#now I need to remember how to move on once again 😔😔 | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

robo-writing · 10 months ago

Note

I saw your requests were open, so I have to ask for… pain 😔

Can I request a Logan x afab!reader HCs or full fic about how reader is getting older and he kinda isn’t yk? Like going from when they first met, to readers deathbed, and how he has to live without them for the rest of his life 🫶🫶

Also take care of yourself DRINK WATER 🥰

Oh yeah, it’s angst time.

It's sooner than later that you'll be alone Synopsis: You live a long life, but not as long as Logan's. Warnings: 3.2k words of gut-wrenching angst, mentions of blood, grieving someone after they're gone Author's note: Hope you're happy anon, I cried five times writing this <3

He had first met you in your twenties—twenty-three, to be exact.

Young, bright eyed, naive. You were kind, where he was not. You were hopeful, where he was jaded and angry at the world. He loved your innocence, how you always saw the best in others—suppose that’s what made you such a good counselor to the children. You listened—really, truly listened—made anyone that walked through your office doors feel welcomed.

Maybe that’s why he found his way to you. When the nightmares wouldn’t let him sleep and the voices wouldn’t let him think, he shuffled to your bedroom door without a goal in sight, bare feet padding against the polished floors. His knuckles meet your door, seconds passing by before he asks himself why the hell he’s even here in the first place.

Before he could walk away he heard your feet shuffling, followed by the click of your doorknob.

He felt guilty for waking you up, eyes red and face puffy, but you didn’t even question why he was at your door, just rubbed your eyes and opened the door wider for him to walk in.

It was silent at first. You offered him some water, passed him a blanket, and just sat there. You never pressured him to speak, and he didn’t feel compelled to. Maybe five minutes later he said something and you just nodded in his direction, encouraging him to continue.

For the first time in a long time, he talked. And you listened.

It became a ritual between the two of you, staying up late at night just to chat. It wasn’t always about his past, sometimes he just needed to let it all out, and you were the perfect outlet. He felt like you didn’t judge him, and that’s all he ever needed.

Eventually he wanted to hear you too—he preferred it that way. Talking about lesson plans and movies, little things that seem mundane but made him feel less like a patient and more like a friend. You were a welcome distraction, and an added bonus was that you were really cute when you were talking.

He was the one who made the first move. He remembers every detail, from your pajama shorts to the over-worn tank top sliding off your shoulder, your eyes bright as you went on about a new baking recipe you wanted to try. Sat on your bed, looking so relaxed he couldn’t help but stare and marvel at your beauty.

“Logan?” You ask, waving your hand in his face. “Hello? Earth to Wolverine?”

The moment you called out his name he was already making his way to your bed. The mattress sinks beneath his weight, and you let out a soft noise of surprise before he plants his lips against yours.

Yours are soft compared to him—everything about you screams softness, innocence and purity, and he’s not sure if a man like him even has the right to be next to you, much less kiss you. He’s certain his soul is filthy, tainted—a layer of black that’s sure to muck up your own if he keeps this up. He knows this deep in his heart, but greedy man that he is, he keeps his lips locked to yours.

Once, and then never again. He can’t be with a girl like you, and he knows it.

You hold him by the neck and pull him back when he tries to leave your embrace. Maybe it’s pity, he thinks, the way your hands tug him by the shirt and cling onto the fabric. Maybe you’re only entertaining him, stringing him along just to laugh in his face, mock him into ever thinking he had a chance. If you are, he doesn't care, because at least now he’s got a taste of what he could never have.

The two of you finally separate, a silk-thread of spit connecting the both of you, looking at each other with a mixture of shock and confusion. What happens after this? How does he return to what you had before—how can he, when he now knows your chapstick tastes like cherries?

He makes a move to leave, but against all odds your hand is still clinging onto his shirt. In that moment he knew he was the luckiest man alive because you begged him to stay in that cute voice of yours, begged him not to leave when his hands made their way up the front of your shirt—begged him for more when his lips wandered lower.

By your thirties you already had a shiny ring on your finger, one that he can say he proudly put on your finger. A gold band adorned by diamonds, it shines in the orange light of the sun, staring at you from its red-velvet housing.

It’s the first time the X-Men see him cry, tears running down his face when you run into his arms screaming yes, yes, over and over as he holds you in his arms, sunset illuminating your features. He always thinks of you as beauty personified, but watching you admire the diamond-studded band with awe—the one thing that signifies you as his—he can’t help but look at you like icarus does to the sun.

The wedding was small—neither of you minded. Hank was the ringbearer, and Charles walked you down the aisle, and when your vows were said and done the priest could barely finish the ceremony before Logan lunged forward and kissed you, dipping you at the altar accompanied with a cheer from the people you consider your family.

Scott has the video saved on his phone. He pretends it pisses him off, but he had Jean send him a copy later. Sometimes he watches it when he thinks you’re asleep, but little does he know you are very much awake.

In your fourties’ you have a house together, somewhere upstate where no one can bother you. A cozy wooden home where it’s just you and him, relaxing by the fireplace and watching tv every day. When he’s not helping the X-Men he works at a local lumber yard, the highlight of his day being when he comes to work, grabbing his equipment from the truck.

His co-workers jeer at him every time, call him whipped like butter, but they wouldn’t understand what he feels. He certainly doesn’t seem to care, especially when it’s your kiss pressed to his cheek.

He can safely say his life is perfect. It’s domestic, it’s everything Logan ever dreamed of, everything he thought he could never have—and it’s all thanks to you. He wakes up every morning grateful to you for giving him the greatest gift he could ever receive: serenity.

Between the fairytale ending and his rose-colored glasses, he doesn’t notice it, not until you’re in your fifties and he’s—he’s not.

You’re aging, and he’s staying the same.

You still love each other and he’d never, ever, think about leaving you, but the realization sticks with him. He thinks about it late at night while you sleep next to him, pressed against his side. Your scent, your touch, he memorizes it all because he doesn’t know when he won’t be able to feel it again.

In your heart you know it too, but you don’t say anything—you don’t want to scare him away. He’s only just begun to get used to normalcy, and you don’t want to take that away from him. You don’t want to watch him fall into the honeyed trap of isolation again, return to that shell of a man you only just helped him shed.

So when you’re watching tv together, he makes sure to cradle you to his chest extra tight. When you’re sitting by the fireplace, heat radiating off your skin, he makes sure to memorize the way the fire illuminates your face. When you’re whispering his name after a night of love-making he etches the sound deep into his synapses, memorizing each syllable.

No matter what, he’ll remember you.

By your sixties you’re faced with an awful truth, one neither of you want to admit but your smile lines and crows feet stand contrast to his barely aging face. You get stares when you mention he’s your husband, some curious, some judging. You were called a cougar once by a shopper, finger pointed accusatory while Logan told her in no uncertain terms to go fuck herself.

He was there to reassure you then, but he can’t be there all the time. You don’t tell him that this wasn’t the first time you were accused of being a predator, and you don’t plan on doing so.

Maybe this counts as acceptance, faced with the truth in the worst kind of way, but at least the both of you can say it out loud now—

You’re going to die, and he’s going to outlive you. It’s just a fact, but it still makes the both of you terrified.

Your seventies are rocky—you want to enjoy the time you have left, but Logan wants to make sure you’re safe. In his eyes you know he has only love for you, but you can see the fear in them too, how he coddles you every day. Your bones are starting to ache, you’re getting slower. Where you used to go on hikes with him you now choose to stay home, your stamina not like what it used to be. He thinks you don’t notice how he watches you carefully around the house, how he’s so eager to help you. You’re flattered, but also annoyed—it’s a short-lived train of thought when you look at him.

He still looks at you like he did when you first kissed.

He still loves you, and you still love him. For now, that’s all you need.

He finds you on the floor in your eighties—eighty-three, to be exact.

The moment he sees your resting form behind the counter he sprints into the kitchen. There’s broken glass, a trail of blood running from your temple, and you’re completely out of it, eyes closed shut. He calls your name, shakes you, but nothing. He knows you’re still alive, he can hear your heart beating but he can feel how weak it is under his clammy hands, the soft thump nowhere near as strong as it should be.

He doesn’t know what to do—he’s long since been familiar with blood but this time it’s you, and he’s panicking. He doesn’t know what to do.

The ambulance arrives, longer than usual because you live far away from the city. Maybe if they’d gotten there faster they would have been able to do an infusion. Maybe if the phone wasn’t so far you’d be able to call 9-1-1 before you passed out. Maybe if he was at home he would’ve been able to see the early signs—

“Sir? Are you alright?”

He looks at the clock on the bedside wall: 7:38 pm.

It’s well into the night, five hours have passed since you were admitted, and an hour since you died.

He’s been staring at your body for who knows how long. The doctor pronounced you dead, said you had a heart attack and hit your head on the way down. An accident.

A fucking accident.

“Sir, was she related to you?” The young nurse asks, contemplating whether or not she should even speak. Wordlessly, he nods.

“I understand you’re grieving,” she continues, standing at his side. Her words are full of empathy, none of which he needs but lets her speak anyway. “I saw on your hospital logs you share the same name, I can’t imagine how it must feel to lose a loved one.”

He nods again.

“If you don’t mind me asking, how old was she?”

“…eighty-three.” He answers. “Her birthday was in a month.”

She shakes her head. “That’s a shame.”

“It sure is,” He says, reaching out to touch her hand. It’s cold to the touch, a cruel reminder. “It sure is.”

You would’ve been eighty-four now.

He still lives in the same house but it’s not the same without you. It’s lifeless, empty—all the love you poured into the decor now just an awful reminder of what he lost. He thinks about tearing it all down sometimes but he knows you’d probably kick his ass if he so much as touched your crystal vases.

Your side of the bedroom is untouched, he moved all his stuff to the separate one the week after you died. It hurts to sleep there knowing you’re gone, but sometimes he’ll sit by the nightstand, a drink in hand and stare at the empty spot where you would be. Sometimes if he stares hard enough, he can see you through tear-rimmed eyes, hear your laughter through the dull buzz of the alcohol.

He misses you. He’s not sure if he’ll ever stop.

He doesn’t know what possesses him, but he opens your closet. It’s an indulgence, a moment of weakness—he promised he wouldn’t touch your stuff and here he is, rummaging about.

Coats, dresses, shirts, all memories flooding back to him as he moves past them. The black dress you wore on your first date, the sundress you wore for your anniversary—

When his fingers brush against the lace, his heart lurches. He doesn’t need to see it to know, but he tugs anyway, revealing your wedding dress hidden deep inside. The most beautiful thing you’ve ever worn.

He takes the gown between reverent hands, as if the fabric would fall apart, disintegrate if he was anything but cautious with it. It still smells like you.

He finds the box labeled “wedding” next to it, and without hesitation pulls it from its corner. Wedding invites, flowers, old videos, everything that you could have taken as a memory, you had it. You even kept the cake toppers.

What surprises him though, is a notebook. It’s tiny, leather bound and slightly worn, every page a new entry. He flips to the first page and his heart nearly stops.

Dear Logan,

If you’re reading this, I’m probably dead.

His eyes widened. When did you write this? The small book suddenly feels like lead in his hands, it’s a struggle to pull his eyes back to the ink-stained pages, but he does so anyway.

