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deathbxnny · 3 months ago

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Arcane characters saying things they'll regret during an argument with you. | Vi, Caitlyn, Jinx, Ekko, Sevika x Gn!Reader

(Part two)

Because if I can't be happy, then neither can you./j✨️

Content: Alcoholism, spoilers for season 2, heavy angst, toxic behavior, cursing, established romantic relationships, potential mentions of cheating, gaslighting/ manipulation, probably ooc idk, sfw

Reader has no set pronouns.

((Not proofread))

》VI

You hated the cycle she had trapped herself in. It was never-ending and beyond self-destructive. For a while, you tried to get her out of it by attempting to reason with her, show her the light, tell her that everything is going to be okay and to just stop with the senseless fighting. But then the heavy, out of control drinking began, and she became unrecognizable to you.

She barely spent time with you, and when she did, then it was due to an extreme hangover that you had to nurture her through before the next fight began. You were so sick of it. You couldn't take the state she was in anymore. You wanted your girlfriend back but didn't want to suffer anymore as a result of it. And so, you tried one last time to snap her out of it.

"Hey, uhm... can we talk?" You ask nervously whilst peering at her from the doorway into her room. The roaring of the crowd and indistinguishable words of the announcers buzzed over your heads, reminding you of the timelimit you had to do this right. Vi didn't turn to you and instead focused on smearing the black paint over her eyes, a dark gaze glance cast your way at your meek plea. "Make it quick. I got 10 minutes before I have to be out there again."

You took a deep breath and tried to ignore the coldness in her tone. It was so odd, so not like her. "Vi... I... I need you to stop this. I understand your pain. I really do, I... get it. But this isn't right. You're practically killing yourself here, and I can't take that anymore-" "-This topic again? I told you to fucking drop it already." She hissed with a shake of your head and something about that made you finally snap. "I care about you Vi! That's why I'm doing all of this shit for you. No one else would do as much as I did. Why can't you see that? What the hell happened to you-" Your voice was cut off by her hand slamming into a nearby wall, anger written all over her face that made you flinch away instinctively.

You had never been scared of her before and this just broke your heart further.

"Shut up! You haven't done shit for me, except for pissing me off and whining and crying about every little thing I do! How about you fuck off and leave me the hell alone instead!? The only person who ever did shit for me is Cait and look how that turned out!" Silence. Deafening silence. Except for Vi's heavy breathing. You were rendered speechless. All the years you've spent with her at her side even as children flashed through your mind, before it all stilled and went cold. Your gaze hardened, and you nodded slowly, turning away wordlessly to do as she asked. You understood now. You were always the second choice in the end.

Vi seemed to only notice that you've left once she heard her name being called from the ring above. And her heart sunk at the realisation that this time, you wouldn't be there to watch her win.

And so she didn't.

》CAITLYN

Zaun was becoming a sensitive and dangerous topic to bring up around her. Even the slightest mention of it made her face harden and earn you a dismissive hand waving all of your protests away. It also didn't help that she was pulling away from you and instead getting closer to a certain red-headed officer of hers. It was frustrating and so exhausting to deal with, on top of all the grief that hung over your heads constantly. It was driving you mad. Nothing you said got through to her.

It wasn't a secret that you disapproved of the war and the alliance with Ambessa. You could look right through her, see with a clear mind that she was up to no good. Whatever she had planned wouldn't bring either nation anything but more plight. This wasn't the right way to go about things. It wasn't humane. The people she hated were no different from you both. But she just couldn't see it the same way, her judgment clouded heavily by her need for revenge on Jinx. A singular person had shifted her perception about a whole group of people... and it was becoming suffocating. You couldn't recognize her anymore.

You were trying to find the right time to finally confront her about it fully, and thankfully, the opportunity came up one evening whilst she was going through paperwork in her office. You were pacing nervously around the room, trying to find the courage to speak your mind, but she beat you to it. "If you have something to say, then say it. I have work to do and can not be disturbed like this." She muttered, eyes focused on the sea of papers before her rather than your stilling form. Very well, she asked for it. "I... want this war to end. This isn't right."

Her hand froze before she hummed and resumed her task. "I thought we had moved on from this topic." She said calmly, not betraying how clearly irritated she was becoming. But you couldn't give up now. You'd go crazy if you did. "Caitlyn. There is no moving on from it if people are going to die as a consequence! How could you ever look away from that? Why can't you see that this is wrong? Why can't you see that Ambessa-" You stepped towards her grand desk with every word, hands coming down to push the paper she was holding away from her face. You just wanted her to finally look at you again after so long. "-Is playing with your mind!" "Enough. Don't you dare say another word."

The Kirammann stood up and towered over you, a strong hand grabbing onto your arm with a sharp shake that surprised you. Had the grief taken over her mind this badly? So much so that she couldn't see how much this was hurting you to lose her? "I demand you see reason and stop sympathizing with those treacherous animals... unless you want me to see you as one of them as well." "You think I'd betray you?" You breathed, and suddenly the realisation that you had lost her for good finally sunk in. You needed to go. Now.

Caitlyn's face sobered up at your question, yet before she could say a thing, her dear officer Nolan stepped in with a report in hand. Seeing the position you two were in, she nervously tilted her head. "Oh, my apologies, am I disturbing you-?" "-Not at all. In fact, I'm the one who's disturbing YOU. My apologies for that." Ripping your arm out of her gloved hand, you pushed past the girl and rushed out of the room.

Your girlfriend watched you disappear down the dark hallway before she straightened up and gave the officer a curt nod to go ahead with her report. But it was hard to listen to a word she was saying when Caitlyn's head was replaying the memory of your teary, heartbroken eyes over and over again.

》JINX

She didn't care about her life anymore. That was clear as day, and unfortunately, your relationship was suffering because of it. You knew that Silco's death had killed her inside, that his absence left her lost and confused. But you were so desperate to keep her together. So much so that you were practically destroying yourself for her well-being. Eventually, this boiled over when she was beginning to pull away from you. You, who had always been there. You, who she always cringed onto and begged to stay with her. You only had eachother now. It was impossible to think about a life without her now.

The unhinged spark in her eye had faded away and was replaced by an empty shell of what it once was. That scared you more than you'd like to admit. "Jinx... what are you thinking of?" You asked her one night whilst you quietly snuk around the dark lanes of your home. She didn't respond at first, and your eyes were focused on the back of her hooded head, wondering if she even heard you. But you know she had, when she came to a sudden stop. "... I... I think we should part ways, sweetheart. This ain't gonna go over well forever." She said in that hauntingly calm voice you've grown to hate. And you'd be lying if you said that you didn't see this coming.

"But why? We've always been together through everything. This isn't any different-" "-But it is! It's over! Jinx is over!" Facing you, you near flinched at her glowing, violet eyes, heart beating against your chest. She would never hurt you. You knew she wouldn't. And yet... you found yourself ever so slightly stepping away. Maybe that's what set her off in hindsight. "You're gonna leave me like everyone else anyway. Might as well beat ya to it-" "-I would never do that! What has gotten into you? You should know better than to think that-" "-You're scared of me, ain't ya?" You pressed your lips together when you realised that her mental state had gotten much worse than you expected.

She was losing it.

"In fact, I bet you're thinking of me the same way Vi does. You'll be so much happier without me. But... actually... what if you're going to backstab me like her one day?" The look on your face must've been horrific enough to sober her scrambled mind then because even she seemed to be unsure of what she's saying. And yes, you knew she wasn't doing well. You knew she was just saying things without thinking them through. But you were sick of it. So tired of it all. She could practically read your mind.

"W-wait, I'm sorry, I didn't mean that, I-" "-Okay... you're right. We truly would be better off going our separate ways." You were stepping away from her quicker now, and then you were running, your view becoming blurry and unintelligible. "WAIT NO, PLEASE DON'T LEAVE ME, I DIDN'T MEAN IT, I-" Jinx screamed after you, her breathing heavy and uneven, but she didn't go after you. She knew she had lost that right the second she opened her mouth.

You disappeared into the lanes, for the first time ever sprinting away from rather than towards her. And like the Jinx she was, she had screwed up another good thing up for herself. Perhaps deservingly this time.

》EKKO

Ekko was extremely busy with his duties lately and practically completely neglecting himself for them. It was very concerning to you and everyone, to say the least. Especially now that a war was practically forming at your front door from Piltover. And you were grateful and thankful for all he did for you. You really were. For that reason alone, you wanted him to take things easy at least sometimes to eat and sleep properly when he can. So, on the request of other members, you went to go looking for him one night before it was time for bed. He was sitting up in the tree, clearly planning to keep watch all night, like he usually did.

But you had come with a mission of your own and refused to leave until he came down to bed with you. "Ekko." You hummed as you finally reached him, a friendly smile on your lips. Balancing a nice basket of baked goods you had made yourself, you stepped towards his form that was beautifully illuminated in the moonlight. Seeing him here made you feel content and relieved since you were barely seeing each other to begin with anymore. Which you have been trying to be understanding about.

"I know what you're here for, and the answer is still no." The young man sighed with a shake of his head and frown. You weren't the first one to come by, that's for sure. "Hey... you know this isn't healthy. We're counting on you to stay strong for us, and you can't be that if you're starving yourself." You say with a slight falter to your smile, yet you tried to keep your tone playful and light. He, on the other hand, did not.

"I already told you that it's a no. Now go to bed and let me work." "But I made you these and-" "-I said, no." He hissed out, and that took you aback. He never raised his voice at you, nor did he ever have an attitude with you either. But the stress was getting to him badly, and so was the lack of sleep. "Why can't you just get that? How many times do I have to say it to get it through your thick skull? The least you could do is go and make yourself somewhat useful by patrolling, instead of wasting your time with this."

Oh, how his words cut you deep. Rationally, you knew that everything was just getting too much for him. But it didn't stop you from feeling hurt anyway, as your lip wobbled, and you slammed the basket on a nearby desk before quickly taking your leave wordlessly. Ekko froze at that and reached out to you, your name on the tip of his tongue, but the guilt stopped him from saying a thing.

"Fuck!" He cursed at himself, as he rubbed the bridge of his nose with a disappointed sigh. He definitely was losing it... and you unfortunately had to unfairly take the brunt of it.

》SEVIKA

"What did I tell you about running off when I tell you to stay put? You could have fucking died out there and then what?" Sevika was angry at you. Not that you could necessarily blame her since you did nearly get killed by an Enforcer earlier. But you had no real choice in this. You swore you didn't mean for this to happen. It was supposed to just be a quick errand run. You wanted to make her something nice for dinner, spoil her a little as a thank you for all the work she was putting into Zaun. Yet you couldn't explain any of this with the way she didn't let you even say a word now from the anger running in her veins. In fact, you had never seen her this enraged before.

"I am sick and tired of you disobeying what I tell you. I can't always be there and save you from everything, you know? I got better things to do and than to babysit you all the time-" "- I'm not asking you to do that either! I'm a grown adult, I can take care of myself!" You yelled back, absolutely angry now yourself at the way she always infantilized you like this. It always the same conversation and argument over and over again. You were so sick of it. You could handle yourself just fine and have proved this before. Yet she was so hellbent on proving you wrong every time, you couldn't take it anymore!

"I'm your partner, Sev. You're supposed to treat me like an equal." "I would, if you weren't so fucking incompetent. If I wasn't there, you would've been dead. Why can't you get that? Should I spell it out for you more? Dumb it down even more?" You hated when she was being like this. It was rare for a reason, and you despised this side of her. The side that was so prideful and egotistical. And you were trying so hard not to stoop to her level. It didn't help that you were a little injured and struggling to stand as is. "I'm not in the mood for this shit, I'm literally bleeding. Can we argue about this later, please? I just wanted to surprise you with something nice for once, and I get that I was wrong, but you don't have to be so mean about it, damn it!"

The tears in your eyes were betraying you, and the embarrassment of that just made you push past her and disappear into your shared bedroom. You'll just deal with the injury yourself. Sevika stared after you in slight surprise, considering it was rare for you to yell back like that and cry at that... but the sight of the flowers and half prepared food on the kitchen counter made the regret finally set in.

Perhaps you were right after all.

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callie-the-creator · 1 year ago

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sfw. warnings: obsessive behavior, slight stalking, jealousy, saiki uses his powers for selfish reasons, etc.

author’s note: oh, don’t mind me, just writing some headcanons if saiki was ever a yandere.

• you and saiki first met in chūgakkō, junior high, but he didn’t fall in love with you until a few years later when you two were already in pk academy. maybe it’s all the accidentally bumping into him, dropping your papers and saiki being the one to help you pick them up, making awkward eye contact in class, hanging out with one another outside of school, or touching on the same snack you both are aiming for at either the vending machine or at the store... all the things somehow have you involved these recent days and saiki is less than impressed at first

• saiki has always stated time and time again that he personally does not think he will not fall in love, so he always watches others who are in love and help them if he can, but here he is…completely captivated by you of all people. he didn’t know why though, was the author just really that bored?

