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mrsbarnesblog · 5 months ago

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i am not the only one who saw that, right?

masterlist

summary: your friends find out that you secretly dating their enemy, but their opinion might completely change when they see Rafe from another point of view

words count: 2.2k

warnings: secret relationship, pogue!reader, attempted assault, mention of blood, soft and protective Rafe

a/n: inbox is open for requests💘

“You cannot be dating Rafe fucking Cameron, Y/N!” John B exclaimed, burying his hands in his hair and walking all around the place.

“No, seriously, this is not a good idea.” Sarah looked at you, giving out a nervous laugh.

You were currently surrounded by your friends, who were all practically yelling at you after they accidentally saw a message from Rafe on your phone. You were one of the pogues; you never hanged out around the kooks, but somehow, when you were visiting Sarah a few months ago, you got into a random conversation with Rafe, and since that moment, the connection between you two has only gotten stronger.

It was an instant click and as much as you both tried to deny the spark, it was there. As you started going out, secretly from everyone, of course, you decided to keep it private until the right time.

“Alright, guys, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, but I knew that this would be your reaction. It just happened, okay?” You rubbed the bridge of your nose, already feeling a headache from the tense situation. All of your friends were standing on the opposite side of you and it felt like they were just attacking you.

“What were you thinking? You know that he hates people like us, like you. We are pogues, Y/N. How the hell did that even happen?” Kiara was standing with her hands on her hips, as her piercing eyes were studying you. You felt awful looking at Pope, who was the one who always supported you, but he just shook his head and stepped away.

“I don’t know. It just happened. We talked once when Sarah left, then I accidentally met him a few times in town, and then he texted me. He’s not bad when you know him closer.” You sighed. “Look, I know Rafe was a lot of trouble for us. He did bad things; I know that. But he’s not like that; he’s sweet and caring, and he has never shown any sign of being disrespectful towards me. I just can’t deny my feelings for him.”

“Honey, Rafe is not a good person. He doesn’t care about anything or anyone; he’s evil, selfish and manipulative.” Sarah stepped closer to you, touching your hand. “He’ll play with you, hurt your feelings and just throw you away.”

“And he probably just wants to get into your pants.” JJ grumbled, also taking a defensive position.

“I haven't even slept with him yet, JJ!” You desperately snapped at him. It felt ridiculous, like all of them turned against you at the same time. Sure, Rafe wasn’t the sweetest person to them before, but they didn’t even give you a chance to say something in your defense. “And you’re wrong too, Sarah. All of Rafe’s actions were just to get people’s attention and appreciation. All it took for me to get on his soft side was to just listen to him and give him some affection. Other people didn’t care enough, including you and your father. He needs someone who he can trust and open up to because he’s hurt.”

“No, Y/N. If you think that he loves you, then he just got into your head. My brother doesn’t love anyone. It will end badly; I just know that.”

Tears gathered in your eyes, and a lump in your throat made it difficult to say anything back, so you just stupidly stayed there. You had no strength to fight with all five of them at the same time. You turned around, silently getting back in the car, even though your head was filled with doubt and dark thoughts because of their words.

For the next few days, it was tough for all of you. You and the rest of the group were still close, and even though they were completely against your relationship, you still met and hung out. The pit in your heart was still there, no matter how hard you tried to act nonchalant and not let their words get into your head.

Rafe noticed the change in your behavior—that you were upset with something—but he didn’t put any pressure on you and allowed you to decide for yourself when you wanted to open up.

Pogues decided to go to some party on the cut near the beach and as much as you tried to refuse, Sarah and Kiara managed to drag you there. You all rarely went to such places, preferring to hang out in your little circle, but apparently everyone wanted to clear their heads and saw it as the best opportunity.

It was pretty fun with a bunch of people you did not know, some music, and drinks, and you mostly hung out with your friends. Though quickly it got overwhelming and made you want to go home or at least go outside of the house to get some fresh air. As you left your friends and wanted out from the backyard to a part of the beach, you didn’t notice the guy who had been eyeing you the whole evening.

He came out of nowhere from your back, his arms wrapped around your waist, lifting you off the ground. You yelled at the sudden and unwanted touch, and your heart seemed to drop into your stomach when you realised that it wasn’t just a joke from JJ, who liked to scare you. You started wiggling in his hands to get free, but he was fighting you back, dragging you up when you fell to your knees on the ground.

It was such a mess trying to scratch and punch him that you almost did not notice his hand coming into contact with your face several times. You screamed again, this time loud enough, until you saw JJ running towards you. The guy behind you pushed you away as soon as he saw someone, and you fell to the ground with a loud huff.

“That fucking bastard!” JJ was right near you, helping you to get up as tears streamed down your face. He tried to comfort you, checking your body for any injuries, but you pushed his hands away, wrapping your own around yourself in a defensive way.

“Oh my god, Y/N!” You heard Kiara, along with your other friends, calling your name. “What the hell happened?”

“H-he attacked me.” You sniffed, trying to catch your breath and, with shaking hands, reaching to the pocket of your jeans shorts to get out your phone. All of them looked at each other, questioning your actions, until you pressed someone’s contact button and put the phone to your ear. “Can y-you pick me up, p-please?” You sniffed again, now trembling from the adrenaline.

“Baby? Are you crying? Where are you?” You heard your boyfriend’s concerned voice through the phone, feeling how JJ tensed beside you.

“I’m on the cut. Near the beach. There’s a party and... Please, Rafe.”

“I’m coming, angel. Just wait for me, ‘kay?” You heard the sound of the car engine at the other end of the line. Rafe didn’t ask any more questions, and as soon as you mumbled quiet 'mhm’ he ended the call.

You all heard him before you saw him. The sound of the tires drifting through the sandy street was loud, drawing attention to the expensive car that was unusual to see at this part of the island.

Rafe didn’t bother to properly park, turn off the engine or even close the door when he saw you sitting on some old chaise lounge, with his sister and Kie trying to talk to you and your other friends arguing nearby.

The girls stepped away from you as soon as they saw Rafe running towards you with a furious expression on his face and ready to deal with anyone who made you cry. It looked like he didn’t even care about the pogues, with whom he always had to get into arguments; he was fully focused on your shivering form.

“Baby, what’s wrong? What happened?” He squatted down in front of you, and you started sobbing again. Your hands immediately found their place around his neck, and, before he could even properly look at your face, you pulled him closer to get some sense of comfort from his warmth and smell. Rafe hugged you back, soothingly rubbing your back. His eyes shot towards your friends, who were watching in awe at the interaction. “Which one of you did that?”

“It’s not us, you idiot. Some guy jumped her when she walked outside.” Sarah said, rolling her eyes at her brother. “JJ heard screaming, and when we walked outside, he ran away.” Rafe pulled away, finally taking in your appearance.

Your knees were covered in dried blood mixed with the sand. He gently took your hands to see the palms scratched from you trying to catch yourself before hitting the ground. Rafe’s eyes were burning with fury, showing his side that he rarely revealed in front of you. His hand reached to move your hair from your face, noticing a red, now already turning purplish, bruise covering the side of your cheek.

“Holy shit, sweetheart.” He softly brushed his fingertips along your cheek and you leaned into the touch, closing your eyes. Your bottom lip started quivering and you bit inside your cheek to calm yourself down. “Sh-h im here, okay? You’re safe. Did you see him? What did he look like? Just tell me and I’ll deal with it.” He almost begged, but you only shook your head. JJ suddenly stepped closer, slightly hesitating to actually normally communicate with his longtime enemy, but he thought that it was the least that he could do for you.

As much as he hated The Kooks King, JJ knew that Rafe was the best option to find the guy who hurt you.

“Tall, with dark and curly hair. Never seen him before, probably someone new on the island, but I’ll recognize him.” They looked at each other for a moment, and Rafe just simply nodded, turning his attention back to you.

“I’ll find him, ‘kay? I promise I will.” He gently took both of your hands in his, bringing them to his lips to place a soft kiss on your knuckles. “We should go now. I need to take care of your knees and that bruise, baby. You don’t mind going to Tanneyhill, yeah?”

“Thank you, Rafe.” You whispered, slightly bending forward to ask for a kiss. Rafe smiled at you, his thumbs gently swiped the leftovers of the tears under your eyes, and then he kissed you on your forehead, nose, and gently pecked your lips.

Your heart flattered at his soft touches and for a second, it felt like you two were in your own little bubble. Rafe's eyes shimmered slightly in the moonlight, and the way he looked at you, soft and caring, made you want to kiss him again and again. You suddenly snapped out of the trance, looking back at your friends, who all had different levels of shock and uncertainty written on their faces.

“C’mon, pretty girl.” Rafe stood up, lifting you in bridal style without an effort, carefully not to hurt your bleeding knees. He almost walked away, but then sighed, turning back to look at his sister. “You coming home with us or somethin’?”

“Um, no, I’ll be with John B. It seems like I would be third wheeling with you anyway.” She shrugged, not being able to keep a smile when you two met with your eyes.

Rafe then looked at JJ, thinking his words over. “I appreciate it, Maybank.”

They exchanged a tight nod, both slightly shocked that for the first time ever, they communicated without biting each other's heads off. You leaned closer to Rafe, comfortably nestling in his protective hands, and looked at your friends, who were still too shocked to say anything.

“I’ll see you guys later, okay?

Everyone agreed, saying goodbye to you and asking you to text them when you get there safely. They saw how Rafe made sure to slowly put you into the passenger seat, then circled the car and drove away. An awkward silence fell around them, everyone at a loss for words.

“Okay, so I am not the only one who saw that, right?” Pope spoke first, looking around the place as if he were trying to find something. “Rafe freaking Cameron just was acting cute and didn’t threaten to do something to us?” His own body physically shrugged at the word ‘cute’.

“I don’t know, dude. We all just probably drank something and it’s messing with our heads.”

#rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron x you #rafe x reader #rafe x you #rafe imagine #rafe cameron #rafe fanfiction #obx rafe cameron #rafe cameron imagine #rafe cameron fanfiction #rafe cameron x female reader #rafe cameron x y/n

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pretty-little-mind33 · 5 months ago

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James Potter x best friend!fem!reader

Summary: James panics when he sees what his boggart is.

Genre: hurt and comfort

Warnings: mentions/descriptions of reader's death, crying, panic attacks, swearing

~ anon, this idea was amazing! thank you ☺️ ~

JAMES POTTER MASTERLIST

James's arrogance is his Achilles's Heel.

He truly can't help it sometimes—especially now when that arrogance is accompanied by his friends' laughter as he teases everyone about their stupid boggarts. Emma Johnstons' was a spider, which scared Peter, but had Sirius and James in tears at the back of the classroom.

"Wait until it's your turn, Potter," an annoyed Emma hisses as she walks by them, still pale from fright and embarrassment. She sends James a murderous look and continues, "Then we'll see who's laughing in the end."

James's grin only widens and he sees her words as a challenge. His hand shoots up in the air and he bounces on his heels. "Oi! Professor?! Can I be next?!"

Professor Windward looks at him behind his small glasses, already exhausted by James's antics but he allows him to walk up to the front of the classroom anyway. James sends his best friends an obnoxiously confident wink and struts up to the front of the line.

James isn't in any way prepared for his boggart.

He's expected something mundane—like an animal, or even death eater—or maybe some scary creature he'd read about in library books. What he didn't expect was to see you, dressed in your uniform and robe, your shiny hair sprawled across the wooden floor-board as blood slowly dripped from your mouth.

Your eyes are round but they're lifeless and your clothes are soaked in crimson liquid. You aren't moving and it looks too real that, for a moment, James is completely frozen.

He hears the whispers of his classmates—whispers of your name and reminders of your relationship with James. Friends, the word rings around the classroom just as James's mind breaks and he completely panics at your body on the ground in front of him.

He drops his wand, breaking into an awkward run to where you lay, entirely prepared to skid across the floor and hold you in his arms, but Professor Windward is quicker. He grabs James by his collar and pulls him back, his arms encasing around James's shoulders as he makes the boggart disappear with another spell.

It seemed too cruel to turn the image of your dead body into something ridiculous.

No one in the room is laughing, not even Emma Johnston, as James makes a pained sound and attempts to shove past Professor Windward and hold you like he'd planned. His mind is racing and he's panicked as the sounds around him make him feel like he's trapped underwater.

"Son, it's a boggart. It cannot hurt you. It's not real," Professor Windward explains, his grip on James firm, but James doesn't seem to understand him. Sirius, Remus, and Peter are beside James in an instant, holding him up and comforting him.

Without much convincing, Professor Windward lets them lead him outside into the corridor and down the stairs. James is a mess and he keeps looking around for danger or you. His mind screams at him that he's being unreasonable, that it wasn't real and he knows this, but his heart is in a complete panic.

"Prongs, hey, it's okay," Remus tries to explain as James's hand tightens in Sirius's. "She's probably in her dorm—she's okay."

"Should we take him to her?" Peter squeaks, looking between his friends with concern.

"No–"

"Yes–" James interrupts Remus's answer and he turns to Sirius, his eyes round and desperate. "I wanna see her. Please. I wanna see her now. I need to know she's okay!" Remus doesn't think it's smart to bring James to see you when he's like this but Sirius can never deny James what he wants so all the boys pile into the door to the Common Room and then quite obnoxiously, James and Sirius start to scream your name as Peter rushes up to their dorm to find the map.

A moment later, when you still haven't answered, Peter scampers back down from their dorm and holds up the map. "She's in the library," he says breathlessly. Sirius jumps up, snatching the map from Peter's hands.

"Onwards," he shouts in an attempt to lighten the mood but that only earns him a sniffle from James and a glare from Remus.

* * *

You're peacefully unaware of the chaos that's about to ensue as you're curled up in an armchair, a book in your lap. You absentmindedly chew on your lower lip as you concentrate.

"Y/n!" a familiar boy screams your name and you look up, sitting normally in the armchair as your four very anxious looking friends stumble in front of you. "Look, she's okay," Peter points, sounding relieved as well as he moves aside to reveal a very distressed looking James Potter.

You stand up, dusting your uniform and your eyebrows crease. "What's happened?" you ask seriously and then you feel James's arms wrap around your shoulders as he pulls you into him. His lips find the exposed skin of your collarbone as he inhales your scent and almost crushes you closer to him.

James's always been an affectionate person. Since you can remember, he's never not taken an opportunity to kiss your cheek, wrap his arms around you, or even hold your hand, but this is extreme even for him. You glance at the other boys, confusion evident on your expression, and they send you sympathetic looks.

"Jamie," you whisper and hug him back, your hand hesitating but ultimately finding his hair.

You hear a choked cry and you realize he's almost in tears. Concern overwhelms your senses and you pull away only to have James's hand find yours. His eyes are shiny with tears and, as if he's reminding himself, he mutters, "You're alive." His thumb caresses your palm.

"You two should talk," Remus interrupts bluntly and sends Sirius, who seems entertained by the scene in front of him, a sharp glare, "Alone." Remus pulls Sirius away, ignoring the latter's hump of protest as Peter trails behind them.

James doesn't seem to care as he stares at you, he looks much calmer now.

"What do you mean? Of course I'm alive." you ask gently, pressing your palm to his cheek.

He leans into your touch. "I saw you dead. In Defense Against The Dark Arts. Professor Windward was showing us boggarts and it was funny until it was my turn and that dreadful thing turned into your lifeless body, right there in front of me, and—and I didn't know what to do because I realized if you died, I would just have to die too," James explains, sounding like he's made up his mind if the scenario ever comes up.

Boggarts? James's biggest fear was your death? You can hear the sincerity in his voice and you can't help the way your heart jumps for his.

"Does that make you the Romeo to my Juliet?"

James frowns and asks, "Who?" which reminds you that James hadn't heard of some muggle writer like Shakspeare and that even if he had taken Muggle Studies last year, like he was supposed to, he wouldn't have listened that intently anyway.

"Star-crossed lovers," you shrug, ignoring how warm your cheeks have become.

James's shoulders relax and he chuckles. "So, you're saying we're star-crossed lovers now?"

You like that your little quip has lightened the mood successfully so you shrug again, deciding to tease him. "Never said that. Why? D'you want to be star-crossed lovers?"

"No. Because I don't want our relationship to be doomed," James deadpans and he runs a hand in his curly hair nervously. He looks behind you through the stained glass window of the library and hears the soft patterns of afternoon rain. "It's raining," he says and he moves closer, his hand finding yours again as he fiddles with your fingers.

"It appears so," you answer in a whisper. You look at him, trying to read him. You squeeze his hand. "I'm right here, James. 'M not going anywhere."

A moment of comfortable silence passes and James looks so serious as he stares into your eyes, his breathing becoming harsh again. He leans in and he's wearing the same look on his face every man does before he kisses someone—only James Potter wears it well. Your breath hitches and your eyes flutter shut, nerves bubbling in your stomach.

When his lips touch yours they're accompanied by his hands around your jaw. He's gentle with you, kissing you like he's savoring your touch. He pulls away only to press his forehead on yours.

"Merlin's beard, I've wanted to do that for so long. You're intoxicating, Y/n," he whispers as if he's just made a revelation and he takes your chin in between his thumb and index, smiling like the love-sick fool he's always been.

"I really like you."

Your eyes widen. "You do?"

James's smile turns into a smirk. "Yeah, 'course I do. Was that kiss not enough confirmation?" He raises an eyebrow and leans in again, this time peppering open mouth kisses across my entire face, "Here. I really really really like you," he mumbles and enjoys the sound of your giggles as you shy away from his kisses.

"I really like you too," you say, finally escaping his kisses as James pulls away. He looks over the moon happy.

"The boys are never gonna believe this," James mutters, completely unaware that unlike him, it hadn't taken Sirius, Peter, and Remus this incident for them to realize James is madly in love with you. They'd known from the first time James had uttered your name.

"Shit, you're already the best girlfriend I've ever had—not that I've had many," James says, almost to himself as he tucks some hair behind your ear.

You laugh, wrapping your arms around his neck. "Woah, slow down there. Take me on a date first, then we'll talk about labels," you joke, knowing damn well that by the end of the date James would be proclaiming his love for you to everyone who would listen and you don't mind one bit.

James's eyes shimmer at the opportunity to spoil you. "You have a deal, m'lady."

You laugh. "Merlin, you're so cringe, James." You take his arm and pull him towards the window where a bunch of pillows are laid out on the edge and you plop down, momentarily looking out the window at the rain.

James follows your lead and when he leans against the wall, you lay your head on his chest and rest in between his legs.

"Stay with me for a bit?" you ask.

His heart feels like it's fluttering at your closeness and he's completely calm—the memory of your dead body completely distant now. It's now a memory he'll only remember in the dead of night, when he'll have you to hold him and kiss all his worries away.

James nods and then he leans his head on the wall and looks outside, his hand playing with your hair as you hum and continue to read your book. The soft sound of rain is like a piano melody as he watches the droplets fall down the glass. They're racing in his mind like they would when he was a child and he smiles.

He kisses the top of your head, earning him a giggle as he mouths, "I love you," into your hair.

One day soon he'll say the words out loud, just not now.

Today, he's happy just being near you and knowing that he finally has you in some significant way—in a way he'd denied himself for way too long.

You nuzzle in him and turn your page, your gaze so focused, and his heart swells.

I love you, he thinks again. I love you so damn much.

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dcxdpdabbles · 4 days ago

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Do you think you might update the Adopted Son Au soon, maybe ?🤔 i just can't with that cliffhanger, i need to know what happened next.

Plz

Dick trying to figure out how he is going to escape from his cell when the door opens again. This time, it's not Drake but a group of children who walk in without saying a word.

They surround him, and Dick prepares himself for some torture when one of them presses a button on a controller, releasing him from the retrains, keeping him trapped in the chair.

The metal slides off his wrists and ankles, allowing him to flip up from his seat and away from the group. He wobbles a little, having gone a few weeks without much exercise or movement due to his bad mental state.

He can still take them to the ground, but he won't be at his best, which irks him fiercely. It will also make this fight a lot more dangerous. Surprisingly, the children don't react to his flip or fighting stance.

