#one being an instant heart attack
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verkomy · 1 year ago
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archangel aziraphale
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artemisdesari-blog · 4 months ago
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A writer friend told me something that broke my heart a little bit today; they're going to quit publishing their fanfic.
My instant thought was that they had been trolled or attacked or that something terrible had happened in their life because this person is so passionate about their writing. It wasn't any of that. Engagement with their works has been going down, as it has for many of us. Comments are like gold dust a lot of the time, and just looking through the historical comment counts on old fics on ao3 demonstrates this trend very clearly. It was not simply the comments dropping off which caused them to decide to stop posting, however.
My friend came across a discord server for their fandom (I should point out here that their fandom interest and mine diverged a couple of years ago, we stay in touch but don't currently read each other's posts because I'm not into their fandom and they would rather gouge their eyes out with a wooden spoon than read anything Star Wars) and specifically to share fic in that fandom. They joined, because we all love a good fic rec, only to discover that their latest multichapter fic, which has almost no comments and very few kudos, is being hotly discussed in this server as one of the best stories ever. Not one of these people has bothered to say this to them on the fic. When they asked, none of participants could see the point in telling the author of the fic they apparently loved so much that they love it.
This discovery has absolutely destroyed my friend's love of sharing fic. They share because they love seeing other people's enjoyment, and fic writers do that through comments and kudos/reblogs/likes because we don't get paid. There is no literary critic writing a blog post/article about how amazing the story is for us to copy and keep/frame. There is no money from royalties. All we have are the words of the people reading our works.
Those people on that server could have taken five minutes of the time they spent gushing about how amazing my friend's story was to other people and used it to tell the one person guaranteed to want to hear that praise how much they loved it. They could have taken a moment to express their opinion to the person who spent hours upon hours plotting, writing, editing, and posting those chapters. Instead, they deprived my friend of thing that keeps them sharing their writing, and in the process have killed their love of it. My friend now feels used and unmotivated.
I won't be sharing a link to their fic, they said I could share their experience but not their identity. I know they plan to post one final chapter. I know they intend to express their hurt at being excluded from the praise for the thing they created, and I know they intend to announce that as a consequence they will not be posting for a long while, if at all.
So please, I beg you, don't hide your love of a story from the writer. It's just about the only thing we have.
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magicdustsworld · 5 months ago
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𝐀 𝐁𝐄𝐆𝐈𝐍𝐍𝐄𝐑'𝐒 𝐆𝐔𝐈𝐃𝐄 𝐓𝐎 𝐃𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐑𝐘𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐍 𝐒𝐔𝐊𝐔𝐍𝐀
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𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒: A guide on how to properly date your tattooed, big, bad boyfriend.
𝐓𝐑𝐎𝐏𝐄𝐒: Established relationship, slice of life
𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: some profanity, biting(non sexual), fluff, no curse AU, usage of nicknames, no mentions of y/n. (Would be just a short series of drabbles)
𝐄𝐏𝐈𝐒𝐎𝐃𝐄 𝟏 : 𝐆𝐄𝐓 𝐇𝐈𝐌 𝐓𝐎 𝐂𝐔𝐃𝐃𝐋𝐄 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐘𝐎𝐔
Divider credits: @cafekitsune
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"I love you."
"What?"
"I love you." You say with a sheepish grin playing on your lips as you get on your knees, crawling over to him. The silk sheets crease under your deliberate yet rhythmic movements – something which he doesn't even seem to notice. For the felicity in your eyes and the ardor clouding your visage is a expression to great to ignore and even though it's Sukuna, he can't ignore you.
You reach his side, resting your arm on the bedframe, looking up at him with a expression akin to a child looking at something it holds dear. "You know I love you so much, right?"
He blinks, clearly baffled with your sudden proclamation of love. Raking his brain over everything he did today – nothing out of the ordinary except being a asshole to that one salesman who wouldn't take his leave until selling his– whatever it was. But for Sukuna that's ordinary cause he's a jerk at heart.
He tilts his head, "What do you want?"
"Your arm." You are quick to reply, voice carrying an ardor which is too loud to miss. "Give me your arm."
His eye twitches, shooting you a – are you serious – look. You reply with a nod, stretching your hand, asking to get served. A disinterested scowl graces his lips, sparing you a glance, he turns to the opposite side.
This time, your eye twitches. He did not just reject your advances. You huff, inching closer to him as you place your hand over his bicep, "Baby... look at me."
He does. You jut out lower lip, eyebrows furrowing and tipping your head up at him. He can't help but consider how much you ressemble a cat with that expression. He pinches his lips, "If you think that's going to convince me otherwise then you're wrong— ow!"
In no time, you have sunk your teeth on his bicep, the canines puncturing the flesh, incisors holding the skin in place as you glare up at him.
Sukuna winces in sheer pain, trying to pull his arm off of your hold but you remain adamant on not letting him go. "Owh— what the actual fuck woman? Let go of me!"
You do let go, retracting your mouth but do not let go of his arm. You pout at him and Sukuna looks down at the attacked area. A circle of crescent moon shapes has forned on the part of the skin – it hurts like a bitch.
He turns to face you fully, crimson eyes blazing with a rage as he looks down on you. "What the hell was that for?"
You pout, narrowing your eyes, "Cuddle with me."
"After that stunt you pulled? Absolutely not."
"Absolutely yes."
He glares at you and you glare back; the silence turning into a staring match.
Sukuna scans your face, the crease on your forehead to the way you've twisted your lips and finally the flicker of vexation in your eyes.
Definitely a cat.
He sighs, threading his fingers through his hair before stretching out his arm. "Come here."
In an instant the irkness vanishes and you jump into his arms, eyes gleaming with delight and mouth stretched into a triumph grin. You giggle, "I knew you'd come along." You say, nuzzling your face in the crook of his neck as Sukuna loops his arm around your waist, shifting you to a closer and better position.
He sighs, "Whatever, brat. Just don't bite me again."
You pursue your lips, gazing at him with a guilt. Leaning up, you press your lips against his cheeks in a chaste kiss, "Mhm, sorry."
Heat rushes up Sukuna's face, spreading from his ears to his neck; he looks away from you.
"Aw, are you blushing?"
"Shut up."
"You are blushing."
He merely responds with placing his hand on the back of your head and pushing your face down on his chest. "Shut up."
You giggle, mumbling something incoherent before snuggling closer to him. "I love you."