I hope I managed to give this to you before I pass. I wish I could explain to you how much I love you, and how much I worry about you. You’re a stubborn asshole, could never see the good in yourself but I did—I still do. I’ve known you for thirty years now so I’m willing to bet you’re probably reading this drunk, blaming yourself for my death.

He doesn’t know when he started crying but your words make him laugh through the pain, wiping the palm of his hand against his cheek. He used to say you were secretly a telepath, always able to read his mind. Seems it’s a talent that extends beyond the grave.

Anyway, rambling aside, I wanted to give you something to remember me by. You’re going to live longer than I am, we both know that: but maybe my memory can live along with you.

His hands are shaking, fingers stumbling through the next page with bated breath.

Entry one, not sure how I should start…I’ll figure it out later. Your beard grew out a little so I offered to help you shave…

I think I did a shit job but you didn’t seem to mind, or maybe you were trying to save my feelings? I don't know which one. In any case remember to take care of yourself, I might be gone but like hell if I’m gonna let you let yourself go!

Attached with a paperclip is a photo of the two of you in the bathroom, you smushing his face while he stares at the camera annoyed, or at least it seems. There’s a hint of a smile on his face.

He remembers that day. You were cuddling him and complained his beard was scratchy. He let you sit on his lap while you gave him a trim, you said your lines were crooked but he didn’t give a shit—he had you all to himself, and that’s all he needed.

A small huff of laughter escapes him, even in the afterlife you’re still bossing him around. He flips to the next page—

Entry two, don’t isolate yourself! I know you Logan, that lone wolf shit doesn’t work and you know it too! When’s the last time you talked to the other X-Men, huh?

Your words rattle in his head, feelings of guilt blooming. They call occasionally, but he never picks up. Charles is the only one he ever gave the time of day and even then the mention of your passing is a sore subject. One time Scott showed up at his house, helped him clean up a bit before leaving; he never said thank you.

His eyes flick to the phone on his nightstand before continuing to read.

Entry three, don’t starve yourself! I left a couple of my recipes in the last pages, just in case you missed my cooking…

Entry four, I have a secret album of us on my phone. The password is…

Entry five, stop being so hard on yourself…

Entry after entry, all stories with advice for when you’re gone. Clean up after himself, don’t try to find peace at the bottom of a bottle, remember to find a hobby…every single page, accompanied by a description of what you did that day. Went hiking, went on a dinner date, stayed at home and watched tv—almost an entire year's worth of reminiscing in the form of a tiny brown journal.

By the time he got to the last one the sun had begun to rise. His eyes burned with exhaustion, but the thought of stopping never crossed his mind.

The big three-six-five, happy anniversary! It’s been a year since I started this project and I think I should end it here, so I’ll end it with the best advice I can give you.

Logan, you need to move on.

I know it hurts, but I’m gone, and you can’t spend your life chasing after a woman who isn’t here anymore. You deserve more in life than to grieve. I love you more than anything in the world, which is why I’m telling you it’s okay to move on.

I’ll always be with you, so don’t think that you need to feel guilty. I know you love me, and I love you.

I’m giving you permission to forgive yourself, and let me go.

He re-reads your words. Once, twice, even three times before they really sink in. I’m giving you permission to forgive yourself, and let me go.

At that moment it all comes crashing down on him. Your death, the funeral, the pain and longing, the grief—all of it. Everything he’d ever tried to push aside by drinking, culminating into this single release of emotion.

He cries. A full-bodied, pathetic display, he sobbed while holding your last memory to his chest until he was red in the face, until his lungs burned. He sobbed until he had no more tears to give, then sobbed some more.

Even in death, you were still listening.

#Robo writes #logan howlett #logan howlett x reader #james logan howlett #wolverine #wolverine x reader #wolverine angst #hope this was sad enough for you anon #graphics by strangergraphics!

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vaokses · 11 months ago

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I shall be (Pirtir, Ch.3)

Series Masterlist

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Pairing: Aegon x Rhaenyra's Daughter!Reader

Summary: After what you're certain has been the longest dinner you have ever endured, you prepare to retire for bed. You must face the consequence of a secret you once shared when there's a knock on the secret door of your apartments.

Word Count: 5.4k (sorry 😔)

Warnings: Topic of arranged/forced marriage. Usual Targaryen incest stuff.

A/N: This makes a tad more sense if you've read the prologue on Aegon's PoV, "How long this love can hold its breath". I hope you enjoy, and I would love to hear your thoughts on this!

Title is from "I never again shall tell you what I think. I shall be sweet and crafty, soft and sly", by Edna St. Vincent Millay.

After Helaena leaves you by your apartments, you enter and dismiss your handmaidens, unwilling to stand another moment of scrutiny, of performance. They have left the hearth lit and you set out to undo your hair slowly, trying not to remember the last time you stood in this room, sitting by this very hearth as your mother explained to you how you weren’t safe here anymore, how you had no choice but to leave.

It somehow makes the truth of what awaits you more real, that these are the rooms they have decided to assign to you. It makes all of this, the reality of what has happened and what will, more solid, more tangible.

Your thoughts are interrupted, as are your actions, by the faintest clicking sound, as if something is knocking quietly on glass.

You have only recently learned of the secrets of the Keep, after listening too many times to your mother and father reminisce about their encounters over the years, between Daemon’s exiles and wars and returns. You only recently learned of the hidden door in the middle glass window behind the bed, the one where someone is knocking softly right now.

With an impulse so stupid you would believe it beneath you, you approach the door, and quietly open it.

On the other side, the deserted ramparts of the Keep at his back, stands Aegon. When you open the door fully, he offers a small smile, somewhere between daring and apprehensive. A familiar smile.

Your eyes widen, and your next words leave your lips in a hiss, “What are you doing!?”

He shrugs, “I was knocking like an idiot here for a while, whe-…?”

Before he can finish his answer, you have reached for him, fingers grasping at the sleeve of his shirt and pulling him inside before anyone can see him standing at the hour of ghosts outside your rooms.

You step back, startled and confused -and, most of all perhaps, affronted at your own choice, at your own carelessness-, and for a few breaths you seem to merely stare at one another, perhaps equally surprised at finding yourselves here.

You find yourself uncertain on how to move, how to play. Any mask you might find useful to wear now wouldn’t have opened the damn door, wouldn’t have participated in this foolish risk by allowing Aegon to enter you rooms.

A reminder, perhaps to yourself and not him, and you voice, “You shouldn’t be here.”

“I believe I should be saying that,” He comments, defiant glint in his eye, lips pressed into a thin line. “You traveled to every city but this one, visited the seat of every family but this one, in these past two years. I assumed you had decided you would only return to King’s Landing to lay waste to it.”

You aren’t sure why it is he feels he has any right to reproach you for not visiting, or why it is you feel the need to defend yourself, explain the reason behind your absence all these years.

“I traveled only to where I was welcomed.”

If he knows you’re lying, which you doubt, for you doubt he ever cared enough to ask if you were extended an invitation from the Keep, he makes no mention of it.

Silence lingers, and though you know you should ask him why he’s here, tell him to leave, summon the guards, you say nothing. Instead, for what feels like the first time since you arrived, you look at him.

Stupidly, the first thought that comes into your mind, and the one that lingers, that brings to the tip of your tongue questions you know better than to ask, that fills you with the reckless impulse to want to know the story behind it -and each story you’ve missed out on-, is that his hair is shorter.

“We are to be married,” Aegon says. You take a deep breath, and find that you cannot release it. You nod your head instead, wordless. “Have they told you why they agreed to it? My mother, my grandsire?”

“The King, no matter the…state of his body or spirit, can overrule his wife and his Hand.”

“You know it was not my father’s doing. As…happy he seems to be that you would dare resign yourself to a man like me, he didn’t arrange this.”

Years ago, you might have offered an apology he won’t hear from those he deserves it from, you might have crossed the distance between you, you might have offered comfort. Years ago, you might have not turned a blind eye, you might have not looked away.

You turn towards one of the shelves by the hearth -strange, how you still remember it is this wall that first illuminates when the sun rises-, and grab the napkin dragon Helaena gifted you from a nearby table and place it upon the shelf.

Turning back around, you answer the previous question, you offer a safe answer,

“No one tells me much of anything, so I’m afraid I don’t know their reasons. But I could venture a guess.”

A truer answer would be that love for a daughter doomed the Greens, while a daughter’s love granted victory to the Blacks. That in refusing to marry Helaena either to Aegon -to give him heirs, to secure his claim as your mother secured hers- or to someone else -a royal womb, a wife in exchange for an army, for another House sworn to their cause-, Alicent accepted defeat. That in betraying who you were -who you might have been- to allow for the most useful lie to wear your face as if truth, in chasing that safety you believed you would achieve by turning the Realm to your cause, you helped Rhaenyra win her war.

Aegon turns his head to look at the dimming flames of the hearth, a furrow between his brows.

“They refused before.”

“Helaena would have been sent to Driftmark were she to marry Jace, y-…”

“I don’t mean them,” He interrupts. He doesn’t look at you still, finding the dying embers apparently fascinating. His hands twitch, much like his sister’s did before, opening and closing, as if needing to release nervous energy. “I mean you and me. I asked, my mother refused.”

Your stomach does a strange flip, as it does when Vermithor makes a vertical ascent into the clouds. No, not quite like that. It feels more like when he just narrowly avoids a crash against a cliff face when speeding through the clouds over the Stormlands. It feels like that faint moment when Vermithor loses his footing on unstable ground and fails to land.

“What? When?”

“After you left,” He replies. He ventures to look at you, only briefly, and at your questioning look Aegon shrugs and explains, “You wanted to stay.”

That isn’t the explanation he seems to think it is, but doesn’t seem inclined to clarify any further. And you aren’t sure you want him to, because an echo of a promise you once made -when you were younger, and the world was smaller- is getting louder.

Instead of asking anything else, you remind him, and yourself, of the war that loomed over this family.

“When we left, Aemond didn’t have Vhagar, and my bond with Vermithor was too new. Now…there haven’t been so many grown dragons with riders since King Jaehaerys’ reign,” You point out. “Your mother understands now, as I hope the rest do, that if a war for the Iron Throne is to be waged, there will be naught but ash and charred stone to rule over once it’s won. Destruction is assured, mutual destruction.”

“And you are here as…what? A sacrificial lamb to prevent bloodshed?”

You look at him, and with more impulsivity than you should allow yourself, you answer plainly,

“Baaa,” Dumbfounded, Aegon blinks, once, twice, before a smile lights up his expression. His shoulders shake lightly with laughter, and you find yourself smiling in kind. And relentless, like a weed you couldn’t pull from its root and now regrows, is that impulse from your youth, that familiar warmth in your chest and in your cheeks at being the one to make him laugh. “I gather it depends on who you ask. I’m sure many would see me a herald of doom and not a sacrificial goat.”

