#like. you were supposed to die. but you didn't. you were brought back and it was the most painful thing you've ever experienced

[mollysunder]

Sky and Viktor's relationship is such a horror movie to me. You've got a man who was frustrated by the limitations placed on his life that were out of his control, like his class, mobility, and general health. Despite everything, he manages to rise beyond his station and avoid being an assistant for the rest of his life.

Then you've got a woman from the same background who admires him and all that he's accomplished in spite of the similar class based prejudices they faced all the while she's his assistant. She works up the courage to take leap of faith and reach out to him with her own research to show what's possible if they worked together as equals. And then he gets her killed!

Sky's death isn't the end of it because while it affects Viktor it is in no way meaningful to Sky's life or value as a person whatsoever. Even the pendant he wears in her memory is based on the design of her notebook, but that was just her notebook's cover, she probably bought it from a store and the design itself is probably mass produced. Why not use Sky's signature that was in her letter and in the notebook, the thing part if the notebook with real value?

Then Sky's brought back in s2 and she really only exists to be Viktor's assistant again, who he kills, again! But this time it's different because this time Viktor's making a conscious decision to look Sky in the eye and kill her... to prove he's changed.

In the middle of all this, in no way has Sky's death been mourned by her family or anyone else who could have known her. Jayce wasn't affected by the reveal, he didn't think it was important to tell Heimerdinger, or anyone who knew her. Nothing about her life, death, or disappearance has spurred any emotional reaction or even curiosity about what happened to her.

Sky's new life was also extremely isolated because she became further tied to him (in some ways you could say she was defined by him). Viktor never mentioned Sky to anyone in the material plane during his commune arc, so she only exists to him and she has no way to communicate with others, she's just there for Viktor's sake.

Then in the finale we learn this all a part of a big time loop where Viktor actively set the wheels in motion to have him and Jayce create hextech together, but if everything follows as is, that means Sky is violently killed in those timelines too. That means Viktor weighed the costs and decided over and over and over again that Sky was expendable enough to let her die for his plan to work eventually. How is that not murder at this point?

What's worse is that post-finale Sky's humanity is a point of dispute amongst the fandom, the VAs, and the writers themselves. Sky's the hexcore manipulating Viktor. No, Sky's a manifestion of Viktor's guilt. No, she's actually supposed to represent his humanity/conscious made physical. And in none of these arguments do they discuss Sky as a person, she's just an object meant to serve Viktor both in the narrative sense and literal sense as his assistant.

The most absolutely maddening part is that with Viktor's new bio on the League site, not only have most traces of Viktor had been scrubbed by Piltover's archive, but Sky's life has been completely wiped. Her death was implied to have been swept under the rug, and only described as the "loss of life" consequence from his Hexcore experiment.

Viktor was afraid of dying a senseless death (created by the conditions Piltover condemned his birth to) in obscurity and then he turned it into Sky's destiny.

[margindoodles2407]

blame @seeking-elsewhither for this one. it's echo time and i'm having thoughts (tm)

[churipu]

YOU SLEEPING ON A COUCH AFTER AN ARGUMENT 𓆝 ⋆｡𖦹°‧

featuring. gojo satoru, geto suguru, toji fushiguro x reader

note. i hv so many ideas right now apart from what i'm actually supposed to be focusing on, so...pls excuse me.

GOJO SATORU. arguments with gojo are a pain in the ass, he's petty and everything will be a mess. he's so stubborn that it actually baffles you sometimes — and he calls you rock head?

being a sorcerer is never an easy job. gojo wakes up every day, not knowing whether he'd die in a mission or get to live another day. so when you brought up your concerns about it to him, the male didn't take it lightly. things have been tight for him, and you're walking on eggshells for the past few days.

the slightest thing angered him, like how his sleeve got stuck on the door handle, or the way he curses out loudly when he stubs his toe on the coffee table. it puts him in a shitty mood, so when that happens, and you try to talk to him about his job.

gojo gets very pissy about it.

frankly, you understood where his anger comes from. and it was part of your fault to bother him the moment he came back from work exhausted, it was bound to happen so you weren't really blaming him at all from the projecting of his anger to you the night before — he didn't say hurtful things, gojo knew better than that. all he did was tell you to leave him alone and get out of his sight for the night.

and you did. sleeping alone on the couch, all sprawled out, an arm dangling on the edge; while a string of drool dribbled down the corner of your lips.

you seemed to not mind having to sleep on the couch (under your own want). but your boyfriend did, the moment he knew your bed time strikes — he came out of the room and eyed your sleeping form. guilt washing over him when all you did was care about his being and how dangerous the jujutsu world is.

gojo approaches you and gently carried you in his arms, an arm right under your bottom and his other arm around your waist. hoisting you up like a baby as your cheek leaned onto his shoulder, letting the drool blotch his shirt. he doesn't care at all.

the male tucks you in the bed, pulling the covers over you before slipping next to you, chest pressed to your back and an arm resting on your hip. gojo will never let you sleep a whole night on the couch, he will bring you to sleep with him and apologize the very next day for being such an ass.

he also, tried to make it up to you by cooking a classic english breakfast. which ended up in chaos — and you both decided to order take out instead.

GETO SUGURU. geto is usually calm and collected; he doesn't really get angry at anything. even if he does, he mostly keeps it to himself unless it really bothers him. but since humans have certain capacities to their own emotion — geto is not spared from being angry, no matter how calm he is.

after the death of amanai, you could feel him change. your geto. it was traumatizing for him, and you understood. always being there for him, never leaving him alone. the dark circles under his eyes were apparent, and it looked like he hasn't had a good night sleep for what seemed like . . . weeks, or months, if that's even possible.

geto appreciated your company, really. but sometimes, he also wanted to be left alone to dwell on his feelings. he didn't want to end up saying hurtful things to you because he was so angry at himself. but he did, and god was it horrible.

he was already feeling like shit before the argument— which if you see, wasn't really an argument at all. it was one-sided, geto was telling you off and you didn't say anything back. because you knew he didn't mean it. he almost desperately begged for you to leave him alone because your presence was "annoying" him and he couldn't stand it.

although geto said it in a heap of moment. he didn't mean it, and before he could say anything else, you tell him that you were going to be sleeping on the couch, so if he needed anything he was free to come to you.

geto didn't stop you. he was busy hating on himself for telling you that — and believe me when i say that he, right there, almost cried out of frustration.

he tossed and turned on his bed. where you were usually on too, beside him, holding his hand whilst he sleep. your hushed voice lulling him into a peaceful slumber; but you weren't there today, all because he told you to leave him alone. geto sat up, his eyelids heavy, but no matter how long he shut is, they always open back up.

with slow and heavy steps, he approaches you on the couch. and geto had always knew that you were a light sleeper, so his footsteps awoken you. seeing your eyes flutter open, geto slid on the couch, laying himself on top of you — head on your chest, arms clutching onto your shirt like he's desperate for your presence, and his legs intertwining with yours.

getos' hushed apologies were heard as he leaned into your warmth, and you told him that you were never angry. brushing his hair, massaging his scalp using your fingertips before lulling him to sleep, and geto did. almost immediately. and so did you.

he could never sleep without you. whether it being on the bed, the couch, or anywhere else — as long has you were with him, he will find the ability to drift off.

TOJI FUSHIGURO. is an ass. let's face it — he wouldn't give a fuck if you decided to sleep on the couch after an argument, at least for the first couple of hours. toji is a blunt man, and he's a sole believer that nobody could bear sleeping on the couch when there's a bed in the house.

but you were there to prove him wrong.

after an argument going south, he finds you grabbing your pillow and then seeking shelter on the couch. and he clicked his tongue in annoyance, knowing you'd come crawling back on the mattress after a few hours — because who'd choose the couch over the bed?

you. apparently.

he slept without a single care, thinking of words to say when you finally decided to come back on the bed. but when he woke up at three am, his arm searching to find your body, but realizing all he was catching was air — he finally realized that you weren't coming back onto the bed.

and it annoyed him. he was angry that you weren't there. and at three am? he was already wide awake, walking out of the room angrily. but his gaze softened when he saw you asleep, the constant flashing light from the television panning on your body; toji walks over, snatches the remote and turns the device off.

letting out a soft sigh, toji squats down, flicking your forehead. and the action was enough to make you grimace lightly in your sleep — although not enough to wake you up completely. the male chuckled and prepped an arm under the hollow under your knees, and an arm across your shoulder.

with ease he brought you into your shared room and he laid you down on the bed, covering your body with the blanket before he slips into his own portion of the bed. scooting closer to you as you instinctively nuzzled into his chest, seeking for comfort.

toji wouldn't admit that he was the one who brought you into the bed and would end up saying how you came crawling back at three am. you always find out the truth though, and toji tells you to forget about whatever he did because he won't be doing it again (he will).

© CHURIPU 2024 , DO NOT COPY OR REPOST ANYWHERE

[cressidagrey]

It's a Love Story - Chapter 1

Summary:

Azriel's shadows find their master a wife.

Azriel would just really like his heart not to get broken again.

And Sky...well, she's just really surprised that that far too handsome male is interested in her at all.

Warning:

Rhys Bashing (as usual), I classified this as Azriel x OC, even when it't technically Azriel x Sellyn Drake (but we kinda know nothing about Sellyn Drake other than that she writes books so Sky is kinda an OC), Cassian is kinda a good guy for once, Azriel has a horrible time, as usual... Stuttering, toxic families (For once I do not mean the IC), Self-Esteem Issues, Secret Identity, Body Image Issues

If any of this triggers you or makes you uncomfortable, please take care of your own mental health and don't read it.

Koschei the Deathless Sorcerer was killed by the Spymaster of the Night Court. 

It was less dramatic than it sounded. At least Azriel thought so. 

And if Lucien hadn’t been a fucking idiot and put himself into a position to be kidnapped by the very same deathless sorcerer…then they wouldn’t even have been in that kind of situation. 

But he had been and so it ended with Azriel so magically exhausted that he collapsed the very same moment Truthteller stroke true once more. 

At least Koschei was slayn. 

And the only reason Azriel had gone to rescue the red-headed male in the first place was the fact that  Lucien was Elaine’s mate. Lucien was the male Elain loved. Azriel couldn’t let him die. 

Couldn’t let Elain feel the devastation of a mating bond broken by death…so his decision making had been quick. Either he would manage to get Lucien free…or he would die trying.  There wasn’t many things that he wouldn’t do for the female he loved. Even when he knew it shouldn’t be. 

Azriel had never been very good at knowing when enough was enough after all, wasn’t he?

No price was high enough to pay when it was about Elain’s happiness, as far as Azriel was concerned.  

He hadn't expected to wake up, and yet… there he was. Alive and whole.

*I hope it was worth it, Master,* the shadows sniped at him.

He blinked, taking in the dim light of the room, taking in the familiar surroundings. His room in the House of Wind.

“You are a fucking idiot, you know?” Cassian hissed at him from his place at his bedside and Azriel blinked at him.

"Lucien?" he brought out hoarsely.

"Not as much as a fucking scratch on him. Thanks to you," Cassian responded. "You on the other hand...Madja thought you were going to fucking die from pure magical exhaustion!"

Even Azriel he had...it would have been worth it. Lucien had made it out alive - and that was all that mattered in the end. Elain would be happy. That was all he cared about.

He didn't say that aloud though. 

He took a deep breath, opening his eyes again. "How long was I out?" he asked.

"Three days," Cassian growled. "Three. Days."

Azriel sat up slowly, wincing at the ache in his muscles. It felt like his entire body was one giant bruise, every inch of him pained and sore.

"Lay back down," Cassian snapped.

Azriel shot him a glare, but sank back onto the bed nonetheless. "I'm fine," he grumbled. "Just tired."

"Yeah, well, we'll let Madja be the judge of that," Cassian snapped. "And when you are feeling better, I am going to kill you for going off on your own!"

Azriel just gave him a weary look. "Better me than you," he said dryly. He closed his eyes, feeling a deep exhaustion settle over him. Cassian had Nesta to think about. Azriel didn't. Azriel just had himself.

"What the fuck is that supposed to mean?!" Cassian demanded.

Azriel didn't have the energy to answer

He dosed off, feeling the shadows twine around him. They were muttering, words he could c quite understand, bitching under their breath but for once it was comforting.

He woke up, feeling groggy and disoriented. His eyes felt like sandpaper, and his limbs were heavy. He groggily blinked at the room, feeling like he was in a haze.

It took him a moment to realize he wasn't alone. Cassian was still there, as was Madja.

Azriel groaned, pushing himself up into a sitting position. His head was throbbing, and his vision was a little blurred. He rubbed his face, trying to clear the fog from his mind. "Hey," he said, his voice rough and gravelly.

Cassian and Madja both looked at him, their expressions relieved. "How are you feeling?" Madja asked him, moving closer to the bed and waving a hand in front of his face.

"Like I was hit by a wagon," Azriel admitted. His muscles felt tight and sore, his body heavy with fatigue. His wings felt like they were made of lead, and every movement took a huge effort.

"That's unsurprising considering you nearly magicked yourself to death," Madja said gruffly. "Your body had a tremendous amount of stress and strain put on it. You're lucky to be alive."

He gritted his teeth. "Yeah, well, I didn't have a lot of other options," he pointed out.

Madja just let out a huff and began prodding and poking at his body, running her hands over his wings and checking his pulse. Cassian watched anxiously from the side, his arms crossed over his chest.

Azriel bore her ministrations in silence, trying not to wince as she poked and prodded at him. He knew she was just trying to help, but it didn't make the ordeal any more pleasant.

After what felt like forever, she finally stepped back, nodding to herself. "You're lucky, shadowsinger," she said gruffly. "You're lucky you're so damn resilient," she said, and he couldn't tell if it was a compliment or just an observation.

He looked at her blearily. "I guess I can add that to my list of things to be proud of," he muttered sarcastically.

Cassian barked out a laugh, but Madja just rolled her eyes. The door opened at that moment. "How's he doing?" Rhys demanded.

Azriel wanted to let out a sigh at the sight of Rhys. He loved his brother, but he didn't have the energy for a lecture right now.

Madja turned to Rhys. "He's weak and he's stupid," she snapped. "But he's alive."

Rhys let out a sigh, the tension in his shoulders easing just a little. "Thank you, Madja," he said. "Would you...give us a moment?"

Madja nodded, patting Azriel's leg as she got up to leave. "Rest," she ordered. "And no strenuous activity for at least a week."

As soon as the door closed behind her, Rhys turned to Azriel. "What were you thinking?" he demanded, his eyes blazing.

"I was thinking that I was saving Lucien's life," Azriel replied evenly, meeting his brother's gaze. "I couldn't let him die, Rhys."

"Wouldn't that have made it easier for you?* Rhys demanded sharply mentally. *You are the one that fancies himself in love with Elain.*

Maybe it shouldn't hurt him as much as it did. He didn't fancy himself in love with her. He was in love with her. Had been in love with her and Rhys had been the one to order him away from her, which had given Lucien the opportunity to swoop in and Elain had...Elain had given in. Given in to that Siren Song of the Mating Bond and was very much in love with her mate now. 

It hurt to hear Rhys say it like that, like it was just some passing infatuation that he'd gotten over.

*Lucien is her mate,* he responded simply. He didn't say what he really thought. He didn't say that he would rather have Elain be happy and never talk with him again than to have her wilt like one of her flowers because her mate had died and the mating bond would be broken… He didn't say that he loved Elain enough, that her happiness was more important to him than anything else. He didn't say any of that.

*At least you are recognising that now,* Rhys said with a snort.  Azriel didn't flinch. Didn't react.

He hid away in that little corner of his brain he went to when everything became too much. Where he could just shut up all his feelings, all these pesky emotions, and just be...nothing. Nothing. That's the only thing he still had left.

He just shrugged, schooling his face into a careless expression. "I did what I had to do, Rhys," he repeated stubbornly. "Lucien is a good male. He didn't deserve to die."

"Elain wants to thank you," Rhys said suddenly.

Azriel's stomach twisted as Rhys mentioned Elain. He felt a pang of longing in his chest, a desperate ache to see her, to touch her, to hear her voice. But he knew he couldn't. He couldn't subject himself to the torture of seeing her with her mate, seeing her happy in Lucien's arms.

So his answer was definite: "There is no need for that," he said simply.

Rhys gave him a sharp look. "Don't be an idiot," he said gruffly. "She's been worried sick about you."

But Azriel just shook his head, even as his heart thudded in his chest.

*You can keep it together for 5 minutes,* Rhys snapped into his mind.

"Rhys," Cassian said carefully. "If he doesn't want to, just let it..."

"He's being ridiculous," Rhys snapped, interrupting Cassian. "Elain is family.”

Azriel grit his teeth but didn't respond. He didn't have the energy for an argument right now. He just wanted to sleep.

*See her for 5 minute snad then you can sulk like a spoiled child until you feel better about yourself,* Rhys bargained drily.

Azriel hesitated. He knew he should see her, knew that it would make things easier for everyone if he did. But the thought of seeing her, seeing her happy with Lucien when he was so miserable, was like a knife to the gut.

"Does it even matter what I want?" he asked, his voice flat.

Rhys let out a frustrated sigh, looking at him with exasperation. "Az, stop being so damned stubborn. Elain has been worried sick about you - the least you can do is let her see that you are alive."

Azriel didn't say anything. Didn't respond. He just stared at Rhys, feeling like every fiber of his being was being pulled apart. He wanted to see her. Wanted to see her more than anything. But he knew that once he saw her, he wouldn't be able to hold himself together. He would break. He would shatter into a thousand pieces.

"Just...come on, Az," Rhys said finally. "Let her see you. She needs to know you're alright."

Azriel knew he couldn't say no. Knew he couldn't hurt her like that. He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. "Fine," he said softly. "But just for five minutes."

Five minutes. He could do five minutes. He had to. For her…

She was still as achingly beautiful as she always had been. These devasting brown eyes, the caramel curls...

Azriel's breath hitched at the sight of her, and he felt a wave of conflicting emotions wash over him. Love, longing, sadness, and that bittersweet pang of being so close to something he could never have.

Behave, Rhys warned him sharply.

He took a deep breath, trying to steady himself. Trying to push back that wave of feelings that threatened to drown him. It was just five minutes, he reminded himself. Five minutes. He could do this.

The shadows swirled around him, welling up with intensity, shrouding much of his body in inky blackness and Elain flinched back from them.

She had never quite warmed up to them. Azriel was just thankful for that display, for keeping her away from him as she entered the room, Lucien on her heels.

"How...How are you feeling?" she asked him, her voice soft.

He could tell that she was worried, that she was concerned for him. It warmed something inside him, and he hated himself for it. 

"I'm fine," Azriel answered hoarsely.  "Just tired.

"I...thank you," Elain said softly, binting her lip. "If you hadn't...if you hadn't killed Koschei and freed Lucien...I...Thank you, Azriel."

Hearing her say his name again was like a punch to the gut. It was both a comfort and a torture, to be so close to her and yet so far away. He swallowed hard, biting back the words that threatened to spill out.

"You don't owe me any thanks," he said quietly. "I just did what had to be done."

"I do owe you my life," Lucien disagreed. "Thank you. Without your interference...I wouln't have survived, " he said flatly.

Azriel just shrugged, feeling a wave of bitterness wash over him. He had saved Lucien, had risked his life to save the male who was mated to the female he loved. It was a strange sort of irony.

"It's fine," he said roughly. "I'm just glad I got there in time."

He couldn't look at her. Couldn't look at Lucien. It hurt too much. So he stared at the floor, willing the shadows to consume him entirely.

"We are all just happy you are feeling alright," Elain said softly. "I...I was worried about you. Everyone was."

Azriel forced himself to look up at her, his heart clenching at the sincerity in her eyes. She really had been worried about him. "I'm alright," he promised her, his voice rough. "Really. I just need some rest."

Elain hesitated, taking a step forward. He could hear her heartbeat, could feel the warmth radiating off her skin. It was torture to be so close to her and yet so far away. It was torture to know that she was so close and yet so unattainable. He wanted to reach out, to touch her, to hold her, but he knew he couldn't. He held onto that last shred of reason he had.

She tugged a piece of hair behind one delicately arched ear...and that was the moment he saw the gold and pearl ring that decorated her ring finger.

"Congratulations." He wasn't sure how he even brought out these words...how he managed to make them sound...appropriately happy for her.

It took a herculean effort to say those words, to offer a smile that barely reached his eyes. Every fibre of his being was screaming in protest, yelling that he should have been the one giving her that ring, that he should have been the one by her side. But he pushed back those feelings, burying them deep down inside of himself. He couldn't let her see how he truly felt. He couldn't let her know how much it was tearing him apart to stand there and look at her. Look at her with her mate, with the male she loved, the one she had chosen. 

"Congratulation," he repeated, his voice a little rougher than before.

"It wouldn't have been possible without you," Elain said, with a smile.

Azriel just nodded, feeling a lump in his throat. He couldn't find the words to respond, couldn't find the words to express the tangle of emotions swirling inside of him. He just sat there, feeling more alone and isolated than he had in a long time.

Elain took another step in his direction, seemingly ready to reach out, but Cassian intercepted her. placing a gentle hand on Elain's shoulder. "He needs his rest," he said softly. "Let's leave him be for now."

Azriel felt a pang of gratitude towards Cassian. Elain hesitated, looking torn.

"I wish you every happiness," Azriel brought out his voice hoarsely. Not even a lie.  It was the frank truth in these words and Elain gave him a smile, before Lucien's hand came to rest at her lower back, guiding her out of the room.

Thank the cauldron. They were gone. 

He slumped back into the pillow.  He was falling apart. He was exhausted, emotionally and physically. He just wanted to be left alone, to lick his wounds in peace.

"Az..." Cassian said carefully, but he cut him off.

“I am tired,” Azriel said, his voice hoarse. “I need to sleep.”

The shadows swirled around him tighter. 

Rhys and Cassian exchanged a look, before Cassian nodded, "Alright," he said. "Get some rest."

He laid down properly, closing his eyes, calling the shadows to him wordlessly. They swamred around him immediately. Damn Near suffocating him.  It was the only thing that kept him from starting to sob.

The shadows embraced him, wrapping him in their inky blackness, shielding him from the outside world. They were his only comfort, just like they had been for centuries. 

*We are there, Master.* They promised him softly. *It will be fine, Master.*

He didn’t believe a fucking word they said. 

*We are not willing to lose you, Master. We aren’t interested in finding a new master,* they told him seriously. He choked out a laugh that turned into a sob. 

*Sleep, Master. We'll keep watch,* they promised him.

And they did. 

Bone deep exhaustion meant that at least his sleep was dreamless. At least that was given to him. It was a small mercy. 

When he woke up again, Nesta was there, sitting in an armchair reading.

Azriel blinked, feeling disoriented and groggy. He sat up slowly, wincing as his wounds protested the movement. Nesta looked up from her book, her expression neutral.

"How are you feeling?" she asked him quietly.

"Fine," he answered, his voice hoarse. He was fine. He would be fine. 

"Thank you," Nesta said suddenly.

Azriel looked up at her, surprised. He wasn't even sure what she was thanking him for.

"For what?" he asked, his voice rough with sleep.

“You nearly got yourself killed to save my sister’s mate. I think Thank you is the least I owe you," Nesta said drily.

She mustered him with grey eyes and he knew that she knew. Knew that she knew or at the very least could guess about his feelings for Elain and probably be right. She wouldn't say anything, but she knew.

He didn’t want to talk about this anymore. It was over with. Done. 

Lucien and Elain could be happy and Azriel…Azriel would hide away somewhere. 

"You don't owe me anything," he waved Nesta off weakly, but she didn’t seem to want to take the hint, sticking out her chin. 