This time, Sukuna doesn't suppress the idiotic grin which spreads on his lips. With your face pressed against his chest, he strokes your hair, placing a soft kiss on top of your head.
"I know, brat."
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𝐄𝐏𝐈𝐒𝐎𝐃𝐄 𝟐
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mrsbarnesblog · 7 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💘
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“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. 
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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. 
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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.” 
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pretty-little-mind33 · 7 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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steveslevis · 1 month ago
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i love you, it’s ruining my life
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azriel x cassian’s sister!reader - part 3 of 3
summary: you finally start to recover from the attack at Windhaven, but struggle with the ghost of your suppressed mating bond.
warnings: mentions of injury and assault self-deprecation, use of painkillers, two idiots in love, lots of angst <3
word count: 9.6k (sowwy <333)
Three weeks, four days and thirteen hours. 
That’s how long Azriel stayed away from the House of Wind, from Velaris, to give you space and time to heal. 
He would’ve stayed away longer if it hadn’t been for Rhys’ incessant questioning ringing through his mind while he wasted the days training with the soldiers in Windhaven. The soldiers that were left after he and Cassian had banished–or taken care of–the ones who had planned to rebel with Cormac and Balvard. 
He would’ve stayed forever in Windhaven, as a punishment to himself for everything he’s put you through by pretending you didn’t even exist for the last four fucking centuries. 
But he couldn’t. 
Rhys demanded his presence at dinner tonight, telling him that he would have to face this–face you–eventually. Azriel knew that, that he would have to face you. He could handle seeing you again to make sure you were safe once more, but he wasn’t sure if he’d be able to handle seeing the fake glare you’d put on at dinner when you looked his way. 
Truly, he wasn’t sure if he’d be able to be in the same room as you right now, because he didn’t know if he’d be able to stop himself from telling you to wipe that fake hatred right off your face, from grabbing you by the neck and kissing you in front of everyone, just like he’d wanted to for the last four fucking centuries. 
Still, he swallows his feelings and keeps the shadowy wall up around his heart as he heads to the Townhouse, mentally preparing himself to pretend as if he doesn’t know that you, of all people, are his mate. 
——————————————————————
Three light knocks on your bedroom door signaled that your brother was on the other side, causing you to hum in response, to which he took as an invitation into the room. 
You looked up from your spot on the bed, your thumb wedging between the pages of the book you were immersed in seconds before while you searched for your bookmark that was lost somewhere between your comforter and the fluffy white throw you had laid over your legs. 
“You’re disrupting my reading time,” you say to your brother with a glare, finally finding the bookmark you’d been searching for to shove it into your book, “I was just getting to the good part.” 
“Well, too bad, your disgusting romance novel can wait.” Cassian says with a grimace, pushing the door open to lean against the frame while glaring back at you, “it’s time for dinner. At the Townhouse.”
A groan falls from your lips at his words, making you shake your head as you toss the book onto the bedside table next to the other books Nesta had lent to you in the last few weeks to keep you from driving yourself insane while bedridden. 
“Do I have to?” you say with a frown, forcing your legs over the side of the bed to stand, since you already know the answer to your own question.
Cassian is at your side in an instant as you stand from the bed, making you shoot him another glare when he grabs your forearm to help you up.
“I can stand on my own, y’know.” you snap, shrugging out of his grip as you walk across the room to put on your shoes, “It’s been three, almost four, weeks now for God's sake.”
“Okay, okay fine.” your brother says, throwing his hands up in defeat as you walk across the room with ease. “Just hurry up, we’ll be late if we don’t leave soon.” 
You bite your tongue to hold back from throwing another snide remark his way, quickly sliding into the shoes you’d toed off earlier in the day. Dread filled your chest as you turned back to Cassian, slowly realizing that you’d be–well, Cassian would be–flying to the Townhouse for dinner. 
The thought of being unable to fly yourself to the home across town makes you feel so empty and detached, like you’re no longer deserving of your spot in the Night court or the Inner Circle. You weren’t sure you could even use your daemati powers anymore to be honest, you’d been so drained mentally and physically that you hadn’t even tried. 
You felt so useless and alone and sad and so fucking worthless–
“Hey,” Cassian’s voice interrupted your thoughts, his elbow nudging your forearm lightly as he peers down at you, a smile–one that you can tell is forced–on his face, “you ready?”
You knew he wanted to say more, to tell you to get out of your own head, but held back for the risk of starting an argument. So you only smile up at him and nod, shoving your feelings down as you walk towards the balcony of your room, letting your brother take the lead as he takes to the sky. 
The wind against your skin is such a freeing feeling that you nearly forget that your wings aren’t the ones carrying your own body, but Cassians’. The crisp evening air nips at your cheeks as you fly over Velaris, as if the city is welcoming you home after so long stuffed in the House of Wind. A genuine smile crosses your face for a moment during the short flight, heart fluttering as you let the wind welcome you. 
The trip is over just as quickly as it started, and you’re being set down on the steps of the Townhouse before you even realize it. 
There’s a lone tear trailing down your cheek as Cassian sets you down, causing him to frown at you when he notices. 
“Soon, Y/N.” is all he says, smoothing your wind-blown hair down before turning to push the front door open.
Once again you’re forced to push your emotions down, to put on a weak smile as the two of you walk into the Townhouse. You’re greeted in the entryway by Feyre, who hugged you as if she hadn’t seen you in weeks, though she had seen you mere hours ago to drop off your favorite pastries to the House of Wind during breakfast, before pulling you towards the kitchen almost immediately, insisting you come to taste the new wine she’d bought to celebrate with before dinner. 
Before you could protest, you find yourself in the kitchen with Mor, Amren, and all three of the Archeron sisters. Mor is the first to wrap you in a hug, a grin spreads across her perfectly red lips as she pulls you in for a gentle hug. Elain follows closely behind Mor, quietly asking how you were feeling as she holds out a plate of fruit for you to choose from as she speaks. 
Nesta and Amren sit on the stools on the other side of the kitchen island, both giving you sidelong, but somewhat kind glances as they were deep in conversation. You didn’t take the cold welcome personally, as you and Nesta had become close over the last few weeks in the House of Wind, and Amren was…well, Amren. 
Feyre comes up beside you as you chat with Elain, a small and sympathetic smile on her lips as she extends a glass filled with what you can only assume to be faerie wine towards you. Your heart drops as she does, mind immediately thrown back to that moment when you were shoulder-to-shoulder with Cormac, the last time you’d drank wine. You didn’t know if you’d ever be able to stomach drinking it again in all honesty. Before you can shake your head in protest, Feyre opens her mouth to speak instead.