“Lamb,” He corrects, pointlessly, aimlessly. Silence lingers, and a few breaths after, he presses, “Is that why you are here, then? For…for the future of the family? You didn’t want to leave in the first place. I thought…”

When it seems he cares not to continue his sentence, you clarify,

“It was once my home, it’s true, but I…no longer recognize it,” You admit, with more honesty than you should allow yourself, perhaps. From your window you can see the Dragonpit. When you were children you would go there so often, and though the trip had to be made on carriage, in between jests and games, or sleeping in your mother’s lap, it seemed such a quick trip, such a short distance. “It all seemed so much smaller, before. Easier.”

You shake yourself from this foolish nostalgia, and return your attention to the present, to the inside of this room. You return your attention, and your gaze, to Aegon, who still stands there, almost awkwardly, in the middle of the room.

“Wine?” He asks, faintly moving back and forth on the balls of his feet, a jarringly nervous, almost childish, gesture. You do not understand the part of you that finds it endearing.

“No, thank you.”

“I would like some.” He states, but makes no move to pour himself a glass. Instead, he merely looks at you, expectant, eyebrows raised and smile a taunt.

With a deep breath, refusing to let him anger you as easily as he would when you were younger, you acquiesce, and turn your back to pour him a cup of wine.

“I-…They told me you wanted me,” Aegon confesses, the last two words stumbling on an eager tongue. You keep your attention on pouring the wine, and keep your back turned to him, somehow knowing it is while you aren’t looking that he speaks freely. “I was told you chose me.”

You finish pouring a cup -and one for yourself, for you gather this won’t be an easy conversation-, and turn to face him. Aegon stands tall, head held high, and yet you look at him and think only of someone trying to hide, itching to curl in on themselves, make themselves smaller.

His expression struggles for the same control he demands from his body, eyes guarded, jaw set tight.

Not unlike the first time you approached Vermithor, you find yourself waiting for his next move, awaiting a signal to follow, an opening for you to act.

And yet he doesn’t move. You aren’t sure if he is expecting you to, but regardless, you follow his example and hold your ground. Extending your arm, you offer the drink, but he makes no move to accept it.

“Was it a lie?” Aegon asks, quietly.

Something within you is begging you to admit the truth, to say yes. A part of you wishes to risk ruin the very purpose you serve being here, bring forth further division if you must; if that means getting to start the life that begins once you marry with no lies, with your true face.

But you have been a liar far longer than you have been anything else. You weren��t allowed to train with a sword and shield, you have been sent to roam unfamiliar halls and live with unfamiliar faces, you have been parted from your protector as Vermithor retreats to the outskirts of the city. You are alone, with no weapon and no dragon.

You have nothing but teeth and nails and lies, and you have no choice but to put them to use.

“No, it was not a lie,” You tell him, and the surprise he doesn’t bother to hide, the flickering vulnerability you doubt he could hide even if he wanted, that part his lips for a breath and bring a momentary tremble to this brow; they make that part of you wish to offer an apology. The closest you can offer to one is a half-truth, “If I am to marry, I would have it be you I take as a husband.”

And in the blink of an eye, Aegon retreats, cautious again. It feels entirely too close to failure, to deficiency, to let him take from you your advantage like this, because you let a face you don’t wear any longer decide on the words to leave your lips.

Petulant, he corrects, “That isn’t what I asked.”

And now he does approach, taking the goblet from your outstretched hand and downing half the wine in one gulp. You follow him with your gaze as he walks past you to sit in one of the lounges by the hearth.

“Is it not enough?”

He answers with a smile, somewhere between bitter and resigned. The smile hasn’t yet fully curved at his lips when it has already fallen leaving in place an expression torn somewhere between uncertainty and a reckless kind of longing.

You are a Velaryon in name alone, this everyone knows. You are not salt and sea, but even you know the mightiest of vessels can be brought down to the depths by a single crack, a single leak -a single leak, that allows the ocean a way in, a way to reclaim what it deems hers-. Perhaps that is why it is so easy for you then, to take a step back, the beginnings of a frown furrowing at your brow, the faintest movement of your head as you deny his unspoken admission, as you refuse hearing the ever-louder echo of a past long gone.

You were barely more than children, with no understanding of the world or what it would ask of you -of either of you-, when you made the foolish promises you did. It was a folly of youth, and while nostalgia does often cloud your gaze and leaves a faint stinging in your eyes in its wake, you understand, as he should, as he must, that that is all it was.

But doubt creeps in, saltwater through a crack in the hull of a ship, for you understand now, that whatever you had and forsaken, whatever you have made yourself forget, Aegon has kept, and remembered.

How could he, after all this time? How dare he, after all that has and all that hasn’t happened?

You once were naïve enough to think love might prevail over war, but you knew nothing of either. Now, you know better, now you see things as they are, as they were.

And still, something like regret pulls at your chest, something like a dead hope digs under your skin. Foolish, reckless. You tell yourself to take another step back, but you cannot move.

But before you can forget yourself, before you let echoes guide your actions or your voice, Aegon turns away, a humorless and quiet chuckle leaving his lips, his gaze for a moment falling to the cup of wine in his hand before gazing upon the quiet flames of the hearth.

“It is preferable to the alternative, I suppose. My mother wouldn’t forgive me if they had to have my betrothed dragged to the Sept against her will.”

What is expected, what is needed to get the upper hand, is to offer comfort, empty if it must be, that no woman would have to be forced into a marriage with a Targaryen Prince such as him, that the mere idea of a woman not being delighted to be his wife seems impossible to you. A lie, a false promise, anything.

And yet you cannot speak, you cannot move. You will tell yourself later that you were observing, as Lady Mysaria so often reminds you to do while at court.

As if by instinct, an instinct older than your oldest one -you feel robbed of all you learned since you left this place, for a moment, stripped of every instinct your exile imposed upon you and every mask you learned to wear since leaving-, you recite a lesson,

“Betrothals are sacred, in the eyes of any of the Gods. Any daughter, any loyal daughter, would sooner die than dishonor one.”

A groan answers your words, mocking.

“Don’t you tire of it?” Aegon asks, drawing you away from your own thoughts that seem intent on chasing themselves in circles. His head tilts to the side as he considers you and your silence, before he answers his own question with a humorless scoff. “But there’s no reason you would, really. It has always come easy to you, you just-…it’s easy for you.”

“What is?”

“Perfection,” He blurts out, before shrugging one shoulder defensively. He takes yet another sip of wine, and seems to laugh at a joke only he hears before he says, “The Realm’s Delight’s first and only daughter, as Valyrian as the ones in the histories. Rider of a dragon second only to Vhagar. So famed for your grace and beauty you might as well be the Maiden herself.”

Your brow furrows and your eyes narrow.

“Is this your attempt at an insult?”

“In all these years, not one story about a mistake. Not once I heard about you stepping out of line.”

“Court gossip rarely cares about daughters. I was never relevant enough to be gossiped about.”

“You are your mother’s heir. If she ascends the throne, you are to be Queen of the Seven Kingdoms after her,” He insists, lifting a finger off the goblet to aim it in your direction in accusation. At your answering silence, Aegon smiles, humorless and a tad mad, and after a sip from his drink starts again, “If she doesn’t, you still might be, now that you are to be my wife.”

“You speak of treas-…”

He interrupts you with an exasperated groan, letting his head lull backwards on the chair.

“Oh, don’t start. You shouldn’t take me seriously,” He advises, lifting the cup in a mock toast to his self-pity before adding, “No one does.”

“Yet many would have you and not my mother sit the Iron Throne.” You admit, not thinking twice about walking to the hearth and taking the seat by his.

In your mind lingers the thought, the reprimand, that you should know better than to do this, to say this. With lies and charm you’ve learned over time to loosen people’s defenses, to bring forth truth from them, and it does not surprise you that Aegon makes it frighteningly easy, still driven by a reckless kind of honestly -or a helpless one perhaps, truths escaping him like sand between his fingers-, still leaving himself exposed. And you should know better than to allow him to bring forth in you the same kind of carelessness.

You keep your attention on the flickering flames, and notice out of the corner of your eye that he has seemed to move closer and is watching you with some strange glint in his eyes. You turn your head to look at him, a question written in your own gaze.

He motions you closer, as if about to tell you a secret, and foolishly, you oblige.

“It’s because my cock is bigger than your mother’s.”

You lean back with a scoff that he only grins at. That, that is entirely becoming of the boy you remember from your youth.

“By the Gods.” You mutter, false disgust attempting to mask something childish, something like laughter. He leans back, stupidly proud at having caught you off-guard, and you furrow your lips to hide a smile.

“You still make the same face when you get ruffled.”

“I do not get ruffled,” You argue, “I am merely appalled at your…your vulgarity.”

He shrugs.

“You let me in.”

“I-…shut up.”

He laughs again, and you shake your head, looking away.

“Do you wish for me to leave?” He asks, and something gives you certainty that he will obey if you say you do. Which you should, for it is beyond inappropriate for a maiden to allow a man into her private apartments, not to mention unbecoming of your mother’s heir to wish for the company of the largest threat to her claim.

You cannot tell the truth, duty binds your lips with precise stitching; but you cannot lie, for in the quiet of it all the world seems smaller again, easier to handle.

And for those few breaths of silence, you think this is the most honest you’ve been tonight.

When you first arrived in Dragonstone, it was to you as wild and foreign as it must have been for your ancestors when they first reached the island; and like them, you too were escaping, fleeing from what you were promised was certain doom.

You were asked to call that place home, and yet you were not taught the layout of the castle or its surroundings, you were not taken sailing between Dragonstone and Driftmark by Laenor as your brothers were, you were not shown the path into the Dragonmont and into Vermithor’s lair, no. You were asked to call that place home, but Lady Mysaria sat with you on that balcony that looks in the direction of King’s Landing -on that same spot where you said goodbye to her a mere day ago-, and she told you that a home is a lie and a heart a shackle, and she promised to teach you to survive as a woman in a world of men.

You were taught to lie, to mask what you felt and what you thought, and to offer instead of the truth what was most agreeable, most useful. It was an easy lesson to assimilate, almost an instinct you were merely reminded of and not taught, and you dread to think of what that makes of you.

What was most useful then, what kept you safe then, what was needed from you then, was being a loyal daughter, with no ties to anywhere beyond her mother’s home, with no bond to anyone beyond the safety of her family. And so that is what you became.

You made yourself forget the world and the life that was before, the girl you adored and the boy that in another life you might have loved. More importantly, perhaps, you made yourself forget what could have been, what would never be.

You could not, not entirely, because there’s a box of dead bugs in your room that you meant to send to Helaena and yet you never did, and there’s a feeling you weren’t allowed to voice but you couldn’t swallow, and so some words remained stuck in your throat for over three years; but you tried.

You tried, you tried with everything that you are to forget about it all, to believe the tales you told others about the fickleness of youth, but now you’re back here and memories are not so easy to push away -and there’s a napkin dragon in your shelf and warmth in your chest as you sit beside Aegon-, and the words unsaid tighten your throat at each lie you attempt to tell, each mask you attempt to wear.

But there’s safety in the lies, in the masks. Anywhere in the world, be it Dragonstone or the seat of some House or another, you can wear a mask. Anywhere in the world, alone or surrounded, you can protect yourself with lies.

And you cling to them, even now, especially now.

“I-…you should leave,” You say, but then remind yourself that there is no room for mistakes. For half-truths, or half-lies. So you correct yourself, “I want you to leave.”