• good grief

⨯ . ⁺ ✦ ⊹ ꙳ ⁺ ‧ ⨯. ⁺ ✦ ⊹ . * ꙳ ✦ ⊹ ⨯ . ⁺ ✦ ⊹ ꙳ ⁺ ‧ ⨯. ⁺ ✦

• let it be known that he does possess the power to alter your perception of him. saiki could always just make you fall in love with him just like that…but…what’s the fun in that? no, no, he wouldn’t dream of doing that to you

— however, since saiki was born with the uncontrollable ability to read the minds of all living creatures in a multiple-mile radius…he can read your mind, he knows all of your favorite things, what you dislike, your hobbies, and your address. he didn’t mean to at first, but he did find your thoughts and imagination fascinating. he even finds himself listening to you during class like you’re his favorite podcast

• saiki is crazily protective over you.

— there was a time where you nearly got mugged! and when i say ‘nearly’, well, let’s just say you should be grateful saiki was there to protect you. can’t you see that he’ll always be here for you in a time of need? he’ll keep you safe, but only if you see that for yourself…

• saiki doesn’t think he’s the jealous type, but he will stop any other man who has a crush on you by any means necessary by either relentlessly embarrassing them for the rest of the day or wiping you from their memory because only saiki can have you. no one else. he doesn’t care how many people he has to make forget you to become your boyfriend

• what’s that? you wish it was a sunny day in japan instead of a rainy one? don’t you worry about a thing! saiki will handle that for you!

• stalking you is almost child’s play to saiki since he has so many powers to ensure you don’t spot him — shapeshifting, teleportation, you name it! but this is a good thing because you don’t have to worry about him being an aggressive type of yandere

— if he is following behind you when you’re walking home, i do think saiki would change to his female self, so you would be less scared

• once the author made you bring coffee jelly to school and willingly give it up to saiki after seeing him light up at the sight of it, saiki knew that he just had to marry you

• he could, quite literally, turn the world upside down for you if it meant that you’ll be with him.

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goldenstring6123 · 7 months ago

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Lnds: Fighting with them

Warning: ANGST NO COMFORT! Arguing, fighting & toxic responses to a fight. Self insert. Reader may or may not be the MC

Author's note: Here's my take on getting into fights with your LNDS boyfriend— realistic responses edition! some of you may not like this, be warned.

Fighting with Zayne:

He is a professional, and his method is simply de-escalation. Dealing with so many types of patients, he knows how to handle things from children fighting to burly men wanting to pack a punch. He talks out of conflict or stalls them long enough until security gets to where he is; this happens inside and outside the hospital. During this incident, though he appears cool-headed, he is also aggravated. A keen observer would notice the ghostly frown on his face and his mildly defensive stance.

With you, he's more lenient. More gentle and more understanding. Utilizing a more empathic approach to your conflict. He never raises his voice or shows an ounce of hostility. Zayne would most definitely be more comforting. He is quick to apologize by verbal words or sweet actions.

When push comes to shove and you somehow manage to get on his nerves, which happens once in a blue moon, he'll either:

Scenario 1: He'll stop talking or looking at you for hours. He'll try to calm himself down and stare off into the distance, recalling whatever got him on his nerves. He'll try to find a solution or workaround and meet you halfway. Of course, he'll demand an apology from you if he rightfully deserves it, and if not, he's more than willing to give you an apology instead.

Scenario 2: He'll ask you to leave his house to cool off both of your heads. He'll bury himself in his workload, turning off his phone. When you confront him, he won't speak first, asking if you need something from him. He won't apologize or meet you halfway with his words; in fact, he won't be gentle with them; he'll convey his feelings and messages to you more frankly to the point that it is harsh. His words are somewhat calculated, as if he had already planned what to say, but that would mean he won't let you slip a word in.

By then, the anger within you has already been extinguished. At the end of any scenario, Zayne is the last to apologize for being angry. Still, he states his anger has a reason and that he cares for you and his well-being.

Fighting with Xavier:

When you manage to annoy him, he pouts, still acting cutesy on purpose. He does this more often than anyone could imagine because, in this way, he can demand consolation in the form of baking pastries/desserts or kisses.

When things get hot between the two of you, he'll ignore you for a short amount of time, refraining from entering the same room as you because you know neither of you would give in to the argument, So it was better for you to both calm your minds down, even just for 5 minutes.

When all things go in the wrong direction, Xavier's the type to fuss, complain, and just generally become verbal. He never swears and raises his voice per se but heavily pushes the side of the argument onto you, whether you were wrong or right. Sometimes, he fails to understand your side of the conflict, and sometimes, he flat-out ignores it and acts all childish, turning a deaf ear.

He's capable of not talking to you for days, and he makes it more apparent that he's avoiding you by requesting to switch partners. And when this happens, most of the time, it's you who makes the move to apologize. But on bad topics, it doesn't end there. He still insists on his side of the fight. All while speaking and arguing, he tries to get close to you in an attempt to hold your hand, but you always push him away. You

One time, he got too close to you to make you understand, pressing you against the wall and holding your hand a bit too tightly, and out of sheer anger and fear, you resorted to brute force, slapping him across the face. This took him back to reality and, with it, took his anger as well, exchanging it for grief. Only then did he realize that he messed up in more ways than he could think.

Fighting with Rafayel:

Rafael is the hardest to deal with when angered. He's sensitive and quick to be influenced by emotions. Though people call him a "drama queen," Rafayel becomes a real pain in the neck when people get on his nerves. If he doesn't get what he wants, he'll make sure that the other party loses more than him, and he does that thanks to his network and his money. This seldom happens as He doesn't work with anyone in broad daylight. He locks himself in the studio; only Thomas usually talks to him.

At most, he gets into conflicts with cats.

It's a different thing when he makes shady transactions, though. When he's made into a fool, those people are dealt with by his hired men. Assassinations, theft, blackmail, whatever makes the other party beg on their knees.

With you, though, it's a whole other story.

Conflicts with Rafael are, unfortunately, toxic; He's easy to provoke and quick to retort. It's a gamble when you're with him. On some better days, you can get away with a conflict through an apology and dinner, or better yet, he concedes, and you can have your way.

It doesn't take a genius to know that this will escalate into a shouting match on bad days. Banters, insults, and harsh words are thrown at each other without pause, and it only stops when either of you walks out. It was a mindless conflict led by sheer anger, plus his pettiness and your annoyance. He makes himself look like the victim and points out your flaws more and how you failed to be understanding; conflicts with him end up with tears and devoid of an apology. Neither of you ever even remembered what you were fighting back.

When he has no strength to fight with you, he goes silent. He locks his home and only contacts you for a short period. He vents his anger on his paintings, to which Thomas immediately tells him to take a break and apologize to you. He doesn't, and it's not until a week later that he contacts you again.

Fighting with Sylus:

He's patient but, at the same time, impatient.

When something is amiss, or someone fails to do their task, rather than bother to be angry or inconvenienced, he'd eliminate the cause of that problem. It saves him from emotional exhaustion.

When in conflict with other people, you best place your bet on him being the aggrevator. He's more of the person to start conflicts than be on the receiving end. If there is one thing to know about him when he starts one, he finishes it, leading the other party on their knees, running away or six feet under.

Sylus is a big man who holds himself to his ego, so people tend to be weary when approaching him. Burly, prideful men are eager to fight him, and they somehow get a taste of their own medicine, praying they end up alive after this fight.

With you, however, it's a different story. Conflicts between you and Sylus are primarily caused by too much bickering and you taking his words to heart. Sometimes, he lets his tongue slip too much in amusement. A quick cold shoulder treatment and you blocking his chat is the way for him to show a gram of remorse. Despite being terrifying, he's pretty good at consoling and apologizing.

But when you start to get on his nerves, you're in a tight situation. He doesn't treat you like a partner; he treats you like some sort of business partner, spewing harsh facts with a tinge of insult. He doesn't let you slip a word in; if you manage to, he'll always have something to say again. He raises his voice slightly, asks rhetorical questions, and makes you look foolish. All the while, he looks like he still has his composure. He acts as if he's not your lover, creating a clear boundary between your relationship, and more often than you'd like to admit, this, too, got on your nerves. He never makes a move on you, neither does he curse or do anything terrible. He just sits there all arrogant, as if he always has the upper hand with your emotions.

But there was one particular fight where you're the one who's fuming red with pure, dry anger. You scream at Sylus, reprimanding and scornful, sometimes lunging a few soft items his way, which he catches, yet he never does anything. He stays in his place, but he is undeniably infuriated as well, only this time, he's silent. He lets you go off, not responding to your rhetorical questions and all the words you hurl his way, and when you are finally done speaking, he tells you to leave, grabbing you by your arm and throwing you out of his house.

He hasn't contacted you for a month, and you have been forbidden from going anywhere near the N109 zone. You thought it was the end of whatever you guys had. You sent your break-up message, and to your surprise, he's seen it yet— there was never a response.

That night, you wake up in his bed and in his grasp.

Author footnotes: I know this isn't the romantic type of lnds post but once in a while I want to make their relationships realistic, like, try to apply how people in real life would act.Layout by me, using canva premium | Do not repost | Dividers by cafekitsune MASTER LIST | Buy me a thread?

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hivemuthur · 27 days ago

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Drugs in Our Body | Reader Version

viktorxfemale!reader AU university, AU modern era, recreational drug use, smut-adjacent (but really was aimed more at sensual)

word count: 5,4K

summary: A self-indulgent one-shot of Viktor and Reader going through a high together and ending up all tangled up, touchy, kissy, breathy, so on and so forth. I might or might not have written Viktor into my core memory from uni.

Cross-posted on AO3 + POV3rd Person Version

—

It had been going so well. You’d managed to sneak out of the third floor, enjoy a solitary elevator ride up to your dorm room, and avoid bumping into anyone. A quick stop at the only working vending machine in the building had earned you a packet of honey peanuts—your second small victory of the night. Shoving a tiny packet with white powdery leftovers into the nobody-knows-what-it’s-for pocket of your jeans, you quietly unlocked the door and slipped into the darkness of your bedroom.

Sue, your roommate, was off campus for the weekend, and the relief of having the room to yourself was palpable. All that was left was to rid yourself of the constricting clothes and underwear in favour of her freshly laundered favourite pyjamas. Mission accomplished.

You were just pulling on your shorts when a soft, methodical knock echoed through the silence.

Shit.

Your first instinct was to ignore it. There was absolutely no way anyone could have seen you—you’d made sure of it. This was a very serious mission, and you had accomplished it with meticulous care. You could definitely just pretend you weren’t there.

“I know you’re in there,” a voice with an undercurrent of amusement—and the accent—called through the door, slipping straight into the soft spot in your brain. Your current state of unfiltered contentment only magnified its effect, sending warm waves through your body.

Barefoot, your steps silent, you padded to the door and cracked it open. The fluorescent lights of the dormitory corridor immediately assaulted your eyes, and you let out an involuntary whine. Standing there, bathed in the harsh glow like some caricature of a holy figure, was Viktor.

“Need something?” you asked, squinting at him painfully.

He was dressed in sweatpants and an oversized green jumper, the hem of a white T-shirt peeking out at the collar. Leaning nonchalantly against the doorframe, his hands rested on his cane, one eyebrow raised, his lips curled into a knowing smile.

“How inconspicuous do you think you are?” he asked, smugness radiating off him.

Your heart sank. Impossible. You had been so careful. Every step had been measured, every movement ghost-like. During the elevator ride, you hadn’t so much as breathed too loudly. He was bluffing.

“What do you mean?” Your voice dripped with exaggerated innocence, enough to make Viktor snort softly.

Slowly, he leaned in, one hand propped on the doorframe as his sharp gaze zeroed in on your face. Your noses were now an inch apart. Less than an inch. You could smell the faint scent of his body wash and the wool of his jumper. Your carefully constructed composure cracked as you inhaled sharply, just once, stealing a whiff of him.

It was worth it.

“This little sneaking-about routine you just pulled,” he said, his eyes studying you, his lips curling in amusement as realization dawned.

It was over. He knew.

The blown pupils, the blush blooming across your cheeks, the smile you couldn’t suppress when he got closer—it all gave you away. But you weren’t ready to let him win without giving him some grief first.

“I… went to get a snack. See?” You reached over to a cabinet by the door, pulling out the packet of honey peanuts and holding it up like a prized exhibit. “Don’t you believe me?”

He raised an unimpressed eyebrow as he took the peanuts from your hand. “Close enough. Maybe I would… if you weren’t giggling the whole time,” he said with a teasing smile.

You froze. Giggling? Impossible. You’d been quiet as a mouse, serious as a statue, your determination unwavering as you had ghosted through the building.

“So… what’s going on?” His voice was casual, curious—almost as if he were asking you out—and it yanked you right out of your spiralling paranoia.

Before you realized it, your hand had grabbed his forearm. His jumper was so soft under your fingers, and you pulled him gently—hesitantly—through the doorway. Your eyes never left his as you inched him inside, a silent question lingering in the back of your throat: Am I busted?

After a moment of silence in the darkness, you cleared your throat. You could see the amusement on his face, etched there the entire time, and it made your blood simmer.

“Just killing time while Sue’s away. Why?” you said, your voice a picture of innocence. You turned away, plucking a book from the cabinet and settling on the bed. Because, of course, you were going to have a reading session in a pitch-black room.

Even with the only light in the room being the faint glow of the corridor bulbs seeping through the door crack, you could feel his gaze flick to your legs. It burned.

“And how, pray tell, were you killing time in complete darkness?” His voice dripped with an unthinkable suggestion, sending a shiver down your spine. Or perhaps the shiver came because the implication wasn’t as unthinkable as you wished it were.

