#she started to understand his pain and wanted to be there for him as comfort | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

lamemaster · 2 days ago

Text

Marred Music

Request: @liar-anubiass-blogGood day🫶🏻 I hope you are feeling well, congratulations on the upcoming holidays 🎊 Fingolfin/Maiyar reader Ulmo. Timeline before Nolofinae's courtship of Anaire, everyone was just waiting for it to happen, but there had been some kind of strange pause for a long time. And then at one of the dinners where Finwe's entire family was present, Fingolfin finally takes the floor and informs everyone that he is breaking the agreement and will not court Anaire. He says that his heart and mind belong to another. When Finwe wants to object, Fingolfin says that he has already explained to Anaire that he loves another. Everyone is shocked. And then in the silence, the intrigued Feanor (who is delighted with the prospect of conflict) laughs and asks for whom he is trying so hard. Plus or minus so. I hope you can extract something worthwhile from this😅maybe a little drama? Nolofinwe deserves to get a cool Maiar wife and wipe Feanor's nose with this)))

Genre: Drama & angst

Pairing: Fingolfin x Maia Reader

Summary: When he looked up, however, another pair of golden eyes met his own, your eyes. Bright, sharp, and unblinking, they regarded him with an intensity that made him freeze. Startled, he let out a squeal unbecoming of his dignity and very ungracefully tumbled from the tree.

AN: Thank you for requesting this! I love your ask! And Fingolfin over Feanor any day but this one turned out very different (I'm so sorry). But once I started writing there was no stopping so please expect some more chapter ig. First time writing Fingolfin yee-haw

Chapter 1|

Reader POV

“It is not your fate to be with the second eldest of Finwe,” Namo declares, his voice cold yet resolute, echoing through the desolate halls of his domain. The restless winds swirl around him.

You lower your gaze to the ground. The rippling waves of the lake lap softly at your feet, their touch tender, almost reverent, as though the waters themselves grieve with you for what cannot be undone.

“I understand,” you whisper, though your voice trembles under the weight of the words. Fragile, hollow, they carry a sorrow that coils deep within you. A void left by something Namo has stripped from your soul.

An act you must obey from the words of your lord. An act that was done for the betterment of Arda. Yet, the pain grasps your heart and flows from your eyes.

How wretched was such affection that had weakened you to a weeping mess. Why had tales of Melian and Elwe not warned you of such an end? Why had you not looked for the tale of Miriel instead? Then perhaps you would have held your heart closer. Away from this misery.

In the vast, cold expanse of the valley, the only warmth comes from Namo’s hand as it rests lightly on the top of your head. The touch is solemn, neither cruel nor kind, offering comfort even as it deepens the ache in your chest.

You feel your composure unravel, the fragile mask you wore dissolving into a raw sob. A sound that echoes through the stillness, as acute as any note in Ilúvatar’s song.

You sink to your knees, the waters rising to embrace you. Their cool caress mingles with your tears, which fall freely, carried away into the depths.

“What am I to do? What music is this?” The cry bursts forth, anguished and pleading, your voice breaking against the unyielding silence.

Fingolfin POV

He had been but thirty loar of age when he first met you—an ellon barely beyond the years of growth, still enchanted by the orchards of Ingwe, his maternal uncle who ruled the Vanyar.

It had been during one such visit, a special occasion meant to introduce the newborn Findis to the court of the Vanyar. It was a tradition Indis upheld diligently, just as she had for Nolofinwe, and Lalwen before.

Escaping his sister’s relentless questions, Nolofinwe had wandered off, eventually finding himself climbing a peach tree to marvel at a tiny nest perched on the topmost branch.

The cool winds of Taniquetil whispered through the air, mingling with the waning light of Laurelin. Enthralled, he studied the intricate weave of the sparrows’ nest, snugly cradling two eggs amidst scraps of fabric.

When he looked up, however, another pair of golden eyes met his own, your eyes. Bright, sharp, and unblinking, they regarded him with an intensity that made him freeze. Startled, he let out a squeal unbecoming of his dignity and very ungracefully tumbled from the tree.

The fall might have been disastrous. One that would have left his brother Curufinwe in fits of laughter for weeks, had it not been for you. Swiftly, with a fluidity that reminded him of a hawk diving for prey, you caught him mid-fall, your movements swift and precise.

“Stealing younglings is hardly moral,” you chirped. Your head tilted sharply as you studied him, your movements sudden yet graceful, and your golden eyes narrowing in brief suspicion before softening with curiosity.

Nolofinwe barely registered your words. Now that his feet were on the ground, he could only stare at you in wonder.

You stood tall, radiating the ethereal presence of the Ainur. The golden light of Laurelin seemed drawn to you, pooling around your form. To his awestruck eyes, you were wondrously fair, your back graced by wings of a great eagle, folded neatly yet trembling slightly, as though ready to spread and take flight at any moment.

Your sharp nose and piercing gaze of your features- similar to that of the maiar of Manwe. The curious tilt of your head became more pronounced as you stepped closer, your gaze darting over him with a quick, assessing flicker.