“My special faerie wine, just for you.” Feyre says quietly enough for only you to hear, giving you an understanding look as she still extends the glass, “I didn’t think you’d feel up to drinking just yet, but I know how annoyingly incessant the males can be about celebratory drinks, so here,” you take the glass from her hesitantly, giving her a weak smile, “just some sparkling juice, I promise. There’s a whole bottle in there that I already told everyone was just for you.”
You smile at the High Lady, a sparkle of relief lighting your eyes as she reassures you. You had divulged the whole truth to her a week after the incident, letting her see into your mind to understand the extent of the damage that had been done that night in Windhaven, and even divulged a little too much about Azriel in the heat of the moment, too. She had known you felt more comfortable with her than with any man, and in that moment you were grateful Rhys had found an equally skilled mate who could help you when he couldn’t.
“Thank you, Feyre, really, this means a lot to me.” you say genuinely, pulling her back in for another hug, blinking back the tears that threatened to spill at the sentiment. 
You cursed yourself for being so emotional lately, but knew there was no stopping the inner turmoil you were dealing with unless you went straight to the source, to Azriel to finally spill your guts, which you knew wasn’t in the cards any time soon. 
You spent the next thirty minutes sharing laughs and talking about nothing in particular with Mor and Feyre, only stopping to give Elain input on the new tart she was trying to make for dessert. The empty feeling in your chest from the last three weeks in near solitude was quickly replaced by one of warmth and happiness, finally feeling at home once again in the room full of your favorite females. 
It was foolish of you to think the sentiment would last, though. You should’ve known that this wouldn’t be a normal and happy night, that you’d be faced with the one person you didn’t want to see. 
You nearly dropped the glass of sparkling juice when you pushed through the kitchen doors and into the dining room, faced with not two, but three Illyrian males at the table. They’re lost in conversation when you and Mor enter, but Azriel’s attention quickly snaps in your direction, eyes widening for such a short moment that you’re unsure if you imagine it or if they actually do. You collect yourself before turning your attention to your brother and Rhys, who both stopped talking to look over at you and the rest of the females walking through the kitchen door. 
“Finally done gossiping so we can start dinner?” Rhys suggests as you all begin to take your typical seats at the table, yours being between Cassian and Mor.
Habitual conversations begin as soon as everyone sits down, food soon appearing in front of everyone thanks to Rhys. Things feel relatively normal as you pile the food passed to you onto your own plate, unsure of how much you’ll actually eat of it as your mind wanders back into thoughts of the hazel-eyed, mysterious asshole sitting across the grand table from you. 
Every once in a while, you feel his eyes on yours as you pick at your food, as if he’s checking on you. And with every look in your direction, you feel yourself sinking into the chair beneath you, wishing for nothing more than the ability to winnow in that moment.
You felt like you’d fully regressed back to that person you were when you’d just found out Azriel was your mate, the shell of a female that it had made you was once more. You cursed the Gods for making this male have such a strong effect on you, for making you want nothing more than to be with him, to grab him by the neck and kiss him in front of everyone, just like you’d wanted to for your entire life.
But you knew better than that, knew that you had to keep up the act like you hated him as much as he hated you, knew that you would have to wait until that Gods damned bond snapped for him, however long that would take.
So you did what you did best, shooting a glare in his direction the next time you saw him looking your way, in hopes it would keep him from looking your way and make you fall even further into that shell than you already had. 
You’d already fallen so deep into that hole during your time at dinner that you barely heard when Nesta said your name, voice sounding like it was coming from miles away. 
“Sorry, Nes.” you reply, giving her a sheepish smile, “what’d you say?”
“I asked if you were ready for tomorrow?” she repeated, eyes sharp yet understanding as she looked your way.
“Oh–Yeah!” you say, a laugh falling from your lips, nodding quickly, “Of course, I’m excited to get back out there.”
“Back out where?” Cassian interjected, concern lacing his words as he turned towards you, never stopping his shoveling of the potatoes from his plate into his mouth as he spoke.
“You’re such a pig, finish eating before you talk.” you retort, shoving his shoulder with a disgusted look, “but if you must know, I’m coming to training with the Valkyries tomorrow morning.”
“Training?” your brother says with wide eyes as he drops his fork with a loud clunk onto the plate. “Like hell you are.”
“I am perfectly capable of training again, Cassian.” you snap, narrowing your eyes at him. 
He opens his mouth to make another snark, yet protective comment at your words when the world seems to stop for a moment, a humorless laugh coming from the other side of the table, coming from the male who’d been staring at you all night long. 
A laugh. He actually fucking laughed at the thought of you training.
Wide eyes from everyone at the table focus on the shadowsinger, the air seems to go still as everyone waits anxiously for the next words.
“Do you have something to say about my training, spymaster?” you nearly snarl at the male who seemed to share an equally annoyed expression with you.
“Like hell you’re perfectly capable.” he says lowly, eyes flickering to your still-healing wings at your back. “You can barely hold your own weight right now, let alone the wings at your back pulling you down and leaving you fucking limping from your back and hip pain. You wouldn’t be able to hold your own training for more than five minutes out there. You’re—You haven’t fucking healed at all. You haven’t been cleared to fly, let alone train in any capacity. It would be so damn foolish to even let you step foot out there.” Nobody dares to interrupt the male as he continues his rant, “I’m sure you’re back on those damn pain killers too, considering you can’t even feel—”
“Azriel—“ Rhys’ voice comes out in a quiet warning as he shoots his brother a glare, knowing exactly where he was going with his next sentence.
Everyone else at the table continues to stare at Azriel, seeing through the facade to see a love-sick and extremely worried male. You, on the other hand can only feel anger radiating off the male, can only feel spiteful words being spewed your way.
“No, Rhys.” you say with a bitter smile, blinking back the tears that are threatening to fall from your shimmering eyes, “let him continue, he obviously knows what’s best for me.”
The table is silent at your watery retort, even the previously fuming Azriel grounded by the tears in your eyes.
It hits him like a wall of bricks then, all the regret he had for the foolish rampage he had begun to slip into. His chest nearly caves in as he takes in the scene in front of him, how broken you looked as stared back at him, he could feel the anger and embarrassment radiating off you.
He opens his mouth to backtrack, to apologize, to take back the venom that just spewed from his lips and toward you, toward his fucking mate. But words fail him now, unsure of how he can make it any better at this moment.