"Yes, I do," Nesta disagreed. "You are the reason why my little sister is happy right now," she told him fiercely. He swallowed down the unkind words at the tip of her tongue...didn't say anything. Didn't.... He didn’t want to think about this. He didn’t…

"Is there anything I can do?" Nesta asked him, her voice soft. "Anything at all, Az?" H knew that he could ask for anything and Nesta would do her level best to give it to him. She was stubborn like that. He had half a mind to ask her to use her silver flames to put him on fire and put him out of his misery. 

He didn’t. 

Even that wouldn’t fix it. 

There was nothing. There was absolutely nothing to make it any better. There was nothing that could...that could fix the ache in his chest.

"Porridge," he said, his voice hoarse.

"Porridge?" Nesta repeated incrediously.

"Porridge with honey. I am hungry," he repeated, meeting her gaze. Food. Food. More Sleep. More Work. He could fill his waking hours with useless things and everybody would be happy. 

Nesta just looked at him for a moment, then inclined her head.

"Porridge with honey. Alright," she agreed. Just a moment later a massive bowl of Porridge with honey drizzled on top, appeared on his bedside table, so hot it was steaming. Seemed like the house was in a mood to spoil him. He even got a whiff of cinnamon from it.

"Thank you," he thanked Nesta's creature aloud as the shadows fetched the bowl and held it up for him to eat a spoonful. "What are you reading?" he asked Nesta, changing the topic. 

She was polite enough not to say anything about it. 

Nesta held up her book. “The newest Sellyn Drake novel,” she replied.

"Is it any good?" he inquired, stirring his porridge gently.

“It’s brilliant," Nesta gushed, her eyes devoured the pages as soon as she looked down to continue reading.

"You seem to really like it," he pointed out, taking another bite of his porridge. "It is brilliant," Nesta agreed readily. “The plot is so intricate and twists and turns and the characters are so deep and complex and their emotions are so real and the romance is so...” she trailed off, blushing slightly.

He opened his mouth to respond...but then he heard her.

Mor. Of course.

He couldn’t deal with Mor. Not right now. But there she was, Rhys hot on her heels.

Nesta heard her too, rolling her eyes, curling back up on her chair, making it very clear that while she was going nowhere, she was letting him deal with it on her own. 

And he didn’t want to deal with Mor. 

But there she was. 

Mor came strolling into the room, her usual confident smile firmly in place. Rhys just looked at Azriel, his expression unreadable.

He didn't say it.  But Azriel knew. Behave. That’s all Rhys was telling him these days.  Either it was about Elain and Lucien...or about Mor and Emerie. Like Azriel would ever do anything to put that in jeopardy. Like Azriel was a jealous child that wouldn't allow Mor to be happy on her own terms. Like...

Azriel ignored the sharp pang of hurt that shot through him at Rhys's look.

Still it was better than looking at Mor…he couldn’t bear to look at Mor. 

 Didn't want to look at Mor, in her usual bright red, skin baring dress, that clung to all her curves...didn't want to look at the female he had spent centuries in love with even when he had known that she was never going to return his affections...it hadn't helped him. He had still been in love with her.

And he had still hoped...hoped against all hope that maybe...maybe there would be a time where she would return his affection...that maybe there would be a time where...

But there wouldn't. He knew. He knew. And he had still been in love with her.

Would have given damn near anything for her attention, for that broad smile on her face to be directed in his direction...would have given anything for her to bound over to his bedside and envelope him in her arms...to feel her soft skin against his as she hugged him fiercely, cinnamon and citrus enveloping him.

Now...now it felt like somebody was pouring salt into a gaping wound. Now it felt as painful as the fire and oil on his hands had. She was flaying him alive and she wasn’t even aware that she was hurting him. 

"How are you feeling, Az?" Mor's voice was gentle, concerned. He knew it was genuine, knew that Mor really cared about him. But he couldn't bring himself to look at her. Not when his heart was bleeding out just from the sound of her voice.

"Fine," he answered, his voice flat. "Nothing that sleep won't fix," he promised her, even as her hands fluttered around him as she sat down on his bedside...

She was so close. He could reach out and touch her, could feel the soft fabric of her dress against his fingertips. He clenched his fists, willing himself to keep his hands to himself.

But he couldn't help it. He looked up at her, meeting her eyes. He could see the concern there, the worry. He felt a pang of guilt for putting that look on her face. He didn't want to cause her any distress. 

"I'm just glad you are feeling better," Mor sighed, gently patting his arm. "You had us all worried for a moment there," she admitted softly.

Even just the touch of her hand felt like she was branding him. He wanted to flinch away and forced himself no to.

It was like a bittersweet poison, the way she touched him. It was so familiar, so comforting. But it was also so painful, a reminder of what he could never have.

He looked away, staring down at his hands. They were shaking, just a little. He clasped them together, the monstrous scars that covered them, standing out starkly.

The shadows trembled around him, pulling nearer, growing darker and Mor watched them with a raised eyebrow. "Worried, are they?" she teased him slightly.

*You are fine, Master,* the shadows promised him. *No more fire,* they promised him fiercely. But it didn’t help. He didn’t trust himself to speak without his voice cracking.

Mor seemed to sense his discomfort and stood up, her hand slipping from his arm. "Just rest and get better soon, alright?" she said softly, taking a step back.

"Thank you," he thanked her, his voice hoarse.

He risked a glance up at her, just a quick look. Her face was soft, her eyes filled with warmth. He felt his heart squeeze in his chest and he had to look away again. He wasn't sure how much more of this he could take.

"We should let him rest, Mor," Rhys said, giving Azriel another look.

"Right, right," Mor agreed, already turning towards the door. "Rest up, Az," she said again, giving him one last smile as she disappeared out the door.

Azriel felt a sense of relief wash over him as she left the room. 

Gone. Thank the cauldron. He couldn't take much more of her presence, not right now. 

He didn't even want to know why Rhys had accompanied her. Probably because he was worried that Azriel wasn't going to behave.

What was he supposed to do instead? Tell Mor about how much she had hurt him over the centuries? How she had given him jut enough scraps of her affection to make him yearn for more but never telling him that she didn’t love him like that? 

He wasn’t going to do that. 

He didn't want to look at Rhys right now, didn't want to face the scrutiny of his high lord's gaze. He just wanted to be left alone.

He knew that Rhys was watching him, that the male wanted to say something. But Azriel didn't want to hear it. He didn't want to hear the lecture, the warning. He just wanted to be left alone.

The room fell silent, except for the sound of his own breathing. He closed his eyes and sank deeper into the mattress. Maybe if he just pretended to sleep, Rhys would leave him alone.

"He's tired. You should let him sleep," Nesta said flatly.

Leave it to Nesta to tell Rhys to stuff it, he reflected weakly. He heard Rhys sigh, but he kept his eyes closed. And after a moment, he heard the sound of footsteps leaving the room.

He let out a breath he didn't know he was holding, feeling a wave of relief wash over him. 

Alone. Safe. Mostly at least. 

Life went on. It always did.

The exhaustion went away after a few days... he caught up on Paperwork in the meantime. He sent the shadows off to find him one information or other and they didn't even bitch to him that badly, which told him that even they felt bad for him.

Behave. That’s all Rhys was telling him these days.

So he did. He behaved.

He did his job. He did everything Rhys could possibly want from his spymaster. 

He didn’t argue. He didn’t fight. He did his job and he trained and he did everyhting that was expected off him. 

And then he hadn’t tortured himself enough… and he went to visit Rosehall.

Where his mother lived.

Under the Mountains had it’s own kind consequences. This was one of them: His mother didn’t even want to talk to him anymore. 

50 years without him...and his mother had made herself a new family. A family that he wasn’t welcome in. A family that she wanted him nowhere near. He couldn’t fault her for it. Not at all.

She had been half a child when she had had him and it hadn’t been by choice.

So who could blame her for making a new family with people that weren’t as fucked up in the head as he was? Not Azriel.

Azriel didn’t blame her at all. Azriel left her in peace. He didn't reach out. He made sure that she was fine, that she had enough money to never worry about it and otherwise dissappeared from her life. 

His shadows kept an eye on her…He shored up the wards around Rosehall and caught a glimpse of her. And then he left it at that. She looked happy. That’s all he cared about.

Happy and safe and…she didn’t need him. She didn’t want him around her either, and he could understand that too.

And still, it hurt. It hurt so fucking much. 

But 

*You know the rules,* he told the shadows quietly. *You don’t need to report to me about her anymore. Keep an eye on her and only tell me if she is in danger or hurt.*

*Yes, Master,* they agreed readily. 

So he went back to the House of Wind. Back to Velaris…Back to work. 

He went back to his routine, back to his duties, back to his mask of indifference. He hid the pain behind his usual stoic facade, only letting his shadows know how much it hurt. He threw himself into his work, using it as a way to distract himself from his own loneliness.

And when he wasn't working, he would spend hours and hours in the training ring in the House of Wind, working himself to exhaustion. Anything to try and drown out the ache in his heart.

For gods sake, he even attended Elain and Lucien’s mating ceremony. And gifted them an appropriate gift. He behaved just like Rhys wanted him too.

He even summoned up a smile for them on their special day, hiding his own pain behind a mask of false happiness. He congratulated them both, feeling a pang in his chest at the sight of Elain's beaming face. But he didn’t let it show. He behaved. Like Rhys wanted him too.

He stayed for the whole thing. Stayed for the dancing, stayed for the feast. Stayed until he could physically take it no more. And then he had retreated to that training ring again, beating his pain and loneliness out on whatever dummy he could find.

He was so tired. Tired of hiding, tired of pretending. Tired of pretending like nothing was wrong. He wanted nothing more than to just scream and rage and shout and cry. But he didn’t. He held it all in. Bottled it up like he was so good at doing.

He was in the bathtub, sluicing off the sweat he was drenched in…shaking off his wings just because he could move them however he wanted to

*You should go out, Master,* the shadows suggested seriously. *Go out and find a female.*

He just snorted. *Not interested,* he sniped back harshly. *I am not getting my heart broken again.*

Everybody could just fuck off and leave him alone. Even when he was aching…aching for somebody in his life that loved him. For whom he could be everything. Somebody he could dote on. Somebody that wanted his attention, that wanted his love…that would like his ruined hands on their body and wasn’t paid to simply acccept it. 

*You could let us pick her!* the shadows suggested brightly.

His eyes snapped back open and he glared at the shadows swirling around the room. *Absolutely not,* he said firmly. *I mean it, you stay out of it.*

*We can’t do a worse job than you do,* they sniped at him. *Neither The Seer nor The Morrigan would have suited you at all.*

*Excuse me?!* 

*You heard us, Master,* the shadows said, sounding far too smug for their own good. *And you know it.*

Azriel just glared at them, feeling his temper start to rise. *I know I wasn’t good enough for them,* he snapped. *You don’t need to tell me that.*

*You think you weren’t good enough for them?!* The shadows asked him incredulously.

*They deserve better. So much better than me,* he said quietly. "I'm not good enough for either of them. Never was.*

What was he, after all? An Illyrian bastard? A monster? Either? Both? 

He had never said it out loud before, not even to himself. But in that moment, lying in the water, his heart so raw and exposed, he couldn't help but speak the truth that he had always known but never admitted to himself. "I'm not good enough for either of them," he repeated softly, the weight of his words settling heavily on his chest.

He knew it was true. Mor was a golden ray of light, the embodiment of beauty and grace. Elain was sweet and gentle and kind, a pure soul in a sea of darkness. 

And what was he? Damaged. Broken. Scarred. Inside and out.

He had done unspeakable things, things that would haunt his nightmares for centuries to come. He was nothing compared to them. He was darkness, they were light. And they deserved better than him, far better than him.

Even if he had loved Mor with every fiber of his being, even if he had yearned for her with every beat of his heart, even if he had dreamed of her every night, it didn't matter. It had never mattered. Because he wasn't good enough for her. And he never would be.

He wasn’t good enough for Elain. The mother hadn’t thought it to be prudent to make them mates. Both of his brother had been gifted with a mating bond, but not him. That should tell him everything he needed to know abotu the state of his own soul. 

So why…why should he even try anymore. 

Why shouldn’t he just stew in his own misery, alone and heartbroken and a monster and expect everybody to just leave him alone? There was no point of putting himself out there again. There was nothing out there for him. Nothing but more pain.​​

So he closed his eyes again, sinking lower into the water, letting the warmth soothe his aching muscles. He let out a long sigh, his mind already racing with thoughts of his next missions, his next assignments. Because that was all that really mattered now. His job. His duties. His responsibilities. That was all he had left.

Behave. That’s all he was good for. 

*Alright, that’s fucking enough,* the shadows snapped. *You are not letting The High Lord talk to you like that any longer, Master.*

Azriel was so surprised by their fucking vehemence that he could just stare at them. 

*The Morrigan used you for centuries to make herself feel better about herself,* the shadows snapped. *She used the feelings you had for her and that she was very much aware of to strangle you and keep you in line.*

Azriel swallowed. He knew they were right. He knew that Mor had used his feelings for her for a long time. She had led him on, given him false hope, only to yank it away time and time again. It had been a painful cycle, one that had left him feeling used and broken and worthless.

*She could have stopped at any time but she never did,* the shadows hissed. *But instead she hurt you on purpose. Instead of turning you down, she slept with other males to show you that you would never have her!*

Azriel felt bile rise in the back of his throat. Mor had flaunted her other lovers in front of him, making it clear that he would never be enough for her. She had used his devotion to her as a weapon against him, wielding it whenever it suited her needs. And he had let her. He had been foolish, desperate enough to cling onto any scrap of affection she might throw his way.

*And The Seer?! Granted she has never done that, but her feelings for you weren’t particular deep when she replaced you on her affections with The Fox as soon as you weren’t available anymore! If she had cared, truly cared, she would have thought about what happened during Winter Solstice,* the shadows snapped.

*And The High Lord? Don’t even let us get started on him,* the shadows snapped. *You haven’t even done anything since that Winter Solstice, and he keeps behaving like some kind of despotic Overlord, worried that his orders won’t be followed. If you wanted to punch him in the face, you probably had every right to it,* they mumbled.

Azriel couldn’t help but snort. 

*You deserve better, Master,* The shadows told him fiercely. *You deserve somebody that loves you.* 

. He wanted to believe the shadows. He wanted to believe that he was good enough, that he deserved more. But the scars on his body and the memories in his mind told him otherwise. He had done terrible things, things that he could never undo. How could someone like that be good enough for anyone?

*Alright,* he finally agreed weakly. *Find me a house,* he told the shadows, as he closed his eyes.

*A house? What kind of house?* the shadows gave back, sounding surprised.

*A house,* he repeated. *A home. Somewhere in Velaris. Find me a home.* Something that could just be his.

A home. The idea sent a flutter through his stomach. He had never…never truly had a home. Had something that could just be his and nobody else’s. Just…a place that was his, where he could be whoever he wanted, where he was accepted and loved...it was appealing. Maybe even more than just appealing.

He closed his eyes, picturing it in his mind. A cozy little house, just large enough for himself. Warm and cozy and filled with light.

*That’s what a male needs to take a wife after all, right?* He asked, a flicker of uncertainty crossed his face. Was that what he should want? What he was supposed to want? He had never really thought about getting married before. But now, at the mention of it, he couldn't help but feel a pang of longing. A wife...a family...love and companionship. It all sounded so…so nice.

*You want to get married, Master?* the shadows asked curioulsy. *To whom?*

*You pick,* he told the shadows. They swarmed out in pure excitment. Azriel couldn’t even remmeebr the last time they had been so excited. 

He couldn't help but chuckle at their reaction. Maybe they would do a better job than him. At least they could probably sieve out females that were in a romantic relationship or preferred females themselves. 

*Find me somebody that I could make happy. Somebody that….Somebody that could want me.* Some long-suffering female for whom Azriel could maybe try to be enough. Somebody that would love him.

*What should she look like?* they asked seriously.

*I don’t care. Find me somebody that loves me and she’ll be the most beautiful female to me anyway.*

[potatoplace]

I Hate It Here

ACOTAR x Archeron!Reader

The Afterthought: Chapter 2 | series masterlist

part one | part three | ACOTAR x reader masterlist

Story Summary: You are brought back to Velaris against your will, and forced to stay in the city by your supposed family. You slip into old memories and imaginings of the life you could be living whenever able, terrified of your new situation.

Warnings: suicidal ideation, slight disordered eating, toxic family, shitty Inner Circle, mentions of slut-shaming uhhh I don't think there's anything else

Words: 6.7k

Author's Note: it's heeere I'm so excited for this part! I hope you guys all like it, I know I made a few... choice decisions in certain places lol. Poor girly with the bathtub 😫 but the ending in this part is not near as sad as it was going to be. Hope you like iiiit 🫶

18+ only pls

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You weren't sure how long you had been walking, hardly registering where you were going when he appeared in front of you.

Azriel.

You shook your head at him. You wouldn't consent to going anywhere with him.

Feyre would be the next to accuse you of being a whore if you did...

"Come with me, Y/N. You're going to freeze to death out here," Azriel said quietly, extending a hand to you.

"No. I don't belong there."

He let out a long sigh. "You belong with your sisters. Just come with me. Feyre is worried."

"Feyre is..." You scoffed. "Feyre is worried? Was she worried when I didn't show up for dinner that everyone was at? Or only when I was no longer in that city? Because from where I'm standing, no one in that city has cared for me in months. So no, I don't belong with my sisters. I belong with humans. Now let. Me. Leave," you hissed at him, legs already moving to walk past him and continue your journey.

"You'll die tonight, if you don't come back," Azriel informed you, as though you hadn't already realized that.

"And the world would be just the same without me in it."

Another long, heavy sigh from behind you- then arms were wrapped around your middle, holding you tight as you fought against him with all of your pathetic, human strength. You managed to rip a nail through his wing, causing him to hiss in pain and drop you. Before you could make your way to your feet, he had you in his arms again, this time carrying you through the swirling void of night that accompanied him at all times.

A moment later you were back in that house, in the middle of the living room where the rest of the inner circle was sitting, all eyes on you.

Azriel's arms dropped from your waist in an instant, the warmth of his body leaving your side as he took his place, leaning against the wall next to the fireplace.

"What were you thinking?" Feyre asked angrily as she stood from her spot on a couch next to Rhys. "Do you have any idea of what could have happened to you tonight?"

"Do I-" you shook your head. "Of course I know what could have happened to me, I'm just a human. Any single person in Prythian could kill me if they wanted to."

"So why did you leave?" Rhys asked quietly, in a tone that you knew meant danger.

You turned your eyes back to Feyre, doing your best to ignore her mate who still terrified you. "Do you remember what day it is, High Lady?"

Feyre looked confused for a moment, before understanding filled her eyes. "Oh, Y/N... I... I forgot. We were celebrating finally getting the Illyrians to let females train whenever they want," she explained, but you weren't buying it.

"Oh, well that's fine. You forget the day that I spent over a week preparing for, the entire day cooking for, all to celebrate something that just happened. Did you once think to find me? To invite me to this celebration?" Feyre's silence was enough of an answer for you. "I don't belong here. You should have left me in the human lands, thinking you all died. I would have been happier that way. Nesta and Elain hate me, I cannot speak to Lucien or Cassian out of fear that their mates will kill me, the rest of you ignore me unless I've done something wrong. I do not belong here," you hissed, doing your best to throw all of your hurt and rage into your words.

"You do belong here, Y/N," Feyre said tearily. "You're our sister."

You stared down at her coldly. "Am I? From where I'm standing I am just a weakness for you that you keep close so you won't be hurt. I haven't felt like your sister since I arrived."

"That's not tr-" Feyre started, but you cut her off.

"Take me back."

"What?" Nesta asked sharply from behind you, and you could feel her anger rising, the hairs on your arms standing up.

"Take me back to the human lands. I would rather live alone in poverty than spend one more day living in this place."

"You will not," Nesta snarled, a hand clawing at your shoulder. "You would die within a week with the wall down."

"I managed just fine on my own for three months before Feyre came to get me."

"Nesta is right, Y/N," Rhys said, drawing your eyes back to him. "You will not leave Velaris. Anywhere else is too dangerous for you to be, with your connection to us."

Rage flooded your system like it never had before at the thought of being kept here until you die. "I will not be kept like some prisoner in this city. I refuse."

"You have no choice," Feyre said softly, the final nail in the coffin.

"Then kill me," you said, fully hoping that they would. "Kill me and put me out of my misery, if I am not able to leave this horrible place. I do not belong here, and I do not want to belong here anymore."

Tears were pouring down Feyre's face at your confession, the last sight you saw before you slipped into darkness.

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When you woke, your body was warm, resting underneath blankets on a comfortable bed.

You could almost imagine that you were back in that hut, surrounded by your sisters as you huddled for warmth.

But it was wrong... your face was too warm, no longer chilled by the slight breeze that rattled through the house in winter, and there was no soft, quiet breathing from your sisters sleeping.

You opened your eyes, met with the familiar pale blue ceiling of your bedroom. You would guess it was the early morning, with how dark it was.

What happened...?

It was difficult, getting your brain to remember how you ended up in your bed... After all, you had hardly slept in it ever since Elain had snapped at you so many months ago, the idea of another door keeping you safe too comforting to not indulge in.

But once you remembered... ice cold terror flooded your body.

You had been in the middle of yelling at Feyre- at all of them. And suddenly now you were in your bed?

Rhysand had used his powers on you.

And you were helpless to stop it.

You turned onto your side and curled into yourself for a moment, hoping that making yourself smaller would be enough to loosen the fear gripping your heart. After a minute, you gave up, standing from your bed and pulling a thick blanket and soft pillow with you into the bathroom, making your safe little nest in the bathtub.

The blanket and pillow you had used last were still there, adding extra cushion and much needed warmth to the metal tub.

So you curled up, a pillow at your back and your knees pulled to your chest as you huddled under one blanket and pulled the edges of the bottom one up, cocooning yourself in soft cotton.

Sleep found you easily, your body and mind exhausted still from the disappointment and realizations of last night.

Your dreams were filled by half memories, half imaginings of being back in that little run down cottage, your sisters and father around you as you huddled in front of the fire, drinking hot water from chipped mugs.

"Y/N?" Feyre's voice asked, waking you from your sleep. You raised your head for a moment, considering answering her. But your recent interactions with her had you placing your head back on its pillow, tucking your knees further against your chest, ignoring the way your body had started to ache. She knocked on the bathroom door once, twice. "Just... come out when you're ready, Y/N. There's breakfast downstairs if you'd like." Feyre sighed, loud enough for even your ears to hear, but walked away, leaving you in blissful silence.

You let yourself drift off again, conjuring images of you curled up in front of the fire, your head in your father's lap just how he'd let you when you were a child.

The next time you woke, your bladder forced you awake, and by the time you had relieved yourself the muscles in your body were screaming for some kind of movement. You walked around your room for a few minutes and stretched your body, sighing as some of the tension left it.

All too soon, your stomach was growling at you, angry with you for having ignored it for... however long you had been asleep.

Sighing, you moved back to the bathroom and disassembled your makeshift bed, replacing the fabrics where they initially belonged so that you could bathe before going downstairs.

The last thing you wanted was for Nesta and Elain to make snide comments at you.

You tied your hair up in a bun- you didn't feel like going through the effort of washing it at the moment. After drawing the bath, tendrils of steam coming from the water, you stripped yourself of the pink dress you had worn for Bounty Day and slipped into the water. Your muscles eased quickly, the heat of the bath drawing out the stress they carried.

You nearly fell asleep again, and if not for the gnawing of your stomach you would have let yourself, as the tub had an enchantment to keep the water warm until emptied. But you forced yourself to wash, using a soft cloth and a lovely lavender and orange soap bar that you had picked out a few months ago while shopping for Nesta's birthday.