God, get your sass back on, girl. You had to, or you were going to lose miserably.

“Excuse me? Are you accusing me of indecency, dear TA?” you shot back, your tone sharper than you intended but steady enough. It earned you an indulgent smile from him, so maybe it was the right move.

“I would never,” he replied, mock innocence smoothing over his features. Viktor stepped closer, reaching to turn on the night light beside the bed. Its orange glow was soft yet oppressive, making you squint against the sudden brightness. “Though I might take my chances accusing you of… some other indulgence,” he added with a sly smile as he sat down beside you.

“I am a victim, not a villain,” you quipped, the words leaving your mouth before you could stop them.

Viktor’s expression shifted instantly to one of concern, and you inwardly cursed. Too late to take it back now.

“You are?” he asked, his gaze sharpening as he turned to look directly at you, trying to piece together what you meant.

“Sorry,” you said quickly, your voice light and dismissive, though the apology sounded genuine. “That sounded worse than it was. Don’t get all worked up.” You offered him an apologetic smile and, without thinking, rested your hand on his forearm.

His jumper was impossibly soft under your fingers, melting into your skin. You had to gather every ounce of willpower not to let your fingers linger or caress his arm, lest you completely betray yourself.

“There’s a party on the third floor,” you admitted, “and, well… it was boring.” God, you felt like a child explaining yourself after drawing a masterpiece on the bedroom wall while the adults sipped drinks and discussed politics. This felt wrong; surely, you didn’t have to explain yourself.

“Alright,” Viktor replied, his tone reassuring and careful. His eyes flicked down to your hand on his arm, and he didn’t move. It was warm, soft—comforting—and he didn’t want to scare it away.

“And… what did you have?” he asked, his voice low and steady.

“E, I think?” you said, your tone casual but hesitant, like someone confessing to sneaking an extra cookie before dinner. You thought it was E, though it felt slightly different—softer. You felt calm and didn’t think your heart was about to explode.

“You think?” His brow arched, scepticism plain as day. So irresponsible, on full display. He could convince you to do anything now. He could whisper you into robbing a bank with him. He could make you serenade him. He could ask you to lick his neck while he groped your ass and kissed your stomach. He could... no.

“Oh, that makes me look so bad,” you groaned, dragging a hand over your face, the sound almost slapping him out of his dark fantasy. “But it’s not as bad as it looks.” Your hand returned to his arm, and he flinched slightly.

“I am sure,” he replied dryly, “as long as no one has a heart attack or falls in battle with an imaginary dragon.” His attempt at joking felt weak, too breathy to be taken seriously. Shut up, Viktor. What are you, her father?

“God, you sound like a parent, Viktor.” You threw him a look that was part annoyed, part amused. He sounded like a parent—though not like any of your parents. Your parents would have convinced you to take acid with them to deepen the family bond as you all probed through each other’s consciousness. Gross.

“Alright, alright,” he relented with a small smile. “I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt. So… where did you get it from?” He could at least have his eye on whoever drugged his favourite second-year student—or made you so bored you thought E was the answer.

“Snitches get stitches, you know?” you shot back, leaning into the playful deflection. The truth was, you didn’t even know the guy who handed you the tiny zip bag and asked, ‘Do you want to have some fun?’ Somehow, you were convinced admitting that would only make the situation worse.

He sighed, long and exasperated, tilting his head slightly to the side. “Are you feeling alright? Do you need someone to watch over you?”

“I’m fine,” you assured him with a dismissive wave. “I was actually just going to… stay here and enjoy it. And frankly,” you added with a cheeky grin, “if you’re going to stay here, all sober and responsible, I think that would make me self-conscious.”

But please, stay and watch over me, Viktor. Take care of me while my body is crushed with fluff was pushing violently through your mind. You had to cover your mouth with your hand to keep yourself from saying it.

“I hear you loud and clear,” he said, rising from the bed. “Text me if you need something, though?” Pity. He would have gladly combed his fingers through your hair and caressed your hands, knowing that in your current state, this simple touch would bring you more pleasure than any man ever had.

“Or…” you began, your voice slow and deliberate, “you could jump in with me?”

God, yes, roared in Viktor’s brain. Yes, I’ll jump in with you. I’ll jump anywhere after you. I’ll eat your soul, and it’ll be my last meal, and I’ll die happy.

He tried to compose himself, to come off as casual. His eyes widened, his lips parting slightly in surprise. “Are you offering drugs to your TA?”

“You make it sound like the crime of the century, Viktor,” you teased, though the words were a cover for the rising panic in your chest. What the hell had you just done? Had you really just offered your TA drugs? Were you insane? What was that expression on his face now—disbelief? Amusement? God, please don’t let it be pity. Maybe he’d be cross with you, but that might actually be easier to handle. You should’ve just asked him to stay, to bring you water periodically. That would’ve been enough. It would’ve been perfect, actually. Maybe then you could even sneak another whiff of his sweater when he wasn’t looking.

“Well,” Viktor began, his voice dry but with the faintest lilt of humour, “if we treat the university ethos as law, it is technically a crime: drug distribution, leading your classmates astray, bad influence.” He had to hold his composure. Truthfully, he was tempted to snort the entire bag in one go, just to melt into you.

“I think I missed the moment when I forced it down your throat,” you shot back, crossing your arms and meeting his gaze. His joke made you feel calmer, though. Maybe it would end there—just a funny anecdote he’d tease you with throughout the rest of your time at university. And maybe, ten years in the future at a reunion, he’d ask you, ‘Remember that one time?’

“Are you sure it’s E?” he asked, his tone neutral but inquisitive, eyes scanning your face. You were too calm for it to be E. You’d be dancing around, touching his face uncontrollably, and above all, you’d never come back to your room to enjoy solitude.

“No,” you admitted with a shrug. “But it’s really not such a big deal. No… visions. It just… feels nice.”

‘Nice’ was an understatement—it felt like being bathed in butter, like all the knots in your body had untied themselves simultaneously, while your mind retained its analytical sharpness. Or so you thought.

“I see.” His tone grew quieter, more thoughtful, and you watched him carefully as his gaze flicked to the tiny bag in your hand. “Alright, show me what you’ve got.” He silently hoped it was what he thought it was.

You hesitated but eventually held out the small zip bag with a pinch of white powder inside. His fingers brushed yours as he took it, and for a moment, you felt your breath hitch. He had such long fingers you were sure they would meet if he wrapped them around your neck. Oh, God. He tilted the bag, examining it critically, like a chemist assessing their materials.

"And how did you take it?" Viktor asked, lifting a brow. The last time, he had dissolved it in lukewarm water, as they toasted with Jayce. The taste was still unbearable, so they had to down a box of orange juice, and it still didn’t exactly help.

"I… rubbed it in my gums." You winced at the memory. "Do not recommend, though."

"Let me guess," he said, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. "It tastes like shit?"

"Worse." It tasted so much worse. Not that you had ever tasted shit in your life, but it tasted like some vile chemical trying to burn its way through your tissues. It tasted so wrong, yet it gave you so much artificial happiness afterward that you had already decided you’d be able to do it again sometime in the future.

"Ah," he nodded, a small huff of amusement escaping him. "I think I might know what this is." He paused, weighing the bag in his palm, before raising a brow at you. "Alright, ground rules if… I take it: no sex." He couldn’t. He really wanted to and really couldn’t. It would lock you both into a one-night stand while being high, and a potential future of all the stands you could be having depended on him being responsible. As much as he could be in that moment.

"You think rather much of yourself, mister!" you shot back, flustered and scrambling to cover it with mock indignation. You hadn’t thought of it once; you just wanted to curl into him and breathe in his jumper until you snorted it off of him.

"Oh, give it thirty minutes, and you will think much of me as well," he retorted, his smirk deepening into something almost smug. "But it’s more of a contract I’m making with myself while I’m still sober. And I need a witness." Good, Viktor. You deserve a medal. You deserve a girl.

"And your witness can be high, I presume?" You looked at him, amused. It was a shitty contract, but you could oblige. You already knew what you wanted from this night.

"I work with what I’ve got," he quipped, shrugging one shoulder, his tone breezy but precise.

"Alright," you sighed, rolling your eyes. "Consider your contract witnessed."

"Shake on it?" His smile was so wide you would shake on absolutely anything.

"Ugh, fine!" You extended your hand reluctantly, and his fingers wrapped around yours in a brief, firm shake. His hand was warmer than you expected, his grip steady.

"Here we go then," Viktor said, releasing your hand and sitting down beside you. Truly, here we go.

"Wait," you said, your eyes widening as he tipped a small amount of the powder onto the back of his hand. "Are you snorting it?" What the hell was this, Breaking Bad?

"I know how to take my medicine, thank you very much," he replied smoothly, his voice coloured with faint amusement. You would’ve thanked him for learning this way—the taste was almost undetectable.

"And when was the last time you’ve taken this so-called medicine, Viktor? 1976?" you teased, leaning slightly closer to watch him. You thought that if you were ever to do it again, you could lick it off his hand, and that would make the taste bearable.

He gave you a flat look before replying, "My third year, give or take. The thesis caught up with us soon after, and then, well… I had to become a well-respected TA." He delivered the last part with a hint of mockery, letting the words hang in the air.

"Did you lose with the dragon?" you asked, a grin tugging at your lips.

"Yes," he said, deadpan, the corners of his mouth twitching. "It disembowelled me and Jayce. Let me just say, it wasn’t pretty." He leaned forward slightly, his gaze still on the powder as if appraising his next move.

You bit your lip, watching him curiously, the buzz in your body softening your edges. Was this really happening? Watching Viktor—your TA, the notoriously unflappable one—do this was something you never thought you’d witness in a thousand lifetimes. Yet here he was, sleeves rolled up, calm and deliberate, like this was just another late-night experiment.

"Fuck, I’m sorry. Push it away from your mind – no dragon in sight, just me," he said, seeing your eyes widen and remembering how prone to suggestion your mind would be right now.

"See you on the other side," Viktor said, tipping his head back slightly as he snorted the powder. He blinked a few times, exhaling slowly, then turned to you with a faint, lopsided grin. "Hmm… we need some more light. And music. And… do you have any food?"

"Is everything a project with you?" you asked, a laugh slipping out despite yourself.

"I like to take as much as I can from the little moments of indulgence that are granted to me," he replied, his tone matter-of-fact, though there was a hint of something warmer beneath his words.

"Not the sex though," you shot back, folding your arms but unable to hide your teasing smirk.

"Don’t sulk. You’re going to like it," he said, brushing you off with a wave of his hand before pausing and glancing down. "Do you mind if I take this off?" Without waiting for a proper answer, he began unbuckling his leg brace, the metal joints clicking softly in the dim light.

"I don’t think there’s anything I mind at the moment, Viktor," you murmured, watching him. The deliberate way his fingers worked, the small sigh of relief he let out when the brace came free—it was unexpectedly intimate, and you felt something warm settle in your chest.

He placed the brace aside, flexing his leg experimentally before leaning back on the bed. "I will be asking you a lot of questions tonight, so you better brace yourself."

"Whaa…? I didn’t sign up for an exam!" you protested, widening your eyes in mock horror. You had already put on your comfort Spotify playlist with a lot of The Smiths and Dandy Warhols on it, and a couple of colourful dinky lights scattered around the room.

"It’s not an exam. Consider me… your guide," he said, his tone taking on a playful gravity that made you grin.

"Viktor, I’m not an E virgin. I don’t need to be handheld," you said, rolling your eyes but plopping down close to him all the same.

"It’s not handholding. And I wouldn’t doubt your expertise," he said, his voice low and steady, "but it’s not E you’ve taken."

Your brows knit together as you stared at him. "No? What is it? Are we going to die?" Your mock horror made Viktor chuckle slightly.

“It’s M. The joy of E without the speed. It’s… nice,” he explained, his words soft and unhurried. He tilted his head slightly, as though listening to something only he could hear. “And given how I am starting to feel, we have around… two, maybe three hours of this?”

Your stomach flipped at the easy confidence in his voice, at the way he seemed so utterly calm despite the strange circumstances. You shifted in your seat, trying to suppress the giddy flutter rising in your chest. “So… what do we do?”

“Nothing. Anything you want. See what you feel like,” he replied, his gaze meeting yours, steady and curious. For a moment, the room felt impossibly still, like the two of you had been suspended in time. The edges of everything softened—the glow of the lamps, the hum of the city beyond the window, even the faint buzz under your skin. It all blurred into a single, surreal moment as you looked at him.

“What I feel like…” you murmured, your voice trailing off as a sudden, uncontrollable grin spread across your face. “Alright, Viktor. Guide me.”

“Come closer,” his voice was soft as he patted a space on the bed in front of him, splaying himself on his side. You leaned in slowly, propping your head on your fist.

“May I?” His hands hovered over your face, asking non-verbal permission before he touched you. You nodded, closing your eyes, and it made Viktor smile this time. His fingertips ghosted over your cheeks and brows; a touch so gentle you could barely feel it yet felt it intensely at the same time. You didn’t realize you were holding your breath until Viktor spoke. “Breathe.”

“Are you nervous?” he asked, seeing you give a shaky exhale.

“No,” you lied. Your heart was thumping in your chest so loudly now that you were convinced Viktor could see the tremble in your sternum if he looked closely.