“Second-born of Finwe,” you trilled, as though testing the sound. Then, almost imperceptibly, you ruffled your wings, an instinctive motion that made Nolofinwe flinch as though he were being considered for retribution for disturbing the nest.

A newfound interest lit your eyes, the same fascination with which one might observe a fledgling testing its wings. And then without a word you were gone. As if done assessing that Nolofinwe, indeed did not hold any intention to harm the eggs.

From that day forth, eagles became his most cherished beings. A sudden, fervent love for birds blossomed within him. A devotion his maternal uncle wholeheartedly approved, though he never fully grasped its origin.

Beside his bed, a small basket of peaches always rested, their soft fragrance weaving through his room like a whisper of memory. Each breath carried him back to the moments he could not forget the gentle music of your voice, the warmth of your touch, and the majesty of your wings.

To Indis’s great curiosity, peaches became her son’s most beloved fruit. What had once been a passing taste grew into a quiet obsession.

Even the peach orchards of Valinor, which he had rarely noticed before, became his frequent sanctuary, a place where the scent of the trees and the murmur of the breeze spoke to a longing he could never quite explain.

Reader POV

“How is it that Melian came to love Elwe?” you ask Eonwe, who stands vigilant beside you. Your brother, ever steadfast, serves your Vala, the King of Arda, Manwe Sulimo, as you do.

A gentle breeze stirs the air in the halls, coaxing the wayward vines to release their blooms, which fall like whispers to the ground. You watch their descent, lost in thought, as the question lingers between you.

Eonwe turns his gaze toward you, a hint of puzzlement crossing his features. His attention shifts, now entirely on you. He has little fondness for the songs and tales of the Children of Iluvatar, yet even he cannot deny that this particular tale weighs heavy on the memory of most Maiar.

Melian, the first among your kind to forsake the blessed lands of Aman. Hers was a path followed by many, though few remained in Middle-earth as she did.

“Iluvatar revealed a purpose for Melian,” Eonwe replies at last, his voice steady, though touched with reverence. “Their love is woven into the fate of Arda itself. A union that will bring forth the rest of Iluvatar’s music in the days to come.”

“Does Melian love the Firstborn King as we love our lord?” you ask softly, turning to meet his gaze. “Or is hers a love like that of our Lord and Lady? An eternal love.”

Resting his spear against a column of intricately carved marble, Eonwe exhales, his eyes distant as they wander eastward. “Much sorrow will this love cost her,” he murmurs, his tone heavy with foreknowledge. “Yet joy, too, she will find—this, our lord believes. Love in Arda Marred comes with a price.”

Your thoughts drift unbidden, carried away like the falling petals. You think of the elf from weeks past. The elfling from ages ago who had once climbed a tree to peer into Yellen’s nest. A chance meeting so simple, yet one that lingered through the passing years.

Through letters, through feasts, through fleeting encounters too brief to satisfy, and through the careful delivery of trinkets now hidden away in your room, far from prying eyes.

Nolofinwe. His name sings to you in every moment of Laurelin’s light and Telperion’s shadow.

It is a love distinct from your devotion to your lord. A tenderness set apart from the bond you share with your brother.

You have hidden it well, shielding it from the omnipresent song of Arda, whose marred melody seems to reach for all things pure, twisting them into its discordant strains.

But had you forgotten? Forgotten that he, your beloved, is a part of that same melody? That no matter how you might try, you cannot shield him from the song of which he is an inseparable note?

The mercy Iluvatar bestowed upon Melian to love Elwe was hers alone. It was never yours to claim.

Fingolfin POV

“My mother named me Aracáno,” Nolofinwe explains, his tone thoughtful. “It means ‘the high chieftain.’” He blushes faintly, the memory of childhood teasing surfacing unbidden. “Though as a child, I didn’t think much of it. My brother Feanaro often mocked me, calling me the chieftain of snotty elflings.”

He chuckles softly at the recollection, his hand holding yours in a snug grasp. Hidden away from the rowdy feast of rains, Nolofinwe has finally stolen a moment with you, away from prying eyes and curious ears.

It had been no small feat to slip away, especially with your brother. Eonwe, the mighty Chieftain of the Maiar, ever watchful. For days, Nolofinwe had been haunted by uneasy dreams of spears and falcons, as if even the thought of drawing close to you invited his disapproval. Yet here you were, close enough to touch, and for this moment, all those fears seemed inconsequential.

Clad in the luminous bloom of Telperion’s light, you were a vision he could not bear to miss. And as always, in your presence, the words spilled freely from him, unguarded and sincere, a rarity even among those he trusted.

“And then I let Arafinwe cho—” He falters mid-sentence, his words dissolving into silence as your wing extends, wrapping gently around him. The soft, downy warmth envelops him, and for a moment, Nolofinwe can only look up at you, pleasantly dumbfounded.

You tilt your head slightly, your golden eyes studying him. “Is it too warm?” you ask, already beginning to fold your wing back.

But Nolofinwe shifts closer, leaning into the embrace with a soft sigh. “It is pleasant,” he murmurs, his voice low and content. His hand lifts instinctively to comb through your feathers, his touch reverent and light.

The story he’d been telling fades entirely from his thoughts. All that remains is this quiet moment, the warmth of your wing around him, and the quiet peace he finds in your presence.