Once you deemed yourself clean enough, you stood from the bath, nearly slipping as you stepped out. A disappointed sigh left your lips and you shook your head at your foolish, human clumsiness.

You dried off quickly and padded back into your bedroom. You slipped on a simple white cotton dress, and a pale pink dressing robe over the top. After putting on your slippers, you stood in front of the door, steeling yourself for whatever you would face outside of your room. A deep breath in, then out, and you opened the door, stepping into the hallway.

The walk to the kitchen was quick, and it was blissfully empty when you entered. You set about making a pot of tea for yourself, bringing water to a boil in a kettle on the stove. While it was heating up, you grabbed one of the trays used for when someone wanted breakfast in bed and placed a teapot and cup on it, as well as a bowl.

You looked around the kitchen, scrunching your face at the options available. Your eyes caught on the windows looking out to the garden, noting the stars in the sky.

Just how long had you slept for...?

Shaking your head, you turned back to the bowl of fruit sitting on the counter. Your hands reached for an apple almost big enough in size that you couldn't grasp it.

You grabbed a small cutting board from a cabinet and a knife out of the block, then washed the apple before setting it on the board. The kettle was just starting to whistle, and you removed it from the heat before it could wake anyone sleeping upstairs. After you measured out a small amount of tea leaves into the teapot's helpful strainer, you poured enough water in to make at least three cups of tea. You were making a soothing lavender and chamomile blend, one that never failed to send you to a dreamless sleep after having a few cups.

Leaving it to steep, you returned to the cutting board, carefully cutting the apple into small slices. Once it was cut, you placed the slices into the bowl on your tray, then washed the cutting board and knife, leaving them in the drying rack.

You removed the strainer from the teapot after deeming it to be strong enough, and emptied the leaves into the trash before washing it as well.

All that was left was to carry your bounty upstairs, without waking a soul.

Tray in your arms, you made your way back up the stairs and into your bedroom, letting out a small sigh of relief once you had closed the door behind you. The tray was placed on your desk, and you took your seat.

The first pour of tea was always your favorite, as it was always at the perfect temperature. You brought the steaming cup of tea to your lips, closing your eyes as you took the first soothing sip, letting the warmth of it wash over you.

The apple was delicious, crisp and sweet and tasting of autumn. You made sure to savor the taste- you weren't sure when you would next venture out of your room, seeing as you were still terrified to see any who would be in the River House.

Even your sisters... Though Feyre was the main change, you supposed, seeing as she had let her mate use his powers on you, when she had promised that neither she or Rhys would ever do so.

Your second cup of tea was still warm and soothing as you finished off the apple, but when you got to the third and final cup, it was only lukewarm.

A problem that any of your sisters would surely be able to solve...

By the time you finished your tea, you were tired enough to fall back sleep, but first you forced yourself to return to the kitchen, feet stepping carefully on your journey to stay undiscovered. You washed your dishes quickly and returned the tray to its rightful place, then made your way back upstairs.

Your door was shut behind you, another successful mission in avoiding those you once considered family.

The bathtub had dried, and you brought your blankets and pillows back in with you, reassembling your makeshift bed once again. Your crawled between the blankets, content to stay between them forever as warmth cocooned you. Your mind drifted, once again conjuring scenes of you living with father once more, tending to your little herb garden and cooking to your hearts content.

Two weeks- or perhaps more- passed in the same manner, with Feyre knocking on your bathroom door every morning or so and waking you from your slumber. In the nights you would crawl from your blankets and return to the kitchen for a pot of tea and whatever fruit or vegetables were available and easy enough to eat without cooking.

Your stomach had protested loudly for the first week before settling back into the cold, quiet hunger that your body had adapted to for most of its life.

One morning, your solitude was broken by Morrigan pounding on your bedroom door, jolting you from your sleep and driving fear into your heart.

"Come to the door, Y/N, or I won't leave!" She yelled from behind the wood, persistent knocks following her words.

You sighed and turned your head back into your pillow, determined to ignore her.

"I brought you tea! Please just come to the door, Y/N? You can tell me to leave and take the tea, even," the fae offered, and your stomach rumbled in response.

Tea... wouldn't be bad, you thought to yourself.

But you hadn't bathed...

Morrigan's knocking only grew louder as you debated with yourself, fear and hunger warring in your mind.

"Y/N!"

You grumbled to yourself as you rose from your spot, shouting "I'll be right there!" when her knocking somehow continued to increase in volume. You opened the bathroom door and headed to your wardrobe, tugging a dressing gown over your nightgown.

Turning the door's handle was difficult, fear of the unknown still lingering in your gut, but the blonde on the other side of the door was in fact holding a tray of tea when you finally managed to open the door.

"Good morning!" Morrigan chirped, a bright smile on her face as she met your eyes. Her warm chocolate eyes seemed genuine, allowing some of the tension in your body to leave as you looked at the tray.

A pot of tea, two cups, and a plate of diced fruit, cheeses, and smoked meats.

She obviously wanted to join you... And she had been kind enough to bring you not only tea but food as well. That made up your mind.

"Would you like to come in?" You asked quietly, stepping aside to let her into your bedroom.

"I would love to, thank you Y/N." Morrigan breezed in and placed the tray on top of your bed before taking a seat on one side, feet pulled up so she was sitting with her legs folded in front of her.

You shut the door and followed her, taking a seat on the opposite side while she poured tea into a cup. She handed one to you first, warmth instantly flowing into your fingers, before pouring her own.

You took a small sip, closing your eyes at the bright taste of mint and ginger. "I... Thank you, Morrigan."

"Oh, call me Mor, Y/N. And it was really no trouble, I've..." She paused. "I've wanted to talk to you, check in on you after everything that happened. I know that we haven't talked much, since you came to Velaris, but I would like to change that. I know what it is like to feel so out of place that you can barely fathom living... I know how difficult it can be, when you don't have the support you need," Mor confessed. "I do wish I had noticed how uncomfortable you felt, before you had to tell us so bluntly."

Tears pricked your eyes as she talked. You wished it had been the same, as well.

"It isn't your fault, Mor..." you sighed. "You don't have the same... Not responsibility to me, but the past connection. And it is not as though you were the one to bring me here."

Mor gave you a sad smile, her eyes understanding. "I know, but you are a part of this family, and you are supposed to feel like you are as well."

You nodded your head in agreement, though you didn't quite agree. You felt... You felt as though your family had been lost to you, long before you came to Velaris.

The two of you sipped on your tea in a comfortable silence for a while, your eyes darting down to the small spread of food frequently, until your stomach made its discomfort known. Loudly.

Instead of Mor reprimanding you for it, or telling you to eat, she simply began eating herself- something you were grateful for. You followed her lead, slowly eating a few pieces of what she had brought up. Between the food and the several cups of tea, your stomach felt pleasantly warm and full, more than it had been in a long while.

"I have an idea, if you're up for it," Mor offered once the two of you had finished both the tea and food, her brown eyes looking at you hopefully.

"What did you have in mind?" You asked, mind already wandering to what she might ask you. Maybe a favor for Feyre, to get you to talk with her?

"I have a little skincare routine that I do every morning, and even though your skin is absolutely gorgeous as is, I thought that maybe you would like to join me? It's one of the few things that helps me feel a bit better when I'm having a rough day."

You blinked at her for a moment, the idea of her wanting to spend more time with you not having crossed your mind.

"I... I'm not sure that I would be any good at it..."

"Oh, nonsense! It's pretty simple, and I'll help you out with it. And if you hate it, we can stop at any point. Please?" She asked with so much sincerity that you nodded in agreement. The smile on her face when you did made you feel nice, and like she wasn't being forced into spending time with you.

"Yay!" Mor cheered. "I'll be back with everything in a few minutes. Do you want me to bring another pot of tea as well?" Mor asked, a sparkle in her eyes.

"If it's not any trouble for you, please," you replied, eyes tracking her as she stood from your bed and brought the tray back into her arms.

"Of course it isn't, Y/N. I'll be back in a little bit, okay?"

You nodded, and stood from the bed to open the door for her, shutting it softly behind her.

So far... This morning was nice. Mor is nice.

She returned in a few minutes, a fresh pot of tea and her supplies on the tray.

Over the next hour, she helped you cleanse and moisturize your skin, doing the same herself. You felt silly at first wearing the clay mask that she had spread over your face, but seeing Mor in it as well made you feel giggly, the two of you laying on your bed and talking about clothes. She made you promise to let her take you shopping once you felt ready to leave the house again, and you had her promise to teach you to do your makeup- though in softer colors than the bold reds and black that she preferred.

You drank most of the second pot of tea, happily consuming it, and along with the pleasant company of Mor, you were feeling warmer and more alive than you had since Bounty Day.

"So... Do you feel a little better?" Mor asked after you had both rinsed your faces and applied one last layer of moisturizer, this one smelling of strawberries.

You thought about it for a moment- you felt lighter than you had in months. "I do. Thank you again, Mor. This was really nice," you said, a small smile on your lips as you looked at her.

"Good, I'm glad. If you want to do it again, say... Tomorrow, just let me know," Mor said with a bright grin on her face.

"I... I'd like that very much, Mor," you said sheepishly, still in slight disbelief that she wanted to spend time with you.

"I'll stop by at the same time tomorrow, then." Mor gathered her things and left your room, leaving you in silence once more.

As much as you had enjoyed her company, you felt... tired, now. You glanced out the window, noting that snow was falling on an already thick layer coating the ground and buildings below.

You hadn't known it had snown at all recently.

With a shake of your head, you brushed that thought off and returned to the bathroom, your blankets-

Oh gods, you thought to yourself. Did Mor notice?

You were slightly ashamed that you felt unsafe enough to sleep in the perfectly comfortable bed you had been given, but... You couldn't bring yourself to care enough to move back into the bedroom to sleep. Instead, you burrowed yourself into your blankets once again, telling yourself that someday you would sleep in the bed again.

🤍🤍❣️🤍🤍

Your time with Mor the next morning became a daily occurrence for the next week, and a way for you to better tell the passing of time.

Feyre had stopped coming to your bathroom door every morning, replaced instead by the blonde that you were getting closer to considering a real friend.

One morning, you woke early enough to take a bath before Mor showed up at your door. You had just finished dressing when you heard arguing outside of your door.

"I will not ask her for you, Feyre. You can go in there and ask her yourself, but I am not going to use my friendship with her for your benefit. Once you work up the balls, come back. She might talk to you then," Mor said angrily to your sister.

That shocked you.

"I'm not trying to use-" Feyre paused. "Fine, I will come back later."

"Good. Now go away, I don't want you to scare her."

A few seconds later, Mor knocked on your door. You opened it, and found her carrying the usual- a pot of tea, plate of food, and plenty of her skincare products.

Besides her argument with Feyre, your morning together went as usual, and you had nearly forgotten about the incident until Mor was about to leave.

A knock on the door had both Mor's and your heads snapping to it.

Mor sighed. "I should be going, then, Y/N. Just... Hear her out, for a moment at least?"

Your scrunched your nose up but nodded. "Thank you, Mor. Will I see you tomorrow?"

Mor's head bobbed as she picked up her things. "Yes, but the next few days I'll be staying in the Hewn City, they tend to get a little more problematic the closer we come to Starfall," Mor explained.

Your heart sank a little bit, but you smiled at her anyways. "I hope it goes well. I know you don't enjoy being there much." You almost wished you could go with her, to be out of this city for a little while.

"Thank you, Y/N," Mor said with an appreciative smile. "Would you get the door?"

"Of course." You did so, opening it to see a nervous looking Feyre. Mor passed by her and headed down the hallway. "Would..." You hesitated. "Would you like to come in?"

Feyre smiled at you, one filled with tension. "I would, thank you." She followed you into your room, closing the door behind her and coming a few feet into the room, leaving at least your height's distance between you. "I wanted to speak with you about something- well, ask you something, more."

"Okay..."

"I- Would you be willing to come to dinner tomorrow night?"

You stared at her in confusion. "Why tomorrow?"

Feyre's brow furrowed at your question. "It's your birthday tomorrow."

Oh.

You had forgotten your own birthday. It didn't surprise you much, with how distant your mind had been recently. Only in the past week had you fully recognized the passage of time, thanks to Mor's visits each morning.

"Oh, uhm... I-" you paused. Dinner would mean... seeing Nesta and Elain and Rhys. "Uhm. Would... Who would be there...?"

"All of the Inner Circle, I think," Feyre replied, a frown on her face when she saw your own. "What's wrong?"

You were silent for a moment, trying to come up with something that wouldn't make you sound as weak as the truth. But nothing came to mind quickly enough, with Feyre still staring at you with her worried blue eyes.

"I'm... I'm afraid of Nesta and Elain... And Rhys," you admitted, looking at the floor.

Feyre sighed. "I'm sorry about what I had him do, Y/N. I really, truly am. You were just so panicked and talking-" Feyre paused to close her eyes, one tear making its way down her cheek. "Hearing you explain how you were feeling, I wanted you to have time to calm down some. I didn't... I didnt know how horribly you feel living here, Y/N."

It was your turn to sigh. "If... If you get Nesta and Elain to behave- or at least not say anything nasty to me- I will come to dinner."

"Really?" Feyre asked, her watery eyes looking into yours. "I was already able to convince Elain to bake a cake for you- your favorite, white chocolate raspberry. And Nuala and Cerridwen were more than happy to make your favorites."

Your heart lifted in your chest. "You really planned a dinner for me?" You asked hopefully, willing them to not be crushed.

"I did, Y/N. It's the least I could do, with everything I haven't been doing."

You nearly reached for her, to pull her into a hug. But-

You were still afraid, still upset at being kept in Velaris.

She would have to earn your trust back.

"Thank you, Feyre. I'll see you tomorrow night."

Feyre nodded at you, a small smile on her face. She turned to leave, but paused before she did, as though she wanted to say something else. Instead, she left your room, shutting the door softly behind her.

Dinner tomorrow...

You sighed. It will be fine. It has to be.

🤍🤍❣️🤍🤍

The next morning, you woke with an awful cramping in your stomach, your body feeling slightly like you had the flu.

One use of the restroom proved that was not so.

Your cycle had come.

On your birthday. Just your luck.

Thankfully you had woken early enough that Mor was likely still sleeping, the sun's rays just barely peeking over the horizon.

You could take a bath. A nice, scalding bath to soothe the aches of your cycle. And you did just that, soaking in the water until the sun had risen.

Still, you felt dirty climbing out of the bath. Every cycle, you felt more and more disgusting with each vile look Nesta and Elain would throw at you.

Nesta and Elain... You would have to see them today.

Tears filled your eyes at the thought of dealing with them later.

At least you would still have your morning with Mor.

You finished dressing just before Mor arrived, tying your dressing gown as she knocked on your door.

"Good morning, Y/N," she said after you let her in, her arms filled with the usual fare. "Do you want a pain potion or anything, sweets?" Mor asked after she set the tray down on your bed.

"No, I'll manage fine," you said, still disappointed that everyone else can scent your cycle.

Mor nodded her head in understanding. "Well, if you change your mind, feel free to come to me for one. I know your cycles aren't quite like mine, but they're painful nonetheless. But for now, Y/N, I'd like to wish you a very happy birthday. Feyre says you're turning twenty?"

You bobbed your head in confirmation as the two of you took your seats on your bed. "Yes, we're just a few days under a year age difference." Mor poured out tea for the both of you, today it was your favorite lavender and chamomile blend. "Do you... Do you know what Feyre has planned for this evening?" You asked nervously.

If you knew what to expect, maybe it wouldn't be as bad.

"Well, there's the dinner, obviously, and I do believe that we all got you a gift- at least I did, and Elain made a delicious looking cake for you! I do think that's all, though, Feyre thought you wouldn't like a huge celebration right now."

"Feyre would be right... I'm nervous enough as it is..."

Mor smiled softly at you. "You know what will help with that?"

"What?"

"Doing our skincare! It'll get your mind off of tonight!"

You shook your head at her. "I should've guessed, Mor," you laughed, but followed her into the bathroom anyways.

And Mor was right, as she usually was.

The two of you dozed off on your bed while you had masks on, only waking up once Mor accidentally kicked you in her sleep.

The two of you were still giggly by the time she left your room, your spirits much higher thanks to the lovely blonde that had become your friend over the past week.

By the time dinner rolled around, you were cramping more than before, and feeling absolutely exhausted from keeping yourself awake all day.

You hadn't realized how tiring just being awake was, even with your mind traveling back to that little cottage for most of the day.

Still, you bathed once more, a quick one this time, and dressed in a modest, dark green dress.

Now the difficult part... Making it downstairs. In the daytime.

Your hand rested on the doorknob longer than you cared to admit, your body warring with your mind, knowing who was waiting downstairs.

You managed to get out of your room, very slowly making your way downstairs as dread filled your stomach.

Surely Feyre could get your sisters to behave for one night, right?

The dining room of the River House was packed when you finally entered, the entire Inner Circle being present along with Nuala and Cerridwen.

Good- two extra friendly faces could never hurt.

"Y/N!" Feyre exclaimed when she spotted you, and she quickly made her way over to you. Her hands clasped yours. "I'm so glad you came down, sissy," Feyre said, using the old nickname she had given you.

"Me too," you replied, only half meaning it.

"Well, dinner is just about ready if you want to take a seat. Mor and I saved a seat between us for you, if you'd like?" You nodded and let her lead you to your chair, which was next to an excitedly bouncing blonde.

"I can't wait to give you your presents, Y/N. I think that mine are the best!" She boasted.

Your nose crinkled as you smiled at her enthusiasm. "I'm sure everyone's presents are nice, Mor."

"Yes, but mine are the best. You'll see after dinner."

"I'm sure I will..." You said quietly, and it was then that you noticed the eyes on you.

All of the eyes on you.

Nesta was looking at you like she wanted to stab you, or perhaps burn you alive with her silver flames. Elain's look had less outright hatred, but hurt all the same.

Still, they said nothing.

Thankfully, Rhys's eyes looked more concerned than angry, as they had been the last time you had seen him.

You turned your eyes to your plate. White porcelain with delicate silver flowers painted onto the rim. Pretty.

"So, what all do you want?" Mor asked a few minutes later, drawing you back into the present.

You looked up and noticed that dinner had been served, all of your favorite dishes that Nuala and Cerridwen had made for you since you met them on the table.

"A little bit of everything...?" You said, unsure if that would be okay. No one stopped Mor from loading up your plate with a whole lot of everything, leaving you with a dauntingly full dish set in front of you.

There was no way you could eat all of that in one go, with the way you had been eating... Or rather, avoiding eating recently. The most consistent meals you had were your small breakfasts with Mor.

You resolved yourself to eat a small amount of each, and see how you feel then. After all, there was still Elain's best cake to have later.

The dinner was more pleasant than any you remembered, though you hardly spoke to anyone. Mor and Feyre seemed to have picked up on how anxious you were, both of them touching your arm or hand to draw you back to the moment when you stared at your plate too long.

But then it was time to retire to the living room, you seated on the couch across from the fireplace that you had avoided for so long now...

Gifts were given, more than you had anticipated.

Feyre, Elain, and Nesta had all gotten you cookbooks. Feyre's was of traditional Night Court recipes, your favorites marked with bookmarks. Elain had gotten you one on desserts of the Solar Courts. And Nesta had gotten you a book of soup recipes.

All of them would be thoughtful... If they had taught you to read.

Still, you smiled when you opened each one and said thank you, though your heart had sank lower at the reminder that they had forgotten your illiteracy, had forgotten that you barely knew your letters, if that.

Amren's present was next, a pretty set of pink opal jewelry. You smiled at the tiny fae, barely managing to meet her eyes. She was still... unsettling, though she had never done anything to you.

Then Rhys presented his, a book of human fables, explaining that Feyre had mentioned how much you had adored them as a child.

That much was true, but... It was the same problem as with the cookbooks. You thanked him but refused to meet his eyes.

Cassian was next, who had gotten you a box of sweets from the chocolate shop you had gone to a few times, all of them ones that you had ordered more than once. It was thoughtful enough, and you knew if he'd gotten a more personal gift, Nesta might have...

You didn't want to think about that.

Azriel was next after Mor told him that she would be presenting her presents last no matter what. He had gotten you a beautiful teapot and set of teacups, all enchanted to keep the tea at the perfect temperature for up to twelve hours. The bottom was a pale pink that faded into white at the top, with delicate irises painted on the sides. It was perfect.

Along with it, he presented you with a large box of different tea samples.

"Whichever ones you enjoy, let me know and I will buy you full sizes of them, alright?" Azriel asked after presenting you with it, and you nodded in agreement. "Thank you, Azriel."

There were at least ten teas you had never tried before, though these were all from a store that you had never been to.

To say you were excited for all of the new flavors would be an understatement.

Mor sighed after seeing his present. "Mine ties for first, I suppose... Here, Y/N," she said, handing over a large box to you.

You opened it, eyes widening at what was inside. It contained a beautiful pink bedding set, all of the fabric so soft to the touch you wanted to bury yourself in it the moment you felt it. There was a second blanket, one that was buttery soft and in a pale purple.

These would be a wonderful addition to your bedding.

"And... Here," Mor said as she gave you a large bag, this one filled to the brim with skincare and makeup products. "I wanted you to be able to keep up the routine, even while I'm gone. And I picked out some shades I thought would look pretty with your skin tone."

"Thank you, Mor." You leaned over to hug your friend who was seated next to you, so happy that she had thought of you so much.

"It's my pleasure, Y/N."

A few moments later, your presents were covered in shadows before disappearing, and you looked to Azriel.

"They're in your room, I thought it would be easier to have them taken up for you," was his answer. You nodded in acknowledgement.

"How about cake now?" Feyre said excitedly, clapping her hands together as she stood. "Elain, come help me?"

Elain started to follow Feyre, but as Feyre passed Cassian he held out a hand to stop her, nose tilted to the air.

"Feyre... Is...?" He took a few more deep sniffs. "Oh mother, are you pregnant?!" He asked, standing up and embracing her before she could confirm or deny.

"Oh, Feyre, congratulations!" Elain exclaimed, the next to hug her.

"Yes, yes, I'm pregnant," Feyre said shyly. "I wasn't planning to-"

"We have to celebrate!" Cassian announced, already pulling Feyre into the kitchen where everyone else followed.

You were excited for your sister, of course you were... But it stung, seeing the first time you had seen everyone in so long become a celebration of Feyre so quickly.

You said a quick congratulations to Feyre, though you weren't sure she heard you over the tenfold increased volume in the kitchen.

Then you made your way upstairs, back to your room, back to your bathtub.

At least you had a new blanket to keep you company, and new tea to have the next time you woke.

So you settled in, snuggling down into your now cozier makeshift bed. There was less fear in your heart, now that the obligation of seeing people was over. But the cramps were ripping through you, causing you to curl in tightly on yourself. Maybe you should have asked Mor for a potion after all...

Until you drifted off, you could hear them celebrating below, another reminder of how out of place you still feel.

General Taglist: @daughterofthemoons-stuff @lilah-asteria @meritxellao

ILIPW taglist: @darkbloodsly @angelbunny222 @uniquedreamsblog @romantasyreader28 @that-one-bibliophole @idkmyoldonewasembarassing @deathtopistachios @saltedcoffeescotch @sleepylunarwolf @babypeapoddd

[leviraaaaaa]

Levi nation, how we feeling today? 😔🫶

“What am I to you, Levi?”

The question was sudden, soft words reaching through the silence that had been until then. Levi looked up.

“What?”

You tilted your head, stretched on his sofa. You laid on it so casually, with your head resting on your folded arms, leaning against the armrest, one would think you were right at home. In your hands, you held a book, but he knew it had been on the same page for a while and that you hadn't been reading a word from it. No. He knew because your eyes had been on him instead.