“Let’s get rid of this tension,” he said, pulling you into a tight hug. You immediately wrapped your arms around him, cradling the base of his skull with the fingers of one hand, while the other hugged his waist tightly. You could feel his soft jumper under your palms and felt warmer as his scent filled your nostrils. You breathed him in—the body wash, the fresh laundry, his skin and clothes wrapping around you like a blanket.

He slid one hand around your back and shoulders, the other finding its way down to the base of your spine. For a fleeting moment, he had an internal struggle to resist the urge to squeeze your ass tightly. Your bodies slotted together as if it was meant to be—here, on your dorm bed, entangled together, forever. His hands kneaded at your flesh when he rolled over you swiftly, allowing his palms to travel to your ribcage, squeezing it affectionately as he pressed his face to your body and took a long, deep whiff of you. You weren’t wearing a bra, so he was painfully aware that only one layer of clothing—relatively easy to get rid of—stood between his lips and your skin. You arched into his movement, making him release an audible sigh of contentment.

“You smell nice,” he whispered against your neck and smiled as he rubbed his cheek on yours, his eyes closed, heat slowly spreading through his veins. Then, he hooked his good leg under one of your knees to feel more of you underneath him, propped his elbows on each side of your head, and dropped his forehead to rest on yours.

You looked up at him, expression unreadable, as if you were studying him. His blown pupils, gold rings around them barely visible, dark freckles on his pale skin travelling deep under the collar of his t-shirt, the sharp structure of his face softened by colourful lights, the tiny bud of flesh crowning his upper lip. You really wanted to kiss him.

He saw the flicker in your eyes, nearly completely black now, before he rolled you to the side. “Not yet,” he whispered hoarsely as he tangled your fingers together, raising your palm to his lips to place a soft, lingering kiss on your knuckles.

“Bear with me, please,” the plea in his voice tied you into knots. His touch burned you, even as slight as the feeling of his long fingers cradling your palm. His hands felt heavy on you, grounding you, keeping you safe on this ride.

“Why so cautious?” you asked, your voice soft but edged with curiosity.

“I need to brace myself here,” he replied, his tone steady yet laden with something deeper, something vulnerable. He had to be cautious. If this was the time you had sex for the first time, it would be the last. He was convinced of it. Even when his entire body screamed at him to shed his layers of clothing and just merge with you. Just drown in you.

“I remember the contract, just the reason for it… eludes me now,” you said, using his own phrasing that he so often threw at you. You managed a small, teasing smile, but it trembled at the edges.

He chuckled quietly, the sound warm and almost sheepish. “I will indulge you then. This... would either be the best or the worst we could have,” he paused, measuring his next words and deciding if it was the right place to bare himself in ways other than nudity. “And I’m not ready for either tonight,” he added, the words hanging between you, a delicate balance of truth and hesitation.

For a moment, there was silence, as the space between you stretched, and you could feel the tension in his every breath. You were starting to understand what he meant, not just in the words, but in the way his hands tightened around yours, the way his body was so close yet still holding back.

“Viktor,” you murmured, your voice softer than you intended, pulling your gaze from your joined hands to meet his eyes. And God, he was so beautiful.

“Don’t think about what is not happening. Focus on this,” he said, squeezing your hand and rubbing his thumb on the heel of your palm. The touch sent a jolt through your body. “I promise, it will be good. I haven’t even kissed you yet,” he smiled, and you felt your resolve falter and shift to his side.

A quiet agreement settled between you. You wouldn’t step beyond the layers of clothing. There were so many steps still to take tonight, though. Viktor took a deep breath, partly in relief, partly to brace himself for what came next. He cradled your neck, and you wondered if his long fingers would leave a palm-shaped burn mark on your skin. His exhale washed over your face, smelling faintly of toothpaste and a man. He kissed you in slow motion, allowing you to warm up to the novelty of this touch.

You took his upper lip between yours as he slowly coaxed his tongue into your mouth. His hands travelled down to prop your bare thighs under the length of your shorts, and God, he was so happy you were wearing shorts.

He kneaded at the backs of your legs, his touch strong and confident. His mouth explored yours, licking the inner side of your lips, a faint taste of lip balm on his tongue. He bit your lower lip gently, sucking on it long enough to leave a mark that would bloom in full by morning.

You tangled your fingers into his hair, pulling him closer, breathing through your nose, as your hips and chests met, melting together.

He let out a breathy laugh, surprising himself. “You taste like a girl,” he murmured, his voice soft and unguarded. You blinked at him, not quite understanding. What he meant was that you tasted like lip gloss and summer, like a sweet drink laced with heavy alcohol—and it was the only taste he wanted in his mouth until the end of time.

“Any girl?” you asked, shooting him a questioning glance.

Instead of explaining, he said simply, “My girl,” before sinking back down into you, his lips trailing along your neck, nipping lightly at your ear. His hips rolled against yours without meaning to, and you felt how hard he was, but you didn’t comment, respecting the boundaries you’d both agreed upon. Instead, you wrapped your legs around his waist, your warm hands sneaking underneath the layers of his woolen jumper and crisp t-shirt. His body was all sharp lines and firm muscle under your touch, flexing instinctively beneath your fingers—a striking contrast to your softness, yielding to the shapes he wanted you to take.

When you closed your eyes, the brightness behind your lids didn’t dim, but it sharpened your focus on the sweet sounds he made. The soft whimpers escaped him as he breathed you in, the slow, deep inhales he took every time his face buried itself in the crook of your neck. His hands slid gently under your sweatshirt, wrapping around your ribcage and squeezing softly, almost as if he were coaxing your heart to him. His thumbs brushed the line just beneath your breasts, making your body tense in response, but he didn’t push further. Instead, he pressed his face into your stomach, his lips lingering there in a kiss that sent warmth blooming through you—a kiss he’d wanted to give but thought impossible only an hour ago.

“I have no words to describe this feeling,” he said quietly, his head resting against your belly, his hands moving to caress your thighs. You tangled your fingers into his hair, tugging gently to ease the tension from his scalp, and he let out a soft groan in response.

“Better than being eaten by a dragon?” you teased, your voice low and light as your mind wandered, overwhelmed by all the goodness surrounding you.

He propped himself up quickly, his flushed cheeks and disheveled hair framing his face. His lips were swollen from kissing, his eyes bright and loving as they locked onto yours. The sight stole your breath, and you felt an overwhelming sense of gratitude for listening to him, for letting this moment happen.

“You have no idea,” he replied, a smile breaking through.

Your bodies resumed their slow, unhurried dance, a rhythm built not on urgency but on the quiet comfort of simply being together. He held you close, his hands moving in soft strokes up and down your back, drawing you tighter against him. The warmth between you felt like a steady, glowing fire, soothing and constant. Your fingers found their way back into his hair, and you kissed him again, slow and tender, each lingering touch a wordless promise you both understood.

The intimacy felt endless, as if nothing outside this moment existed. His heart beat steadily beneath your palm, a rhythm that matched your own, and you let out a contented sigh as you melted into him. Viktor’s breath slowed and deepened, syncing with yours, his chest rising and falling against you. The space between your lips disappeared again, the softest whisper of air passing as you kissed, savoring the connection like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Time blurred, stretching and bending until it felt infinite, a luxury you didn’t dare question. The soft sounds of your kisses filled the quiet room, the outside world forgotten. You felt him smile against your lips, his hands cradling your face, his thumbs brushing the edges of your jaw with a tenderness that sent your heart racing.

Eventually, the kisses slowed, and he rested his forehead against yours, your faces inches apart, your eyes closed. A pleasant heaviness settled over both of you, the high of the moment fading but leaving behind a sense of peace. Your jaw ached faintly from the constant kissing, but you didn’t care. Viktor, too, seemed to feel the weight of exhaustion creeping in, though his arms stayed tight around you, unwilling to let go just yet.

As the faint strains of I Love You by The Dandy Warhols played softly in the background, the last remnants of the high dissolved into a quiet contentment. His breath evened out, his hand resting warm and steady on your back. You let yourself drift, your head nestled against his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat as it lulled you toward sleep.

The last thing you remembered before the world faded completely was the warmth of his arms holding you close, his presence wrapping around you like a shield. Nothing could pull you apart—not in this moment, not ever. And with that, you both surrendered to the embrace of sleep, the quiet comfort of each other’s existence the only thing that mattered.

#viktor arcane #viktor x reader #viktor fanfic #viktor x reader smut #viktor x f!reader #arcane #viktor smut #arcane fanfic #my writing #ao3 #ao3 fanfic #viktor x oc #viktor nation

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novlr · 1 year ago

Note

how to describe despair in writing

Despair is a visceral and crushing emotion—one that echoes through the pages of a story, gripping readers with its raw intensity. It is more than just a feeling; it’s an abyss that characters fall into, a shadow that colours their every action and decision with hues of hopelessness and loss.

Behaviour

Neglecting personal care or obligations.

A lack of motivation or interest in activities they once enjoyed.

Withdrawing from social situations or avoiding company.

Engaging in self-destructive actions or habits.

Consistent signs of fatigue or lethargy.

Frequent emotional outbursts or mood swings.

An inability to concentrate or focus on tasks.

Indecisive, even on trivial matters.

Focusing on negative thoughts.

Displaying a loss of hope or a sense of defeat.

Interactions

Avoiding physical or eye contact with others.

Short-tempered and easily irritated.tempered

Speaking in monosyllables or giving terse responses.

A sense of indifference or apathy toward others’ concerns.

Struggling to express themselves or to articulate their feelings.

Misinterpreting others’ intentions or words negatively.

Isolating themselves despite offers of help or companionship.

Being unresponsive to attempts at humour or light-heartedness.

Blaming others or external circumstances for their despair.

Seeking out enablers or situations that validate their mindset.

Body language

Slumped shoulders or a consistently bowed head.

Averted gaze or blank stares into the distance.

Fidgeting, such as wringing hands or picking at skin.

Slow, dragging movements or a lack of coordination.

Heavy sighing or audible breaths.

Neglecting personal space or boundaries.

Minimal gestures or lifeless posture.

Clenched fists or jaw during moments of heightened emotion.

Visible trembling or shaking due to emotional strain.

A general lack of energy or life in physical presence.

Attitude

Pessimism towards the future.

Cynicism about intentions, whether their own or others’.

Resignation, believing that effort will not change their situation.

Indifference to opportunities or choices presented to them.

A sense of helplessness or powerlessness in all scenarios.

Self-deprecation and a tendency to dismiss their own value.

An overwhelming sense of guilt or responsibility for past events.

A fixation on the negative aspects of every situation.

An inability to accept comfort or positive feedback.

Believing they are a burden to others.

Positive Story Outcomes

An epiphany or realisation that sparks a desire for change.

A gesture of kindness from another character that provides a glimmer of hope.

The discovery of an inner strength or previously untapped resource.

A serendipitous event that offers a new perspective or opportunity.

The formation of a supportive relationship or friendship.

Minor victories or achievements that build self-confidence.

Learning a valuable lesson through hardship.

Developing empathy for others going through similar experiences.

Finding purpose in aiding others, easing their own despair.

An eventual embrace of vulnerability, leading to healing and growth.

Negative Story Outcomes

A surrender with long-lasting consequences.

The breakdown of important relationships.

A significant loss incurred because of inaction or apathy.

Descent into a more self-destructive or reckless lifestyle.

The solidification of a character’s role as an antagonist.

A missed opportunity for redemption or improvement.

A worsening of the character’s situation, potentially affecting others.

The development of a trait or flaw that hinders future happiness or success.

A downfall that provides a cautionary tale within the narrative.

A tragic ending that leaves a profound impact on the reader and other characters.

Helpful Vocabulary

Desolate

Forlorn

Wretched

Crestfallen

Anguished

Dolorous

Bereft

Hollow

Numb

Morose

Sullen

Bleak

Languish

Melancholy

Hopeless

Despondent

Dejected

Heartbroken

Miserable

Pained

Woeful

Eclipsed

Defeated

Overwhelmed

Grief-stricken

Tormented

Disconsolate

Listless

Oppressed

Despairing

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literaryvein-reblogs · 1 month ago

Text

Writing Reference: Grief

“Grief is the emotional reaction to a loss, in this case, to death” (Samuel, 2019, p. xvii), and mourning is the process of adjustment to a world without that person.

The following physical sensations and perceptual experiences often accompany the grieving process (modified from Worden, 2009):

Hollowness in the stomach

Tightness in the throat and chest

Being oversensitive to noise

Feelings of unreality

Shortness of breath

Muscle weakness and lack of energy

Dry mouth

Strong emotions typically occur during grief, including (from Worden, 2009):

Sadness. Failure to acknowledge and embrace sadness can cause more complicated and prolonged grief.

Anger. A common reaction to loss that leads to many issues during the grieving process.

Guilt and self-reproach. Often regarding something that happened or was neglected at the time of death.

Anxiety. Ranging from feelings of insecurity to panic attacks, sometimes associated with fears of being unable to take care of yourself in the absence of the other person.

Loneliness. The loss of a day-to-day relationship can leave someone feeling all alone. Social support can help but does not remove the sense of a broken attachment.

Fatigue. Feelings of apathy and listlessness are not uncommon following the death of a loved one and may limit behavior and activity.

