophy. “I must take my leave,” he suddenly said, disregarding that he was in the middle of explaining another philosophical theory that was different from the first you had inquired about. 
“Oh,” You said and straightened in your seat. Aemond wanted to frown as he detected disappointment in your tone and eyes. That cannot be, can it? Why would anyone be disappointed in his departure? “Good day, my prince,” You curtsied as you stood, not wanting to take more of his time. Aemond began to walk away, cursing himself for his actions, but he halted by the door as you spoke. “Thank you for your explanations… they were quite enlightening,” You said, and Aemond turned to you; the smile returned to your lips as you looked at him gratefully. Were you truly thankful? Thankful for him? Was that even a possibility? Aemond gave a curt nod and willed himself to walk away from you. 
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You were in the gardens once again. You were terribly homesick, and the gardens of the Red Keep were the only resemblance of your home that you could cling to. You were walking distractedly, a buzzing bee following you around as the flowers in your hair attracted the insect. You tried to squat it away, afraid to get stung when you accidentally missed a step, losing your balance, and were met with the cobbled floor of the gardens. Your jaw slacked in pain, and you tried to stand, your cheeks burning in embarrassment that someone may have seen your ungraceful fall. There was a stone by your side, and you tried to hoist yourself upon it, hissing as you accidentally placed pressure on your swollen ankle, but you were determined to stand and walk back to the keep to ask for assistance.   
Unbeknownst to you, Prince Aemond had been observing you from above the gardens, and the moment he saw the sight of you falling, he made hastened steps to reach you. “My lady,” He called, trying to hide his panting, and approached you as if he had only stumbled upon your presence. You sat before a rock, and he noticed you hiding your injured limb from his view, “My prince,” Aemond watched in slight awe as you still tried to stand and curtsied before him, still holding onto formalities even though you were clearly hurt. 
“Are you well?” This time, it was now Aemond to ask the question. You placed a tight smile on your lips, pretending that your injury was not at all bothering you. “I am fine, and you, my prince?” You asked, trying to speak of pleasantries. You shifted your weight on your uninjured leg and, for once, hoped that the prince would leave. “Are… are you certain?” Aemond inquired, wondering why you would pretend. “Y-yes,” You stuttered, and Aemond narrowed his eye. 
You sighed and placed your head on the ground. “I… I tripped, and I think my ankle is injured— but I do not wish to bother you, my prince. I can wait for the swelling to subside.” Aemond frowned at your words. How were you so concerned about his well-being but not your own? Aemond shook his head and stepped closer to you, silently scooping you in his arms. “Wh— My prince!” You said in shock as you were stiffly settled into the hold of Prince Aemond. Your arms circled around his neck to stabilize yourself. “You don’t— I could have just waited for a squire or maid to assist me,” You said in a slight panic and could not even bear to look at the prince in embarrassment. “You are clearly in pain,” Was all he said as he carried you back inside the castle walls, the both of you earning strange glances from the members of the court. 
Aemond returned you to your assigned chambers, trying to ignore the erratic beating of his still heart and the tingles on his skin from where he felt your touch. He placed you gently onto a settee, inhaling a whiff of your scent, and he felt intoxicated. He placed a respectable distance between you as the both of you waited for the maester he ordered a squire to fetch. Your gaze was still planted on the floor, and Aemond noticed the flush on your cheeks and the harsh bit you had on your lip, embarrassment clearly evident in you. 
“I did not wish to bother you, my prince.” You say quietly, your tone heavy with guilt. Aemond could only hum a response, clueless as to why you were apologizing. The maester finally arrived, and Aemond stood by the side as he oversaw the maester, tending your injury. You tried to keep your pained reactions to a minimum as you felt conscious of the prince’s presence, but you could not help but hiss in pain, and your face contorted in discomfort as the Maester tried to move your injury. Aemond swallowed thickly as he himself was overcome with a phantom pain by the mere observation of yours. 
“Will it heal, maester?” He asked in concern, stepping forward. “Yes, my prince, it is only a swollen ankle; it shall heal by the morrow,” The old man spoke and stood, placing a cold, damp towel upon your injury, and you reached forward to secure its place. Aemond gave a nod, and his eye followed the maester who exited your chambers, leaving the door open. Aemond returned his gaze to you, your eyes finally meeting his, and he once again felt his breath caught in his throat as you smiled at him. 
“Thank you for your assistance and kindness, my prince,” You say gratefully, and Aemond felt his knees weak. No one had ever called him kind before. As always, you were met with his silence, but you dared say you were getting used to it. After a few moments of Aemond trying to comprehend your words, he gave a curt nod. “I shall leave you to rest; good day, my lady.” He said and willed himself to walk away from your presence he did not wish to leave. 
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Another day had passed, and Aemond had not seen a glimpse of your presence he had been trying to avoid just the day before. He had the urge to knock upon your door and to see how you were faring with your recovery, but he placed great restraint on himself as his mind deemed it inappropriate. So he waited another day. He stood by the gardens, his eye assessing every passerby as he waited for you. He had been stood by the balcony like a statue for the better part of the morning, but your presence had not been noted. 
Aemond decided to walk around the castle, passing along every corridor in search of you and ready to act surprised as you two would eventually encounter once more. It was nearing sundown, and he had not seen a glimpse of you. Perhaps she is still resting. His mind told him, but Aemond was not entirely sold by that reasoning. 
The prince attended his family’s supper in his mother’s chambers. He sat quietly in his seat and saw the aggravated and tired faces of his mother and grandsire as they came to the table late. “We apologize for our tardiness; the small council has been overburdened by a matter.” The queen explained as she took her seat. “What matter?” Aemond asked, always curious about the dealing made. “The crown cannot afford to pay the dues it owes to House Tyrell… it is too great a sum, and the lord has threatened to withhold back crops for the upcoming winter if we do not pay their price.” The hand spoke, and Aemond pursed his lips, knowing that the debt to your house had been since the time of the conqueror. 
“Surely they could be reasoned with— they would not want to offend the rulers of Westeros,” Aemond said quietly and heard his mother sighed deeply. “Perhaps, but no meetings and negotiations can be made at the moment, for they had already left late last night.” Aemond’s hold on his fork tightened as he heard the words. You had gone without even a goodbye.
“I just do not know what we can offer to match their hefty sum,” the lord hand said and downed his wine. Aemond traveled his gaze around the table, his sibling not at all listening to the matter. “Offer me,” Aemond spoke, and he felt all eyes shift toward him. He turned to his mother, the queen’s lips agape in shock at his words. “The crown does not have money to pay our debt— then is it not a custom to offer marriage instead?” He asked rhetorically; the practice was made for centuries, but the price was usually paid with a princess, not a prince. 
“Aemond, mere debts are not paid with a prince.” The queen said. “But it is not just a mere debt, now is it, mother? The Tyrells had as well placed a threat to the kingdom’s security over this winter— and the mere debt you speak of has been established since the age of the conqueror,” Aemond turned to his grandsire, who he knew would understand his proposition. The Hand pondered over his grandson’s words. “But you are set to marry the Baratheon girl,” Alicent countered, and Aemond scoffed. 
“We owe nothing to the Baratheons, and do you not think that this matter looms greater?” He asked, “Lord Tyrell only has a daughter, does he not? In time, the seat shall pass onto me as well, alike with the arrangements with Lord Borros. And with this, the crown will no longer be indebted to their house,” Aemond said, determined to see you once more. “That is a most favorable solution,” The hand commented, quite content by his grandson’s proposition. The queen sighed and took a moment to think of the proposal. “Very well then,” she sighed, and Aemond hindered the smirk threatening to slip his lips. 
“I shall draft the proposal tonight and send a messenger to Highgarden first thing tomorrow,” Otto said in finality. “No need, I shall offer the proposal myself in person,” Aemond said, and he saw apprehension in his mother’s eyes, disbelief by his decision, but none hindered him. 
It was afternoon the following day when he had reached High Garden, Aemond riding atop his dragon through the morning, eager to reach his destination, you. “My prince,” Lord Tyrell greeted him by the gates of their castle. “What business is so urgent that the prince of the realm had to fly his dragon all over here to the reach?” They had not even reached inside the castle walls when Lord Tyrell could no longer hinder his curiosity. 
“It is the matter of the crown’s debt,” Aemond replied, his eye scanning the halls in search of you. He heard your father reply with an ‘oh,’ clearly anticipating the conclusion of the matter. “Is the crown ready to pay us the price owed?” Aemond hummed as he passed a portrait of you hung on the wall of your home, his eye entranced by the picture. “In a way,” The prince danced upon the matter momentarily. “In lieu of a payment, the crown is prepared to offer a marriage,” Aemond stated and watched concussion flush over your father’s face. 
“With respect, my prince, but that is an insulting offer. The crown has owed my house a great sum accumulated since the age of conquest!” Lord Tyrell seethed, and Aemond gritted his jaw. “I believe you are too hasty with your outburst, my lord. The crown is offering a union between me and your daughter— an opportunity for your only child to be a princess… your grandchildren having the Targaryen name.” Lord Tyrell shook his head, “My daughter is already bound to marry another— titles are one thing, my prince, but there is still a debt to be paid.” Aemond felt the fire in his veins awaken at your father’s words. You are to be bound to another; that cannot be. You cannot be anyone else’s when you had consumed his entire being— when you had presented him with such hope and kindness that he was certain he would find in no one else. You could never be not his. 
Aemond licked his lips, certain that the words he would utter would be a gamble. “Very well then… a counteroffer, my lord. The crown cannot fully pay your price, so we offer a royal marriage and a fourth of the sum owed to you,” Aemond said, assessing the father's reaction as he mulled over the proposition. “I shall need time to reach a decision,” Lord Tyrell finally spoke after a long pause. “Of course,” Aemond agreed. “For the meantime, you are welcome to the halls of High Garden, Your Highness.” 
Aemond waited as your father disappeared from his view before he went on his search for you. He walked through the unfamiliar corridors and found himself being led outside towards the gardens where he wagered you would be. When he saw you seated by a fountain, a smirk curled on his lips. However, it was quick to fade as he had noticed you were not alone. Aemond made furious steps towards you to announce his presence. 
You were conversing with another when you felt your skin tingling and the familiarity of a cold gaze upon you. You turned to your side, and your eyes widened as you saw the prince approaching. You blinked slowly, trying to discern if your mind was playing a cruel trick. But when the prince stood an arm’s length away from you, where you could see him clearly, you knew that it was not a trick. “My prince,” You say almost breathlessly, curtsying lowly before the son of the king. 
“How… what brings you here, your highness?” You asked, disregarding the earlier presence you were with. “Business for the crown,” He replied, eyeing the man who stood beside you. You turned your eyes toward where the prince placed his gaze intensely. “Oh, my prince, this is Prince Martin Martell,” You introduced, and you felt Martin stepped forward and bowed. “Martell? Are you not a long way from Drone?” Aemond gritted as he let out his hand to shake the prince’s hand. He wanted to smirk as he saw the man’s tanned face twist into a wince before quickly masking it. “Yes, my prince, I come as a suitor for my lady,” He explained, and Aemond pursed his lips at his words. 
You licked your lips as you suddenly felt the fresh air become tense, “Would anyone like some tea?” You suddenly interrupted the intense gazes of the two princes, walking in between them as you made your way toward a nearby table that had the afternoon’s refreshments. Aemond tapped his finger on the table, his eye shifting between you and your intended whilst you poured tea into everyone’s cup. “If I may ask, what business warrants your presence here, Prince Aemond?” Prince Martin inquired, and Aemond reluctantly shifted his attention from you, who was licking sugar from your fingers. 
“A proposal for House Tyrell,” he said bluntly, swallowing thickly as your lips parted at the mention of your house. “What proposal, if I may ask,” Your turn to inquire. Aemond licked his lips and debated if he should give you the true manner of his visit. “A proposal for you, my lady, to be a princess of Westeros.” You feel dazed by his words, your body freezing in shock, and you seem to forget how to breathe. 
Aemond looked at you expectantly, trying to search for any reaction in your eyes other than the pronounced shock. You were saved from his expectation of a reply when you heard your father calling for you. “I— excuse me, my princes,” You say in a haste and hurriedly went to your father’s call. 
“What is happening— the prince just informed me of his proposal— in front of Prince Martell!” You panicked, recalling the scene to your father with wide eyes. You watched as your father paused his lips, an aggravated sigh leaving his nose. “Bold of him to inform you of such proposals when I had not even given him my reply.” You shook your head and warily turned to the gardens, where you saw two princes seated by a distance. 
“Where did this proposal come from? I… I do not understand,” You whispered, recalling your days in the Red Keep; the moments with the prince that you tried to sell to yourself were meaningless to him. However, you supposed you sold yourself with a lie because those moments were enough for him to ask for your hand. Hope was dangerously blooming in your heart, emotions, and festering feelings you tried hard not to succumb to for the past days, now inevitable. 
“The proposal comes because the crown cannot pay the debt due to us… instead, they are offering a marriage between you and the prince and a fourth of the sum owed,” The hope that was dangerously blooming and had rooted itself in your heart quickly wilted, willing yourself not to show disappointment on your face. “Oh,” Was all you could utter. “What is your decision then?” You asked quietly as your father guided you further into the walls of your home. 
“Your courtship with Prince Martell has been settled for three years since your sixteenth name day, but no formal betrothals are in place, and we are in no obligation to the Martells,” Your father stated as you two walked along the corridors. “But Sunspear is a long way from here,” Your father added, “And though Kingslanding is closer, and if I were being honest, I would prefer you to be a princess of the whole of the seven kingdoms rather than just Dorne,” You twirled with your hair as you listening into your father’s musing. “But this marriage is just a way out of their hefty debt,” You nodded along and waited for your father to decide. 
“So? Which one of them?” You asked as you needed an answer, your nerves growing unbearable. Your father took in a deep breath, “I shall leave that decision to you… it is you who shall marry one of them; the money is not truly that much of a concern— it was simply a bargaining tool for the crown to remember how indebted they were to us,” Your father explained, and your lips parted as you were given a daunting task. 
“Can I speak with Prince Aemond for a moment? I… it is— I need to speak with him,” you say, and your father gives the nod, “I shall have him meet you in the drawing room,” You waited nervously for the prince, your mind running as to what to say to him. You stood when the prince entered the room, your lips parting, ready to speak something you were uncertain of, but Prince Aemond spoke first. 
“I know this is quite abrupt,” Aemond spoke and dared to step close to you, trying not to grow distracted by your mere ethereal presence. “It is my prince,” You agreed. “Could I just ask why?” Aemond frowned at your words; it was quite a straightforward proposal. “The crown owes your house,” He said matter of factly, “I know, but we ask for coins or land but not a marriage,” Aemond licked his lips, “And I am aware that the marriage is a substitute. However, you would understand that no one would be that inclined to accept a proposal just because the one giving the proposal is in debt.” 
“Is this a rejection?” Aemond took another step, closing most of the gap between you. He was aware that he was scowling severely, scarily even, but you did not seem to be frightened, a first for anyone he had encountered. “More of a question,” Aemond’s brows raised at your words. “Well, it’s clear that this proposal is just an obligation for you, and if I am being honest… I prefer someone who would not see a mere business dealing.” 
“All marriages are business dealings,” You pursed your lips at the prince’s words. “I supposed they are… but not every marriage is just a business dealing.” Aemond licked his lips, and the both of you were enveloped in silence. “I guess what I’m saying is… I would not feel inclined to choose someone who proposes because it is their obligation,” You say slowly, surprised that you managed to come across your answer. If it were any other situation where the crown was not indebted to your house, you would accept the proposal eagerly, but your heart idealistic heart yearned for someone who wanted you truly and did not see you as a mere opportunity. 
“My lady, I think you have gotten the wrong idea here,” You furrowed your brows as all were clear to you. The proposal was just an obligation… isn’t it? “No one forced me into this proposal; the queen could not find a solution. This marriage had not even crossed her mind— I…” Aemond passed as you waited on bated breath for his explanation. “I have offered the marriage not because of duty or a way for the crown to escape their debt but because… I— I want you. I want you to be my wife.” 
You looked at him with clear apprehension, and Aemond actually believed that you would flash him your sweet smile— perhaps a blush on your cheeks as he had said words so unlike him. “You want me?” You asked incredulously, and Aemond nodded, boldly taking your hands into his. “But why? We barely know each other?” You asked. Frowning as your eyes go downwards toward your hands clasped with the prince’s cold ones. “Why?” Aemond asked in disbelief you would ask such a question? You nodded. 
“Because I just do,” Aemond licked his lips as it would appear that that was the wrong answer, watching as you stole away your hand and your lips turned into an adorable pout he was very much tempted to kiss. “I— Because you are pretty, overly pretty,” Aemond spoke and hoped that would sway your mind, but that seemed even to offend you. “And because you are knowledgeable, I have never met anyone who had the same philosophical interests as me,” Aemond quickly added, and he wanted to smile as that lessened your frown. 
“And most of all, because you are kind. You are… you are not one to judge— you came to Kingslanding without any criticism or fear of me. You actually saw me as an actual person and not…” Aemond trailed as he felt a sense of relief as he said the words he thought none could ever compel him to do so. “Not like a weapon?” You almost laughed as you often heard others allude to him as such. Aemond nodded and took your hands into his once more. 
“You want me because I was kind and took an interest in you?” You asked, making certain that was his reasoning. Aemond nodded and dared to tuck a stray hair that obstructed his view of your face. “If that is all that it took, what if then another comes along and presents you with such kindness and interest… am I simply to be set to the side?” Aemond sighed and cupped your cheek as he felt his stomach twist at your words and at the look of doubt in your enchanting eyes. “What if—“ You were ready to voice out another doubting scenario, but your lips were kissed shut. 