“Tell me, Azriel.” you muse bitterly, “do you think it would just be better for me to follow the true Illyrian customs then? Should I have let Cormac and Balvard clip my wings? Should I have let Ci–”
Now Rhys cuts you off with a warning growl, knowing you were about to expose your tragic past in ways you’d regret as soon as they’d fall from your lips. 
“No, no.” Azriel shakes his head rapidly at your words, blinking quickly, “you know that’s not what I meant.”
“Like hell I did,” you scoff, pushing your chair from the table loudly, tossing your napkin onto the tabletop before excusing yourself.
Azriel knew better than to follow you, knew it wouldn’t end well if he tried to.
You sat on the couch near the fireplace only one room over from everyone, listening to their low conversations. Listening as Cassian scolded Azriel, telling him how stupid he was for trying to push you too soon, and how he needed to give you time and space. The wording of your brother’s scolding confused you slightly, but you didn’t care. You only cared about the hollowness that crept back into your chest, the empty feeling from where you couldn’t feel that unrequited bond anymore, likely from the painkillers that dulled any magic within you. So you let your silent tears flow, let yourself cry over the man who you had convinced yourself could never love you, let yourself drift into a sad sleep on the couch, the warmth of the fireplace inviting you into a dreamless state.
Unsure of how much time had passed, you awoke to the feeling of weight on the other side of the loveseat you sat on and a dark breeze passing over your neck, the caress of a shadow over your skin. 
Your eyes flutter open and Azriel’s heart almost breaks at the state of you. Your wings are tucked behind you tightly as if you were ashamed of them, eyes glossy from the remnants of sleep and tears, lips full and red from trying to bite back the sobs that threatened to escape before you let sleep take you in. The look you give him is one of confusion at first, but quickly turns to one of frustration then anger at the sight of the male in front of you.
He tries with everything in himself to reach out to you, to your soul, to tell you he’s there, but he can’t get through that haze in between the two of you put up by those painkiller tonics Madja gave you. She’d explained to him that you wouldn’t know that the bond had snapped for him until you were completely off the tonics, your magic was restored to its full power and he willingly uncovered his side of the bond to you. So he would wait, would try his hardest to befriend you and make you realize that he never hated you until that moment actually comes when you feel the snap. 
“Before you try to kill me–and rightfully so–” he starts, pushing his hand out in front of you, holding a plate of the tart Elain had made for dessert out to you, “I come with a peace offering, your favorite.”
You narrow your eyes at him, hesitant to take the plate from him at first. But there’s a pleading and truly apologetic look in his eyes, one that makes you give in almost immediately. You take the plate from him finally, gaining a small smile from the shadowsinger that makes your heart skip a beat, though you don’t let it show. 
Azriel watches as you take the first bite wordlessly, watching your features soften as you let out a soft groan, mumbling about how good it is.
“How would you know berries are my favorite?” you question finally, setting the fork back on the plate after another bite.
“You and Cass, you’d always give him your melons and he’d give you his berries at breakfast in Windhaven–” Azriel says, cutting himself off when he sees you wince at the mention of the camp, frowning as he speaks, “s–sorry.”
“It’s fine,” you say quietly, shaking your head.
“No–no. I’m sorry, for everything.” he replies, sitting up straighter on the couch to sit face-to-face with you. “For being an ass when you said you work alone, for doubting your abilities, for–for acting like you don’t exist for the last four and a half centuries.”
“You don’t have to apologize,” you say with a sad smile, sinking back into the shell of self-doubt you’d grown accustomed to, “I get it, you don’t want anything to do with me.”
“I–That’s anything but true.” Azriel says, shaking his head quickly, the corners of his lips pulling into a frown. “I know I acted like that but–I want to know you. I want to get to know you and be your friend. I just–just never knew how to approach you.” 
Truthfully, he wants to say that he never knew how to approach you without giving in to his desires and without telling you how much he needs you in every way, shape and form. 
You look up to him, weary eyes meeting his hazel ones in a curious gaze. You’re unsure if you truly believe him or not, but the look in his eyes seems sincere so you stay silent for now, willing him to continue. 
“I wanna make it all up to you,” he suggests, gauging your reaction as you continue to eat the tart. “I wanna train you, wanna help you get back to being the warrior that you were before everything happened. I can work with Madja too, to make sure that you’re healing properly and not over-exerting your wings. I can help you–”
“Why would you wanna help me now?” you interject quietly, still not believing that he actually wants to help you after essentially calling you incapable less than an hour ago, “did–did Rhys put you up to this? Did Cassian–”
“No, nobody put me up to this.” Azriel starts, shaking his head quickly, “I shouldn’t have said all those things back there, I was just worried. I don’t want you to get hurt anymore than you already are.”
You stare at the male for a long moment, searching through those amber eyes for any notes of deception but find none. Your heart tugs for his, trying to feel him through the obsidian smoke and gray haze between your souls, but there’s nothing, no tug in return, for now. The logical, and traumatized, part of your brain is screaming at you to run from the Illyrian male in front of you and never look back. But the romantic, and bonded, part of your heart is screaming at you to take anything he’ll give you, to trust him endlessly.
You were never one to listen to logic, anyways. 
“Fine.” you say finally, narrowing your eyes at him. “We start tomorrow. If you don’t think it’s good for me to train with the Valkyries yet then I’ll come after they leave in the morning.”
“You’ve got a deal.” Azriel says, smiling wider than you think you’ve ever seen him smile, making your heart flutter as you can’t help but give an equally wide smile in return. “I’ll see you at ten.”
——————————————————————
The late morning sun beat down on you as soon as you stepped foot on the roof of the House of Wind the next morning, dressed in your fighting leathers.
You spot Cassian, Nesta and Azriel across the roof, so deep in conversation that they didn’t notice your arrival.
“Are you ready to get your ass handed to you, Shadowsinger?”
The three turn to you when you speak, the ghost of a smile on Azriel’s lips when he takes you in, taking in your raw beauty as you stand in front of him in your leathers with your beloved sword sheathed at your side, your wings hanging higher than usual as you grin excitedly over at them. Azriel swears his heart skips a beat when he takes it all in, the hope glimmering in your eyes makes him extremely grateful that he decided to shove his feelings aside to help you train. 
“Oh, you’re not doing any kind of combat today.” Cassian scoffs at you, as if he’s offended that you’d even think you were going to spar with the Shadowsinger during your training.