Feanor POV

A Maia?

Curufinwe nearly laughs aloud at the sheer absurdity of it. Surely this is some elaborate jest, another one of Nolofinwe’s ill-advised attempts to outshine him.

Beside him, Nerdanel discreetly stomps on his foot, a warning meant to temper his reaction. But it does little to dissuade him. The sight before him is far too amusing to ignore.

Seated beside a straight-backed Maia, with magnificent wings slightly fluffed in what Curufinwe assumes is either nervousness or pride, sits his brother, Nolofinwe.

Feanaro had every intention of interrogating you later about the beads woven into your feathers. How they managed not to hinder your flight was a mystery worth solving but for now, his attention is wholly consumed by the scene before him. A pair indeed. A couple of trolls.

“So… this is your suitor?” he asks, his voice laced with poorly masked amusement. The effort to suppress his laughter is futile; from the glowering look on Nolofinwe’s face, it’s clear he’s failed spectacularly.

You, however, remain utterly unbothered, your posture as straight and vigilant as a guard on duty.

“Yes, I reckon I am indeed the one your brother courts, Crown Prince Curufinwe,” you reply, your tone cool and precise, as though delivering a patrol report.

For a fleeting moment, Curufinwe is struck by the urge to test you—to see if the obedience typical of Manwe’s Maia extends to you. Would you follow his orders with the same unflinching diligence?

The thought alone is nearly enough to make him laugh again, but Nerdanel’s second, more forceful stomp ensures he stays (relatively) composed.

From the prideful look in Nolofinwe’s eyes, Curufinwe can practically see him preening, as if to say, Look at this marvel I’ve claimed.

The Maia beside him, however, seems to be fighting a very different battle. Your gaze flickers just barely toward the chandelier above the table, a glittering temptation. You try valiantly not to let your eyes linger, but the effort is almost painful to watch.

A preening peacock and a gullible eagle. What a pair indeed, Curufinwe muses with a ghastly bout of fondness he absolutely refuses to acknowledge.

#the silmarillion #silmarillion x reader #tolkien elves #noldor elves #fingolfin #fingolfin x reader #fingolfin wingolfin #feanor #feanor being a decent brother for once ig #eonwe #manwe #maia reader #hurt #comfort maybe><

20 notes · View notes

mononijikayu · 4 months ago

Text

the other woman — ryomen sukuna.

“Do not mistake this for affection.” he warned, his voice low and rough. “I am still who I am. I am still the monster you should fear.” But you could only nod, your heart aching with a mixture of sorrow and hope. “I know,” you whispered. “I know, but I’m still here.” And for the first time, you thought you saw a hint of softness in his eyes, a flicker of something that could almost be… understanding. Maybe, just maybe, you were starting to reach him, one fragile step at a time.

GENRE: alternate universe - heian era;

WARNING/S: nsfw, angst, one sided romance, conflicted feelings, hurt/no comfort, unhappy marriage, hurt, physical touch, character death, mourning, loneliness, pain, grief, unhappy ending, depiction of one-sided relationship, depiction of grief, depiction of complicated relationship, depiction of illness, depiction of canon related violence, depiction of loneliness, mention of grief, mention of illness, mention of loneliness, heian! sukuna, long suffering concubine! reader;

WORD COUNT: 11k words

NOTE: this was always going to be long, because it's heartbreaking. and heartbreaking ones have to be something that has to be expressed well. i listened to this in a audio software like its a podcast and i actually liked it. the other woman by nina simone was the constant in the writing. also, this is the aftermath of ashes of love, which is a series i did about heian sukuna. anyway, i hope you enjoy this!!! i love you all <3

main masterlist

the other woman masterlist

if you want to, tip! <3

══════════════════

YOU KNEW THAT YOU WERE THIS UNLUCKY. The moment you were born, there would be a bleak fate for you to live. You were an accidental child, and multiple times, your own mother had nearly miscarried. Perhaps even as a fetus, you had always known this. How cursed you were. Even if you had done nothing.

When your mother brushed your hair as a child, she would tell you of how you were born. She said that when you breathed the air for the first time, you were melancholic in the silence to the world. Somehow knew that you were built for this miserable world. And every day since that day, you knew. You were meant to live life without true joyous jubilation.

It did not help that the day you were born, there was a lone dark star in the morning sky, one which had been considered a bad omen. And with that, the whispers of fate echoing long before you had even had consciousness to know. Your village nestled in the shadowed valleys of Hida province, a place of whispered dread and ancient pacts. And for the longest of times, the once prosperous Hida province was in turmoil.

And so, in those days, if there was anyone who controlled the ruins of Hida, it was that god-like curse user Ryomen Sukuna. His name alone was a talisman against the unknown horrors that lurked beyond the mountains, a deity whose power and wrath commanded fear and reverence in equal measure. And all either quivered at the sight of him or drew fanatic fervor.

The Ryomen clan, his kin at one point, were at war—embroiled in brutal conflicts with neighboring clans for so long. And this had been going on before you were even born. The blood had soaked the earth for so long that the soil seemed to thirst for it. And the people were exhausted.