“What am I to you?” You repeated when he didn't answer.

He looked at you as you watched him with a subtle eagerness behind your eyes. He was unable to form a reply. Why did you always say the most unexpected shit out of nowhere? You were so casual about it too, looking at him as if you merely asked him how his day was.

“What the fuck.” He muttered.

“What?”

He sighed, leaning back as he closed his pinched his eyebrows together. He chose this, he reminded himself for the hundredth time in his life, he brought this upon himself when he picked the most infuriating cadet to be his second. It was his fault and no one else's, that everyday he had to tolerate you and your ridiculousness. Why the hell had he done that?

“Stop with the stupid fucking questions.” He groaned irritatedly.

“Maybe if you answered them, I'd leave you alone.”

“Did you come here to distract me?”

You laughed softly. “Am I distracting you?”

“Don't think I haven't felt you staring at me.”

Your face showed no sign of embarrassment whatsoever at the very true accusation, instead there was amusement in your eyes. You leaned in, determined.

“Do you like me Levi?”

It's the way you looked at him. You knew. Of course you knew. He blinked, his chest suddenly tight. Suddenly, the room was suffocating. He looked anywhere but you.

“..in what way? Because you as a person is pretty shit."

But no, you see right through him. There was disappointment in your face. You sighed. “Liar.” You looked away from him, slumping back on the couch and draping an arm over your face. “I'm making this so easy for you, Levi. So fucking easy.”

He didn't have to look at you to know what you had meant.

Coward.

It was so easy, wasn't it? All he had to do is admit. To tell you yes. But he couldn't. Not even that.

“What if I die in tomorrow's expedition? How would you feel then? Knowing you had the chance and you didn't take it?” Your voice was casual, but there was reproach underneath. Levi flinched. It was a very real possibility. You hit right on the nail.

“Bull.” His expression darkened. “Don't say shit like that. We aren't even supposed to interact with titans.”

That was literally not the point, you thought annoyedly. But of course. Levi, the king of confrontation. What were you expecting? No, you hadn't expected much better from him in the first place, did you?

Your voice was tired when you spoke again.

“Are you ever going to tell me?”

You looked so exhausted. There were no expectations in your eyes. It was your way of giving him a way out, he realized, to let him know you didn't expect an answer from him. That he could just remain silent if he wanted to.

And he wanted to.

But he looked at you and felt something tight in his throat.

“...Maybe.” He murmured finally, his voice so quiet you could barely hear him. But your eyes widened. “Someday.”

You pushed your hand off your face, sitting up to look at him with surprise. You gazed blankly for a moment. That was as close as a confession you'd get.

You smiled.

“Someday.” You echoed.

—

Levi was sleeping.

Somehow he was aware he was sleeping.

There was a blunt ache somewhere in his chest. But he couldn't remember being hurt. His face felt dry, lips chapped, his eyes heavy. He was asleep, but he still felt so tired.

“Do you like me, Levi?”

He stirred, his consciousness returning back to him slowly as his mind registered the voice. He knew that voice. He knew those words. Like a twisted echo of something he couldn’t escape. A feeling of familiar sinister dread crept to his stomach.

Don't look. He tells himself. Don't look. If he didn't look, you'd go away.

He does anyway.

You're back on his couch, grinning slyly at him. When he looked at you, you’re smiling at him, eyes twinkling with amusement as if you were sharing a joke with him. An inside joke that only the two of you will understand.

You were sprawled on your stomach, the way one would to sunbathe. With both your arms on the armrest, you had your chin resting atop them, staring at him with those eyes. As though you belonged there, as though you’d never left. It was such a casual scene. Such a normal scene. Yet, he felt nauseous.

There was a vacancy in his chest, a suffocating emptiness. He hated it when you did that.

What made it worse you didn't even expect a fucking answer. You knew him too well for that. You came here every night for no other reason than to entertain yourself with his helplessness, like a sick, twisted little game.

“Must you do this every night?”

He asked. He could hear his own pleading tone, like he was begging you. He knew how pathetic he sounded, how miserable he must have looked. But you were grinning at him like he said something funny, it was such an obvious answer after all.

“Were you ever gonna tell me?” You asked him.

Fuck. Fuck.

“I would've.” His head hurt. He felt hollow. “You know I would've.”

“You didn't though.”

“I would've.” He repeated. Yet, he was doubtful of his own words, Would he have?

“Someday.” You hummed, reminding him, taunting him. It was a knife to his chest. He couldn't breathe.

Someday. The accusation was obvious underneath your casual tone. Someday. Just not today. Not then. Not now. Not ever.

“You're not being fair.”

“Oh.” You sighed softly, almost mocking him. “But Levi, when were you ever fair to me?”

He shook his head, your words creeping inside his brain like a parasite. “Leave. Please.”

You let out a chuckle, like it was the funniest thing you'd ever heard. Then you pushed yourself off the couch, standing up straight. You took your time, stretching your arms lazily like you had all day in the world, shooting him a soft smile. Then with every step you approached him with, he could feel his heart sinking. A little. A little. A little. More.

He let out a shaky breath, squeezing his eyes shut. He knew exactly the words you would say next. Every night. It was the same every night. And there was nothing he could do to stop it.

“But I'm not here.”

Your voice was soft beside his ear. A haunting whisper. He felt your fingers trailing the edge of his jaw, tilting his face towards you. Your hands slid down his neck and he shivered, opening his eyes to meet yours, all your playfulness gone. Now you just looked sad.

“Why are you doing this to yourself, Levi?” You said sadly, his name was soft in your lips, you said it like it was so fragile. “Why don't you let me go?”

You were so close. So fucking close. It took everything in him to not reach out, to not pull you in. He was stiff, pressed against the back off his chair, trying his best to put distance between. But it was no use. He was only a man, after all.

Your next words were a warm whisper against his lips, just a breath away.

“Wake up, Levi.” You told him. “Wake up.”

And when he opened his eyes, he was staring at the dark ceiling of his bedroom.

9 months, 2 weeks and 4 days since the day he'd lost you. 9 months, 2 weeks and 4 days of sleepless night. It had been 9 months, 2 weeks and 4 days of dreaming about you.

[enviedear]

YOU DIDN'T SEE MY VALENTINE (I SENT IT VIA PANTOMIME)

₊ ⊹ JASON TODD

🧸ྀི REQUEST | Could I request Jason Todd being jealous of Dick and reader who is slightly older and he’s harboured a crush on since his Robin days? AND jason todd/reader + jealousy

CW | jealous!jason—nothing crazy, not canon compliant but this is my tl now, some 'will they, won't they', and lots of jason being weird with feelings. 1.2k words. 🎧ྀི

in all honesty, you knew richard grayson before you ever truly knew JASON TODD. he was just a pubescent sidekick the last time you'd seen him—masked in thinly veiled anonymity. both boistful and timid, he always brought a smile out of you—teen angst and all.

but then he died. your life continued, morphing into the blissfully misunderstood present of your early twenties. heroism sits on your backburner, choosing to slow down for a career. normalcy, in a sense. and even though you've more than officially retired from your masked identity, dick grayson still remains everpresent. he offers up unrelenting friendship with ease.

normalcy has faded in recent months. reanimation of a corpse has the tendency to do that. and despite being one of the last to learn of jason's return, you were one of the first for him to turn to, to seek out. his attitude, his spirit, his mere presence—have thrown your life into a complete tailspin.

he usually stops by unannounced, often bloodied and bruised. he's gruff and pointed. no longer timid, but apathetic. far different from the young boy you remember—that scrappy, defiant, and utterly resolved mini hero. back then, you’d barely had time to catch your breath between your own assignments to make any sense of the boy glaring up at you in challenge. always like he had something to prove. his vigor had amused you then, but you couldn’t have known the weight behind it—not then.

now, it feels unavoidable. he doesn't talk about it, but he doesn't have to. it's in the way he carries his shoulders, tense and unsure. the way his once deep blue eyes have recast to a murky blend of frosted jade. he's changed, and yet you're still the one he seeks out. the thought has replayed and plagued your mind for days on end.

the kid you'd known had become something else entirely. taller, broader, with a rigid fixation toward you that feels…alarmingly familiar and unknown all at once. most times, you can't place why—that is, until he reminds you.

“dick’s taking you out again?” his voice cuts through the casual quiet of your apartment, where you’d been getting ready. the sound is rough, almost indifferent.

glancing over your shoulder, you spot jason leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed and jaw tight. you never heard him come in, but he hasn't startled you. no, you expected him. you refocus on what he has asked—his question, though simple, has an unmistakable bite to it. you don't let it affect you, not now, or anymore.

at first it was hard to come to terms with the aggravation and disdain riddled within him. it spewed out so easily. now though, you understand it. no part of you enjoys it, but you love him. much more than he can seem to realize—too fractured to see through your companionship. a role reversal of utter hell.

you hesitate, brushing off the strange weight of his stare. “yeah. just dinner. catching up. he's been at work so much recently...”

you see a flicker of something unclear cross jason’s face. it’s quick—but the tension sticks, thick and heavy in the room. it's an old grudge, somehow outliving death. you suppose it makes sense—he spent years begging to patrol with the two of you, just to be firmly told no. he always got so agitated, completely annoyed. it seems he's the same, old habits die hard.

he clears his throat, still glaring severely, “right. catching up.”

there’s that bite again, sharper this time. he’s trying to be casual, but it doesn’t land.

“is something wrong?” you ask, turning to face him fully now, eyebrows raised and tone nearly exasperated.

he shrugs, but his eyes don’t meet yours. they’re focused somewhere over your shoulder. “just seems like dick’s always around, that’s all.”

you blink, surprised. “we’ve been friends for years, jason. you know that.”

“yeah, i know.” his voice is lower now, quieter. “i just…i don’t get why you still hang out with him so much.”

that gets your attention. the tension, the clipped responses—it all clicks into place. you rise, studying him. “are you… jealous?”

the moment the word leaves your mouth, you watch his posture stiffen. his eyes finally meet yours, a mix of frustration and something softer, almost vulnerable, in them.

“no.” he mutters, but it’s not convincing.

“jason.” you sigh, shaking your head. “dick is just a friend.”

“yeah, i know. so why's he’s always taking you out?” he huffs, and there it is—the frustration that had been simmering beneath the surface finally breaking through. “ever since i was a kid, he’s had your attention. i'm just...the other one.”

his words hang in the air, weighted with years of implicit beliefs. suddenly, you understand. this isn’t just about his brother. it’s about everything jason’s never said—the way he’d always felt second to someone else.

you take a step forward, close enough now that you can see the cracks in his bitter expression. and you notice the way he wants to pull back but doesn't—can’t.

“you have never been that to me, jason.” you say softly, your voice steady.

he scoffs, but there’s a flicker of disbelief in his eyes. “yeah? didn’t seem like it.”

“maybe not then, but things are different now.” you say, holding his gaze. “you’re different. we’re different. everything, is different.”

for a moment, jason doesn’t say anything. he just looks at you, really looks at you, like he’s trying to figure out if he should believe you.

“doesn’t feel like it sometimes,” he mutters, quieter now. the tension shifts, softening slightly, though, his guard remains.

you take one last step, close enough that you can reach out and touch him if you wanted to. “jason.” you say, and his name comes out softer than you mean it to. “you have my attention now. not as a kid. not as robin. as you.”

there’s a pause, a beat of silence before he finally drops his eyes. when he looks back at you, there’s a flicker of longing in them, a look almost too vulnerable for the man he's returned as.

“you sure about that?” he asks, his voice quiet, like he’s afraid of the answer.

you nod, and this time, you close the distance. your hands gently tether to his crossed arms, “yeah, i’m sure.”

his muscles tense under your touch—but he doesn’t pull away. instead, his eyes fall to where your hands rest against him, something flickering there. you squeeze his arms lightly, attempting to ground him.

“jason,” you say softly, “i don’t see you the way you think i do. i never have.”

he lets out a rough breath, like he’s been holding it for ages. his gaze is still cast downward, jaw clenched. you wait, patient, giving him the space to find his words.

“i don’t know how to be around you anymore.” he admits, voice barely above a whisper. “i want to be around you, like how dick is. i just...came back wrong.”

the confession rings in your head. you almost feel the weight of it, pressing against the edges of your chest, and your heart aches for him. for the boy he was, the man he’s become, and the space in between where he feels like he’s lost himself.

“you didn’t come back wrong.” you whisper, stepping even closer.

his head tilts slightly, as if he’s processing your words, trying to let them sink in past years of self-doubt.

his hands uncross slowly, falling to his sides, but he doesn’t pull away from you. instead, his right hand reaches up, hesitant at first, before he gently cups the side of your face. fingers brushing your skin with a tenderness you hadn’t expected.

“you sure about that?” he asks again, but this time there’s no malice. less unease.

you nod, your hand coming up to cover his, your voice steady. “yeah. i’m sure, jason.”

almost timidly, he speaks again, "can you just... just tonight, stay here."

you study him as you answer, "why?"

he sighs, eyes flicking to a wall, "grayson's had years to spend with you, i haven't. c'mon, let me take you out instead." he shrugs, looking at you now, "call it making up for lost time."

you can't fight the tug in your chest, and you nod—relenting, "fine." you offer him a small smile, "where are we going?"

you don't catch what he suggests, nodding along. you're too hyperaware of the dimpled smile on his face now. two perfect reminiscent pictures of the sweet kids you used to be. only, this time you're choosing him—and you plan to continue to.

[madschiavelique]

A Crown Of Ink : Chapter 6 - Seven Of Cups

summary : your detention doesn't happen like you'd have thought it would, and power goes out at the dormitories, leading you to odd exchanges with viktor

content warnings : fighting at the beginning of the chap but nothing much, other than that none (if you find anything to add here do tell).

word count : 7,6k

author's note : these bitches can't stop bantering okay, and i can't make them stop so yea

proofread by the lovely @yaffles-world

masterlist : here

taglist : @doctorho @6selkie @yunloyal

You landed a blow to the throat of the girl facing you, who backed away as she regained some air and you were able to regain your composure as the screams grew louder all around you. All the way down your oesophagus, from your stomach to the back of your throat, the acid of your empty stomach burned all sanity.

Hunger could have made you do anything, the fire within making you nauseous as you tried not to wobble on your legs. You could have eaten the sandy soil on the floor of the pit if someone had told you that it would nourish you a little, or ease your ravenous hunger.

Your opponent was older than you, taller, heavier, and less gnawed by famine. The stands were screaming at you, one to get back on her feet, the other to strike until her skull burst. You could feel the rain of their spit on your skin as your opponent came back at you.

You tried to avoid her punches, retreating into the arena, trying to gain time by tiring her out. But she slapped you so hard that you fell to the ground. You tried to crawl back away from her as the crowd swelled in roars. You turned your head towards her for one last breath before she struck you a hard blow in the cheek.

The shock woke you from your dream.

You breathed in, wiping away the single tear from your cheek that had left a stain on your pillow. The gesture made you hiss, bringing your hand up to your swollen cheek, still aching. Ah, that's right, your little attempt at justice in the corridors yesterday came back to mind.

You huffed and puffed, turning over on your back in bed and letting your gaze drift to the ceiling, trying not to shake as you breathed softly.

Another nightmare, these days were not going to be easy.

You placed your hand on your belly, trying to control your breathing in the hopes of calming yourself slowly.

Why can't the past just die ? 

Because I'm not dead yet, you think. Only in death, maybe, could you say goodbye to all of this. 

You shook your head, you had too much to fight for, enough to defeat death, enough to push her back to your doorstep and chase her from your house no matter how hard she'd knock on the door of your mind.

To heal your wounds you had to stop touching them. You knew that, you knew that your little fight in the hallway had brought it back, that your constant fight against yourself and Viktor was pushing it all back to the front of your mind.

But what were you supposed to do? Let him be ridiculed like that, martyred by a student who wasn't there by any merit and only through the influence of a patron?

Since when had Viktor's respect been something you considered? You were supposed to hate him, not develop an obsession about hating him.

"Almost sounds like you're obsessed with me."

You hated the fact that, despite your best efforts to talk yourself out of it, he wasn't wrong. You turned, groaning in your bed. How could you agree with him? 

You thought back to what Selene had said to you once, ‘there are 3 reasons why people hate you: they see you as a threat, the people who hate you hate themselves, or they want to be like you.’

Did you want to be like Viktor? No, you certainly didn't, did you? The other two arguments were of course on your list, but was the last one really on it?

Yes, you probably wanted to be like him: to be first in everything, with a gift for conversation, to be almost perfect in everything he did...

You picked up your pillow, pulling it back over your head and letting the weight of it muffle your groan.

Obviously, you weren't going to get back to sleep, all those obsessive thoughts preventing any other idea from entering your mind. So you got up and went about your day.

You worked bitterly this weekend, not looking forward to your detention.

You wondered if your guardian knew, if the gossip had started to spread throughout the school and had finally infiltrated the teachers' room. What image would that give you? One of someone trying to teach a lesson to an insolent person attacking an innocent, or a bully who would never overcome the stereotype of her origins no matter how hard she worked?

You'd seen Viktor come into the café with Jayce, but they were both just passing through and had a takeaway. You couldn't help but notice two things about them. Firstly, the two of them were up to something, either about an assignment they perhaps had to do in another subject, or about a personal project that Jayce had never had to tell you about.

And secondly, Viktor couldn't stop looking at you.

His amber eyes were deeply piercing, looking right through you, searching for something, the key to an equation that would solve everything. But he couldn't find anything, at least not until you'd tell him about the missing piece yourself.

You weren't ready to give it to him. Not him, and probably not anyone else either. You always averted your gaze from his whenever you met him, but you felt it on you, lingering.

Monday came earlier than you would have liked, and when the day was over, you dragged your feet towards Madame Agrane's classroom. She was waiting there, arms folded, a stern expression on her face.

You gave her back a cold expression, devoid of any empathy. Your nature had disgusted her enough for you to find yourself in such a situation, thus it was for her nature that you returned her gaze so cold and steely.

You took your place in the room, taking out some of the homework you were planning to do, particularly the presentation you were supposed to do with - 

"Am I late ?"

Your head went from your notes to the door in a flash, as Viktor himself was standing in the doorway.

"Late for what ?" asked Agrane, confused.

Viktor stepped through the doorway, walking in your direction. "Detention."

Your eyes widened, your lips parting in surprise. What was he doing?

"You don't have det-" Agrane laughed nervously before Viktor interrupted.

"Yes, I do." He turned to her as he sat down just to your right, sending her a distinct look, one you'd given him during your work session for the Heimerdinger subjectc: silence.

She fell quiet, breathing out a little annoyed gasp before settling her half moon glasses back on her nose and jotting something down on one of her papers.

Viktor started to take out his things, and you shouted at him in a whisper: 

"What are you doing?"

He placed his notebook on the table and turned to you. "Currently ? I'm with you in detention."

"I know what-" you breathed at his irony, looking him in the eye this time, "what are you doing here ?"

"I'm doing detention-"

"Viktor," the word stopped him in his tracks, "you know that's not what I'm asking."

He stood speechless for a moment, and you realised that it was the first time you'd ever called him by his name to his face. You hadn't even called him by his name until now, no doubt because the word was bitter on your tongue, and he seemed just as surprised as you that, against all odds, his name from your lips wasn't full of spite.

He blinked repeatedly, turning to his page and pretending to search for his notes as he cleared his throat. "I thought it was unfair that you were the only one getting detention when you tried helping me for my own harshness."

You couldn't believe your eyes, your eyebrows jumping to your hairline in surprise. Viktor, of all people you would have preferred to have by your side at this very moment, had come to keep you company, and of his own free will.

It was almost sadistic, the torture he was inflicting on you. He was perfectly aware by now of your worries, or at least of the worries his presence was causing you. So why was he here?

The thought occurred to you that, eventually, Viktor might have respected you.

No... that was probably absurd. He was only here out of pity, or perhaps as a sign of student solidarity to get a message across. You could already hear the gossip: ‘Didn't you see? Viktor voluntarily went to detention as a sign of solidarity with the bully who broke the nose of the pupil who tripped him. How gallant!’

Would you have come if the roles had been reversed? If he had done you justice, taking the detention hour instead of you? Would you have shown honour despite what was at stake for you? You wouldn't have received any nice rumours about yourself, people would probably have said ‘she doesn't even want to be second to get detention, she always has to chase after him to try and shine in his shadow!’

You stopped looking at him, pretending to read your notes and rearrange them.

"You didn't need to do that." you tell him, your voice on the level of a whisper.

"And you didn't need to help me." he replies, turning a page.

"It was unfair, he deserved a good punch."

He turned to you, resting his chin on his palm, "So you getting detention for helping me is not unfair ?"

He had a point. It was a compelling and convincing argument, and for that very reason, you chose to ignore it. You didn't even exchange a glance with him, feeling the arrogance of the ‘I'm right and you know it’ weighing in his eyes.

"Don't you have anything better to do than being here ? Deaf kids to read to ? Students to beat with your cane ?"

"True that with my patron's help I could get through all of these fun times."

Madame Agrane gave you a reprimanding shush, telling you that your low masses would have to be kept to a minimum during this hour of detention.

You sighed, lowering your head to return to your notes, tapping the eraser of your pencil on your paper. You caught yourself glancing at Viktor a few times, despite your will, but inevitably returned to your paper as you tried to write down what you knew for the presentation.

Then, Viktor placed a sheet of paper near your side of the table. You watched him for a moment, the latter wearing his usual nonchalance as he read a passage from a textbook, his fingers following the lines.

You lowered your eyes to the page, which would have been almost blank if Viktor hadn't written at the top of the page in his own graceful handwriting: 

"A simple thank you you could've done it."

You scoffed, seriously? Was he still going to be petty about it? He had got himself into this situation after all. So you wrote in reply: 

"Me ? Thanking you ? That's a largeness of spirit I don't have."

You passed him the sheet of paper again with your written answer, and, as he read it, as if imitating you, he laughed back. You didn't think it was funny at all.

So he wrote on the sheet in turn, and you found yourself waiting for his reply, waiting almost impatiently for him to finish whatever he was writing. You wondered if he was taking his time on purpose, savouring the act of writing to you and keeping you waiting, keeping you itching for the outcome between his long, slender fingers.

He handed you the paper again, you pretending to be indifferent to it as you feigned interest in your notes before taking it.

"Are you still thinking about me? Is that why you're so unfocused?"

You stopped yourself from humming because you didn't want to grumble at his insolence. What a little... well, in a certain case and from a certain angle, he wasn't wrong, but that didn't mean you were going to prove him right any time soon.

So you almost aggressively took up your pen to answer him in three simple words: 

"In your dreams."

If only your dreams could be so tranquil... although you feared that one day Viktor would end up in your dreams. He haunted you enough on a daily basis, and if he came to chase you even in your dreams, that would probably mark the end of you.

He received the note, read it, smiled to himself and began to write back. You didn't know what you would prefer at the time, to at least refocus a little on your homework, or to continue this little round of exchanging notes that was taking you both back to high school.

You didn't even have time to get his next note while he was writing it because, almost with a bang, the door flew open. Before the astonished eyes of Viktor, Madame Agrane and yourself, a deeply angry Selene entered the room. She swept her eyes around the room, eyebrows furrowed over the dark, mystical shadow covering her eyelids, then came to rest on Agrane.

"What's all this about?" she asked, her tone stern.

Agrane seemed to want to make herself very small in her chair. No doubt she knew Selene and the links she had with the councillors. Which, in this case, placed her in a position to receive unwanted news should she have indulged in things Selene disagreed about.

"A simple detention for two students at fault, madam." she replied in a tiny voice.