To your surprise, and to the dismay of a part of you the long night and the even longer absence make difficult to force down now, he obeys.

___

It is only you, the Queen, and her handmaidens in the room as you sit together for tea, and you are eyeing the window behind her as Alicent attempts to entertain you with talk about the wedding preparations. That the guests from the Reach are to arrive earlier than expected, that the Lord Hand has called for a septon from Oldtown to perform the rites, that the eldest son of Lord Tyrell has sent you a crate of hippocras as a betrothal gift.

You can only sit in silence and listen, listen and linger in the realization, horrifying and painful, that these celebrations are months in the planning. The realization that while you were travelling the realm in service of your House and your mother, foolishly believing you were free to choose a husband or not choose one at all, your choices were being stolen from you.

“I was younger than you when I married,” The Queen comments. “I would have never imagined you would remain unmarried for so long.”

You care not for polite conversation, nor any games. With a deep breath, you finally take your eyes off that window and blurt out,

“You advised me and Helaena, when we were children, that if the men were to ever come to take us away, we should ask our dragons to unleash dragonfire on them, or on ourselves,” There’s something quite close to horror in her expression, in her widened eyes and parted lips, when she looks upon you. “Does it truly surprise you, that we understand the…the gravity of marriage?”

The Queen is quiet for a few breaths, returning her attention to her plate and busying herself and her hands by cutting open a biscuit. The silence is starting to become uncomfortable when the Queen clears her throat and speaks again, voice tight, hoarse, “You remember.”

“Should I not, Your Grace?”

She scarred you, with her grief, her grief for two girls that weren’t yet dead, that hadn’t gotten yet a chance to be alive. She scarred you and in doing so she taught you; she taught you much more than your mother ever could.

Many times, Rhaenyra spoke with you about the life and death of her mother, and what fear she had for motherhood, how it was for many years a death sentence in her eyes. But her admissions were always followed by a soft, loving smile, by her hand grasping at yours, and the promise that her fears pale in the love she has for you and your brothers.

Alicent never made such promises, such assurances.

“I was…not myself. You needn’t heed the advice I gave that night.”

She was drunk, and tired, and angry; but neither of those things made her any less herself, nor her words any less honest. Of course, she won’t admit that.

You want to call her out on her lie, for you remember that night, and you remember well. You remember that when you told her you had no dragon, for Vermithor was still asleep and unknown to you and the egg placed in your cradle never hatched, Alicent merely looked at you with rage and sorrow over a decade old and replied, neither did I.

You were children, you were foolish and naïve children, and the next morning Helaena asked for you to accompany her to the Dragonpit, and tried to explain to Dreamfyre why she had to obey you if you ever came to her and commanded dracarys.

“It was advice I valued then and now.” You admit, finding her gaze and offering the faintest of smiles.

“It…gladdens me to hear that then, Princess.”

“Advice my aunt must value as well, for she remains unmarried.”

It is a provocation, and a careless one at that. You knew that before you voiced it, but you trusted the Queen not to falter. And she does not disappoint.

She drops the knife, and the noise of it hitting the plate rings in your ears. For a moment gone as quickly as it began, as if a compulsion she has tried to bury, the Queen lets her nails dig at the skin of her thumbs.

“I resented my husband, for many years, for allowing his daughter the liberties he did, for turning a blind eye the way he did,” She admits, and there’s that tone in her voice again, the tone of that night, tangled in anger and helplessness and regret. Now there’s shame, in the bow of her head, in the restless movements of her fingers. “And yet…my girl, I couldn’t-…”

“I would venture to guess many have vied for her hand in these passing years?”

“My father would have her married and shipped off somewhere far in exchange for an alliance, but…she wishes not to,” She looks at you then, lifts her warm gaze to yours. You’ve seen that look in your mother’s eyes before, you’ve seen it in Mysaria’s, in Rhaenys’. You realize now, with horrifying certainty, how fortunate you are that you haven’t seen that look in Baela’s or Rhaena’s eyes, or in Helaena’s. Alicent gestures with her hand aimlessly, to the nothing and the everything around you. “What use is there for all this, for any of it, if I cannot protect her?”

“I cannot speak on a mother’s duty or choices,” You say, and though you wish it would, it is not a mask like the one you presented to your grandsire last night, telling him what he wants to hear while you grit your teeth at what leaves your lips, no. It is the closest to truth you can offer. “But I am very glad to see her contented, happy even.”

The closest to truth you can offer, without revealing something wrong, something rotten. Like envy, like jealousy.

But you gather the Queen hears it regardless, for she sighs, and adds, “Which she achieved by remaining unmarried.”

You hear the words she doesn’t say, you see something like regret in her warm eyes, and stupidly, some part of you still the child that brought a sweet pastry to the Queen after finding her heaving panicked breaths and paler than a ghost, you want to reassure her, to accept the apology she doesn’t voice.

But Alicent starts again, composed again, distant again,

“You are a woman grown now. I trust in time you will learn to…handle Aegon, guide him. You must a-…”

You know where this is going. You just want one conversation where you aren’t asked to do something for someone, where you aren’t reminded of what is expected from you. One.

You stand from the table with a scoff, walking away and towards the window, “I am not a shepherd, and your son no sheep.”

“I only mean to help you.”

“I do not recall asking for help, Your Grace.”

The Queen joins her hands before her, head held high, back straight. A picture of a woman’s role, a woman’s duty. You look away and instead look out the window.

“You valued advice I gave before, and I ask you to do so again. I only mean to make this easier for you, child.”

She doesn’t wait for an answer and knows better than to press for one. Instead she murmurs your title and your name as a goodbye, not waiting for a returned goodbye of Your Grace or a gesture of your own, before turning around and moving to leave the room.

“You lied to him,” You blurt out, an accusation you are risking much if it ends up being wrong. When the Queen turns to look at you, you force yourself to hold your place, force your hands to remain in place even when you want to cross your arms, force your eyes to look at her even though a part of you fears her. You push on, “You told Aegon I wanted to marry him.”

Alicent takes a breath, and says nothing for a few beats, expression carefully flat as she regards you.

“Did you admit to him that it was a lie?”

“No.”

The only give she allows is the slight widening of her eyes, surprise but not quite. A breath, two, and the Queen bows her head in goodbye again, though now at her lips curves a smile. Sad, as all her smiles are, but a little defiant also.

Thank you for reading! I hope you liked it!

Though she admitted a little bit to what her stance in regards to the marriage is, the aspect of the lying and especially the lie about choosing him are still the point of this story, and will develop further in the upcoming chapters.

Next Chapter >>

Taglist: @21-princess @mrs-starkgaryen @nymeriiiia

#aegon ii fanfic #aegon targaryen x targaryen!reader #aegon ii x reader #aegon targaryen x reader #aegon x reader #fics by me

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reomikagekin · 1 month ago

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Oh how I YEARN for a domestic life with Sai 🤭

Before the petrification, Sai and reader were happily dating. They had met at the university, with us being the new professor. Now I don’t take Sai to be the one to fall in love at first sight, so it would take a while for him to gain feelings

I remember reading this modern au Rengoku x reader fic where the students were trying to set up the two and it was so cute 🥰 so what if the students were to do the same? I think all the teasing would push Sai into finally confessing hehehehe

Sai isn’t the flashy type so when it comes to proposing he would, in my opinion, pick somewhere quiet and romantic. Like the park at night, where the moon is shining bright causing the pond to glisten and sparkle. I know I know it’s basic 😔🙏

“I desire you to be by my side forever”

I guess he does have one thing in common with Ryusui 🤭🤭🤭

Now onto de-petification, after Sai lowkey crashes out after meeting Ryusui again he’s all like “where’s my wife…OH MY GOD WHERE IS MY WIFE?!?!?”

And Ryusui, understandably since he hasn’t seen his big brother in like YEARS, is like “YOU GOT MARRIED???”

Luckily we weren’t too far, though once we were revived Sai immediately pulls us into a hug and justs starts sobbing because he was so scared 🥺

And then after the world is fixed Sai and reader has a wedding once again cuz Sai felt bad the rings were gone :( oh and also cuz we felt bad that Ryusui wasn’t able to go to the first one

God how I love this man I need him pregnant rn WHAG WHO SAID THAT 😨😋

Binary Stars

Sai Nanami liked routines. A fresh charger cord coiled just right. Tea steeped for exactly two and a half minutes. The quiet between lectures, filled with keystrokes and the occasional frustrated sigh of a student who didn’t read the syllabus.

It was a good system. Predictable. Comfortable. Safe.

Until you disrupted it.

You weren’t loud, not exactly. Just… vivid. A new professor who taught across the hall, with a kind smile and an irritating habit of remembering his coffee order. You were the type who smiled when passing people in the hallway, who kept a stash of candy in your desk “for student morale,” and who somehow kept ending up next to him at faculty meetings, nudging his shoulder with whispered jokes until he finally—finally—smiled back.

You weren’t supposed to be anything but a temporary anomaly.

But Sai kept finding you in his patterns. And to his growing horror, he liked it.

He liked your voice as you excitedly explained philosophy like it was a new game. He liked your handwriting on shared notes. He liked how you always took your tea with honey, and how your shoes tapped against the tile in a rhythm that matched the tempo of his favorite coding playlist.

You were chaos in his life, and somehow you became his constant.

Still, it was slow. So painfully slow.

Sai didn’t do love at first sight. His heart came alive in whispers, in brackets. A slow build of trust, laughter, quiet.

It wasn’t until his students started teasing him that he realized just how deep he’d fallen.

“She brings you lunch, every Thursday, Professor Nanami.”

“You smiled at her joke and didn’t bury your face in your hoodie.”

“We literally saw you two outside campus. Walking. Together.”

He denied it all. Turned pink. Slammed his laptop shut. But he couldn’t stop himself from standing a little closer, from brushing his fingers against yours when handing over a mug, from wondering—every time you laughed—what it might be like to hear that sound at home.

And eventually, he snapped.

It was a simple date. A museum. You loved classical art, and he… well, he loved watching you talk about it. The way your eyes lit up under the gallery lights. The way you held his hand like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Sai had never known peace like that.

Months passed. You moved in. Morning routines merged. Game nights turned into sleepy conversations curled up on the couch. You still teased him. He still blushed. But he kissed you back now, with a kind of quiet desperation, like he still couldn’t believe this was real.

He proposed in a park. Quiet. Under the moon, near a glistening pond.

“I desire you to be by my side forever,” he whispered, voice trembling.

You said yes with tears in your eyes.

Your wedding was small. No fuss. No flashy declarations. Just the two of you and a couple friends. The rings were simple—silver, etched with tiny coding symbols that only the two of you understood.

You joked he married you with cheat codes.

He said you glitched his heart.

And then…

Stone.

Panic.

Darkness.

3,700 years later

Sai hit the ground hard.

His breath came ragged — the scent of ash and moss clung to his skin like a second death. Dirt scraped against his palms. His glasses were cracked. The sun above was too bright, too real, too… wrong.

He blinked.

The sound of the wind. The leaves.

And then the silence.

Where were the voices?

Where were you?