You feel heat bloom into your cheeks, and you are stunned as you feel the prince’s thin and cool lips upon yours. Your eyes were wide at the sudden contact, but they fluttered to a close as you savored the feel and taste of him. “I do not know what more to say to quench the doubts in you… but you must know, I have never felt such a way— I have never wanted anyone or anything as much as I want you.” Aemond whispered against your lips as you breathed heavily, your body feeling afloat and alight. 
“The situation is not the most favorable one; believe me, I understand your qualms— but it is the only opportunity I had to make you mine,” You feel liquid fill your stomach, and words cannot find you. The only thing you could do was go to the tip of your toes and kiss the prince’s lips once more, a chaste kiss than the first, but it was a kiss that gave the prince his answer. 
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Three moons passed before your nuptials were settled. You stood by the door of the great hall, waiting for it to open and lead you to your soon-to-be husband. “Are you certain?” Your father asked as he clasped his arms with yours. You breathed out a laugh and nodded your head eagerly. “I am,” You said with a smile and took a deep breath as you heard the trumpets from the other side of the door. 
Aemond sighed longingly as he saw the smile on your lips again. The smile that he had never been the receiver of before. The sweet and kind smile that led to all of this. 
You beamed at your groom as he took your hand into yours, unable to remove your gaze from his unique lilac eye throughout the whole of the ceremony. “I am his, and he is mine,” You recited after the Maester, feeling Aemond lightly squeeze your hand as you said the words, a ghost of a smile appearing on his lips. When it was Aemond’s turn, you bit your lip as you felt your smile grow wider, your heart beating loudly in your chest, and delight taking hold of your whole body. “I am hers, and she is mine,” Aemond stated, eye filled with sincerity and promise. 
You breathed in a deep breath as your husband stepped forward to seal your marriage with a kiss, your cheeks burning as you heard the cheers of your guests. “My flower,” Aemond whispered against your lips as you parted, his finger brushing away the stubborn lock of your hair once more. You could only smile upon him, your heart in your eyes— just one act of kindness, a simple smile had been the catalyst for you to find your love. 
You chewed on your cheek in anticipation as you were being led down the halls by your husband, the bedding ceremony promptly taking place after the feast. 
Aemond spared no second before claiming your soft, sweet lips once more. Gently pushing you upon a pillar in his chambers to keep you steady and flush against his body. “Aemond,” You called as you clung to his neck, his lips trailing downwards and his fingers undoing the laces of your gown. “You’re all mine, my flower… forever bound to me, my kind little wife.” Aemond hummed as he tasted your skin, his lips kissing your bare shoulders, the sleeves of your dress draping off. “I’m yours, my prince,” You sighed, but you felt slight dread in your stomach as he clicked his tongue in disapproval and slowly shook his head. “I am your husband… you must learn to call me by my name; no more titles and formalities,” Aemond lowly said, wanting to hear his name be uttered from your lips. 
You nodded, “I’m all yours, Aemond,” You said and whimpered as your husband’s eye darkened, and he forcefully slammed your lips. You feel your dress pool to the floor as he successfully removes it; he takes hold of one of your thighs and makes you cling to him, leading you to your shared bed. Aemond gently laid you down and parted your lips to admire the view of you sprawled before him. The thin sheet of your shift reveals all to him. 
You gasped in utter shock as you felt him tear away the thin cover you had, fully exposing you to him. A strained moan left your throat as Aemond dipped down and took one of your tits into the hot cavern of his mouth, his tongue teasing the bud. You clung to his silvery locks; just that action alone made your core tighten painfully. Aemond smirked as he moved to pay attention to the neglected mound, your hips grinding upon his as you sought friction. 
“Aemond, I…” You called, uncertain of what you wanted, but all you knew was that you needed more. “Yes, wife?” He hummed and placed open-mouth kisses upon your stomach. “I… I—“ You stuttered, not knowing what to ask. Aemond sighed and moved his head to kiss your lips, “Do you want more… do you want to be pleasure, my flower?” He asked, as he could not be so cruel to leave you in such a state for much longer. You eagerly nodded your head. 
It did not take long for you to be a moaning mess, your eyes rolled back in your head, and your back arched as Aemond placed his mouth upon your cunny. Licking and teasing your folds, “Aemond! Oh, gods!” You called in utter pleasure as you felt his thin lips enclose your sensitive bud, sucking and licking it. You battled with your mind-numbing pleasure as you propped yourself on your elbows to watch his actions. He looked up at you, grinning as his fingers teased your undefiled whole. You bit your lip and breathed heavily, boldly taking hold of the leather strap of his eye patch. You saw as his eye darkened, and you hesitated, but Aemond gave a nod. 
As you removed his eye patch, Aemond pressed his finger into you, your eyes rolling back as you saw his sapphire eye. Aemond returned his lips to your cunt, sucking on the bud as his fingers pumped in and out. He felt your walls clench around the digits and your moans growing louder. Through your closed eyes, you feel him smirk against your skin and curl the digits inside your cunt— a loud moan leaving your lips as you come undone. Your hips violently move against his face, and the pearl of your cunt hitting gains his angular nose. 
“Oh gods,” You say breathlessly as you feel Aemond’s weight atop of you. You undid the laces of his vest as he removed his trousers. You looked downwards and saw the whole of your husband, his warm, pulsating length resting upon your thigh. The head of his cock weeping a clear liquid. “W… will it fit?” You say in disbelief, never having thought that something so phallic could be so… large and appealing. “Of course, you were made for me, my flower.” Aemond lowly said and kissed your lips as he aligned himself with your cunt. 
You dug your nails onto his shoulders as he slowly tore his way through you. Him hushing your cries of pain and kissing away your tears. “It hurts— Aemond, I… it’s too much,” You cried, your legs wrapping around his waist. Aemond reached downwards and drew circles upon your cunt to aid your pain. You waited for the pain to bleed into pleasure. Aemond tightly shit his eye as he felt the tip of his cock brush against a rough spot in your cunt, him fully sheathed inside you. He made cautious thrusts, watching as you would acclimatize to his length, and when he saw your eyes roll back, that was his sign to fasten his pace. 
Aemond’s found your lips once more, muffling your moans and whimpers as his cock was relentlessly hitting the spongy spot in your cunt that made your core come undone over and over again. You were on the verge of your fourth climax, each of them coming quickly after the other, and your thighs started to shiver at the pleasure that had enveloped you fully. “Aemond… It’s too much. I— husband, I cannot,” You cried as you felt a different sensation, an odd pressure in your core unalike the other times you came. Aemond clenched his jaw as his cock twitched inside your cunt, “Just… come for me one more time, my flower,” He gritted as he wanted to coax another peak from you. 
Aemond laid his thumb flat against your nubbin and rubbed circles once more, your voice already hoarse from your loud moans. “Oh… Aemond!” You cried as the quivering of your thighs grew, and you felt the pressure in your core come undone; a differing climax from the first three overcame you. Aemond groaned loudly and tilted his head back as he spilled his seed deep in your cunt. You breathed heavily as you tried to comprehend what had happened, wetness pooling between your thighs, and an embarrassed blush spread through your cheeks and neck. 
Aemond smirked and shook his head, trying to soothe the mortification in your eyes. “I knew you were capable of it,” He hummed and kissed your lips. He knew it was perhaps too much to test your limits in your first night together, but he could not help himself; he needed to have you in such a way. “My perfect wife,” he hummed against your skin, and your reply came through your tired smile. 
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keferon · 2 months ago
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Hello…whoever requested Jazz losing his faith as he slowly begins to realise that everyone might be right and Empurata!Prowl is might be broken beyond repair
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Imagine OP telling Jazz that they can’t afford to just let him watch Prowl forever. Jazz has responsibilities. The Autobots need him so it’s just a matter of time until he has to leave Prowl.
Also I don’t know who is the “new guy” but OP would definitely find someone to be his new tactician instead of Prowl.
Next->
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springtyme · 1 year ago
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hii!! i saw ur inbox open and was wondering if i could request this; so, imagine dad!simon (or konig idm!!) having his son / daughter see his face for the first time since they were born and theyre just kinda sitting there like :000?? hes so pretty?? while yn is just screaming in the back?? <33 have a great day n thnaks for reading x
𝐔𝐧𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐤𝐞𝐝 𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞 ♡
Thank you for the request, I had such a good time writing this! I love writing dad!Simon so much! ♡ but also, ngl, the image of this big bloke wearing a mask in front of his baby seems borderline comical to me.
Simon Riley x afab!reader || Masterlist || Ghost playlist
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summary: Your daughter finally sees her father's face for the first time.
word count: 2.2k
warning/tag: Mostly just dad!Simon fluff with a little hint of angst. No gendering terms are directly used for the reader, but they are pretty fem coded. It's mentioned that they were pregnant. No use of y/n.
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As the soft morning light filters through the curtains of your bedroom, you slowly begin stretching your limbs and blinking away the remnants of sleep. As you slowly settle into wakefulness, you hear the screeching sound of the baby monitor on your nightstand coming to life and you feel how your heart flutters happily in your chest as a familiar sound comes through. The sweet sound of your daughter’s happy coos, accompanied by Simon’s deep, gentle voice, fill the room with sweetness. 
“Morning, sweet pea,” Simon’s voice crackles through the monitor followed by the sound of your baby happily gurgling at her father and then exclaiming a little more whiny sound. “Yeah, yeah, I know you’re hungry, but we have to get you changed before we can make breakfast, lovie.”
A smile tugs at the corners of your lips as you lie there, basking in the warmth and comfort of your bed. The love and joy that echo through the monitor remind you of just how much love fills your home. It’s moments like these that make your heart swell with an indescribable sense of happiness.
Your mind wanders, and you find yourself reminiscing about the journey that brought you here. 
From the moment you and Simon first met, there was an undeniable connection, a spark that ignited and grew into a love that was both fierce and tender. However, it hadn’t been that easy to convince him that he in fact was deserving of such love. He had been scared that he would mess it up, mess you up, convinced himself that he wasn’t able to make anyone happy and that he was broken beyond repair. But you had been rather insisting, and he had finally let his walls crumble and let you into his heart. 
And as you had expected, all his worries had been unfounded. He is the best, most loving partner you could ever have dreamt of. 
The love you share with him is a love that feels like home.
And then, the arrival of your daughter added a new dimension to your love story. From the first time you had held her tiny hand, you knew that your family was complete. Watching Simon transform into the most loving and doting father has only deepened your admiration and affection for him.
And as you lie here,  reminiscing on your life, you can’t help but feel a profound sense of gratitude for the love that surrounds you. 
With a content sigh, you finally pull yourself out of bed, ready to start the weekend with your little family. 
As you make your way down the stairs you can hear the sound of your daughter’s laughter from the kitchen, filling your heart with warmth and you can’t help but smile and make your way towards the source of the joyful commotion. As you enter the room, the morning sun gently illuminates the kitchen, casting a soft glow over the room, and you are greeted by a heartwarming sight. Simon is standing at the stove, stirring a pot of millet porridge, your daughter’s favourite, while she is sitting in her highchair, which has been moved away from the kitchen table and closer to the counter, so she can see what Simon is doing, clapping her hands in delight.
The aroma of freshly brewed coffee fills the air, mingling with the comforting scent of the porridge. You can’t help but feel a surge of immense love and gratitude for the man who stands before you, effortlessly balancing the roles of partner and father.
Simon turns towards you. “Good morning, love,” he greets you, his eyes twinkling with warmth, the bottom half of his face covered by a black mask. He had started to wear it around the house again after your daughter had been born.  
“Good morning,” you reply, your voice filled with a mix of amusement and adoration. “I see you two are having quite the breakfast party.”
Simon laughs softly and nods. “We thought we’d surprise you with breakfast in bed, but it seems that someone couldn’t wait,” he says, glancing at your daughter, who just giggles in response.
You walk over to them, planting a soft kiss on Simon’s masked cheek before planting another on your daughter’s, much chubbier, one. “Well, I can’t say I’m disappointed. This is the best way to wake up,” you say, gazing at your little family with a heart full of love.
Together you finish cooking breakfast, porridge for the baby and scrambled eggs and turkey bacon for you and Simon.
You begin to set the table as Simon picks up your daughter, supporting her with one arm as he settles her on his hip, so he can move her chair back to the table, but before he can grab the chair he stops dead in his tracks.
Your little girl has grabbed a fistful of his mask in her tiny hand. She doesn’t seem to be pulling on it, or otherwise trying to take it off him, but she also doesn’t seem to want to let go of it when Simon gently takes her hand to get her to release her grip.  
“Sweetheart, please…” Simon says softly, but he trails off, a wave of emotions flickering over his eyes, but they end up having a sort of determinant look to them as they lock with his daughter’s.
You feel how your heart skips a beat as Simon lets go of her little hand to instead grip the place his mask is fastened.  
With a deep breath, Simon removes the mask, revealing his face to your daughter for the very first time in her young life. You feel goosebumps rise along your arms as Simon’s features come to light. The room falls silent, and time seems to stand still.
Your daughter’s gaze is fixed on Simon, you can see a whirlwind of emotions flickering across her little face. 
It’s a pivotal moment that holds the power to change everything. You can see how Simon, too, feels a mix of emotions coursing through him. 
He has once mentioned to you that he was afraid that his scars would scare her, but you have had a suspicion that something else might be the reason he has kept the mask on in front of her for. 
He does have a few scars from his work, but they are nowhere near severe enough to scare anyone. You do have another theory to why he has kept it on, one he hasn’t directly confirmed, but a conversation from your pregnancy has stuck with you. 
He had voiced his concern that something would happen to him on the battlefield. not because he was that concerned for his own wellbeing, he knew what the risks of his job was, but because he was afraid of something happening to him, leaving you and your little one alone in the world. He had, on the whole, had many worries about becoming a father. 
He had been worried that his past had broken him so severely that he couldn’t be the dad your daughter needed him to be. Like the fear he also had about you and your relationship in the beginning of it, the fear that he couldn’t be the man you deserved. 
He has, in all the time you’ve known him, done everything to disprove that concern, he is the best partner you could ask for and now the most lovable dad to your little girl, but you know that he still has his concerns and that his feelings about them are valid. 
You think the mask has served as a sort of safety blanket for him. Like he thought that it would be easier for you and your daughter to lose him if your little girl couldn’t remember his face, or something like that. You find that thought heart rending.               
You know that his job comes with a risk, you had known it when you got together and you had known it when you married him and you had known it when you got your daughter. Losing him on the battlefield would be your worst nightmare come true. You know that he is smart, strong and capable, but you also know that there are no guarantees in war, which, to you, is just all the more reason for  your daughter to know her father’s face, but you have let Simon choose for himself when he was ready for that.  
But you don’t want to think about any of that right now, so you push those thoughts away, and instead let yourself be completely mesmerised by the sight before you   
Your little girl focuses on his, now revealed, face, taking in every detail. Her eyes widening in surprise, curiosity, and perhaps even a hint of fear, her little mouth forming a perfect ‘o’ of surprise as she absorbs every detail of her father’s face. 
“It’s just me, princess,” Simon tells her, his voice filled with a mix of amusement, nerves and an overwhelming love for his little girl. His eyes, once guarded, now shine with warmth and affection. 
The confirmation of his voice is what convinces her. A wide smile spread across her little face, revealing the adorable dimples she has inherited from Simon, on her sweet, chubby cheeks. She lets out a happy squeal, as she realises that it really is her father who’s now smiling down at her, a set of dimples matching hers on his cheeks.    
She giggles happily, which, to you, is the most beautiful sound in the entire world. Her little hands starting to explore Simon’s face, her tiny fingers tracing the lines and contours of it. It’s a gentle and tender gesture that speaks volumes. You watch in awe as the beautiful moment between your daughter and her father unfolds in front of you. It’s a moment you will cherish forever. 
When she finally seems satisfied with her mapping of his face with her small hand, she turns her head to look over at you with an excited expression on her little face, one that conveys something along the lines of ‘you seeing this too?’ Her eyes lighting up, reflecting the genuine joy that fills her little heart.
“Yeah, baby, that’s your daddy,” you smile at her, and she lets out another happy shriek before looking back at Simon again, happily nuzzling her little face into his neck. “He’s handsome, isn’t he?” You continue as you step forward, placing a hand on her back, rubbing gentle circles over the dusty rose bodystocking that she is wearing, one that Simon picked out when he got her ready and you still laid in bed.   
You look up at Simon, a soft smile on his lips as your eyes lock. 
“He never wants to believe me when I tell him, but he is actually the most handsome man I know,” you say, with a playful glint in your eyes. “He’s probably the most handsome man in the whole world, actually.”           
Simon chuckles, his cheeks turning slightly pink. “Oh, come on now,” he replies, his voice a mix of embarrassment and amusement.“I think you might be a bit biassed there, love.”
You shake your head, a warm smile spreading across your face. “Nah, I don’t think I am,” you state, wrapping your arms around both Simon and your little girl in his arms. “Just stating facts. I actually got the most handsome husband and the most beautiful daughter in the whole wide world.” you say with a content sigh, hugging your little family tightly.  
It’s a hug that speaks volumes, conveying love, affection and acceptance. In this embrace, you know that you truly have the most beautiful family in the world.  