Your smile falls as your brother talks down to you, and almost instantly turns into a scowl directed at him.
“You aren’t training me today, so you have no say in what I do and don’t do during this session, asshole.” you snap back as you take one last step to stand in front of Cassian, shoving your finger against his chest pointedly. 
There’s an expression you can’t quite read on your brother’s face when you look up at him, but he only ignores your combative response, looking to Azriel instead. He sighs and slaps Azriel’s shoulder before mumbling ‘good luck, brother’ under his breath as he begins to walk away. Before you can question the odd interaction, he and Nesta are already making their way back into the House of Wind. You turn to Azriel then, brows furrowing as you stare at the Shadowsinger. He gives you a sympathetic look then, his eyes softening as he notes the confusion in yours.
“Don’t shoot the messenger here, but I did speak to Madja in order to see what she’s okay with you doing during these training sessions.” he starts, brows knitting together as he tries to think of how to explain the situation. “Long story short, she doesn’t think you’ll be ready for combat or flight for another month or so.”
Your heart sinks to your stomach at his words, disappointment settling in your core as you feel your throat start to constrict and tears prick your eyes. You only shake your head in disbelief, though you know deep down that you’re in no shape to even think about sparring right now, considering your body is running off three and a half hours of sleep and an extreme amount of pain tonics. You’d been telling yourself that you were healing perfectly for the last three weeks, but it truly has been anything but perfect. 
Azriel reaches for your elbow with one hand as you take a step back in shock, concern filling his hazel eyes as he watches your internal panic.
“I know that’s not what you wanna hear today, but I promise that it’s for the best. Madja won’t clear you because she knows you have a lot of healing to do before fighting again.” Azriel interjects gently, careful with his words so he doesn’t set you off. 
“W–Well, what did she say I could do?” you say quietly as your voice strains, using all your strength to hold back from breaking down in front of him. You don’t have the energy to argue with him about it, to tell him that you’re fine. You want to scream and cry and fight him, but you know it’s no use. 
“She suggested that we try some of the exercises that we use during initial flight lessons in the camps, as physical therapy in a way.” he says, and you can tell he doesn’t like the thought of doing that based on the tone of his voice.
“Like–doing the exercises we teach the children when they’re learning how to fly?” you retort, brow furrowed as you mull over the suggestion. “That–That’s ridiculous. I’m five centuries old for fucks sake, I will not be treated like a damn child–”
Your eyes are squeezed shut in frustration as you speak, so you don’t see Azriel’s hands reach up to cup your cheeks, only feel it as you start your angry spiel, but it’s jarring enough to stop you in your tracks. Your eyes fly open at the featherlight touch, looking up to see the Shadowsinger staring at you with an intensity you’ve never seen before. 
“I can’t let you get hurt, I–I can’t let you do something you’ll regret for the rest of your life.” he says once he’s got your attention, “You can’t fly right now, you’re still healing. I know Madja has you on bone-mending medications and is giving you tendon repair salve every damn day and I know you should not strain your wings with anything other than light physical therapy right now. I know how much flying means to you and I know you don’t want to be treated like a child but please.” he continues, his voice barely above a whisper as he stares down at you, “Please, just let me help you heal, let me show you that I want to help you and that I’ve never hated you. A–And once you’re healed, once Madja clears you for flight and combat, we will do anything you want.”
There’s a sense of urgency in Azriel’s voice as he pleads his case, his hands firm against your cheeks as he stares down at you with an intensity that you’ve never seen from him before. He looks desperate, broken even. Little do you know, he’s tugging with all his might on his side of the clouded bond, silently hoping that you’ll feel him if he pulls hard enough, though it doesn’t work. You search his eyes for any signs of dishonesty, for any ill intent, but find none, so you sigh.
“Fine,” you finally say, forcing yourself to stay composed in front of the male as you step back and out of his grasp, though the feeling of his touch lingers on your cheeks as though he’s still grazing them. “Let’s get started, then.” 
Azriel’s shoulders sag in relief, surprised that you give in without much of a fight. Truthfully, you’re too mentally exhausted to even think about protesting, too tired of being kicked down every time you get your hopes up. So in the moment you choose to lower your expectations and tell yourself that you don’t deserve to fly anymore after being too damn stupid to see the attack coming, that you have to earn your wings back, that you might never earn your wings back if things go poorly. 
“Right,” he says with a nod as he stands up a little straighter, trying to stay serious as you look at him expectantly, “we can start with some simple things, like wing-lifts and getting your back and shoulders back into shape with a few different workouts.”
——————————————————————
Your training sessions with Azriel carry on for weeks, spending every single morning together after the Valkyries leave their training sessions. Sometimes you’ll see Gwyn or Emerie with Nesta when you make it up there a little early. There’s always an ache in your chest when you see the females, desperate to get better so you can just fucking train with them finally.
But you push your feelings aside and train with Azriel, pushing yourself past the point that you knew you should, but you couldn’t help it. Azriel always asked if you were okay to train, he genuinely could never tell, since you’d become almost completely unreadable after the incident.
Your body ached after every session, joints sore and wings aching, but you didn’t care. You needed to get better, you needed to get strong again and never let anything or anyone get to you in any way ever again. 
Though you were with the shadowsinger every single day, he felt as though he wasn’t making any progress with getting to know you or making you open up to him. His heart ached with longing after every training session, when you’d simply mumble a ‘thanks’ to him and make your way back to your bedroom at the House of Wind. He would try to joke with you, try to make conversation with you, hell, he’d even try to tug on that damn bond as hard as he could, but he could never seem to get through to you. So, he gave you space, gave you time, gave you what he thought you wanted from him instead of what he wanted. 
His desires could wait until you were off the pain tonics and could finally feel him reaching out to you.
Since you couldn’t be sent on any missions until you were off the pain tonics that suppressed your daemati skills, you had all the free time in the world. Any time not spent training your body, you spent training your mind. Though you didn’t have the ability to use your powers, you could still waste the days away with your nose buried in books about how to hone your skills and how to strengthen your mental shields. 
Everyone in the Inner Circle notices you reverting back to the shell of a person that you were when you initially found out that you were mated to Azriel, but this time was different. You were even quieter, kept to yourself even more, and they could all tell that you beat yourself up over every little thing you’d do wrong. Cassian tried to call you out on it one time when you were in the living room with him, Rhys and Feyre, but soon swore to never mention your new behavior again after you threatened to destroy him with your mind once you were able to use your powers again when he inquired. 