They stare at him with blank expressions, the single light swinging back and forth as Dick had anciently hit the edge of it with his hip. Four of them are cramped into the surprisingly small room, but none look like they are there for a fight.

Dick frowns. "What's going on?"

" You didn't have Danny, "the oldest one, the boy the Parkers had apparently been taking in, says. "We have no reason to keep you."

"What, you going to let me go? Just like that?" The disbelief drips from his words as he tightens his fist, searching for the surprise attack that will surely come.

"Just like that." The boy agrees, clapping his hands. A little girl throws a bag at Dick, who catches it in an instant. The thing is heavy, but it doesn't feel like a weapon. The teenager claps again, and suddenly, the ground underneath him vanishes.

Dick is free-falling before he knows what's happening. The rush of the wind nearly drowns out his screaming as he tumbles downwards. He watches the apparent cargo plan hangar close as the children stare at his descent.

Twisting around and trying to get his wits about him, Dick realizes he doesn't have a lot of time to figure out what to do because he is far above the ground. He will not survive hitting it. The bag in hand beeps before it springs open.

Wire cords warp around his torso, yanking him to the side so the bag can rest on his back. Another beep goes through before a loud whoosh can be heard, and Dick's body jerks again as a parachute bursts to life from the bag.

He gasps as it catches the wind once it fully opens, stopping his free fall into a gentle flouting. Dick's heart is hammering away in his chest, even when he starts the breathing exercises Bruce taught him to keep calm. He glances up at the plane, but it shimmers out of sight once a clocking device is activated.

He can only guess which direction it ran away in. It must be one of Crowne's inventions.

A few minutes go by when he falls some clouds- and it stings to feel the water bit dig into his skin.- before he finally realizes where he is. Drake had him thrown right over Wayne Manor. The little shit.

Carefully testing the turning cords, Dick realizes that they are much simpler to drive and directions his landing towards the ground behind the Manor. He is nearly there when a flash of red races out of the window, aiming right for him.

"Dick!" Kori shouts, wrapping her arms around him. He sighed gratefully and said she was mindful of the parachute. His friend tucks him into her arms, one hand under his knees, the other on his upper back, and flies him safely back down. "You're okay! We were so worried when you vanished."

"How long was I gone?"

"Just one day. What happened?"

Wow, Drake doesn't mess around. It was alarming that he could not only take him from his own room but return him without any of the Bats being the wiser. "Let's get everyone grouped up. This is going to need some explanations."

The two fly through the same window Kori was excited about. The minute Dick's feet touch the floor, the bag beeps and unclips, yanking the fabric up his parachute back into the little bag as it slides off his shoulders.

Crowne would be so excited that it works so smoothly. He thinks almost wistfully.

"Dick!" Jason yells, racing forward to throw his arms around Dick's middle. Not far behind, Damian joins them though he seems more willing to hold onto Jason rather than Dick.

"Hey guys." He mutters, bending down to hug back. "Sorry about the scare."

"Dick," Bruce's baritone voice has him snapping his head up. There, he realizes his family and the teen titans are all sitting around a conference table, papers scattered in front of the relieved people. A large screen was sitting behind Bruce, displaying the latest news in the Crowne trial. "What happened?"

Dick takes a deep breath, locks everything that man him, the fun circus child, in a tight box inside his chest. When he opens his eyes again, all that's left is Nightwing.

"Let me tell you," And he does

A while later, Dick learns that while no one had known where he had gone, they had all been able to find enough proof that Dick was taken. It had left everyone in great unease, especially Bruce, who had always been proud of the Manor's defenses.

They were in the middle of discussing Timothy Drake's new danger level when the noise of the reporting news anchor cut off mid-sentence. The image changes from a business street of Gotham's police headquarters, where Daniel Crowne is said to be held, to a dark room with a person wearing a glowing green skull mask.

The person is sitting at a table, the angle getting them from the chest up. They wear a hood that does not hide their black wavy hair, curling around their ears. As the camera focuses, the figure plays with a piece of it.

Everyone at the table tenses up as the person speaks. They use some voice modifier that disrupts the words, making it sound robotic -it's hard to tell whether it's a boy or a girl. The body shape, however, points to them being young. "People of Gotham. I have taken control of this and every screen within the city to speak to you about Daniel Crowne. Many of you have cheered the last few days over his imprisonment, unaware of the hero he was. Tonight, I wish to enlighten you. Watch and repent."

"Where is this broadcasting from?" Bruece demands at once. Babs is already tapping away on her Crowne laptop, attempting to track down the signal.

"I don't know. It's bouncing from all over the city." She huffs.

On the screen, the stranger continues. Dick thinks he knows who that is. He recognizes the mindless habit of playing with the hair near the right side of his neck. "That's Drake."

At his words, everyone tenses even further.

"It's true Crowne broke the law. He took it into his own hands when CPS failed to protect the children they claimed they worked for, much like a specific group of Bats." Drake continues, tapping one finger on the surface of his table. "Unlike them, Crowne kept a record of everything he's done. I will present it all to you."

The screen changes to show documents, videos of abuse victims, and some testimony of missing children. For an hour, every screen showcases everything Daniel Crowne has done since he appeared from his adoption. The Waynes and the Titians are left in awe by the sheer amount of evidence that showcases.....Crowne saving children.

Dick legs give out under him some time around the proof of the Foster system failing children and how Crowne had personally swooped in to save them. None of it is legal, but no one cares.

Not when Heather Gobb's case is shown that she has been locked up in juvie for years for being a poor orphan. Not when her neighbors' old video of them pleading with the public to find information on her is shown, as they had thought she had gone missing five years ago and were still looking for her today.

Not when Max Smith- the same one that released him- case of being a human traffic victim was rescued and given to the Parkers. The Parkers had been rejected five times as foster parents due to their age. But the Martinez another case shown here- was even after three different girls reported sexual assault.

Every contact. Every move. Every single street kid is given a home. All of it was shown here, even the way he did it. Daniel Crowne was a hero.

"No," Dick gasps, watching the proof of Danny secretly busting trafficking rings and helping the victims find their way home. He had worked on one of those cases. Cindy, a fifteen-year-old girl, had been secretly rescued when a tip came through. Among her bags was a map of the rest of the cages that she claimed she had never before seen.

Crowne- Danny- had planted it.

The tears are rolling down his face, blurring everything in sight, but Dick can't look away. His chest feels like it's caving in as memory after memory plays behind his eyes.

Memories of the man he betrayed.

Drake, in his eerie glowing skull costume, returns. "That was who Daniel Crowne was. I speak in the past tense because his body had been discovered earlier today. He was found stuffed into a waste bin near Gotham's dump. A funeral will be held for the public in a week within Gotham Park at this same time, open casket, and he will be buried with honor somewhere no one can reach him. It will be the only time to say goodbye."

Dick feels like his world has shattered. The room starts to spin; multiple people are speaking, but he can barely hear them over the roaring in his ears.

He can only see Drake's green glow as the boy continues. "Lastly, I have a message for Officer Lucas Black of the 99th. We know what you did, and as much as I want to end you, he wouldn't have wanted that. Instead we will send you a gift. She was found in the last ring Crowne managed to track down. Protect her well this time. And never forgive yourself for what you did to her savior."

The screen cuts. Dick turns to the side, throwing up until nothing but acid comes out. His friends and family gather around him, trying their best to offer him comfort, but they can do nothing.

Danny is dead. He's gone, and he never even knew it was Dick that helped kill him.

_________________________________________________________

Life is a blur, worse than when he had Danny arrested. Dick isn't even sure he's alive. Bruce and the rest of the police have managed to verify all of the presented evidence. Crowne had legally kidnapped children, but no one could claim him a monster.

It was like the city was collectively drowning in guilt and mourning. Not even the rest of the Rouges dared to cause trouble. For the first time in centuries, Gotham was experiencing a cease-fire, and peace fell upon the civilians.

It hadn't stopped raining since Danny's death, almost as if Gotham herself was sobbing for the loss.

Dick had never felt this empty before, not even at the lost of his parents. He had nothing, no one to be angry at as Drake had covered every track of Danny's killer.

A single letter with a glowing green ghost circled around the familiar D arrived at Wayne Manor the day following the broadcast. All it read was You will never find out who took him. Remember him for the life he lived and not the violence he suffered.

Bruce was working non-stop to bring Danny's killer to justice, but there was even less to go on than the death of Thomas and Martha Wayne.

Somehow, he finds himself getting dressed for Daniel Crowne's funeral. Jason and Damian help him walk out of his room, wearing black, and into the car. Bruce is riding in the passenger seat while Alfred is driving.

They had forgone the expensive vehicles and instead rode in a small black car. This was not an event that needed a showy entrance.

The drive is long and silent. Pity and pain make him almost choke, as none of the other four seem to know what to say. They only glance at him, looking torn up.

Bruce is the worst. He likely blames himself for the whole honey pot plot, and Dick wants to blame him, wants to lash out and rage against his father, but he can't.

He had agreed to the plan. Dick had been the one who went to Danny's office, the one who held him and spoke to him. The one that stole kisses and whispered sweet nothings.

The one that falls in love with the person he destroyed.

Dick stares out the window, wishing he was sobbing like he had been just a few days ago. He wishes he could feel the headache of dehydration from all the tears he cried. Anything other than this numbing pain that rests on his chest and keeps him from feeling anything.

His eyes have remained dry since he heard the news of Danny's passing. What kind of monster did that make him?

"Dick..." Bruce tries, but his words fall short. With a start, the first Robin realizes they are at the park. The car had been parked, and everyone was outside waiting for him.

He unclips his belt, stepping out and ignoring the hand Bruce offers him. All of Gotham has come for Daniel Crowne. There are so many marching by in black clothing. Some are sobbing, others are whispering, but all Dick sees is a sea of strangers that once cheered for his death.

Who are you? He thinks as his family walks into the park. Did any of you even know him?

A nasty voice sneers in his mind. Did you know him, Grayson?

Jason's warm palm slides into Dick's, helping him to the front where some seats had been put aside for those that were personally saved by Danny. Drake wanted them front and center; he had sent a message with a confused Sparrow.

Damian now seemed to regret presenting the letter as he held Jason with getting Dick to sit.

The coffin was surrounded by flower arrangements and shoes—the ones from the people he had saved. Some adult sizes were mixed in, but the majority were of children—it didn't seem real.

None of this does.

But Danny is gone, and Dick can not cry.

Next to the Waynes sits Officer Black, who is sobbing so hard it sounds like his chest is being cut apart. His sister is holding him, crying into his shoulder and whispering assurances.

The Ghosts- a new group that has risen in place of Crowne's fall- had delivered her home mere minutes after the Broadcast. She had received free treatment in one of Crowne Corp's hospitals outside of Gotham. She, along with seventeen other victims, had been personally rescued by Daniel Crowne only a month before.

Dick was happy for them. After years of being apart, the Blacks were finally whole once more.

Phantom- the head of Ghosts- walks up to a podium. His glowing green skull mask hides his expression from the crowd, but Dick can see how hard it is for Drake to stand there and speak.

"Gotham is no stranger to tragedy. We live with grief and joy. We dine with hope and sorrow. We walk with fate and death. In the five years since his arrival, Daniel Crowne had done everything he could to protect Gotham without asking for anything in return. He was deeply devoted to those he loved, and though not religious, he believed in Gotham." Drake says, addressing the crowd. "He found the flame of hope in the darkness of Gotham's streets. He stood tall when others lay broken by her crushing weight, bearing the burden of her attention. His mind illuminated that darkness, his heart warmed those in the cold wind, and with every fiber of his being, Danny fought for the betterment of mankind. His inventions saved thousands and have carved history with a chisel of his own making. We say goodbye to our cherished brother, friend, and noble son stolen from us far too soon. Remember him for the life he lived and not the violence he suffered. Daniel Crowne may no longer be able to walk with us, but his spark will forever live within us."

Drake pauses, turns to the coffin, and places a flower inside of it. "May you find the peace you were searching for, Brother."

Dick bows his head feeling tears gather in his eyes, but none spill over as Drake encourages everyone to pray in whatever belief they hold and allows people to go up to offer their own flowers, stones, or gifts. His line is the first to go up, but he can't move. His legs feel like lead, shaking his head when Bruce whispers his name.

Officer Black passes him, clutching his sister's hand as they walk to Danny's coffin. To his body. It's odd.

Danny is of that wooden stature, but nothing is in it—it's just a box. Officer Black placed his badge inside, whispering that he was leaving the force. Dick is close enough that he can hear his sister adding a ring that Danny had given her when he visited her during her recovery and wonders how bright Danny's smile might have been to see the siblings together again.

The funeral continued, with a long queue of people wishing to say their final goodbyes. Dick sat through the whole thing, aware of time passing but not entirely sure what was happening around him.

All too soon and not fast enough, the service ends. The Phantom claps his hands. A significant plane shifts into view, and its cloaking device falls. It lowers a platform as some Ghosts carefully lift the coffin.

The pallbearers march onto the plane's platform as a haunting melody bleeds into the air. With a start, Dick realizes it's an instrumental cover of their song, the one Danny and he used to dance and sing to. Danny had been playing it the day they were unpacking his home before Dick had found the journals that same night.

Drake really wants him to suffer, doesn't he?

No one speaks as the group rises into the air, taking with them Daniel Crowne. The plane vanishes from sight once more, and slowly, everyone tickles home. Gotham's rain—absent for the funeral—returns just as the Waynes manage to get into their car.

The drive home was even shorter than the one to the event. His family tries to speak to him, but Dick hears nothing. He merely walks up to his room and crashes on his bed.

Exhaustion, one deeper than his very bones, drags him under. He's out before Bruce can find the courage to enter his room.

_________________________________________________________

He's not sure if it's a dream or not, but the next thing Dick knows, he's blinking his eyes open to a soft white glow. His eyes are drawn to the bottom of his bed, where a figure sits on its edge, hunched over and staring at its hands.

His breath caught in his throat, causing the person to turn towards him. He looked different. His green eyes were glowing like a light was lit behind his eyeballs. His hair was snowy white, and his body seemed nearly transparent, but there was no denying who it was.

"Danny" The name is spoken like a gospel.

The love of his life smiles at him in that same adoring way. It feels like a slap and a hug all in one. "Hello Darling"

He stares, unsure of what to do, until he blurts, "You're dead."

Danny throws his head back in a familiar, impish laugh. It's the one, only Dick, had been privy to, as his boyfriend had always been so regal laughing loudly seemed to be against his very image.

Danny crawls from the bottom of the bed, still laughing, until he lays right next to Dick, who can't stop staring at him. Once he settled, the two were mere inches away, staring into each other's eyes as if they could drink each other's features.

"Yes," Danny's voice is soft as freshly fallen snow. "I'm dead. I never thought about that happening. A part of me always hoped I wouldn't form a complete ghost when my time would come. It's rather silly when you consider Dan."

"Ghost?"

Glowing green eyes soften just a bit as a cold- never will it be warm again- hand wraps around his own. Dick can hardly believe he can feel the hold as he continues to stare. "Yes, Darling, I'm a ghost."

"I'm sorry," He whispers, and then a sorrow overcomes him. Dick feels his eyes water faster than anything this past week. Silent tears rolled down his face as he choked, "I'm so fucking sorry."

"Oh, Darling." Danny comes, reaching out to wipe his tears away. "I don't blame you. I love you."

"Danny you can't love me. You don't know what I did."

"I do know. You were a honey pot to find evidence of me trafficking children." Danny says as if though nothing. As if Dick hadn't betrayed him to the very core of their relationship. "I'm hurt by it, but I do not hate you for it. You were doing the same thing I was. Trying to protect children; after all, I did make thousands vanish. It looked suspicious."

"If I had been a better detective, I would have found the truth." Dick insisted, self-hate clouding his words.

Danny sighs, tracing the side of his cheek. "No, you wouldn't. Darling, you and Bruce had spent months investigating me without finding anything that could tie me to the case before you had the idea of the Honey Pot. I ensured no one would have found the truth unless they got close. I didn't even tell Tim. He just found out on his own."

Dick's tears flow faster. "I could have done more."

"I could have told you," Danny counters, smiling sadly. But to do so, I would have to tell you about my Halfa status, and I was never quite brave enough to disclose the subject. We both kept secrets, Darling and are both to blame."

"But you're dead." Dick chokes, reaching out his arm to bring his lover to his chest. He lacks the warmth that he once associated with Daniel Crowne. "My secrets lead to your death."

"Maybe. My secret would have led to me leaving your world anyway." Danny confuses.

"What?"

"Since I became Daniel Crowne, I have been working on a way to travel dimensions. It was my goal to get back to my original home. I became so obsessed with it that I did not weaver even years after landing in a world technically behind my own. Not even my love for you or my care for Tim made me give up on that goal." Danny says, eyes staring into Dick's soul, looking so majestic and sad that, for a moment, Dick wondered if he was a painting.

"I told myself that once I figured out a way to travel home, I could come back here to you and live another double life. But that was a lie. A pretty one but a lie. I had to choose one world or another and I would have chosen the other if I had lived."

Danny rests his forehead against Dick's. "I wanted a life with you, Darling, but fate wouldn't allow it as I have been too selfish. I know it's a lot to ask, but can I be selfish a little longer?"

The Gotham vigilante wraps himself around his dead partner, attempting to bury himself in his essence. "As much as you want Darling. Be as selfish as you want."

Neither speaks for long, allowing themselves to feel around each other.

"Daniel Fenton," Danny says after a long while.

"What?"

"My name. It's Daniel Fenton." Danny pulls back to smile at him. "May I tell his story?"

"Yes."

_____________________________________________________________

Dick wakes again to his room curtains gently blowing in the wind of his open windows. The rain has stopped, and a few birds are chirping in the trees outside the glass. The sun shines on the ring that has his name carved into the band, where it rests on his bedside table.

There is no evidence that Danny had been there the night before.

Dick carefully reaches out for the ring, sliding it onto his finger. It's a perfect fit.

He rolls onto his back, holding his hand up to watch the small stones curling around the band gleam. Somewhere in the afterlife, the Ghost King, rightful ruler of the Beyond, is wearing a similar one, and he may wait for the day the two reunite.

Dick Grayson knows everything about Danny Fenton, of how he arrived here in this world, of the one he lost when he flew aimlessly through the Infinite Realms, and of the life he built himself in his effort to get home.

He knows that Timothy Drake will continue to rule over Gotham's underbelly with his trained Ghosts, who will be far more dangerous than any Talon. He will also buy out Crowne Corp, bringing his brother's once titan of a company under his care to continue his work.

He knows Jason and Damian will grow up well, forging their own identities and teams and working hard to improve the lives of the residents of Crime Alley.

He knows that Bruce will continue his war against the crime of Gotham, and for every mistake and stumble he makes, Bruce will bring hope back to the people who cower in their homes.

He knows Lucas Black did not mean to kill Danny and finds he does not hate the man. Danny does not blame him, so why should Dick? He'll dedicate the rest of his life to working at the bakery his sister had always dreamed of owning.

But above all, Dick Grayson knows Danny Fenton still loves him.

For the first time since Danny's death, Dick allows himself to dissolve into sobs. His cries raise in volume, filling the room with their anguish. His bedroom door is flung open by a distressed-looking Bruce, who gathers him in his arms. His baby brothers are not far behind, and Alfred even puts aside his professionalism to join in on the hug.

One day, the family will be much larger than the five. Somewhere out there, a young girl unable to speak is waiting for them. Her brother, who can see the dance of light, is just a little behind. He likely goes to class with a girl in purple who will become Drake's right hand after one too many pushes from her shitty father.

Danny told him there would be more and that he had seen all of Dick's life. Ultimately, he will wait for them to pick up where they left off. The weight of their shared rings will be a companion for the rest of Dick's life.

Dick sobs and sobs until every nasty emotion is finally out of his body. It feels like relief.