As you finally let go of them you place a sweet kiss on your daughter’s little nose. She giggles joyfully, and you can’t help but feel an overwhelming sense of gratefulness over what a happy little girl you have. Simon seems to be thinking the same as he smiles down at her.  
But your adorable little troublemaker doesn’t seem to be done with causing havoc yet.   
She reaches out her tiny hand and grabs for the mask again. Simon hesitates for a moment, looking down at the fabric in his hand, the symbol of his past, before letting her have it. The mask, once a symbol of his doubts and fears, now becomes a simple toy for your daughter as she happily shakes it up and down, a cheeky grin on her little face. 
You and Simon lock eyes, and then the two of you burst out in laughter.  
As your laughter fills the room, a sense of pure joy washes over you. You look at Simon, his eyes sparkling with happiness, and you know in this moment, that the love and bond the three of you share is unbreakable, and it fills your heart with an indescribable warmth.
With a deep sense of gratitude and contentment, you take a mental snapshot of this beautiful moment. It’s a memory that will forever be etched in your mind, a testament to the strength of your love and the joy that radiates from your little girl.
As the laughter subsides, you gather your family close again, embracing the love and happiness that surrounds you. In this embrace, you know that you have everything you could ever need.
Your daughter’s laughter and Simon’s unwavering love fill your life with immeasurable happiness, and you couldn’t be more grateful for the beautiful family you have created.
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sleepingdiaryzzz · 1 month ago
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Yandere batfamily x neglected reader
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The manor is cold, silent as a tomb, and for once, it feels like a fitting home. You lie still on the bed, too small and fragile in the heavy, towering room. They all gather around you, each staring in shock, faces pale, breaths shallow—as if hoping that, by holding their breath, they might somehow trade their own life to coax warmth back into your cold form.
Bruce’s hand hovers over you, hesitant. His calloused fingers, so accustomed to war and violence, seem clumsy when they brush against your cheek. He trembles, silent, fighting against the whirlwind in his chest, his stoic mask cracked beyond repair. “I promised to keep you safe,” he whispers, his voice breaking in a way none of them have ever heard before. “I promised… and I failed you.” His hand, heavy with the weight of every failure, drops to his side, useless.
Dick’s hands cover his mouth, choking on a sob that won’t stay hidden. He’s the eldest, the one who was supposed to know better, to set the example. But he looks at you now, his eyes red and raw, remembering each time he walked past you, too busy laughing with others to notice you slipping away. “Why didn’t I tell you…?” he whispers, agony etched across his face. “Why didn’t I show you that you were loved?” The words fall into the silence, lost, and he knows you’ll never hear them now.
Jason kneels beside the bed, clutching your lifeless hand in his, as if he can pull you back with sheer force. His shoulders shake, his body radiating rage, despair, regret. His lips tremble as he remembers the countless times he shrugged off your gaze, ignored the quiet plea in your eyes. He thought he was sparing you from his darkness, protecting you from the world. But now he sees it for what it was—neglect, cold and unkind. He bows his head, the unbreakable Red Hood shattered, silent tears falling onto your still fingers.
Tim stands back, his face white, hands trembling as he presses his fists to his sides. The detective, the genius, who noticed everything—except you. He let the days slip by, assuming there’d always be more time, that you’d understand he was busy, preoccupied with saving the world. But now, as he watches the life drained from you, he feels a pang in his chest sharp enough to cut through bone. “I should’ve been there,” he whispers, voice barely audible. “I should’ve been a brother to you…” He stares at you, eyes rimmed with despair, the guilt hollowing him out from within.
Damian’s usual steel has melted into something unrecognizable. He doesn’t know how to touch you, where to place his hands, and the hesitation makes him feel powerless in a way he’s never known. He’d prided himself on being stronger, colder, above such weakness—but now, faced with your absence, he finds himself wishing he’d let you in, softened just a little. “You… you weren’t supposed to…” He can’t even finish, his words broken. He reaches out, almost unwilling, to touch your hand, flinching when it’s cold. His lips press into a thin line as he tries to hold back tears, but they fall, betraying the ache he’d been too proud to acknowledge.
They stay by your side, each of them reliving every lost opportunity, every moment they could have held you close and didn’t. Days pass, blurred, and they linger in the same room, surrounded by memories of what should have been.
When Alfred brings them food, they push it away. They can’t bear the thought of comfort while you lie there, untouched by life. They whisper to you, sometimes out loud, promising things they can’t ever deliver: "We'll make it up to you…we’ll fix this." But no voice answers back.
Driven by desperation, Bruce turns to ancient books, rumors, magic, anything that offers a hint of hope. He works night after night, chasing the impossible. The others follow him, each digging into their own corners of madness, driven by the need to correct what they destroyed. But every ritual fails, every lead falls cold. And the bitter truth gnaws deeper: there is no cure for regret, no resurrection from guilt.
The night finally falls silent, and they’re left alone with you, as if the universe itself mourns. Each of them curls beside you, their heads on the bed, hands on your arm, your hand, your chest, wherever they can cling to you, trying to pretend for one last moment that you’re still there. They hold on, eyes shut, whispering prayers to a god who’s deaf to their pain.
When morning breaks, none of them rise. They stay beside you, unwilling to face a world that doesn’t have you in it. They’ve lost you, their last chance to be the family they should have been, and they know now they’ll never be whole.
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(A/n: no one asked and I also didn't but INSPIRED BY DIS IDEA FROM @steor-ra ILY BESTFRIEND BUT PLEASE UPDATE 💜👩‍❤️‍💋‍👩)
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soapybutt17 · 9 months ago
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The Next of Kin
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Summary: Simon needed to update his contact information, as dodgy as he was for giving everyone even a glimpse of his private life, he did so. Who would have ever thought that it would become handy after an injury left him high on painkillers and needy for his girls back home. Character: Simon "Ghost" Riley x Wife!Reader. OC Daughter (Cassandra "Cassie" Riley). John Price. Word Count: 1,615 Chapter Warnings: Mentions of Injuries. Drug Consumption. Slight Angst. Mostly fluff.
Masterlist || Request are Open
It was the annual checkup in the base, something that Simon had dreaded the most knowing what it entails. Not only was his current and past injuries being monitored but he was all too certain about the wacky doctor would also make an appearance to check on his mental state. It wasn’t a fun time as any of his other team mates point it out to be.
“Should we update your emergency contact, Lieutenant Riley?” The nurse had inquired dealing with his medical records.
A part of him wanted to say no, but remembering what was waiting for him home, he could not allow himself to break his wife’s heart as well as his own daughter if the time ever comes that he dies in the middle of battle. He would want to ensure if ever that was to happen, you would know and hope that you would move on.
“Yes,” He agreed accepting the clipboard and pen handed to him.
Without an ounce of hesitation, he wrote your name and your number under his emergency contacts.
His handwriting was decent and readable at best, chicken scratch at worst as Johnny had eloquently pointed out during reports. But there was this special care with the way he wrote your first name and his last name that you were more than happy to take as soon as you married all those years ago. Your number was ingrained to his brain as he wrote it, having forced himself to memorize in the event he didn’t have his personal phone with him and simply a burner phone for missions.
What truly took him a second to write was the blank space dedicated to his relationship with you. No one knew he was in a relationship, nor did anyone know about his marriage. It took him a full two minutes before he found himself slowly opening the flood gates of his personal life that he had tried his best to hide from the world.
“Never knew you were married, Lieutenant.”
“Never planned on letting anyone know about it.” He spoke honestly, the cold demeanor and tone enough to stop the conversation from going further about his personal life.
Little did Simon know that the upcoming mission would lead to him having to make use of the emergency contact.
~
When you had begun your relationship with one Simon Riley, you had always accepted that he would always be gone for uncertain amounts of months in a year, you had accepted that part of him. How mission would always mean the world was a little safer from the dangers of man. You accepted all the big and small flaws that came with Simon and even in your eventual marriage and the birth of your daughter, you had come to accept the danger that would come in missions that would place him badly bruised or beaten beyond repair. You would always be there to tend to each and every single wounds and be the shoulder for him to cry on when he was good and ready.
But nothing could have ever prepared you for another unknown call coming from your phone. You’ve always expected it to be your husband, checking up on you before the mission begins like he always does. But the voice of an unknown man was the last thing you would have expected.
He called himself John Price and you know the man from your husband’s few conversations when he talks about the people he works with. You had feared for the worst as soon as he had explained that your husband has just gotten out of surgery after a mission. A few broken bones and a superficial gunshot wound. But it was enough to worry you as Simon himself has been asking for you as soon as he was out of surgery and in lucid consciousness.
On most days you were calm and collected, but it was the panic of seeing the worse of your husband that had you carrying your two year old and a baby bag towards your car with a mission. The Captain had asked if you could possibly have someone come get him but you know no one else better to check up on him but yourself and your daughter that was all the more excited about being in the car.
The travel was rather long and rather tedious knowing you and your husband had agreed to live away from the city and away from any dangers that may come to you and the baby while he was gone. You had appreciated the distance, the peaceful tranquility that came with being away from the bustle and noise of the city but not this time. It had meant a longer journey and a more hectic one since the base was all the way across the other side.
Once you had arrived to the base, all eyes were on you. Many eyes had lingered on you when they heard your last name. You know for a fact that your husband’s name and reputation beholds him, but you never knew nor did you ever try to question to what extent. It unnerved you more was how avoidant everyone had been of you aside from one of the soldiers tasked with bringing you and your daughter to your husband.
Outside the infirmary room was a rugged man. The man exudes an air or control and intensity and rugged strength, but not as much as your husband did. His posture was upright, suggesting discipline and years of military training. Dressed in an all too familiar tactical gear, he gives off a no-nonsense vibe that immediately commands attention.
“Ma’am, my name is John Price.” The man introduced the moment he caught sight of you.
You spoke your name and your daughter that was surprisingly all too mum in the whole situation, you were surprised that she wasn’t crying at being in an unfamiliar environment like she usually was.
“It is best to assume that you two are Simon’s wife and daughter, I presume?” He inquired.
You took a moment to think if it was alright to agree with his statement. Knowing your husband and the array of precaution he had come to give you, you were uncertain if you could trust the man with such a fact.
“Yes.” You spoke, dealing with the consequence later as there was something more important that needed your attention. “How’s he doing?” You inquired wanting to change the subject now.
“Stable. A little loopy from the drugs, but he’ll make a fast recovery.”
You nodded, hesitation of asking if you would be allowed to see him now in his state.
“He was looking for you.” He opened the door for you and you were welcomed with your husband in bed with his mask still on.
“Dada!” Your daughter squealed upon the sight of your husband groggy still.
You watched as his head turned to look at you and your daughter.
“Love…” He grunted wincing at the pain that you were certain that was coming in full force now.
“I’m here, Baby.” You whispered approaching him, cupping his cheeks gently. “Me and Cassie are here.” You assured trying your best to hide the tears that were fighting to fall at the sight of him.
~
When Simon Riley had opened his eyes, the first thing that he had come to notice was the pain that surrounded his entire body. The next thing that he noticed was the warmth that wrapped around his calloused hand.
Turning his head he saw the most beautiful sight that he had the fortune of seeing in his life. His wife and daughter. The more pressing matter was the fact that you were asleep in an all too familiar uncomfortable plastic chair with one hand on him, and your other arm held onto your baby sleeping on your chest.
“Baby…” He grunted harsher than he intended.
Slowly blinking away, your eyes immediately turned down towards your daughter before your eyes met his own.
“How are you holding up?” You inquired immediately, trying your best not to wake your sleeping daughter still cradled snuggly on your chest.
“Like a bitch.” He muttered appreciating being able to swear with his daughter still asleep. “But I’ll live.”
“I’m glad.” You sighed, rubbing his hand tenderly. “I was so worried about you when your boss called me. I thought something worse has happened.” You whispered.
“I didn’t really want to worry you—or have you see me like this.” He muttered.
“I know.” You nodded gently letting go of his hand to cup his cheeks that still was covered with his mask. “But I’m still as glad to be here right now knowing you’re alright. Me and Cassie get to see you’re alright.”
At the mention of your daughter, Simon noticed his daughter begin to get fussy from your chest. Gently pushing himself up until he sat on his bed much to your protest, he took your now crying daughter into his arms, gently laying her onto his chest and how quick she was sated in his warmth.
“Daddy’s here, Angel. I’m here.” He began to whisper, pulling off his balaclava to kiss his daughter onto top of her head. “I’m not going soon for a while. I promise.”
He has yet to tell you about the doctor’s insistence that he takes a few months off. It would be something he would tell when you get home. Once he finishes up with the paper works, he’ll let you know of the good news. For now, all that’s important was he had you and his daughter here with him, even in his most vulnerable state.
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loveyhoneydovey · 8 months ago
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mechanic ex-boyfriend simon riley
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notes & warnings: the used pictures are only for aesthetic purposes, reader is not physically described in this. AGELESS BLOGS AND MINORS DNI this is an 18+ only blog. a significant age gap between simon & reader is implied but the actual number is never mentioned. if i missed anything please lmk:)
this is a completely unedited little something i wrote at 4am
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reader who never fell out of love mechanic ex-boyfriend simon
you still recommend your ex-boyfriend’s garage to your friends (especially any vulnerable women) because despite your failed relationship, you’ve never met someone as trustworthy and reliable as simon 
you and mechanic simon who met when you’d found a used car you wanted to purchase and wanted to have it independently inspected 
reader who found this older, ruggedly handsome, stoic and yet professional mechanic who seemed to know his shit. despite the terrifying skull design resting next to his shop’s name, you trusted him immediately
not only did he inspect the car for you, but he also helped bring down its price and performed any necessary repairs at a huge discount (he never told you about this, you eventually figured it out on your own)
despite the obvious crush, he was very reluctant to pursue anything with you. not only were you his client and trusted him not to make things weird, but you were also so much younger and he felt like an old dog who was beyond learning any new tricks
you should’ve taken his warning from the beginning as he had predicted the downfall of your relationship before it’d even began
reader whose car has been acting weird for the past couple of months so you begrudgingly take it to simon’s shop
you’d actually tried taking it to some new garage in town, but had a feeling you were being lied to and overcharged when the sleazy mechanic barely spent an hour on it and said it was back like new
mechanic ex-boyfriend simon who doesn’t even need 5 minutes to tell you it’s on its last leg. despite his stoic demeanor, he’s actually concerned by how you’ve been driving such a vehicle in such an unsafe state
mechanic ex-boyfriend simon who starts asking till he finds a car within your budget. one he inspects himself to make sure his baby not anymore doesn’t end up dead in a ditch somewhere because of faulty brakes
the fucker was ready to buy it himself, but knew you’d never accept his money (especially not after the harsh parting words you’d left each other with during your last fight)
mechanic ex-boyfriend simon who’ll never love anyone more than you, but still isn’t willing to repair the broken bond between you two
mechanic ex-boyfriend simon who still uses o’keeffe’s working hands cream every day cause you used to always rub it on his hands, swearing his calloused skin would soon feel like a baby’s butt (and of course you were right). he tries to mimic the way you’d gently work it into his damaged skin as the only thing he had left from you now were memories
mechanic ex-boyfriend simon who never really tries to move on from you despite his apprentice’s attempts to set him up with multiple people (what’s the point of you for something he’s already found) 
mechanic ex-boyfriend simon who went through the army and came out even more damaged after a stint in prison. he believes nothing good will come out of such a sweet thing so full of life being chained to a grumpy old man like him
mechanic ex-boyfriend simon who despite thinking all of that can’t accept the thought of you being with someone other than him
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WHEW the is the first time i've written in YEARS (and i probably won't write anything for another good 5 years fjkdsw). hope you enjoyed this as much as i did!! this au idea has been rotting my brain for the past few days and i just had to let it out. feel free to dm me, leave a comment or send an ask about this au. dividers made by @anitalenia ✨
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talesofesther · 1 year ago
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first in my heart
Astarion Ancunin x Reader
Summary: Astarion hasn't seen his own face in 200 years and this bothers you deeply. You find a solution to finally show him how you see him, yet it leads to much more than simply that.
A/N: Gotta thank my sweet @iamnicodemus for encouraging me to write this. Undoubtedly one of the sweetest things I've ever written.
Word count: 4,7k
Masterlist
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"I've never even seen this face. Not since it grew fangs and my eyes turned red."
It was something that lurked in the corners of your mind, those words of his. No matter how many days passed, you couldn't shake them off. It saddened you deeply. Each new passing mention about the last two centuries of Astarion's life drove a knife into your heart and twisted bitterly.
To the naked eye, it was imperceptible, never there. Even now, as you sat around the warm bonfire, watching as the pale elf bickered halfheartedly with Gale, he seemed as ordinary as your group of misfits could be. His smile loose, adorning those sharp fangs you'd become quite familiar with; silver hair curling delicately around pointy ears; deep red eyes reflecting the fire embers with a unique shine whenever he'd steal glances at you. He was the embodiment of lightheartedness and witty remarks, eccentric, unbothered, and with a quick tongue for anything.
And yet, he wasn't, not always. You felt secretly privileged, in a way, to be able to see the real him—to be allowed to. To hold him close when he wakes up gasping for air he didn't quite need and with watery eyes in the dead of the night; to softly kiss each and every scar on his back, whispering promises of love where before he had only known pain; to remind him again and again of his worth.
Astarion had a side to him you were slowly uncovering; you think, that he himself is only now uncovering as well. Vulnerable and fragile, broken but not beyond repair, yearning to be cradled by gentle hands.
He deserves to be mended, you know it in your heart. To get back what was taken from him. And you wanted to help, if only a little.