The clan struggled to maintain control over Hida for a long time now, their influence fraying like an old tapestry torn at the seams. And with that, a power vacuum had long been in existence. The chaos of the era was a tide that threatened to drown them all, and Ryomen Sukuna's protection became the last fragile hope for those who called this land their home.

Your parents spoke in hushed voices of the offerings, the sacrifices made by the villagers to appease their god, the man who can save them, this man to fear and worship, Ryomen Sukuna. To ensure his protection, they said. For years, the sacrifices continued, the chosen ones becoming mere footnotes in a history written in blood and fear.

It came upon you rather quickly when you were young and it struck you—that the villagers saw you not as one of their own, but as a piece on a board, a pawn destined for slaughter. A sacrifice to their god. You would be among the countless, one more life to be cast into the jaws of the demon god they all feared.

The day of your sacrifice came as the sky was painted with hues of blood and gold, a cruel irony that did not escape you. The air was heavy with incense and prayer, but there was no comfort in their muttered words, no solace in the chants that pleaded for Sukuna's mercy. They adorned you in ceremonial robes, marked with symbols and sigils, your skin painted with the sacred ink that was supposed to cleanse your soul before the offering.

You were led through the village, a procession of death that seemed to stretch on forever. The eyes that watched you pass were filled with a mixture of pity and relief—relief that it was not them, not their child, not their blood that would be spilled today. Mothers held their children close, men bowed their heads, and the elders chanted in a low, continuous hum that sent shivers down your spine.

At the shrine, they bound you to the altar, thick ropes biting into your skin as you stared at the sky, searching for a sign, a miracle that never came. The high priest began his incantation, his voice rising above the murmur of the crowd. You could feel the cold seep into your bones, the air around you thickening as if the very world held its breath.

And then, you felt it—the shift in the air, the heavy presence that pressed against your chest like a vice. You had never seen him before, but you knew it was Sukuna. The villagers gasped, a collective intake of breath as his form materialized from the shadows, a figure cloaked in malice and power.

His eyes, crimson and unforgiving, swept over you like a cold blade. You felt your heart hammer against your ribcage, fear clawing at your throat. You were nothing to him, just another offering, another desperate plea from a village clinging to survival.

Ryomen Sukuna smiled, a slow, cruel smile that sent a tremor through the crowd. He stepped forward, each movement a ripple in the air, as if reality itself bent to his will. You met his gaze, defiant in your fear, knowing that you were one of many. Countless lives had been given to him, countless souls lost to his hunger.

And now, it was your turn.

══════════════════

YOU HAD NEVER EXPECTED TO MEET THE MAN IN THE FLESH. But before you stood this man, this god, with dark crimson eyes. Taller than any tree, intimidating than any curse. Frightening than hell itself. You could remember when you were younger. The whispers reached you before you even stepped foot in the shrine, everyone has. Tales of Ryomen Sukuna had traveled through the villages like the wind, carrying with them rumors that were both terrifying and tragic.

You had always known that the man was delighted with the worship of the human people. But they said he had taken no other concubines, that he showed no interest in any woman who dared come near him.

And if he did, they were more likely to be servants than anything close to a concubine. And some were not so lucky. Some spoke in hushed tones, their voices trembling with fear, that he was a monster of unspeakable debauchery, one who had killed the women for even daring to breathe in his presence.

But the truth, as you had come to understand it, was far more tragic. At least from how you see it. The people of Hida knew—oh, they believed—the story was told long ago. There was someone who had been so loved long ago and most of all, by Sukuna.

Ryomen Hiromi, the one who had captured Sukuna's heart, the one he had loved beyond reason. There was another Sukuna a long time ago, many were aware. But there was nothing proven.

If anything, the children of Hiromi reject any notion of such a relationship. But the tale was woven into the very fabric of tales told, whispered among the elders late at night and shared in riddles among the children who barely understood the weight of what they spoke.

Hiromi, they said, had been his sun, his moon, his stars. A woman of beauty and strength, whose laughter could calm the wildest storms and whose voice was like the sweetest song. She had been the only one to ever touch his heart, to see the man beneath the demon god. But she was gone now, lost to time and tragedy, leaving Ryomen Sukuna to languish in his grief.

No one dared speak her name aloud, not when Sukuna’s rage could split the earth itself. People have seen it. It was said he mourned her loss every day, that his fury was born from the emptiness she left behind. And that was why he would not tolerate any other woman. No one was going to be like her. None would match her wit, her beauty. Why should the king of curses settle for less when he had the world?

As you lay on the cold altar, the ropes cutting into your skin, your thoughts were consumed by the stories. What kind of man—no, what kind of creature—was Sukuna? You wonder about this paradox of a man, this creature like god.

Did he truly mourn, or was that just another tale spun by terrified villagers to make him seem more human? What was he, actually? You had a million questions, and you know they will never truly be answered.

A gust of wind stirred the trees around you, the leaves rustling like whispered secrets. You heard the shuffle of feet, felt the eyes of the villagers upon you, their fear palpable. Then, you heard his voice. You could feel it all, that powerful cursed energy, coming from one direction. For a moment, you had no words. Only uncertainty.