#dcxdpdabbles #dcxdp crossover #the adoptive son #The End #Angst #Hurt and Comfort #Bittersweet ending #Danny did honstly die #He was never going to go home #He learned the truth the moment he died #He doesn't hate Dick and is very in love with him #Both will wait a lifetime #Tim and Steph will not join the Batfam #Hope you liked the ending and thank you for sticking around for it!#Part 9

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qdrntln4 · 3 months ago

Text

block your ears.

pairing: lando norris x reader

genre: fluff

summary: cars are loud. lando knows that.

warnings: none i think?

wc: i didn’t count 💀

it was nice to see lando in the hospitality of the mclaren garage. even if he was still working with his engineer, knowing that he was in the same room as you was all you needed.

what you didn’t need, however, was the revving from oscar’s car right beneath them. the car was loud — a bit too loud for your liking.

every time the team started up oscar’s car again, lando’s head lifted and his eyes made his way to you. he knew you didn’t like sudden loud noises (how ironic dating an f1 driver). usually you could take the sound of the cars, but that was when you knew they were being loud. a sudden scream of an engine every 20-30 seconds is a nightmare.

when the team came over lando’s engineer’s com, he was loud enough for lando to make out certain words.

‘rev, car, countdown’

lando looked up to you, making instant eye contact from across the room. he lifted his hands up to his head, making the gesture that saved you from a heart attack every time.

“block your ears.”

by the time your hands were covering the sides of your face, oscar’s car had been started up for the last time, the vehicle now sitting in a neutral rev.

you looked back up at lando, mouthing a ‘thank you’ before he a blew a kiss your way. he then continued his talk with his engineer.

oh, what would you do without him?

a/n: hi guys!! this is a short one i’m sorry, the idea was in my head as soon as i saw the gif on pinterest and i didn’t want to write it later 😭 i hope you all enjoyed it tho!!

#f1 #f1 x reader #x y/n #lando norris x reader #lando norris #race #fast cars #cars #lando x reader #lando x you #lando imagine #lando norizz

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majestyeverlasting · 12 days ago

Note

Nello! I have a request/suggestion for a Bucky drabble-y something if you'd like it. Maybe he's on a mission or there's an attack and it's going *very* poorly for him but he gets saved by a sweet civilian who's probably hopped up on a LOT of adrenaline

𝐚𝐬𝐤 𝐦𝐞 𝐰𝐡𝐲 | 𝐛.𝐛.

A/N Thank you so much for this request, anon! Bucky isn’t on a mission, per se, more like he ends up making a certain situation his “mission.”

Pairing Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary After an unexpected and intense fight, you’re the kind stranger who comes to Bucky’s aid. Except, you can’t shake the pressing feeling that you’ve seen each other once before. [fluff, angst, firing of a weapon, 2.6k]

₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊

Darkness hangs over Hell’s Kitchen as the heavy beat of Bucky’s heart drums on. The high-pitched ringing in his ears nearly drowns out the trudge of his boots against the sidewalk. Each labored step sends another wave of pain radiating through his ribcage. By now, he’s far enough away from Nicolo’s Bistro to be seen, where police and ambulances are finally pulling up with glaring halos of red and blue, sirens wailing.

As Bucky turns into a dingy alleyway, he finally allows himself to release the pathetic grunts that have been attempting to claw out of throat since the moment he left the establishment. The pungent smell of garbage rides on the breeze as he presses his back up against the cool brick wall, sliding down until he hits the pebbled ground.

He can’t remember the last time being off his feet felt so good. That’s all he’d wanted upon entering the bistro earlier. To sit down and have a meal before venturing back to Brooklyn.

𝟷 𝙷𝙾𝚄𝚁 𝙿𝚁𝙸𝙾𝚁

The table he’s given along the front windows gives sight to the evening bustle outside. There’s a dim ambience to that place that’s homey and charming. Basil and garlic linger in the air. A waitress with a long jet-black ponytail takes his order of carbonara and the house red. Just as she leaves, three men in fedoras enter, with hard eyes and strong noses.

A wary feeling flutters in his gut.

Rather than being seated in the main dining room, they’re escorted into the back by a worker. Nicolo, the broad-shouldered owner of the restaurant, is no sooner notified of their arrival. The look of dread that washes over his face is Bucky’s second clue that something is amiss. But there’s an eerie calm that follows.

Halfway into his meal, hushed, angry voices finally emit from the back room. The only reason Bucky can hear them is the serum’s heightening of his senses:

Nicolo’s voice registers first, “Sobrini, please, there’s been a misunderstanding.”

“No, it’s well past time,” comes a gruff, thickly accented voice. “I invested in this shithole and haven’t seen anywhere near what I’m owed.”

“It’s coming—please, there has to be a better way,” Nicolo reasons. “There are customers out there.”

“Too bad I don’t give a fuck.”

That’s when a lone warning shot rings out.

A few patrons jolt in shock, heads whipping around. You startle as you take a sip from your bubbling glass of champagne, sending the liquid running down your chin.

Bucky's on his feet in an instant, “Everybody out!”

The moment you slip out of your booth, the confrontation spills out into the main dining area as Nicolo backs out of the room with his hands held up in surrender. All three men are stalking towards him, and the bulkier one—undeniably Sobrini—has a revolver drawn.

“Now they all get to see your brains being blown out,” he quips.

Bucky wastes no time rushing to the owner's defense, sprinting over to Sobrini, and using his vibranium hand to block a bullet when he pulls the trigger. Nicolo's face flushes with relief as he gratefully runs for the door, steering other frantic patrons out along the way.

With Nicolo gone, the group of mobsters redirect their anger to Bucky and his daring boldness.

“And who the hell are you?” Before Sobrini can pull the trigger again, Bucky disarms him with a few swift swipes and blows, bending the gun out of shape before letting it clink to the ground.

“Mikey, Vinny!” Sobrini growls.

Like two mad dogs given attack orders, the other men launch forward to gang up on Bucky. They’re stronger than he’s expecting—too strong. Super soldiers. Glasses and plates crash from the tables as Vinny, the taller of the two, kicks Bucky square in the stomach, sending him staggering backwards. He’s quick to recover, promptly delivering his own series of strikes in retaliation.

Heart hammering in your ears, you help usher the last of the patrons and employees outside. When you dare to look back in, Mikey has managed to get Bucky in a chokehold from behind. Only then do you notice the glint of his vibranium hand as he pries at the man’s thick forearm.

As Bucky coughs for air, realization dawns on you like a rushing tide. For a flicker of a second, he catches your eyes in the doorway before managing to free himself from the hold.

A second wind finds him as the brawl becomes a fierce three-on-one ordeal.

Nicolo pulls you away from the door for your own safety.

It’d been two years since Bucky’s last fight, and he hated that this made a part of him feel alive again.

𝙱𝙰𝙲𝙺 𝚃𝙾 𝙿𝚁𝙴𝚂𝙴𝙽𝚃

Just as his eyes begin to flutter closed with exertion, he hears a soft, urgent voice that he thinks he’s imagining. It prompts him to remember that he’s seated in a dirty alleyway, propped against a wall.

“Are you alright?” Your eyes dart over his bruised face, split lip, and bloodied knuckles. “Don’t close your eyes, stay with me.” You gently pat your hand against his stubbled cheek. Some of his long, dark hair is matted to the sweat on his face.

The only reason you knew where to find him is because you’d watched him stagger from the scene after neutralizing the three intruders in a feat of athleticism if you ever saw one. Your own hands are still buzzing with adrenaline.

He manages to meet your gaze, but his bloodshot blue eyes never focus. You can see that he’s trying, which only makes concern swell in your chest all the more.

“You need to go to the ER,” you say, brows furrowing. That seems to shake him a bit.

“No…” he trails off, then coughs, wincing. “No doctors. Please.”

You pull your lower lip in between your teeth as if debating to heed his request. Looking out to the street, you see that nobody has taken notice of the two of you.

You then say, “Can you walk? My place isn’t far.”

•••

Climbing the stairs is the hardest part. Despite your offer to lean his weight on you, Bucky stubbornly relies on the railing for all four floors. By the time you unlock your apartment door and usher him inside, he realizes he’s made a mistake. He should’ve insisted he’d be fine, that after the initial shock wore off, his body would begin to mend itself back to wholeness.

Except, he can’t remember the last time someone had spoken to him so sweetly.

As selfish as it was, it felt good to be on the receiving end of genuine concern. Nowadays, people just assumed he was okay because he was the Winter Soldier, and that’s what the Winter Soldier was supposed to do—dust himself off and get back up. Yet here you were acting like he was someone worth being taken care of.

He all but collapses onto the couch once lead him over to it. In the back of his mind, he worries about getting it dirty, but you don’t seem to care as you flutter out of the living room.

The air smells faintly of cinnamon and vanilla, and small decorative pumpkins sit on the windowsill. Pain pulses in his neck as he takes a better look around, but he does it anyway. The entire space is modest and cozy, clearly lived-in and well-loved.

By the time you come back, he’s dozed off, thick thighs spread and chin tucked down to his chest. This happens sometimes—his body crashes into sleep to facilitate healing. It only occurs when he feels safe. Otherwise, the rush of adrenaline keeps him wide awake.

He can just barely register the gentleness of your movements as you tilt his head up to dab away the blood with a cool towel. You continue on like that, cleaning up the wounds that broke the skin, which thankfully aren’t too plentiful. Occasionally, his eyes flutter open, but you never ask him any questions or force him to talk. A comfortable silence settles between you until all the dried blood is gone.

An hour later, he wakes up, finding that he’s stretched along the entirety of the couch with a blanket draped over his frame. His pain has subsided immensely. As he sits upright, he notices that you’re curled up in the accent chair. A special news report drones low on the TV.

“All the men have been taken into custody,” you tell him. Bucky eyes flitter over your face as you speak, realizing that his mind is finally clear enough to welcome the whispers of recognition.

He’d seen many people over the course of his long life, and your face was among those he’d never be able to forget.

You continue as his heart rises into his throat, “They don’t know it was you who saved everyone,” you say, toying with the hem of your sweater. “If they do, they haven’t said your name.”

The air goes dead silent for a fleeting moment.

“You know my name?” It’s a question he already knows the answer to.

You study his face, handsome even with the bruises. “James Buchanan Barnes, the Asset, the Winter Soldier…”

He swallows thickly, abruptly standing to his feet as guilt and shame churn in his stomach. “Thank you for your help, but—”

“Please don’t go,” you insist. It feels like you’re staring straight through him.

“I have to. I’m sorry.” He weaves towards the door, heat rising to his cheeks.

The events of an afternoon from many moons ago come rushing into the forefront of his mind. First, a group of suited men barking orders as he listened with emotionless eyes. Then the glint of his metal arm wrapped around the neck of a S.H.I.E.L.D. contractor on Park Avenue. As the man strangled out pleas, your cries joined in, begging for the life of your friend to be spared—

Bucky thinks back to earlier when he was being choked, the sense of helplessness.

You stand from the chair but don’t follow after him. “Did you want to take a shower at least?” you offer, hope infused into your words. It only made sense considering the sweat and grime still lingering on his skin.

The thought of a shower sounds too good. But not here, not now. He never should’ve come.

—As the contractor had gripped at his Bucky’s arm for mercy, he remembered glaring over at you. The mask concealing the lower half of his face hid his snarl, but his glare could cut stone. Except, you weren’t made of stone. You were skin, and bone, and desperation. It ended up being your fear-ridden eyes that did all the cutting.

As if you were wordlessly pleading, please, you don’t have to do this. Like you could see that he was trapped inside the prison of his own being.

But by the time his hold went slack around the man’s neck, it was already too late. His body slumped lifelessly to the ground.

“I forgive you," you call out right as Bucky steps into the hallway and is seconds away from closing the door.

That stops him in his tracks and sends a chill through his bones.

“Please don’t go,” you say, much softer.

•••

Tucked away in an old journal, was a list of amends Bucky was supposed to make. He’d managed to cross off all those names. But there’s no way he’d ever be able to account for every life he changed, every friend and family member he snatched away from people he would never even come to know.

This reality weighs heavy on him as he stands in the steamy bathroom, a towel wrapped low around his hips. Sometimes he didn’t recognize himself when he looked in the mirror. Faint knocking sounds at the door.

He clears the thickness from his throat, “Yes?”

“Special delivery,” you say lightly. “My neighbor had some clothes to spare.”

When he opens the door, your eyes flick to his torso, the bruising along his ribcage. There’s a dusting of hair on his chest, and a line of it that leads down from his bellybutton. It takes a second for you to register that he isn’t wearing his vibranium arm. Maybe it's because of the steady, broad way he’s standing there as if the limb isn’t gone at all.

He accepts the clothes, “Thank you.”

Bucky doesn’t close the door as he turns to set them on the sink. In the process, you notice there are old scars on his back with dark new bruises mixed amongst them. Before you can stop yourself, you step forward, brushing over his shoulder blades with tentative fingers. He straightens, briefly closing his eyes.

“Sorry. I’m sorry.” You begin to back out of the room. “I have painkillers if they’d help.”

Bucky shakes his head. “I’m alright.”

“I’ll let you get dressed then.”

Moments later, Bucky finds you in your room seated on the side of your bed. Your startle, swiping at the tears beneath your eyes before turning to look at him. When he sees that you’ve been crying, he feels like the worst person in the world again, an awful feeling resettling in his gut.

“I can go,” he says.

You shake your head and pat the space beside you.

Bucky lingers in the doorway until giving in. The mattress dips as he sits, making sure to leave ample space between you. Even then you can feel the warmth of his proximity, smell your body wash on his skin. Neither of you say anything for a while.

“Why are you doing all this?” For such an imposing man, his voice comes out small.

“Because I see you.” Bucky swallows, but his gaze remains on the floor. “I saw you eight years ago, and I see you now.”

He realizes then, that if he truly wanted to, he would’ve left already. He didn’t know what he wanted, what more he was expecting. He’d already taken enough—your friend, your resources, your time.

“You know what I believe?” Bucky waits for you to continue. “That you’re a good person,” you say solemnly.

“You didn’t even hesitate back at Nicolo’s. You stepped right up.”

“It was nothing,” he lightly dismisses.

“Nothing?”

Bucky looks over at you, and you raise your brows. “It was the right thing to do,” he finally says.

“And you easily could’ve just walked away.”

He gets your point then. The plates of his arm whir softly.

“I was angry at you for a long time,” you admit. “Even though I knew who you were, the control you were under.”

“I’m sorry—”

“And the more time that passed, the more I realized my anger wasn’t entirely fair,” you say. “Life’s not fair. But staying rooted to the same spot doesn’t do anyone any good.”

Bucky doesn’t pull away when you reach over and take his hand in yours, gently running your fingers over his bruised knuckles in a mix of sympathy and wonder. He watches as you flip his palm face-up, tracing the lines with a delicate touch. He feels it all the way up his arm, the gesture painfully intimate. Having seen each other at your lowest, most vulnerable moments has a way of knocking down walls.

“Ask me why I’m doing all this again,” you say.

Bucky meets your gaze. “Why?”

“Because it’s the right thing to do.”

Outside, distant sirens wail into the Manhattan night.

Thank you so much for reading! Feel free to let me know what you think.

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky fic #bucky fluff #bucky angst #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x fem reader #bucky x female reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky x female yn #sebastian stan

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midnightarcheress · 8 months ago

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there's a lot of debate about being team civilian x team soldier for ghost's partner but honestly i love both ideas so much. just think of

simon riley with a civilian partner,

who pushed you away in the beginning because you were 'too pure' to be near a hell-sent monster like him.

who got himself lost in your sweet attempts to slip into the cracks of his heart and eventually surrendered on the battle against his own will.

who keeps a picture of your pretty face well hidden in his tac vest, as a reminder of the new purpose of his military service.

who tries to text you at least once a day when he's away, just to assure you about his well-being and to let you know how much he misses you.

who worries too much about your safety whenever he's deployed, so takes his time to teach you everything about self-defense techniques, ways to handle a knife, and how to properly shoot, as much as he hates the thought of you being even near a gun.

who's so scared of you getting hurt and nearly had a heart attack when he saw blood coming out of your finger after a small distraction whilst cutting the veggies for dinner.

who loves the way you view him as a hero, despite knowing how much of a cold-blooded killer he can be - he never told you anything about his missions, but he never needed to, you know.

who never allow you to see him wearing the mask or the balaclava because ghost is for battlefield, in your house he's purely simon.

and

simon riley with a soldier partner,

who was intrigued about your lack of fear when you first met, because everyone else seemed to shit their pants after a simple glare.

who forbid himself of getting close because the military is about following orders and getting the job done, not fraternization.

who nearly passed out after an instant drop in his blood pressure due to a pouring bullet wound - not because your surprisingly soft hands touched his arm.

who thinks you look the prettiest when you're in the field - sweating, panting, grimy with dirt and blood, barking in his comms to get to safety.

who's terrified of losing you during missions but is also completely mesmerized by your dexterity as you stab the throat of the soldier that seconds before had you pinned to the ground.

who communicates with you using his eyes at all times, since you can't see his expressions under the mask, creating a secret language you're the only one fluent in.

who hesitated on showing you his face at first because underneath it all, simon is a soft man, entirely different of the ghost persona you see during work hours.

#simon ghost riley x reader #headcanons #nyx writes ☾#midnightarcheress

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wishful-sinful-9 · 14 days ago

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YOU WANT IT DARKER

Logan Howlett x Reader

MASTERLIST

cw: stalkerish!logan, kidnapping, kinda dubcon, smut, piv, oral (f receiving), biting, hair pulling, body worship, overstimulation, just feral sex, both parties are a little unhinged, reader has no sense of survival instinct bless her

halloween special (better late than never) 🐺

Was this karma? Had you been some sort of puppy-kicking throat-slashing cold-hearted bitch in a past life? Are you being bit in the ass for it? Or had the universe just singled you out at some point to be an object of constant torment?

You'd thought a small town in the mountains was just what you needed: peace and quiet, beautiful landscapes, charming locals. The reality was freezing temperatures as early as September, and elderly neighbours that are just as frosty to the strange young newcomer. Two months in, you could no longer take the loneliness - life became a little brighter when you adopted your fiercely loyal, and almost terrifyingly giant, doberman you named (aptly, in your opinion) Baby.

And then you left the Goddamn back gate open.

Miles of forest stretch up the mountainside behind your house. You've been trudging through the dense woods for hours, voice hoarse from calling for your dear Baby. A whisper in the back of your mind tells you it's a lost cause; he must have gotten too far to find his way back, and God knows the predators lurking in these shadows willing to attack him. These shadows that are getting deeper with each passing minute.

A shiver runs through you, in spite of your thick scarf and fur-lined coat. You scan the surrounding trees as you realise that it's getting harder to see past them.

That's when you halt abruptly.

You have no idea where you are.

Right and wrong blurs into eachother sometimes for Logan. He's been alone for so long, and his instincts are so loud, he can't fight these strange animal tendencies that claw into him every so often.

And you, well you didn't help him at all.

Why the fuck would a pretty young woman like you be doing living round here? Walking around his forest every damn day, with that hound that you love so deeply, even though it could easily wrench its lead from your grip or bite your arm clean off with one snap of its wolfish jaws. Of course, he knows it would never do such a thing - it loves you like all dogs love their owners, unconditionally and obsessively and devotedly. It loves you like how he'd love you.

Picking a spot in the shadows and watching you pass by was one thing. Beginning to follow you on your route, all the way back to your home though - his conscience was beginning to blink its red warning lights.

Yet every time he indulges in his guilty pleasures, those lights fade a little more.

He doesn't notice they've gone completely black when he sees you presently, stood shivering in the depths of the forest. Lost.

Your dog blinks up at him, eyes bright and tongue lolling. Excited to introduce you to his new friend.

The darkness of the encroaching night, the cruel icy wind, and the severity of your situation is all forgotten when your blessed Baby appears like an angel from the shadows.

“Baby! Oh, my God, Baby,” you sob, kneeling as he runs to you with a furiously wagging tail. “Where have you been, boy? Where the hell have you been?”

You unwind the leash from where you'd knotted it and clipped it to your belt loop and reach for Baby's collar. He twists, not with any fear or violence, out of your grip in an instant. You frown. He hasn't done that before.