His body trembled before his mind caught up. He staggered to his feet, knees buckling under him, eyes darting around the shattered forest. His throat was dry. His mouth opened to call your name, but all that escaped was a croaked whisper.

“Y/N…?”

A heartbeat.

Then another.

“R-Ryusui—? Anyone—?” His voice cracked. “Y/N… where are you? Where’s my—where’s my wife?”

The weight of it slammed into his chest.

The last thing he remembered was your hand brushing his as you walked beside him. You had been smiling, teasing him over how he always remembered the exact number of steps between the park’s gate and the bench you liked.

You were right there.

He had just turned to reply when that light exploded in the sky.

And now you were gone.

The panic rose like floodwater. He spun in every direction, breath catching in his throat, legs shaky. He could feel it — the thick, pressing absence of you — like his heart was glitching. Like the code had broken and he couldn’t debug it.

He ran.

Branches whipped past him. His lungs screamed. He didn’t care. “Y/N!! Please—!”

His foot caught on a root and he hit the dirt hard, shoulder-first, gravel grinding into his skin. He stayed there for a second, hands curled in the soil, shaking.

“She was with me,” he whispered. “She was right there—right there—”

His voice rose into a sob.

“I promised her forever—we were married, we—we had rings, and a life, and I—I didn’t even get to say goodbye—!”

A shadow loomed over him.

“Sai?”

His eyes shot up. That voice—lower, older, but familiar in a way that made his stomach drop.

Ryusui stood over him, sun behind his head, hair messier than Sai remembered. He was older now—taller, rougher—but that grin was still sharp.

“You’re alive.”

Sai choked. He couldn't speak. He only stared up at his brother, chest heaving.

“You’ve—” Ryusui’s eyes lit up. “You got married?! Wait, YOU?! You—Mr. Spreadsheet himself—got a wife?!”

The laugh Ryusui let out was loud and joyful, like a reunion deserved to be.

Sai didn’t laugh.

He looked at Ryusui with wide, terrified eyes. “She’s not here.”

“…What?”

“I don’t know where she is. She was right next to me when the light came, and now she’s—” He clenched his fists. “I can’t find her.”

That sharp grin dropped.

Ryusui stepped closer, crouching beside him. “You said she was next to you? Then we’ll find her. You know me—I always find the prize.”

“You don’t get it,” Sai snapped, louder than he meant to. His voice cracked. “She’s the only thing that kept me grounded in that old world. I—Ryusui, I can’t live in this one without her. I won’t.”

Ryusui blinked, then did something Sai didn’t expect.

He pulled his brother into a hug.

Not loud. Not showy. Just arms wrapped tightly around him, like he remembered how Sai used to cry during storms when they were kids.

“Then we’ll find her,” Ryusui whispered.

The Kingdom of Science moved fast.

Senku organized a grid search. Kohaku ran faster than the wind. Gen tapped his chin and watched Sai with a softer expression than usual. Chrome brought Sai water. Even Suika, wide-eyed and determined, scanned every hill and shadow.

Sai barely breathed.

And then—

“Someone’s stirring by the river!”

The voice cracked through the trees.

Sai ran.

He didn’t remember how many times he fell. He didn’t care that his lungs burned or that his muscles screamed. He only knew that the sound of your name echoing through the leaves shattered something inside him.

And when he saw you—covered in dirt and dust, blinking blearily, the faintest tilt of a confused smile on your cracked lips—

He collapsed.

“Y/N,” he gasped, breath hitching.

You looked up at the trembling man sprinting toward you, and for one terrible moment you didn’t speak—didn’t recognize him.

But then—

“…Sai?”

He crashed into you like a wave.

He wrapped his arms around your shoulders and pulled you close, holding you like he thought you might vanish again. His body shook violently. He pressed his face into your neck and sobbed, truly sobbed, not caring who saw.

“You’re here,” he whispered, again and again. “You’re here, you’re here, I—I thought—I thought I lost you—”

Your hands, weak and trembling, found his.

“You didn’t,” you whispered, just as broken. “I’m here. Sai… you found me.”

He pulled back just enough to see your face, cupping your cheeks with shaking hands. “You’re alive. You’re real. I—I don’t care if we have no rings or no roof or no world left, just—please don’t leave me again.”

“I won’t.”

You pressed your forehead to his.

“I promise. You told me forever, remember?”

His throat tightened. “I meant it.”

Your lips brushed his—dirt and tears and all—and it was imperfect and desperate and everything.

The world had ended.

But you had each other again.

And Sai, for the first time since waking up, could finally breathe.

The Second Wedding

The Kingdom of Science threw itself into wedding prep like it was the next big mission.

Senku helped forge the new rings, etched in platinum with microscopic binary that read ��LOVE.” Kohaku insisted on finding the perfect flowers. Gen volunteered as the officiant—“Because who else can match the drama of a love that spanned time?”

The ceremony took place in the rebuilt park—nature reclaiming the place where Sai had first proposed. The pond glistened. The moon shone.

And this time, Ryusui stood proudly at his brother’s side, beaming.

“I almost missed it the first time,” he whispered. “Thanks for letting me be part of it now.”

Sai squeezed his hand. “Wouldn’t be complete without you.”

When you walked down the makeshift aisle, wearing a simple, linen dress Senku and Yuzuriha helped design, Sai looked at you like you were the entire sky.

“I loved you before the world ended,” he said during his vows. “I’ll love you when it begins again.”

You both cried. Gen cried. Ryusui cried. Kohaku pretended not to.

Now

The world moved on. Rebuilt. Rediscovered.

Sai still liked routines. He coded on paper now, working with Senku on building a computer from scratch. You taught again—philosophy and ethics, adapted for this strange new world.

You shared tea in the mornings.

You argued about game mechanics at night.

And sometimes, when the moon was high and the air was quiet, Sai would lean over and press a kiss to your temple and whisper:

“I’m so glad I found you again.”

And you would reply, like always,

“I never left.”

#dr stone x reader #dr stone #sai nanami #sai nanami x reader

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stomach-bugg09 · 5 months ago

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soo i kinda had an idea for fali if you’re open to it if not it’s okay too 😋 ofc fali and sully!reader where it’s after he was shot (😔😔) possibly him having to do small exercise’s/physical therapy type thing daily so this is obv a little while after he got hurt anyway he hates doing them and is kinda keeping to himself with it or is getting frustrated that he’s struggling with them and reader comforts/helps?? idk if any of what i js said made sense but i hope so 😭 anyway thank you!!

summary: recovery is a grueling and arduous process for everyone, but especially for fali. he can't see past the warrior he used to be versus the one he is now, post-injury. he won't let anyone in... well, except for [y/n].

fali (oc) x sully!reader

a/n: this is kind of insane to think i'm writing this right now, but also i forgot how fun it is to create and publish works. anyway, i know it took me a long time to carry out my promises, but here is a long-awaited little blurb (?) about our beloved fali and [y/n], two names that i haven't written down in about like... two-ish years, give or take? a bit less, but the point still stands. i hope you guys enjoy! and i pray that i live up to your expectations.

lean on me, when you're not strong

[y/n] was always observant. as the eldest of five, never mind being the eldest girl, she'd felt the need to read everyone's facial expressions, their emotions, their expectations, their needs, their wants, their desires. it was just as much a survival tactic as it was an instinct. when things tended to change so abruptly in her childhood, whether that be one of her siblings crying (and lead to her mother nearly having a meltdown herself) or the arrival of the sky-people, she was always there to expect and, in its stead, to soothe.

but, some of that instinct fell away when she began training with her father. she was no longer expected to be the caretaker in an emotion sense, but rather a protector. her observant nature proved her worthy as she had the advantage of throwing her opponent off with a simple comment (like the time she took a chance and teased a childhood friend of her crush on neteyam before pinning her all because she was distracted) or merely reading their next move.

however, interestingly enough, with her time spent living with the metkayina, and fali obviously, [y/n] had started to evolve into her older self. no longer in fear of the sky-people since they managed to defeat them, [y/n] has once again returned to her caregiving nature.

although, perhaps a lot of that is because of fali.

while [y/n] had come out of the womb strong yet soft, in some ways, fali had come out as a true warrior. screaming bloody murder, naturally. but, while his infancy was a loud few years (he really had no trouble figuring out the functions of his vocal chords), it was also an exciting few years.

he'd always bounced around, itching to learn the ways of warriors from his parents. fali was naturally proud--of his heritage, of his family, of his people. in an entirely different way, fali too had the natural urge to protect.

but, that's why it'd been so difficult for him to recover. not physically, because eywa knows how seriously he took every assignment, every exercise, every appointment because he knew that was the only way to return to the past, but... emotionally, it was a taxing time.

fali had always been the one to protect his family. even though his parents were respected warriors, they were old. they'd managed to have fali late in their years, and they often called him a miracle from eywa herself.

not only did he concern himself over his parents, but he also practically adopted aonung and tsireya as his baby siblings. he'd protected them all through their years growing up, although he did treat them as a normal older brother at times. if he remembered correctly, fali was the first one who aonung ever got into a physical tussle with. that being said, fali was also the first one to give aonung a black eye.

but now, after taking a wound so dangerous that it was nearly fatal, fali was left... as the weakest link. now, his parents had to take care of him. now, tsireya and aonung could barely look at him without guilt or pity clouding their eyes. now, he was... he was useless.

and worst of all, he needed help.

of course, fali never really asked for help. for the first few weeks of recovery, he would struggle on his own, cry on his own, yell at the sky on his own. it was such an alien feeling to hate himself as much as he did. somehow hate that he'd survived the wound.

he never told that to anyone, of course, but he didn't really need to because someone was always watching him.

[y/n] had let him be for those first weeks. she knew what he was feeling--not totally, but she recognized his independence and protective nature. that's honestly why they'd been so drawn to each other in the first place. but, just because she left him alone didn't mean she wasn't paying attention.

her fingers curled into fists at her sides. her feet itched to move, to run to him, to hold him together when he was breaking apart. but she forced herself to stay still. she fought the urge every time she saw him break down into a puddle of tears, every time he gave up and threw his cane in the sand, every time he unleashed a rage she recognized too deeply. she would not step in unless he needed her, that's what she kept telling herself.

that is, until one morning, when the sun is just peeking above the horizon and the ocean is already awake with creatures jumping, dancing, singing, and celebrating the beauty of pandora, [y/n] woke up with a jolt.

she had no idea why--she usually slept quite soundly until the first horn was blown, but there was something stirring in her blood. something she didn't fully recognize, but she felt that same familiar adrenaline pumping, that same familiar sixth sense that whispered to her, get up. you're needed.

at first, she was confused, although frantic because all the worst possibilities popped into her head. tuk? she wondered before her eyes scanned the floor of their marui only to find her fast asleep in their mother's arms. next to them was her father, still unconscious and snoring quite loudly. the rest of her siblings were fine too, she realized quickly.

so then, what was it?

that's when she finally walked outside, standing on the docks and scanning the horizon with squinted eyes.

oh, she breathed, fingers softly brushing her mouth at the sight that beheld her on the beach. "oh, fali," she whispered, shaking her head.

it wasn't an unordinary sight, her love crouched on the ground, cane resting in the sand as his shoulders shook from silent sobs. but, something about that morning, his depressing sight juxtaposed by the bright sunrise behind him... it made [y/n]'s heart drop into her stomach.

as she walked carefully from her marui to the beach in which fali awaited her, although unbeknownst to him, her mind shuffled through a thousand different things to say. questions to ask, answers to demand, comforting words to whisper. should she rub his back? kiss him? how would she like to be treated? she thought she'd want to be left alone, but maybe... maybe that wasn't right.

unfortunately for her, her thoughts must've grown too loud because she hadn't realized how noticeable her footsteps must've been. just as she was nearing fali, the boy froze and turned around to look at her.

as her eyes met his, her heart stopped. he looked.... well, he looked awful. not because of the puffy skin atop his cheek bones, or pale skin, or even the pained grimace on his face... it was something about his eyes. they didn't sparkle, not like they usually did, they were... dull. they were hurt. they weren't fali.

and that's when [y/n] realized it really didn't matter how much planning she did on the walk here because, when it really comes down to it, when it comes to the person she loved the most, the words were natural. they came to her like waves did to the shore.