"Why do they send another?" Sukuna's voice was like a low growl, rumbling through the air with the force of a storm. "Do you think I am so easily appeased, you fools?"

You dared to lift your head, the ropes pulling at your skin as you met his crimson gaze. He was tall, imposing, and every bit as terrifying as the stories had painted him. But there was something else there—something in his eyes that spoke of deep, simmering pain.

"Do you truly want to know why they sent me?" you found yourself saying, your voice steady despite the fear clawing at your throat.

His eyes narrowed, and for a moment, you thought he might strike you down then and there. But he didn’t. Instead, he tilted his head, a cruel smile playing at the corners of his lips.

"Speak, then, girl." he said. "Tell me why I should not turn you to dust where you lie."

You swallowed, gathering your courage. "They send me because they fear you, because they believe you will protect them if they give you what you want. But… no one knows what you truly want, do they? No one speaks of her. Of Hiromi."

His expression shifted, a shadow passing over his face, and you knew you had struck a nerve. The air grew colder, a chill that seemed to seep into your very bones.

"Hiromi is dead." he said, his voice quiet but filled with an edge that could cut through steel. "And no one speaks her name. It is what I command.”

"But you still mourn her…." you continued, unable to stop yourself. "Do you not, my lord?”

His dark gaze bore into you, the weight of it almost unbearable. For a long moment, he said nothing, and the silence stretched on like an eternity. Then, slowly, he laughed—a sound that was bitter and hollow.

"You dare ask?" he repeated, as if the word was foreign to him. "What do you know of it all, little one? What do you know about such a life lived?"

You felt a tremor run through you, but you did not look away. "I know enough, my lord." you replied softly. "I know enough to see that your anger is not born of hatred, but of grief."

Sukuna's cruel smile quickly faded, and for a brief moment, you thought you saw something in his eyes—a flicker of vulnerability, quickly swallowed by the darkness. He hated how you said it, you know it too well. But there was no other choice. You were here for a purpose and you must fulfill it. You must.

"You are bold, little one." he murmured. "Bold….for someone so close to death."

"Perhaps, my lord." you whispered back to him. "But if I am to die, I would rather die knowing who you truly are, rather than the monster they say you are."

He stared at you for a long time, his expression unreadable. Then, he stepped closer, so close that you could feel the heat radiating from his body, the power that thrummed through him like a thunder strike.

"Then you are a fool, little one." he said quietly. "For believing that I am anything more than a monster."

But there was something in his voice, something that made you wonder if perhaps… he wished you were right.

For the meantime, you were lucky to have your life, despite speaking so boldly, despite saying her name aloud—the name that everyone else dared not utter. Sukuna’s silence stretched on, his crimson eyes still locked onto yours, unreadable, cold yet burning with something darker beneath the surface. He could have ended you with a flick of his wrist, reduced you to ashes for your insolence. And yet, he did not.

He leaned closer, the edges of his form blurring into the shadows that seemed to ripple around him like stabbing waves in the ocean. His breath was hot against your skin, his presence overwhelming, suffocating. You felt your heart pound in your chest, each beat a drum that signaled your fragile hold on life.

“Perhaps you are simply foolish. Many have died for far less than what you dared to speak.” Sukuna finally said, his voice low, almost contemplative. “Huh, you speak brashly.”

The villagers around you seemed to hold their breath, waiting for his judgment. They looked at you with a mixture of horror and awe, unable to believe you were still alive after uttering the forbidden name. You, a mere sacrifice, a lamb thrown to the wolf, had survived what so many others had not.

“Why do you think I will let you live?” Sukuna’s voice cut through the tense silence, his tone curious, but with a dangerous edge. “Do you think I find you interesting? Amusing? Or perhaps I see something of her in you, something worth sparing?”

You swallowed hard, the reality of your situation settling in. You had survived speaking out of turn, but you were still bound to this altar, still at the mercy of a being who could destroy you on a whim. Yet, something in his words gave you pause, a flicker of something unspoken that lingered just beneath his surface.

“I do not presume to know your reasons, my lord.” you replied carefully, choosing each word like a step on thin ice. “But if you see something of her in me… then perhaps I am not so different from you after all.”

Sukuna’s gaze sharpened, his eyes narrowing. “Not so different?” He laughed, a sound that was both mirthful and bitter, filled with a deep, aching emptiness. “You compare yourself to me? To Ryomen Sukuna? You are a child, a mere mortal who knows nothing of gods or demons, of love that scorches the soul and burns the world to ash.”

“And yet…..” you dared to continue, feeling the tightness in your chest. “If my lord felt nothing, you wouldn’t care enough to be angry… or to remember.”

He stiffened, and for a moment, his expression faltered. The shadows seemed to deepen around him, his aura flickering like a candle flame caught in a strong wind. You sensed that you were dancing on a razor’s edge, but you could not stop now. There was something here, something raw and real beneath the monstrous exterior.

“Enough.” Sukuna hissed, his voice a sharp command. The air grew colder, and you felt a shiver run down your spine. “You dare much, human. Too much.”

You pressed your lips together, bracing yourself for the inevitable blow, the moment when his patience would finally snap. But instead, Sukuna’s lips curled into a faint smile, one that did not reach his eyes.