Earlier today as you ventured through Baldur's Gate, you stumbled upon a discarded sketchbook. It was a little dirty and a little worn, but it was still very much usable. Amidst your—many—questionably valuable loot, you knew you had a few good pencils to spare too.
It's been long since you picked up some paper and let your mind run free—before your whole adventure, to be precise. Maybe you'd be a little rusty around the edges and it would take a few tries to get him close to perfect, but you had time; or, you'd make time. He deserved as much.
⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆
The lines that made him him came almost like second nature to you, maybe because you'd traced those same features with your fingertips countless times before within these last weeks. Ever since he admitted he'd fallen for you beyond his plans of seducing you, things had been easier, lighter. He allowed himself to be cherished and you were more than happy to do so.
A faint smile tugged at the corners of your lips as you created curly strands of his hair with your pencil. Delicate and precise, even for the mess that was his curls.
The sky bathed in shades of orange, pink, and baby blue as the sun lowered in the distance. The camp was as lively as it usually was during the evenings. Karlach was playing fetch with Scratch and the Owlbear cub, the latter who was mostly just running around aimlessly. Gale and Wyll were hunched over the fire doing something you could only hope wouldn't end in mild disaster. Lae'zel sharpened her blades, a scratching sound piercing your ears from afar. Shadowheart looked to be in deep conversation with Astarion, to which the vampire gestured wildly as he apparently tried to make a point.
You never expected that your unfortunate encounter with a mind flayer would give you a makeshift family, but you were thankful that it did. For better or worse, you were all in this together, and that was comfort and motivation enough.
With the strangely soothing sounds of laughter and bickering, you turned your attention back to your sketchbook. Going back one page, you had already finished a rough sketch of Astarion's profile, focused on the contrast of his sharp nose and soft curls. Now, on the next page, you were working on a more elaborate portrayal of his features, depicting a look he often wore when you sauntered over to him; the faint smile on his lips that had grown all the softer ever since you first met; the gentle tilt of his head as his eyebrows scrunched expectantly; the sharp and alluring eyes who could pierce into your soul.
"What are you up to, my sweet?"
The sudden honey-coated voice startled you, you jumped slightly on your seat and hastily covered the pages on your lap with your forearms.
The elf himself stood only a few feet in front of you, his lips pursed and an eyebrow raised in curiosity as he tried to peek past your arms.
You chuckled timidly, "Nothing, I was just- just resting a bit." Shrugging nonchalantly as you smiled.
Astarion narrowed his eyes at you but didn't push it, he never did. "Gale is trying to make us something to eat with what he got from the vendors today," he gestured behind himself and to the fire where Gale stood in front of, "I wouldn't be the first to try it out if I were you but I'm dying to know everyone's opinion on it." A sly smirk got his fangs poking out, "bonus points if someone vomits it out."
You shot him an amused look, biting back a laugh. You never quite got why he had this little rivalry with Gale—besides the fact he wasn't overly fond of Gale's flirting attempts with you in the beginning, but that had long since subsided. To be honest, you think it's more routine than anything else at this point, for show and amusement; a friendly rivalry.
Slightly cold fingertips caught hold of your chin when you didn't answer, his thumb pressing against the corner of your mouth as Astarion held you. "Do join me, will you?"
The smile you still wore shifted into something sweeter, reserved only for him. And you leaned into his touch, closing your eyes momentarily. "I will… in a moment."
Astarion blinked at your briefly evasive answer, but nodded anyway, "I'll… be waiting."
He walked away, slow steps taking him towards the commotion around the campfire. You felt a little bad for denying him company right away, but it was for a good cause, you had to follow your streak of inspiration if you wanted to finish the drawing to the best of your abilities.
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Dinner proved to be pleasant, tasty even, for Gale's culinary standards. This time of day had to be one of your favorites, with everyone sitting together around the fire at night and forgetting about life's misfortunes for a moment.
You sat by a rock, leaning your back against it as your shoulders shook with laughter at one of Halsin's stories. Astarion had plopped down by your side not long ago, the weight of his shoulder resting against yours as comforting as it always was. He took just a while longer to take your hand in his tonight, cold fingers hooking around yours and squeezing as he brought your joined hands to rest on his thigh.
Everything felt so new, you thought of yourself as a giddy teenager sometimes; heart fluttering with each lingering touch and stolen glance. For most of the time, you let Astarion set the pace of things, giving him the freedom to choose to be by your side. And there wasn't a time when he chose not to be.
He played with your fingers, palm to palm as if to compare sizes, alluring red eyes focused solely on where you touched. Innocent, boyish even. It was new for him too, you thought, perhaps much more than it would ever be to you.
And then your mind drifted back to the gift you had been steadily creating for him, excitement twirling in your stomach. You leaned closer, lips brushing the fabric of his shirt on his shoulder, "I'm gonna head to my tent for a bit, got a few things to organize. I'll find you later, yeah?"
A low hum fell past Astarion's lips, his eyes flicked to you, all big and vulnerable. "Oh, alright," his voice quiet and sweet.
You smiled, squeezed his hand, and planted a kiss on the corner of his lips. His eyes never left you as you walked away.
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It had never been on his plans, falling for you. It wasn't even something he considered would happen when he first started to slip a few honeyed words your way. But then you threw his heart off course with your tender touches and whispers of comfort, leaving telltales of your warmth all over his cold body. And he was a goner.
The last time Astarion dared to care about someone, he endured a year of punishment locked away, alone, starving, and crying for help that wouldn't come. There had been a fear, clawing at the back of his mind as he watched himself crumble for you; a fear that this would end much the same.
When he finally bared his heart for you—shaking like a leaf with the proverbial organ stretched out in his hands—he expected you to deny him, scream at him, maybe even send him away.
You didn't.
You said you cared for him. You hugged him.
There was no one else in the world like you, he decided.
Three dangerous words lingered on Astarion's tongue each time he woke up to your sleeping form beside him. For the time being, he settled for kissing the shape of them into your skin, over and over, until maybe one day you figured it out.
He scoffed at himself, finally tearing his gaze away from where you sat on the other side of the camp. If his much younger self saw him now, he'd probably be laughing. Or he'd be very envious. No in-between.
Stars danced in the night sky, alongside a half-moon dusted with faint clouds. It was late, most of the group had already turned in for the night, with Karlach keeping watch, as much to her dismay, it was her turn.
Astarion ran his tongue over his fangs, grip tightening on the book he had in his hands. He'd been trying to read the same page for minutes now.
There was no one else in the world like you. He wondered when you'd realize that. When you'd realize that you were infinitely too good for the likes of him.
With a shiver running down his spine, Astarion worried that you might have started to.
It's been a few days now that you've been… distant; tucked away in your tent whenever you settled camp, not sparing him much time of day, at least not nearly as much as you used to.
With an annoyed click of his tongue, as he closed his book, Astarion realized he missed you, even with you sleeping side by side each night. How needy of him.
But he missed your mindless talks by the fire as everyone settled in for the night; he missed your walks through town just before sunset or sunrise; he missed the causality, the simplicity of calling you his. He'd gotten used to the sweet routine quite quickly.
The thought that you might already be growing tired of him made his dead heart clench agonizingly inside his chest. He glanced back at you, hunched over your makeshift desk as you scribbled something down in a book, Scratch lying by your feet. That is a kind of pain he wasn't sure he could endure.
Perhaps against his better judgment, his feet carried him to you anyway; yet he hesitated, words heavy on his tongue. Astarion stood awkwardly behind you, fidgeting with the edges of his shirt and praying that anyone who might still be awake wouldn't look this way. Scratch raised his head when the elf approached, a whine coming from him as his head tilted from side to side as if he wanted to ask what was wrong. Seems even the dog pities his predicament.
Old habits die hard and Astarion couldn't help but assume the worst, every time. He doesn't know how to be with someone, doesn't know the first thing about being in a relationship—was that what you two had? It's not like you ever labeled it. Maybe he did something wrong, and that's why you've been limiting your time with him.
"Astarion?"
With several blinks, his eyes focused again, only to see you regarding him with a frown, hand resting atop the closed book you had been writing in. Now your head was the one tilting inquisitively.
"Is everything okay?"
Still, your voice would always be sweetest to his ears.
Astarion shook his head softly to clear the fog his insecurities had brought and plastered a smile on his lips. "Of course, my darling," he approached, extending a hand to your sitting form and twirling a strand of your hair between his fingers, "I just think you should be getting your beauty sleep by now. Come warm up my bed, won't you?"
The faint blush that dusted your cheeks whenever he sweet-talked you would never cease to endear him. "We can read that book you're so fond of if you don't want to sleep, the cheesy romance one," Astarion purred, his pointer finger tracing the edges of your jaw.
You turned your head, planting a small kiss on his palm. "I'll be going soon, just want to finish something first. You can read without me, I don't mind."
But how could he ever tell you, that the words looked blurry and tangled without you by his side?
Longer than an hour had gone by when you finally decided to come to his tent. The night was mostly quiet, eery, with only the sounds of crickets, frogs, and the crackling of the dying fire. Astarion lay on his side, back turned towards the tent's opening. He didn't need sleep, not really, some meditation here and there would usually be enough to keep his energy up. But it was a habit he'd picked up when you started sleeping together through the night.
He wasn't asleep tonight, however. He heard your footsteps approaching him, quiet and cautious so as to not disturb him. He felt you lying down beside him, ever so slowly.
Astarion closed his eyes tightly, trying to hold himself back and failing miserably. One taste of your affection had been enough to get him hopelessly addicted.
He turned, shuffling closer and curling his body around you. His arm went over your stomach and tugged lightly, like a kitten asking for attention. You didn't say anything as you closed your arms around him, your lips finding the bridge of his nose and then his forehead. Words were futile when actions spoke the loudest.
Your gentle touches, the way you hold him without malice, he could hardly get enough of it. Your arms wrapped around him and your lips grazed his skin with lingering kisses, and it didn't hurt, it didn't burn or make him feel sick. You were the first one to ever do it, to hold him without hurting him.
Astarion nuzzled your neck, burying himself in the feeling, gladly drowning in it as he drank every last drop. Tears prickled his eyes, they usually did on nights like these and he's never quite sure why. Maybe it's because of the way your fingers gently tangled in his hair yet didn't tug or scrape; maybe it's the way you tighten your hold on him as if trying to mend his fragile heart; maybe it's because of how much he longed for someone like you to come and save him, on nights where all he knew were pain and unwelcomed caresses that scarred his skin more than any blade ever could.
And now, he wanted to lose himself in the comfort he found, that you so generously provided. His fingers closed forcefully on the fabric of your shirt, nearly ripping it, afraid you'd leave if he held you any looser. The fear of waking up alone and finding out that he'd lost you was all too consuming, tugging at his heartstrings.
He closed his eyes and rogue tears dampened the collar of your shirt. It was okay, it would be dry come morning, you wouldn't know. You were warm, you chased away everything that haunted him.
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You stared at it intently. You have been staring at it for a while now, teeth chewing at the inside of your cheek in nervousness and anticipation. You checked it once, twice, turning the pages with careful fingers. The sketchbook wasn't filled, it would take too long to do so, but at least half of the pages inside it held some kind of scribble. Art pieces of various styles and levels of progression, some much more detailed than others, some mere hasty lines put together to paint a dear image you wanted to keep for a while longer. All of them of him. A book filled with the pointy ears and pale hair you adored so much.
You could only hope he would adore it just as much.
It was early in the morning and the day had yet to properly start. Most of your companions were still tucked away in their tents, some huddled around the burned logs of the fire from last night, coffee mugs in their hands and a sleepy look on their faces. You were never much of an early bird yourself, but today you made a point of rising before Astarion—you were lucky he'd picked back up the habit of sleeping and wasn't much of an early bird himself.
Hugging the sketchbook to your chest, you padded back to the warmth of his tent. As you opened the flaps, you were greeted with the sight of soft slivers of sunlight coming through the thinner part of the tent's fabric, they glimmered over Astarion's laying form, kissing his pale skin and making it shine.
You could easily get used to it; waking up to him, watching as the early morning rays painted his features golden, small wisps of dust flying in the air only giving him that bit more magical touch.
Astarion had his back to you, so you quietly kneeled beside him, extending a hand to run through his mess of curls; oh how soft they were, molding in between your fingers like seafoam on the shore. You counted yourself remarkably privileged.
You placed the sketchbook behind you so you could lie down, only keeping yourself up on one elbow. Your lips found his temple and the elf lightly stirred in his sleep. You kissed the tip of his ear next, waking him up gently. Always gently. He deserves gentleness.
With a hoarse groan, Astarion turned around to face you. He blinked several times as his ruby eyes adjusted to the soft sunlight, his face adorably scrunched from sleep. An easy, small smile appeared on his lips as soon as his gaze landed on you.
You weren't an early bird, yet you came to love the mornings, if only for this sight alone.
"Good morning, my star," you said quietly so as to not disturb the peace of the moment, still twirling a strand of his hair between your fingers.
He chuckled, "Good morning, beautiful." His voice all husky and deep, one hand finding your waist and trailing all the way up to your neck to pull you closer.
You kissed the corner of his lips and then the apple of his cheek, and Astarion's hold on you only grew tighter, pulling you on top of him. A welp escaped you as you laughed, nuzzling his neck before baring your teeth and giving him a playful nibble.
"Ow, you menace!" The vampire gasped halfheartedly, holding back a grin.
You pulled back from him with the ghost of a smile, bracing yourself on his chest. "I've got something to tell you."
His expression shifted to something you couldn't quite decipher, but he quickly masked it with a teasing tilt of his brows; "Oh? Are you gonna confess your undying love for me?" Both his hands brushed along the sides of your waist, gingerly raising your shirt as his pinkie grazed your skin.
"I thought we'd gone over that part already?" You teased back with a glint in your eyes, pushing yourself back up to sit beside him.
A whimper of complaint escaped Astarion when you separated, but he sat up with you anyway; his hair askew and all over the place, cheeks with the faintest flush to them, eyes just a little droopy, and… a strange stiffness to his shoulders. "What is it, my love?" He wondered, scrunching his nose endearingly when a piece of lint grazed it.
You squirmed in your seat; heart burning hotter than Karlach's in your chest, valves working overtime as the connection you shared enveloped you whole. You haven't actually told him how much you loved him, the four-lettered word hadn't been brought up yet, mostly for fear of the weight it held. But you wanted to, you've been feeling it for a while now.
"Well? Don't leave me in suspense," Astarion chuckled, but the sound didn't feel quite right to your ears, his smile wasn't reaching his eyes. And as you looked at him—one of his hands gripping tightly onto the fabric of his bedroll while the other tapped his knee incessantly; the ruby of his eyes almost nonexistent, covered by shiny black pupils as he looked intently at you, gaze filled with sentiment and vulnerability—you could notice it there now, that lingering fear of solitude gripping at his chest.
For a moment, you berated yourself, for you knew you'd spent quite some time on your little project, and maybe it had affected your routine more than you cared to admit. You felt a nagging guilt and sorrow for making Astarion even consider the possibility of loneliness again.
You tried shrugging it off. It would be worth it—and you'd be showering him with love and affection in just a moment anyway.
"I made something for you." The words rolled off your tongue more easily than you thought they would. You reached behind you with unsteady hands, heart in your mouth as you held onto your breath.
Astarion stared intently at the black sketchbook that was now clasped between your hands. He looked up at you, and back down, lips pursed in confusion.
"Ever since you told me… you haven't seen yourself in so long," you started, voice gentle as your thumbs traced the leather cover of the book. "And asked me how I saw you. I- I kept thinking about it and… when I found this," you wiggled the sketchbook in the air, "I guess I found a way of showing you…"
You extended the book for him to take, lowering your voice to a near whisper; "how I see you."
A short, trembled gush of air went past Astarion's lips. It was a difficult task to get him speechless, yet you had done it. He said nothing as he ever so carefully took the book from your hands, holding it as if the smallest wrong move could break it.
You watched as his throat worked through a heavy gulp, his eyes shining bright under the faint sunlight, swimming in a pool of sentiment and he hadn't even opened the book yet. Or properly looked at it, for that matter; his eyes still trailed on your face, as if waiting for confirmation that you meant it. Only when you gave him a tiny nod, did he finally look down. It hit you hard that this was probably the first gesture of this kind that he had received in his long life.
Shaky, pale hands reached to turn the first page. He hesitated for only a moment, almost looking afraid. About to see himself after 200 years of living as a ghost.
The first drawing you had made in the book wasn't your best, now that you looked down at it again; a simple portrait of Astarion looking down at a book in his hands, a little rough around the edges, hardly detailed. It had been your first try after not drawing for quite some time.
A beat passed, and a drop of water landed on the bottom corner of the page. You whipped your head up, only to see rogue tears steadily dripping down Astarion's cheeks until they reached his chin and fell on his lap. He cried silently, barely moving; the only signs being the obvious tears and the quivering of his lower lip.
He turned each page as if they were made from the purest gold. Stopping at every single drawing of him, to take it all in. He traced his fingertips over the lines that formed the curves of his curls, the tips of his ears, and the slope of his nose and lips.
People had referred to him as many things already; sexy, alluring, charming, attractive. Never had any of them referred to him as something… precious, delicate, bewitching, more than just a pretty face. Yet that's exactly how he saw himself now, through your eyes.
Astarion took his time, never speaking once. You let him, making yourself comfortable beside him and laying your head on his shoulder, simply existing in each other's presence.