He trots over to where he had appeared from, glancing back and stopping, encouraging you to follow.

You step forward, “What are you..”

He returns to shepherd you to his desired direction. You do so, praying that once he's successfully shown you whatever impressive stick or pinecone it is that you can finally go home.

You trudge after your dog for a few more minutes before deciding you've had enough. “C'mon, pup, let's go home. Aren't you hungry? Eh, boy? Want some- shit!”

Baby sprints off suddenly, lightning-fast.

Your feet move before you can think. You're far too exhausted for this chase, but you are not going to lose him again. You shout after him as you sprint through the darkness.

You break through the trees and find yourself skidding to a stop - in front of you, there is a black iron gate.

Beyond it, a gravel drive leads to a shadowed, decrepit manor house, lit only by the full moon above. You don't have time to wonder why there was ever a house built this deep into the wilderness, because Baby's running straight to the open door.

He pets the dog idly, knowing you'll soon follow. It licks his palm.

The scent of roses, your perfume, strengthens as he hears the stumbling of your hiking boots at the entrance. The dog barks, and you follow the sound.

You burst into the living room, eyes wild when they meet his own.

Got you.

His dark eyes are unsettlingly wide as he stares you down.

The man whose home you've just broken into is unlike any around here; considerably younger than the elderly folk in town, perhaps in his thirties. Beyond that, there's something abnormal about him: he towers over you, huge in stature and wide with muscle. And one of his terrifyingly huge hands is petting your dog.

“I am so, so sorry sir,” you stammer stupidly, taking a wobbly step back. “He just - ran off - he never does it I swear, I'll get out of your- Baby, Baby, c'mere.”

He doesn't move.

You tremble as you contemplate grabbing him by the collar. But you can't seem to bring yourself to move towards this man.

“Baby, please-”

The man says your name.

Your blood runs cold. You bring your gaze to his, slow with terror. Another step back.

You could cry when Baby finally moves away from him, only to be further horrified when you beloved protector only does so to get behind your legs and usher you towards the man. The strange man who somehow knows your name.

You lurch forward at a hard nudge of Baby's head against your calf - into his arms. Strong, large arms that wrap around you tightly. Shit. Oh shit.

You shriek, attempting to wriggle free, but the man holds you to him tighter. He removes one arm, keeping you there solidly still with the other, and curls his fingers into a fist.

And three knife-sharp metal claws unsheath from his knuckles.

Your fighting ceases immediately. He doesn't hold them to you in threat, merely displays them in warning: Don't. Even. Try.

They disappear back into his hand and he brings his lips to your ear.

“You ain't going nowhere, sweetheart.”

It would've been a nice room, once. A canopy bed in the centre, a velvet loveseat at the foot of it, and a large window stretching across the far wall. Only now, the canopy's sheer curtains are torn, the colour of the seat's fabric faded, and the window completely boarded up.

The only source of light is a lone candle on the dresser. You pace in its dim light, shaking like a leaf, gasping short, panicked breaths.

He'd picked you up as if you'd weighed nothing at all and deposited you in this room, locking it and ignoring how you banged and screamed and shouted at the door. It didn't take long before you'd exhausted yourself and resorted to desperately racking your brain for means of escape.

Nothing. Absolutely nothing.

You sink to the floor with your head in your hands. Hiccupy sobs escape your lips, eyes sore from crying.

A gentle click of the door opening alerts you of his presence.

“I'm not gonna hurt you.”

As he lingers in the doorframe, even bigger from where you're crumpled on the floor, you find it hard to believe. Your breathing speeds up again.

In a stride, he's kneeling beside you. You jerk away with a cry as he tries to reach for your wrist.

His hand curls around your chin and brings your tear-stained, crazed face to his. The wildness in his eyes before was gone - there's a shocking earnestness in them now, as if he hadn't just used your only companion against you in luring you into his home.

“Deep breath in,” he murmurs.

What?

“Deep breath in, I said. Do it, girl.”

For some bizarre reason, you do it - drawing in a deep, shaky breath and holding it.

“Now out.”

You exhale.

“Again - in,” you do, “out.”

You can't shake the feeling that you're in some absurd dream as you repeat the process with your abducter until your breathing returns to normal.

He retracts his hand from your face and with a weak voice you whimper, “Who are you?”

“Logan.” He grunts.

“What do you want?”

He gazes at you for a long moment. When he responds, you detect a tremble in that baritone voice: “I've been alone for so. Damn. Long. Then you came along, into my woods, into my head, and now I'm losing it.”

His words send chills racing down your spine. Had he been watching you?

“It's like this instinct. This animalistic urge, that makes me want to keep you here - where I can keep you safe, keep you with me-”

“You're a mutant,” you rasp. He nods. “My parents always told me to stay away from... your people.”

“They aren't my people. I'm alone.” You flinch at the sharp edge to his tone.

He raises himself from the floor, looming over you again. You cower under his shadow.

“Well,” he grunts, “not anymore, I suppose.”

He locks the door behind him.

You don't know how many days have passed since Logan first took you.

It was only the day after that fateful night that he unlocked your room, under strict order to not leave the house. His only other kindness was to get some clothes for you from your house. You hadn't given him the keys.

Baby is your only comfort, as he curls up beside you at night for warmth. Even still, he seems to have developed some sort of bond with your captor, and is unwilling to be the guard dog you'd have assumed he would be in a situation such as this.

You've taken to slinking about in the shadows, rarely directly coming in contact with Logan; instead, you observe him.

His mutant abilities are not limited to the claws; from what you've gathered, he has some sort of heightened sense of smell and hearing. You know it would be foolish to try and escape because he'd sniff the nerves on you in an instant.

He feeds you mostly meat, which you pick at with little appetite.

It's those minor interactions, when he hands you your meal, that you ponder over throughout the long, cold days and nights. Had he lingered for longer to watch you eat? Did his fingers graze yours when he passed you the plate?

It soon came apparent to you, that this ominous, claw-bearing creature was no more than a man in isolation.

In a largely anti-mutant society, it's push everyone away, or be shunned and hurt. In this world, he's abnormal. Dangerous. A monster.

And you want to crawl into his skin and find what he is really: man or beast?

His ears prick at the shuffle of your feet. No matter how often he hears you move about, you never fail to excite his paranoia.

But you never do run, or lash out, or panic. You just remain in the darkness, watching.

In truth, he regrets doing this to you. It was the primal part of his brain eating the rational, and now you were constantly in his proximity, the animal had calmed itself and the human had settled in. Still, he could not bring himself to set you free. Not until he'd figured out how to get himself back to how he'd used to be.

Click.

He froze.

The door. You were at the door.

He set his beer bottle down hard on the table, a warning. He was there. He'd know if you were escaping.

The smell of fresh night air leaks into his nostrils, and he stalks over to the foyer.

You're halfway out the door - staring at him.

For a heartbeat, you keep his furrowed gaze, heart rabbiting in your chest. Then you bolt.

You barely make it to the gate before rough hands slam you backwards into his chest.

You don't struggle. You just pant in his hold.

A long, terrible moment of silence passes that makes you doubt your confidence in emerging from this situation unharmed. When he finally speaks, his lips brush the shell of your ear.

“What. Was. That.”

You squeak, “I wanted to see if you'd go after me.”

You're flung over his shoulder and marched straight back to the house.

He dumps you on the tattered armchair by the fireplace, and leans over you - gripping each arm of the chair to cage you in. His eyes are as dark as you've ever seen them.

“You have your answer,” he growls.

“Logan I-”

“Now I want to find out mine.”

You press yourself back into the chair. “Answer to what?”

“Why did that turn you on?”

Your mouth runs dry and your cheeks are ablaze. You shake your head furiously, refusing to meet his eye. “I don't know what.. Uhm..”

One hand is no longer on the chair, instead it's on your cheek. Forcing you to look at him.

Wordlessly, he drops his hand... and shoves it down your pants instead. It's then that it hits you: that heightened sense of smell of his can detect arousal too.

A thick finger runs through your folds, gathering the slick sticking to your panties.

“Logan-”

“You are turned on.”

He sounds almost a little incredulous, as he pulls out his hand and studies how your arousal shines in the milky moonlight, coating his fingertips.

You make a little noise of embarrassment, and it turns his attention back to you. Wide-eyed, flushed, lips slightly parted. And a switch flips.

He grasps the back of your head to meet him halfway as he crushes his lips against yours. Bruising, but for some reason, addicting.

You moan slightly, opening your mouth to encourage his tongue and it makes his mind blur.

He tears away after a minute, and, operating as if possessed, rips your pants open.

You gasp, but have no time to reconsider: your panties are torn clean off too, and a finger is curling deep inside you.

Your wails prompt him to try another, his thumb circling your clit, the pads of his fingers pressing against the spot that makes your eyes roll. You can barely gasp his name, so overwhelmed and lost in pleasure.

It's not enough. He needs to taste you.

You almost scream when his mouth replaces his thumb, sucking desperately on your clit. He laps at you with such animalistic intent, the haze in your mind lets through one paralysing thought: how does he fuck?

The pressure builds in a way you've never experienced before - so quick and heavy, like a tidal wave, and when you cum he almost ruins his pants along with you. The sheen of sweat over your face, your heaving chest, that sweet white release trickling down his palm. More.

Your hand flies into his hair as his fingers begin to move again and his mouth is somehow faster and needier than before.

“L-Logan I can't-”

He groans gutterally as he pulls away for a second to spread your juices over your throbbing flesh, already swollen. When he dives in again, you just grip his hair for dear life.

The next orgasm has your thighs clamping tightly around his head, but he simply prys them apart again. You tug at his hair and he finally breaks away to kiss you hard.

You taste yourself on his tongue.

He doesn't let up until you're both in desperate need of air, and you take the opportunity to strip off your top and bra. His hands, shaking you realise, come up to cup your tits gently, his eyes greedily savouring the sight.

“Beautiful..perfect..let me fuck you.” He gazes in your eyes with such desperation, you lean forward to cup his face and kiss his nose.

“Anything, anything for you, Logan.”

You don't give a damn about that rug burning against your back. Not when he's so deep inside you, you swear you can feel him in your throat.

“Sweet girl,” he sucks into the juncture of your neck and shoulder. “Take me so well, does it hurt?”

“Mm-mm,” you hum, eyes welling with tears of overstimulation. “Just move. Fuck me, Logan-”

He lifts your knees, pressing the backs of your thighs to your chest, and slams into you over and over at an unrelenting pace. Your mouth hangs agape, crying for the pleasure. It's as if the beast in him has bled into your skin, making you want him closer, deeper, faster. You claw at his shoulders. He leans down to nip and nuzzle at your jaw and neck, but your lips only move to moan.

“I can feel you - so tight - cum for me, sweetheart,” he grunts out, “cum all over my cock.”

You do as he wishes with a scream of his name.

He watches the sticky mess where his dick meets your cunt grow with your latest release, and he wants even more.

You're too dumb to register how he hasn't cum yet, but is pulling out of you. You let him manhandle you with ease until you're on your front, cheek against the floor while Logan grips your hips to keep your ass up.

Like this, he can better watch it all drip out of you.

You let out a little whine, eyes fluttering shut as you're sure he just wants a final look. You jolt as you suddenly feel his tongue thrust into your hole and curl. “No more-”

You shiver at the obnoxious wet sounds of him licking up the mess between your thighs, pushing back against his face despite yourself. You breathe out a sigh of relief when he pulls away - then you feel the head of his cock notch against your entrance.

With the last of your deteriorating strength, you try your best to crawl away from his sloppy thrusts.

“I'm not done,” he growls, pulling you back onto his cock and pounding you harder. You give in, eyes rolling, back arching, front pressed to the floor once more.

“Give it to me.”

You can't.

“C'mon.”

He reaches round to rub your clit in mean circles.

“Let go.”

You cry, and clench so hard around him it feels as if your pussy is pulling him in.

You gush around him, and his hips stutter as he approaches his own release. You press back as you feel him try to slip out - “Inside me, Lo, fill m' up..”

With a shout, he cums deep inside you, only pulling out once completely milked dry. He groans at the sight of your twitching thighs, and the creamy mess leaking from your cunt. He pushes it back in before standing.

You're a sticky, panting, fucked-out thing when he gathers you in his arms, pressing his lips to your hairline.

“Can I keep you?” he grins down at you, the first time you've seen him smile. You beam and kiss his cheek.

“Keep me forever.”

a/n: this has not been well edited but I hope you enjoyed nonetheless! I've had a bit of writers block but the first part of the knight!au and the bbf!peter oneshot is on its way, slowly lmao

#logan howlett x reader #logan howlett #logan howlett imagine #wolverine x reader #wolverine x you #logan howlett smut #wolverine smut #smut

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furuu · 1 month ago

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꒰ ♡ ꒱ continuation of this drabble!

∘ʚ ♡ You stared at him, heart pounding, still trying to process what you were seeing. The bowl lay shattered at his feet, and the tiny blob you had placed in water was no more. Instead, the very real and very imposing Ryomen Sukuna, in all his Heian-era glory, sat casually beside the wreckage. His muscular form and sharp, intimidating presence were a stark contrast to the squishy little blob you had tucked in just the night before.

And yet, despite his terrifying reputation, there was no malice in his gaze. His four eyes, two narrowed slightly, gleamed with what looked like amusement. The way he tilted his head, the playful quirk of his brow—it was all so bizarre. This was the King of Curses, and he was sitting in your room, almost… relaxed?

"You’re awake," he repeated, his voice low and smooth. It had an edge to it, sure, but it wasn’t harsh. "You really went through all that trouble for a little surprise?"

Your throat felt dry. What were you supposed to say? You had gone to bed with a tiny blob floating in a bowl and now woke up to this—an ancient, fearsome being watching you with an expression that was more curious than cruel. It was almost as if he were… amused by you.

You swallowed hard, trying to steady your voice. “I… I didn’t expect this to happen.”

Sukuna chuckled softly, the sound rumbling through the quiet room. His gaze shifted lazily to the broken bowl beside him. “Obviously,” he drawled, his mouth twisting into a smirk. “Though, I must say, for a human, you have a decent taste in aesthetics. But next time,” he said, casting a side glance at the ceramic shards, “maybe use something less fragile.”

The teasing tone in his voice caught you off guard. You had expected something much more sinister, but here he was, sitting in your room, acting almost casual. Your mind raced, still trying to reconcile this version of Sukuna with the stories you had heard—the stories that painted him as a bloodthirsty, ruthless curse who tore through villages and devoured sorcerers.

Still, his presence was overwhelming. He exuded power, even in this calm state, and you could feel the weight of his aura pressing against your skin. Yet, he wasn’t attacking. He wasn’t even threatening you. In fact, he seemed perfectly content to just sit there, watching you with that curious, almost playful expression.

You blinked, your mind finally catching up to the situation. “So…” you murmured, your voice soft but steady. You weren’t sure how to handle a situation like this—how does one handle the King of Curses suddenly materializing in their bedroom?

Sukuna raised an eyebrow, a slow grin spreading across his face. He leaned back slightly, resting one arm on his knee as if settling in for a conversation. “So...?” he echoed, a mocking lilt to his voice. “You’re the one who followed the instructions. Did you not expect something magical to happen?” His grin widened, and his sharp teeth glinted in the morning light. “Or were you hoping for something else?”

Heat rushed to your cheeks as his words sunk in. You had followed the instructions on the note, expecting something magical, yes—but you certainly hadn’t expected this. You fumbled for a response, but Sukuna’s deep, rumbling laugh cut through the air before you could find your words.

“Relax,” he said, his voice dropping to a more casual tone. “If I wanted to kill you, I wouldn’t be sitting here talking to you, now would I?”

You swallowed, trying to push down the lingering fear that curled in your stomach. He was right, of course. Sukuna had the power to end you in an instant, and yet… here he was, speaking to you as if this was all some elaborate game. The thought was both unsettling and strangely comforting.

Gathering your courage, you met his gaze. “So… why are you here, then? What happens now?”

Sukuna’s smirk softened slightly, his eyes gleaming with something unreadable. “That depends on you, little human.” His voice was smooth, almost inviting. “You’re the one who summoned me, after all. You took care of that ridiculous blob form, didn’t you? You must’ve wanted something more.”

You blinked, taken aback. Wanted something more? You had just been following the note, doing what you thought was a harmless little ritual. But now, with Sukuna sitting here, his sharp eyes watching you so intently, you weren’t so sure.

“I didn’t know—” you began, but Sukuna waved a hand, cutting you off.

“Spare me the innocent act,” he said, though his tone was more teasing than harsh. “You wanted something magical to happen, and now it has. The question is… what will you do with it?”

You stared at him, your mind racing. What did you want? This was Sukuna, the King of Curses, sitting here as if waiting for your next move. The situation felt surreal, like you had stepped into a dream you couldn’t quite wake up from.

Sukuna leaned forward slightly, his grin returning, though it was softer now. “Tell me, little human,” he purred, “do you want to keep me around? Or are you going to toss me out like some discarded toy?”

Your heart skipped a beat at the question. Was he serious? You weren’t sure if he was playing with you or if there was some genuine curiosity behind his words. Either way, the weight of his presence was undeniable. Something in you knew that once this door was opened, there was no going back.

With a deep breath, you met his gaze, trying to ignore the way your hands trembled slightly. “I… I didn’t summon you on purpose,” you said quietly, “but I guess… I wouldn’t mind you sticking around.”

Sukuna’s eyes gleamed with amusement, his grin widening. “Good answer.” He leaned back again, his posture relaxed, but his gaze never left you. “Then I suppose I’ll stick around for a bit. Let’s see how much trouble we can get into, shall we?”

You couldn’t help but smile, a mixture of nerves and excitement bubbling inside you. Ryomen Sukuna—terrifying, powerful, and dangerous—was staying. And despite the unease that lingered, you couldn’t deny the thrill of it all.

You let out a soft yawn, the adrenaline finally wearing off. The weight of sleep was creeping back in, and despite the bizarre situation, your body was craving rest. Sukuna’s imposing form loomed over you, but in your sleepy state, the fear and tension had dulled into a strange kind of comfort.

Rubbing your eyes, you glanced at the clock. It was still early, barely past dawn. The whole thing—his appearance, the shattered bowl, his unsettling yet playful questions—it all felt like a weird dream. Too tired to overthink, you found yourself blinking up at Sukuna, his four sharp eyes still trained on you with an amused glint.

Without even realizing what you were saying, you mumbled, “Hold me for the night?”

Sukuna blinked, his grin faltering for just a second. The great Ryomen Sukuna, feared by all, paused at your sleepy, groggy request. His four eyes widened slightly, as if processing the absurdity of your words. You didn’t notice, though—your eyelids were already drooping, too exhausted to care about how awkward your request might have sounded.

“Seriously?” he muttered, but you were already leaning forward, head resting against his chest as if it were the most natural thing in the world. He hesitated, glancing down at you, completely thrown off by the casual intimacy. It had been centuries since anyone had dared get this close to him—let alone asked him to hold them.

For a moment, Sukuna considered leaving you to sleep on your own. This was beneath him, after all. He was the King of Curses, not some comforting presence. But as your breath slowed and your body relaxed against him, something shifted in his expression. His smirk softened, and a quiet, almost reluctant sigh escaped him.

With an eye-roll, Sukuna slowly, carefully, wrapped his four arms around you. His movements were deliberate, as if testing out how this worked. One arm cradled your shoulders, another curved around your waist, while the other two gently held you in place, your small frame nestled against his chest. It was strange—foreign, even—but for some reason, he didn’t hate it.

You sighed in contentment, snuggling closer to the warmth of his body, completely oblivious to the fact that you had just fallen asleep in the arms of the deadliest curse in history. Sukuna glanced down at you, his gaze lingering on your peaceful face. He huffed, a soft chuckle escaping him despite himself.

“Ridiculous human,” he murmured under his breath, his lips curling into a smirk once more. “You really have no idea who you’re dealing with, do you?”

But even as he muttered the words, Sukuna didn’t let go. His grip on you remained firm, yet careful, and as the early morning light filtered through the window, the King of Curses stayed by your side, cradling you in his four powerful arms as you slept soundly, completely unaware of the strangeness of it all.