"At fault?!" her dark shawl hemmed around her like a night wave as she crossed her arms, "and what fault have they committed?"

Agrane was about to answer, parting her lips, but Selene cut her off with a wave of her hand.

"I don't want to ask you," she turned to Viktor and you, still surprised, "I want to listen to them."

So she walked towards you.

"Them?" almost choked Agrane.

"Do you have hearing problems as well as judgement, madam?" she said, deeply exasperated as she turned to you and mumbled, "Who still gives detention in an academy."

You straightened up, giving Viktor a look as he recognised the astronomy teacher, but didn't seem to particularly understand why she herself had come to visit you, and especially in such an emotional state.

"Madame Agrane, I'm sure that-"

"If you think this dear lady is a liar, I want to see for myself." She was turned towards you, her eyes rimmed with a bluish night-shade, not letting you go. "I know when she's lying."

You huffed, exchanging a look with her. There was no need to make a scene of it, you thought, who knows what image it would give you? To be chaperoned when you'd beaten your academic success brick by brick?

"What happened." Selene asked, in a calm tone.

There was no need to lie to her, or to lighten the conversation with understatements. Selene, in this kind of situation, wanted to get straight to the point.

“We were coming back from the library,” you began, ”a student tripped my classmate-”

“What's your name, young man?” she questioned, turning to your nemesis.

“Viktor,” he cleared his throat, still surprised by the situation, ”Viktor Moravec.”

“Viktor huh?” she turned, raising her eyebrows at you and pointing him with one of her long fingernails before resting her eyes on him, ”you're the Viktor?”

Shit.

Viktor had, on every evening you spent in Selene's company - rare though they were - been an inescapable point of conversation. You couldn't help grumbling about him. Sélène being the only person around you who didn't know him from your hours of gossip wouldn't therefore be able to tell you ‘I don't see why you don't like Viktor.’ like all the others would.

And now she was meeting him.

Viktor nodded, and Selene smiled.

“I've heard quite a lot about you actu-”

“I knocked down the student who tripped him,” you resumed, hoping Selene wouldn't scatter her words and reveal more than was necessary. “He punched me, and I broke his nose.”

Selene's smile had vanished from her face. Her eyes then drifted to your cheek. 

You'd managed to find a concealer in the back of your drawers. Selene had given it to you a few years ago for an event you'd accompanied her to. It was covering enough to hide much of the hematoma on your cheek, but its dark color managed to stand out slightly through the cosmetic.

“And why are you in detention, and not the other student?”

Agrane rose from her chair, embarrassed surely. “Madame Sélène, this is all a misunderstanding. These two students are from Zaun-”

“And so?” questioned Sélène towards her, ”do they deserve less to be here?”

Agrane pouted, lowering her gaze.

“Look me in the eye and dare to tell me for even a moment that students from Zaun have less merit to study here when they're the ones who fight the hardest to even graze the walls of the academy.”

Agrane's eyes were fixed on the floor, at a loss for words.

Selene turned back to you. “You're no longer in detention, go home.”

You just stayed there for a moment, biting the inside of your cheek that had been hit. The pain pierced you, but you didn't let it show. You weren't particularly fond of the idea of having found yourself in this situation, and you didn't like the fact that you'd hidden your injury and your situation from Selene either.

She didn't seem too happy about it either, but no doubt for reasons quite different from your own. 

You gathered up your belongings, placing them in your satchel almost mechanically, Viktor seeming to do the same, although still startled.

You stood up, following Sélène out of the room. Once in the corridor, however, when Viktor wasn't far behind you, she pressed on.

“In my office, young lady. Immediately.”

You sighed, not much good would come of this conversation.

You didn't turn around, Viktor's gaze weighing on you and the weight of his future requests for explanations following you like your shadow.

You followed Selene, her heels clicking on the glossy floors of the academy. Hadn't you had enough trouble with teachers for one month? Heimerdinger, then Agrane, then her, the list seemed to go on without your good will.

She opened her office door, letting you in before slamming it shut.

“So,” she began, ”when were you going to tell me about all this?”

“I had no time to-”

“Even right after this happened?” she stopped you. “When else would you have told me, eh? Would you have kept it to yourself and hidden it under concealer until the blue faded?”

“I would have shared it with you tomorrow.” you retorted, pinching the bridge of your nose, ”I've had enough complications this week.”

“Since when has that stopped you from coming to see me and staying the night?” she resumed. “Do you think I'm not worried about you?”

You weren't angry with her; she only wanted what was best for you. You couldn't imagine her reaction when the teacher gossip started in the staff room. She was your guardian, and you getting beaten up in the corridors didn't reflect very well on what she should have done for you. Without her, you wouldn't be here.

And you were ashamed of your behavior. You had tried in vain to bring justice to the corridors, to reframe an impertinent man who wanted to play the tough guy by attacking someone weaker than him. You'd left behind a life of violence, and you didn't want to return to it. Yes, you were ashamed that Selene, who had educated and helped you, had to learn that the girl she had taken under her wing had come to blows.

You wanted to make her proud, and you felt you were failing.

You huffed and puffed, suddenly finding the floor an interesting piece of scenery.

Sélène's office was cosy. The velvet armchairs caught the warmth of the sun streaming into the room through the bay window taking up the entire wall opposite the entrance. A desk with dark, smoothed wood, a freshly cleaned chalkboard with new chalk, and a shelf where she kept her various teas played their part in the furniture of the office.

“I'm sorry I didn't come to you sooner,” you admitted, ”I just- haven't had good days lately.”

She crossed her arms, looking at you, softened. “More nightmares?”

You regained her eyes for a moment before turning your back on her and moving to one of the velvet armchairs, “Guess which lucky person has been chosen by Heimerdinger himself to be my presentation partner.”

Her shoulders slumped, her arms falling along her body as she walked over to you, sitting down in the armchair opposite.

“Why did you do this?” she questioned, ”Why did you go out of your way to protect Viktor, of all?”

You bite the inside of your lip, slumped in the armchair, eyes resting on the glass table where empty teapot and teacups reside.

“This guy, the student, he was... he'd called Zaunites rats.”

Sélène straightened up, listening to you, urging you to elaborate.

“He insulted Viktor,” you explained without meeting her eyes, “and when he had the guts to answer him, he made him trip over. I just... took Viktor's cane to push behind his knee and make him have a taste of his own medicine. As you can tell,” you pointed your cheek, ”he didn't like that very much. So, he gave me a punch. It was pretty hard, not that I've seen better but... I couldn't help myself. Call it muscle memory or whatever but I hit him on the nose and-”

You replayed the scene in your head, the muffled sound of Viktor's voice as he fell to the ground, the evil twang in the jerk's voice, and the looks on the lot.  You sighed as your eyes landed on Selene's.

“I don't like Viktor. Of that, you are aware. But he's one of ours, and sticking with our people is too important for me not to throw decorum out of the window because a guy with a golden ass tried to put him back under the sole of his shoe.”

You almost became carried away, letting the energy of frustration take over for a moment before calming down again.

“Turns out golden ass has a powerful patron,” you recounted as you rolled your eyes and hemmed your bottom lip under the ridiculousness of this situation. “It scared Agrane enough for her to put me alone in detention.”

Selene frowned, “You alone?”

Your knee was beginning to twitch with anxiety.

“Viktor decided to integrate himself into the detention.”

A small smile appeared on Selene's lips, to which you replied with exasperation, raising an eyebrow.

“This boy likes you.”

You rolled your eyes and parted your lips in shock as your head fell to the side. “Please don't send me that kind of curse or I'll never finish this year in one piece.”

She laughed gently, watching you for a moment. You couldn't figure out what she was thinking, couldn't figure her out.

“Do I disappoint you?”

Her eyes softened, sighing as if nothing in the world could ever bring her to this end.

“You never disappoint me, and I don't think you ever will even if you tried your hardest.”

“Setting me on another challenge?” you joked.

“I don't think this one is the kind I want to see you excel in.” she laughed.

The conversation continued a little longer, with Sélène asking about your last few nights' sleep and, incidentally, your day's tarot card.

This morning you had drawn the seven of cups, to which mention Selene, after an interested A-ha, straightened up to recite as if facing one of her clients: 

“Options, visions of dreams turning real, wild imagination. The card reflects illusions but also multiple choices. The character is in the dark while the cups are lighted. Is reality as delicious as the imaginary ? All the possibilities are on the table, only the mind limits what we can do. You are prone to illusion and unrealistic ideals. An opportunity with promises of more money, more fame, or more power may sound appealing, but as you look deeper into what is on offer, you may realise it’s not everything it’s cracked up to be. Your ego may pull you in a specific direction, but it’s important you check in with your Higher Self first.”

Your Higher Self, eh? She was on vacation, surely.

Night had already fallen by the time you left Sélène's office and returned from the academy. You felt lighter for having spoken to her; the weight of the lie would have hung too heavy in your heart anyway.

You returned to the dormitories, where Sky was cooking. You chatted for a while, asking her how her day had gone, before taking a seat at your desk and rereading your notes for the day.

Only, a good fifteen minutes later, all the lights went out.

You wondered at the time whether you'd been knocked unconscious, or whether you'd suddenly lost consciousness through exhaustion. It wasn't until Sky called your name in the darkness that you realized the power had simply gone out.

You groped around in the dark, looking for your flashlight, which you reached and turned on. You tucked it between your teeth, searching through your drawers. You'd kept some candles from Eris, Zaun candles made of a special wax that slowed down the melting time of the flame, perfect for a nation of miners.

After several minutes of diligent searching, you finally found them, holding them out to Sky as you picked up your matchbox. You gently placed the flames on them, taking one in your hands.

There was a knock at the door, probably from some students wondering if you too were experiencing a similar situation and if you had anything to keep the light on.

You opened the door, on Viktor.

“You,” you exclaimed in a tone that was equal parts repugnance and disbelief.

“Ah, how I've longed for your sweet voice,” he smiled.

“What do you want?” you inquired, tired enough as it was.

“Can't you answer ‘yes’ like all normal people?” he sighed, pointing with his chin to your candle. “Have you got any more of those?”

“Where's Jayce?” 

“Contacting the electrical crew.”

“The whole building's out?”

“The whole neighborhood. Do you have any more candles, or do I have to answer a whole form of your questions to get some light?”

“Here Viktor,” Sky stepped forward, handing him her own candle.

He took it, almost surprised by the gesture.

“Thanks, Ms Young.”

“Sky?” called Orcelyia not far behind Viktor, ”You coming? Everyone's reuniting downstairs in front of the chimney for some warmth.”

“Coming!” confirmed Sky.

“Wait, Sky?” you stopped her, handing her your own candle so she wouldn't get lost on the way since all the students were moving either blindly or with a meager flashlight. “You're not coming?”

“Yes in a-” you were about to answer when Viktor himself replied for you. 

“Not yet, we'll join you all soon.”

Sky offered a small smile, her eyes darting back and forth between you and him before leaving in the half-light.

“Did the middle of my sentence interrupt the beginning of yours?” you said, turning back to Viktor.

“I'm sure you'll manage to recover from the deeply traumatic event of me cutting you off while you speak. Do you have any more candles?”

“Yes,” you breathed. “But to find them I need light, and that means a candle.” You held out your hand to him. “Pass me the candle.”

He tilted his head back slightly. “What's the magic word?”

“Oh, yeah nevermind. I'll get it myself.” you say as you turn, trying to make out where to go in the gloom.

“Magic words really aren't your thing,” Viktor remarked, sighing and following you to offer you some light all the same. “Are 'please' and 'thank you' really that hard?”

You knelt down to rummage through the box where the candles were stored. “They're magic words, do you really expect me to waste them on someone like you when they're so full of worth?”

“Oh, I thought that miss Second would just-”

You were on your feet in no time, facing him, and pointing a candle at him.

“Call me that one more time, see what happens.” 

He looked startled in the half-light, eyes wide for a moment before they softened. He had a kind of mystical aura, standing there in your room. The almond of flame atop the candle reflected in his amber eyes and lit him softly like those dark, silent paintings.

“You're threatening me with a candle?”

“Zaun candle, much harder when it breaks. Want a taste?”

“If it's from Zaun I doubt it tastes good.”

“Better add that line to our exposé.”

“You're the funniest girl in the whole cemetery,” confirmed Viktor.

“Haha.” you say, not knowing what to say, so you pulled the minimalist irony card.

He moved his candle closer to you, and you exchanged a silent glance with him before bringing your candle closer to let it take flame at its tip. But he drew it back at the last minute, preventing you from doing so.

“Then,” he took a step towards you, ”pick your nickname.”

The indigence and intellectual vacuity of Viktor's principles at the top of their game was back.

“I don't want a nickname.”

“What should I call you then?”

“Don't call me ?”

“I'm afraid that is going to be slightly complicated.”

“Find a solution for it then.”

You moved your candle towards his again, but he withdrew it. Again.

“What now?”

“What did you and Sélène talk about, in her office?”

“How is that any of your business?”

“Shed some light on my questions and I will offer you some.” he said, moving his candle in his fingers like a bone to a dog.

You sighed, your shoulders drooping. “I told her what happened, that's all.”

“Is it, though?” he remarked, arching an eyebrow. “You're not telling me everything.”

“And why the hell would I tell you anything?”

“Because otherwise I will tell the entire building that you stole Jayce's nail polish he uses for his toes.”

You giggled. “Pardon?” you cleared your throat though. “Are you threatening me with fictitious concepts?”

“Do you underestimate my ability to spread rumors, miss?”

You clenched your fist, glaring at him. At least he hadn't affixed the sobriquet 'Number Two' to you again. He annoyed you, constantly having an answer, always something close on his tongue to send you like a knife gift by his accent.

He squinted, his mouth forming into a small, hurried O, as if he'd just touched a nerve. “Go on, I've seen more formidable foes in a toddler's tantrum. Yet, my question still remains: what are you not telling me here?”

You inhaled, raising your chin without ever leaving his gaze.

“You're wasting time with your questions.” you indicated, your chin pointing to the flame. "No flame takes its time."

“Like you said, Zaun candles.” he continued, observing the candle like a gem. ”Harder and longer no matter the situation, like its people. You set them on fire, and you'll be the one burning. So,” his eyes returned to yours, ”I've got all the time I need.”

You looked at him, his eyes boring into yours, waiting for answers. He wouldn't let you go, would he?

“Selene is my guardian.”

His eyes crinkled for a moment. “Your guardian?” 

“My legal guardian. Is that enough for you, or do I have to answer a whole form of your questions to get some light?”

He stayed here for a moment, parted lips from your use of his previous words forcing him to be quiet. You hesitated to take his hand, just to stop him from backing away once more, but you had no need to do anything. 

He said nothing, simply moved his candle towards yours and, of his own accord, set the little rod alight. It didn't take long for it to settle at the end. After all, no flame takes its time. 

“Viktor?” called Jayce, coming down the hall. 

You exchanged a silent glance, Viktor's eyes seemingly full of questions in the face of what you'd revealed to him, but he didn't ask for anything else. 

“Over here,” Viktor indicated with a raise of his voice, his eyes remaining on you for a moment before turning back and moving towards the corridor.

“Ah, there you are.” Jayce breathed. “We went a bit too strong this time, I don't think this building can...”

But whatever Jayce was about to say died on his tongue as he watched you emerge from your apartment right after Viktor.

“... Can?” you asked, waiting for the end of his sentence.

“Can, um... warm the heater enough to cook something!” He smiled, far too proud of his excuse, mediocre as it was. “Yeah we uh, we've been getting issues with our stove lately so we just tried cooking on top of our heater...” 

He scratched the back of his neck nervously, a worried smile placed on his face as you let your eyes shift from him to Viktor.

“Don't look at me like that, we have to get solutions one way or another.” he said, so confidently that you could almost have fallen for this boilerplate explanation undoubtedly covering an entirely different truth.

“You're both part of the top students of all classes, and you decided to use a heater as a way to cook?” you turned to Jayce for a moment before returning to Viktor's eyes. “You'd allow him to go through such an idea huh.”

“Eh...” Viktor seemed to seriously consider the idea, looking up as if to imagine the scene.

“Did you go to NSI? The National School for Idiots?” you asked.

“Hey it's fine,” resumed Jayce, who clearly still had his sights set on making you and Viktor best friends. “How about we join the others downstairs, hm?”

You sighed, taking the front step down. “Jayce, your rose-colored glasses are indestructible.”

So you joined the tiny group of students downstairs, some of whom had even brought out blankets from their rooms to share. It was cold already, the heaters having all been turned off by the power cut, so everyone had gathered in front of the big fireplace in the hall.

Jayce was called out by other classmates, Viktor staying by your side while you remained slightly apart from the group of students.

“So,” Viktor began, “she's your guardian.”

You sighed, “Here we go again.”

“I wouldn't have imagined that Selene, serene as she is, would be your guardian.”

“If there's any fault in her upbringing, it's mine, not hers. Why do you even care so much about all of this?”

He turned to you. “Does it really seem that impossible to you that I want to learn more about you out of genuine curiosity?”

His sentence took you by surprise. Of all the things Viktor could have said, this most unsettled you. Why did he go out of his way to interact with you? To find you to tease, to pester you on a daily basis and throw in some of his jokes in the bunch while balancing it with genuine, honest questions like these?

Your lips were parted, nothing coming to the front of your mind as you tried formulating anything, but still couldn't manage as an unfortunately familiar voice interrupted you.

“So, how was the detention hour?” 

Viktor and you turned, the idiot at the heart of your detention standing not far from you. 

“Hey Tyler, quit it man,” one of his friends tried to reason, but to no avail.

But he pretended to be deaf to his remark. “Looks like Agrane hasn't lost her mind in the end, Zaunites like you should deserve a longer time in detention, especially behind bars.”

“Why, do we feel threatening to you, Tyler?” asked Viktor almost innocently, pressing the fool's name to his lips.

“What ?No-” replied the latter, baffled for a moment, then frowning and dilating his nostrils through his anger. “Pieces of trash like you just don't belong here, you're getting this place dirty by your sole presence.”

“Being a victim of your own mediocrity must be hard to endure every day of your existence, Tyler.” you chuckled, approaching him who remained standing not far from the fireplace.

“What,” he sneered, ”Miss Number One has become his dog now huh? His guardian to cover him any time he's in trouble?”

“Have you become our groupie?” Your lips almost stretched into a haughty smile, “Are you obsessed with us?”

His face contorted in incomprehension and shame.

“Aw, little Tyler is obsessed with us so much. You cared enough to ask how my detention was, now I'll kindly ask: are you looking for more stitches to cover your face? A black eye to match your nose ?”

He let out a laugh somewhere between mockery and nervousness.

“You wouldn't dare.”

“We're on a field outside the walls of the academy, what happens here, therefore, doesn't happen there and isn't related to it.”

He huffed like a rhinoceros, his shoulders dropping and rising rapidly as he came to clutch a poker before the bemused eyes and exclamations of surprise that rose in the students.

“You're going to pay you fucking bitch.”

But as he began to step forward, Jayce interjected between the both of you.

“Say that again, Tyler. I dare you.”

Tyler froze in place, surprise passing over his face like a suddenly opened curtain letting in the morning light.

“Talis?” 

Your heart pounded into your throat as Jayce's massive back faced you, separating you from a fool who knew only hatred and cheap ideas.

“What did you just call my friend, hm? Mind repeating that?” 

You met Tyler's gaze behind Jayce's shoulder, the latter exchanging a glance with you before regaining Viktor's in the distance.

“Got two dogs for yourself Viktor,” he said, raising his voice, ”don't you know animals are forbidden in this place ?”

“You should go back with your goldfish peers then,” you remarked.

“You stupid-”

“One more insult to them and you will be sure that a conversation will be held about your case to councillor Torman Hoskel.”

That seemed to be enough to turn Tyler from tomato red to white as a sheet. Jayce seemed to know more about the students than he was letting on, and use it to his advantage, much to your surprise.

The light suddenly returned, and the students all had to get used to the brightness again. Jayce didn't take his eyes off Tyler until the latter finally lowered his head.

“Well,” Jayce resumed, ”everyone, I think it's time for us to go back to our rooms.”

Tyler gave you one last angry look before leaving.

It didn't take long for everyone to pick up their comforters and scatter, Viktor joining you and Jayce in front of the fireplace.

“Having a conversation with Hoskel?” you repeated, confused.

Jayce sighed, his jaw muscle tensing for a moment as he watched you. “From what I remember of Viktor's explanation of last Friday's incidents, he'd mentioned having a powerful patron, or something like that.”

“And his patron is Hoskel?” you concluded bemusedly.

He nodded. “Yes, as well as his uncle.”

You chuckled, not believing the privileges hidden in every student at the academy.

“And how would you expect to have such a conversation?”

Viktor interjected, “By discussing it with his girlfriend.”

Your eyes widened. Your eyes went from Viktor to Jayce like two ping pong balls swinging between the two. Eventually, they settled back on Jayce.

“You have a girlfriend?”

He ran his hand over the back of his neck. “Mhm.”

You weren't really surprised, in fact it would have been surprising if the opposite had been true. Jayce was handsome, successful, caring, a walking green flag, and it would have been the injustice of the century if he hadn't found love.

“Who is she ? Do I know her ?” you asked.

“Well...” Jayce shrugged, looking at the ceiling and then the fireplace, shrugging. “Sort of ?”

“What do you mean sort of?” you quipped.

“Let's say his girlfriend might or might not be sitting at the council.” sighed Viktor.

You turned to him, and by his sigh, you could well imagine how much of Jayce's time was spent talking about her. You chuckled at the thought, at the fact that Viktor, who was martyring you, also had a pain in the ass to put up with most of the time.

“Vik, come on,” Jayce breathed.

“What? She'd have figured it out one day or another.” confirmed Viktor with a shrug.

You listed the councillors in your head, eliminating all the men with ease to find two women. Councilwoman Shoola seemed to frighten Jayce more than anything else, with her long gold claw rings and gear ruff. That left only one obvious option.

“Are you seriously dating Mel Medarda?” you asked, your jaw ready to drop.

“... Yes?”

You gasped. “You are Mel Medarda's boyfriend, daughter of Ambessa Medarda of Noxus?”

“Let's not go too far with the titles,” Jayce laughed nervously.

“When did you- How did you-” All the questions suddenly overlapped, and Jayce placed a hand on your shoulder to stop you.

“I will answer all of this in due time.” He stepped back. “For now, I'm gonna head back to our room. You comin Vik ?”

“In a minute.” he affirmed.

As Jayce rushed down the corridor to the wing of their apartment, Viktor turned to you, a flash of mischief in his eyes.

“I got a body guard for myself now, are you going to save me from papercuts when we'll be back to the library on friday?”

“Do you want me to push your teeth in?”

“You're supposed to be protecting me, not sending me to certain danger, Miss.”

“Whatever, have a night, Viktor.” you sighed as you made your way to your own dormitory.

“A night ? Are you really removing the word 'good' in here?”

“I am, have a night!”

You climbed the stairs to your floor and walked to your room, finding Sky again. She had turned the hob back on and resumed preparing the meal.

“Are you alright?” she asked, turning away from the mini kitchen, genuinely concerned.

“Why wouldn't I be?” you breathed, heading off to lie on your bed for a moment.

“This guy Tyler, he... You were so brave standing up to him.” she said, bits of adoration sparkling in her words. “Is he the same that got you in detention today?”

“The very same,” you sighed, placing your arm over your eyes as you lay back. “Fortunately for me, a teacher heard of it and let us out.”

“I see,” she said, turning back to the pan and its contents. “What did you and Viktor talk about when you were here? You took a bit of time to come down with the rest of us.”