Several minutes had gone by when the elf finally spoke up again. He was finally on the last used page of the book, and when the next appeared in white he slowly closed the book, still grasping onto it reverently. "For a moment I- I thought you'd grown tired of me already," it was the first thing he told you, and he refused to meet your eyes. A humorless chuckle fell past his lips, trying to laugh off his feelings.
You raised your head from his shoulder, lifting a hand to tenderly brush long strands of silver hair behind his ear; as you did so, you allowed your fingers to travel further, burying in the mop of hair behind his head. "Never. Never in a million years," you whispered.
Astarion met your gaze at last, ruby eyes glimmering with unshed tears while dried tracks of the ones before still lingered on his cheeks. This was the real Astarion; fragile, vulnerable, pleading for a gentle love, yet so beautifully strong.
"I'm sorry, my star. For allowing that thought to plague you. I just wanted this to be a surprise." You leaned forward and touched your forehead with his for a brief moment, hoping to bend the rules and physically give him your love.
"You made this," Astarion's voice broke in the middle, yet his smile was the most sincere you'd ever witnessed, "For me."
Catching a single tear that rolled down his cheek, you nodded, with a smile of your own.
There was a beat, a moment of silence where you simply looked at each other, wondering if the other felt just as much. And you didn't need a tadpole connection to confirm it.
Astarion set the sketchbook aside before all but throwing himself at you. Both his arms encircled your waist with desperation as he buried his head in your neck. His lips drew sloppy patterns and raised goosebumps in your skin as he kissed you relentlessly, from shoulder, to neck, to jaw; until he finally reached your own lips.
You brought your arms around him, pulling him in until your very souls were intertwined. Giggles escaped your lips as he kissed you, the shape of both your smiles making it difficult and all the more delightful.
When you parted, Astarion had you pinned down on his bedroll, with him resting snuggly on top of you. He refused to let go, clingy as he'd never dreamt he'd be. Your hand buried in his hair, his nose brushed the skin of your collar bone. "I had asked the gods for salvation, for any kind of blessing, countless times before. I could never guess it would come in the shape of you." He breathed in. He didn't hesitate. "Thank you. I love you."
You felt his smile. Felt the shape of his words on your skin, your soul. You kissed his hairline. "And I love you."
⋆* ☾ ⋆*・゚:⋆*・゚
Thank you for reading this little story. Feedback and reblogs are literally what keeps me motivated to continue posting here, so I’d appreciate it if you could take some time to reblog and comment. <3
You do not have permission to repost, copy, or translate my works on any platforms (even with credit), please respect.
Astarion’s taglist: @milkiane @v1ci0us
2K notes · View notes
blood-smiles · 4 months ago
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𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐀𝐁𝐎𝐔𝐓...𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄!𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐑𝐎𝐈𝐃
Long ago, it was said that humanity thrived together as a whole in peace and harmony, they all went to the same places and had similar experiences, they shared and traded food and items, the peace was always kept because of laws, the air was pure and the water was clear and tasteless, complete perfection.
But where was that now? It’s the year 2313, it’s been a long time since that chapter was ripped from the ancient book of humanity,
You wrapped a mask around your head, clicking your tongue as your fingers fiddled with the leather buckles of the mask,
After a struggling with the mask for a few seconds you finally succeeded in fastening the item to the back of your cranium,
The thick belt wrapped around your head and behind your ears, the borders of the leather digging into your skin and leaving an aching red imprint on your head,
You steadily got up from your couch, walking over to the deserted shopping cart in the corner, putting your hands around the cart’s bars and lifting it up from the floor, putting it back on its wheels as it used to be,
You rolled the cart around your laboratory, listening for squeaks or strange sounds, when you made sure there wasn’t any problems with the cart you put it aside momentarily,
You ran over to one of your counters as snatched a pair of goggles from the metal surface,
Securing them on your eyes as best you could, your hands grabbed the flimsy fabric of your coat and pulled up the hood, you were all geared up and ready to go.
Your hands gripped the bar of your shopping cart, your eyes scanning the inside of the empty shopping cart, the once silver metal was oxidizing, slowly turning into a murky brown tint,
you pushed your cart through your run down town, waving at acquaintances and kicking little pebbles out of your way,
This is how your everyday life went, around 5 p.m you would get geared up and go into the junk yard to look for unwanted “trash” from Ether,
most of the time what you found wasn’t even trash, maybe a little worn down, but these people were throwing away full shampoo bottles and moisturizers! You wish you had that problem..
Ether was the island above the slums or better know as “the pit”, Ether was known as the place only peasants like you could wish they could end up there, which wasn’t ever going to happen,
Only the richest of the rich or elite are allowed up there, and the people down in the pit were uneducated and poor, having nothing more than a button and a few pieces of clothes to their name,
Truly pitiful, and you were no different, the only thing you had was a run down laboratory your father left behind,
He was supposedly a smart man, one of the first developers of the species known as “Androids” yet none of his work was given credit towards him, which ended him up here, in the pit.
You knew how to repair an android, but coding one was beyond your abilities, you worked as a handyman for a few silver coins, that’s how you went on about life,
You developed your skills as you went, and apparently the only note worthy trait you had was your ability to salvage broken things,
You kicked away some trash with your muddy boots, the rubbish flying far away and into the piles of trash,
“Fuckin’ trash..” you complained under your breath, your heavy duty boots clinging to the sticky mud underneath, making unpleasant squelches in the mud,
The sound of clanking was heard when the piece of trash hit a surface, your ears immediately pricked up,
Whipping your head into the direction of where the trash fell, you immediately let go of your cart and jogged over to a pile of crap,
You stepped onto the unsteady heap of trash, your knee beginning to buckle under your own weight, warning you that you were about to loose your footing,
You fell forward, wind brushing by your ears as you began your descension , sticking your arms out, you braced for the impact,
with a loud clank you landed on top of a scrap of metal, your hands laying on a hard, cool material, you pushed yourself off the object to get a better look on it,
it seemed to hold a humanoid shape, but it by no means looked like one, instead of a face it had a screen, which was pitch black and roughed up, split right through the middle, nothing you couldn't fix.
It didn't have the look of a typical android, it seemed like it was missing its silicone skin, a normal android look closely alike to a human, this one looked more like a robot,
Its body was large, made of a sturdy material, despite having no muscles it did have something alike to it but made of steel, the shine being dulled by the dirt,
your eyes trailed to its chest, which was steel, a shocker. It seemed to have a symbol on its left pectoral in an electric blue tint, while its right one seemed to have a name tag, but the letters were scratched off, what looked deep jagged scratches on its chest, whoever did this either didn't like their name or didn't want anyone to see its real name,
that logo.. That was the logo of the best android engineers in Ether, Its obviously an android, but its strange that they would throw out androids,
your eyes wandered down the android's body to its legs, which were missing, cables poked out of the holes where its legs were supposed to be,
you rand your hand down your face, where were its fucking legs? You couldn't take it home without its legs! You put the Android's upper body on your back, then letting it slip off your back and into your shopping cart with a loud bang,
you began to look around, lifting rubbish with the tip of your shoe, peeking under all surfaces until you saw what seemed to be a foot poking out from a pile of soggy cardboard,
you pulled out the limb with your whole body weight, the sheer height and thickness of that single limb was impressive, the leg stood in height about where your waist was,
you tossed the heavy limb in your shopping cart with the Android, you walked around for about 40 minutes, looking everywhere for the other leg,
just when you were about to give up you tripped over something, looking at what made your hit the ground, you realized it was the leg you were looking for,
your heart beat happily in your chest as you pushed the heavy cart back to your house lab,
you had a dopey grin on your face the whole way home, you couldn't help but have a pep in your step, you were already thinking of how you would name your new Android,
"(Y/n)? O-Oh! It is you! How are you, sweet pea?" You could recognize that voice anywhere, if it wasn't the the village doctor!
You turned around, smiling widely at the man, still in his clad white uniform, hair tie slipping down his long ginger hair, and those characteristic cracked glasses, it was Kairo.
"Heya Kairo! 'm good, jus' pushin this home.'" You waved to him weakly, your calloused hands tired from pushing the cart,
Kairo jogged up to you, stopping only inches away, he brought a hand up to his face, his cheeks adorned with alight dusting of pretty pink,
"I recall asking you to rest, didn't I? You better have a good reason to be wearing yourself out like this.." the ginger scolded, crossing his arms across his chest, his magenta eyes staring you down something alike to a mother’s disappointed gaze,
Kairo was an absolute blessing to have down here in the slums, he was the doctor and used to be a scientist, his knowledge in both fields was greatly appreciated, especially since it seemed the world had it out for you and your physical well being,
he got kicked out of Ether many years ago, you were about 13 when he got dropped in the pit,
He really stirred the pot when he got here, no one even tried getting closer to him due to their reluctance about him and his origins, no one here trusts those who were born in Ether,
Kairo got pushed away, glared at, kicked and even sometimes people spat on him, no one really knows what he did to get him off Ether,
Yet it is still a fact that even if the others have warmed up to him, they still treat him exponentially different from the other habitants of the slums,
you were the first and only one to extend your hand out to him in times of need, you gave him a safe haven when he needed it most, and just for that fact he has sworn to always be with you, through thick and thin, he will protect you and put you back together time and time again, just how you loved him, he will love you back tenfold.
your smile turned bashful, wiping your sweaty hands on your shirt you started trying to recount the events of today,
"..So then I decided to take him home to repair him back up! He's in pretty good shape, I jus need ta' wire his legs back on then fix his screen, give him a lil' bath and I will be done with him!"
Kairo looked back at the robot with narrowed eyes, a dark shadow casting over his pale features,
you felt oddly unsettled by his sharp gaze, this side of him was completely unknown to you, and gee was it scary.
"..Where did you find this thing?" He asked—no, demanded, his voice dropping an octave lower, the sharpness of his tone wasn't quite directed at you though, but more at the robot in your cart,
"Uhm, I found him in the Junk yard.." You rasped out, your throat feeling constricted, words barely audible out of the feeling of fear you had, this mood of him was awfully uncharacteristic of him, it really creeped you out,
Kairo seemed to notice your state, the last thing he would want was to make you fear him.. for now, he will let it go.
"I see.." the taller male responded, a tinge of worry in his voice "Well, all I ask of you is to be careful, you don't know where it came from, and personally, I don't want to see you hurt.." He hugged himself, looking off to the side shyly, his gloved hand reaching up to twirl a strand of his cantaloupe colored hair around his finger,
the carefree smile you had earlier started returning as you saw Kairo softening up again, you were glad he wasn't upset at you,
you ran up to him, momentarily leaving your cart and new companion behind to give him some affection,
your arms wrapped around his slender waist as you cuddled his chest, your cheek pressed up right next to his heart,
Kairo's breath hitched, a kaleidoscope of butterflies going off in his guts, the wings of the small insects making contact with his insides, the pleasant feeling didn’t help the flush in his face spreading like a wildfire,
his longer arms wrapped around your neck, hugging you closer to him, he pressed his lips against your forehead gently, intentionally catching a whiff of your hair's scent, ‘my sweet baby.. You really don’t realize what I feel for you, do you?’ His eyes fluttered closed, long eyelashes ghosting over his tired under eyes,
these were the moments with you he could kill for, he would do anything to be this close to you always, skin to skin, heart to heart, and hopefully one day, lips to lips.
The ginger reluctantly let go, crossing his arms once again as he gazed at your retreating form longingly, his mind couldn't help but wander back to that specific Android, dangerous thoughts leaking into his brain continuously like a broken faucet,
"If you do something to her, I will rip your fucking head off.."
But you on the other hand were giddy as fuck, you had already unloaded the android and sat him down on your lab counter,
lifting his left leg up you propped it below the wires hanging off the holes of where his legs were supposed to be in,
you connected the wires carefully, melting them together once again, soon you connected the legs into his hip socket, a loud clicking noise let you know you did the job correctly,
you did the same with his right leg, another loud click reached your ears, you pulled on the legs as best as you could from different angles, and they wouldn't budge, not a single creak or sign of the limbs wanting to detach from the body anymore,
and with that you moved onto the cracked screen of the head of the android,
you somehow managed to seal the cracks and give the mask a polish to leave it looking good as new, you were pretty satisfied with the results,
you scrubbed off the dirt and grime off the metallic protective plates, you scrubbed and scrubbed every single crevice of its body until the robot was spotless and shining under the dim lighting,
he was beautiful.
Your heart was pounding out of your chest, anxiety coursing through your veins, sweat beads ran down your skin, dampening your shirt,
you opened the back of his cranium, cables wrapped in metallic material linking to the back of his head, a blue power button inside all the wires and mother boards inside, green and silver peeking out from inside his head,
you pressed on the button, then stepped back, crossing your fingers that he would come to life, you clasped your hands together in prayer,
buzzing came from the Android, limbs twitching, sparks coming from its joints,
soon, the screen on its "face" lit up, something alike to a smiley face being displayed on the black screen,
it looked down at its hands, closing and opening its fists, kicking its legs, it realized it was alive once more, that it was moving and that it was okay,
you didn’t know how to react, should you be happy? Scared? It was all so conflicting, you wanted to jump out of happiness but at the same time you wanted to run away, cry and vomit.
It turned its head to you, the gentle sound of ticking coming from deep inside his metal plates,
The sound of its metallic feet hitting the murky ground startled you, making you jump violently, you would have jumped out of your skin if it came closer,
It seemed to stop when it saw that you were scared, and so it stopped, it stared at you, not moving an inch from it place,
slowly, it extended its long arm, opening its robotic palm and holding it out to you, (e/c) looked down at its hand, analyzing how his joints popped and twitched,
you were starting to regret taking the massive machine home, Kairo was right, this Android totally had something off about it,
but even as your common sense screamed at you to stay back and run away, it all was drowned out by the overlapping thoughts buzzing in your head,
how much could this thing sell for? It was modified, Obviously, it was crystal clear that these modifications had been done illegally,
you carefully put your smaller hand in his own, you looked up at the screen that was his face warily,
“a-ah..” the android made a noise, was his voice box broken? You tried repairing him as best as you could, but his voice box was something you unfortunately didn’t know how to repair,
he pointed a finger towards you, tilting his head while making more noises,
“ah.. ah?” Was it asking you something? It gently tapped your arm, pointing at you,
oh. It was asking you for your name.
“oh.. You can’t speak, can you?” It shook its head, putting it hand on its throat to emphasize,
“well.. I’m (Y/n), and.. It’s nice to finally meet you..?” You coughed into your fist as you finished, awkwardly shifting from side to side,
an emoticon of sorts appeared on the metallic male’s face visor, it seemed… happy?
“Aaah?” It pointed to itself, looking down at its name tag, only to realize that it had completely scratched off,
it stayed silent before looking up at you, gently guiding your hand to its chest, where it’s name tag once resided,
“..You want a name?” It nodded, pointing to itself once again,
“..I actually was thinkin’ about what to name you.. Welcome to the world, Exo.” You gave it a toothy grin, watching as how the screen visor of his suddenly showed a blue glowing heart,
It took you by surprise when the droid grabbed onto you by under your arm pits, lifting you up to his height,
you watched as how the glowing blue heart on his visor beat like how a heart would, and it only seemed to be getting faster,
it brought you closer to it, holding you like a baby, it rubbed its cheek(?) against yours, the uncomfortable friction of its glass screen making contact with your own,
And that’s when you heard it, a low rumbling sound resounded from its chest, the vibrations melting against your skin,
is he fucking purring..?
“I’m glad— urgh.. you liked your name..” you barely made out, trying to create some space between both of your bodies, however the bot wouldn’t move a centimeter away from you,
after pleading with it, he decided to put you down,
it gently pat your head, before putting its hands on its knees to observe you more closely,
“uh.. Okay, Well.. You can just follow me around, I want to see how good of a job I did at fixing you..” and with that you walked out of your laboratory,
a larger hand grabbed onto your sleeve, you already knew who it was so you didn’t spare him a look,
you let him grab onto your sleeve, the cool feeling of it’s metal fingers making contact with your skin,
Exo didn’t know what to make of things, he was especially surprised when he woke up to a little human greeting him,
he couldn’t see anything, but from the noises and fleeting touches around his body he could tell that someone was trying to fix him up,
and then he could see everything, from the little scars on your skin to the exact shade of your eye color,
his memory board felt empty, he tried to remember, but his mind was a blank slate, it was like trying to squeeze water from a stone, impossible.
but one thing he did know was that he was eternally indebted to this cute human, Exo wanted to assume that this was his creator, but he knew better, his real creator didn’t care about him,
he knew he was thrown off somewhere high, he didn’t know when or from where, but just that action showed him that whoever created him had no care for him,
But.. You took the time to fix him with your caring hands, you didn’t have any obligation whatsoever to even touch him, but you did,
from looking down at his own body he could tell you spent countless hours polishing his body, not even a crevice of his body had a single spot of filth,
his joints were smooth, his movements were swift and elegant, something he never thought he would be able to regain,
you might as well be his owner now, you are so small.. So frail, he looked down at you and he felt this inexplicable feeling of wanting to grab you and cradle you like a human baby,
your smaller form was so comfortable to hold in his arms, he could accommodate his body to your liking,
he understands that his chest isn’t the most comfortable, under the heavy metal plating there is soft layers of silicone that could help with trying to make you more comfy against his body,
he wished nothing more than to communicate with you, to tell you how much he appreciated you and how he wished to serve you in the way you served him,
but the only type of noise that made it out of his mouth (?) was pathetic moans and sighs, that was no way to communicate with you,
He heard the voice of a man earlier, his sensors picked up on his heart rate, it was.. familiar, he knew that rhythm from some where.. but he can’t quite remember from where,
this mysterious man’s heart beat spiked up as soon as you approached him, his breathing turned slower and heavier,
Exo heard you call out to that man, apparently his name was Kairo.. the android repeated his name in his mind, Kairo, Kairo, Kairo.. That was an unusual name..
then he spoke, and his voice hit home, he still had no idea who this man was, but his hate for him tenfolded,
Exo hated how he spoke to you, his voice was so warm and welcoming towards you, pure love and adoration in his tone, he just knew that man wanted to shove his tongue down your throat, repulsive.
but Exo has claimed you long ago, ever since you picked him up and ever so gently put him into your cart he had vowed to be by your side,
‘Kairo’ directed his tone towards him and Exo didn’t like it one bit, his tone was so sharp, the iron-clad Android could feel the intensity of ‘Kairo’ on him, his eyes feeling like they could burn through the thick layers of metal of his body,
Then he felt a warm calloused hand on his shoulder, gently running up and down the ridges of his armor, that touch made him melt into a puddle of goo,
making him forget about the developing grudge against Kairo,
however he knew that wasn’t going to be the last time he would see him.