Helplessness. Survivors can be left feeling vulnerable and helpless, especially when they have young children to look after.

Shock. Sudden death, by its very nature, can cause the survivor to experience shock.

Yearning. Yearning or pining for the loved one is a typical reaction to death, and as it reduces, may indicate the mourning process is coming to an end.

Emancipation and relief. It is not uncommon for a survivor to experience a sense of relief, especially where the deceased was oppressive or was suffering a prolonged illness. While a normal response, it may be accompanied by feelings of guilt.

Numbness. While the previous feelings are common, so too is an absence of emotions, at least initially. With so many feelings to experience and manage, the early stages of grief may be overwhelming and result in a protective numbness.

It is important to note that each person’s experience of grief is different, and while the emotions above are typical of loss, they are not exhaustive.

Types of grief can take various forms, including (Elizz by SE Health, 2019; CaringInfo, n.d.; WebMD, n.d.):

Abbreviated grief. A short-lived response to a death, possibly following the experience of prolonged anticipatory grief or something immediately filling the space left by the loss.

Absent grief. The bereaved may not acknowledge or may remain in denial of what has happened. If prolonged, the lack of response can be concerning and require specialist support.

Anticipatory grief. For a caregiver, grief can begin before the person being cared for dies. It may be associated with a sense of losing what they expected life to be like. Such feelings can start with a terminal diagnosis or a worsening state of health.

Chronic grief. A sub-type of complicated grief (see below), left untreated, chronic grief can involve extreme feelings of hopelessness, a sense of disbelief, and a loss of meaning, leading to severe clinical depression or thoughts of self-harm and even suicide.

Collective grief. A shared experience of grief that affects a family, group, or community, often preceded by an event (natural disaster or attack).

Complicated grief. Where grief seems to deviate from what’s expected, complicated grief interferes with the ability to function. Complicated grief may include chronic (see above), delayed, or absent grief (American Psychological Association, n.d.).

Cumulative grief. Multiple deaths over a period of time can leave the bereaved without the opportunity or capacity to process each loss.

Delayed grief. Grief may not occur immediately after losing a loved one but may be postponed until another significant event occurs, resulting in what may seem an excessive response to the present situation.

Distorted grief. An extreme form of complicated grief exhibited as self-destructive behavior, anger, guilt, or hostility toward others.

Disenfranchised grief. When others do not recognize the importance of the loss, such as the death of an ex-partner, pet, or colleague. Society may consider the loss as minor or not legitimate.

Inhibited grief. Grief may not always be outwardly visible; it may result from a conscious effort to maintain privacy or keep emotions hidden from close friends or family.

Masked grief. Atypical physical symptoms and behaviors can be a response to grief without being attributed to the loss.

Normal grief. While there may not be a ‘typical’ grief shared by everyone, normal grief is considered to be when emotional intensity surrounding the death gradually decreases or basic daily activities begin to return to normal.

“We need to learn to support a healthy grieving, and to help people to understand that each person goes at their own pace” (Samuel, 2019, p. XX).

The treatment given to those attempting to process grief must be specific to the individual and their experience. The following approaches overlap and complement one another in supporting the bereaved (modified from Worden, 2009).

Helping the survivor actualize loss

When and where did the death occur?

What happened?

How were you told and where were you?

Visiting the grave can also make the loss more concrete.

Helping the survivor identify and experience feelings

Many feelings may not be recognized or felt to their full degree during intense grief. It is essential to help survivors experience the following:

Anger – arising from feelings of frustration and helplessness.

Guilt – for what the bereaved did and did not do to affect the outcome (usually irrational).

Anxiety and helplessness – feelings of helplessness can leave the bereaved unsure if they can survive alone and concerned about their own mortality.

Sadness – it can be challenging for many to show their upset in front of others. Crying can be helpful if associated with an awareness of what was lost.

Assisting living without the deceased

What problems are you facing, and how can they be resolved?

It is important to neither rush the bereaved to make decisions nor encourage a sense of helplessness, but instead communicate that they will be able to make decisions when they are ready.

Helping find meaning in the loss

Why did this happen?

Why did this happen to me?

How has this loss changed me?

Allowing for individual differences

No two people grieve in the same way; the process and feelings associated with loss are unique. There is tremendous variability in the following:

Intensity of affective reactions

Degree of impairment

Length of time it is experienced

Source ⚜ Bereavement ⚜ Notes & References ⚜ Writing Resources PDFs

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rafeskai · 3 months ago

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Life as We Know It — Rafe Cameron

Prologue

Two opposites must navigate love, loss, and unexpected parenthood to discover the meaning of family.

Summary: When tragedy strikes, two very different individuals find their lives unexpectedly intertwined as they become the guardians of an orphaned child. As they navigate the challenges of co-parenting, balancing careers, and confronting their pasts, they discover that family can form in the most surprising ways. Through heartfelt moments and unexpected humor, they explore what it means to build a life together—one step at a time.

Pairings: Rafe Cameron x Reader

Warnings: Character deaths & angst.

Author's Notes: Inspired by the movie "Life as We Know It"!

Masterlist: Here

There were few constants in your life: the salty tang of the Outer Banks air, the sound of waves crashing against the shore, and the endless drama of the Cameron family. You grew up here, just like them, but while they lived in a sprawling estate atop Figure Eight, you came from the modest side of the island.

You had known Sarah Cameron for as long as you could remember. She was the kind of girl who could charm anyone with a smile, the girl everyone wanted to be friends with. But unlike most, you didn’t want her for her name or her wealth. You liked Sarah for her heart. She didn’t care about the boundaries between Pogues and Kooks; she made everyone feel like they belonged.

By the time you hit high school, Sarah was your best friend, and you were practically inseparable. She introduced you to John B. during your junior year. He was scrappy and full of life, and you quickly fell into a comfortable friendship with the two of them.

Rafe Cameron, however, was a different story.

Rafe always lurked on the periphery of your life, like a storm cloud threatening a clear sky. He wasn’t like Sarah. Where she was warm and easygoing, Rafe was sharp edges and unpredictable tempers. You’d crossed paths countless times, but they were rarely pleasant encounters.

You remembered the first time you met him clearly. It was Sarah’s 16th birthday party, a massive affair with twinkling lights strung across the Cameron backyard. You were lingering by the dessert table when Rafe swaggered up, red Solo cup in hand and a cocky smirk plastered on his face.

“You must be Sarah's best friend,” he said, sizing you up in a way that made your skin crawl.

“Yeah. And you’re Rafe,” you replied curtly, wishing Sarah would swoop in to rescue you.

“Sarah’s little charity project,” he said with a laugh, taking a sip of his drink.

You clenched your jaw, refusing to rise to his bait. “And you’re the reason half the town avoids this place like the plague.”

To your surprise, he laughed again, this time louder. “You’ve got guts, I’ll give you that.”

It was the start of an unspoken rivalry, one that lasted for years. Where Sarah tried to bring people together, Rafe pushed them apart. His antics grew wilder with time: parties that spiraled out of control, brushes with the law, and rumors of worse. You avoided him as much as possible, which wasn’t easy when Sarah was your best friend.

After high school, you moved into your own place on the south side of the island, taking a job at a local café while figuring out what you wanted to do with your life. Sarah and John B. were building their lives together, too, settling into a cozy house not far from the beach. And then there was Willa.

Willa was their miracle. Born a month premature, she was tiny but fierce from the start. You adored her, becoming the self-proclaimed honorary aunt who babysat whenever Sarah and John B. needed a break.

Life was steady, even happy, despite its imperfections. You had your routine, your little found family with Sarah, John B., and Willa. Rafe was a distant memory most of the time, someone you only saw at obligatory gatherings where you both pretended the other didn’t exist.

So when the call came, ripping Sarah and John B. away in an instant, the grief was like a black hole, pulling everything you knew into its crushing void.

And then came the twist you hadn’t seen coming.

#rafe cameron #rafe cameron x reader #outer banks #outer banks x reader #obx #obx x reader #drew starkey #drew starkey x reader #rafe cameron obx #rafe cameron request #rafe cameron season 4 #drew starkey fanfiction

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charlietheepicwriter7 · 9 months ago

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Talia found Yasmin's hide out only two days after the bomb.

It wasn't easy. Yasmin had hidden herself well - her monthly reports had never mentioned an acquaintanceship with Vladimir Masters, the absolute gall of that girl - in the middle of nowhere Wisconsin. She bypassed the few security measures with ease, eventually finding her daughter sitting at a kitchen table, hyperventilating.

"What happened?" Talia's voice was cold and demanding.

"The-" Yasmin gasped before stealing herself. "The Fentons are dead."

"I know the Fentons are dead." Talia circled the girl. "One split navel to throat, the other strangled. What. Happened?"

"The Fentons discovered their son was a Meta. Specifically, they thought he had been replaced with the extradimentional species they study." She took a deep breath. "By the time I had discovered their actions, Daniel was... dissected on a table."

Talia closed her eyes. She knew from Yasmin's reports that she'd been acting as the Fenton child's primary caretaker since her adoption and a fondness had developed. "Yasmin-"

"Don't, Mother." She snapped. "Don't act like this is anything less than a tragedy."

"I know-"

"He was a child-"

"Everything's been taken care of," Talia said. "As far as the authorities are concerned, Jasmine Fenton died in that explosion you caused. You need to return now-"

"No!" Yasmin bolted to her feet, glaring at Talia. "He's dead, Mother! An innocent child, the child I raised as my own, is dead because I couldn't protect him! Don't you dare try to sweep this under the rug like... like Danny was something shameful! I'm not leaving! I have to-"

Time Out.

Yasmin shut her mouth mid-sentence, giving Talia time to convince her off her self-destructive path.

"What happened to Daniel is a tragedy, Yasmin. But wallowing in grief and what-ifs only leads to further pain." Talia sighed. "The Fentons and the research you were so fascinated with are gone now. You made sure of that. It's time for you to return home and put that knowledge to use."

Yasmin stared down at her hands. Odd that Talia hadn't noticed, but Yasmin's hands cradled a small, dark blue jewel, polished into a smooth, oblong oval. It glittered under the candlelight, like stars in the sky.

Yasmin swallowed the rock and spoke, refusing to acknowledge what she'd just done. "You are right, Mother. The time of Jasmine Fenton is gone now." She stared straight at Talia, no trace of fear in her gaze. For a moment, Talia wondered where her child had gone. Yasmin never met her eyes unless prompted to when she was growing up. Now she was met with a younger version of herself with cheap dyed-red hair, with the same level of determination that made Talia the Right Hand of the Demon Head. "I will mourn for Danny... on my own time. For now, what is my mission?"

Talia studied her daughter. There was a reason why she'd hidden the girl so far out of the way of her Father and her son. Yasmin was a strong fighter, but had her father's heart, despite her willingness to kill. She'd always reminded Talia of a bodyguard rather than an assassin, but Yasmin wanted to go her own way, wanted to study everything. For years, Talia had indulged her daughter, but now it was time for her to return to the fold.

"For the next month, you will be training to remove any weakness the Fentons may have left in you. After that, you will be guarding an ally for me."

"Which ally?"

"A boy a few years older than you, a son of the Bat." Yasmin didn't react to the mention of her father. Good. "His mind is infirm, but by the time you finish your training, he will be ready to strike a blow against Gotham. You will act as his guard during his training and act as my spy while he's in Gotham. Do you understand?"

For a moment, Yasmin's hand brushed her stomach before she forced her fists to her sides. "Yes, Mother. I will do as you ask."

#dc x dp #dp x dc #dpxdc #dcxdp #jasmine al ghul #yasmin al ghul #c: talia al ghul #c: clockwork #c: danny fenton #reincarnated danny fenton #Or re-grown might be the better term #danny needs to regrow his human body after the Fentons killed him #danny could have been reincarnated properly; it would have taken a few years maybe decades but it would have happened #clockwork gives Jazz/Yasmin the choice to raise Danny as her own son from her own blood #and when Jazz compares her life as an assassin/spy to that as Danny's (sweet loving Danny who adored her) caretaker #she knows which life she can't live without #also Yasmin does know Damian exists but has never met him #she knows there's a heir and knows its her full-blooded brother but that's it - no emotional connection so she doesn't care #I can see this ending up Anger Management with a side of pre-reveal Red Hood Jason thinking he's the baby daddy #with Jazz violently disagreeing with that assumption

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365momme · 3 months ago

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Finding Peace in the Holidays After Loss: A Guide for Widowed Moms

The holiday season is often portrayed as a time of joy, laughter, and togetherness, but for many, including widowed mothers, it can evoke feelings of deep sadness and longing and grief. The empty chair at the table, the absence of familiar traditions, and the weight of memories can make the holidays feel especially heavy after the loss of a partner. However, amidst this emotional turmoil, it is…

#Communicating with children about loss #Coping with grief during the holidays #Creating new traditions after loss #Finding joy after loss during holidays #Healing after loss during the holiday season #Holidays after loss support #Memory rituals for loved ones during holidays #Navigating holiday grief as a single parent #Self-care tips for grieving mothers #Widowed moms holiday guide

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alaritheaurora · 6 days ago

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Okay can we talk about Scott and his relationship with love and sacrifice throughout the seasons? Because like, there are some goddamn patterns First there's Third Life, and I like to say that this is Scott at his best. And by best I mean most emotionally available. Scott is very expressive during this season, because he loves Jimmy, and for that is keeping the peace. Scott is the mediator, he wants a happy life and he does his goddamn best to keep that life. And when he's forced to choose a side he does it with the people he's already friends with. And then Jimmy dies and he is heartbroken. And then when the self-sacrificing starts. Like Third Life is the definitive worst Scott has done and that's because he was entirely throwing caution out the window. He grieves Jimmy and then decides that it was due to him not being there, that if only he had been there (despite already dying and not having control of the situation) things would've been different. So he spends the rest of the season like a suicide-bomber, doing his best for his remaining friends. Then there's last life, and this is when Scott becomes closed off. After the grief of Jimmy and knowing how much feeling things hurts, he plays it different. He befriends Pearl because she's new and has something to give him, plus, she's volatile, a wild card. Chaos that can defend herself. So he treats it like a vacation. Of course he's still cautious, but now he's detached himself from his emotions. Obviously he stills cares about Pearl, she is his supposes reason for winning. But the way he treats emotions with Pearl and Jimmy are very different. He was way more earnestly open about his feelings with Jimmy. And when he decides to just go red from the boogeyman, that's another case of him loving his friends too much to go after them, and the only way he can help is to take action. When he wins it's for Pearl. But he doesn't end it with Pearl, he ends it with his pet axolotl. Something that is far less telling of his care for people.