The question was almost bitter beneath its gentle, curious tones. Acidic ideas resonated in it: the fact that you and Viktor had something going on away from everyone, even her and Jayce. Whether this jealousy was amorous or friendly, you weren't sure, but the wording made you feel a twinge of guilt.

It was absurd, though. Did she honestly think that, with the animosity that permeated you about Viktor, you'd have feelings for him and that you'd be... something more than classmates?

“He took the opportunity to pick up some notes I took for Heimerdinger's presentation,” you replied. “We split up the work so he needed to check he wasn't repeating himself with what I say in the paper. I swear if I cross the path of Heimerdinger again or that he puts me on a task with the skeleton king I'm going to shave his fur.”

Sky laughed, erasing your concerns with this gesture alone.

“If you do that I don't know how I'll be able to focus in class, his shaved version must be... so small?”

You laughed a little, ate your meal, chatted quietly until you went back to your respective beds.

You couldn't help thinking about everything that had happened that day. First of all, the fact that Viktor had voluntarily come to spend the hour, or at least the five-minute detention with you. Then the long discussion with Selene, and then the power cut... 

Once again you hadn't hesitated to take the lead on him, but that was on principle, wasn't it? 

When had the limit been crossed where you could put yourself in danger for him? And for his part, since when had he crossed the line where he would voluntarily, as a friend would, inquire about you?

Does it really seem that impossible to you that I want to learn more about you out of genuine curiosity?

You tossed and turned in bed. Did he mean it? Was he serious, or was this just another sarcasm to add to the long list of bickerings you sent each other on a daily basis?

Miss.

Your train of thought stopped in an instant, and any empathy you'd felt for Viktor vanished into thin air. You realized right then and there its connotation. That no matter what, you'd always be a failure, a miss.

✦﹒ previous chapter

✦﹒ next chapter

[divinesolas]

CAGE.

summary: requested; you think its easy enough to hid a secret this big from your mother until you can figure out a plan but one day when theres no blood on your sheets shes able to put atleast some of the pieces together. you had sex. she just has no clue you slept with and married the enemy.

w.c: 2.1k (this was supposed to be short.)

perm jace taglist ! (open) @cruelworldlana @smurfelle @ireneispunk @hxtd @venmondiese @urmomsgirlfriend1 @jacesvelaryons @earth4angels @itsemohours @valdezthg @cecestea

You look up from your book in confusion as your mother stormed into the room with your bed sheets in hand. Only more lost when she tossed them in front of you. “do you see this?”

you look them over, “my clean sheets?” “yes, clean!” you flinch at her tone and shrug at her simply looking back down at your book no longer interested in your mothers rampage. “do you wish for me to put them on my bed myself?”

“you have not bled in two moons.” her final words come out harsh and in a fateful whisper. Your eyes widen in horror and you finally look up at her angry face. “mother-“ “i do not wish to hear it.” you cant bare to watch as she brings her nails up to her lips and begins to pace so you turn to the window as memories begins to flood into your mind.

The night you could no longer bare your pushed down feelings and you flew to dragonstone. It had been raining and late his mother looking more than lost to see you but when you begged to speak with him a knowing look crossed her face and she smiled, fetching someone to go wake him. He was rubbing the sleep from his eyes when you blurted out that you loved him. you had no clue how it had happened, it had to have started when you were a child. Despite your mothers warnings you couldn’t help but spend your time with him and he always had a cheery grin when you were around.

You’re almost sure your feelings were cemented the night you lost your families love. you sided with them inside of your brother that fateful night on driftmark, you had thought it was unfair of your brother to take vhagar and you knew Aemond probably would have killed someone that night if Lucerys didn't take his eye. You saw the look your mother gave you when Jacaerys wrapped his arms around you and clung onto to you and your relationship has never recovered.

You had almost hope the time apart without a single letter shared would clench the feelings from your heart completely but distance truly only makes love grow and you ended up not being able to stop thinking about him all these years later. You were nervous when his eyes widened and he said nothing to you for a good few moments. When you were nearly ready to turn back on your tail and act like you never came he took some careful steps towards you and confessed he felt the same way.

You had no clue how they rushed to prepare a small ceremony in the way of the ancestors but it happed at the shores of dragonstone and you were married. You knew your mother would be furious and you vowed to not tell her until your family had settled a bit more . You remember the way his hands felt on you, the way his breath in your skin, the sounds he made, the whole night was so vivid in your mind.

You finally turn back to your mother when she finally stands in front of you once again your stomach churning. You could see her face well up as a look of desperation crosses her face. “tell me it is not true.” You do contemplate it. lying to her, telling her maybe simply something is wrong with you and you should get checked up by the maesters, but you cant. “I will not lie to you as others have mother.”

You see a saddened look upon her face at your words as they clearly twist a knife her stomach. She turns and leaves without another word. you knew this was a losing game for her, especially when you did not drink the moon tea brought to you dumping it on the floor in front of her or the maesters. You expect maybe she’ll lock you in some tower far far away and leave you to rot and die. though maybe she can tell that would be a preferable fate for you. you had no way to contact jace, knowing ever message you sent would be shot down you’re left to stare at the window hoping one day you can one day see him again.

You should have left that night he died. or any night you could have but from Aegon losing his son to Aemond going on a rampage you have been locked in your room since the start of all this mess. Every day the same repeat of you sitting by the window staring out towards dragonstone, your mother walks into the room with a moon tea and attempts to get out of you who got you pregnant and get you to drink the tea, she leaves after hours of you refusing and you go back to staring out there longing for your husband to come and rescue you and then you sleep dreaming of your prince.

Today is different. Once again you’re sitting by the window reading a book but when your mother walks in shes empty handed. you lets a small smile on your face as it seems shes given up and close the door. “what is it?” She crosses her arms wearing a clearly angry face. “since you continue to refuse me you have given me no choice. a week from today will be your wedding outside the city,” you stand up alarmed a look at her in disbelief, “you lie.” “

She shakes her head, a stoic look on her face as you approach her, a tremble in your steps. “Lord unwin will make a fine husband-” you cut her off with a loud scoff, “lord unwin? that old man? mother he is twice my age!” She steps closer to you and grabs your jaw in her hands angrily and you freeze. “and he is a man who will not care my foolish and ignorant daughter is with child!”

You would think you imagined the slap on your face from her if not for the harsh stinging on your cheek and the ringing in your ears. You simply hold your growing swollen cheek in disbelief as he faulters, as if she herself cannot believe she just hit you. She toughens up her face however, and simply glared at you. “you will do your duty.”

you shake your head as tears well up in your eyes. mind drifting to jacaerys. your husband. you cant tell her, she would never believe you at worst she would probably have you hung for having a ‘bastards baby’. “please do not subject me to the same fate as you mother i beg of you.” Her face falls completely, a look of horror crosses it as well. you think you almost have her taking her words back but she shakily inhales and takes a step back, “the king demands it.”

Its her final words before she swiftly turns and exits the room without sparing a glance. you fall to the fall as it feels like the weight of the entire world has just crashed down onto you. you sob. unable to do anything but think about jacaerys and your impending doom. that night you dream of him swooping down and saving you, your knight in shining armor. its a deluded dream.

You never leave the room as usual until one day you’re dragged out for a dress fitting. the maids ignore your tear stricken face and the swelling on your cheek. Everyone knows that youre clearly miserable, though none can do more for you other than pitiful looks.

You dont speak to your mother or your sister while in that carriage out of the city. it will probably be the first and the last time you escape the cage you’ve been locked in. you miss him. you think about him as you stare out at the sky, imaging him on vermax the dragon he clearly loves so much. you imagine him smiling as he flies around and your eyes gloss over. and while your eyes are glassed over and foggy as you stare out the sky its almost like you can see him.

You spend the whole time while they were fixing you up, praying that the gods are not cruel to you and this is just some cruel dream. yet as you walk down the aisle in the small cathedral with blank faces staring at you the horror grows more and more into reality. hes so much older than you thought. He smells of old when you stand in front of him and you press down the whimper that grows in your throat as you think about having to be any closer to him gods forbid kiss or fuck him.

unable to continue looking at the old man while the maester recites his speech you find yourself looking around. your mother unable to even lift her head to truly look at you and heleana seems to be staring off into space. what really catches your attention however is off fidgety the guards look, shifting around as if they know something is going to happen.

Your attention is snapped back when the maester says your name and you gulp. closing your eyes and praying one final time for jacaerys to appear and rescue you from this cruel, cruel fate before you open them.

You can barely open your mouth to speak before a loud road is heard outside the doors and the wall is smashed down, screams fill the room and people scrabbling around. you look towards the danger in shock and gasp, a familiar green dragon stands tall in the middle of the rubble and roars. the dragons head tilts down and there you see him.

Jacaerys. He had come for you.

You can barely believe it, you stand frozen as you see him wave his hand to you. He wants you to go to him. You eagerly rush towards him without a care for anything else. You can hear them calling for you, your mothers voice in particular rings out louder than most but you see the ‘kingsguard’ holding them all back from reaching you.

You hear him say your name softly as he reaches down to help pull you up. You feel lighter than you have in months while wrapping your arms around him, happily breathing in his scent while he quickly files out of the building. you dont spare your mother another glance, too worried you’ll feel sick at her face despite everything.

Neither of you speak until youre high enough in the skin. He turns to you happily and cups your face. “my love im so sorry im late.” you grin and shake your head, tears welling up in your eyes, “ how could you have known?” “many of the guardsmen are still loyal to daemon and they had reported that you were to be married outside the city.” his face hardens slightly as the memory must fill his mind but he softens as you run your hand along his cheek, “i had to go. you are my wife. i should have came soon. should have stole you away the day this awful war started.”

You shush him, clearly able to tell he was about to go on a tangent and press a soft kiss against his cheek. “i am just happy you came at all my love. my heart and soul have ached for you terribly.” he presses his forehead against yours and lets out a deep sigh of relief. “as have mine my love. i do not know if i could ever go without your presence again. “you will never have to.”

as a small silence fills you you suddenly perk up causing him to lean back and look at you. “is something the matter?” he looks even more alarmed as your eyes well up with tears but you simply grab his hand and drag it down to your stomach, “i am with child.”

His eyes widen and he looks so shocked, for a split second you’re worried he will be angry but soon enough a large grin covers his face. “truly?” you nod eagerly as a smile finds its way to your face as well as he looks down at your joined hands on your stomach. “i have not bled in two moons now.”

He has never looked happier you’re certain of it. he did not even look this happen on your wedding day. “i love you so much.” “i love you more.”

as dragonstone comes into view you finally feel what you’ve been craving for so long. free.

[mitchellnman]

Always Hungry.

MDNI.

PAIRING: Martin x reader

WARNINGS: pwp, mentions of bruises and scrapes (martin) pussy eating. Reader is afab, but there's no gendered pronouns or use of y/n. Hastily written, no beta reader we die like victorian children.

WORD COUNT: 942.

A/N: Hi hello I haven't written a fic in 2 years but Martin made me crawl from my grave please enjoy!

—

Martin's room smelled like incense. Cheap incense, bought online with a holder that made the smoke look like a waterfall. Martin only burned the incense to cover up the smell of sex and sweat, in case the landlord came knocking. It mostly worked, unless you pulled back the blankets on his bed. Then, it was all him, musky and heady and sweet, and you, more or less the same.

He was feeding his skink some blue worms, to match his blue eyes, and the blue candy that poked out from between his lips. He smiled. Martin always smiled when his skink ate, her blue tongue flicking out. She was a silly little creature, lacking a few brain cells, but cute nonetheless. More importantly, she seemed to like you, when you scratched under her chin, or held her little hands with your fingertips. Martin liked it too.

He was shirtless, only in a pair of black jeans that hung low on his hips. You followed the curve of his spine with your eyes from under his hair, down to his waist, and further down, his pants only halfway covering his perfect ass. He was covered in bruises, scrapes, and what you supposed you could call rope burn, from seatbelts digging into his skin. He was beautiful in a nihilistic sort of way, as if Chuck Palahniuk had specialized in paintings instead of novels.

You pushed away from the wall you were leaning on as you watched him, unable to resist touching him anymore. Your cheek brushed over his shoulder, fingers tracing up his sides. He smelled like you, and like sugar. His jaw flexed as his tongue rasped over the candy. Your hands moved up his back, cold fingers on warm skin.

Martin set the skink down in her tank and turned around in your grasp. He regarded you for a long moment, his eyes piercing as he tried to read your mind. You had half a mind to tell him everything you thought. His fingers cupped your chin, and tapped your lips. A wordless request for you to open your mouth. You did, and he brought his lips to yours, pushing the blue raspberry candy into your mouth. You kissed around it, your senses overwhelmed by the artificial flavor. Blue raspberry, what was it, really? Certainly nothing that occurred in nature.

His black hair fell around both of your faces, shielding you from the sunlight that was streaming in through the window. He made an obscene moan, and pushed the rest of the candy into your mouth with his tongue.

"Finish it." He whispered. His blue tongue darted out, and licked your lips. He smiled, a devilish thing that could only mean sin was on his mind. With that knowledge, you took his hands, and walked backwards to the bed. Your thighs hit the mattress, and you fell back. Your tongue pressed the candy to the roof of your mouth so you didn't choke on it.

He descended upon you like an animal, ravenous after starving for days, his hands pushing your shirt up over your ribs. His blue tongue darted out and licked your skin, teasing for only a moment. Then he bit down, nipping at your stomach with that same grin. His large hand squeezed your crotch, concealed by a pair of his sweatpants. His palm pressed against you, slowly massaging you through the fabric.

Martin sucked a mark into your skin, below your belly button. His head dipped down further, sniffing at your crotch, his nose pushing against your clit.

You smiled, and your hands found a home in his hair. It was a little greasy to be sure, but it was soft on your fingers, and he moaned so sweetly when you tugged on his dark locks.

His clever hands tugged your pants down around your ankles, and he didn't give you a moment to breathe. How could he, when you were the best thing he'd ever tasted? Vaguely, he wondered if he could make a candy that tasted like you.

His tongue swiped over your clit, and you shivered with want. Your thighs pressed against his cheeks as his head dipped lower, intent on devouring you.

"Martin," you gasped. "I have to go to work—"

You could feel him smile against you, his breath hot against your cunt as he laughed.

"Should have thought of that before..." He teased, utterly merciless. He pushed two fingers inside of you with ease, still slick from last night, and this morning. In fact, he could still taste himself inside of you.

Your back arched as he found your sweet spot with a practiced ease. Your hands curled in his hair, and the moans he made sent vibrations straight up your spine, like a low bass played from a quality speaker.

He coaxed you to your peak, and you came with a loud cry, your vision going utterly white with previews of heaven. He held you in place as you thrashed, a large hand pressing into your thigh.

When you opened your eyes again, his head was on your stomach, cheek resting against your skin. Martin was smiling, obviously pleased with himself. His nose and chin were shiny with spit and slick, his chest pressed against your core, just enough to keep your body thrumming.

“Call out. Spend the day with me.” He said. His fingers traced over your skin, drawing nonsensical patterns, writing invisible sheet music that only made sense to him.

“Martin…”

“Please.”

It was hard to resist him. Him with his blue lips, and shiny chin. Him with his black, messy hair. You sighed, and admitted defeat.

“Fine.”

[court-jobi]

Kissproof

((Banner by me!! I don't own Horikoshi's work/characters))

Pairing: Todoroki x reader (fem!reader)

Words: 3.3k

Rating: G~

Warnings: Behold the FLUFF, soft Todoroki hours, est. relationship, slice of life, light jealousy, getting ready together, assurance, non-sexual intimacy, this is not 'touch her you die'-- this is 'touch her and ill stare at you till you do the right thing'

Summary:

Having grown up around a sister, Shoto Todoroki held no resentment about seeing you mull about hogging the mirror. On the contrary, he’d always found the care and details girls would put into their appearances to be remarkable. To be the one watching and sharing these intimate routines with you is something he treasures-- if only he could always keep you to himself like this… not always possible in a room chock-full of heroes with wandering eyes.

A/N: my first attempt at a todoroki fic? because he's so gentle and deserves everything wonderful?? This feels so different than my recent Bakugou works, and I love the change of pace. Hope yall like it too!

For my My Hero Academia Masterlist, check it out here!

Read on Ao3

Having grown up around a sister, Shoto Todoroki held no resentment about seeing you mull about hogging the mirror. On the contrary, he’d always found the care and details girls would put into their appearances to be remarkable: a personal touch that adorned what beautiful foundation was already there.

The way the makeup artists would enhance his fellow heroes at press photoshoots should be hailed as art. He didn't see why makeup brushes were marketed any differently than those belonging to a painter. Industry-performing nonsense, he supposed. 

When you finally got a spare moment to yourself in this hotel suite in Kobe getting ready for dinner,  your circle of best girlfriends -brought into your life by his introduction- were deciding on dresses when Todoroki came over through the open conjoining room unnoticed, looking for you.

You’re still robed up post-shower and kept calling out answers to Kirishima and Midoriya on what to wear across the room. Bakugou had even swallowed his pride enough to ask you to get the ‘shitty cufflinks’ on his ‘shitty jacket’ right because his ‘shitty fingers’ couldn’t quite manage it. You’d become something of an invaluable resource by nature- maternal instincts seep from you so easily- but unfortunately have put you in last place in terms of getting ready.

As Todoroki entered your space, you were mid makeup; eyes almost done, but before lips or anything else past your light moisturizer. You caught his eye a bit embarrassed.

"Uh--hey, hon’~" you greet with complete fondness, despite his quiet intrusion.

With a small word of greeting back, he took a mental picture of this serene state of you. Something he can remember when he’s past the point of exhaustion on hour ten of patrol, and needs a lifeline. 

Unphased by the sight of piles of toiletry bags and finishing tools galore, he took a seat along the edge of the high-walled tub, pulling out his phone for a second while you processedwhat he was doing: making himself comfortable.

"Sorry, did you need the- um?"

He looked back up at you, gesturing limply towards the toilet, but he dismisses that suggestion. Certainly wasn't in line or anything for that; only for you. 

"No,” Todoroki dismissed calmly, “ just wondered if they were finally letting you be.”

You appeared pleased at his reasoning, jutting your hair back over your shoulder as he sat there smiling a bit in admiration. Phone’s properly set to silent now; nothing to interrupt the nice lofi streaming from your phone’s tiny speaker.

"I'll be done in a sec, it doesn’t take me too long. Just gotta, y'know- 'doll myself up'. Got a lot of heads to turn here tonight.”

Todoroki glares at you in a silly deadpan. "You're lovely in the company of one as you are in a hundred, but if more makes you happy, do whatever you'd like."

You turned back to the mirror to carry on, in view to catch him looking over at you every now again in the reflection. Your effortless flair for polishing was a thing to witness firsthand. He was hardly bored, watching you; as entertained as can be rather than begging ‘are you done yet’ through tired stares. 

"Guess you're really not one of those ‘no makeup’ guys,” you chime from the vanity. 

"Hm?" Todoroki livens up as you engage with him after a long stretch of silence. 

"Most boys have pretty strong opinions about girls in full face. Like, ‘you really shouldn’t wear so much’. Or on the flip side, like ‘ooooo she's gotta wear red’ or ‘make sure it matches the nails’ or how it takes too long..."

From your poised exterior, Todoroki finds your swirling stream of consciousness a funny contrast when you let him in on your thought process.

With a patient smirk, he merely tilts his head at you, “Did you ask for my opinion?”

You’re torn for a minute- clear that you're worried about offending him and quick to respond,

“--Not that I'd hate it~ but I don't think so, no,” you answer.

“Because it doesn’t matter,” Todoroki answers you comfortably. “It’s your hobby, sweetheart. You should enjoy it for you.”

Your freshly finished eyes crinkle at him, “Just don’t want you bored out of your mind over there, not even having a say.”

"Do you mind my being here?"

Peaceably, you keep his stare. "No, not at all."

"Then don’t worry about what I think. You like doing it, I get the time with you, so you can take as long as you’d like."

Capping the mascara, you double tap your phone to illuminate it, “We’re good on time, right?”

Confident in a companionable sort of way, Todoroki defends that however much time you need, you’ll get. He’d give you the moon if he could.

“Time’s yours. No rush.”

It’s the truth; Todoroki benefits from either state of you– whether it's brushed on or not, he gets the chance to soak in your beauty as you allow him to. The intimacy of these lovely feminine practices is what appeals to him anyway. It could be watching you dole out your extensive skincare or something as simple as handing you your prized chapstick when it’s cold; Todoroki just loves watching you tend to yourself– and letting him in on the secrets.

He allowed his head to rest on the wall as he watched you put highlighter and a deep lip color on that complemented your dress of choice. Then as you brought some hair up to see the whole finished look, it’s only at this stage that he piped up again.

"What color is your dress?"

You turned a bit to the open entryway closet, where your roommates all sufficiently moved in and prepped for the weekend’s events. A mix of hero garb and formalwear lined the maxxed out closet.

"It's that black sleeveless one in there, if you don’t mind grabbing it?" 

As you were now in the middle of putting on an earring, Todoroki passed behind you to do just that. 

He came back with the hotel’s branded hangar, and you pulled it up to pet the fabric in appreciation.

"I like it cuz it’s super soft on the inside. No pockets though," you made a teasing whisper mocking where the inert should be. Todoroki rolled his eyes playfully.

"You women and your pockets."

"They're all designed by men who don't understand! You know that, right?"

"Are you going to keep complaining, or put it on?"

You turned with a little sway, "Ahhh, now I see why I have an audience..."

Todoroki suddenly found an ounce of shame and shy, contrasting eyes, and he stamped on an apology to not appear so hungry, "U-um, sorry. I'll uh–,"

You dismissed his gentlemanly move to exit– and tugged him forward instead. You leaned in close to his ear, 

"I'll be right out. Don't go far– I’ll need you."

Not a minute later, you met the room with half the girls fiddling over Iida’s suit and half over Midoriya’s finishing touches when Mina squealed your return:

"OH YES, BABE! This is IT!!"

Eyes all shot to you in your final reveal. You gave the little model leg stance under the attention, highlighting the leg slit and jeweled accent down the leg. The move made poor ‘Deku’ choke at the sight, and Kirishima froze all coherent thought for a split second (as he did for just about all his friends). 

Todoroki turned around from his view by the window to meet your expectant eye. Despite having seen every bit of your outfit come together, he completed a full check out on you and didn't hide his smirk well.

"Oh my God, Todoroki, you’re ogling– quit that!!" Hagakure chided.

"Not until she quits that."

His admiration of you held no shame whatsoever– which you accepted a long time ago.

"I'll -erm- just say you look great, chief! Not anything else, man!!" Kirishima was quick to appease Todoroki’s acute glare at the enthusiasm for you, his coworker. Kirishima would ordinarily argue you were his work wife, but not in front of ‘Icyhot’.

"Thanks hunny," You smiled innocently enough,but ultimately joined Todoroki’s warm side.

He outstretched an arm out to pull you in, only to notice you twirl around to him to show where you did need his help after all. Pinned down by your precariously positioned hand behind your back, Todoroki could now see you needed zipped up.

A caring touch was needed, and his heart softened unfairly with the insinuation that you wanted his touch to be the one to do it. By your expectant look over your shoulder, it’s sweetly implied that you’d never consider anyone else for the job.

Once done, your turning back around allowed you the space to straighten out his lapel more affectionately– he didn’t see what about this was particularly endearing, but your pampering gesture brings a swoon from all the women in the room.

Todoroki zoned out for a moment– holding close the feeling that he never wanted to be at an event where you weren't by his side like this. His hands settle appropriately to your waist in a comfortable hug while you admire his suit with surprise.

"This cut is really nice on you. You need to remember this one for the agency dinner next month!"