Maybe sticking around wouldn’t be so bad after all.・₊﹆ɞ‧₊

#𝓈𝓌ℯℯ𝓉 𝓈𝓆𝓊ℯℯ𝓏ℯ 𐑺 ‧₊˚໒꒱#sukuna x reader #sukuna x you #sukuna x y/n #ryomen sukuna x reader #ryomen sukuna x you #ryomen sukuna x y/n #sukuna fluff #ryomen sukuna fluff #anime x female reader #blobkuna #poukuna #jjk manga spoilers #₊˚๑ ᕱᕱ ꒱

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vanteguccir · 3 months ago

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── ୨୧ !　GOD'S WILL

spencer reid x reader

SUMMARY: Where Y/N Reid is forced to watch her husband being tortured by a delusional and psychotic serial killer through a computer screen.

WARNING: Based on s2e15 ‼️ Use of gun, blood, being beaten, death, usual CM violence.

REQUESTED?: No.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: That is my work, I DON'T authorize any plagiarism, copy, or "inspiration"! | English isn't my first language, so I'm sorry if there's any grammar error.

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The air was thick with tension as Y/N, Morgan, and Emily stepped out of the SUV, the silence of the rural property around them almost deafening. The barn loomed ahead, a dark, foreboding shape against the twilight sky.

They moved in quickly, flanked by a small group of local police officers, their flashlights cutting through the dim light, illuminating the path to the barn. The scent of decay and rot hit them before they reached the entrance, a sickly rancid smell that made Y/N’s stomach churn. She pressed a hand to her nose, trying to filter out the stench, but it was impossible to escape.

As they entered the barn, their beams of light swept over the scene inside, revealing the carnage. Dead dogs littered the floor, their bodies twisted and broken, and the last victim's remains sprawled in a grotesque display.

The walls were smeared with blood, and the metallic tang filled the air. Y/N’s heart clenched, horror flooding her senses at the sight of the animals’ suffering, the brutality of their deaths. She’d seen a lot in her years with the BAU, but this... this was something else.

"Jesus." Morgan muttered under his breath, the disgust clear in his voice. Emily’s jaw was clenched, her eyes dark with anger and revulsion. They moved further into the barn, their guns raised and ready, searching for any sign of the unsub or another victim.

Suddenly, a figure emerged from the shadows, a gun pointed directly at them.

"FBI!" A familiar voice screamed, the word slicing through the air like a knife.

Morgan’s reaction was instant, his gun snapping up to meet the threat.

"JJ! JJ, it’s Morgan, Prentiss, and Y/L/N!" He yelled, his voice a desperate plea. "Don’t shoot, it’s okay!"

Recognition dawned in JJ’s eyes, and her grip on the gun faltered, her arm lowering as she took in the sight of her colleagues. Relief flooded her features, but it was mixed with fear, her face pale and drawn.

Y/N didn’t hesitate. She rushed forward, her hands reaching out to steady JJ, her heart pounding in her chest.

"JJ, are you hurt?" She asked, her voice laced with worry, her eyes scanning JJ’s for any sign of injury.

JJ shook her head, her breath coming in shallow gasps.

"Tobias Hankel is the unsub." She said, her voice cracking, eyes wide with horror.

"Yeah, we know." Emily replied, her tone clipped and urgent.

JJ’s eyes flickered over the dead dogs, her expression crumbling.

"I had to kill them." She whispered, her voice thick with guilt, her gaze distant as if she were replaying the scene over and over in her mind. "They attacked me. I didn’t have a choice. I had to-"

"JJ." Y/N interrupted, her voice firm, cutting through JJ’s daze. Her hands tightened on JJ’s shoulders, grounding her. "Where’s Spencer?" There was an edge of desperation in Y/N’s voice, a need for answers that she couldn’t contain.

JJ seemed to waver, her eyes not quite focusing as she tried to gather her thoughts.

"He... he said he was going to the back. To check the cornfield." She finally said, pointing vaguely towards the rear of the barn, her voice barely more than a whisper.

Y/N felt a cold wave of fear wash over her, chilling her to the bone. She turned to look at the cornfield, its tall, dense rows seeming to stretch on forever, hiding whatever secrets lay within.

"Alone?" She asked, her voice barely more than a whisper. The thought of Spencer out there, by himself, searching for a killer without being used to confront one on the field, made her stomach twist into knots. "Why didn’t you go with him?"

JJ looked down, guilt flashing across her face.

"He insisted. Said he could handle it. I... I should have gone with him. I should have..." Her voice trailed off, and she shook her head, visibly struggling to keep her composure. "I’m sorry, Y/N."

Morgan didn’t waste a second. He bolted for the door, his determination radiating off of him in waves. Y/N started to follow, not even looking at JJ again, her feet moving before her mind could catch up, but Emily reached out, grabbing her arm.

"Y/N, wait!" Emily said, her grip firm. "Why don't you help me search for some clues around here? Morgan can do it, okay?"

Y/N’s heart screamed at her to go with Morgan, to find Spencer, but she knew Emily was right. She had to be logical, had to stay focused. They needed to understand what they were dealing with if they were going to help Spencer. She nodded reluctantly, pulling herself together.

"Okay." She said, her voice tight.

It didn't take too long, and soon, the whole scene was covered by ambulances and local police cars. JJ was already being checked by paramedics, her face still pale, her hands trembling. Y/N felt a pang of sympathy, but she couldn’t focus on that now. Her mind was consumed with thoughts of Spencer, with the fear that she wouldn’t find him in time.

The sound of steps interrupted her train of thoughts, catching hers and Emily's attention. Morgan finally reappeared, his face grim, his eyes shadowed with worry, and Y/N could feel her heart instantly dropping. She knew the answer before he even spoke, the tightness in his shoulders, the way he avoided her gaze.

"He’s not there." Morgan said, his voice low and rough. "Reid’s gone."

The world seemed to tilt around Y/N, her vision narrowing, her breath catching in her throat. The reality of his words slammed into her like a freight train, the implication of Spencer’s absence echoing through her mind. She had known it in her gut and had felt the terror creeping in, but hearing it spoken aloud made it all too real.

She staggered back, her hand finding the rough surface of the barn wall to steady herself. Spencer was missing. Tobias Hankel had him, and God only knew what he was doing to him. The thought was a knife to her heart, twisting and tearing, leaving her gasping for air.

"You can't find him?" JJ's voice echoed closer to them, her figure involved by a thin blanket that disguised her exhausted form.

Y/N kept her eyes on the ground, her eyes widened while her mind ate her alive, not noticing how Emily shook her head negatively or how JJ approached her hesitantly, her face etched with worry.

"Y/N." She said softly, trying to reach through the haze of sadness and worry that surrounded her friend. "We will do everything we can to find him. I promise."

Y/N whirled around, her eyes blazing with a fury so intense it made JJ take an involuntary step back, her hands clutching tightly around the blanket.

"Everything we can?" She spat, her voice cracking with the weight of her emotion. "If it weren't for you, we wouldn't need to do anything at all! You should never have left him alone. You were supposed to be with him, JJ! He was with you!"

JJ’s face paled, guilt flickering across her features.

"I- We thought it would be faster if we split up. We didn’t know-"

"You didn’t know?!" Y/N’s voice rose, sharp and accusatory. Her tears blurred her vision, but she didn't bother wiping them away. "You let him go off on his own! You let him-" Her voice broke, and she took a shuddering breath, trying to hold herself together. "And now he’s..." She gestured helplessly at the corn field as if pointing to nothing and everything at the same time. They didn't know where he was.

JJ’s eyes filled with tears, but she tried to hold her ground.

"I know you’re angry, Y/N, but I was just trying to do my job. I thought he’d be safe-"

"You thought?!" Y/N cut her off again, her voice laced with venom. "How could you think he’d be safe? We’re dealing with a killer, JJ! A crazy sadistic psychopath! And you thought it was okay to let Spencer out of your sight? He’s not like us! He’s not... he’s not..." Her words faltered as a sob tore from her throat, her anger giving way to the raw, unfiltered terror that gripped her heart.

"Hey, hey..." Emily got in between them, her eyes going from Y/N to JJ. "Y/N, I know you’re scared. We all are. But lashing out isn’t going to help find Spencer."

Y/N's shoulders fell, a mix of a sob and a deep breath escaping through her throat before she shook her head.

"I can't even look at you right now."

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The quiet that had settled over the old house was deceptive. Every member of the team could feel it: the heavy, expectant tension pressing down on their shoulders, tightening their throats, and making their hearts beat just a bit too fast.

The house reeked of rot and disrepair, the moldy walls and peeling wallpaper a bleak reminder of the darkness that had taken root here long before Tobias Hankel had become who he is now. But it wasn’t the squalid condition of the house that held the team captive, nor was it the videos from the past victim that they were analyzing with a scrutinizing eye. It was the video footage being streamed live on a grainy, unstable feed.

Spencer Reid - her lover, her husband, her everything - was on the screen, and he was in agony.

Y/N stood before the makeshift command center. Every muscle in her body tensed to the breaking point. She couldn’t tear her eyes away from the flickering image of Spencer, bound to a chair, blood streaming down the side of his face, his eyes wide with fear. Her hands balled into fists at her sides, nails digging painfully into her palms. She barely registered the sharp sting, her gaze locked on Spencer’s face, every detail of his pain etched into her mind.

"Y/N." Emily said quietly, her voice breaking through the fog of her thoughts. She stood a few feet away, her expression a mask of professional calm, though Y/N could see the concern in her eyes. "Do you want me to bring you to the hotel?"

"No, thank you." She answered in a beat, not tearing her gaze from the screen. "I need to see this."

"Y/N-"

"I said no!" Y/N snapped.

"Hey, calm down." Hotch quickly intervened, noticing her demeanor changing drastically. "We’re all doing our best here. There's no need for that."

Y/N rounded on him, her eyes flashing with a dangerous fire.

"Don’t tell me to be calm, Hotch!" She muttered, her voice raw with pain. "My husband is out there, alone, being tortured for hours, and you want me to be calm? How am I supposed to be calm? How am I supposed to just stand here and watch while he’s suffering?"

Her chest heaved with each breath, her heart hammering against her ribcage. She felt like she was drowning, like the walls were closing in on her, squeezing the air from her lungs. Her mind was a whirlwind of images of Spencer’s bloodied face, his desperate eyes.

"Do you have any idea what he’s going through?" She demanded, her voice breaking. "Do any of you know what it’s like to watch the person you love more than anything in this world being hurt and not be able to do anything to stop it?"

Hotch’s expression softened, but he stood his ground, his voice gentle but unyielding.

"We’re going to find him, Y/N. But we need you to stay focused. We need you to keep your head clear. If you don't, I will send you to the hotel until this investigation ends."

Y/N shook her head, tears streaming down her cheeks.

"Hotch... he’s all I have." She whispered, her voice breaking. "He’s everything to me." Her voice dissolved into sobs, her body shaking with the force of her grief.

"We will bring him back, Y/L/N. That's a promise." Gideon’s voice echoed closer to her, his hand squeezing her shoulder for a moment, trying to send any type of comfort to her.

Her blurred eyes got back to the computers, breathing heavily. The video feed flickered for a second, distorting the image for a moment, and she felt a flash of panic, her breath catching in her throat. When the image stabilized, showing Spencer still alive, still struggling, she let out a shuddering breath.

"Please, God." She whispered, the words slipping from her lips before she could stop them. "Just bring him back to me."

She could feel her heart pounding a relentless, painful rhythm against her ribcage. Each beat felt like a countdown, ticking away the seconds she had to save him. Her chest tightened, and each inhale felt like she was dragging razor blades into her lungs.

But it all stopped abruptly when her eyes caught Tobias appearing in the frame again.

"This ends now." Hankel's deep voice echoed from the cheap microphone, echoing around the room. "Confess your sins."

He raised his hand, and Y/N felt her blood turn to ice. Her body tensed instinctively, her muscles coiling like a spring ready to snap. She could see Spencer’s fear, see the way his eyes darted towards Tobias's face, wide and pleading, searching for some shred of mercy. But she knew there would be none. Tobias was too far gone, too lost in the labyrinth of his own madness.

The slap echoed through the small room, amplified by the crackling speakers, a sharp, vicious sound that reverberated in Y/N’s skull. It was as if she had been struck herself, the force of it radiating through her bones.

"Oh my God." She gasped, a strangled, broken sound, her hand flying to her mouth as she watched Spencer’s head snap to the side, a fresh streak of blood painting the side of his face. His eyes closed for a brief, agonizing moment, his face twisted in pain.

Y/N felt her own cheeks burn with the phantom pain of that slap, as if Tobias had reached through the screen to strike her too.

The helplessness she felt at that exact moment was suffocating. She was supposed to be his shield, his protector, and yet here she was, miles away, separated by a screen, powerless to stop the horror unfolding in front of her. It was torture of a different kind. Every inch of her body screamed to leap through the screen, to place herself between Spencer and Tobias, to take the blows herself if it meant sparing him.

How could I let this happen? How could I have been so blind?

She replayed the events leading up to this moment, searching for the misstep, the overlooked detail that had led them here.

When Spencer’s eyes opened again, glassy and unfocused, her vision blurred with tears that were never really gone. His pain was a tangible thing, a living, breathing entity that clawed at her heart, ripping it to shreds. She felt a sob rising in her throat, thick and choking, but she swallowed it down.

"Garcia, please..." She whispered, her voice a broken plea. "You couldn't find anything yet? Anything at all?"

The sound of her own voice brought a fresh wave of agony crashing over her. Spencer couldn’t hear her. He didn’t know she was there, didn’t know she was watching, didn’t know she was tearing herself apart with every second that passed.

"I'm sorry, Y/N..."

When Tobias struck his face again, the sound seemed to echo endlessly in her mind, each repetition a fresh cut to her soul. Spencer’s cry of pain, raw and involuntary, cut through her like a knife.

"Reid." Gideon said softly, his voice cutting through the haze of her anguish. His hands gripped her shoulders, turning her back to the screens and lowering his upper body in a way that he could look inside her eyes. "Why don't we step back for a moment?"

She shook her head violently, wiping at her tears with the back of her hand, smearing them across her cheek.

"I can’t leave him, Gideon." She choked out, her voice cracking with the weight of her emotion. "I have to stay with him. I have to-" Her words dissolved into a sob, and she clamped her hand over her heart, trying to hold herself together.

"Oh my, he's killing him." Penelope's words made her go into complete shock, her head turning to the computers so fast that she could feel the pain radiating from her neck.

The sound of the impact of the chair against the ground was sickening, Spencer’s body hitting the hard floor with a thud that reverberated through the barn, and that Y/N was sure she would have nightmares with it for the rest of her life.

"No!" Y/N’s scream tore from her throat, raw and anguished, her hands flying to her hair, pulling at her strands, ignoring the pain that washed over her head, her eyes widening in horror.

On the screen, Spencer’s body jerked violently, his limbs thrashing, his back arching off the ground as his muscles spasmed uncontrollably. Foam bubbled at his mouth, his eyes rolling back in his head, his face contorted in a rictus of pain.

Y/N stumbled back, her legs giving out beneath her, her hand reaching out to catch herself on the edge of the table. The world spun around her, her vision blurring with tears, her breath coming in ragged gasps. Spencer was convulsing, his body seizing, and she couldn’t do anything.

Until it all stopped.

A scream tore from her throat, raw and anguished, as she turned away from the screen. Her fist connected with the doorframe behind them, the wood splintering under the force of her blow. Pain shot through her hand, sharp and electric, but she welcomed it. It was a distraction from the pain that was tearing her apart from the inside.

"Y/N!" Morgan’s voice cut through the haze of agony, his figure reappearing from the room he escaped to minutes before, his hands grabbing her shoulders, pulling her away from the door. "What the hell are you doing?"

She struggled against him, tears streaming down her face, her body shaking with sobs she couldn’t control.

"He’s dead." She choked out, her voice broken. "He’s dead, Derek! He's dead..."

"He- what?" Morgan turned to Gideon, searching for any trace that told him that Y/N's was lying, but there was none.

"I should have been with him. I should have been there to protect him. How could I let him come here? How could I be so stupid?"

Hotch stepped forward, his expression as hard as steel.

"This isn’t your fault, Y/N. None of us could have predicted this. We’re dealing with a monster, and we’re doing everything we can to stop him-"

"It wasn't enough." Y/N shook her head, lowering her eyes to the ground, her heart feeling a kind of pain that she never thought she would have to feel.

"Guys." Garcia's voice was a shaky whisper, gaining their attention. "Guys, you should see this."

Y/N’s head snapped up, her heart lurching in her chest. She couldn't take any more scares.

On the screen, the image had changed. Tobias was leaning over Spencer now, his hands pressing rhythmically on Spencer’s chest, his face contorted with concentration. The sight was surreal, a twisted juxtaposition to the violence they had just witnessed.

Spencer’s body was still, his face pale and lifeless. Y/N’s breath caught in her throat as she watched Tobias count under his breath, his hands moving with a practiced precision. For a moment, it seemed like nothing would change, like Spencer was gone for good. But then, there was a small, almost imperceptible twitch of Spencer’s fingers. His head rose suddenly, his body jerking as he took a ragged breath, coughing loudly, his eyes flying open.

"He’s alive." Y/N breathed, her voice trembling with a mixture of relief and disbelief. Her fingers found the golden ring that decorated her left hand, ignoring her hurting knuckles, her eyes wide as she watched Spencer cough and gasp for air. For a brief, shining moment, hope flared in her chest. Spencer was alive.

They still had time. They could save him.

But the moment was shattered when Tobias’s got away from Spencer's body, his face twisted, his eyes darkening as the cruel, sadistic personality took over again. His expression shifted from concern to cold satisfaction as he stared down at Spencer, his lips curling into a smile.

"You came back to life." Tobias muttered, his voice a low, eerie whisper that sent a chill down Y/N’s spine.

"Raphael." Spencer gulped, breathing heavily, the not so pleasing experience from dying and coming back to life taking a toll on him.

Y/N’s hands found Garcia's shoulder, trembling violently while gripping her covered skin, trying to ground herself.

"There can be only one of two reasons." Tobias - or Raphael - voice echoed again from the computer, cutting into their conversation.

"I was given CPR." Reid muttered, his face twisting in pain. His obvious answer would make Y/N laugh if it was on another occasion.

"There are no accidents... How many members are on your team?" Tobias's question brought confusion to the team's head. Why would he ask that in the middle of his own chaos?

Spencer’s breathing was shallow, his voice weak as he responded.

"Seven."

Y/N’s eyes flicked to Emily, who stood beside her, her brow furrowing.

"Seven?" She repeated, confusion knitting her features. "But there’s eight of us..."

"He took himself out of the count." Emily realized, her voice tinged with disbelief. "Spencer didn’t include himself."

Before anyone could react, Tobias began to talk again, his voice low and ominous.

"Seven. And the seven angels that had the seven trumpets prepared themselves to sound. The first angel sounded, and there followed hail and fire mingled with blood, and they were thrown to earth."

A horrified understanding dawned in Hotch’s eyes.

"He thinks we’re the seven angels of death." He said, his voice grim. "He believes we’re here to bring about the apocalypse. The seven archangels versus the seven angels of death."

The room fell silent, everyone’s eyes glued to the screen as Tobias lifted Spencer’s chair, setting it upright again. Spencer winced, his body still weak, his breathing ragged. Tobias moved around to stand in front of Reid, his expression a twisted mask of anticipation.

"Tell me who you serve."

"Son of a bitch." Y/N whispered, her voice wavering as her free hand brushed roughly against her cheeks, trying to wipe the tears that never seemed to end.

"I serve you."

"Then choose one to die." Tobias commanded, his voice harsh and unyielding.

"What?" The sound of Spencer’s voice mixed with Morgan's one as both asked the same question.

"Your team members... Choose one to die."

Y/N felt a hand searching for hers desperately, Garcia's touch meeting her own above her shoulders, squeezing her fingers.