And then when Double Life rolls around he realizes how much she actually cared about him. And that scares him. That scares him right off. The idea that if she gets him to open his heart again that he'll be hurt again. So he goes to Cleo who he knows won't care, they've always been closed off and sarcastic, they won't care if he upkeeps bonds or not, they won't care about the lovey-dovey. And throughout the whole season he's pushing Pearl away because he's scared of being opened back up. And at the end he knows he's done her wrong, so he does the thing Scott Smajor does best, decides that she deserves life more than him. Limited Life is god's most unhealthy coping mechanism ever. He went and got himself a surrogate husband who would ignore everything that would happen that season. Martyn does not give a damn about previous seasons unless your name is Ren. Scott picked the guy most likely to betray him and went "hey we're both sad and hurt, let's team up" and was sooo ready for Martyn to kill him. AND HE STILL CARES ABOUT HIM. He still checks up on him and helps with his Birthday and asks Martyn to kill him because he thinks his only use is dying for his loved ones. AND he offers up his life to both Cleo AND Jimmy this season. He is so twisted up in the past this season, and in an awkward phase of healing with Pearl. Secret Life is I think when we reach peak-standard happy-emotionless Scott. He's in his band and he is living life and ignoring the horrors. He's a friendly calm, collected, not showing fear guy. He says "I love you" to everyone and is infuriatingly collected when people spend entire sessions out to kill him. Of course he sacrifices himself to Gem TWICE this season. He has a problem. Real life is Pearl reconciliation hour. And then Wild Life. My god, Wild Life. Cleo is old reliable, Impulse is nice to team with, and he made up with Pearl. And for the first bit he's doing the norm, he's close, but not outwardly expressing it in tangible ways. And he's mister peacekeeper. But pearl and Impulse are messing it up, he's trying to be friends with Gem and Joel but his teammates are ruining this. And he's not the universal best friend. He's not the guy you casually hand around in his base with. He's teamed with Mister and Miss Chaos. AND HE ACQUIESCES, he goes "yeah, burn down their house. Yeah, kill that guy". His teammates, which he knows are the problem but goddammit Scott is loyal , so he decides Gem and Joel are ruining this. THEY have stripped away his persona. His trustworthy-ness. He guns it after both of them, his happy cracks and spills out anger. It's the second worst he's placed because he stopped trying to lie and listened to his emotions. +he's gotta let Pearl kill him, tis tradition. It's the fact that Scott within the life series is hated by the watchers due to his ability to LOVE. It's the fact they don't feed well off him because he doesn't hold tangible grudges. It's the fact that Scott loves so desperately and bad that he has tied his own well-being to how well others are doing, if Scott is doing well he gives it to his teammate because then it must be HIS fault that they're worse off. By being too nice and too calm, people don't realize his connections with people are real. And if they don't love him back then he won't have to be heartbroken. Scott has weaponized love, against the watchers, against his peers, and most importantly, against himself.

#scott smajor #smajor1995 #jimmy solidarity #flower husbands #zombiecleo #pearlescentmoon #martyn inthelittlewood #mean gills #impulsesv #geminitay #third life series #life series #traffic life #traffic series

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seungminsleftear · 5 months ago

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Six Years, Five months and Two days | FIVE X READER

pairing: five hargreaves x reader

Word Count: 5470

Genre: angst

General Notes: Lila x Five did happen here folks :/, sexual themes, crude language, this does not correlate with whatever happens during seasons 4 other than Lila and Five jumping into a different timeline together for seven years,, Reader is referred to as female and wife,

Trigger Warnings: Infidelity and Betrayal, Emotional and Psychological Trauma, Unresolved Grief and Loss, Intimacy and Relationship Issues, Family Conflict, Self-Worth and Identity Crisis, Anger and Violence, Emotional Isolation, Suicidal Thoughts or Self-Harm, Intimate Relationship Details

Author’s note: I have not watched season 4 and yet I know about Five x Lila… Kms

Spoiler: All you get is, There will be a part 2

Click here for part Two!

I MOVED ACCOUNTS THE REST OF THIS FIC WILL BE PUBLSIHED ON @seungminsbaldspot !!

They had been missing for a few hours now, and the anxiety was beginning to gnaw at your insides. You could only guess that Five and Lila had gotten caught up in a different timeline—something your husband was well-acquainted with doing. You tried not to think the worst. After all, Five was skilled, perhaps the most skilled among you, but the worry persisted like a shadow clinging to your every thought.

He had told you stories about when he was young, disobeying his father, and jumping through time. He saw the apocalypse, lived through it, unable to return to his original time. He would speak of the chaos and destruction, the sense of being unmoored in a fractured world. Then he told you about the moment the Handler found him, plucked him from that desolation, and invited him to join the Commission. And that's when he met you.

And oh, how he hated you.

You were, and still are, the complete opposite of that grumpy old man. You were always precise, a stickler for the rules, never one to color outside the lines. The Handler loved you for it—your discipline, your meticulous attention to detail, your unwavering commitment to the Commission's goals. You were reliable, the perfect agent, the kind who made her job easier.

He, on the other hand, was a wildcard. Reckless and unpredictable, he saw rules as suggestions rather than absolutes. He didn't care about the consequences, not when there were bigger things at stake—things only he could see in the chaos of time. He was a man who thrived in the midst of uncertainty, a constant challenge to your carefully ordered world.

But that was part of what drew you to him, wasn’t it? That contrast. The way he lived life like he was on borrowed time, like every moment was his to seize. You hated how he would disregard protocol, how he’d show up late to missions or disappear altogether, chasing his own ghosts through the folds of history. And yet, there was something about that fearlessness that fascinated you. Something about the way he could stare into the abyss of time and laugh, as if daring it to swallow him whole.

The Handler loved assigning the two of you missions together. You were the perfect team, each of you balancing out the other's weaknesses. She liked to say you were two sides of the same coin—your precision and his improvisation, your strategy and his audacity. Together, you were unstoppable, a force to be reckoned with.

It wasn't always smooth, of course. He had a way of getting under your skin, pushing your buttons in ways no one else could. He loved to rile you up, to watch that carefully maintained calm of yours crack, just a little. He’d tease you mercilessly, call you names, question your every move. But you never let it show, not in front of the Handler. You knew she was watching, always assessing, always deciding where her next move would take her. And despite your irritation, you couldn't deny that he had a knack for getting results.

And you hated that. Hated that he could bend the rules, defy protocol, and still come out on top. But the more time you spent together, the more you began to understand him, to see the method in his madness. He wasn’t just a reckless fool; he was smart, sharp, and had an uncanny ability to read a situation and turn it to his advantage. There was a reason the Handler kept pairing the two of you up, and it wasn’t just because she enjoyed watching the sparks fly.

You had never thought Five had cared so much about you—not until that one particular mission.

It had been a long day, the kind where the hours blurred together, each minute weighed down with tension and danger. You were both exhausted, having fought your way through the tangled threads of time, dealing with threats at every turn. Endless close calls, contact after contact, each encounter more chaotic and draining than the last. You were used to this kind of work, but that day felt different. Maybe it was the weight of the mission, or maybe it was something else—a premonition, a sense that something was off.

You and Five had been tracking a target across multiple timelines, chasing down a loose end that the Commission desperately needed tied up. The mission had seemed straightforward enough at first, but complications arose as they often did, turning what should have been a simple extraction into a drawn-out battle. After hours of fighting—ducking bullets, dodging blows, and navigating through the chaotic flow of time—you were growing weary. You prided yourself on your precision, your ability to remain sharp under pressure, but even you had your limits.

You weren’t thinking straight. The fatigue was getting to you, and in a moment of distraction, you let your guard down. It was only for a second, but that was all it took. A sharp pain tore through your side, and when you looked down, you saw the knife buried deep in your abdomen. The world seemed to slow around you, a haze of shock and disbelief clouding your vision.

You staggered, clutching the wound, trying to maintain your balance, but the pain was overwhelming. You heard Five shout your name, his voice cutting through the fog of agony. There had been a strange edge to it, a raw urgency that you hadn’t heard before. You had always thought of him as the consummate professional—gruff, detached, always in control. But now, there was something different in his tone—something almost frantic.

He was at your side in an instant, his figure blurring with the speed of his movements as he dispatched the remaining threats with a brutal efficiency that was startling even to you. His face was tight with concentration, but his eyes—those sharp, calculating eyes that were usually so unreadable—were filled with something you couldn’t quite place. Fear, maybe? Or was it… concern?

“Stay with me,” he had commanded, dropping to his knees beside you. His hands moved quickly, one pressing against your wound to staunch the bleeding, the other rummaging through his coat pocket for something—bandages, maybe, or some kind of first aid. He was muttering under his breath, a stream of curses and commands, as if he could will you back to health with words alone.

You tried to speak, to tell him you were fine, but your voice came out in a weak, strangled gasp. The pain was spreading, a hot, searing sensation radiating from your abdomen and up through your chest. You could feel yourself slipping, the world around you growing dim and distant. But even through the haze, you could still hear his voice, sharp and insistent, pulling you back.

“Look at me,” he snapped, his tone leaving no room for argument. You forced your eyes open, focusing on his face—his furrowed brow, his clenched jaw, the way his lips were pressed into a thin, determined line. “You’re not dying here, got it?”

There had been a fierceness in his voice that surprised you, a kind of raw intensity that you hadn’t heard before. You’d seen him angry, sure, and you’d seen him frustrated plenty of times, but this was different. This was personal. And it was then that you realized: he wasn’t just afraid of losing a colleague. He was afraid of losing you.

“Five,” you managed to whisper, your voice barely audible over the sound of your ragged breathing. You wanted to say something comforting, to let him know you’d be okay, but the words wouldn’t come. All you could do was reach out, your fingers brushing against his, a silent acknowledgment of his efforts, of his fear, of his care.

He grabbed your hand, his grip firm and unyielding, his gaze locked onto yours. “I’m not losing you,” he said again, his voice softer now but no less intense. “I’ve lost too many people already. Not you. Never you.”

For a moment, the world seemed to hold its breath, the chaos around you fading into the background. It was just the two of you, caught in this strange, suspended moment, connected in a way that was deeper than words, deeper than time.

He worked quickly, efficiently, binding your wound with a piece of his own shirt, his movements precise and controlled despite the tension radiating from him. You could feel the energy building around you, the familiar sensation of time beginning to warp as he prepared to jump you both back to the Commission. His hands were steady, but there was a tremor in them that betrayed his calm façade.

“Hang on,” he murmured, his voice barely more than a whisper. “Just hang on a little longer.”

And then, with a blinding flash of light, the world around you shifted, the familiar pull of the time jump tugging at your very being. The pain in your side flared, a sharp spike of agony that ripped through your consciousness, but you held onto his hand, your grip tightening as you were pulled through the fabric of time.

When you opened your eyes again, you were in the Commission’s infirmary, the sterile white walls and the faint hum of machinery a stark contrast to the chaos you’d just left behind. Five was still there, his hand still holding yours, his face pale but relieved. He didn’t say anything, just sat there, his eyes never leaving your face, as if making sure you were really, truly okay.

“You’re an idiot, you know that?” he muttered after a moment, his voice rough, but there was a hint of a smile at the corners of his mouth. “You scared the hell out of me.” Despite the pain, you managed a small smile. “Didn’t know you cared so much,” you replied, your voice weak but teasing.

He rolled his eyes, but there was a softness in his gaze, a kind of tenderness you’d never seen before. “Yeah, well, don’t let it go to your head,” he said gruffly, but you could hear the relief in his voice, the unspoken gratitude that you were still here, still alive.

And in that moment, you knew that things had changed. You’d always been a perfect team, but now, you were something more. You had seen a side of Five you’d never seen before, a vulnerability he’d never shown anyone. And you knew, without a doubt, that he cared about you—deeply, fiercely, in a way that went far beyond mere partnership.

As you lay there, your hand still entwined with his, you felt a strange sense of peace, a quiet understanding passing between you. Whatever happened next, whatever dangers awaited in the tangled web of time, you knew one thing for certain: you wouldn’t face them alone. Not as long as Five was by your side.