He tips his head down a bit at the compliment but turned it around to you quickly, 

"I could say the same for you; but I have the feeling anything you choose would have the same effect as this. You sure wear the dress, not the other way around."

"Flatterer."

A warmhanded brush of fingers to your neck, just as you like it,

"Gorgeous."

"Oh GOD,” Bakugou revolts, “don't make me PUKE, ICYHOT!!"

That night, each step you took had Todoroki seeking you out- the clack of your heel piquing his attention. 

His magnetic attraction fell gently over you tonight as always… though your reaction to his sights on you would drag him near the rest of the way: a fierceness he adored about you. How you protected the bond you shared -displaying your love loudly- was an appreciated sign of commitment, whether it took the form of a hand in his, your body pressed close into his side, or through a whispered word meant only for his ears.

One point in the night after supper, Todoroki parted from you briefly. Not far, but you’d strayed off with a few mutual friends engrossed in your own conversation, the social butterfly you were that outshone his more withdrawn personality. The assembly brought some pro-heroes from several districts together and acted as both networking and reunion for those separated by vocation.

You're catching up with an old friend of yours who Todoroki can almost name– if not for the itch of irritation clouding his long term memory. 

There were many whom you’d shared stories of from your past, though the man before you carried a classically flirty energy Todoroki felt he should recall. He’s half listening to Kirishima’s recent advances to the old flame the redhead was tending to– in favor of monitoring the situation involving his own. 

Fortunately, his powers of observation suit him well even in instances like this, where Todoroki can sense from your neck’s tilt alone that you’re locked in conversation, but don’t perceive a threat in your eyes. 

–But unfortunately, it did little to settle his own reservations. Firm reservations. The man had you twirl a bit in an old 1940s style show over your outfit, which only sent poor Todoroki into alert mode. 

He held his glass a bit tighter and tried to not stare bullets into the brunette, yet failed. 

Kirishima’s brief little nudge righted Todoroki’s damning sights on your present company. The unspoken word he held with a raised brow gave Todoroki a fair amount of encouragement, and a check on his palpable jealousy.

“Y’know,” Kirishima took in the sights of the exquisite lighting above their heads, “For a guy who’s got the most temperamental quirk I’ve seen, you’ve got a pretty funny way of showing when you’re unnerved.”

Todoroki bit his tongue from spouting something harsh back, “What do you mean.”

“Normally when folks get hot over something, you can see steam comin’ out their ears, Tom & Jerry style~” Kirishima chuffed. “You on the other hand– take an icy approach.”

Looking down for once, Todoroki noted he now held a frosted glass– more than his crafted cocktail iceblock should do. 

“But hey, keeps your drink from getting watered down, eh? Wish I could have that sort of tell!”

Kept in check by ‘Riot’s playful sense of security, Todoroki calmed his own flare of green. 

It certainly wasn’t his best quality; there was still plenty in his nature that he’s been actively trying to overwrite. His owning of his emotions is work he implements in everyday risk and battle. Though in his efforts to not let those same extreme emotions tear his fledgling little family apart (the one he shares with you), Todoroki tends to take a polarizing approach to his role as a supportive partner than the one his father modeled for him:

Where his old man viewed his wife as subservient and held strict boundaries within their dynamic, the tie he held to you was a treasured partnership. An act of give and take, but one he chose to adore and never take for granted– not for an instant. He was simply protective– at least he was trying to be, in the most even-tempered way.

It was a tender thing he was gifted, in a surprising turn of fate he believed he may never have found for himself… but one thing Todoroki swears to is that coming into your favor was a balm for him. Something steady, something breathing, a lifeline that enriched everything it touched, including his view on the very world itself.

Not just because you were the woman he fully intended to marry someday: but that you were a light he wanted to keep warm and safe and never let anything threaten that shine.

Just relying on the constancy that the very thought of you brings to mind eases Todoroki’s spirit, and he can now react to Kirishima’s asides about Bakugou and Midoriya’s current rivaling ‘dance’ around the dessert table with a lighter heart.

After ignoring where his mind had fallen away to for a moment, a touch brought his attention back to you, who was leading said peacock over. You got real close into Todoroki’s space, a hint he grappled onto immediately as you lowered your tone of voice… purposefully, to make the point clear,

"Hey sweetheart, I brought a old friend over I'd like you to meet!” 

You touched along his chest for security, but it’s a sincere move that would assure even a perfect stranger what the nature of your relationship is. 

“After all,” -casual as you sound, you’re fixed on Todoroki alone- “I wanted everyone here in my circle to know who the next top hero in Japan is... so they can say they knew him when~"

Todoroki looked from you back to the brunette, who seemed a bit taken aback at your crystal clear relationship status now. And boy, did Shoto want nothing more than to play into that. 

But in his perfect, practiced graces, Todoroki met your friend’s gaze with a hand reeling you in close by the waist.

Ordinarily he’d bow or at the very least extend a hand to shake– but pocketing his other hand instead felt like the more appropriate move. A confident stance, assured by your presence once again rubbing at his back unseen.

"How sweet of you, darling. Shoto Todoroki, a pleasure."

Pleasantries are shared, and you never budge once from his hold even to switch weight from one foot to the other. Todoroki feels every bit the power couple, with you by his side.

Once your company did leave after brief chatter again (primarily led by you) did you almost chortle into Todoroki’s neck,

"Oh my God, Sho~ you are steaming."

Todoroki keeps a calm exterior, but hints at his earlier irritation playfully enough in a crowd full of people, "Why was he touching you."

"He's from the islands down south, super big dance culture. Plenty of those dance nights at the student union were headed up by him alone, back in the day….”

But you didn't want to excuse your man's feelings as you caught his eyes,

“Though as it seemed he was willing to pick up some things where he feels we left off, I had to see him straight,” you ran relaxed fingers down his coat’s opening. “Figured I'd let you have a bit of fun, and I'm very glad you behaved."

Todoroki moved you into the music that began queueing up at the moment, so it seemed more like a dance.

"I think I'm having second thoughts about the dress now,” he murmurs with a crafty eye to you. Not aimed to be mean, because there’s plenty of love in his look to spare, “I'm not so sure it sends the right message."

Centering to the front of him, you relished in Todoroki’s duality of design. "Oh?"

"He was drooling over you," He sounded firm.

"And you're not?" You teased by his ear. That comment pressed you closer to him. Maybe a touch possessive, but still giving you plenty of space to settle and push back if you wished. 

Your voice dripped of its soft nature you reserved for him- genuine, and not the customer-service persona you gave off when in control…

"This dress was for me and you, y’know. No one else. See how it matches?” you trace along the inner lining of the jacket, fingers dipping inside where the warmth is captured. 

You draw a special kanji over his heart, a blend of your initials hidden by his coat~

“I’d have my mark on you too, if it wouldn’t look so obvious. Just you, my prince."

Todoroki smiled a bit towards your shoulder, appeased for the moment, catching your eyes again, "I'd like to kiss you for that. But I know how much you worked on all this."

You smirked. Without a word, you smudged a finger to your lips  brusquely, and showed no color at all left behind on the finger. 

"Girl magic: kiss-proof."

Todoroki’s eyes lit for a second before he grinned again. This time, he caught the gaze of another couple standing off to the wall who seemed to be noticing you two, and he very purposefully decided on giving a show, no matter who sees. He’s insanely proud of you, after all, so he could risk a little expression tonight. 

He caressed your neck gently and brought you into a close, full kiss that you chuckled lowly into. He looked blissed and a touch smug on standing back.

"Better, hon’?"

"Better," He smoothed a hand up your back until he took your hand to stay in his arm, "although I think I'll stick a little closer to you tonight, all the same."

"No complaints here," You took a walk through here and there, and managed to claim a view by the tall windows overlooking the nightlife below. "--especially with you trying out a new pet name back there..."

"You liked that, huh?" Todoroki came to stand behind you, and you leaned back into his hug.

You tugged his arms around to where they caressed your sides and swayed a bit comfortably.

He smiled and chuckled into your back, pressing a little kiss onto your forehead offered to him.

Shoto stands with you as you're looking far out into the city, but all he cares about is the window's reflection on you:

Not a paint stroke out of place, even after his kiss. A portrait the room should very well be envious of, but that he’s fully secure is all for him.

"Darling it is."

[humanityinahandbag]

Eddie's April Fools joke would be him bringing Steve a baby that he's watching while he volunteers at the foster center (because kids aren't as judgemental as adults and he can actually do some good without getting nasty looks or whispers about satanism and murder behind his back).

He'd show up at Steve's door and hold out a wide eyed, rosy cheeked, somewhat confused baby like, "Steven, I know it's been a few months since our night of passion, but she's yours. I'm taking you for all you're worth!"

And it's such an obvious joke. Such an obvious prank. He'd just been taking this kid out for a walk and getting some fresh air.

But jokes on Eddie, because Steve wouldn't even think before lighting up, reaching out, and snatching the baby to his chest like oh aren't you so sweet, do you want to come inside? Yes you do!

Eddie tries to explain that it's a joke, but Steve just grabs his hand and squeezes it tight and the words die on his tongue.

"Bah phhhfp," said the baby, giving Eddie a look like, dude, you've got it bad.

Steve didn't drop his hand. His fingers were warm and strong against Eddie's. "Where'd you find her?"

"... foster?" Says Eddie. "I'm uh. I'm watching her?"

"And you brought her here?" Steve's eyes crinkled at the corners. His smile was sunshine.

Eddie opened his mouth. Closed it. Nodded. And then nearly fell backwards when Steve brought the hand to his mouth and pressed a kiss to his knuckles.

"Glooof," said the baby, staring at Eddie. You're an idiot if you don't make a move right now.

Thankfully, he didn't have to. Not when Steve was giving him a tug over the threshold.

"C'mon. Let's get you both inside. I think she needs to be changed. You got a diaper bag hiding somewhere under all that leather?"

It was meant to be a joke. It doesn't land as one. Because somewhere in Steve's head, the paternal switch is cheering, lit up so brightly. Free baby? And the person he liked brought him the baby?

Well. Then there's only one real solution to the problem.

(For Eddie, that solution hits him just as quickly. Especially when the guy he's been in love with since the sixth grade is holding a baby to his chest, shirt speckled in spitup and drool, making coffee the next morning, smiling across the kitchen at Eddie so softly and sweetly. Well. He was done for long ago. Might as well fall all the way.)

Ten years later, Eddie and Steve are sitting on a park bench watching their daughter April try to sacrifice her stuffed bunny on top of the jungle gym.

"You do realize that she was supposed to be a joke, right?" He'd say to Steve, a little teary eyed and so unbelievably happy.

"Jokes on you," Steve would reply easily. "Because I kept you both."

Jokes on him indeed.

[tremendouscreationperson]

A few of you wanted a part three so here goes

Reader gets called Doll and Toots but other than that I think it's pretty GN

Part 1 Part 2

Ford - no Stan - had spun his tale. You weren't sure any of it could be possible. How was you supposed to believe that Ford was alive but not in this universe/realm/reality?

You sat in the lab he had brought you to - it was cold and dank, stark lights illuminated metal plates and cascaded up the walls to show off a large triangular 'portal'.

"Why'd you have to die?" You asked, eyes glued to the journal upon your knees.

For-Stan had been waiting for any questions, willing to provide you answers. "Seemed easier."

"And lying to me?" You flicked through the stained pages. "That was easy?"

"It wasn't." He told you honestly, just hearing his voice was crazy. You had believed he was dead for two years and he wasn't! He was here the whole time. "Gotta admit, I had you fooled."

The attempt at a joke was not humourous in the slightest. "This isn't normal behaviour."

Stanley didn't know what else to do. He hadn't thought you would ever realise, perhaps that was stupid on his part but he really thought he was able to coexist with you as Ford.

"So..." You took a deep breath. "Recap: this is Ford's journal and he wanted you to take it away and you both argued and he got sucked into that thing and now you're him and Stan is dead and you're trying to get him back?"

Stan nodded, twiddling his thumbs. "Yeah. It's been hard, I had to relearn math."

"Who else wrote in here?"

"Huh?"

You pointed at the page. "That's not Ford's handwriting. Although look, 'ford' signed it." A humourless chuckle escaped. "Who else is pretending to be your brother?"

Stan was at your side in an instant, looking over your shoulder. Being so close to him was maddening.

He was alive.

Your Stan was alive.

Yeah, maybe he was a fraud and there was weird space mumbo jumbo that you still don't entirely believe but he was alive.

Your face was turned towards him as he studied the page, his fingers grazing yours underneath the words. How did he look like him now?

You didn't see Ford in him at all.

The way he stood, his neutral expression, even his hair was different. Was Stanley.

"I didn't notice that." He spoke lowly due to the proximity.

"Is there anyone else in the town called Ford?"

Stan's gaze landed on you, his nose inches from yours and he opened his mouth to speak before closing it and just observing you. He really took you in.

Despite the lies you were still here. Still entertaining this. He really wished he had more to offer you but he didn't.

He was just him. He wasn't his brilliant brother or full of mysteries or answers. He was just Stan, a con artist who scammed people daily.

"I don't know." The words finally left his mouth and he quickly stood upright.

~~

Rather than leaving tonight, you had stayed longer because of the news, calling in sick at work, how often could you say someone had come back from the dead?

The two of you ate half the pasta you made, sitting awkwardly opposite each other at the table.

He had been open and honest, answering all of your questions keenly and encouraging you to ask more. And you had to admit that was nice but the news still sat heavily on your shoulders.

Mostly because: FUCKING HELL THIS WAS CRAZY and a slither of: you had told FORD THAT YOU LOVED STANLEY AND BROUGHT HIM UP IN MANY CONVERSATIONS AND HE WAS THE ONE YOU WERE TALKING TO AND YOY WERE EMBARRASSED AS FUCK BUT YOU NEEDED TO HELP AND HDJAKSIEIES

"You, er.. you okay?" Stan toyed with a meatball.

"It's just a lot to process." That wasn't a lie. "I'll probably be like this for a few days."

He gave you a sincere smile, "take your time, do-"

Your eyes snapped up to his pink face. "Were you going to call me doll?" He nodded in affirmative, his ears reddening as well. You weren't sure why but you spared him with: "Hmm, better than toots."

"That was one time!" He insisted.

"That's all it took."

"I only said it to piss you off." He smirked cheekily, his face returning to its usual hue.

"It worked." Rolling your eyes as you giggled. You didn't hold any real malice, he was being cocky demonstrating his pick up moves and they did not work... Well they did but it was easier to pass off your hot face and wide eyes as anger rather than awe.

Stan laughed along with you, enjoying the sound. Loving how easy it was to just be himself. He didn't have to wear the gloves which made everything impossible, he didn't have to act stiff and drop big words into his 'lexicon', and he didn't have to lie. He could be himself.

He knows he doesn't deserve this, by God he knows that, but he would take all you'd willingly give; if that was just dinner before you drove away forever then he would take it and be thankful for the time.

"Want a beer?" He found himself asking.

You didn't reply straight away, ideas tumbling around your head. He loved watching your mind work. "Got anything stronger?"

Stan winked and disappeared to get the whiskey he'd stashed away.

And so the two of you found yourselves sitting on his 'balcony' (a little ledge, that you had to climb through a window to access, underneath the 'mystery shack' sign) forgoing glasses and passing the bottle between you.

"Must feel good to tell someone." Your words slurred as you laid on your spine, staring at the stars beyond the trees.

"It does." He took a sip. "Feel bad that it was you though."

You swivelled your neck to give him a confused face. He bellowed out a laugh. "Oit, don't laugh at me." Your socked toe jabbed his thigh.

Stan placed a hand over your foot, just holding it, forcing your hips to manoeuvre into a more comfortable position. You faced him as he watched the treeline. "Sorry to drag you into this."

"Sorry I didn't notice sooner." How didn't you? He was clearly Stan. There was nothing here that said Ford. "You're so obviously my Stan." You rolled your eyes and folded your arms in annoyance at yourself.

Stan's brows shot up and he turned to catch you grumbling at yourself. "Your Stan?"

Your eyebrows met and you scrunched your face in confusion again. "What?"

"You said 'my Stan'." His lips began to lift into the smuggest smirk as he leaned forward, entering your bubble. "I didn't realise I was your Stan."

"Shut up." You playfully pushed him away. "We're drunk, you don't know what you heard."

Stan didn't let up, instead he found your hand and intertwined your fingers. "I kinda like being someone's Stan." He spoke with a half shrug.

You couldn't believe what you were hearing. Was this a dream fueled by your longing and whiskey? "Well, you know how I feel because you were spying on me! Pretending to be Ford to hear what I had to say about you!"

"Hey, I told you Stan liked you too!" He defended.

"Do-" You paused. When did the two of you get so close? You were nose to nose. "Does Stan still feel that w-"

You weren't given a chance to finish the question because his lips were on yours. He kissed you slowly, one palm on your cheek as the other wound around your spine, pulling you in close. Your hands were pinned against his chest as you kissed him back enthusiastically.

Stan's slow kisses morphed into an intense make out session as he ran his tongue across your bottom lip and you gave him access. His hands exploring all over your body, squeezing and caressing your sides and chest causing your spine to curve.

The two of you were buzzing and the kiss was a little sloppy but it was perfect. You wouldn't want it any other way.

He finally allowed the two of you a breather, kissing his way down your neck, nipping and sucking the sensitive flesh. You squirmed again, back arching as a whispered moan tumbled from you.

That sobered him up, Stan raised his head from your neck, looking down at you and saw the needy look in your eyes. "Maybe we should wait 'til we're not blitzed."

The automatic frown you wore had him chuckling as you pulled his face back to yours, kissing him with as much vigour as you could muster.

Stan bit your bottom lip and his fingers settled on your thighs, how he managed to find himself in between them he didn't know but you pulled him closer with your legs and he had to pinch himself.

This was real.

All the shit he had done.

Every scam, every fraud, every crime, everything.

And you still looked at him with those eyes.

Fuck.

Maybe he loved you.

.

.

.

@aratheegreat @ngs991-2 @seahorrorz @misty-eyed-memory @50shadesofwinchesters @ryoiii @viceroywrites @atseoks @countlessimagines @aweleyirene @hesthermay @darlingdia1007 @piningforstan @emmygirl33 @imafangirlofeverything @daniel-meyer-03

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I work in a DIY shop and this is what I had to look at for the majority of my shift 😂😭 he haunts me

[churipu]

PERIOD COMFORT 𓆝 ⋆｡𖦹°‧

ִ ࣪𖤐 featuring. gojo satoru, itadori yuuji, nanami kento

ִ ࣪𖤐 warnings. period stuff, cramps, fluff.

note. new layout :> anyways, just reminding everyone that has sent in requests that my ask is only open to talk as of now and it will take a little long to have them out, but i assure you that everything in my inbox will be written! thank you

𝐆𝐎𝐉𝐎 𝐒𝐀𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐔

gojo didn't know how periods felt. so he looks up for things he could do to make you feel better — one time he actually considered buying one of the period cramps simulation machines because he didn't like seeing you in pain alone.

keyword: considered.

you had to drop the machine out of his trolley, and the male was definitely not happy about it. he tried arguing about it with you, saying how he's your 4lifer and he doesn't like seeing you in pain alone because of period cramps.

"satoru, 'm okay. i go through this every month, 'm not gonna die because of this." you tell him, handing his phone back.

gojo whines out, "but baby, i don't like seeing you in pain. i wanna be in pain with you," he shakes you back and forth gently.

but when you were content with your choice — he accepted begrudgingly. pouting out, refusing to speak to you for at least the next fifteen minutes because he couldn't stand being apart from you that long. so instead, he searched for what he could do to help.

"look, i got three chocolates, and i got you extra pads and tampons because tiktok told me to. and i got salonpas because i heard they can actually help with cramps," gojo presented proudly, "and then lastly, me. your amazing boyfriend."

you, previously, laying down on the couch, sat up slowly with a small smile at his attempt to help you with your period.

"thank you 'toru. this means a lot to me."

"i still think i should buy that machine though, baby."

𝐈𝐓𝐀𝐃𝐎𝐑𝐈 𝐘𝐔𝐔𝐉𝐈

he's confused. he knows about periods, but he didn't know it pained you. the young male was in a training session one morning when you called him, expecting a cheery greeting from you.

oh, he didn't. instead here you were, moaning out in pain, "yuuji, you busy?" he could vaguely make out a sharp hiss from the other line.

yuuji was indeed busy. but he told you, "no, no. are you okay? what happened?" he was in the middle of a hand-to-hand with megumi, instinctively raising his hand to stop — and megumi stopped immediately, knowing it was important for yuuji.

"period cramps . . . can you come over, please?" he was confused, tired, and sweaty. but he didn't care about that — the male was worried because were periods even supposed to hurt you?

"of course, baby. i'll be there in a sec." he ended the call and shot a look to kugisaki, "what the hell does period cramps mean, does your . . . you know, hurt or something?"

kugisaki had to give him a one minute lecture on what he should do, step by step. yuuji listened thoroughly, running to the nearest convenience store to get what kugisaki told him to: sweets, chocolates, pads and tampons, and your favorite snacks.

and it took him no longer than eight minutes to appear at your doorstep, knocking a couple of times. still sweaty and stinky, "y/n? it's me."

"door's unlocked."

he opened the door hastily, making sure not to drop any of the things he just bought. lightly sending a kick to the door to shut it, "hi baby, how are you feeling?"

"not good. i feel like 'm gonna die." you writhe out, curling into a ball on your bed. the male approached you, putting down the things, "you stink."

he chuckled, stroking your head, "'m gonna borrow your shower, and then cuddles?"

you nod, "please."

𝐍𝐀𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐈 𝐊𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐎

nanami is always ready. he just knows when your period is coming, hell, he's even more accurate than your period tracker application.

"i brought you chocolates and ice cream, and a heat pad for your cramps." nanami mumbles out, kicking his shoes off as he enters your house carrying a plastic bag.

"how did you know it was my period?"

"i remember it," that was better than any "i love you" or "i miss you".

the male's always ready to bring snacks, sweets, and heat pads for you. nanami will do what it takes to cease your period cramps since he knew he couldn't feel it like you did. he feels really awful: giving you back massages, head massages, kisses to your stomach.

he said he'd "kiss the pain better".

which actually works.

i think he knows your period schedule better than you do. he'd always remind you that your period's coming soon as a heads up, and you listen to him all the time. to the point you had to delete your application since it was pretty useless at this point.

"darling, your period's coming up soon."

"really? didn't i just finish last month's . . ?" you mumbled, a little annoyed that your schedule's coming up so fast.

"in a few days, if i'm guessing — three maybe?" he replies, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head.

© CHURIPU 2024 , DO NOT COPY OR REPOST ANYWHERE

[itsfeckinwimdy]

10 Types of Kisses

Various LOTR/TH x Reader

Pairings: Aragorn, Fili, Haldir, Kili, & Legolas x Reader (separately).

Pronouns: n/a.

Prompt(s): 10 types of kisses by @urfriendlywriter. You can find her post here. (I used 9/10 of them).

Word Count: 3.4k words (3415)

Warnings: No beta, we die like Boromir. open wounds (Aragorns + Fili's), marriage (Fili's), swearing (Kili's), mentions of battle + death + blood (Legolas).

Tree Speaks: I had a lot of fun writing this but it also went into territory that I'm not particularly comfortable with writing yet so we'll see how this pans out.

Translations: amad - mother, dwarrowdams - a term used for female dwarves.

LOTR + TH Masterlist

Published: 25/02/2023

1. Aragorn

soft kisses - where they're just lying beside you, hands playing with your hair as they trail tender kisses all over your lips

The two of you were meant to be sleeping of course, but the gloom of the mines made it hard to settle. You supposed that's why he pulled you away from the others slightly, to a spot just that bit further away.