The only one who you ever confided in about your self-loathing and hatred was Feyre, she was the only one you felt you could trust enough to talk about everything with, about the mating bond, about the wing-clipping, about it all. She made it a point to check on you almost daily after that, insisting that you spend time with her a few times a week, whether it’s only to sit in silence and read your books together at the River House or to run errands around Velaris. You’re eternally grateful for her being there for you, for her forcing you to leave your bedroom and spend time thinking about anything other than the self-deprecating thoughts you had about yourself. 
It’s almost three whole months before Madja clears you to come off your pain tonics, but warns that the first full day off of them will not be completely pain-free. 
You heed her warning and tell the Shadowsinger that you won’t be attending training the next morning, in case you’re in excruciating pain. You swear you see a flicker of disappointment in his eyes when you tell him, but the expression is gone before you can question it, and so is he, as he turns on his heels to avoid facing you as his chest aches and his stomach churns at the thought of you possibly not wanting to train with him anymore. 
——————————————————————
Azriel is woken from a dead sleep in a cold sweat, shadows skittering nervously around his head as he sits up, an unfamiliar gnawing feeling eating away at his chest.
He looks around, glancing out the window to realize it’s still the middle of the night. He feels it again, that tug in his chest. It’s a feeling of agony and panic, a feeling coming from deep in his soul. It was something he’d never felt before, something so curious that he wasn’t sure how to deal with it, until the shadows came closer to his ears, whispering mate, mate, mate, in his ear.  
His heart flutters at the words, hands shaky as he pushes himself up in the bed. It’s the first time since you’d been on those painkillers that he’d been able to actually feel you through, actually reach out for you. 
He could tell you weren’t doing well by the tension on the thread between your souls, but he wasn’t sure what to do to help.
In that moment he thanked the Cauldron for fae hearing, because he heard a muffled cry of agony coming from down the hall that once again made his chest ache. Immediately he stands from bed, hastily shoving a sheathed Truth Teller into his sleep pants pocket before making his way out of the bedroom.
It nearly feels like an out-of-body experience as he rushes toward your room, mindlessly opening the door. All he can think about is helping you, making you feel better. He doesn’t even know what’s on the other side of that door, doesn’t know if you actually need help or not, but he’s ready to face whatever it is no questions asked, to help his mate. 
You’re laying on your side in the middle of your large bed when he steps in, only the moonlight flooding in from the window lighting your figure underneath the sheets. Your wings flare weakly as you squirm, small cries escaping your lips as your eyes squeeze shut. Azriel can tell you’re sleeping, and likely having an awfully realistic nightmare considering how strongly he could feel you when he woke. 
He rushes to the bed, sitting on the edge while reaching for your face. His large hands stroke your cheeks as he tugs for you through the bond, silently attempting to soothe you, willing you to wake from the nightmare.
It takes nearly a minute for you to stop thrashing in his grip, for you to finally come back to consciousness. 
You’re clammy when you wake, sweat and tears glistening over your face as your eyes flutter open. Your brow furrows when you look to see who helped you come down from the Gods awful nightmare, and it’s none other than your mate. 
Azriel gives you a gentle smile that doesn’t reach his eyes, which are shining with concern as he grasps your cheeks gently.
“There you are,” he says softly, hands finally falling from your face, “I—I wanted to make sure you were okay, heard you from across the hall.”
You stare up at the male before you for a long moment, taking in everything you can about your current situation. Azriel has one hand on your arm and the other next to your side, your faces mere inches from each other from when you sat up slightly in the bed. It’s the closest the two of you had ever been, and it took everything in you to not reach out and touch him to bring him even closer, to kiss him and never let go. 
It takes a few moments for you to fully register what’s happening. When you finally do, you sit up and push out of Azriel’s grip, embarrassment flushing through your chest as you stare at him. He stands from the bed as you sit up, something deep within him taking over and telling him you need space, and a glass of water. He knows the bond is directing his every move now, which makes his heart throb against his chest as he turns to your bedside table. There’s a carafe next to your pile of novels, which he takes in his unsteady hands to pour into the accompanying glass. 
He’s back to sitting on the edge of the bed in an instant, far enough away to give you space as you catch your breath. You take the glass of water when he offers, taking a long sip before looking back to him. When your gaze slips back to his, you become painfully aware of the very shirtless male in front of you. Your cheeks flush as your mind slips to places it shouldn’t for a millisecond, but you compose yourself quickly when his brow furrows. 
“Did you have a nightmare?” he presses, a frown on his lips as he watches you carefully.
“Y–Yeah, I did.” you breathe out, hands shaky as you raise one to run your fingers through your hair. “I guess those tonics were repressing more than just physical pain.”
“You stopped taking the painkillers?” Azriel asks, trying not to sound too excited. “Did you get cleared from Madja? Did she say it was okay?”
You nod once, wondering why he’s so invested in your consumption of pain tonics all of a sudden.
It all makes sense to Azriel then, why he could feel you so intensely after not feeling you through the bond for so long.
A rush of relief mixed with a twinge of terror flows through Azriel when you nod, realizing he has less time to mentally prepare for the truth that the two of you would have to face very soon. But it also means he’ll finally get to breathe around you, finally admit that he knows that you’re his mate, his fated lover. 
Deep down, you know it too, but are too scared to admit it at the moment.
So the two of you stare at each other for what feels like an eternity, neither sure of what to say to the other. Two cowards in love, two cowards afraid to fess up, two cowards staring the mating bond in the face but choosing to ignore it for the sake of saving their hearts. 
The silence between you is too much for Azriel, so he stands from the bed. You look up to him, eyes shining with a look that he can only describe as fearful enough to make him stop in his tracks.
You truly are disappointed when he stands, secretly wishing he’d attempt to coddle you and offer to take care of you. You curse yourself silently for letting yourself feel so much towards him in this vulnerable moment, especially after working so hard to become an emotionless wall of obsidian for the last three months. 
“I–I’m sorry for barging in, I just wanted to make sure you were okay.” he stammers, watching as his shadows insist on swirling around you in a protective manner insteading of coming back to him. “If you’re really okay, I’ll just go–”
“S–Stay.” you nearly beg, eyes shimmering with tears you didn’t know were there as you stare up at him. His face flares with shock at your words, taken aback by your desperation. “I–I mean, if you don’t mind. I just–just would really appreciate the company.” you continue, feeling pathetic as you try to reel yourself back in mentally before you start sobbing in front of him.