୧‿̩͙ ˖︵ ꕀ⠀ ♱⠀ ꕀ ︵˖ ‿̩͙୨
Several days had passed since you had booted Exo’s system up, and it was safe to say that the last days had been nothing but bliss,
it was like he was lying on cloud nine, he started to believe that he had been blessed by some force and sent you down, it was nothing less than euphoria.
You, however had to head into town, and Exo could never dream of making you go alone, never in a millennia would he allow that,
So he decided to accompany you, his large hand clasped around your own, your hand gently grabbing onto his pointer finger,
Exo kept a close eye on you, trying to sense of something was amiss, your heart beat seemed steady, your glucose was normal and your oxygen levels were okay,
he wished he could just carry you so you wouldn’t need to walk, he wouldn’t want to wear down your fragile bones!
but you refused his offer.. you said that you were ‘too old for that’, Exo really didn’t want you to be embarrassed, he decided to let this slide— for now.
his steps were heavy behind you, loud thumps being heard when his mechanical feet hit the ground,
you were pushing your cart through the dust and dirt, while Exo was carrying your backpack and money, who were comically small compared to his large and broad body,
you snickered to yourself as you looked back at him for a split second, he seemed to notice, suddenly his screen lit up, a blue heart blinking on the screen,
“a-ah..” he moaned out, tilting his head close to his right shoulder, you really wished you could understand the damn thing, but it seemed to be able to communicate through moans and exhales,
“Ya know I have zero idea what yer sayin’, right?” You sighed as you looked away, your cart wheels getting jammed on a rock out of nowhere,
it had you clicking your tongue as you bent down to pick the rock out of the old wheels,
the bot bent down to assist you, kneeling right next to you, there to help you if you needed anything,
“(Y/n)! What a coincidence! It has been a bit since we have last spoken, you aren’t running away from me are you?” The familiar voice of a certain admirer rang out from above you,
“hah? ‘Course not, You are my favorite person in this old dinky town..” you gave Kairo a crooked smile, dusting off your pants to face him fully,
his eyes softened, a gentle smile marking his plump lips, sometimes you really forgot how pretty Kairo was,
“..Y-You really think so..?” Aw shit, did you say that out loud? You nodded your head either way, an embarrassed flush warming your cheeks, Kairo put his hands on his face trying to hide the blush heating up his whole face, his hand gently extended out towards you,
Kairo was about to put his hand on your head, however his hand was stopped by a silver encased one, the mechanic fingers tightening around the Ginger’s arm,
“…” a certain chrome plated male stopped Kairo’s arm from going any further,
“..Huh. And who do you think you are?” Kairo retaliated, veins sprawling across his arm and porcelain face, an unnatural look to his other wise doll like appearance,
his glasses slipped down the slope of his nose, showing a pretty little bump on his upturned nose,
his thick brows furrowed, his pretty face twisted into a menacing scowl, his lively magenta eyes losing the shine they had when they met with your (e/c) eyes,
Exo on the other hand didn’t show a sliver of emotion, the screen visor he possessed didn’t show the emoticons he tends to show, instead a pitch black screen was shown,
Expo refused to utter a single sound, which was somehow more menacing than anything, fear instilled deep inside you, slimy tendrils of uncertainty and the urge to run pooling in your intestines,
“ha..haha— How about we calm down?” You suggested as calmly as you could, which was not very good since you were about to piss your pants,
You didn’t notice your hands shaking violently, your fingers and hands being unable to keep still, you were so distracted trying to tone down the situation you forgot about keeping calm yourself,
Both of the men turned to face you, noticing your shaken up state they seemed like they were about to stop,
the duo simultaneously reached out to you, trying to touch you, they seemed to have gotten distracted from their fight, however they were far from over,
“What the fuck do you think you are doing? Can’t you see she is scared? Tsk.. what a disgrace, to think you would care about a human being.. Touch her and I won’t hesitate to pull those cables out of your fucking head.” Kairo threatened, his hand balling into a fist
“…” the bot just stared at him, unresponsive.
This was your chance to book it out of here, a crowd of people were coming your way, you took advantage of their ‘moment’ to get away,
you blended into the streets, luckily you had a few silver coins on you, so you could hang out until Exo came to find you, which he always did,
you could apologize to Kairo later and spend some well deserved time with the ginger, not today though.
shit.. Did they team up to come after you? Because.. they aren’t where they were going when you looked back..
Is it just you or.. Are two people breathing down your neck?
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lizpottersworld · 5 months ago
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. ۫ ꣑ৎ . JUST NOT HOME. even though you and remus aren’t together anymore, your heart aches for him and to feel his love and care again. even your friends are worried, and even they’re acting off. (remus lupin x reader)
ask/request anything here
play my tears ricochet for the effect if your feeling special and like crying
it was a shock. the breakup. you didn’t even think separating with remus could be so brutal, well truthly you hadn’t imagined it at all. he was it for you, and you thought he thought the same. honestly, he probably did. yet, the way it ended left your heart broken beyond repair. three years thrown away.
not even your guys closet friends saw it coming, they had always looked up to your guys relationship. the high school sweethearts who loved each other like their was nothing else to savour in the world but the being of each other.
even though you hadn’t heard from remus recently, by your friends worry and anxiety for your being you could tell he was probably doing way better than you. to put it nicely, you looked like hell. all the healthy habits you had built over time thrown away, because he helped you get to that point. and now he was gone, what was the point of carrying on?
he was your home. your belonging. your soulmate. the reason you had carried on all these years. where was the loving and tender boyfriend you had loved those years back? where was he when he called it off with no explanation, leaving you crying in your shared apartment?
there was so many questions you wanted to ask, but nothing could soothe the pain you were feeling.
“y/n/n, please just if you need help just call us, any of us.” marlene pleaded on the phone, doing her daily check in with you. it was unusual hearing marlene so panicked and worried, she was all sunshine and parties really.
“i promise, i’ll be fine.” you sighed, the roughness to your voice not supporting your answer. of course you weren’t, you had cried about it non stop.
“okay well, i have to—“ she started, being cut off by the abrupt sound of pure laughter in the background. your breathing naturally startled, it was his laughter. not just anyones. his.
“marlene, is that—“ your voice croaked involuntarily, you knew all your friends had been hanging out with remus recently you just weren’t aware it was a happy kind of hangout. you always assumed it meant they were individually checking up on him. how was he so happy? it had only been a week?
“yes, i’m sorry y/n/n, we’re all just hanging at james tonight, it was only to make him feel better i didn’t—“ she rushed to explain again, surely the others had picked up on the words and all paused and hushed.
“he seems perfectly fine, marlene! meanwhile I haven’t seen any of you, calls are fine but how does he get the normal invitations to hang out? am i just not apart of the group anymore?” you scoffed, tears streaming down your face in anger and the ache of your heart.
“of course you are, its just— he was our friend first and—“ she pleaded with you, only making it worse for herself. your heart pained at her words, a pathetic whine sounded through the phone from you.
“thats always how its going to be it seems. no matter what I’ve done and do for you guys, because your my best-friends. but you know its all good because you met him a year before me so it makes perfect sense.” you managed to say through the sobs you let out. “i think i’m done with being the second choice in this friendship. you shouldn’t have to choose. i’m done mourning my— the relationship i had with remus just as i’m done with all your bullshit. i hope they all can hear me.” you seethed through your teeth, incredibly hurt, and then you hung up.
that same day you booked a flight, away from london, away from the place you only felt sad in. a week later, you moved out your flat and used the money to go to the uni you always wished you could go to. ‘that was always too far for long distance’
and that year, you started your new life, made new friends and had become close with your roommates. hours away from london, now living in Edinburgh. occasionally, your old friends tried to reach out to you but you ignored them. all until you received a message from him.
lover💓 hey. been a while, no ones heard from you, just wondering if your okay and well. i miss you. we all do.
and just like that. your heart ached again, and you found yourself immediately sending a reply. no matter when, no matter where in the world. you would always have that weak spot for him.
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blitzwhore · 2 months ago
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What Ghost Fuckers shows us about Blitzø, his face scar and eye trauma, and his deepest fears.
As we already know, Blitzø's scars come from the same accident that maimed Fizz, killed Blitzø's mom, and burned Blitzø's life as he knew it to ashes. We also know Blitzø blames himself for the accident, because he inadvertently caused it by pushing aside the imp carrying Fizz's cake.
In Oops, we also saw Blitzø's eye got badly hurt during the accident.
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And, even though it seems to have fully recovered given his precision with a gun, it is still permanently and completely surrounded by scar tissue.
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It's his most visible scar—the only one he cannot cover up with his daily attire. It represents his vulnerability and broadcasts it to the world. So much so that, when he's feeling at his most helpless, he shields it from view as a means to protect himself.
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Eyes are typically represented in fiction as windows to the soul, so one's eye being hurt or scarred can be a representation of how broken, hurt, or tainted they are/feel inside; an unclosable window that displays their deepest trauma for everyone to see.
We also know Blitzø privately crosses out his face in pictures with his loved ones, and we've seen across multiple episodes that the side of his face that is highlighted in each scene can relate to his emotional state. His scarred side is in full view in moments when he's losing control of his emotional state and unable to hide his vulnerability, whereas his unscarred side will be in view when he's trying to avoid/hide his insecurities and pretend everything is fine. On key moments when he's being honest with himself and others about his emotions, his front side will show, a representation of him acknowledging both sides and approaching a balance between them.
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In Ghost Fuckers, eye trauma is also used to represent Blitzø's emotional turmoil, except the eye trauma is no longer his own—it is very blatantly extended to others.
In his Millie hallucination, every single Millie except for the one with the broken arm has got something wrong with one or both of her eyes. Each of them is the realization of Millie being hurt because Blitzø put her in harm's way: the bottle shards from Murder Family, the fire in Loo Loo Land, the giant fish from Spring Broken, the angelic arrow in CHERUBS, and the final Millie, which seems to match the hotel bellboy, implying Rolando has hurt or affected her in some way.
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(Notice how Blitzø's scarred side is showing again in this moment).
All these Millies have been ruined in the same way Blitzø is ruined, and they've been ruined because of Blitzø. Because he needed her. Because he put her in harm's way. Because he cared about her enough to selfishly keep her in his life.
All of these Millies have ended up "like him": permanently marked as broken.
This is what his love does, in his eyes (pun not intended). It damages people beyond repair. It is a contagious and unstoppable force that will inevitably destroy anything and anyone it—he—touches.
Just like it did his mother.
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She, too, loses an eye in his hallucination. An eye that falls right in his hand as she burns away, marking him as responsible for her corruption; an eye that looks at him even as she vanishes from his grasp. Almost as if she knows. Knows what he did, knows he's to blame for her death. Knows that if it weren't for him, and his feelings, and his love, she'd still be whole. She'd still be alive.
This masterful visual representation of Blitzø's guilt and fear is perfectly summarised in Millie's line, “when was the last time you loved someone without hurting them?” Blitzø truly believes anyone who stays close to him will end up just like him: damaged, and traumatised, and broken, or worse—dead.
And all because he was selfish enough to let himself be loved and cared for by them.
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apollodarling-writes · 7 months ago
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Babycakes can you pretty please write a male y/n x yan!ghostface where y/n doesn’t die in the end and lowkey falls in love 🤭 (also pretty please make ghostface a praiser 🙏🏽)
FAMOUS LAST WORDS
yan! dbd! ghostface x gen jockey! male! reader
cws : yandere themes, a bit of dry humping, praise, creampie, choking, rough sex, kinda ?? handjob (reader receiving), orgasm control, knife play, anal, pronebone, dubcon??? , mentions of public masturbation, thigh fucking, danny is a tease, reader cleans his blood off of the bowie so blood play but ingestion??? , cum eating i guess but the reader is made to clean up his cum from danny’s gloves.
the fog that hung between the trees was particularly thick this trial. the red forest was known for being hard to navigate in some areas due to the low lighting, and the natural fog scattered throughout the landscape was of no help either. you were unsure if one of the survivors offered the entity a bottle of murky reagent, but it had become harder to see than it already was. you suppose you couldn’t complain as it made you harder to track, and thus it was easier to hide.
your group had completed two generators without a single person being hooked. anxiety knotted your stomach as you mulled over what the killer was up to. was the killer waiting for your group to finish the generators and then camp the gates? were they watching from the shadows and getting some sort of sick pleasure from watching the lot of you squirm? the answer to these questions was beyond your reach, and you knew that all you could do was focus on the task at hand. if you struck the wires too early, you would blow up the generator and the killer would surely know your location if they didn’t already.
a chill runs the length of your spine, gooseflesh raising the hairs on your body. you stop repairing the generator for a moment, the feeling of being watched prevalent as your swivel your head to find the source of the gaze. you’d been in this realm long enough to abide by your instincts. your gaze flits through the trees, your heart thumping in your chest as you are unable locate the source. chalking it up to the quietness of the trial, you busy your hands with firing the wires of the generator, successfully sparking one portion. you sift through your toolbox, searching through old and rusted scraps for something to replace one of the broken parts.
a hand suddenly grips the back of your neck, hoisting you off the ground. a hand muffles your cry of protest, bending your front over the generator.
“shhh… just be quiet now, baby.” a muffled voice all but pants, their chest pressing against your back as they lean forward to whisper in your ear. “i’ve finally got you to myself….”
you recognize that voice — the ghostface. realization washes over you; the quietness of the trial, feeling watched, the lack of a terror radius…. it all made sense now. your tongue darts out to lick the leathery material of his gloved palm in a feeble attempt to get him to release you.
“be patient now,” the ghostface groans, “we’ll get there, pretty boy.”
the ghostface maneuvers his fingers to grip your wrists, pinning them behind your back while grinding his half-hard cock into the meat of your ass. you squirm at his touch, feeling disgusted at the desperate panting the man behind you let out.
“i know you’ve been thinking about this,” the masked man grunts, his breath hitching. “i’ve seen you fuck yourself in trials before — did’ya think i wouldn’t know?”
shame and embarrassment wash over you, a quiet whimper leaving your lips as a hand snakes around to palm you through your bottoms. “n—not here… please—“
“god, look at how cute you are,” the ghostface coos, his gloved hand slipping past your waistband and cupping your length. “keep begging like that and i won’t be able to control myself.”
“i’m not—“
“ah-ah, quiet now… don’t you wanna be good for me, baby?” he purrs, your hips bucking as his thumb brushes against your cockhead. ”mmm, so sensitive. i think im gonna have fun with you…”
the ghostface’s hand tugs down your pants, your protests going unheard as you hear his robes shift. his cock slides between your thighs — the intrusion unwelcome and unfamiliar.
“stop… i cant — we can’t… not here.” you panic, your gaze flitting through the areas you could see. god forbid any of the other survivors witness this and get the wrong idea. you’d be considered a fucking traitor. maybe they’d even think you were selling them out. or, shit, what if they thought you were slutting yourself out to survive?
“shut the fuck up,” he groans, his cock brushing against your shaft. “just sit there and look pretty for me, ‘kay?”
your mouth immediately closes, figuring it would be better to just let him have his way and hopefully all five gens will be done by the time he finishes. your body is tense with shame and guilt, your thighs clenched around the masked man’s length in an attempt to get him off faster.
the ghostface spits in his hand, wrapping his fingers around you again, and pumps you in time with each thrust. with each movement, you find yourself melting into his touch, biting your lip to keep yourself quiet. he was too good at this, and he fucking knew.
“y’like that, baby?” you could hear the smirk in his tone.
“fuck you.“ you grit out, hating that you were becoming aroused at such an invasive, disgusting act.
“oh, i plan to, little bunny.”
the masked man removes his hand just as you were on the cusp of your orgasm, a soft whine leaving your lips. your cockhead is flushed an angry red, beads of precum now smeared along your shaft. “why’d you—“
you suck in a breath as a finger slowly dips into your ass, curling into your g-spot. the feeling was foreign, and it hurt like a bitch, but fuck did it feel good. “yeah? just like that, pretty boy?”
he slowly pumps his finger, careful not to hurt you as he works up to another one; his fingers scissor and stretch, curling into your prostate. before you knew it, the man had gotten three fingers in you, your legs shaking and your whimpers increasing in volume as you come closer and closer to your climax.
“fuck — ‘m gonna cum.” you pant, your back arching as you try to fuck yourself on his fingers. through a lust-induced haze, you hear a faint chuckle before the sensation you crave eludes you. the ghostface removes his digits, your cock twitching and aching for release.