"oh, my tìyawn," she whispered, voice soft against the song of the birds that flew above their heads. "i'm so sorry."

there was something about those simple words--just three simple words--that made something within fali click. for as long as he'd been recovering, everyone had tried to stay strong for him, tried to encourage him, to motivate him. never once had someone... empathized with him. not until then, that is.

fali's breath hitched. his shoulders trembled, as if he were trying to hold himself together, but the dam was cracking. and when [y/n] sat beside him, warmth against his cold solitude, the first tear finally fell.

"fali," she whispered, setting a hand on his, and she watched as his lip trembled, "fali, i am sorry that this has happened to you. i'm sorry it had been so hard adjusting, i'm sorry everything feels so different. it is so hard to be in this situation, and i realize... i realize i abandoned you. i thought it was the right thing to do, i thought you needed space, but really... you needed someone."

she grabbed his hand, softly, lifting it up to her lips and pressing a soft kiss. "you will get through this, fali. you will grow stronger—not just in body, but in spirit. learning to adapt isn’t weakness. it’s wisdom. and you won’t do it alone. i’ll be with you, every step."

fali exhaled shakily, as if the weight of the world had settled deep in his chest and was only now beginning to lift. he didn’t speak. he didn’t need to.

instead, his fingers curled around [y/n]’s, gripping her hand as if she were the only thing keeping him tethered. and maybe, in that moment, she was.

[y/n] squeezed back, saying nothing. just being there. just being his.

#avatar the way of water #neteyam sully #loak sully #sully family x reader #sully family x y/n #tuk sully #tuktirey #kiri sully #sully siblings x reader #neytiri sully #sully!reader #lo'ak x sister!reader #avatar 2 #fali x reader

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1sab4lla · 19 days ago

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hi diva😋 in the kindest way possible i need more of art x weird reader. im obsessed now.

maybe we can see how the two met? reader showing art some of her favourite media? i have a lot of ideas im sorry 😔

-weird girl anon 🌷

how weirdgirl! reader met art

notes : hello diva!! weird reader is the cutest thing i've ever made. i would literally love to write more of her.

you met art on accident. which was appropriate, really. most of your favorite things happened that way.

it was the second week of freshman year at stanford, and the weather was unseasonably hot. you had wandered into the athletic building by mistake (in search of the rumored vending machine with the “fancy” sodas) and gotten very, very lost.

there were signs, but they were cryptic and aggressive in their minimalism—just arrows and abbreviations, as if everyone should already know where “CT-3” was.

and there he was.

golden, focused, and entirely in his element, art stood at the far end of the tennis court, swinging his racket like it was part of his arm. you’d never seen someone move like that—smooth, effortless, like music.

you were staring, probably too obviously, your bag sliding off your shoulder and your cardigan caught in the door hinge. when he noticed you, he didn’t wave or ask who you were or what you were doing there.

he just offered a faint, curious smile and asked, “you okay?”

“do you know where the vending machine is?” you asked, rather urgently, like your life depended on fizzy grapefruit soda.

he blinked. “uh… not really.” then he pointed toward a hallway. “but I think if you keep going that way and take a left at the pool, it’ll either be a vending machine or a janitor’s closet.”

you nodded.

"good enough."

you came back two days later. on purpose this time. with no excuse. you sat in the same place outside the court, halfway behind a trash can, pretending to sketch the light posts in your notebook (you were actually doodling bats wearing skirts). art noticed you again. this time, he walked over.

“you’re back.”

“i like watching you play,” you said, too bluntly. “it’s very kinetic.”

he stared at you for a moment. then he laughed—this surprised, huffing sound like he wasn’t used to doing it so suddenly.

“that’s… probably the best thing anyone’s ever said about my serve.”

and that was that.

you became friends slowly, naturally. you started showing up to matches, always in your slightly-wrong outfits—lace gloves in october, earmuffs in spring.

he got used to your commentary during practice, your long, rambling tangents about cinema and the architectural flaws of campus buildings.

you’d bring him snacks in odd containers—once, a bento box filled only with popcorn and candied ginger, which he ate without complaint.

you were you: all chaotic charm and half-scribbled thoughts, the kind of person who narrated their life like it was a story only they could hear.

and art, quiet and steady, just kept showing up. he remembered things. small things. your favorite pen color, the fact that you hated pulp in orange juice.

he never questioned it.

he never questioned you.

you shared playlists, and argued over movies—he liked blockbusters with clean endings, and you liked anything that ended with rain and ambiguity. you invited him to your dorm to watch The Red Balloon.

he left confused, and you called it progress.

the first time he walked you home, it was raining. you didn’t ask him to, he just saw that you’d forgotten your umbrella again (you always did), and he fell into step beside you.

you offered him your scarf, and he actually wore it, even though it smelled like old lavender and honey. he didn’t seem to mind.

you never had a big moment, until the confession. just a string of small ones that stacked, slowly and imperceptibly, like film stills.

shared fries. silent walks. long, strange conversations at two in the morning about whether ghosts could fall in love.

and before either of you really noticed, it wasn’t strange to be sitting side-by-side on his twin bed, watching a film he hadn’t seen. it wasn’t strange to fall asleep mid-sentence and wake up with your head on his shoulder.

it wasn’t strange when he started ordering extra dumplings because he knew you’d forget to eat dinner.

it wasn’t strange. it was you and art.

#challengers #challengers 2024 #mike faist #art donaldson #stanford art donaldson #weird girl #art donaldson x you #art donaldson x female reader #art donaldson x reader

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mikashisus · 9 months ago

Text

AT THE END OF EVERYTHING, HOLD ONTO ANYTHING

SUMMARY: fall in possum springs has returned, and with it, your ex-boyfriend. somehow... despite how long it's been, he's still the same... while you are not.

PAIRING: kazuha x gn!reader

TAGLIST ! @aphrodict @lowkeyren @mitsvriii @https-sourlimes @pixelcafe-network

warnings: self deprecation, mentions of death, angst

wc: 2.2k

notes: wrote this entire thing on a whim at 1am without editing it, so i apologize if there's any errors 😔🙏 can u guys tell i rlly rlly rlly love night in the woods... and the entire coziness of possum springs... it reminds me heavily of my semi-rural hometown, so playing thru nitw feels like home in a way

this is my second entry for the @/stellaronhvnters halloween event! prompt: phantom!

The relatively sleepy town of Possum Springs was not only tucked away in a rural corner of the country, but very very uneventful.

In true countryside fashion, everyone in town knew each other. It was a crime not to, unless you were new to town. But no one would ever dream of moving to Possum Springs.

It was boring, same-old, and dull. Well, to you at least. There was nothing to do in this backwards town. It wasn’t anything like the city, and it definitely wouldn’t get you anywhere.

If anyone wanted to be something, to go somewhere, to make it into the world, they had to leave, because there was no way they were going to do any of that while staying here.

Tapping along the side of the counter, you blew a bubble with the gum you were chewing on and sighed heavily as you watched Garbo and Malloy on the tv mounted on the wall across from you.

Possum Springs had little to zero cell reception, which meant you couldn’t text your best friend, Yoimiya. Not only that, but you were on the clock right now. Pulling out your phone would get you a one way ticket to getting fired; which you couldn’t have, because you needed a job.

The Snack Falcon wasn’t the ideal place to work. It was a convenience store, which meant the pay wasn’t great, but it was enough to keep you on your feet in this town. It wasn’t like you had anything going for you, anyway.

Your parents couldn’t afford sending you to college, so you had to stay here in this lame ass town and rot for the rest of your life. But at least you had Yoimiya, your best friend from high school, rotting with you.

Together, you’d rot until the day you die. In this town. Born in this town only to die here too, without ever being able to leave.

The front door chimed as a customer walked in, and you greeted them in a less than friendly tone. You checked your watch again, and thankfully your shift was ending in only ten minutes.

A chuckle sounded from the front of the store. “I thought you’d be happier to see me, but I guess I was mistaken.”

You perked up. You knew that voice. It was the voice of your high school sweetheart, Kaedehara Kazuha.

Whirling to face him, you took in his appearance. He was wearing a crimson hoodie with black jeans and red converse. A pair of white headphones rested around his neck, and his hair was pulled into that same old side ponytail he always had it in.

He looked the same. Just like the day he up and left you here to rot, all while he got to explore the world and get out of the town you always wished you could leave.

“Kazuha?”

His name felt foreign on your tongue. How long has it been since he left? Two years? You couldn’t remember. Time flew by as soon as you stopped thinking of him.

He smiled at you, big and bright like he always did. So full of love and adoration. It made you sick to your stomach.

Did he seriously not have anything to say to you? No apology for just leaving you without a warning? No explanation?

He never even made the effort to reach out when he was gone. Not once did you receive a text or a phone call. Not once did he come back to visit or even see you. Not once did he even think of you. Yet here he was, pretending as if nothing had ever changed.

But it did.

You changed, Yoimiya changed, everything changed. Possum Springs changed, even if just a little bit. But it seemed as though he didn’t change.

How fitting for someone who was always changing like the winds before he left.

“When does your shift end?” He asked softly, leaning against the counter in front of you.

The clock on the wall read 5:00. You met his crimson eyes again, and sighed. “Now.”

He smiled again, never taking his eyes off you. “Perfect. Would you accompany me to the diner, then?”

What kind of sick game was he playing? Regardless of his intentions, you nodded briefly and told him to wait while you grabbed your belongings from the back room.

As soon as you exited the locker room, your boss bid you goodnight and you returned her sentiments halfheartedly before slinging your bag over your shoulder and joining Kazuha at the counter.

You spit out your gum in the trash and left the store, making a beeline for the diner a few shops down. Kazuha kept in pace with you, shoving his hands into the pocket of his sweatshirt.

A tense silence encompassed the both of you as you sat down at an empty table in the diner. You dismissed a menu when the waiter brought two to the table. You ordered a pizza— your usual. Meanwhile, Kazuha settled for a simple basket of chicken tenders and fries.

The waiter jotted down your orders and left, leaving the two of you to embrace the silence that was still heavy and thick in the air. Kazuha watched you carefully as you stared out the window, your chin in your hand, people watching.