“If you want me to, I can, I’ll keep guard for you if it makes you feel safe.” he says simply, smiling weakly at you. 
Azriel is quiet as he walks towards the desk on the other side of your room, pulling the chair to face towards the bed before sitting down. He turns to you to see your brow furrow as he sits, lips pulled into a frown. His gaze softens as you stare at him and you know you look pitiful, but can’t help the way your heart aches for him, the way your body craves his next to yours right now. 
“Are you alright?” he questions, frowning back at you as his shadows skitter around your face in an attempt to soothe you. 
“Would you–fuck.” you murmur, blinking back the tears threatening to spill from your eyes. “Would you want to stay in the bed with me?”
He’s up in an instant, his heart working faster than his mind as he nods at you. Your own heart skips a beat as he glides over to the bed, climbing into the spot that you leave for him. He slips under the covers but sits with his back propped against the pillows, halfway sitting up as one of his wings hovers over you in a protective manner. 
You can’t help but give him a watery smile as you inch closer to where he’s sitting, looking up at him as if you’re waiting for permission to approach him. He gives you an inviting smile back, adjusting his arms so you can get as close to him as you want. You’re hesitant at first, but push past your doubts as you lay next to him, your body flush against his side as you lean your head against his warm chest. 
You try to go back to sleep, but your body is still tense against his, on edge as the nightmare you just woke up from replays in your head every time you close your eyes. Azriel’s arm relaxes at your back, his hand coming up to squeeze your shoulder gently.
“I’m here,” he says, voice barely above a whisper as he reaches down to wipe a rogue tear that slipped down your cheek. “You can sleep, you’re safe with me.”
That’s all you need to hear for your body to fully relax finally, drifting to sleep as you try not to think about the conversation you’ll have to have with the shadowsinger in the morning.
——————————————————————
Sunlight streams through the large window in your bedroom when you wake, groaning softly as you grab a pillow to cover your eyes and curse yourself internally for forgetting to shut the blinds last night. 
It takes a moment for you to realize that your bed is emptier than it was when you fell back asleep last night, the space where the shadowsinger once sat now empty next to you. You sit up in bed when you realize you’re alone, a sinking feeling in your chest as you do. 
The sinking feeling is quickly replaced by one of joy when you look to the empty side of the bed and see what he left in his place. There’s a silver tray on the bedside table next to where Azriel slept, and on top of it is a plate with an almond croissant from your favorite bakery and a cup of berries next to a glass of water and the rest of the pills and salves that Madja had you on. 
A note sits by the food that reads ‘Gone to train. Didn’t want to wake you, you looked too peaceful. Enjoy.’ 
You truly don’t stop smiling the entire time you eat, unable to fight the giddiness that you feel from the tiny act of kindness. You read over the note at least ten times, memorizing every swirl and scribble of his writing before starting to get ready for the day. 
Though there’s an ache in your wings as you stretch them when getting dressed, just like Madja had warned you about, you realize that you haven’t felt this good in months. Your chest feels lighter, mind clearer, and eyes brighter as you think about your mate. 
Mate…Mate…fuck.
Your excited mood sours when you think about the conversation that has yet to be had with Azriel. You’re almost entirely sure that he knows now, considering you’re 99.99% certain you could feel his concern for you striking down the bond last night when you woke from your nightmare. 
It takes you longer than it should to get into your leathers, but you’ve decided that you want to train, want to face Azriel this morning, want to see which of you will be the first to break. 
The sun feels more intense than normal as you make it to the roof of the House of Wind, just in time to see Azriel, Cassian, and–surprisingly–Rhys stowing their weapons away after wrapping up their own training. It’s well past the time that the Valkyries finish their daily session, so the three of them must’ve wanted to take advantage of you asking for the day off, using the hour to spar with each other instead. They’re all shirtless, likely due to the heat, so your eyes obviously drift directly to your mate as soon as you step foot onto the roof. 
He’s facing away from you, so you can see the swirls of his dark tattoos over the expanse of his back and shoulders. There’s sweat beading down his neck and you can see that his hair is slightly damp as he runs his fingers through it. Your mind wanders as you stare at him, wondering what it would be like to dig your fingers into the skin of his back while you’re under–
Your thoughts are interrupted by a lone shadow snaking around your hand as Azriel whips around, looking in your direction likely due to his other shadows alerting him to your presence. He raises a brow when he sees you in your leathers, mouth open as if he’s about to speak as you approach the trio, but he says nothing. 
“We thought you were taking the day off today,” Cassian says, stepping in for Azriel as he’s obviously at a loss for words. 
“I was supposed to be,” you start, looking down to your side to adjust the sword there as it wobbles in its sheath, “but Madja’s prediction about my pain levels after coming off of the pain tonic were wrong, I’m feeling great this morning. So, I decided to come up and train, with or without a trainer.”
Azriel doesn’t miss the way your eyes glimmer with confidence and hope as you speak to your brother, knowing that he’s not likely to try to argue with you now that you’re cleared to spar and use your powers again. It’s the happiest he’s seen you in months, and it makes his heart swell, accidentally projecting his adoration in your direction. Your smile falters as you feel a tug at your own chest, eyes flicking towards him as your heart lurches. 
As the two of you stare at each other with wide eyes, you feel a talon rake down your obsidian mental walls that you’re finally able to put up again. 
Are you alright? Rhys questions wordlessly, making you finally break your staring contest with Azriel.
Quite alright. Just ready to spar and have a very serious conversation with a specific shadowsinger, if you don’t mind giving us some privacy. You snap mentally, glaring at Rhys as he smirks at you. 
Is it finally happening? He retorts teasingly.
Not if you don’t get out of my head and off this damn roof. You bite back before slamming your mental shields back up, blocking the High Lord from teasing you anymore. 
“Well, I don’t have any urgent tasks this morning, so we can continue with training as usual if you’d like.” Azriel suggests, the faintest smile on his lips as he stares at you. 
Cassian looks between the two of you for a moment, eyes wide before taking a step back with Rhys, who leads him away before he can ruin the moment for you. He’s probably silently telling your brother what’s about to happen as they walk away, considering you hear Cassian say ‘fucking finally’ as they reach the door.
“That sounds great,” you say finally, smiling at him meekly.