“Perhaps I will spare you.” he murmured, almost as if speaking to himself. “If only to see how long that fire burns before it is extinguished. Or perhaps to see if you will end up like the rest—broken, hollow, pleading for mercy where there is none.”

He turned away from you then, his back a wall of power and darkness, his form towering against the dim light of the shrine. The villagers started, stunned, as if waiting for the other shoe to drop.

“You will reside in my temple.” Sukuna commanded, his tone leaving no room for argument. “You will remain there, under my watch. Let them see what comes of those who speak of things best left forgotten.”

A murmur rippled through the crowd, a mixture of fear and shock. They did not understand why he had spared you, why you, of all people, were allowed to live. Perhaps they thought you were cursed, or perhaps they thought Sukuna had some darker plan in mind. But you knew better. You knew that, in some small way, you had touched on a wound that had never healed, a scar buried deep beneath his monstrous exterior.

And as Sukuna vanished into the shadows, you realized that your fate was no longer in the hands of the villagers, or even in the hands of the gods they prayed to. No, your fate was now bound to his—a god who mourned like a man, a monster who remembered what it was to love.

══════════════════

IN A WAY, IT IS NOT SO BAD, BEING HIS CONCUBINE. You spent your days in isolation, your life confined within the walls of Sukuna's palace. You were nothing more than a servant, though they called you a concubine. The title meant little, for you were given no special privileges, no adornments, no tokens of affection.

But it was a life. Your life. And it lived in some comfort, more than what is experienced by the rest of Hida province. You had multiple meals a day, you had rooms to yourself and even servants that address every bit of your needs.

Still, your world was small, your days filled with the quiet tending of the gardens, watching the shifting sky as the hours bled into one another. The flowers you nurtured became your only friends, their petals a fragile comfort against the cold indifference that surrounded you.

Perhaps the peace came from the fact that you did not see Sukuna often, and when you did, his gaze never lingered on you for long. He had no interest, no affection, no fondness to spare. You were simply there, like a shadow in the corner of his realm.

A figure lost amidst the vast emptiness of his domain. And perhaps that was for the best. It was better than being forced into Sukuna’s bed. You think that all women in the harem think that it was better that way.

But slowly, ever so slowly, something changed. His dark scarlet eyes began to linger, just a fraction longer than before. You felt the weight of his gaze like a chill running down your spine.

The other servants noticed it too, their whispers growing louder, bolder. You finally caught his attention. But it wasn’t because he had come to care for you, to see you as anything more than the nothing you were.

No, the truth was much crueler than that.

You were a spitting image of Ryomen Hiromi, the woman who haunted his every step, the ghost who lived in the shadows of his mind. At least that’s what the people say. But you did not want to believe them. Yet, looking at the murals at the glass gardens, the resemblance was uncanny.

It was obvious somehow. It was similar, everything. Your eyes, your hair, the curve of your smile. Every feature, every gesture seemed to remind him of her. And though you knew you could never be her, you had become a cruel echo, a reflection of something he had long lost.

And soon enough, the people talked. Of course, they did. They always talked. You tried to shut them out, but the more they whispered, the more people listened. And the more they listened, the more people spoke.

“She reminds him of Hiromi, I am certain!” they whispered. “She is nothing but a shadow, a poor replacement for the one he truly loved. She lives in her image, as if she could ever hope to fill her place.”

You became the other woman, even when you didn’t want to be. No, not even that. You were a pale imitation, a mockery of a woman who had captured the heart of the king of curses. Every glance Ryomen Sukuna spared you was not a look of admiration or desire—it was the gaze of a man staring into the past, into a memory that was forever out of reach.

And so, you lived your life as another woman. No, the other woman. To a dead woman. To a love that had died long ago, but never truly left.

Sometimes, in the dead of night, when the silence was so thick it pressed against your skin like a heavy shroud, you would wonder about her. About Ryomen Hiromi. Who was she, really? What had she meant to him, this fearsome god, this creature of darkness who now watched you as if searching for something he had lost in her eyes, now reflected in yours.

He never spoke of her. He does not want to. He does not dare to. Not to you, not to anyone. Some servants have been here longer than you and they have seen people killed over even a mumble of a prayer for the lady. And so you don’t ask.

Not even when there were times he would come closer, when his dark eyes lingered on your face, searching, always searching. Yet he will never truly find it. He knew this, as much as you did. But it was as if he was trying to see her again, trying to find her in your skin, in your voice, in the way you moved through the gardens like she once had, perhaps. It was hope, a foolish hope. And yet you cannot escape this foolish hope.

The weight of her memory suffocated you. You were not allowed to be yourself, to have your own name, your own identity. You were always, always compared to her, measured against a ghost that you could never be, never touch. And Sukuna, with his cold gaze and his empty eyes, reminded you of it every day.

"You’re not her, little one." he said once, his voice low, more to himself than to you, as if testing a truth he could not fully accept. “You’ll never be her.”

His words cut deeper than any blade, leaving you with the bitter taste of something unnameable, something that tasted like defeat, or perhaps longing, or perhaps both. You had never wished to be her, to be anyone but yourself. But here, in his domain, under his shadow, you were not allowed that freedom.