“oh, you poor thing. were you gonna cum?” the man murmurs teasingly, his own erection throbbing beneath the layers of his robes. he eagerly grips the back of your neck and ushers you on your stomach behind the generator, lifting his clothing just enough to carefully push inside of you.
“y’so fuckin’ tight..!” he hisses, releasing your wrists to press down on your lower back. your fingers find purchase in the dirt of the forest floor as the ghostface slowly thrusts into you, your gummy walls hugging the man’s cock so deliciously.
with each thrust, you found it harder and harder to control your volume. with the way the man had angled himself, the tip of his cock bumped against your g-spot damn near constantly. your stomach tightened as your release began to approach once more, desperate whimpers and whines leaving your lips as tears pricked your eyes.
“i’m gonna cum – ‘m gonna fuckin’ cum…” you whine, “please, i need more!”
the killer groans in ecstacy at your desperation, his cock twitching inside of you as one hand wraps around your throat, lifting you from the dirt. “gonna have to fuck you more often, yeah? youre doin’ so fuckin’ good for me, baby.”
his digits tighten around your throat, cutting off your air supply as your jaw slackens at the brutal pace. a gurgled moan parts your lips, your face growing red from the lack of oxygen. mercifully, he releases his grip on you, but is quick it with the cold steel of his bowie knife.
the ghostface snakes an arm around your midsection, pumping your cock in time with each mind-numbing thrust. you hold yourself up as the blade trails along your flesh, drawing thin lines of blood. it seemed that the man was getting off on the pain he inflicted, his thrust becoming harder, faster.
the blade trails up, pressing against your lips. “open up, baby. gotta clean up your mess.” the ghostface breathily groans, his thrusts growing sloppy.
your lips part, the blade resting on your tongue as your lips close around it. it tastes like iron, your own blood coating your tongue as your cock twitches in the killer’s fist. ropes of cum spill onto the leather of your assailant’s glove, a long moan erupting from your throat as your vision blurs with tears. your hips buck into his grasp, the killer never once stopping. your mind melts into a delicious quiet, the only thing you’re able to focus on is how fucking good it feels.
“fuck — you feel so fucking good, bunny.” he groans, sheathing his blade and replacing it with the cum stained leather. “be a good boy and clean off my glove, yeah?”
the killer pants as you mindlessly obey his order, the bitter taste seemingly only serving to arouse you further. you lap at the cum on his glove while the killer fucks into you with fervor, breathy groans leaving him as the chill of his mask presses into your shoulder. the ghostface weakly thrusts into you as his climax washes over him. his cock twitches inside of you, cum painting your insides as he slowly comes down from his high.
the man is quick to fix his attire as the exit gate sounds, leaving you breathless as cum drips down your thighs, the scent of dirt and sex staining your clothing. with shaky legs, you pull up your bottoms and quietly mull over what just happened as you make your way to the exit gate on the opposite side of the map.
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the-winter-spider · 1 month ago
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Invisible | Part 12
Pairings: Bucky x Reader (eventually lol)
Word Count: 3.7k
Warnings: None,
A/N: Okay this is kinda like a filler i guess! I have some juicy stuff coming up!! Some more angst and drammmmaaaaa 🫶🏻 (bucky and dean meeting 🤪🤪🤪🤪🤪)
Masterpost
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Steve waited outside the door for a moment, his hand resting lightly on the frame. He could hear your pacing, the soft thud of your footsteps moving back and forth. He let out a quiet sigh, his chest tightening at the sound of your frustration, your hurt.
“Take your time,” he said again, his voice gentle, barely above a whisper. He didn’t move, didn’t leave. He just stood there, a silent presence, ready for when you were.
Inside, you finally stopped pacing and sat heavily on the edge of the bed, your hands gripping the edge of the mattress. The weight of the fight with Natasha pressed down on you, and for a moment, you let your head fall into your hands.
Natasha wasn’t just any friend. She was your person, the one who always had your back, who could cut through your bullshit with a single look. The fact that the two of you were at such odds now felt like a sharp crack in your foundation. You’d fought before, sure, but never like this—never with such finality in her tone.
“When did everything get so wrong?” you muttered to yourself, your voice barely audible.
The knock on the door came again, softer this time. “It’s me,” Steve said quietly. “Can I come in?”
You hesitated, your throat tightening. “Yeah.”
The door opened slowly, and Steve stepped inside, closing it gently behind him. He didn’t speak right away, just took a seat on the chair across from the bed, giving you space. His blue eyes searched your face, taking in every detail—the way your shoulders slumped, the way your fingers nervously twisted together in your lap.
“Want to talk about it?” he asked after a moment, his voice steady but soft.
You shook your head, letting out a bitter laugh. “What’s there to talk about? I’ve managed to piss off my best friend. Bucky probably hates me too. Everything feels like it’s falling apart, and I don’t even know how we got here.”
Steve’s brows knit together, his voice calm. “Nat doesn’t hate you. She’s just… worried. And Bucky—” He paused, choosing his words carefully. “He doesn’t hate you either, he never would… If anything, he’s probably hating himself right now.”
You scoffed, your eyes stinging. “Yeah, well, I’m tired of feeling like I have to defend him to everyone…. Like I’m the only one who gets it.”
Steve leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “That’s because you do get it. You’ve known him your whole life. You’ve seen sides of him that the rest of us haven’t. But that doesn’t mean you have to carry this all on your own… y’know Buck would never ask you to defend him”
You met his gaze,”I know but its him…” your throat tightening. “It feels like I’m losing everyone, Stevie. First Bucky, now Nat…”
Steve’s eyes softened, and for a moment, he hesitated, as if debating whether or not to say what was on his mind. Finally, he spoke, his voice low but firm. “You’re not losing me.”
Your eyes flickered with emotion, but you quickly looked away, trying to keep your composure. “Thank you…,” you murmured. “But sometimes it feels like I’m losing myself.”
Steve stood, crossing the small space between you. He didn’t sit down beside you, didn’t invade your space, but he crouched down in front of you, his hands resting lightly on his thighs. “Hey,” he said, his voice grounding. “You’re still you. You’re still the same strong, stubborn, caring person who holds this group together. And yeah, things are messy right now, but it doesn’t mean they’re broken beyond repair.”
You blinked down at him, his words sinking in. There was something so steady, so unwavering about Steve. He always seemed to know exactly what to say, even when you didn’t want to hear it.
“I just wish I could fix everything,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper.
Steve gave you a small, sad smile. “You don’t have to fix everything. Sometimes, you just have to let things settle. Nat will come around. And Bucky… well, he needs to figure some things out, but he’ll come back too. He always does.”
You nodded, though the weight in your chest didn’t fully lift. “It doesn’t feel that simple.”
“It never does,” Steve agreed. “But you don’t have to go through this alone even if it doesn’t always feel that way.”
You offered a weak smile, your voice soft. “Always the voice of reason.”
Steve hesitated slightly, his expression was thoughtful, his voice measured. “Maybe,” he said carefully, “a little space isn’t the worst thing right now.”
You frowned, confused. “What do you mean?”
He leaned against the doorframe, crossing his arms. “You, Bucky, Nat… you’ve been attached at the hip since forever. That kind of closeness? It’s bound to lead to clashes eventually. Sometimes, a break can help. Give everyone time to cool off, get some perspective.”
You nodded slowly, his words sinking in. “Yeah,” you said, sighing. “Maybe you’re right.”
Steve smiled softly. “Of course I’m right.”
You chuckled, the tension in your shoulders easing just a little. “Thanks, Steve. For always being there. You’re like… my rock, you know? I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
Steve’s smile faltered for a brief second, but he quickly masked it with a nod. “That’s what I’m here for.”
You didn’t notice the flicker of emotion that passed through his eyes as you continued, your tone warm. “You’re such a great friend. I don’t say it enough, but I’m really lucky to have you.”
Steve’s heart clenched. Every time. Every single time he felt like he might be getting somewhere, like he was more than just your safety net, the friend you could always lean on, you reminded him exactly where he stood. The word friend hit harder than it should have, even though he’d heard it a thousand times.
He forced a small smile, even as his thoughts churned. Of course she doesn’t see you that way. Why would she? She’s got Bucky. She’s always had Bucky. No matter how much he wanted to be the one you turned to, the one you chose, it was always him playing the role of the supportive friend. And he would. He always would. Because he’d rather be your friend than nothing at all.
Steve’s hand drifted to his pocket, where the locket he’d bought at the farmers market 2 months rested. He’d been carrying it around for weeks, waiting for the right moment. Maybe now, after everything, was the time. Maybe if you saw how much he cared, really saw it, things could be different.
But before he could pull it out, your stomach grumbled loudly, breaking the quiet. You blinked in surprise, then burst into laughter, the sound filling the room and easing some of the lingering tension.
“Guess my body’s trying to tell me something,” you said, grinning. You glanced at Steve, your eyes sparkling with amusement. “You wouldn’t want to get solo brunch with little ol’ me, would you, Stevie?”
Steve’s heart twisted, but he pushed the feeling aside, letting a warm smile spread across his face. He slid his hand out of his pocket, leaving the locket where it was. “I’d go anywhere with you,” he said softly, his voice carrying a depth you didn’t quite catch. “Just say the word.”
You grinned, standing up and grabbing your coat. “Well, then. Let’s go. I’m thinking pancakes.”
“Pancakes it is,” Steve said, following you toward the door.
As you stepped out into the cool morning air, Steve tucked the locket away for another day, keeping it close to his heart. He could wait a little longer. For now, being by your side was enough.
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Before
It was a warm, golden afternoon, the kind that felt endless. The group had gathered at the park, their favorite spot back in college. The sun filtered through the trees, casting dappled light over the picnic blanket sprawled across the grass. Laughter echoed as everyone passed around snacks, drinks, and half-hearted attempts at playing cards.
Natasha sat beside you, leaning back on her hands, her red hair catching the sunlight. She nudged you with her elbow, grinning. “Okay, I need to know—are you seriously not going to shoot your shot with Bucky?”
You groaned, covering your face with your hands. “Nat, please. Not this again.”
Natasha laughed, throwing her head back. “What? I’m just saying! He looks at you like you hung the damn stars, and you’re over here acting like you don’t notice.”
Your cheeks flushed as you glanced toward Bucky. He was a few feet away, wrestling Sam for control of the frisbee while Steve cheered them on. His laughter was loud, unrestrained, and it sent a familiar warmth curling in your chest.
“It’s not like that,” you mumbled, picking at the edge of the blanket.
Natasha rolled her eyes, leaning in closer. “Sure, it’s not. And I’m totally not sitting here rooting for my two favorite idiots to get their act together.”
“Nat…” you warned, but she just smirked, unbothered.
She sat up straighter, her tone softening. “Look, I get it. It’s scary. But if anyone deserves a shot at something real, it’s you. And if he doesn’t see that? He’s even more of an idiot than I thought.”
You gave her a small smile, her words settling over you like a warm blanket. Natasha had always been your fiercest supporter, the one who never let you doubt your worth. She believed in you, even when you couldn’t quite believe in yourself.
Before you could respond, Wanda plopped down on your other side, holding out a bag of chips. “Okay, but am I the only one who thinks Steve’s got a little crush on you?”
Natasha groaned dramatically, flopping onto her back. “Wanda, please. One love triangle at a time.”
You laughed, shaking your head. “Steve and I are just friends. He’s practically a saint. No way he’d put up with my chaos.”
Wanda shrugged, munching on a chip. “I’m just saying. You’ve got options.”
Natasha sat up again, shooting Wanda a playful glare. “Stop confusing her. She’s got enough on her plate.”
Across the way, Bucky finally wrestled the frisbee from Sam and jogged over, a triumphant grin on his face. He tossed it toward Steve, who caught it easily, then flopped onto the blanket beside you, his arm brushing yours.
“You missed my epic victory,” he said, his blue eyes sparkling.
“Oh, I saw,” you replied, grinning. “Very impressive.”
Bucky leaned closer, lowering his voice conspiratorially. “Don’t tell Sam, but I think he let me win.”
Natasha snorted, giving you a knowing look, but thankfully she kept her mouth shut.
The afternoon stretched on in a blur of laughter and easy conversation. The group settled comfortably into their usual rhythm—Sam was in the middle of telling an exaggerated story about his latest gym mishap, complete with wild hand gestures, while Steve shook his head, muttering, “That’s not how it happened.”
Natasha leaned into you, her shoulder brushing against yours. “Did you catch that?” she whispered, nodding toward Bucky, who was currently sprawled out on the blanket, his eyes fixed on you even as he pretended to be listening to Sam.
You rolled your eyes, trying to play it cool. “He’s probably just zoning out,” you said, keeping your tone light. But your heart fluttered all the same.
Natasha smirked, undeterred. “Oh, sure. Totally normal to ‘zone out’ while staring at someone like they’re the only person in the world.”
“Nat,” you hissed, nudging her. “Stop it.”
She held up her hands in mock surrender, her grin widening. “Hey, I’m just calling it like I see it. And I see a man who’s absolutely whipped.”
You couldn’t help but laugh, your cheeks warming. “You’re delusional.”
“Am I, though?” she shot back, raising an eyebrow. “Because last I checked, you’ve been sneaking glances at him all afternoon.”
You opened your mouth to protest, but before you could, Sam called out, “Hey, Bucky! You planning to help me win this argument or just stare at her all day?”
Bucky’s head snapped up, his face instantly flushing. “Shut up, Wilson,” he muttered, chucking a crumpled napkin in Sam’s direction.
The group burst into laughter, and you buried your face in your hands, groaning. Natasha, of course, was having the time of her life.
“See?” she said, leaning in again. “I’m not the only one who notices.”
You peeked at Bucky through your fingers, catching the way he ran a hand through his hair, avoiding everyone’s gaze. It was almost endearing, how flustered he looked. Almost.
Natasha gave you a gentle nudge. “You know, if you two ever stop dancing around each other, I might actually die of happiness.”
“Noted,” you said dryly, though you couldn’t keep the small smile off your face.
A little while later, as the sun dipped lower in the sky, Bucky wandered over to the cooler and pulled out a bottle of water. He walked back toward you, holding it out.
“Here,” he said, his voice softer, his eyes meeting yours. “You’ve been out here all day. Don’t want you passing out on us.”
You took the bottle, your fingers brushing his for a split second. “Thanks,” you said, your voice quieter than you intended.
Natasha, who had been watching the whole exchange like a hawk, leaned in close again once Bucky returned to his spot. “Yup,” she whispered. “Totally whipped.”
“Nat!” you whispered back, trying not to laugh.
The banter carried on as the day stretched into evening, the golden light casting everything in a warm glow. Natasha’s playful commentary, Bucky’s lingering glances, and the easy laughter of your friends—it all felt like a perfect snapshot of a simpler time, one you wished you could hold onto forever.
Later, as the sun began to set, painting the sky in hues of orange and pink, Natasha grabbed your hand and pulled you aside while the others packed up.
“Promise me something,” she said, her tone unusually serious.
You blinked, caught off guard. “What is it?”
“Promise me that no matter what happens, you’ll go after what makes you happy,” she said. “Even if it’s scary. Even if it feels impossible.”
You nodded, squeezing her hand. “I promise.”
Natasha smiled, her eyes soft. “Good. Because you deserve the world, and I’ll be damned if I let you settle for anything less.”
The group slowly packed up, laughter still echoing in the warm summer air. Sam was balancing an empty soda can on his head, much to Steve’s disapproval, while Wanda and Bucky bickered over who was responsible for forgetting the sandwiches.
Natasha gave you a final nudge as you walked back toward the cars. “Remember what I said,” she murmured, her voice just loud enough for you to hear. “Don’t wait too long.”
You glanced at her, a playful smirk tugging at your lips despite the weight of her words. “You’re relentless, you know that?”
“Damn right,” she said with a wink, looping her arm through yours as you caught up with the others.
When you reached the parking lot, Steve and Sam were already arguing about who would drive. “You almost hit a mailbox last time,” Steve was saying, arms crossed.
“That was one time!” Sam protested, throwing his hands in the air. “And it was barely a scratch.”
“Barely a—” Steve cut himself off, glancing at you and Natasha as you approached. “Can we get a neutral party here?”
Natasha raised an eyebrow. “Neutral? You’ve got the wrong girl.” She patted Steve’s shoulder. “But you’re probably safer behind the wheel.”
Sam groaned, muttering under his breath as he tossed Steve the keys. “Fine. But if we hit traffic, I’m picking the music.”
“You always pick the music, Sam,” Wanda said, sliding into the backseat.
Bucky hung back with you, his hands shoved into his pockets as everyone else climbed into the car. “Guess we’re stuck with Stevie’s Sunday driving,” he joked, his voice light.
“Could be worse,” you replied, nudging him gently. “Could be you driving.”
Bucky feigned offense, his hand over his heart. “Wow. No faith in me at all.”
You laughed, shaking your head as you both walked toward the car. But as you reached for the door handle, Bucky hesitated, his expression softening.
“Hey,” he said quietly, his voice almost lost in the noise of the others. “I’m glad you came today.”
The sincerity in his tone caught you off guard, and for a moment, you didn’t know what to say. Finally, you smiled, your heart skipping a beat. “Me too.”
Before the moment could linger, Sam yelled from inside the car. “Come on, lovebirds! Some of us are hungry.”
Bucky rolled his eyes, opening the door for you with an exaggerated flourish. “After you, Your Highness.”
You laughed, sliding into the seat. “Thanks, Barnes.”