The morning proceeds as usual, but you’re a little more distant than usual, and it definitely doesn’t have anything to do with the fact that he’s standing in front of you shirtless as he instructs you how to kick and punch defensively, or the fact that you just felt him tug on the bond. Yeah, it definitely has nothing to do with either of those things. 
“You’re distracted.” Azriel says matter-of-factly when you throw a half-assed punch that he easily blocks with his forearm. 
“Oh, am I?” you say sarcastically, sweat beading down your forehead as you throw another kick towards the male, though he easily pushes your leg back down. 
“Wanna talk about it? Or do you just want to punch it out?” he suggests, raising a brow as you huff in annoyance. 
“Just wanna punch it out, can’t–can’t talk about it.” you retort, shaking your head.
You’re terrified to admit what you felt earlier, terrified that he’s going to laugh in your face and tell you that he’d never want you and that you’ve been pining over him to no avail. 
“I think you can talk about it. I think you’re just scared,” he taunts, confidence rising in him as he feels your frustration and longing subconsciously projected down the bond.
“You’ll laugh at me,” you pant out, pushing down your feelings as you throw another punch. “You’ll hate me and never talk to me again if I talk about it.”
That’s when Azriel’s face drops, his hand coming up to grasp your wrist when you try to throw one last punch. He feels like he’s just been punched in the gut, like he’s the biggest asshole in the world. You truly think he hates you and that he would never want anything to do with you other than training you and being acquaintances. His heart lurches at the thought, but he keeps his composure as he looks down to you.
“What the hell are you talking about?” he insists, frowning at you. 
Your breath hitches as he maintains his light hold on your wrist, tugging you closer so you’re shielded by his wings from the sun beating down on you. 
“You–You don’t get it.” you say, voice barely audible as you fear for the worst.
You tell yourself that he’s going to want nothing to do with you after you finally say what you’ve both been feeling for the last day, that he’s going to reject the bond and never speak to you again. That’s what you’ve told yourself since the day the bond snapped for you all those years ago, so why would it be any different now?
“What don’t I get?” he implores.
He wants you to be the one to admit it, to confirm what he’s been feeling, to confirm that he isn’t delusional. He needs to hear you say it, he feels like he’s going to die if you don’t say it in the next thirty seconds to be honest.
“You can say it, tell me what I don’t get.” he coaxes, eyes glued on yours as you stare at his hand wrapped around your wrist. “I won’t laugh at you.”
You finally look up at him with that, seeing that there’s nothing but serious adoration shining in his eyes as he waits impatiently for you to speak. He’s about to explode if you don’t just fucking admit it.
“I know that you know, Azriel.” you say bluntly, frowning up at him, “I–I know that you know that I’m your Gods-damned mate, and I know that you’ve been ignoring it because you don’t want it to be true. I know you wish that anyone else in this world was your mate–”
Before you can continue your breakdown, you feel two warm hands on your cheeks, pulling you towards the male in front of you. Something wonderful blooms in your chest as he leans down, pressing his lips against yours in a searing kiss. There’s five hundred fucking years of intensity behind that kiss and it almost knocks you off your feet, but Azriel is there to wrap a strong arm around your waist to pull your body flush to his instead.
He doesn’t pull away for a while, savoring the way your lips feel against his as if it’s the last time he’ll ever be able to touch you in his life. It feels so right to be kissing you, like your bodies are made to be flush against each other, like your lips were made to mold to each other’s. 
Once he does pull away, there’s a wild look in his eyes that you’ve never seen before, one you can only assume is filled with love and satisfaction. 
“I don’t know what made you think that I would hate the idea of being your mate, but I’ve been waiting five fucking centuries for this moment right here.” he says against your lips, both of your souls humming with excitement as he pulls you back in for another quick kiss. “It’s a true honor to be your mate, and I promise to make up for every moment of lost time that we had over the last five decades in any way that I can. I promise to keep you safe and never let you feel alone ever again. You’re not getting rid of me for a very long time.”
Relief washes over you at his words, though you’re unable to completely comprehend the fact that he actually wants you back. It’ll come to you eventually, so for now you push the doubt you have away in order to enjoy the moment the two of you are sharing.
“You promise?” you say, eyes shimmering with more tears, thankfully these ones are happy tears for once.
“I promise,” he retorts with a smile, “I promise to give you everything you deserve and more, okay?”
“That sounds perfect to me,” you giggle, reaching up to cup his cheeks gently as he leans into your touch. 
He grins and pulls you in for another kiss, this one just as passionate as the last, if not more. You never want him to pull away, never want to forget the feeling of his lips against yours. It feels as though time stops for a moment while the two of you stand there, soaking up all of the love shimmering through the bond between your souls.
“Hey! Finish up your love fest and get your asses inside.” you hear your brother call out from the door to the roof, wondering if he was eavesdropping this entire time, “It’s time to celebrate you two idiots finally admitting what we’ve all been waiting to happen for years.” 
Azriel chuckles against your lips one more time before pulling away, placing a kiss on your forehead before reaching for your hand. 
“You ready?” he asks gently as you intertwine your fingers with his. 
“Ready as I’ll ever be.” you retort, following him inside to begin the rest of your eternal lives, finally together. 
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qdrntln4 · 5 months ago
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block your ears.
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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!!
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majestyeverlasting · 2 months ago
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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.
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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 you 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.
It was 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 at the tenderness. 
“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 at your words, gaze remaining 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. 
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wishful-sinful-9 · 2 months ago
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YOU WANT IT DARKER
Logan Howlett x Reader
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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
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midnightarcheress · 10 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.
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furuu · 3 months 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‧₊
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vanteguccir · 4 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.
   ༻✦༺  ༻✧༺ ༻✦༺
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."
     ༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺
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.
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tsukimefuku · 8 months ago
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de-stressing the lawyer :: higuruma hiromi
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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).
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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.
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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 · 6 months ago
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The moon and his sun (Part VI)
Aemond Targaryen x female reader
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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
~~
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So sorry if I forgot to tag you xx
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kettlefire · 7 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 · 7 months ago
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𝐁𝐞𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐜𝐮𝐫𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬 🎐
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- 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.
Series genre/warnings- 18+ suggestive content | mdni | marriage of convenience | slight slow burn | sexual themes | blood | death | degradation | profanity | sanemi in denial for being whipped for the reader | masturbation | exploring dark themes | crack | angst to fluffy |
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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.
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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.
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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-:
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Next episode- Behind the estate of wind hashira
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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 .......
© strawberrymochin 24 | plagiarism won't be tolerated |
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