Spencer shook his head weakly, his eyes filled with pain and desperation.

"No... I won’t... I can’t..."

Tobias’s face darkened in a way that wasn't like Tobias or Raphael, his jaw clenching. He took a gun from behind his back, raising it with an expressionless face, pointing it directly at Spencer’s forehead, his finger tightening on the trigger.

"Oh, but you can." He hissed. "And you will. Or I start with you right now."

Y/N’s left hand balled into a fist at her side, squeezing her marriage ring between her fingers.

Spencer’s voice broke through the silence, choked and desperate.

"Please... don’t make me... please..."

Tobias's eyes hardened, the barrel of his gun almost digging into Spencer’s skin.

"Choose and prove you'll do God's will."

Y/N’s heart pounded in her chest, her mind racing as she watched Spencer struggle with his decision. She could see the conflict in his eyes every time Tobias pressed the trigger, the fear and the resolve battling within him. For a moment, it seemed like he might refuse again, that he might find a way to resist. But then, his eyes closed, his face going still, as if he had made a decision.

When Spencer opened his eyes, his gaze was steady, his voice calm as he spoke.

"I choose... Y/N Reid."

The room went deathly quiet, everyone seeming to stop breathing, the words hanging in the air like a dark cloud. All eyes turned to Y/N, her face a mask of shock and confusion. Her heart stopped, her breath catching in her throat as Spencer’s words echoed in her mind.

He had chosen her. Why?

Spencer’s voice was steady, almost detached as he continued, his words cutting through Y/N like a knife.

"She thinks she’s stronger and better than everyone else. That she can do anything she wants, and no one can stop her. Not even God."

Y/N’s eyes widened, the words stinging like a slap. She felt her eyes burn more than before, her hands trembling. She knew Spencer didn’t mean it. He couldn’t mean it. But hearing those words from his lips, feeling the weight of his condemnation, was more than she could bear.

The others were staring at her, their eyes filled with shock and concern, but Y/N barely noticed. Her focus was entirely on Spencer, on the pain and sorrow etched into his features.

Spencer’s voice dropped to a whisper, and he began to recite.

"Mark 5:3-4. This man lived in the tombs, and no one could bind him anymore, not even with a chain. For he had often been chained hand and foot, but he tore the chains apart and broke the irons on his feet. No one was strong enough to subdue him."

Tobias’s eyes gleamed with malicious delight. He raised an eyebrow, his lips curling into a dark smile, a different one. The kind of smile Spencer had only seen in Tobias’s father's face.

"Reid?" He repeated, drawing out the name mockingly. "Now that sounds familiar." He glanced down at Spencer’s left hand, the faint glint of metal catching his eye. "Is she the reason for this ring on your finger?"

Spencer’s eyes darted down to his hand without moving his head, the simple gold band that had become a symbol of their love, their commitment to each other. He swallowed hard, trying to keep his voice steady.

"I... I don’t know what you’re talking about." He lied, his voice wavering.

Tobias's face stiffened, his brows furrowing instantly.

"Lie is a sin. And she's a sinner, like you, and she will be punished for that. I'm honored to do what will make God proud."

Rage flared in Spencer’s eyes, and he struggled against his restraints, his voice rising in desperation.

"Shut up! Shut up!" His voice cracked with the force of his emotion, the words torn from his throat.

The smile across Tobias face widened, his eyes gleaming with sadistic pleasure. He leaned closer, his voice a low, taunting whisper.

"I hope you kissed Mrs. Reid goodbye and told her how much you love her before you came here, because you won’t get the chance to do it ever again."

His fingers tightened around the gun, and without a warning, he aimed upwards and fired, the gunshot echoing through the barn. The sound was like a detonator in Y/N’s mind, snapping something inside her.

Y/N’s heart pounded in her ears, her thoughts a chaotic swirl. She had to understand. She had to believe that Spencer didn't say all of that for nothing. She had to figure out what he was trying to tell them. Without another thought, she turned and ran from the room, her footsteps echoing in the silence.

"Y/N!" Morgan called after her, his voice filled with worry. But Y/N didn’t stop. She couldn’t stop. She needed to find the answer.

Her mind raced as she sprinted down the hallway, the words of the verse running through her head. Tombs. Chains. It was a clue. Spencer was trying to tell them where he was. He was giving them a way to find him.

She burst into the small library, her eyes scanning the shelves frantically. There had to be a Bible here. Tobias was religious, his entire psyche built around his warped interpretation of scripture.

Her fingers brushed against a worn leather cover, and she pulled the Bible from the shelf, flipping it open with trembling hands. She scanned the pages, her eyes darting over the lines until she found the passage Spencer had recited. Her breath caught as she read the words again, her heart pounding with realization.

"The tombs." Y/N whispered, her voice trembling. "He’s in a cemetery."

Behind her, the rest of the team had followed, their expressions a mix of concern and confusion.

"Y/N, you know he didn't... Wait, what?" Emily started, interrupting her train of thoughts after understanding what Y/N was saying.

Y/N turned to face them, her eyes wide, the Bible clutched in her hands.

"He’s in a cemetery." She repeated, her voice filled with certainty. "Spencer said tombs. He’s telling us he’s in a cemetery."

Hotch’s eyes shined with recognition, understanding dawning on his face. He turned to Penelope, who was already typing furiously at her laptop, her fingers flying over the keys.

"Garcia." He said sharply, his voice filled with command. "Search for cemeteries in the area. Any place that fits the description. We need to find him. Go."

Penelope nodded, her face set with determination.

"I’m on it." She replied, her voice steady despite the fear in her eyes.

Y/N muted all of their talking after that, standing in the back of the room and looking at her feet, absorving the surge of hope that washed over her, her heart lifting for the first time since this nightmare had begun.

They were close. Spencer had given them a clue, a lifeline. They just had to find him before it was too late.

As the team kept trying to find the exact place, Y/N clutched the Bible to her chest, silently praying that they would reach Spencer in time.

484 notes · View notes

tsukimefuku · 6 months ago

Text

de-stressing the lawyer :: higuruma hiromi

summary: your husband hiromi is pretty stressed out with work, and you decide to help him out… by giving him head under his desk.

cw: smut, implied f!reader, blowjob, swallowing, pet names (“darling" and “my dear”).

wc: 1.1k

notes etc.: this is just filth, guys. It is thoroughly inspired by that one amazing four-panel comic from @g00miato that has lived in my head rent free ever since I saw it a while ago (tagging the artist with her consent, you can check out the comic here on this link).

Hiromi had a throbbing headache as he sat on his home office's desk. He had been cooped up in there for hours after work, having already peeled out his tie and suit jacket, trying to crack a case he didn't get anywhere with during office hours.

The evidence? Wasn't favorable at all. The procedure? Pristine, nothing to argue about that. His client was in a dire situation and Hiromi thought he might have to enter a plea bargain with the prosecution, something he loathed with every fiber of his being.

"Hey, Hiro... Any luck yet?" you asked, walking in holding a plate with a few sandwiches. He looked at you like he could throw himself out of the window at that very instant. "Yeesh."

"I'm stuck. I'm just utterly, and completely, stuck," he answered, disheartened and annoyed, with a prominent vein popping on his forehead — the tell-tale sign he was operating at peak stress capabilities.

You put the plate on the desk and sat on the edge to avoid ruffling up his papers.

"Is there anything I can do for you, Hiro?" you asked, with clear concern in your voice. He worked too much most of the time.

Hiromi spun on his chair to look at you for a second, grabbing one of the sandwiches.

"This is fine, love. Thank you."

Upon closer inspection, he really looked like he was three heartbeats short of a heart attack.

"Hiromi, you need to relax..." you cooed, giving him a chaste kiss on his forehead. "Maybe try taking a break?"

"I can't. I can't leave this desk. I feel like I almost got it, but it keeps slipping away! Dammit," he complained with his mouth half full while covering his face with his hands.

You sighed, and walked behind him, starting to massage his shoulders. He felt like a boulder underneath your touch, and it took a while for him to actually begin relaxing, putting his food back on the plate and dangling his head back with his eyes closed.

"Is that good?"

Hiromi simply nodded, and you sighed, a little more relieved. However, his muscles were still very much stiff, and there was no way he'd be able to continue working like this.

That was when you had a wicked little idea.

“Hey, Hiro, I think you need a break.”

“My love, I can’t. I’ve almost-“

“Let me rephrase that — you will take a break right now,” you answered him, starting to pull on his chair enough to separate him from his desk, “because I had an idea. And you won’t have to leave your desk.”

Hiromi looked at you confused, but offered no resistance when you pulled him away from his papers. Swiftly, you walked in front of him and kneeled, sliding under his desk.

“What are you-“

He didn’t get to finish his sentence as you put both hands on his thighs and rolled him back in your direction, sneaky fingers quickly unzipping his pants.

“I’m taking care of my dear, beloved husband,” you cooed with a mischievous smile on your face.

Hiromi looked down at you, shuddering the moment you pressed your hands on his clothed cock and started to massage it over his boxers, his pupils slowly growing larger and larger. Hiromi’s mouth fell open, his breathing growing heavier as he gazed at you.

You could feel his length hardening under your touch, and rested your face over his thigh while you kept softly stroking him. Hiromi’s hand made its way towards your face, his thumb brushing circles around your cheek. Your eyes met his, and you smiled at him, robbing him of a blush and some fluttering blinks.

For the first time today, Hiromi actually felt the pent up stress easing on him. His relaxation now had become more evident from the way your husband began slouching himself on his chair. His resolve to keep tinkering with his work evaporated for the time being, something only you got to do with Hiromi.

His work was first to anything, except when it came to you.

Feeling more and more satisfied with that, you finally downed his boxers, just to see his now throbbing, red cock slapping with a soft thud against his skin. From his mouth, the faintest whimper tumbled out, and oh did that rile you up just right.

Not wasting any time, you gave a few licks over his tip, tasting the salty pre cum just forming a tiny drop over his slit. That robbed Hiromi from some little moans and gasps, right before you finally downed his length inside your mouth, glazing it all over with wet, warm saliva.

”You... t-take such good care-- of me... fuck“ Hiromi’s fingers tangled in your hair, lovingly massaging their way through, and it was you now who let out a tiny mewl, eliciting a broken moan from his lips.

You had your mouth as deep as you could without choking yourself, and bobbed your head up and down his shaft, as one of your hands pumped the rest of his length down to the base, pulling your other hand up to massage his tightening balls. You looked up at him, meeting his gaze, and at that moment, he let out a strained whimper rolling his eyes back, biting his lips.

”Such a good wife-- s-so good for me-- ohhh perfect... shit... ohhhh--”

His praises were definitely arousing, to say the least, and you clenched your thighs together, relieving — even if just a little — the pulsing need aching in your core while you had both of your hands full with him.

Hiromi got lost in the pleasure, and barely noticed his entire body relaxing, which led to his legs starting to push him away from you. Your hand that previously was around his balls instantly shot up, holding him by his buttoned shirt. The moment you pulled him in your direction, edging his cock even deeper in your tight, hot, slick mouth, he involuntarily bucked his hips, tip hitting the roof of your mouth.

You moaned with your lips around his shaft, and started to suck on it more intently. Hiromi’s head dangled back, his own desperate moans and whimpers coming muffled in between his teeth and bitten bottom lip. Both of his hands now stroked your hair, anxiously making a mess out of you, just as much you were making a mess out of him.

”I’m gonna c-cum... Can I... inside-- p-please-- m-my love, ohhhhh-- please... please”

To hear him beg desperately like that was definitely one of your favorite sounds in the world.

You moaned back at him a muffled mm-hmm, and from his lips fell some louder whimpers, his fingers tensing around your head.

He came with a shiver shooting all throughout his entire body, warm spurts of his thick cum blossoming hot over your tongue, glazing your entire mouth and throat.

Your hand on his shirt tightened, crumpling it like paper, as you drank his essence in, swallowing down everything as your pumping over his length finally slowed down, his cock twitching under your touch to let out his final drops.

Letting go from his cock with an audible pop after your were finished, you looked up at him, and for a moment, you felt like you could cum from that sight alone. His flushed, loving, little fucked out face, smiling at you with those luster-filled ashy eyes. It was definitely a sight to behold.

You rested your face over his thigh, longingly looking at him, and Hiromi’s hand cupped the side of your face.

“I love you, darling,” he cooed with a husky, low voice.

“I love you too, Hiro.”

Out of nowhere, though, his gaze slowly morphed, and his eyebrows shot up, as if Hiromi had remembered something.

“Hiro, is everything okay?”

“I think I just might have thought of a way to salvage this case.”

De-stressing really helped Hiromi with work, apparently, and you’d help him every time he needed to.

Gladly.

written by tsukimefuku ㋡ comments and reblogs are appreciated. do not copy, translate or repost. copycatting is for losers.

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scarlet-star-witch · 4 months ago

Text

The moon and his sun (Part VI)

Aemond Targaryen x female reader

Summary: People would remember their story. Even decades after they were gone, Septa’s would tell young children about the one-eyed dragon prince and his sweet wife as if they were a part of a fairytale, too good to be true for the harshness real life possessed.

Aemond meets a young girl who quickly becomes his most cherished friend and changes the course of history.

Word count: 6.7 K

Warnings: More angst, Aegon being the villain of all villains, lots of grief and sadness, but also fluff because they love each other so much

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 ... Part 7

Things were different after that night. She was different. With each passing day Aemond saw less and less of the woman he knew and loved with every inch of his being. She was no longer that bright-eyed and sparkling girl he had known since his childhood.

Her lips no longer curled with mischief, her laughter no longer rang out in their chambers. Her hand no longer sought him out, she had no kisses to give him just for the sake of it.

The space between them in their bed felt like a chasm that was too great for him to cross to get to her.

She spent her days curled up in bed, hugging the blankets tightly to her, refusing anyone who attempted to pry them away from her. The maids tip-toed around her, the gazes of pity stirring Aemond’s anger.

She barely spoke a word, only giving weak-sounding excuses to refuse her meals, to refuse to get up and face the day.

He didn’t blame her. If he could, he would be in that bed beside her all hours of the day, but his duties as a Prince didn’t stop because his heart had shattered. The thought of his lost child didn’t leave his mind as he sat in on meetings of war, it was all he thought of as he numbly walked the halls like a ghost.

The empty chair next to him at every dinner spoke volumes and he didn’t know how many more nights he could endure the pitying looks from his mother.

The guilt was drowning him.

He knew the attack was revenge for what he had done to Lucerys Velaryon. He knew that man he had driven his sword into was following the orders of Rhaenyra and Daemon. He knew his wife had almost been murdered for his mistake.

He knew his child was dead because of him.

He couldn’t stomach the thought. He felt untethered to himself, as if he were walking around without a soul. He couldn’t handle the grief, he couldn’t fathom the reality that played out around him.

So he settled for anger. It was what he knew, it was familiar.

The moment he would leave his wife’s side, the moment he stepped out of their chambers, the melancholy and the heartbreak would recede within him, his face hardening, his entire demeanor changing in an instant, portraying that of a cold, unflinching soldier rather than the mourning husband and lost father.

The thought of his half sister and uncle made him see red, the dragon blood within him sizzling under his skin, igniting a fury so volatile it shadowed any ire he had felt for his bastard nephews.

He sat in his mother’s chambers, staring blankly out the window, ignoring the politicking his mother and grandsire attempted to bring forth to Aegon who sat looking bored. Time passed unknowingly, his mind a million miles away - or just mere hallways away where his wife lay, a picture of a broken mother.

“Aemond?”

He turned his attention to his mother who was eyeing him questioningly. He hummed absentmindedly and she sighed.

“How is she?”

He clenched his jaw, his eyes falling to his feet, unable to speak a word of his wife’s condition. He would surely break down if he did and he refused to let his prick of a brother witness such a moment of weakness.

Alicent sighed, failing yet again to engage her son in any semblance of conversation.

“Her maid told me she has refused to eat… again.”

Aemond felt himself twitch, his anger sparking at the mention of his wife and the monumental grief she was lost in, that he had no way to help her through.

He felt a sharp pain in his chest, the same pain he had been feeling for the past few days. He wondered each time if it were another piece of his heart cracking, shriveling away to nothing. He wondered when it would stop, when there would finally be nothing left of it.

He pictured the scene he had walked into that night, the sight of that man over his wife, her below him, bloody and crying, so close to being taken from the world, taken from him.

It was a sight that had haunted his every waking thought since.

It was a sight that had broken him beyond repair.

It was a sight that left him bloodthirsty.

Unable to stand the grief any longer, he succumbed to his burning anger, the thought of his uncle and half-sister leaving him to feel as though there was only one single thing he could do to release him from the fury that was all-consuming, sure enough to devour him at any moment.

He abruptly stood, causing his family to flinch and send curious stares his way.

“Aemond?”

“I cannot sit here and let the attempt on my wife’s life and the loss of my child go unpunished any longer.”

He stomped towards the door, prompting his mother and grandsire to stand and quickly follow behind him, worry painting their features. Helaena shifted uncomfortably where she sat, the grief that surrounded her brother and dear friend shrouding her kind heart, clouding her usually sunny disposition. Even Aegon looked worried, his eyes flitting between his brother and his Hand with apprehension.

“It will not go unpunished, but we need a plan. We cannot blindly go forward with violence.” Otto scolded him impatiently.

Aemond smirked, the sight of a man who was beginning to lose it all.

“My uncle underestimates me. He will soon know better than to threaten what’s mine.”

“Aemond, please.” Alicent pleaded desperately. “I know you’re hurting, but you cannot let your grief rule you, we need-”

“I need to end this. I started this and I paid for it with the life of my child.” Aemond seethed, his lone eye wide and becoming glassy, the lump in his throat growing as he thought of his babe he would never hold.

Helaena felt her own eyes begin to well with tears as she watched her broken brother attempt to salvage what little control he felt he had.

“Daemon will die for this and I won’t wait any longer for you to discuss allies and soldiers, to wait long enough to let him plan another attack that will take my wife from me. I will end it today. He doesn’t deserve to see another sunrise.”

He moved to the door once more, but his mother frantically latched onto his arm, pulling him back, her own tears falling down her cheeks.

“Please, think this through.”

“I have!” Aemond screamed, his heart racing, his hands trembling, his grief and anger overtaking every rational thought in his mind.

His vision blurred and he abruptly turned away from his family, refusing to let them see him crumble.

The room was silent, heavy with tension.

“Vhagar is mighty, but she cannot take on Caraxes, Syrax, Meleys, even Vermax, alone and you will get yourself killed for nothing.” Otto added, causing Aemond to flinch as if he’d been struck.

It wasn’t for nothing. It was for his wife, for the child they lost, the son they would never get to hold.

“Aemond.” Helaena’s tearful voice spoke up. “She needs you.”

The words, so simple yet gut wrenching, were enough to snuff out his fury. The thought of his wife, the woman who was grieving just as he was and what would happen to her if he charged into battle. The thought of her losing someone else, knowing he would break her already fragile heart into a state of disrepair had his head spinning, the desire to rip his uncle limb from limb receding into the depths of his mind.

The only thing that mattered was her.

He refused to cause her any more harm.

He left the room without another word, keeping his head down as he quickly made his way to their chambers.

His frayed nerves needed only one antidote, her.

Stepping into their chambers, his heart jumped within his chest as he noticed the bed was empty. He panicked momentarily before he heard the soft voices of her maids. He stepped forward slowly, peeking his head into the next room where her maids surrounded her, their touches gentle as they helped her bathe.

Aemond felt the ache return, as if a fist were clenched tightly around his heart, squeezing until it ceased to beat.

Her eyes were dull, her face passive. His throat grew tight as he watched the maids lift her arm, the limp limb like a ragdoll, as if she were merely a corpse, a body functioning without its beautiful mind.

It shattered him beyond repair to see her in this state.

You did this, the tormenting voice in his head reminded him yet again.

The guilt could’ve knocked him off his feet.

Gritting his teeth, he turned away from the torturous sight before him and stormed out of the room, his quick, angered pace taking him out of the Red Keep.

His breathing was heavy, his chest heaving with every step he took.