For some reason, he felt as if he was staring at a stranger. You weren’t the same person he once knew two years ago. Of course, he was well aware that there would be change in this town, but he wasn’t expecting you to change so much.

“So…” he began, trying to draw your attention back to him, “how’ve you been? How are your parents doing?”

“They’re fine.”

“How’s your brother?”

“He’s alright,” you shrugged, “still a smartass teenager.”

He laughed softly. One thing didn’t change after all. He could still remember the way your brother would tease you and drive you up the wall. He had to be at least a sophomore in high school by now.

“You work at the Snack Falcon? Is that new?”

You shrugged again. “Yeah. Came about after the Food Donkey closed.”

His eyes widened. “The Food Donkey’s gone?”

“Yep. Replaced by the Ham Panther.”

A lot changed.

He frowned as he realized you were barely giving him more than a sentence as an answer. That, and you weren’t even paying attention to him. At all.

Finally, you turned to him, your expression stoic. He wasn’t used to you being so standoffish. Was it because he left so suddenly two years ago? He wouldn’t fault you for still being upset if that was the reason. He deserved it, after all.

“What are you doing back?” You questioned, your tone somewhat dismissive.

He cleared his throat. Your food arrived at the table just as he opened his mouth, and you eagerly began to dig into your pizza. You hadn’t eaten since this morning and your stomach had been growling for an entire hour before your shift ended.

Needless to say, you were starving, and this pizza would satiate you until you returned home. Clik Clak Diner’s pizza wasn’t good, but it wasn’t bad. It definitely wasn’t the best pizza, but it was okay in terms of your pizza scale chart.

Kazuha took a few bites of his meal before he answered your question. “It didn’t work out.”

You glanced up at him. “Interesting.”

He was getting tired of your one-liners. You didn’t care enough to ask why or what happened. It wasn’t your business, and you didn’t feel like prying.

The rest of dinner was silent, aside from the sounds of the tv playing across the room and the occasional chatter of the other patrons. You practically devoured your pizza, labeling it as a firm ‘normal’ on your pizza scale.

It was sunset by the time you exited the diner. The crisp Autumn breeze rustled your hair, and the smell of fresh pumpkin pies from the house across the street added to the October ambience. Halloween was steadily approaching. You’d have to think of your Halloween costume at a later date. Maybe you could match with Yoimiya, or—

“Look,” Kazuha sighed softly, “I’m deeply sorry for leaving so suddenly.”

The two of you stopped walking at the edge of the woods, staring out at the old train tracks you used to fool around on as kids. The sound of the train was a welcome one, one filled with memories of winter nights and sunsets in the Fall— just like now.

Fall in Possum Springs was pleasant and quiet, just how you liked it. Leaves littered the sidewalks and yards, the days got shorter, the temperature got lower, and Harfest was right around the corner. It was the ideal time of year— the only time of year you actually enjoyed living in this rural town.

Fall felt like home. It was nostalgic.

A soft Autumn breeze drifted by. It wasn’t enough to make you shiver, but it was a cooling one that felt like a caress on your skin. Just the kind of weather you preferred.

“You left me here…” you trailed off, “do you have any idea what I would give to go to school? To have been in your shoes? And what did you do? You threw it all away.”

He didn’t fault you for being upset. Hell, he would be mad at him too. He already was mad at himself for everything that happened. If he could, he would go back in time and stop it all from happening, but he didn’t have that kind of power.

He was silent, allowing you to vent your anger.

“Do you know how much that hurt me? To find out you were leaving the day that you left?” you said softly, your voice cracking slightly.

“And then have you come back out of nowhere saying it ‘didn’t work out’ and acting as if nothing has even changed between us?” You turned to him, tears gathering in your eyes.

His brows knit together in sorrow. “I’m sorry. Everything has changed.”

You nodded, looking down at the ground. The next words out of your mouth felt like a knife being driven straight through his chest into his heart.

“I stayed here and got older, while you went off and stayed the same.”

As it turned out, you were right. He hadn’t changed one bit, yet everything about you had. He found himself wondering how much time really passed. Time was incomprehensible to him now. He wouldn’t be surprised if more than two years passed since he last saw you.

A long silence passed, with the only noise being your sniffles.

He swallowed the lump in his throat. He would’ve liked to wait before dropping the bomb on you, especially since you were in the midst of crying, but there was no better time to say it than now.

“(Name), I have something to tell you.”

The seriousness of his tone made you falter, and you turned to him with a skeptical look in your eyes. Your brows furrowed together, and he met your gaze as he said,

“The reason I came back to Possum Springs was to see you one last time. To clear this all up.”

Huh? What did that mean? It wasn’t making sense to you.

“What do you mean?”

He took a deep breath. “There was an accident— a construction accident.” He let you piece the rest of it together.

He watched as the gears slowly turned in your head before you gasped, a hand coming up to cover your mouth as your eyes widened.

“So, are you…?”

“I’m a ghost,” he confirmed with a small nod, “I returned to settle my past grievances. Now that I have, I can rest in peace.”

Another long silence passed. He wondered what you were thinking right now, but the expression on your face was one he couldn’t decipher. He knew all of this was a lot to take in— especially the part about him being a ghost.

Your silence was unnerving. Were you scared of him? Would you run off now that you knew he was a ghost? Would you stay?

“School didn’t work out. I didn’t lie to you about that,” he muttered, “I would never lie to you. It didn’t work out, so I decided to return home. I was on my way to the bus station when the accident happened.”

This was all too much to take in. You could feel a headache already forming.

He shuffled closer to you, his fingers gently brushing against yours. When you made no move to pull your hand away, he intertwined his fingers with yours and gave your hand a soft squeeze.

A tear rolled down your cheek. The train in the distance blared. The Autumn breeze you loved so much now felt like knives on your skin, and the hand encompassing yours was cold to the touch.

Everything really had changed.

Possum Springs was still the same-old, boring ass rural town. It was still the same town you were born and raised in and would likely die in. The people were all familiar faces that you’ve seen everyday, yet all of you grew older by the year.

Yoimiya was older. You were older. Your brother and your parents were older. But Kazuha was the same.

Everything had changed. You changed.

But he stayed the same. Stuck in time. Forever unmoving.

You looked out at the old train tracks, at the countryside you knew all too well and the town you were stuck in. You looked at the man— now a ghost, standing next to you.

And suddenly, it felt as if he had never left at all. As if nothing had changed.

notes: the line “i stayed here and got older while you went off and stayed the same” is a line from the game!! it’s one of my favs and im so glad i got to use it! bea is the one who says it! :)) 🤍

#stwf : pumpkin patch!#genshin impact #genshin #kazuha #kaedehara kazuha #kazuha x reader #kazuha x you #genshin impact kazuha #genshin kazuha #kazuha x y/n #genshin x reader #genshin impact x you #genshin impact x reader #genshin x you #—mikashisus works .ᐟ

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lizzaneia-elizalde · 1 year ago

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sooo.. what was the aftermath w king soma?*flutters invisible lashes desperately*

Yandere! Male! King x Gn! Spy! Reader part 2

Same warnings as the first part. This one is short!

Tw/notes: rape, coercion, mind break, impreg, a/b/o for non-fem reader, soft nsfw/lime, Queen in this case is gender neutral

How many days has it been since you got caught by Soma?

You watched as the sun sets and the moon rises, and vice versa over and over again by how much time passed inside your luxury cage.

Every night, Soma would come in and fuck you senseless, like a wild animal driven from lust and anger.

But there are also times where he weeps and cries on your lap, begging for you to love him as you took in his "love".

Every day was suffering, and every day was a chance slipped by to escape from his thorny grasps.

As the king, Soma knew you can't escape his clutches that easily. Despite being a spy of the Empire, you were dropped by Emperor Callisto once he knew that you were caught.

As a courtesy too, he won't attack the kingdom since Callisto got the information he wanted, and fled to raise hell to other cities/towns/kingdoms.

You mindlessly wandered around the room, getting antsy and restless from the unchanging environment you're in.

You want out, you want to get out of here.

"My Queen." A voice emitted out from the rumpled bed sheets, being illuminated by the sun rays of dawn. "You're awake."

Soma sat up, yawning. His chiseled visage of what was once perfection in your eyes, but now a portrait of a monster long gone faced you.

"you're not thinking of escaping, are you?" His voice, laced with anger yet a twinge of fear wafted through the air and into your ear, making you shiver.

You shook your head.

You can't even get the windows to open. It felt so suffocating.

Betrayed by your Emperor, and imprisoned to abuse by your King. You're not winning in life at all as Soma got off the bed, naked and approaching you.

"it's cold, my queen. You're only wearing thin garments, you need to warm up." His sultry voice, now filling with lust again, is making you groan inwardly. This man's stamina is something.

As he put a robe on your frame, he can't help but hungrily look down at your belly.

Your 5 month old pregnant belly.

Yes, you've been imprisoned for half a year now. With Soma making sure to impregnate you to make sure you know who you belong to.

Looking down at your stomach, you gulped a bit and wondered what your life is going to be with child.

Also, the fact that you retreated to the back of your mind shouts warnings to your body, wanting to escape at all.

But without your primary consciousness on the forefront, all your body could do was move to the window longingly. An instinct to run freely, and out of Soma's grasp.

Soma relished in this new you. Only letting your body speak, and your lips singing sweet melodies of your moans and whimpers.

But sometimes, he missed your spice, your anger and rage.

But most of all, he wants you to be fully his. Not just body, but mind and soul.

Soma kneeled in front of you, kissing your hands and looking at you with such love and care.

What a hypocrite.

"I will bring you back, my Queen." He whispered. "I want you to be mine completely. So come out of your mind, my love. Don't be afraid."

He coaxed you gently, nudging you while rubbing his cheeks on your palm.

And he smirks as he saw your pupils tremble.

Just a bit more.

Just a scoot, and you will be back.

"You'll be back. Soon you'll see..." He whispers, a promise left on his lips spoken on a threat and love. "You'll remember you belong to me."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

LMAO SORRY I CAN'T HELP IT I NEED TO INSERT THE LAST LINE.

I went back to my Hamilton brain rot after all 😔

#lizzaneiaelizalde #yandere writing #yandere imagines #tw yandere #yandere male #yandere boyfriend #male yandere x reader #yandere x darling #yandere x you #yandere fic

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kithtaehyung · 9 days ago

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so uh, hi. I was just thinking of three tan before going to bed, and I thought about rereading a few chapters before falling asleep, and I saw the updates. and they made me cry and feel so much for yoongi, and it got me thinking about how beautiful is your yoongi. like. I am just so mesmerized by this beautiful beautiful character you have built and how he changes and grows and also how beautifully written he is. how humane and real he is. I absolutely love all your characters, and even though I picture him as bts yoongi of course, I can't help but think how uniquely yours he is.

I remember starting reading the series when basketball was the most recent chapter. and all these years three tan has been a place I can always come back to. I love the story, but I also love everything you have done for this series. if it's the characterization, or the side stories, or the dedication to little details or all these emotions you pour onto the story and how they manage to reach me and stay with me long after I read them.