Since that day, he had been inseparable from you. At first, you found it strange—his constant presence, the way he seemed to hover just a little too close, always watching, always ready. Five had never been the type to show affection, to offer comfort. He was all sharp edges and quick wit, a perpetual storm in human form. But now, there was a softness to him, a quiet protectiveness that he tried, and mostly failed, to hide. And you no longer minded. In fact, you found it endearing. You came to cherish his closeness, his silent support.

You liked the constant teasing and the bickering that filled your days, a steady rhythm of banter and back-and-forth that felt more like home than any place you had ever been. It was comforting to have someone with whom you felt so... normal, someone who could keep up with you, match your pace, challenge you in ways that no one else could. The loneliness you’d once felt in the vast corridors of the Commission faded away with him by your side, replaced by something you never thought you’d have—companionship. Friendship. Love.

Many years later, during a quiet moment in the middle of another mission, Five finally confessed that he loved you. It wasn’t a grand declaration, nothing like the romantic stories you’d heard growing up. It was simple, almost matter-of-fact, the way he said it as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. You had been stitching up a wound on his arm, your fingers deft and practiced, when he suddenly blurted it out.

“I love you,” he had said, his voice gruff but sincere, his eyes not meeting yours. For a moment, you thought you had misheard him. But then he looked at you, really looked at you, his expression more open and vulnerable than you’d ever seen. “I’ve loved you for a long time,” he added, softer this time, as if testing the words.

Your heart had skipped a beat, and you found yourself smiling, a real, genuine smile that you hadn’t felt in years. “I love you too,” you replied, your voice barely more than a whisper. It was the truth, the simplest and most profound truth you had ever known.

Not long after, he asked you to marry him. It was as unceremonious as his confession of love, almost awkward in its delivery. You were in the middle of cleaning your weapons, preparing for yet another jump, when he looked over at you, his brow furrowed in that familiar way of his. “We should get married,” he said, as if he was suggesting you grab a cup of coffee.

You blinked, taken aback by his suddenness, but then you laughed—a soft, genuine laugh that felt good, felt right. “Yes,” you said, without hesitation. “Of course, yes.” There wasn’t a doubt in your mind. The life you’d built together, the bond you shared—it was more than enough.

The two of you quietly eloped, keeping your marriage a secret from the Commission. It wasn’t their business, after all. They didn’t need to know about the life you were building together, the small moments of happiness you stole between missions, the way you found comfort in each other’s presence amid the chaos of time. You had your little secrets, your private world carved out of the madness, and you intended to keep it that way.

And when Five decided he needed to go back to his family, “The Umbrella Academy,” you didn’t hesitate. You went right along with him, standing by his side as you always had. You knew how much he had sacrificed, how much he still carried with him—the weight of his past, the ghosts of his mistakes. But you also knew that he had found a new purpose, a reason to keep fighting, to keep moving forward. And wherever he went, you would follow.

And with that, you find yourself back into the present. You’re pacing around the room. Every minute feels like an hour, and every second that ticks by without a word from Five or Lila makes your heart pound harder in your chest. The silence is broken only by the occasional murmur of conversation or the soft shuffling of footsteps.

Then, suddenly, the air around you seems to shift. A low hum fills the room, and the familiar tingling sensation of a temporal disturbance ripples through you. Everyone turns toward the source, eyes wide with a mix of hope and apprehension.

A flash of blue light erupts in the center of the room, and for a moment, it’s blinding. You shield your eyes, your heart leaping into your throat. When the light fades, you blink, trying to clear your vision, and then you see them—Five and Lila—standing there, slightly disheveled but very much alive.

The two of them share small, strained smiles, a strange new tension between them that wasn't there before. Diego rushes at Lila, hugging her tightly, his strong arms pulling her close. "I thought I'd lost you," he whispers, his voice breaking, betraying the tough exterior he usually maintains. Lila laughs softly, but it sounds different—almost forced—as she returns the embrace, her eyes darting briefly to Five.

Five stands apart, his expression carefully neutral, he struggles to make eye contact with anyone — especially you. He scans the room as if searching for a distraction, his posture stiff, his hands clenched at his sides. "Good to see you're all still in one piece," he mutters, his tone flat. When his gaze accidentally meets Lila's, he quickly looks away, as if the sight of her is too much to bear.

You smile at Five, offering a small nod. You both aren’t much for public attention, and you hoped a subtle acknowledgment would be enough to connect, to let him know you’re there. But Five never meets your eyes. His gaze is distant, his thoughts clearly elsewhere. Your smile fades, replaced by a furrowed brow. What’s your deal, Five?

You feel a knot of worry tighten in your stomach. Something is off with Five, more than usual. You’ve known him long enough to recognize when he’s hiding something, but this is different. It’s like he’s shut down entirely, locking everyone out—including you.

The others, caught up in their own reunions, don’t seem to notice the tension radiating from Five and Lila. Diego pulls back from Lila, holding her at arm’s length to look her over. “What happened to you two?” he asks, his eyes narrowing as he takes in the subtle changes in their appearances—the slightly haunted look in their eyes, the way they seem older somehow. “You’ve only been gone for like 4 hours”

Lila’s smile is tight, almost brittle. “Feels like a lifetime,” she says with a small, hollow laugh that doesn't reach her eyes. Her gaze drifts back to Five, and for a moment, there's something almost like longing—or maybe regret.

Five flinches at her words, just barely, but enough that you notice. He looks down, his jaw clenching. “Doesn’t matter,” he says quickly, cutting off any further questions. “We’re back now. That’s all that matters.” But his voice wavers slightly, betraying a crack in his composure.

You step forward, unable to keep the concern from your voice. “Five…what happened?” you ask softly, hoping to reach him, to break through whatever wall he’s put up.

He finally looks at you, but there’s a hardness in his eyes that makes your heart sink. “Drop it,” he snaps, a sharp edge to his tone that makes everyone else in the room go quiet. The silence that follows is heavy and uncomfortable, the unspoken tension between him and Lila now impossible to ignore.

Lila clears her throat, shifting uncomfortably. “Yeah, maybe we should all just… take a breather,” she suggests, trying to lighten the mood, but there’s a nervousness in her voice that makes it clear she’s not as relaxed as she’s pretending to be. She glances at Five again, and you see it now—how her eyes linger on him just a moment too long, and how his jaw tightens in response, his expression guarded.

Diego, picking up on the strange atmosphere but not fully understanding it, frowns. “Did something happen between you two?” he presses, his eyes narrowing as he looks between Five and Lila. His gaze drops to Lila’s wrist, and his eyes widen slightly. “You hate wearing bracelets,” he points out, suspicion creeping into his voice.

Lila instinctively pulls her wrist closer to her side, but not before Diego catches sight of the handmade leather bracelet. “No, I like them,,” she says but her voice lacks conviction. Diego shakes his head, his frown deepening. “Yeah, you do. You traded the one I gave you for a vacuum, remember?” His voice is heavy with accusation, his eyes now fixed on the bracelet. “Where’d you get that one?”

Diego’s eyes narrow even more, his gaze shifting to Five. "Did you make that?" he asks, his voice low and dangerous, cutting through the tension in the room like a knife. The question hangs heavy in the air, charged with accusation and disbelief.

Five’s expression hardens, his eyes narrowing as he glances at Lila, then back at Diego. His jaw is set, his posture rigid. “I sure as hell didn’t make that bracelet for you,” he replies coldly, his voice slicing through the silence like a blade. There’s a finality in his tone, a hint of something unresolved but unapologetic.

Your breath catches in your chest, a painful tightness forming there. He made it… For her…? The thought is like a dagger, twisting in your gut. You blink, trying to process the revelation, the reality of it sinking in like a stone. A handmade bracelet—something so personal, so intimate.

You glance at Five, but he’s not looking at you. His gaze remains locked on Diego, unwavering, as if bracing for whatever comes next. A storm of emotions swirls inside you—betrayal, hurt, confusion. The room seems to close in around you, the walls pressing in, the air thick and suffocating.

Diego’s gaze shifts from Lila to Five, and you can see the pieces slowly clicking into place for him. His face hardens with a mix of realization and fury. “Did you screw my wife?” he demands, his voice a low, dangerous growl. The words explode into the room like a bomb, the air suddenly charged with tension.

Five’s eyes remain steady on Diego, his face an unreadable mask. He opens his mouth to speak, to say something—anything—but Diego’s not interested in hearing it. His fists are clenched at his sides, his entire body radiating a barely restrained fury.

“You did, didn’t you?” Diego’s voice rises, each word heavy with the weight of betrayal. "All this time, and you—you were cheating on me?” His accusation shifts to Lila, his eyes burning with hurt and anger.

Lila quickly steps between them, placing a hand on each of their chests as if trying to physically push them apart. “Guys, let’s not do this right now,” she urges, her voice firm but laced with a hint of desperation. “This isn’t the time or place.”

You stand frozen, disbelief washing over you. Your mind reels at the weight of Diego’s words. Cheating? The idea feels like a punch to the gut. You’ve spent countless years with Five, fought battles by his side, faced the end of the world more than once. And he gives it all up—for what? For his brother’s wife, over the course of seven years in another timeline?

Your breath catches, a sharp pain blooming in your chest. You try to swallow it down, but it’s too much, too fast. The reality of what you’re hearing—of what Five has done—feels like a betrayal deeper than anything you’ve faced together. The walls seem to close in around you, the weight of the revelation pressing down on your shoulders, threatening to crush you.

You look at Five, searching his face for some sign of denial, of regret—anything that might soften the blow of this new reality. But he’s still staring at Diego, his expression unyielding, almost defiant. His jaw is set, his eyes cold and distant. There’s no apology there, no remorse—just a cold, hard acceptance of what’s been done, of what can’t be undone. The sight of his indifference twists the knife deeper into your heart.

You feel your chest tighten, your breath coming in short, shallow gasps. Your hands are trembling, fingers curling into fists at your sides as you fight to keep yourself together. You want to scream, to cry, to lash out and demand answers. But you know it won’t change anything. The damage is done, and the betrayal runs too deep. You feel tears pricking at the corners of your eyes, but you refuse to let them fall. Not here. Not now. Not in front of them. Not in front of him.

You shake your head, unable to look at Five any longer. The pain is too raw, too intense, and being in the same room with him feels unbearable. You can’t handle this—not now, not like this. The walls are closing in, the air thick and suffocating. Your heart is pounding in your chest, each beat a painful reminder of what’s been shattered between you.

Without another word, you turn on your heel and leave the room, your steps quick and unsteady. You feel the eyes of the others on you as you push past them, but you don’t care. You can’t stay here—not in this room, not with them. Not with him. The hallway stretches out before you like a lifeline, and you move toward it, your movements frantic and desperate, as if putting distance between you and Five might somehow ease the ache in your chest.

You stumble into the hallway, your vision blurred by unshed tears. You don’t know where you’re going—only that you need to get away. Away from the pain, away from the betrayal, away from the suffocating weight of it all. Your feet carry you down the corridor, your breaths coming in ragged gasps as you fight to hold back the sobs threatening to break free.

You finally reach an empty room, but as you reach for the door, you realize with a jolt that it's the one you and Five share. The one where you slept beside him last night, completely unaware of the storm that was about to hit. The memories of your shared moments—whispered conversations, late-night confessions, stolen kisses—flood back, now tainted with a sense of betrayal and loss. You hesitate, your hand hovering over the doorknob, but then you push it open and slip inside, closing it behind you.

The moment the door clicks shut, you collapse against it, your legs giving out beneath you. You sink to the floor, your back pressed against the wood, and the tears finally come. Hot, angry tears spill down your cheeks, and a broken sob escapes your lips. The room is quiet, painfully so, and the sound of your cries seems to fill every corner, bouncing off the walls and echoing back to you.

You wrap your arms around yourself, as if trying to hold the pieces of yourself together, but it’s no use. The dam has broken, and the flood of emotion is too strong to contain. You bury your face in your hands, your shoulders shaking with the force of your sobs. You cry for the loss of trust, for the betrayal, for the love you thought was unbreakable. You cry for everything you’ve lost and everything you can never get back.

The bed looms in the corner of your vision, a cruel reminder of the intimacy you once shared with Five. It’s still unmade from this morning, the sheets tangled from where you both slept. You remember the warmth of his body beside you, the way his hand would always find yours in the dark. The way he would hold you when you were scared, whispering promises of forever. Promises that now feel like lies.

You lift your head, your eyes red and swollen from crying. You look around the room, and all you can see are the remnants of a life that no longer feels like yours. The books on the nightstand that you read together, the photos on the wall of happier times—all of it feels like a cruel joke, mocking the trust you placed in him. The room, once a sanctuary, now feels like a prison, filled with ghosts of a past that will never return.

As the tears flow, you realize something with a cold, hard clarity that cuts through the haze of your grief—nothing will ever be the same again. Not between you and Five, not between any of you. The damage is done, and there’s no going back. You feel a hollowness settle in your chest, a void where your love for him once lived. You wonder if you’ll ever feel whole again, or if this betrayal has shattered you beyond repair.