As he climbed in beside you, the car roared to life, Sam already flipping through his playlist as Steve muttered something about keeping his eyes on the road.
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Wanda hurried down the steps of Steve and Sam’s building, her heart racing. She had barely reached the sidewalk when she spotted Natasha a few feet away, pacing like a caged animal. Her arms were crossed tightly over her chest, her jaw clenched, and her face a storm of emotions.
“Natasha!” Wanda called out, quickening her pace to catch up. “What the heck was that?” Her voice was light but concerned, trying to gauge the situation without setting Nat off further.
Natasha stopped pacing, turning sharply toward Wanda. Her eyes blazed with frustration. “What was that? That was me finally losing my mind!”
Wanda blinked, surprised at her friend’s raw anger. “Okay, calm down. What happened back there?”
Natasha let out a bitter laugh, throwing her hands up. “What happened? What always happens! I’ve been on her side with Bucky for years, Wanda. Years! I’ve been the one in both of their ears, telling her to go for it, telling him to stop being a coward. And what’s changed? Nothing. They just keep dancing around each other like we’re still in high school.”
Wanda frowned, watching as Natasha resumed her pacing. “Nat…”
“No,” Natasha interrupted, her voice rising slightly. “I’m serious. I love them both, you know that. But she was my first friend here. My loyalty will always be with her, and I can’t keep watching her get hurt. It’s driving me insane, Wanda!” She stopped, facing her again. “And now? Now she finally agrees to go on a date with someone who isn’t Bucky, and what happens? He pulls this crap. Of course he does!”
Wanda crossed her arms, her voice calm but firm. “I get that you’re mad. But you’re letting it get to you, Nat. This isn’t just about you.”
Natasha sighed, her shoulders slumping slightly. “I know, but I can’t help it. We’re adults now, for God’s sake. This is some hogh school drama, and I just… I can’t anymore. They’re wasting so much time.”
Wanda stepped closer, her voice gentle. “I get it. But at the end of the day, it’s not our fight. We can be there for them, listen, support, but we can’t force them to do anything. It’s their mess to figure out.”
Natasha nodded reluctantly, rubbing her temples. “I know you’re right. It’s just hard. And now what do we do about Dean? I can’t believe this is how her first real date ended.”
Wanda gave her a sympathetic look. “We just keep being there for her. And maybe ease up on the pressure. Let her decide how to handle things in her own time.”
As they started walking toward their apartment, Wanda tried to shift the mood. “Come on, let’s get some food, maybe brunch wasn’t such a bad idea after all.”
They hadn’t made it halfway down the block when they spotted Sam leaving your and Bucky’s building. He looked up, surprised to see them. “What the hell?” he said, stuffing his hands into his pockets as he approached. “I thought we were all getting lunch?”
Natasha rolled her eyes, her tone dry. “Let’s get lunch then.”
Sam glanced at Wanda, his brows raised in confusion. “Uh… okay? What did I miss?”
Wanda sighed, nodding for him to follow as they continued walking. “Nat and Y/N had a fight.”
Sam’s eyes widened in disbelief. “Are you kidding me? We’re falling apart”
“Tell me about it,” Natasha muttered under her breath.
Sam quickened his pace to walk alongside them. “Alright, what happened?”
“She’s always defending Bucky, no matter how much of an ass he’s being,” Natasha snapped, her frustration bubbling to the surface again. “I just can’t deal with it anymore.”
Sam raised his hands defensively. “Whoa, okay. Look, I just left Buck’s place, and yeah, I totally agree—telling her to leave was wrong. But for what it’s worth, he did try to go after her. He’s beating himself up about it.”
Natasha huffed, her anger still simmering. “That doesn’t change what he did.”
“I’m not saying it does,” Sam said, his voice steady. “But like we talked about, it’s 50/50, Nat. They’ve both been stuck in this cycle for years. He’s scared, she’s scared—it’s a mess.”
They reached the diner and slipped into a booth, the warm smell of coffee and pancakes wrapping around them. Once they’d ordered, Sam leaned forward, his tone more serious.
“Bucky told me his side,” he said. “He’s been trying to work up the courage to tell her how he feels for years. And every time he thinks he’s about to make a move, he freezes because he’s terrified of ruining what they have. And now? He’s convinced she doesn’t feel the same.”
Natasha frowned, crossing her arms. “That’s no excuse.”
“It’s not,” Sam agreed. “But it explains why he’s stuck. He told me last night that seeing her with Dean made him realize how much he’s screwed things up. He’s scared he’s already lost her.”
Wanda tilted her head, her voice soft. “It’s like we said—it’s their mess. We can’t fix it for them.”
Natasha sighed, leaning back in the booth. “Yeah, but watching them do this to each other? It’s exhausting.”
Sam nodded, his voice gentle. “I get it. But all we can do is be there for them. That’s what friends do.”
The conversation settled, and for a moment, the three of them sat quietly, the weight of their friendship—and its current fractures—hanging in the air.
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loganhowlettshousewife · 24 days ago
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logan howlett x autistic!reader
series masterlist - my masterlist
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logan understands you better than anyone else. his senses are enhanced from his mutation, every noise hitting him at a higher intensity than it does anyone else, every scent reaching his olfactory receptors no matter how faint. it doesn’t often bother him, it’s something he’s had to deal with his whole life, but there are certainly times when the world around him can become overwhelming in its intensity.
and so he understands you, when things get to be too much for you. he understands, though not in the same way, how it feels when there are too many separate sounds hitting your ear drums, when certain textures make your skin crawl, when the bright fluorescent lights that most places use make you want to collapse to the ground and cry. he doesn’t blame you for being overwhelmed, doesn’t judge you or treat you as if you’re lesser for it.
it’s impossible to truly understand the feelings of autistic overstimulation without being autistic, but logan’s understanding of it comes as close as possible, and you’re forever grateful for his silent support.
you often wonder how you ended up so lucky, to have someone who understands you the way he does, who never complains when he has to cut a date short for reasons that wouldn’t affect anyone else, who removes you from situations he knows will be difficult for you to deal with.
he’s become a safe haven for you. you don’t need to mask when you’re alone with logan. he told you once that he can tell when you’re masking, that there are hints in your scent that betray your true emotions, and every time you find yourself slipping into that persona he pulls you out of it with a gruff “stop that”.
he helps you take off the clothes that feel scratchy against your skin, redressing you in fabrics that he knows will soothe the angry corners of your mind, the ones that scream in a loud cacophony that even you can’t understand, crying out for relief from something. he turns off the lights in the room, sits with you in the dark, doesn’t speak unless you request his voice. he lays down on top of you - a newer development, since he used to vehemently refuse, worried he’d crush you under the weight of his adamantium skeleton - letting the pressure of his body against yours ground you to the present.
and he’ll never utter the words out loud, never speak them into existence under any circumstance, but it helps him too.
it’s been a long time since he’s been allowed to exist in silence like this, and he realises that he likes it when the world isn’t a jarring mess of noises and sights and scents around him. it’s nice to be able to focus on a single feeling rather than continuously compartmentalise the myriad of sensory information being thrown at him. you’ve helped him realise that it’s okay to take time for himself when his brain starts to feel fuzzy and raw and wrong, when the world becomes too much to handle.
he’s not good at being vulnerable, not good at being gentle. he’s rough and gruff and violent, a man born of blood and loss. but the more time he spends with you, the more he realises that perhaps his temper isn’t an inherent facet of his personality the way he’d always assumed, but rather a response to how uncomfortable he always feels, a response to the overstimulation constantly brimming inside him, an outlet for the buzzing under his skin.
he has words now for things he never understood before, concepts floating around in his brain. you’ve changed his life, taught him new things about himself at the old age of 200, when he thought he was surely stuck in his ways, broken beyond repair, an unfortunate mistake.
he’s far from perfect, knows it as surely as he knows his own name. but this, taking care of you, making sure no one bothers you while you come down, overstimulation going from a twenty to a ten to a five, until you can breath again without feeling like your chest is collapsing on itself? this is something he can do.
this, he will always do.
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diversity december taglist: @raeinyourdreams @meetmypointlessaddiction @chubbyhedgehog @yxtkiwiyxt @isepod @dis-plus-fanfic-reblog-writes
autistic!reader taglist: @thegothempress
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kaisaerinlover · 2 months ago
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michael kaiser
tw: mentions of domestic abuse, and he hurts her a little bit at the end with a pinch
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michael kaiser is rough around the edges, rough all over actually. well, not quite. even the most violent of people have their softest most tender spots. he is no exception to the rule. kaiser is so dark, so disturbed, so ruined from everything. he’s really just the product of every bad thing to ever occur in his life. maybe that’s why there’s something so sweet inside of him too, just a fraction of sugar amongst all of the bitter tar. a gram of your sugar. the kindness you gave him. kaiser can be gentle when he wants to be, when you ease it out of him.
that’s why you’re brushing his hair so nicely, you almost look like a normal couple. standing behind your boyfriend, brushing out his golden hair, goldielocks kaiser. you could laugh at that thought. he looks so sweet like this. so sweet when he has his guard all the way down for once. it’s a deity for him to be so relaxed, so you should relish in it the few occasions it happens. the poor man never seems to let his mind rest, never seems to trust anyone totally, never seems to be able to just be human. with you it’s different though, it’s not that he doesn’t trust you, the opposite actually. why wouldn’t he trust you? you stay with him through everything he puts you through. he trusts you the most in the world, actually. you could ruin him, ruin his life at any moment. what would the public think of his less than savoury relationship with you? what would everyone say when they found out how he treats you? about you at all, even? he knows you won’t do anything bad to him. that’s how much he trusts you. maybe it’s not even trust. just confidence. just unbridled pure knowing. you could call it love, but with kaiser, it’s hard to be sure.
you’re special, is what he’s trying to say, what he’d be trying to say if any of this was going on out loud. but no. you’re brushing his hair so delicately, like if you’re too rough he’ll disintegrate, and he could almost fall asleep. it’s the opposite though, the most breakable one is you, and in more ways than not you’re already broken beyond repair, thanks to kaiser’s words, kaiser’s fists, kaiser kaiser kaiser. it’s a shame he doesn’t really grant such treatment to you. but he likes broken toys anyway, they feel better, more familiar; like home. but you were broken from the beginning anyway, in ways only he could understand.
he pulls away eventually from your hands. you flinch instinctively as he stands up from the chair in front of his vanity and turns around to face you. it’s scary, naturally, he’s a vigorous man. he’s so merciless to you sometimes that you struggle to even comprehend why he’s with you and why you’re so lucky to have someone like him. you flinched over an impact that was never going to come, no fist to the face, no slap, no shouting, no choking. just a slightly bent over michael kaiser. your 186cm lover face level with you, giving you a genuine smile. none of the cruel smiles he gives to you usually. just a soft smile on his face. he looks so pretty like this. he’s so cute. you really can see the kid in him. he’s so innocent looking when he wants to be. or does he want to be innocent looking? either way, he’s so cute to you.
it’s strange seeing such a thing etched onto his features, his perfect model-like features. fuck, you’re so lucky aren’t you? you’re so fucking lucky to have him, even if he treats you so bad. why the fuck hasn’t he left you yet? he’s so beautiful. seriously, he doesn’t even look human. he’s like a fucking angel. staring into your dull eyes with his deep blue ones. they’re piercing you. even his eyes upstage yours. it’s hard to not be insecure over michael kaiser, because he truly is a spectacle. it’s okay though, he doesn’t think you’re human either. you’re a sweet angel princess. you’re as pure as a little bunny enjoying its first snow. and you’re also as cute as a button. he doesn’t verbalise those things too often though; he has a lot of untended to rage inside.
his tattooed hand is holding your considerably smaller one as he looks into your eyes so deeply, so lovingly. it’s really like something from a movie, a romance novel written by a teenage girl back in the day, a girl who just finished twilight, or the titanic. some cliché love story. so savour the moment while it lasts, because you and him are both not lacking the self awareness it takes to realise it won’t last for long. you smile back ever so sweetly. god you’re sweet. like sugar, or something of that sort. so fucking endearing. too cute, kaiser thinks. “little angel” he praises, and you giggle. your giggle is the most beautiful of melodies to him. it’s also rare, because he sure as hell doesn’t make you giggle often. more like cry. and sob. and everything of that sort, he won’t let his brain dwell on the synonyms for too long, then he might just have to think about the weight of his actions (and nobody wants to do that.) but hey, he’s just as fond of those sounds too, maybe in a different way.
he leans in and kisses your cheek in a way only a prince could kiss the princess he just saved from turmoil. it’s like you’re just kids again, fooling around and seeing what it’s like to have some loving contact from another person. like you’re both still too shy to go that extra mile. it’s so pure. so white. yeah, if you were a colour, you’d be white. milk white. it’s ironic because kaiser actually hates milk, you love it though. there’s something so deeply poetic about that, kaiser thinks. but he chooses, again, to not dwell on it; he hates thinking about these things too much. sometimes he does though, sometimes he’s so angry at himself for treating you the way he does. he fucking hates himself sometimes. he punishes himself as harshly as he does you sometimes. because he doesn’t really want to be this way, but then again, he likes it.
he’s leans in again and pecks your lips, and you giggle again. you’re like a giddy little girl. he picks you up like you weigh nothing, maybe you don’t, maybe you’re light because you’re not even human, just a cute pile of sugary sweetness, or a cupcake. he slams you onto your shared bed, the first rough act of the night. ouch. it kind of hurt, your back definitely felt that impact. usually you would be scared, heck, 5 minutes ago you were scared, flinching at him merely standing up. but right now is different. you don’t care at all. you’re so excited, so drunk on your’s and kaiser’s love. don’t focus on the bad, just focus on the good.
man, it’s so difficult for kaiser to not just ravage you here. you look so fucking cute. so untainted, somehow, even though you very much are. maybe that candy sugaryness of yours is keeping you untainted after everything. you’re so sweet you could seriously turn someone diabetic, he thinks. he almost laughs at that thought. his smile is still genuine as he nips at your neck, the skin marked by his hands last night. he remembers it too well, but shakes off the thought. he’s licking and biting so lightly, gently claiming you as his for the 1000th time. there’s really no need anymore, but you both enjoy it anyway. “so cute” he mumbles into your neck. “wie eine kleine prinzessin” you giggle some more. “really? you mean it?” you wonder. does he? ‘cause sometimes he’s seriously treating you in the complete opposite way. “of course, my princess. my dolly to do what i want to” he smirks back into your neck. that makes sense, of course, you’re his. you’re still his princess, he’s just a little different to those fairytale princes you (secretly and ashamedly) sometimes wish you had instead of him.
kisses in bed with kaiser always escalate into something more, even if he’s in a good mood, you guess. but you want it so bad this time. he’s so gentle right now. lightly fucking you. can you even call it fucking? it’s like, seriously, making love. kissing you, holding your hand and whispering sweet nothings into your ear as he thrusts himself inside of you, albeit so slowly. he’s usually rough, extremely rough, the bruises alongside your thighs and hips are proof of it. you’re marked all over by kaiser’s barbarity, but now he’s being so nice. it feels so good too, getting fucked in such a way. it’s like you’re a virgin again, having your very first time. this is how your first with kaiser should have gone. but we all know it didn’t go that way, because why would it? it’s michael fucking kaiser. “l-love you- s’ much- mi-“ he shushes you with a kiss before you can even finish your declaration of love. “sh, don’t say stupid things like that. i love you so fucking much my sweet fucking babygirl” is he insecure? why is your love stupid? he’s still fucking you, it’s difficult to articulate yourself clearly; “b-but- hnghh- i do love yo-u- and it’s- it’s- is not stupid-“ you manage to sputter out between his thrusts. he laughs and kisses you sweetly “you shouldn’t love me, but you do, you’re crazy, schatz” he laughs again and mumbles “so fucking crazy, mine” he thrusts one more time “all for me”
feeling kaiser finish inside of you after he just fucked you like you’re the most special princess in town is liberating, so good. to say the very least. he’s still ontop of you looking at you like you’re the most valuable gem in the museum; he’s smiling too, still with that genuine smile. making love feels so good, it really does. being pampered in such a way is so good. he’s so good at it. it’s a shame he’s so brutal most of the days. he thinks the same. he’s eyeing you up and down, pinned underneath him on his white lacy bedsheets, the ones you picked that day at the store. he feels crazy powerful, examining every mark he gave you that’s still present. he sees a particularly nasty bruise on your stomach, one from a few days ago, and runs his hand over it so gently. he pinches it, squeezes it tightly, and laughs a bit. “fuck, you’re so helpless, aren’t you?” he chastises you as he prods and pinches your injury.
his change in behaviour was sudden, yet not dramatic. he’s still being relatively nice, actually. you bite your lip to keep those pretty diamond tears from spilling over your rosy cheeks and nod obediently. “yes, yes ‘m h-helpless” fuck it hurts. he’s still laughing at you, his blonde locks, the ones you brushed so gently earlier falling on your face, dampened by the tears that you just couldn’t stop from falling. those aren’t just from pain, you’re mourning the sweet kaiser you just lost. it’s almost taunting, his blonde hair somewhat drying your tears. the hair you treat with such care, the man you treat with such care, and still will. he’s still laughing “i like that, and you do too, don’t you little thing?” he’s not expecting an answer, and you’re not going to give one, it’s pointless to; you already know the answer and he does too. you both like it. you both love it, even, because even though he’s more evil than you by a long-shot, you’re still both as sick as each other.
the german said : what a little princess or something like that, idrk how to directly translate it into english but yeah it’s something along those lines, enjoy <3
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