I was thinking just now, about how this series is an anchor of sorts, something unchanging for me when everything feels like it's moving too fast. I love coming back here, and read your story every once in a while, and feeling all these things for every thing you've written; if it's falling for yoongi over and over again, and rooting for him, and just want him to be happy. but also is loving the friendship dynamics, and readers ways of facing life and it's struggles. and it's also kicking my feet and giggling like a maniac when yoongi is being a smartass and hurting when reader hurts.

and anyways. I don't know if I make sense, I'm feeling sleepy but I wanted to send this before I forget about it tomorrow or my courage slips from my fingers.

I just wanted to thank you. so. thank you. it's a beautiful story, and I'm so happy I stumbled upon this serie all these years ago.

i am just gonna outright say that this made me cry. like. i don't know what i've done to deserve this but i am incredibly touched😭😭

what fate was it to see the updates when you decided to read on a whim! wow. you're very lucky bc it's been over a year since i've updated the main parts😔 to decide to visit this world and see updates must be a dream.

these characters mean the world to me, especially yoongi and reader. and the best part about them all is that they are human - they mess up, they aren't perfect, they make bad decisions. but they still try their best and even conquer the world despite, and that's what makes us love them. it's a good reminder that we really are just people💕

wow, that's a ways back! i'm happy you can come back to this one whenever you need it. they will certainly be here whenever you need them, and you will always have a spot in the neighborhood, or a cul-de-sac🫂

it's been therapeutic for me, too, coming back to this and rereading some of the chapters. when i need to feel a certain mood, i can just pick one and read through everyone's wonderful comments to get myself encouraged by your words again. so you guys are helping me just as much. you're my comfort just as much🍊

and i guess.. thank you. i don't know how else to end this other than that, because this has just been amazing to receive. you guys are the reason i keep going, and the reason i'm still here. love you and i am so happy you're still on this journey, too.

#y'all have me a whole MESS #how many times have i cried this week?#too many!#ariadsunset #asks:3tan #3tanfugue #3tan #3fan:yoongi #lovely people #mailbox💌#*ryenfictalk #3tanhof #calm tag

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gritpyre · 3 months ago

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DAREDEVIL AGAINNNNNN

huuuaghahgahg i have wayy too many thoughts about ddba i just need to ramble incoherently for a lil

first of all KAREN PLS COME BACK BABY THE KIDS MISS YOU 😭😭akdhADJH if i remember correctly deborah ann woll was contracted for 3 episodes so i'm HOPING i can see my girl once again next week, can't believe before the re-writes they weren't even gonna mention her??? karen mf page who has been the best written female lead in all of the mcu bar none, i'm beyond glad they brought her back even if i can feel she doesn't have the same narrative weight she did in the netflix series 😔 crossing my fingers they fix that come season 2

gotta say i did love the role she played in ep 1, it's obvious she and matt are traumatised to hell and back and i thought it was wonderfully angsty that they both took turns shutting the other out, i know her moving to san francisco was a way to excuse her absence in the pre-rewrite episodes but it did feel in character for her i mean, matt spent several seasons telling her and foggy that he was done pushing them away only for him to do that exact thing after foggy's death which wasn't surprising considering the immense grief he was (and still is) going through, but it has to be said that karen must've been hurt badly by his actions since she has had family die too AND her father practically disowned her after her brother's death - you can't tell me she doesn't suffer from the same abandonment issues matt does, i mean after matt was presumed dead she's implied to not have been in touch much with foggy during that period which hints to her tendency to shut others out

can't wait to see how them meeting again is going to go, i feel in many ways they're perfect mirrors of each other with both of them being reckless yet having a strong sense of justice, and i think that is also reflected in the way come the defenders and s3 of the netflix show she's far more accepting of matt being a vigilante than foggy is, and her handing matt the daredevil suit's horn in born again further cemented that for me

and man, we're 7 episodes in in born again and though i've been absolutely enjoying each one it is obvious how stitched together it is, i think for me the most glaring issue was that although the focus on matt and fisk is interesting and watching the actors do their thing with those characters is mesmerising it comes at the cost of not having enough time to develop side characters like cherry and kirsten - and i do believe this has to do with the change in direction the series took, i imagine originally cherry and kirsten were conceived to be karen and foggy's replacements so perhaps the og narrative let them have more screentime, but right now they just kinda flop around and i see them having similar interactions with matt but they just don't hit home, like the show is asking me to care but i don't have the context to do so which saddens me a little because kirsten is a stellar character in the comics

i guess that's just the price to pay for the change in direction and needing to reuse their original footage whenever possible, i am happy and surprised we're getting a show at all tbh

another character that suffers from the same thing is heather, though i can forgive that since i believe the narrative is hinting her relationship with matt is a bit of a farce, matt has said that his current life feels fake like it's happening to someone else because it is, because he's not living the life he wants but rather what he thinks foggy would've wanted to see - others have pointed out he's always seen with his glasses on when they're together and i don't think that's accidental, in all of his previous relationships with claire, karen and elektra he was shown without glasses a lot of the time, so this time they feel like yet another mask

i AM glad that they spared her with muse, honestly 10/10 points for continuing the trend of letting matt's love interests live because the fridged gf trope is soooooooooooooo overdone and boring

i'm also excited with the addition of cole north!! i'm betting he's cherry's inside man, he has shown a degree of hesitance and doubt the other asshole cops haven't so i have an inkling he'll end up working with daredevil too, wonder if they'll let him in on matt's secret?

i also 100% don't think that bitch muse is dead, he seems to have some degree of powers like maybe telepathy or mind control i wouldn't put coming back to life past him, i did like heather shooting him lmao

and series finale next week!!!! i can't wait but i also don't know what i'm gonna do when it's over akshdakdksa

#roy speaks #daredevil born again #karen page #matt murdock #foggy nelson

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fff777 · 6 months ago

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watched got7 on iddp

judging from the preview clip we know it's gonna be good 🤣🤣🤣 they're revisiting yugyeom's old cringe clips LMAO

jinyoung couldn't make it 😔

are they releasing music under kakao entertainment?

sorry epitome of purity is the worst nickname 🤣

jackson is chattier this time around :3 he seems like he's in a better mood 💖

mark: i can still do it, but i'll be hurt after i remember in their last comeback jb was saying he was thinking of simplifying their choreographies because they're too intensive. mark is feeling the burn LMAO welcome to being in your thirties my dudes.

btw....mark is looking very pretty 💖 i am having some thinky thoughts about him

lol there was that line about jb getting signatures from each of the guys to get the got7 trademark transferred to them. i'm just imagining him messaging each of them through the group chat being like "ok can you e-sign the doc please i need to get this in by friday"

oh yeah i heard about this, south korea moving to international age

LOL YES OLD CRINGE JJP

the jaebeom and jackson chicken fight of which bambam was the culprit makes an appearance once again lmaoooo

LOL yugyeom accusing bambam of scheming because bambam revealed the truth a year later on stage because nobody could beat the shit out of him in public

sensitive jackson strikes again

jackson gave up on hiding his height 😅 well part of that has to be growing up and just not caring anymore

staff: why's your height listed at 175cm jackson: why don't you ask the people who wrote this website 😤

so jackson's older brother is quite a bit older than him, was a rugby player, and is now in real estate lol

jackson is so cute :P he's patting on jaebeom's shoulder like "i have a story to share 🥰" it was about how his name was listed as wang jaegeun when he orders a taxi.

and bambam is bae moonbae. i guess it's like an inaccurate transliteration of their names.

J-FLAWLESS omfg 🤣 jackson wants to remove it but the guys forbade it

ah, jackson agreeing that he was very friendly to everyone, but saying that he ended up being hurt because of it 😔💔

jackson never beating the sensitive allegations lol

jaebeom teasing jackson is soooooo cute

a legendary moment in got7 history, y'all know what's up

so mark already did some ads when he was a trainee eh

so honest, he just straight up told the guys how much he earned from the ads :P

bambam: do you think you're handsome when you see yourself? mark: there's a filter on that

youngjae 🥺🥺🥺🥺 don't you know 豬豬 are adorable? 🥺

hehe jaebeom teasing youngjae. youngjae was always his baby :P

the history between got7 and day6 are indeed intertwined :P young k and wonpil were in and out of got7 and it sounds like youngjae thought he'd be in day6 instead

baby otter :3

lol youngjae picking 9muses randomly because of the poster, he's so unserious

jackson: why we gotta put up with these goddamn ads

CRINGE BEGINS

LOL younger people approaching bambam as a mom fan 🤣

MORE YUGYEOM CRINGE, he was so afraid to click the link lol

the video doesn't translate the subtitle in the video that the guys are playing, so i don't know what was said 😅 but the guys are losing their minds

we know what's next 🤣 i love how they KNOW what video they're all thinking about

looking for embarrassing videos is a group endeavour

oh bambam has been on this show before

karina won bambam's ideal type championships LOL. i don't know too much about karina but i've heard people comparing her to taeyeon and we know how bambam feels about taeyeon lol. bambam is too embarrassed to expand though. i'll be honest, it is an embarrassing topic.

bambam's crush on nayeon when he was a teeager that everyone knew about looool

mark with the first hand experience and reenacting bambam's reactions lol

now they're looking up their own videos

lol jaebeom was trying to reassure the fans that it was ok to take a break from being an ahgase and the other guy sare like uhhh no

ahgase: don't worryguys, ahgase won't leave ahgase: we even overcame stop stop it i didn't know got7 at this time but was stop stop it a tough time? as a song i think it's catchy but yeah the styling during that era was a bit oof lol.

aww mark and nayeon dancing in jyp nation

mark was saying that jyp nation was fun and jaebeom was like please invite us again if you do it 🙏 and youngjae was like are we even invited? 🤔 and bambam was like we need an x-jypnation 😅 i feel like there's a decent amount of ex-jyp artists lmao

got7 and blackpink are friends? :o i just knew that bambam and lisa knew each other from before

i'm gonna be delulu for a bit but jinyoung is my husband like look at this mf

bambam is right, i think ahgase are used to having group comebacks every few years or so. we have tons of solo stuff in between anyway.

apparently bambam chose the winter heptagon photo :D

the guys ooh-ing and aah-inat yougjae's abs and tattoos

LOL THIS AGAIN, that fight that a bunch of random guys got into, including mark who didn't even speak good korean at the time

lol crying party in the washroom hosted by got7

mark's instinctively talking in english a lot more these days, understandable

let me rephrase, kneeling crying party in the washroom hosted by got7

oh i remember jaebeom talking about this before, he felt bad that mark was being ganged up on in a foreign country

bambam: we gotta use the foreigner card next time we get into a fight with him

LOL so jinyoung was the first to spoil? he was too excited about being freed from enslitment.

clearing out who spoiled what lol. got7 and fighting, tale as old as time. each of them are just admitting to what they spoiled now that winter heptagon is released.

LOL so this was the context behind the selfie with jinyoung on the computer screen. got7 did always have excellent group selfies 💞

jackson getting fuzz off his shirt from mark's sweater :3

youngjae befriended zhang hao of zerobaseone. youngjae said he was very cute :3

and then a short message from ijnyoung at the end.

arghhhhh i love got7 so much, they are so gosh darn comfortable <3

#screencaps & commentaries #got7

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