Vhagar raised her head lazily as her rider approached. Her demeanor changed in an instant, shaking herself from her tiredness, her bonded’s fury and despair so loud, it was radiating off him in waves. She growled lowly, snarling as he approached.

Aemond had no words of comfort, nothing to say to calm his dragon. She felt what he felt, she was as thirsty for destruction as he was.

He commanded Vhagar to fly, where he didn’t know.

The frigid wind was like knives against his skin, the rope in his hands course and rough. He hadn’t bothered to wear his gloves or any of his proper attire for riding. He had been desperate to get out of that room, unable to face his wife for a second longer or his heart would’ve given out there and then.

He just needed to get away from it all. Everywhere he looked there were reminders of what had happened that night, what he caused.

To see his wife in such a state and to know it was because of him left him wondering how much longer he could live with it. He was certain it wouldn’t be too much longer, he almost welcomed it for he couldn’t live like this any more.

Aemond rode far and fast, his legs aching, his back becoming sore, but it didn’t matter to him, it barely even registered.

Noticing a small island on the horizon, Aemond pulled the reins, commanding Vhagar to descend.

His heart raced, the lump in his throat close to choking him.

“Vhagar…” He called out, his voice hoarse with emotion. “Dracarys!”

His mighty dragon roared streams of fire, over and over as her rider commanded, his yelled commands becoming inaudible over the currents of fire she spewed. Aemond watched the trees burn, their flames growing into raging infernos. He commanded Vhagar to land and he numbly stumbled off her saddle, his grace gone in his state of despair.

He stepped forward, his eye glowing orange with the flames before him. He felt the heat radiating from the blaze and took another step towards it. Behind him, Vhagar roared, as if in warning, as if she could sense the danger, sense the recklessness in her rider.

A choked breath escaped his lips, his mind flashing with images of that dreaded night, his wife screaming in agony, her thighs dripping red with the loss of their child. He thought of the little boy he pictured all those times he would place his hand over the small bump that grew, imagining the child with eyes like his mother’s, his smile wide and deliriously happy like his mother’s. The memories were suffocating.

You did this.

The words circled in his head until he broke.

His eyes burned with tears and he gasped helplessly as they fell in a torrent down his cheeks. His legs felt weak under him and he stumbled, falling to his knees in the coarse grass below him.

He cried and screamed until his throat hurt. He unleashed his fury and heartbreak in a flood of sobs he couldn’t control.

The flames before him crawled towards him, the heat before him that burned uncomfortably hot an unlikely comfort. He remained still as the fire raged closer and closer.

Behind him, Vhagar roared, a sound so heartbreaking it mirrored her rider’s own all consuming anguish.

Minutes, that felt like hours, passed until he had no tears left, his throat dry and aching, leaving him to stare blankly forward, the flames before him like a hypnotizing mirage, beckoning him forward, enticing him to end the pain once and for all.

It wasn’t until the trees before him began to creak and wither, soon collapsing under the assault, wicked waves of embers and ash spraying towards him, the island he unleashed his fury on succumbing to his destruction, that he shook himself from his grief induced daze.

With a heavy breath, his eye heavy and hurting, he finally got to his feet slowly, making no haste to climb back atop Vhagar who seemed to rumble in discontent below him, as if to chastise him for his recklessness.

As he flew back to King’s Landing, he felt no lighter, no great catharsis that lifted the weight on his chest. His heart still felt as though it would break with each breath.

He just hoped he could survive another agonizing day.

The days dragged on and he was left to face his wife’s absence once again, his head down as he ate, desperate to get the meal over with as quickly as he could and get back to their chambers to be with her.

At the head of the table, Otto cleared his throat and Aemond wondered how such a miniscule sound could still hold authority. He looked up with barely contained disdain and he met the surly eyes of his grandsire.

“I think it is time we discuss our next steps.”

“Father.” Alicent admonished wearily. “Now is not the time.”

Aemond’s eye narrowed, it was all too obvious they had been conspiring without him.

“Clearly you have something to say, so say it.” Aemond barked out, his tone making Helaena flinch from where she sat across the table.

The look of apprehension his mother sent to his grandsire didn’t go unnoticed, heightening his already tempestuous nerves.

“It is apparent your wife’s grief is not permitting her to uphold her duties-”

Aemond didn’t need to hear anymore. He stood from his chair, letting it clatter to the floor from the force of his movements and didn’t spare a look back at his family as he made his way to the door, his body rigid with fury.

Ignoring the cries of his mother to come back and his grandsire’s warning to not turn his back on them, he stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind him.

He knew his granside was not overly fond of his union, that he would rather he ally himself with that dastardly Baratheon girl or a plain girl from the Riverlands. He knew it was all to help Aegon’s cause and he couldn’t care less.

No one dared to make eye contact with the feared Prince as he stomped down the halls with an air of fury. He pictured his wife, the playful shove and sarcastic admonishment she would give him for his temper as the maids scurried out of his path in terror.

The thought of her, of the person she no longer was, of what was ripped away from them so viciously only made his blood boil hotter.

His entire body was locked with tension as he stormed into their chambers. He leaned against the closed door, his eye falling closed as he breathed deeply in an effort to regain any ounce of calmness he could reach.

“Hi.”

Her soft voice startled him, his eyes springing open, searching frantically among the room until he landed on her curled up form on the couch by the hearth.

His lips parted in surprise, hope swelling within him at the sight of her out of that bed, washing away every bit of his anger in an instant.

“Hi.” He breathed out, approaching slowly, gauging her reaction as he took a seat next to her, making sure to leave a respectable amount of space between them, as if they were a pair of innocent children, having to put on airs for the court.

“I assume dinner did not go well.”

Aemond let out a low sound, too exhausted and mentally drained to laugh as he slumped, no longer the picture of the perfectly put together Targaryen Prince. He ran a hand over his tired face.

“You are familiar with my family. I’m surprised you had any positive expectations.”

Her lips quirked upwards slightly, more of a barely perceptible twitch of her lips, in a pathetic attempt to convey some semblance of amusement. She couldn’t muster much more in her state.

Aemond watched her intently, noticing the signs of exhaustion, the way she curled up into herself, her eyes dull and marked with dark circles. It hurt him deeply to see her in this state, but he couldn’t deny the relief he felt at the mere fact that she was no longer hiding beneath her sheets.

“You.. you’re out of bed.” He remarked quietly.

She looked over at him, slightly surprised by his words. She wrapped her arms around herself and leaned back deeper into the couch she lay on, as if she could make herself smaller.

“It felt like…” She started slowly, trying to find the words to describe the grief that was overtaking her. “Like a fog had finally lifted, like I could finally control my own body again.”

Aemond nodded slowly, the ache within him only growing more prominent at her words. He reached out, taking her hand in his, his thumb gently caressing the bandage she still wore. He winced slightly at the sight of it, the reminder of that night, of how he had almost lost her and the pain she had been in stirring his devastation yet again.

“Did you eat?”

She clammed up at his question, her eyes quickly casting down to the floor, refusing to look his way.

“I’m not hungry.” She responded monotonously, the response becoming all too familiar to him.

Aemond sighed, pushing past his disappointment, choosing to focus on the relief he felt that she had even gotten out of bed. He’d take whatever progress came, no matter how slow.

The pair of them were left in silence, a tense air around them that had never existed between them before.

She shifted in her spot, hating what they had come to, hating her mind for forcing her to relive her loss over and over, keeping her in this black hole of misery she couldn’t claw her way out of.

As the minutes passed in a dreadful silence, she finally reached her breaking point, her disdain for the state of their marriage for once overtaking her grief.

“Can you read to me… like you used to?” She asked, her voice sounding slightly raspy from disuse.

Aemond looked shocked by her question, but the light that reached his eye was unmistakable, twisting her stomach for the first time in weeks in ways that didn’t signal trauma. The fluttering of nervous butterflies at the sight of him made her feel like she was a child again.

He nodded eagerly and reached for the book that lay on the table beside him, the book he’d been leafing through at night when he couldn’t find sleep, when the guilt became overwhelming that he couldn’t bring himself to lay next to her.

He began to read, stealing occasional looks to her, a hint of a smile playing at his lips as their eyes met each time.

With each passing second, the tension between them slowly abated, leaving the tranquil ease they were used to.

Both of them couldn’t help but think back to how their friendship started, of their days together in the library, the hours she spent listening to Aemond read, the beginning of everything.

She smiled lightly, focusing on the beautiful sound of her husband’s voice. She let her body relax, unclenching each limb that was wrought with stiffness. She shifted, stretching her legs out on the couch, Aemond reflexively moving his book to bring her feet to rest in his lap, laying his other hand over her legs as he had done a thousand times before, reminiscent of late nights reading by the fire after hours of lovemaking.

She smiled and let her head fall back on the pillow behind her, closing her eyes in contentment, letting Aemond’s voice relax her into a state of calm she didn’t think she’d ever feel again.

Slowly, the weight on their shoulders lifted, piece by piece, replacing their soul-crushing hurt with a relative ease, the despair and grief dissipating. It was still there, they both knew they wouldn’t soon forget the thought of their child, but it didn’t feel as strangling as before.

It took time, but she was able to spend more days out of bed, beginning to eat little bites of the food Aemond had brought her, her heart feeling lighter at the sight of his relieved smile with every bite she took.

She would have her moments, when the grief became all consuming once again and she would hate the world for what it took from her, but he would be there every time to embrace her tightly and wipe her tears, to tuck her into their bed and hold her in his arms until she calmed.

“I think of him every second of the day.” She whispered into the darkness, the tightening of Aemond’s arms around her the only indication that he had heard her words.

They didn’t speak much about their child, but it was clear to both of them the loss was never far from their minds. Aemond held her differently, more gently, as if he feared she would crack like porcelain if his touch was anything more than feather-light.

“I do too.” He admitted quietly, his voice strained from the emotions that threatened to break him at the thought of their child. His hand smoothed down the front of her nightgown, resting on her stomach that no longer grew with the life of their babe.

A shuddering breath escaped her, the noise prompting Aemond to pull her in closer to him, his lips pressing to her cheek in a gentle show of affection, one she needed desperately.

“I’m sorry.” She whispered tearfully.

Aemond turned her over so she was facing him, his hand resting on her cheek, his thumb discreetly wiping the tears that had snuck out of the corner of her eye.

“You do not ever need to apologize to me.” He assured her softly, his nose brushing against hers as he regarded her carefully, the sight of her sadness stirring his determination to remind her of what she meant to him, how deeply his love for her ran.

“This is my fault.”

Aemond’s whispered words crashed over her like a wave. Her eyes met his, the sadness reflected in his own mirroring hers, revealing how much they were both struggling, adrift in the sea of grief without a paddle.

“You didn’t do this.” She told him, her voice weak with emotion. “You love our son. I would never doubt that.”

His face twisted, taking a monumental effort not to crumble into tears. She could tell him a million times, but he wouldn’t believe it. He knew what he was, he knew what he did, and nothing would change it.

All he could do was try to live with it.

He tightened his grip on her, moving in closer so there was no inch of his body that wasn’t pressed against hers. He needed her comfort, her closeness, to remind himself there was something worth living for.

He leaned in, kissing her more softly than he could ever recall, their first proper kiss in weeks.

“You mean more to me than anything in this world.” He kissed her again, just as gentle as before. “I would be nothing without you.”

His whispered words made her eyes sting again, though this time for a much different reason. She felt as thought the deep cracks in her heart were beginning to heal, slowly coming back together to be whole again, to love again.

Despite the grief they still felt so strongly, they came back to each other, finding solace in their shared tears and memories of what they had envisioned for their future.

But it couldn’t last forever.

They were curled up on the couch together one afternoon when a knock sounded at their door. She tensed immediately, causing Aemond to tighten his hold on her as he called for the person to enter.

A guard entered their room and bowed respectfully.

“My Prince, Princess. King Aegon has sent for both of you to meet him in the council chambers.”

Aemond tensed, his gaze narrowing as he sat up straighter.

“Both of us?”

“That is what the King has ordered.”

They shared looks of uncertainty, her fear growing greater than his at the prospect of facing his family for the first time since the incident. She’d seen Helaena of course, her sweet friend had been by her side, brightening her day for the past week once she’d been accepting of visitors again.

But she had yet to see Alicent and the thought of coming face to face with Otto and Aegon had her ready to jump back into her bed, pull the sheets over her head and pretend the outside world didn’t exist.

But she had a duty to perform. She couldn’t very well refuse the King, especially not when he was a drunken beast with the temperament of a spoiled toddler.

She smoothed her hair out in an attempt to look more presentable and took Aemond’s arm, the two of them walking slowly, their bodies tense, pits of dread in their stomachs, as if they were headed to the executioner’s block.

They arrived at the council chambers much too quickly. She kept her head down as they entered, but the sound of the Dowager Queen’s voice quickly had her raising her gaze to attention.

“Why is she here?”

She first met her good mother’s look of contempt before shifting to land on Aegon’s lecherous smile and her stomach twisted.

“I invited her here, mother. This concerns her too.”

Aemond looked between his mother and brother incredulously, a sinking feeling growing within him, suddenly dreading having ever left their chambers.

“What is the meaning of this?”

“Take a seat, we have much to discuss.” Aegon said, all too cheerfully. Across the table, the Hand sighed heavily, sending a snide look to his grandson for his lack of decorum.

“There are still arrangements to be made for House Tully.” Otto began vaguely, his eyes shifting from Aemond to his wife at his side, mentally preparing himself for the fight that was soon to break out.

“These arrangements concern me?” Aemond asked, his tone already one of hostility.

Alicent cleared her throat and sat up straighter in her seat, her gaze focused solely on her hands, refusing to meet the gaze of her son.

“With Daeron’s marriage agreement securing Storm’s End as our ally, that leaves House Tully to be discussed.”

Aemond’s brows furrowed, his heart picking up its pace, his mother’s refusal to look him in the eye setting his nerves alight.

Aegon rolled his eyes at the delicate nature of the meeting that was taking far too long for his liking.

“You will be betrothed to a Tully daughter, securing their alliance to our side.” Aegon blurted out quickly, ignoring the looks of indignation from his mother and gransire.

Aemond’s face darkened, a sarcastic sounding laugh escaping him, the sound making the hairs on the back of Alicent’s neck stand at attention, for it was a sound far colder than she had ever heard from her son.

“I know you’ve been lost in your cups for years, brother, but surely you remember that I married many moons ago.”

The bitter tone to his voice put everyone on edge.

“Yes, but your wife has been unable to give you a son, a valid enough reason for an annulment, I’d say.”

He didn’t know what pissed him off more, Aegon’s words or the ease with which he had said them, as if it was a decision easily made. Aemond grit his teeth, his deadly glare locked steadily on his brother, a thousand and one threats to his life on the tip of his tongue.

To have their loss thrown into their faces so callously had him seeing red.

But it was the soft hand that brushed over his, desperately seeking comfort, that held him back. He turned to his wife, the brimming tears of defeat in her eyes and the despair in her expression made him want to scream.

She couldn’t possibly think he was going to let this happen.

He turned to Otto, his gaze flaring with anger.

“This is ridiculous, he cannot do this.”

“It is a valid reason.”

Aemond stormed to his feet, the abrupt action causing the guards at the door to put their hands on their swords, threatening him before he could make a move to end the lives of anyone who dared to threaten his marriage.

He seethed, sending a deadly glare to the guards before turning his attention to his mother who sat silently, picking at her nails anxiously.

“Mother?” He asked, fury coursing through him again when she refused to meet his eye.

“You would not be forced from her. Many men take mistresses.”

A choked breath escaped him, his gaze laced with betrayal, his mother’s words like a slap across the face.

“Exactly!” Aegon agreed, all too happy with the turn of events. “Your marriage was already a sham. He was bedding her long before they were betrothed.”

Aemond’s lone eye glared daggers at his brother. He could feel the burning gazes of shame from his mother and grandsire and he couldn’t find it in himself to look their way.

“Not to worry, brother, I could easily keep your whore here with us. Aegon the Conqueror had two wives, maybe I’ll follow in his footsteps and take your sweet wife as my own.”

The smile he sent her made her stomach turn. She would die before she let Aegon touch her.

“I don’t mind sharing her.” Aegon smirked, the sight nausea inducing.

His wife’s hand on his arm was the only thing to stop Aemond from lunging forward to throttle his brother. He was trembling with rage, he had never felt this before, like every inch of him was unraveling, like the bare bones of him were alight with fire.

He turned back to his mother, a sense of satisfaction coursing through him when he saw her flinch at the intensity of the fury in his gaze.

“You cannot be serious.” He said, his voice dangerously quiet. “You cannot let him do this.”

“He is our King, I do not ‘let’ him do anything.” Alicent responded harshly. “You rushed into this marriage without considering our political position. We are at war and we need to do what we can to secure our allies. You have a duty to perform, Aemond.”

He couldn’t bear to hear another word and grabbed his wife's hand, hauling her up from her chair and storming out of the room, practically dragging her behind him as she struggled to keep up with his quick pace.

Alicent sighed heavily as the door slammed behind them, burying her face in her hands.

“Why would you summon her?”

“She deserved to hear what I have planned for her future.”

“You cannot truly be taking her to wife.”

Aegon shrugged. “She’s pretty enough, I don’t see why I wouldn’t.”

Alicent’s disgust was clear in the sneer she sent her son.

“Aemond will never agree to this.”

Otto leaned back in his chair, his mind returning to his first plan.

“Perhaps it’s time we consider more… drastic options.”

“What are you suggesting?” Alicent asked warily.

“Aemond will not budge so we must remove the obstacle in our way.”

The Dowager Queen felt a heavy weight settle on her chest that made it hard to breathe. Her son would never forgive her.

“Surely there is another way.”

“We would not be in this predicament if you had done as I told you and stood your ground against this senseless marriage.” Otto sneered at his daughter. “Her death could have been avoided but it is too late now. We have no options left.”

Alicent kept her head bowed, silently praying to the Gods for forgiveness and begging every higher power that Aemond would never find out her part to play in what would destroy him.

Across the Keep, Aemond slammed the door to the chambers shut, breathing heavily as he leaned against the grand door for a few moments.

“Aemond?”

The sound of her voice, her sweet voice that always brought him comfort, was now only a reminder of the turmoil his family had put him in.

He growled and slammed his fist against the door, over and over again until his knuckles bled.

“Stop!” She screamed, gripping onto his arm, wrenching him away from the door. “Have you gone mad?!”

He was breathing heavily, fury thrumming through his veins, his entire body shaking as his mind went over his brother’s words over again until he saw nothing but red.

“Fucking prick.” He seethed. “He wouldn’t even be on that throne if it weren’t for me. He’d be across the narrow sea, probably dead in some whore’s bed.”

She stayed quiet, letting him rant, expelling his anger so he wouldn’t storm back into the council chambers and separate his brother’s head from his shoulders.

“I have done everything for them. I’ve been the dutiful Prince they wanted me to be and what do I get in return? They want to dismantle my entire life, they want to rip me away from the only good thing I have and for what? For a damned throne he didn’t even want!”

His chest heaved, the image of him reminding her of Vhagar, a wild dragon ready to spit fire.

“I’ll kill him.”

“Aemond, stop.” She finally stepped in, pulling at his arm, stopping him from moving towards the door. “You’re not going to kill your own brother.”

“I won’t let him touch you. He’ll be dead before he can even look at you.” He spoke frantically, his wild eye now staring at her deeply, as if he needed her to hear his promise, as if she didn’t already believe it.

She swallowed against the lump in her throat, the weight on her chest so heavy it was a wonder she could even breathe.

“I’ll talk to my mother. I won’t let this happen.”

Her brows furrowed. He had heard his mother, just as she had, she was in agreement with this heinous idea.

“Aemond…” She trailed off, her mind a mess of thoughts, though there was one thing she desperately longed for. “I need to go home.”

He paused, his anxious pacing coming to a sudden stop as he looked at her, ready for her to smile, or to assure him he had heard her wrong. Surely she wasn’t thinking about splitting up, not while the war raged, not when his family was trying to sink their claws into them.