It’s been a few days since the cheaters blinked back to your timeline. Each day has dragged on, an endless cycle of numbness and pain. The initial wave of tears has subsided, replaced by a slow-burning anger that simmers just below the surface. How could he? How could she? The questions run through your mind on a loop, feeding the fire that burns inside you.

You try to go about your daily routine, but everything feels off, wrong. The house feels different—colder, emptier. The others tiptoe around you, unsure of what to say, how to act. They’ve seen the hurt in your eyes, the way you flinch whenever Five enters the room. They’ve heard the way your voice trembles when you speak, how your words are laced with a bitterness you can’t seem to shake.

And then there’s Five. He moves around the house like a ghost, his presence a constant reminder of the betrayal. He tries to talk to you, but you can’t bear to look at him, let alone hear what he has to say. His words mean nothing now; they’re empty, hollow, like the promises he once made. You’ve built walls around yourself, high and impenetrable, to keep him out—to protect what little remains of your heart.

Your anger grows each day, festering like an open wound. It fuels you, giving you strength when the pain becomes too much to bear. It’s the only thing that keeps you going, that stops you from collapsing under the weight of it all. You cling to it, because without it, all you’re left with is the emptiness, the loss, the heartbreak.

We have been married for years, you think bitterly, and yet we never even once slept together, let alone him see me naked. How in the hell could he have fucked Lila over the span of seven years? The thought is a searing ache, cutting through the numbness that has settled over you. He always said we were too busy for such nonsense.

The double standard gnaws at you, a relentless, cruel irony. All those times he claimed there was no time for intimacy, no room for such personal moments because of their dangerous, high-stakes missions. And now you have to grapple with the fact that he found time for Lila—time to build a relationship, to share moments that were supposed to be sacred between the two of you. It feels like a betrayal of not just your love but the very essence of your marriage.

You remember the conversations where he would dismiss your need for closeness, brushing it aside with promises of better times to come. “We’re too busy,” he’d said, “We have a world to save.” Yet here was the proof that when it came to Lila, the rules were different. The lies, the excuses, all of it crashes down on you, leaving you gasping for breath.

The anger is raw, a jagged edge that you can’t seem to smooth over. It’s not just about what Five did; it’s about the betrayal of trust, the violation of promises made. The fact that he could share himself so completely with someone else, while withholding even the smallest gestures of intimacy from you, cuts deeper than any physical wound could.

You pace the empty room, the anger simmering, demanding an outlet. It’s a fire that consumes everything in its path, burning through your hope, your trust, your love. And it leaves behind a desolate landscape, a place where you’re forced to confront the stark reality of what’s been done.

How could he justify this? you wonder. How could he reconcile the intimacy he shared with Lila while claiming there was no time for us?

#tua4 #five tua #tua five #tua s4 #tua season 4 #the umbrella academy season 4 #umbrella acedmy #five hargreaves x reader #five x reader #number five #tua fanfic #hargreeves siblings #five hargreaves x you #five x lila

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miss-vanta-likes-to-write · 2 months ago

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I'm not over Price's Widow, so I'm subjecting you all to it as well. Continuation to this right here

"Was he alone?" She asked quietly.

"No, we were with him till the end, ma'am." Kyle says softly as he sits next to her. He's turned fully facing her. He wants to cry himself but knows that won't do her any good.

She closes her eyes, her hand clutching onto his hat. Her tears kept falling silently, and she stopped her gut-wrenching, pain filled screams and cries only twenty minutes ago. Kyle can still hear them echoing in his thoughts. Such a mournful sound, it's going to stay with him more than the echoes of gun fire and bombs. Her hand, the one trying to self soothe by rubbing her stomach, is trembling.

Simon is still as statue. He won't come further into the cozy living room. He blames himself for Captain not coming home, and he doesn't feel like he has a right to be here trying to comfort his friend's widow. It doesn't matter if he's told it's not his fault and it doesn't matter that Mrs. Price insisted he could sit down in the living room with them.

JoJo has taken a liking to Soap, and the kid is completely oblivious to the life changing news that was just dropped. Little baby keeps pulling on his mohawk and babbling nonsensical words. It then dawns on all of them, really, that Mrs. Price is going to be raising Jojo and the new baby by herself. She's going to be alone during her pregnancy and suffering through grief and post-partum, a time when she's most vulnerable by herself.

None of them can have that.

Her voice cracks, "I'm glad you were all with him. I know you three were his boys. He talked about you so much, he loved you all so much. If there's anything you need, please let me know."

And the lump in Kyle's throat feels like it's closing up because of course Mrs. Price is a good woman, a doting wife, and cares for the three men who couldn't get their Captain - her husband - help in time. She's offering to look after his team during their time of grief, too, despite being thrown head first into a reality that was talked about but never thought to be a true possibility. He briefly wonders if John told her he'd be back before she could miss him. He knows the cup cakes on the kitchen counter with the pink and blue sprinkles were supposed to be his welcome home present. Captain John Price was supposed to be surprised with news of another baby. The man was robbed of this reality, and his wife left with just his hat and dog tags and the date that his body would be at the morgue.

"Thank you for stopping by." She moves to get up, but her hand is gently grabbed by Kyle's. "Yes?"

"Would you like us to stay for a while?" He asks. He's hoping she lets them stay, even if she only wants them on the front porch the second she becomes angry that they couldn't bring her husband back safely. He doesn't want to leave her alone with Jojo, alone to grieve by herself. They promised they'd take care of her, that promise is the only thing keeping all three of them steady.

So when Mrs. Price nods her head she looks at all of them. "Stay for as long as you need."

#black!reader #john price #captain john price x reader #john price x y/n #john price x reader #kyle garrick x reader #kyle gaz garrick #johnny mactavish x reader #simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #task force 141 #widow!reader #call of duty fanfic #call of duty x reader #cod fic #call of duty angst

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laurorne · 7 months ago

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༊*·˚ CRAVING YOUR WARMTH | aegon ii targaryen x targaryen bastard sister!reader

summary: two dragons who seek to move closer for warmth during their grief must remain apart, as they can only hurt one another with their sharp teeth and barely contained flames. though they both share the intentions of a close relationship, they're unable, for reasons they cannot avoid.

content: targaryen incest, angst, allusion of self-mutilation/harm, bastardphobia in westeros, night after intimacy suggested, self-hatred, blood, wonky metaphors and personification, no beta we die like vizzy t, badly written angst, that damn necklace

word count: 1.5k

a/n: let me tell you that i struggle writing angst, but god do i love reading it. i'm like my own self entertaining paradoxical concept and it astounds me

A gentle hand smoothing over his back is what stirs him from the throes of sleep, nails skating along his marked skin softly enough to tickle. He shifts as the hand moves from the expanse of his back up to his hair, rubbing circles into the crown of his head. Twirling bits of hair between deft fingers as she presses a kiss to the slope of his shoulder.

He hums, limbs stretching out clumsily as he rolls onto his side, fingers weak as his hand dances along the goose-down duvet until it reaches her. Her, and her softness, and her warmth.

“Wife.” He’s barely awake, even with the exasperated sigh that comes from his older sister.

“We are not wed, Aegon.” A gentle reminder from soft lips, her eyes taking in his tired demeanour, the curve of his brow.

She brushes the strand of choppy hair from his face, thumb dragging along the apple of his cheek.

He doesn’t speak for a moment, lids finally fluttering open as he stares up at her with those watery eyes. The ones he knew made her weak to suggestion. He lets his hand creep up her calf –where he can still feel the divets of scars from their childhood running through the gardens– until it finds home on the hand she has in her lap, he threads his fingers with hers. The number of rings adorning her fingers was thanks to him: he and his obsession with keeping his older sister glamoured.

Imported Dornish rings that gleamed with the heat of the sun, Essosi ornate cloth and dresses that were far from the modesty of Court, hair pins adorned with pearls from the Summer Isles, and an intricate necklace crafted from the smelted metal of a Valyrian sword, inlaid with gemstones he had pulled from the Red Keeps vaults.

She was wearing it now, the stones gleaming under the sun that spotted through the lace curtains of her room. The engraved details scatter the few beams of light they catch like dew drops upon spider silk. The stones dangle between the valley her breasts create, the smallest of them twirls some intricate dance as she shifts. Like molten silver, it fits her without any of the stiffness metal should have.

“We should be.” He glances down at his hand intertwined with hers and watches her thumb rub over his —in the way she always has ever since childhood— it makes him all the more rueful.

He’s hopeful, far beyond it. His bones ache and his head throbs from a swelling hangover, and he feels his throat ache something terrible at its use. His eyes trail from their hands to her face, he wants anything aside from sorrow to be there.

It’s worse.

Her brows are furrowed as she stares down at him with pity, oh how he wishes it wasn’t pity.

“Oh, sweet boy.” She pulls her hand from his grasp and holds his face in her gentle hands with all the care he needs. “Some things, they just can’t be.”

His lip curls, a pathetic smile covering his visage as he cups the backs of her hands in his own. “But they could. Helaena would not care, she loathes our marriage. As do I. We could take Valyrian vows on Dragonstone. Just as our sister and uncle have. We could leave.”

“Aegon.” A wistful breath of his name, pained and twisted with grief of things that never were and never will.

“We don’t need to stay. Just you and I, riding atop Sunfyre. Across the Narrow Sea.” He moves onto his knees, staring into her wet doe-like eyes as he speaks. He doesn’t leave her an opportunity to doubt him. Doesn’t allow her to pull away as he keeps her hands on his jaw.

Her lips twitch and so do her fingers against his. “Aegon, don’t be foolish.”

“You mustn’t know what you mean to m-”

“Aegon, please.” She tries to pull away now, but he winds his hand into the hair at the nape of her neck and presses forward. Wine-stained lips crushing against the curve of her nose, fluttering across her brow like the gentle wings of a cotton moth as it devours silks and linen allied— devourer of all things beautiful and plain.

He drags his lips to hers finally, soaking her up in a way only someone as depraved as he could. It’s like stretching out upon a rock after not feeling the son for years, like stripping yourself of shackles you’ve worn since birth. Her lips are chapped, a split in her lips from all the worrying she does to the poor thing scratches along his upper. He surges forward, pulling her so fully against him that it fills some empty part of him, like a puzzle piece that’s never been slotted into place. But oh —how it has— and how it always disappears just as quickly as it comes to him. He licks at her bottom lip, sucks it into his mouth and shudders out a breath as she reciprocates. Her lashes fluttering against his cheeks as they finally shut, as she cups his neck and presses her butterfly kisses onto him, licks into his mouth as she breathes hotly across his face in a way only Aegon can enjoy.

He nips at her tongue accidentally, overexcited and eager as he is. And that seems to bring her back from whatever hole he had dragged her into. But he persists, hand drifting down to the smooth metal of her necklace as he thumbs at a jewel. He tries to savour her presence even as her face scrunches and her fingers fist the hairs behind his ears. It nearly pains Aegon, with the way his head tilts away from her just slightly, Adams apple jumping against pale skin as he stares oh-so adoringly, heady breaths stinking of wine fanning her bruised lips.

“We could start a family in Essos. As many children as you want.” He desperately reaches for her again.

“Aegon.”

“A home in Braavos, on the beach. Where we could lo-”

A hiccuped sob that withers in her throat is what stops him, punches the wind from his lungs.

Her lips are pursed and her hands have loosed upon his hair and move to cup his ruddy cheeks. Nails pressing into the flesh of his face hazardously. His eyes are dark and his lips part as he stares up at her, he sees the tears edging along her waterline. That deep frown she has when she’s trying not to cry, whether it's about something he had done or when she’s ordered by their Grandsire to stop her hysterics.

“Aegon,” It’s a sullen whisper as she lets his face go entirely, fingers slipping down his chest before they land in her lap again. “I am not a trueborn daughter. I will never be. I am not right in the mind. I will birth lunatics and monsters and wailing death. You can’t love me.”

He doesn’t know what to say, for once he has no sharp-tongued quip or comment. He pushed her from a height, just when she had finally reached the top of her spire. He retracts, fingers loosening from the grip he had on her pale hair, and lets her fall back onto the plush of her bed as she stares up at him like he’s burnt her. Like he’s dragged a dagger across the soft of her flesh and told her he never loved her. She pushes herself away, curling in on herself as tears cut through the flush of her cheeks. A wobbly exhale, and another as he drags a hand through her hair.

Her fingers dance down her neck and across the skin of her arms where they find home on the pale scars marring the upper parts of her arms. He can see her fingertips quivering with the urge to dig. To pull at chords of muscle beneath her skin and scratch at her bones. She had told him about things she saw. Things that hunted at the edge of her vision and scattered when she went looking. Dreams that came to the waking world with her. A pale man with the stench of darkness seeping from his pores.

“I love yo-” He leans forward to comfort her.

“You don’t.”

“I know that I love you.”

“You know nothing, Aegon.” She pulls herself to the edge of the bed and drags herself to stand, the silk bedsheets slip away and her goosebumps raise upon her bruise-marred skin, she’s as bare as the day she was born. Her throat is too tight and her necklace feels heavy as she stumbles to the secret passage, she slips from the room unbidden and leaves a smudge of blood on the wooden grain of the bookcase as Aegon sits in her bed. Salty tears of his own roll down his face as he clenches and unclenches his fists.

#house of the dragon #aegon ii targaryen #hotd x reader #aegon ii targaryen x reader #aegon ii targaryen angst #bastard!reader

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