You were trapped, forever bound to a life that was not your own, in the shadow of a dead woman who would never release you, and a man who could never let her go.

Days bled into nights, a blur of routine and solitude, and you began to feel like a ghost yourself, haunting the corners of Sukuna's palace, where life seemed to move around you but never through you. The servants kept their distance, wary of your resemblance, as if fearing you might be some ill omen, cursed to echo the tragedy of the past.

And Sukuna… he watched you, always watching, his eyes a deep crimson that saw too much and yet revealed nothing. He was like a storm contained within the fragile walls of the palace, his presence a force of nature that you could neither escape nor fully comprehend. His mood was mercurial; one day, he would barely acknowledge you, and the next, his gaze would linger on you, heavy with something you couldn’t name.

“Do you enjoy the garden?” he asked one afternoon, his tone deceptively casual, as if he were simply inquiring about the weather.

You glanced up, surprised that he had addressed you at all. He rarely spoke directly to you, even when his eyes seemed to follow your every movement. “I do,” you replied, careful, measured. “It is quiet there. Peaceful.”

“Quiet…peaceful.” he repeated, almost as if tasting the word. A faint smile tugged at the corner of his lips, but it did not reach his eyes. “Yes, she liked the quiet too. Always wandering among the flowers. Trees too. She’d like that then.”

You stiffened at the mention of her, the ghost you lived with every day, who lingered in every corner of this place. “I am not her, my lord.” you said, a tremor in your voice. You had repeated these words to yourself countless times, but they sounded fragile, almost insignificant when spoken aloud.

Sukuna's expression did not change. If anything, his gaze grew sharper, like a blade pressed against your skin. “No, little one.” he agreed softly, almost mockingly, “You are not her. But you will do… for now.”

You swallowed the lump in your throat, refusing to let him see the fear that coiled within you, like a snake waiting to strike. “Why do you keep me here?” you dared to ask, your voice barely more than a whisper. “Why do you watch me as if you expect me to become someone else?”

He laughed then, a low, rumbling sound that sent a shiver down your spine. “You misunderstand, little one. I do not expect you to become her. I know you never can. But you… remind me of her. And that is enough… for now.”

The way he said it, the way his eyes darkened with something unreadable, made your blood run cold. You were nothing more than a stand-in, a living, breathing reminder of something he had lost. A cruel joke played by fate, a shadow dancing in the place of the one who truly mattered. To be kept alive, your village kept alive — because you look like a ghost.

“I am not a replacement, my lord.” you insisted, your voice firmer this time, surprising even yourself with the strength behind it. “I hope my lord knows that I will not live my life as a mere echo.”

His smile faded, his expression turning serious. “You think you have a choice?” he asked, leaning in closer, his face so near to yours that you could feel the warmth of his breath. “You are here because I allow it. You exist at my whim, not because of who you are, but because of who you resemble. Do not mistake this for anything more than it is.”

The reality of his words hit you like a blow, the finality of it sinking deep into your bones. You were nothing to him, nothing but a passing fancy, a painful reminder of a past he could not reclaim.

“I am not her, my lord.” you repeated, your voice shaking with defiance, with a spark of something that refused to be extinguished. “And I will not be her for you. You must understand.”

For a moment, something flickered in Sukuna's eyes, something almost like surprise, perhaps even respect. Then, just as quickly, it was gone, replaced by the cold, unfeeling mask he always wore.

“Brave words, little one.” he murmured, his voice low and dangerous. “But words mean little here, in my domain. You will learn that soon enough.”

He turned away from you then, leaving you standing alone in the empty hall, your heart pounding in your chest, your hands trembling at your sides. The silence closed in around you, heavy and oppressive, and you knew that nothing had changed. You were still trapped, still living in the shadow of a dead woman, still bound to the whims of a god who mourned like a man.

And yet, deep inside, something stirred—a flicker of defiance, of hope. You might be a ghost to him, a reflection of a lost love, but you were still alive. You were still you, and as long as you drew breath, you would not allow yourself to be consumed by his shadows. Not without a fight.

Time passed slowly in Sukuna’s palace, and with it, your heart began to change. You did not notice it at first; how could you? Day after day, the monotonous routine of your existence lulled you into a sort of numbness. The gardens became your refuge, the sky your solace.

Yet even as you tried to find comfort in these simple pleasures, you found your thoughts wandering back to him—Ryomen Sukuna, the fearsome god, the monster, the man who mourned like a human.

At first, you hated him, hated him for what he represented, for what he had made you into: a replacement, a mere shadow of someone who had meant everything to him. But as you watched him, as the days turned to weeks and weeks to months, you began to see more.

You began to notice the things others did not—the subtle tension in his jaw when he was angry, the way his eyes softened just a fraction when he spoke of her, the quiet moments when he thought no one was looking, and the mask slipped, just a little.

You were in the garden one afternoon, trimming the roses, when you heard footsteps approaching. Sukuna rarely came to the garden, but today he seemed restless, pacing along the paths with a dark expression on his face. He stopped by the old cherry blossom tree, his eyes distant, his hands clenched into fists at his sides.