“What?”

“I need to go back to Ixtal.”

“You want to leave? You… you’re leaving me?” Aemond choked out slowly, the tightening of his chest leaving him breathless.

“I don’t want to leave you, that’s the last thing I want, but I cannot stay here.” She spoke tearfully. “It’s been too long since I’ve heard from my parents. I know our letters are being intercepted, they would never let this much time go by without checking in on me. I don’t think they even know I lost the baby, I-I have to see them.”

Her pleas fell on deaf ears. All Aemond could comprehend was that she wanted to leave. The only thing he could grasp in his already tumultuous state was that he was losing her. He felt like his entire world was shattering in front of him.

“You can’t do this to me.” He choked out.

Her eyes softened, her heart aching to hear him sound so weak.

“Aemond, I-”

“You aren’t leaving.” He spoke lowly, his voice betraying how scared he truly felt.

She stepped towards him, reaching out to him but he quickly flinched back, his hard gaze landing on her, making her frown deeply, her stomach dropping. He had never once looked at her like that, as if she were the one betraying him.

“Aemond, I’m not safe here.” She told him, her voice weak, portraying just how exhausted she was. “Your family seeks to tear us apart-”

“And you’re making it much easier for them!” Aemond yelled. “You are not leaving and that’s final.”

She scoffed, he had never once spoken to her like this, he had never even raised his voice to her and it had her frustration rising, taking over any ounce of fear that had been plaguing her just seconds ago.

“So you’re going to keep me prisoner? Lock me in our chambers until I comply? Or until I’m forced to watch you marry and bed another woman?”

Aemond’s eye blazed with fury at the mention of his family’s heinous plan. A plan he had no intention of ever complying with.

He grit his teeth, his mind a mess of thoughts that only seemed to infuriate him and spiral him into a pit of fire and gnashing teeth.

He turned on his heel and pulled the door open with such a force, it was a miracle it stayed on its hinges.

“Where are you going?” She called out, but received no answer. The slamming of the door echoing in the room that felt more empty than ever before.

Her lip quivered, her emotions coming to a head, their bleak looking future leaving the desire to scream out until she ran out of breath. She didn’t know the lengths his family would go to supplant her.

She only knew it brought her fear to imagine what their ire would mean for her.

She was left to stew in her devastating thoughts for hours, Aemond’s absence from her side a glaring reminder of how truly alone she felt. Since her father had left, since this war had started, she scarcely recognized the place she had grown, the place she had fallen in love, the place that had been filled with so much laughter and delight.

It seemed like it had all been a dream, a fantasy she had created for herself.

She barely recognized her own husband anymore.

As night crept on the Keep, as she refused her dinner once again, she crawled into her bed, pulling the sheets high around her, the racing of her heart not having calmed since the meeting, since she began to fear her marriage being forced from her.

The thought was too much to fathom. She couldn’t stay there and watch as Aemond married someone else. She couldn’t watch as the woman’s stomach swelled with his child.

The thought made her sick.

No matter how much Aemond would sink his heels in and stand against it, it was still the King’s order. He couldn’t deny it forever. The second he would be parted from her side, forced to fight in this war, she was sure his family would take action, rip her out of their shared chambers, probably throw her in the dungeons so she wouldn’t cause any trouble and ruin their plans.

She longed for her home, to be with her family again, wrapped in their warm, safe embrace.

As their chamber door opened, Aemond finally returned, she closed her eyes and settled her breathing, pretending to sleep to avoid the inevitable tension still locked between them.

She’d had enough conflict for the day, perhaps her entire life.

She remained still as she listened to him shed himself of his clothes and she tried with all her might not to cry as there was no dip of the bed beside her, as she heard him settle on the couch for the night.

Well... I can only apologize

I promise this story has a happy ending xx

Tag list:

@jacaeryslover @allsouls-emma @lianna75 @emoxio @noneedtosearch @watashiwasun @guacam011y @darlingisntit @trickycarrot89-blog @stcrrjoon @knyam @bettysexile @marysucks-blog @lovelyteenagebeard @darktrashsouldbear @violetiss3lfish @hueanhdang @mamawiggers1980 @azaleapotterblack @littlestarfighter03 @discofairysworld @ner-dee @kananenmus @summer-and-sunflowers @booksandbud4me @blackravena @pinkautismjournal @aleemendoza2425-blog @callsigncrushx @taylordaughter @baby-i-can-see-your-reylo @tanyaherondale @uhnanix

So sorry if I forgot to tag you xx

#aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen x reader #house of the dragon #house of the dragon fic #aemond targaryen fic

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kettlefire · 5 months ago

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Not Always a Villain (DP x DC Prompt)

Alfred Pennyworth is a man who always stands on business. Despite what the world might think, Alfred is truly the scariest man within the Wayne family.

He is a man of morals, that is correct. There are some lines Alfred refuses to cross. Harming kids is one of them. However, some morals become flexible when it comes to his family.

Alfred isn't Batman. Or any of the other vigilantes under Batman's wing. Alfred is simply a butler, and that's all that matters. He loves his family, deeply and truly. If there is a day when no love is shared, that is the day he is dead.

Despite all that, Alfred is detatched from the vigilante work. His job is to be there for the Wayne family. To offer them help in any way he can. And Alfred always delivers.

Even if it goes unnoticed, just how large of a role he plays.

Alfred is content with his role, with his life. He is more than happy keeping his darker traits hidden and tucked away. Unneeded in a family like the Waynes.

That was until a new villain appeared in the scene. A young man who seemed to strick fear in the hearts of everyone who encountered him. With snow white hair and blood red eyes.

Alfred barely spared a thought to it. Barely paid attention to the chatter about this villain. It wasn't his job to. Alfred was simply a butler, and that was all.

That was until the day it happened. Damian Wayne was sent to the hospital. Bloodied and broken. A truly brutal attack.

When Alfred looked down at the young master. Bruised in a hospital bed with a tube helping him to breathe. Bandages hiding most of the damage, but the whole family knew. This was an extremely close call.

In that moment, Alfred Pennyworth snapped.

He pulled some strings and checked in a few long, overdue favors. Before long, Alfred was on his own mission. He didn't breathe a word of it to Bruce or the others.

Alfred knew they would try to stop him. Or worses, they'll try to join in. This was something Alfred needed to do. Despite being an overall kind-hearted man, Alfred still had the heart of a stone cold killer.

He failed when it had been Jason. Alfred wasn't going to fail Damian. Not another Wayne kid will be failed. Not anymore.

Alfred had been so set on doing it. In taking out this villain before things escalated further. This young man was clearly cold-hearted, willing to hurt anyone and anything.

That's what Alfred thought.

What he believed until the moment he was face to face with the young man. It had been so certain. The man was unbelievably cold. Laughing in the face of Alfred's words, only stroking the old man's anger.

That was until Alfred had landed a hit, and everything shifted.

Blood red eyes suddenly shifted to bright lazarus pit green. The cruel look in those eyes suddenly changed to a horrified guilty expression. The man had stopped the fight in an instant.

Pulling away from Alfred. Terror and guilt clear as day as the villain seemed to retreat. In that moment, it all seemed to click in Alfred's mind.

This wasn't a villain. He wasn't a monster only determined to hurt anyone in his path. He wasn't the Joker.

Even when green eyes turned red once again. Even when the young man struggled and fought against him.

Alfred didn't yield.

He slapped special cuffs on the man, removing the powers he had. Dragged the villain all the way back to the cave.

Even when the anger and recognition flooded everyones' expressions. Alfred didn't stand down. He held strong, refusing to let anyone get their hands on the young man.

The young man that seemed too much like a young boy.

Alfred pushed the crusade to help. Laid his case out. Pulled the trust card. The supposed villain wasn't the person Alfred had beef with.

Not after hour long interrogations. Getting as much information as they could. It was a struggle, but it found an end. Alfred had no qualms with this young man.

No, he quickly learned who was to blame. Who was the person who deserved Alfred's anger. Deserved to pay for what was done. Alfred had a name, and soon... Very soon, that person will be in an obituary. A name was all Alfred needed.

Alfred was going to take down this Freakshow. Even if it was the last thing he could do.

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strawberrymochin · 5 months ago

Text

𝐁𝐞𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐜𝐮𝐫𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬 🎐

- sanemi shinazugawa x fem!reader

After your father sold you out in a brothel, life has never been the same. One night, you get to know a man wants to buy you out. Compelled to your fate, you get ready to leave. However things get bloody, and a demon attacks the brothel. Fortunately an accidental presence of a demon slayer saves you all. As the dawn breaks, the owner seems to be devastated at the formidable destruction and latches out on you. Much expected from your fate, you say nothing but lower your head swallowing insults but what you didn't expect was the slayer ready to compensate, buying you out instead of the man.

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The candlelights flickered casting it's dim hue over the room, as you closed the fusuma doors, taking a deep breath and get on gathering your belongings.

A few moments ago a man decided to buy you out. Your brothel lady was shocked at first but soon a smile of contentment coats her face, after all she was desperate to bid you off.

You sighed, tying the knot of your belongings tight, ready to go with the man who bought your freedom. Slowly you rise to your feet, taking around a look at the room you spend the last 8 years of your life. And there's a pang in your chest realising you couldn't remember any nights you spend in this room without crying. At this point you were unsure whether this was a room or a chamber of hell.

Hell— this was what your life looked like after your father sold you off in this brothel 8 years ago, when you were just 10. A ghost smile crosses your lips as you realise you had eventually forgotten how he looked like; how his voice used to comfort you; how his eyes would wrinkle seeing you playing with your little brother.

Everything changed that one day— the day you lost your mother and your little brother. If only you insisted to stay home that day and let your brother go foraging with your dad maybe things wouldn't have turned out like this.

Maybe you would have lost your life along with your mother, laid lifeless among the pool of blood staining your blue floral patterned kimono which you treasured dearly but your little brother would have survived. And you wouldn't have to play puppet in this world. If only.

If...only.

You slide the fusuma doors once again, head facing downwards, careful watching your feet touching the tatami mats on the corridors, fully stepping outside, marking a new change in your life.

You walk up to the corner, heading to the room your owner should be waiting for you.

The corridors are oddly quite today. Usually the other courtesans working here would be chatting around in the hallway or atleast make an appearance of sympathy when one among them gets bought out.

However none showed up.

You announce your arrival sliding the fusuma doors without much thinking when none answers.

The Second mistake of your life.

A strong metallic smell along with a hint of pungency striked your nose causing you to raise your head in a instant and the scene which your eyes swallows dries up your throat.

The brothel lady stuck close to the corner of the room shivering with fear as blood stained the right sleeve of her kimono. Your head turns to the opposite of the room— her husband laid there dead as a corpse, face terribly scratched, missing an eyeball while has rolled to the other side of the room and a hand causing blood to gush out of the wound.

Your blood ran cold as your thundering heart stilled for a second when you realised there's a third party present in the room, whom you totally ignored— the man who intended to buy you— your eyes met his black ones, darker even than the night of new moon, filled with malicious intent. His face seemed pale from before, veins ticking out on his face as his tongue latches out cleaning his blood painted lips with a swift curl, grinning at you.

"Ahh finally you're here!" He says throwing the hand of the owner he was munching on a few seconds ago. "W-what did you do?" You shout unbelievably, even shocking yourself to believe you have this tone. "Oh well, stop shouting honey, you see you were taking time and I was growing impatient with hunger....so I thought why not have a snack before dinner." He said pointing a finger at you as the word dinner slips out from his lips.

A demon.

This was indeed a demon.

The one about whom you've been warned of from your seniors.

You wanted to run away, but your legs seem to gave away it's remaining strength. Where are the other girls? Your mind drifts back to the corridors, now connecting the reason of silence. There were no blood spots or any smell in the corridors which means they either ran away or are hiding somewhere.

There's little you can do, but you make up your mind. Using all of your courage and strength you run to the brothel lady, grabbing her hand, pulling her out of the corner, making your way out. It's just a few steps away. The dead body of the husband was between you and the demon so there must be atleast a delay of few seconds for him to stop your attempt of fleeing. You just need to be fast, tightening the grip on the lady's wrist you run even more fast.

Just one more step and you will be out of the room. Hope shined bright in your eyes when you are suddenly flung backwards till your back pressed on the wall harshly and a hand grips your throat disarming you of any oxygen you had. Your hands no more felt the grip over the lady's wrist. The demon's face was only a few inches away from yours. Death was just a few blinks away. Why not give in? What else do you have to live for? You don't even know whether your father is alive or not. Why not die then? Reunite with your mother and cradle your little brother. Meet them in after life.

"Kill me if you want to," you cough out blood as his pitch black eyes stared into you, sniffing his meal with a cunning smile plastered on his face, "but spare the lady, she has nothing to do with it." You spit out the last of your oxygen.

"And who do you think you are to order me? I will devour both of you, my marechi" He shifts his body weight to his other hand, backing it gathering more force as it comes to latch on your flesh.

You squeeze your eyes shut. Ready to meet death. There's nothing you can do anyway.

A loud sound with a quick crack echoed through the air.

“Wind breathing: second form ”

Certain seconds pass but you feel nothing rather than rustling and a few gusts of wind.

“Claws- purifying wind”

Scared, you open your eyes. You're still alive. The hand still gripping your neck but the demon's body was disintegrating, turning into ashes. It's head was cut off laying on the ground spiting curses at you all. What happened? Your pupils turn to see the lady still trembling, laying beside the dead body of her husband as she eyes someone.

The demon's body slowly disintegrates, as your eyes come in view of a figure. Of a man. His back facing you. He wore a white half haori matching to the colour of his hair, which rustles in dense air in which bits of paper from the broken window frame floats. He sheathed back his sword, turning to look at you.

Lilac eyes locks in yours as the guy, face and body adorned with several scars came up to you. "You okay?" His husky voice rang aloud in your ears piercing the momentum of silence you experienced seconds ago.

Black surrounds your vision as you fill your oxygen deprived lungs with chunks of air and before you could answer his question, you pass out.

You wake up to the noise of several women gossiping beside you.

"Look, she's awake." The other courtesans chimed in noticing you gaining your consciousness.

"Are you okay?"

"Are you hurt?"

"Things must have been tough last night."

Last night? Your vision cleared a bit as you notice dawn's breaking. Last night........a demon latched into the brothel. "Where's the brothel lady is she okay?" You choke on your words, starting to cough as a courtesan offers you water patting your back. "She's okay but she can't use her right hand anymore. She also lost her husband. We were so worried but couldn't gather the courage to show up and ran away for the mean time."

"On our way fortunately, we found a hashira. If he'd not made here in time, I can't imagine what would have happened." Another courtesan spewed out her words, tears clouding her eyes.

"Hashira?" You ask.

"A highest ranking demon slayer." Your mind drifts back to the memory of his scarred face and lilac eyes, engraved before you passed out. 'You okay?' he'd asked which you didn't had the energy to answer.

"Oh is he still here? I should go and thank him." You push yourself up wanting to go thank that hashira who saved your life. The other kind courtesans tried to help you but you refused. You also planned to visit the brothel lady to check on her conditions. She must be devastated at the loss of her husband.

But as soon as you leave the room, your right cheek stinged with pain. The brothel lady was infront of you, fuming and raging. Her right hand was tightly bandaged as your hand travel upto your burning cheek to reduce the pain. She slapped you with her left hand.

"Useless girl! Why didn't you die yesterday?!" She spat bitterly as the girls surrounding you gasp at the scene.

"I-im sorry to cause you pain hinazuru-sama" you wince as she uses her left hand to grab your hair pushing you down at her feet. "If only you didn't lured that demon in with your filthy blood, my husband would have been alive! Why did I feed you all these years?! You brought no profit rather caused trouble with every customer we had for you! And now who's going to pay for th—" she was about to strike you once again when her hand was stopped by someone.

You didn't dared to look up, keeping your head low bowing infront of the brothel lady's feet.

"Shi-shinazugawa-sama...."

"What do you think you're doing?" The familiar voice you heard before passing out growled to the lady. "Is this how you treat all the girls who work for you to provide you three times meal a day?"

The courtesans take a step away seeing the horrific figure of the hashira, even if he saved their lives, his sole presence was intimidating enough to make shivers run through one's spine.

"I think you're mistaken shinazugawa-sama. I'm the one who feeds and takes care of the girls giving them chance to pay their debts."

"And if they desert refusing to work, how do you think will you able to earn?"

"They have to work and pay off their debts. And even if I see things from your perspective, this filthy girl earned me no profit. Then why shall I consider feeding her day and night? There's no man willing to buy her, if only the demon last night ate her instead of my husband...." Her voice cracks but she still continues, "I would have gotten rid of her and there would have been no destruction. Tell me. Who's gonna pay for my husband's death? Pay for the destruction of the brothel? Who's gonna buy her?"

You swallow all of her insults not wanting to look at her face. You have no words for your defence.

"Isn't it pathetic to disrespect your husband's precious life for some mere money?"

"money's the language world speaks shinazugawa sama, do you think you can survive without that?"

"How much?"

"huh?" The lady frowns upon the question of the hashira, confused how to interpret his question. Getting bored he releases her hand and takes out a huge amount of cash from his pocket, throwing it right on the face of the brothel lady.

"Get your stuff. We are leaving in 5 mins." He says. And for the first time till now, you raise your head, your eyes meet his lilac once again.

Some courtesans sprewed gossip while some were worried for you. Sanemi shinazugawa— the wind pillar of the demon slayer corps bought you out. He looked scary as hell and people would prefer staying away from him. Yet you had no other option but to gather your belongings which you packed last night and follow him out, leaving the brothel forever.

The amount he payed to the brothel lady covered all of your debts including the cost of the repairs of the last night's destruction. No wonder he was heavy in pockets— enough to shut the brothel lady's lips.

You follow the slayer in bright sunlight as he keeps walking in a fast pace making it difficult for you to catch up. "We split ways here. You go on your own way and I go on my own." He announces without looking back at you.

What? Didn't he buy you? Where are you gonna go? Normally when girls get bought out from a brothel, they are bought for the intention of the man to get married or just have a loose women by his side. If the slayer isn't going to marry you or have you by his side then why did he buy you in the first place. Where are you supposed to go?

By the time you get out of your thoughts, sanemi walked off way far. Panic rushes through your entire body causing you to sprint through the crowd wanting to reach up to him. You ran through the crowds hitting people and apologising, some cursing at your behaviour, however you were to spent to think about the societal judgements of people. Where are you gonna spend the night today?

Among the dizzying daylight, you rarely laid your feet out, being always shut behind the doors of those red curtains, it was difficult for you adjust in a crowdy place.

"Danna sama!" Sanemi turns at the familiar voice seeing you panting infront of him. "What the fuc— didn't i tell you to go your own way." You say nothing trying to catch up your breath.

Danna sama? A faint hint of embarrassment taints his cheeks red. Why the hell are you referring him that?

"Where's your home?" He asks getting annoyed.

"I don't have any."

"huh?"

"Eight years ago my father sold me off in this brothel, i don't know if he's alive or not. I have nowhere to go." Sanemi halts, turning properly this time to look at you. "Any relatives?" You look down, shaking your head.

Sanemi regrets his decision of getting you out of the brothel. Whatever happens behind that red curtains was none of his buisness. How will he carry out his mission with you around? He should have known that the line he works in allows no sympathy. What will he do now? Take you back to the brothel?

He wanted to shove you back from where he took you out. However he couldn't bring himself to do that. Unwillingly, he extends his arm as a crow sits on it.

"Follow this crow and wait for me till I get home." He orders and in a blink of eye the white haired slayer was gone.

What remained was his crow, now sitting on your shoulder as it caws, ‘Go to the east. The south east.’

You were shocked to see a crow speaking, shooing it away, but it came back to you everytime. Lastly you had no other option other than compelling to move as the crow instructs.

Time for taisho rumours-:

Next episode- Behind the estate of wind hashira

a/n- taglist is open, if you wanna get notified when the other episodes of this series come out, you can text me to join or comment. I hope you find this entertaining cuz my god I swear I've been thinking about this for days .......

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