Aragorn was on first watch as usual, having made it his task since the beginning of the journey, and always insisted that the hobbits and Gandalf got plenty of sleep. But with that came the usual knowing looks between the two of you as Aragorn knew his love wouldn't sleep unless he would.

So with that knowledge, and him sensing his love's rising anxiety at being trapped underground, it now brought them to this.

He tilted your head up from where it was resting against his chest, his hand cupping your face. Aragorn brushed a few loose strands of hair off your face from where it had fallen out of place as his own head tilted down towards yours. His hand gently entwined with your other, and he paused in his movements, allowing you to decide next.

You gently reached up, threading your hand through his long locks and gently pulling him down towards you. He pressed his lips to yours, mouth moving slowly, softly, intimately.

He pulled away, your lips chasing after his, a small smile gracing his lips as he pressed another kiss, and then another, and then another to your lips.

the type of kiss where you can't find words to say after, or the ones where your forehead lingers against each other's

Aragorn's horse trotted through helms deep, having just pulled him up from the river bed where if not found, he would've succumbed to his wounds. He dismounted his horse and received a scolding from Gimli before forcing himself up the staircases and into the deep.

Legolas rose from outside the doors, greeting his friend who believed him dead. The elf pulled him into a familiar embrace before pulling back and making a sarcastic comment about the ranger.

The elf turned a small smile gracing his face before yelling the name of a person. The ranger followed his line of sight. It fell on his love, you.

You looked up after the elf who yelled out to you, before seeing the man you mourned for standing with him. Abandoning your stuff, you ran to him, arms thrown over his shoulders and crushing him to your chest as a few sobs left you.

His arms encircled you as he leant his forehead against yours. He didn't care at that point about the mud caking him and he didn't think you cared enough at that point, so it made no odds on whether he was careful or not.

He pulled back slightly, raising his hand to caress your face before pressing his lips to yours. Tears left both of you as his mouth moved languidly with yours.

Aragorn pulled away, resting his forehead against yours. He wanted to say so much to you, fearing that he would never see you again but all thoughts left him as he wished to stay in this moment, longing for nothing but you.

2. Fili

messy kisses - curly hair, ruffled sheets and half-buttoned clothes as you just want more and at that moment, they're the most beautiful soul to you ever

The sun trickled in through the window, bypassing the curtains that hadn't been fully drawn across the night before. The young (ish) couple lounged in the bed, bodies pressed together as close as they could get with the few layers of clothes still between them.

He tilted your head up to meet his, his lips pressing against yours, moving languidly in the early morn. Fili reached up, hand caressing your courting and marriage braids that were still somewhat intact.

He groaned, feeling one of your hands gripping the hair at the base of his neck and the other slipping under his shirt across his chest.

Fili pulled back, eyes fluttering open to meet yours; your own half-lidded as you drew in a few stuttering breaths. It was a pleasant greeting from your love first thing in the morning, one that you would be against again.

You gazed up at Fili, the dwarf hovering over you, careful not to rest his entire body weight on you. The tressels of sunlight filtered through his hair, causing a glow to shine over him.

His eyes trailed over your face, memorising every detail as if it was the first time he saw you.

kisses on your body ♡ frail kisses on your shoulder! on your lower back, belly and trailing to your neck, collarbones, lips.

A cry of pain left your lips.

Oin pulled the blood-soaked cloth away from where it was pressed tightly against your side. The infection from the arrow had spread, the orcs having laced it with something deadly.

The pain wasn't something Fili wished on anyone, much less you. So he did his best to comfort you whilst the infection ransacked your body. His hands firmly held you, one holding the back of your head, and the other gripping your forearm to stop you from forcing Oin's hand away from the wound he was trying his best to treat.

After Oin had doused the cut in water, trying to flood any dirt that wormed its way in, Fili pulled you closer. The healer moved back to gather some more altheas and cloths, leaving you curled against your prince's chest.

Fili dropped his head down to your shoulder, as your tears continued to douse his shirt - not that he cared as it was covered in sweat, grime, and whatever else from the trip across middle earth - his hand on your head slipping down to the back of your neck, stroking his fingers in what he hoped was a soothing pattern.

He pressed a kiss to your bare shoulder, the fabric of your tunic had been pulled away, cut away for easier access. It would need replacing, he noted, but hoped that it would be enough to cover you until the sun rose again.

Fili continued his ministrations, pressing another kiss further up your shoulder. And then another at the junction where it met your neck. He considered pressing one to your neck, in that one spot he knew made you shiver, but with the way you were sitting in his lap you were already considered improper in public, so he begrudgingly decided against it.

Oin chose to return at that moment, pressing the churned-up altheas against your wound and then tying the cleanest cloth over it. You cried out in pain, more tears falling. It was like someone was driving a burning knife into your arm, over, and over, and over again. The pain rolling in waves.

Fili kept whispering words of praises and comfort, the Kadzhul translations lost in your mind as all you could feel was the pain, and him.

The knot was finally tied on the bandage. Fili slid his hand from the back of your neck to cup your face, pressing a chaste kiss against your forehead before leaning his own upon yours.

I'm here, you're safe now, I love you, the action spoke more words than Fili could find himself saying.

3. Haldir

lazy kisses as they admire you - fingers delicately trialing your jaw as they kiss your lips

"Haldir," you groaned, leaning back against his chest, head turned up to face him. A smile graced his lips, his eyes locked with yours, shining full of love.

It wasn't often you got to spend a prolonged period of time with your Marchwarden, especially with him being gone for months at a time to guard Lothlórien's borders. So any time you spent with him was precious, even if you knew he would be leaving at the end of it again.

The braid in his hair was loose, albeit from your hands running through his hair earlier, causing him to have a sexy, but dishevelled look. The thought of elves being supermodels no matter what state they were in flashed through your mind again causing you to chuckle slightly.

Haldir raised his hand, letting it linger under your jaw as he delicately leaned down to place another kiss against your lips. Warmth bloomed through you and as his lips moved against yours, all thought about him having to leave again in a few days retreated into the depths of your mind.

You were drunk off the taste of him, off his kisses as he stole your breath each time. And nothing would ever change that.

goodbye kisses - kisses lingering like liquor in each other's lips, bitter but sweet, "I'll always come back to you, love. you're my home after all."

The boats gifted to the fellowship had just finished being prepared and were packed full of provisions to last you a good while.

The thought of having to leave your home again haunted you but not just because it was where you lived. No, because this time you were leaving your love, not knowing when you were to see him again. He was your home.

The Marchwarden was allowed to see his love off, having been granted a week's leave whilst you and the fellowship recovered and stayed in Caras Galadhon, Lothlórien. After you were sent as an emissary to Imladris, Rivendell in the common tongue, and word had returned that you had embarked on a journey to destroy the one ring, Haldir was worried for you.

He knew the history of the ring, as did most if not all elves and was worried about the dangers you may face. He knew that you could protect yourself, having been a sparring partner against you for years, but the worry did not dissipate.

He met you at the shoreline, his hand over his heart in the traditional greeting before he held your hand in his. Sadness filled his eyes as he wished not to see you leave, but knowing that this was a journey you were willing to take.

Haldir leant his head against yours as he fixed the cloak hung around your shoulders, ensuring that the broach was attached properly.

His hands lingered on your waist as he prepared himself to say goodbye again. It was one thing being the one who was leaving, but now that he was on the receiving side for once, he now knew how your heart felt each time he went on patrol. That feeling of not knowing if you were coming back or not eating at his heart.

Your hand on his cheek stole his spiralling mind from his thoughts as your lips pressed against his. A tear threatened to leave his eye as he consumed your kiss like a drug. The fear bubbling in his chest soothing to make way for the love he held for you but the melancholy feeling at having to be parted from you made it more bittersweet than anything.

His lips lingered over yours as you pulled away, his hand raising to stoke a strand of hair back from your face. Haldir wished he could keep you here in his arms but understood the task you had undertaken would not be dropped lightly.

4. Kili

kissing and realising this is the person you'll always love, you'll always want to touch and snuggle with

Kili didn't think he could hold you any closer than he currently was.

You were practically melded into him, hands gripping tightly to the back of his jacket. The clothing was still damp from the thunderous storm you had walked through, but nonetheless had to still wear.

The terror that shot through him as the thunder giant collided with the mountain, believing that he had lost not only his brother but you as well, was something he never wished to feel again. His hands trembled slightly at the thought.

He shifted slightly, taking some pressure off his shoulder whilst pulling you upwards slightly so you were level with him. The ground wasn't pleasant to lie on, less so on his side, and even less so with damp clothes on, but Kili knew this was the company's best option right now.

Kili rested his head against yours, his eyes meeting yours. He nudged his nose with yours affectionately, giving you time to pull away.

It was something he always did, you noted. Every time he wanted to kiss you but couldn't find the words to say it, or was surrounded by too many prying eyes, he did that. Gave you that tell that allowed you to decide what happens next.

You tentatively leant forwards, tilting your head upwards ever so slightly, letting your lips press against his. There was no rush. No incessant desire to pull the other closer, just him.

Kili moved his lips slowly with yours, savouring every moment that he got with you. Fuck, he loved you. The realisation pulled at his heartstrings more, knowing that he could've lost you today.

prohibited kiss - you're not even supposed to be seeing each other but your hands are on his hair and his hands around your waist, lower bodies pressing into each other as you kiss

Laughter radiated through your body as you were pulled through the endless turns and corridors of Erebor. The stone walls were lined with torches and braziers all lit with fires burning brightly.

To anyone else, it would be a maze, a catacomb of tunnels that unless sense was made of them, would surely lead to your demise. But years of living there had engraved the pathways into your mind, and no doubt Kili's.

His hand dragged you to a secluded corner, himself coming to a halt. He could no longer hear the guards trying to follow the two of you. Pride flooded his chest as he gazed back at you, finally alone with his betrothed.

You were finally able to get a good look at him, now that he didn't have all the dwarrowdams fawning over him. Even if he wasn't "beautiful" by dwarf standards, he was still a prince and would have people trying to gain his favour.

But his title didn't matter to you. Kili did.

And by the creator himself, did you love the way he looked. His hair tousled from the running, and the short beard he was so desperately trying to grow accentuated his face.

But the ceremonial robes that hung to his body? You couldn't resist.

He found himself pushed back, pinned against the pillar. Kili's eyes locked with yours, the same fire of desire within him, burning through you.

Your lips pressed with his, mouths moving frantically with the others. Your hands that gripped onto the front of his robes slid up, trailing up his neck and into his hair, pulling slightly to press him into you more.  A groan left him at a particularly harsh tug before your hand moved to trace his courting braid.

He pulled away, panting, breathless, kissing you again and pulling you into him, arms gripping your waist, hands in his hair, your bodies practically merging into one. If his Amad caught him now, he wouldn't even have to face the scornful looks of Dwalin, he would already be lying in his grave.

But could he let you go? Fuck no.

5. Legolas

shy kisses - when you're the one pulling them closer, and they nuzzle their face in your crook after the kiss, hands around your waist as their ears get red

You were scared. If anything you were currently lustful, but you were about to fight in a war against ten thousand troops with an army of less than a third of that. So you were scared.

Legolas had turned to where you leant against one of the pillars, choosing to come and check all the fastenings on your armour. He was meticulous and methodical as he went to each and every one, adjusting where he deemed necessary whilst checking it caused you no discomfort.

A soft smile graced your face, as you watch his gentle movements before reaching out to cup his face in one of your hands. A blush, so subtle anyone who didn’t know Legolas would miss it, warmed his face, his head lifting and eyes locking with yours. It was as if he was staring straight into your soul, his piercing grey eyes full of love but fear.

You pulled him towards you, Legolas leaning his head down as his hand held over yours on his face, the other resting gently on your waist. Leaning up, you gently pressed your lips to his. Just once, mind you, the action as tender as possible, letting him come to you.

Legolas leant into you, pressing his lips back against yours, moving at a slow pace. He wanted to savour this moment as much as possible before the two of you walked to what could be your deaths.

ahem.

The clearing of the person's throat sprung the two of you apart, you mentally preparing for the endless stream of apologies to whichever passerby caught you, only for it to be someone you knew all too well.

"Aragorn." You spoke, heavily embarrassed to be caught with your lover.

The ranger looked between the two of you, his face being that awful neutral resting one making it so you couldn't judge his feelings on the matter. Aragorn must have read the panic starting to creep up in you as a teasing smile broke out.

“I have no qualms with this,” he began before looking over his shoulder towards the entrance of the armoury, “but the people of Rohan may not be as forgiving if you are caught.”

He turned on his heel, making his way up the staircase and leaving the two to their devices.

A moment passed and then a chuckle left your lips as a sigh left Legolas’. His head fell to your shoulder as the blush absconding his cheeks spread like wildfire tinting his ears a rosy colour.

At least it was only Aragorn, you mused, If Gimli had found you then he wouldn’t stop teasing your elf.

kisses of reassurance - saying that you're safe, still with them, that your heart is still beating wildly in your chest, that they couldn't get rid of you if they tried, that for some insane reason, you're not dead yet

Your chest heaved, trying to inhale as much air as possible as you sprinted up the mud-soaked hill. Aragorn had yelled for the soldiers to retreat into Minas Tirith and you were making your way as fast as you could until an arrow pierced your shoulder.

The doors were closed and sealed as you entered alongside the last few stragglers, a resounding bang from the wood hitting the stone frame. The room spun on its axis.

The throbbing pain in your arm continued, each ebb seeming stronger which was probably due to the adrenaline wearing off. Maybe you should've stayed fighting, it surely couldn't hurt as much as your arm did, you thought as your uninjured arm reached out to hold yourself up against the wall.

Giving up on keeping yourself upright, you slid falling somewhat ungracefully to the floor, blood dripping from your wound and soaking your sleeve. It was funny how much damage one arrow could cause.

You blinked.

The sun had risen, and from where you could see it, it was around mid-morning. Your eyes focused and you could see a worried face in a sea of platinum blonde hair. Legolas.

Ignoring the sound of the elf’s worry, you pushed yourself up into a seated position, as he gracefully knelt down next to you. His hands mindlessly moved to cup your face, as he had to pull his eyes away from your crudely bandaged arm. The arrow had been jagged and cut more as it pierced you, causing more blood to be lost.

Your hand covered one of his as Legolas moved to press his forehead to yours.

“I'm okay,” you whispered, breaking the silence between the two of you. Your thumb stroked the back of his hand absentmindedly, as you tilted your head up, meeting his lips with yours. It was one of desperation, longing and fear. A shuddered breath left you as the two of you broke apart.

“We’re okay.”

[arcanewhoosh]

Could you right a story where jinx’s S/O is scared of bombs or loud things in general and one of jinx bombs went off scaring S/O and jinx comforts them.

So I forgot that the inbox was a thing and found this two years after you asked for it. Sorry lmao.

I think I completely failed this cause I chose season 1 Jinx and hooboy Season 2 Jinx would've been a better choice.

Also this went over 2k words I realize I may be a yapper.

The Monsters We Allow

2k words (Jesus this wasn't supposed to be this long)

Proofread? Y/N

TW: Descriptions of injuries

You're no stranger to the hazards of working for the Eye of Zaun. Even the more hardened residents of the Undercity oftentimes couldn't stomach some of the work the job entailed, more so the people involved in those jobs.

So now here you were, helping build an explosive device of some sort. Fishbones Jinx had called it. You guess that you should add assistant weapons maker to the long list of jobs you've held working for Silco over the years. It wasn't always like this, though.

You started out as cleanup crew, showing up after fights. You didn't want to at first, but if you crossed Silco, you'd most definitely cross his daughter, Jinx. If you crossed his daughter, then it was almost a certainty that you would end up in pieces and puddles on the walls and floors. You'd rather be the one cleaning than be the one being cleaned up. So you put your head down and went along with it.

It was messy work, but it turns out even with all the fucked up things tolerated in the Undercity, rotting body parts weren't one of them. It wasn't pretty, and your first few days you had to include your vomit in the list of things you had to clean up. Eventually, though, you got over it, got better. Well enough that Silco would only trust you to do cleanups of whichever unfortunate soul was on the receiving end of Jinx's chompers. You could figure out which weapon was used to do what, what the direction of the splatter on the wall or floor meant. You could look at a scene once and replay how the entire fight went.

The job wasn't pretty, not at all, but it put money in your pockets, good money. It put food on your table and clothes on your back. Most importantly, it gave you security. A blanket of protection that ensured people would think twice to cross you. Silco only kept a select few on constant contract. Sure, you didn't run around beating the shit out of people during collections, or blowing them up. You didn't have a robot arm or guns-choice of weapon was bucket and shovel-- but hey, you were deeper in his inner circle than most people.

Eventually, he started bringing you along to meetings. After those meetings, he'd ask you, What's the quickest, and cleanest way we can get rid of this person?

It was jarring at first, being asked how to kill someone. But whatever reservations you had about becoming a murder consultant was heavily outweighed by your fear of being the one consulted about. So you'd answer diligently, if a little hesitantly. The first time you answered, he had looked pleasantly surprised. As if getting recommendations on assassination was pleasant. You remembered thinking.

It didn't take long for people of the Undercity to associate your presence in these tag-alongs with the sudden death of whoever you and Silco were visiting. Whispers about how you wouldn't even talk during the meetings, how you'd sit and simply look around. If you were addressed by the person you were meeting with, Silco would politely redirect their attention back to him. Sometimes, sometimes, that person wouldn't die. Silco once credited it to you, that people suddenly became more pliable once he brought you along. Another blanket of security. People started treating you differently, more respect, fear maybe. It was a little funny, how typically aggressive brutes would become the politest people towards someone who had just barely reached the age of eighteen.

One day, Silco had asked you to his office. You thought it would just be regular stop before another meeting, standard procedure by then, really. But that day he had another guest in his office. The blue braids were already a dead giveaway, but you still politely introduced yourself.  She laughed, and identified you as The one who ruins my fun because she had to follow your instructions when Silco needed her to get rid of people.

You knew back then that she was dangerous. Quite frankly, she scared the shit out of you. You didn't have a problem with seeing dead bodies and parts, sure. But she was younger than you, and already had no qualms about taking lives. She was the one leaving behind entrails that you had to clean up. And apparently, she was now to be occasionally under your watch. Silco thought you'd be a good fit for a companion. Around the same age, he had said.

You kept a respectful distance from her, but she unfortunately grew fond of you and decided to keep you around more often than not. Silco didn't see anything wrong with it, if anything it made the both of you more notorious. His Loose Cannon and his Harbinger of Death. A deadly combination in theory, but in practice, it was mostly you having to accompany Jinx for her less dangerous - there were still casualties - pranks, and bailing her out of sticky situations.

And now here you were, two years later, making a launcher with her- making was a generous word, more handing her stuff - and getting ready to probably blow more people up.

You feel your stomach begin to unsettle again. You were used to seeing dead bodies, parts of bodies, what was left of bodies. But never in the stretch of time that you had worked for Silco, had you ever had to see dying. You always showed up after. It had only been two days since the explosion at the bridge, but somehow Jinx was walking around as if nothing had even happened to her. As if she didn't blow herself up the last time you had seen her. If you were making an educated guess based off of her eyes, you'd say she was hurt and got pumped full of shimmer; or maybe she was just living off of pure mania at this point.

You've cared for her, but now you also care about her. It seems that no matter how much respectful distance you put between yourself and her, propinquity eventually came into play, and affection followed. And the only sense you had was to go along with it.

It took you a while to get used to being around her. She was temperamental, to say the least. But you eventually learned not to ask any questions about her family, not to bring up the dolls she kept at her place, and avoid asking any questions at all about her past. If she wanted to, she'd tell you. The only time she wasn't unpredictable was when she was tinkering away at her little station, blasting her music.

She was calm, placated, almost normal. If you had never met her before and had seen her then, you would have thought she was beautiful. Not that she isn't, it's just that her reputation tended to precede all her other perceivable qualities. More than all of this, she was vulnerable. Her back turned to you, not a care in the world if you wandered around touching things. You realize now that it was in those moments probably that your affection for the girl grew. All of a sudden, getting her out of unideal predicaments included treating her wounds; then nursing her back to health if she was sick; staying over when she had nightmares. And yet you were still cautious, careful not to trip on some invisible wire that would trigger her temper.

"Whoops-"

A bang, a clattering of tools, and you're back at the bridge. Back at looking at screaming people, crawling on the ground because their legs had been blown clean off, some with limbs partially attached, some falling off, someone trying to feel where half of their face had gone. All moving, breathing, alive.

"Easy there, jelly legs." You look up to meet Jinx's eyes. Once a soft powder blue, now striking orbs of red violet. She's holding onto you. At some point you had lost your balance and was now kneeling on the floor, one hand on the side of Jinx's desk for support. "You sick or somethin'?" She asks.

"Sorry," You breathe out. "I think… I think I'm still reeling from what happened at the bridge."

She lets out a laugh. Loud, boisterous, manic.

"The bridge? The little ol' light show? You didn't like it?" Her smile falls, and she cocks her head to the side. Fuck.

Now you're on thin ice. "No, no. It was nice." You quickly say, shaking your head. "It's just, I'm not- I'm not used to seeing the before part, you know?"

She guffaws. "Wait, wait, wait." She stands, walking over to her desk littered with metal scraps and remnants of her previous projects, picking up one of the butterfly robots she had made. "You're telling me-" She plucks off a wing, the remaining one flapping aimlessly. "You" Points it at you. "Who's in charge of cleaning up exploded bodies, and telling Silco - who tells me - how to kill someone without a mess," Plucks off the other wing and throws the body away. "Gets queasy over a few blue bellies kicking the bucket?"

You take a breath to steady yourself. "I don't know. I never- I never thought about that part. I've never had to see it."  You unconsciously start clenching and unclenching you hand not holding onto the desk. A nervous habit, one that you tried to shake off. A habit that Jinx had taken note of the first few months of her dragging you along with her escapades.

"I'm sorry." You say after a few beats of silence.

In one quick flash - too quick, inhumanly quick - Jinx is kneeling again in front of you, cupping your face in her hands.  "Hey now, it's alright." Her tone is soft, caring, tragically comforting to you. "We all got our little quirks. I sure do."

She frees up one of her hands to brush your hair back. "Come to think of it, I think that was the first time you had to see something like that, huh?"

It always astounds you how quickly she can disarm the guard you put up for her. You know she's dangerous, you know you should be cautious. But a few sweet words from her and you're putty in her hands, completely at her mercy. You wonder if it's normal to love and fear someone at the same time.

"We'll be okay." She presses her forehead against yours. "I've got you, like you've got me." You nod.

"You can handle helping me with one more thing, right?" There it is. "We just need to do this one teeny thing, and then we can chill out."

You put in active effort to keep your breathing steady. Your stomach still in knots. "What thing?"

She grins. "A dinner party. You're my co-host." She pulls you up with her as she stands, leading you over to where she was working, where Fishbones was seemingly complete. "Wanna see something cool?"

You nod, and she fishes out the HexTech gemstone she had stolen during Progress Day. She opens up a slot near the handle and inserts the gemstone, Fishbones immediately lighting up, a blue hue illuminating her dark room. You contemplate asking her about her new weapon, weighing out the pros and cons. But the fact that her hand was still holding yours, her thumb idly grazing your knuckles was enough to encourage you.

"What are you gonna do with this?"

She runs her free hand above the clear panel where the gemstone is. "We're gonna go make a point."

The rational part of your brain is telling you to stay behind, that whatever this was, being in the vicinity of a HexTech-powered weapon was not a good idea. But this was Jinx, and she had already decided that you were coming with her. Incurring her wrath now, also in the vicinity of the HexTech-powered weapon, was not a good idea either.

So you do what you do best, and go along with it.