Without thinking, you moved closer. "Is something troubling you, my lord?" you asked quietly, keeping your tone as neutral as possible. You had learned not to provoke him, to keep your words soft and your gaze steady.

Sukuna looked at you sharply, as if surprised you had dared to speak. "Why do you care?" he snapped, his tone harsh, but you had seen the flicker of something else—a fleeting vulnerability, perhaps? “Such matters are none for you to care about, little one.”

You hesitated, choosing your words carefully. “I see you every day, my lord.” you replied softly. “I see how you… struggle over something. And I cannot help but… care.”

He scoffed, but it was a hollow sound. “Care?” he echoed, almost mockingly. “You think you understand me, mortal? You think you can comprehend the depths of what I am, of what I have lost?”

You bowed your head, feeling the sting of his words but refusing to back down. “I don’t pretend to understand, my lord.” you murmured. “But I see the pain in your eyes, the way you linger in places she once loved, the way you… look at me.”

He was silent for a moment, his gaze unreadable. Then he turned away, his shoulders tense, his hands unclenching. “You are a fool, little one.” he muttered, almost too softly for you to hear. “A fool to think you can feel anything for me.”

And maybe you were a fool. A fool to care for a man who did not care for you, who saw you only as a shadow of someone else. But you could not help it. You could not stop the way your heart ached when you saw him, the way your breath caught when he looked at you with those sad, tired eyes.

Day by day, you found yourself drawn to him, not by his power or his beauty, but by the quiet moments when he thought no one was watching. The moments when his face softened, and you saw the man beneath the monster, the man who had loved so deeply and lost so terribly.

You saw the cracks in his armor, the places where he had been wounded, and you wanted, desperately, to reach out and touch them, to soothe the pain you knew he carried.

You found yourself thinking of him when you were alone, wondering what had made him this way, what had broken him so completely. You imagined him before all of this, before the darkness, before the loss, and you felt a strange, deep sorrow for the man he might have been.

One evening, as you were leaving the garden, you saw him standing by the cherry blossom tree again, his face turned upward, staring at the pale blooms against the darkening sky. He looked so lonely, so unbearably alone, that you felt your heart tighten in your chest.

Without thinking, you approached him, moving slowly, cautiously, as if approaching a wounded animal. “My lord, look.” you said softly, and he did not turn away. “The blossoms… they’re beautiful this year.”

He glanced at you, his expression unreadable. “Hiromi loved them.” he said quietly, his voice thick with something you could not quite name. “Fond of them.”

You nodded, your heart aching for him. “I imagine she did, my lord.” you replied. “They’re… peaceful.”

He was silent for a long time, his gaze fixed on the flowers. Then he spoke, his voice barely more than a whisper. “She was… my peace.” he admitted, his tone so raw, so vulnerable, that it made your chest tighten painfully. “And now… there is only emptiness.”

You wanted to reach out to him, to touch his hand, to tell him that he was not as alone as he thought, but you knew he would not accept it. So you stood there, beside him, sharing the silence, hoping that maybe, in some small way, your presence could ease the ache in his heart.

And slowly, painfully, you realized that you were falling into the saddest position in the world. You were beginning to care for him, truly care for him, despite knowing that he did not, and could not, care for you. You were beginning to understand him, to see the depths of his sorrow, to feel the weight of his loss as if it were your own.

You were living as a shadow, and yet… you found yourself wishing, hoping, that someday he might see you as something more. Even if you were just a reflection of a memory, even if you could never be her, you wished, desperately, that you could become someone to him.

But as you looked at him, at the emptiness in his eyes, you knew that day might never come. And still, you could not help but care.

Days continued to slip by in a blur of silent moments and stolen glances, and though you tried to keep your heart guarded, you felt it slipping further and further away from you, like water through your fingers. You had resigned yourself to your fate—a concubine in name, a ghost in truth. You had accepted that Sukuna would never see you as anything more than a mere echo of what he had lost.

But as time passed, you noticed a subtle change in him. It was in the way his gaze lingered on you a moment longer, or how his tone softened when he spoke to you. It was in the quiet moments when you would catch him watching you, his expression inscrutable, as if he were trying to decipher some mystery he could not quite solve.

As the sun dipped below the horizon and painted the sky in shades of crimson and gold, you found yourself in the garden again. Sukuna was there, seated on a low stone bench beneath the cherry blossom tree, his face turned upward as if searching for something in the dying light.

You approached cautiously, unsure if he wanted your presence or not. He did not turn to look at you, but he did not send you away, either. You took it as a small mercy, a silent invitation to sit beside him.

For a long time, neither of you spoke. The silence stretched between you like a fragile thread, delicate and unbroken. Finally, Sukuna spoke, his voice low and contemplative. “You are always here, little one.” he murmured. “Always watching. Why?”

You hesitated, searching for the right words. “Because I see you, my lord.” you replied quietly. “I see the way you carry your pain, the way you hide it behind your eyes. I… I understand it, in a way.”

He turned to you then, his gaze piercing, searching your face as if trying to find the truth hidden within your words. “And what do you think you understand?” he asked, a note of challenge in his tone.

You took a deep breath, feeling the weight of his stare. “I think you loved her more than life itself, my lord.” you said softly. “And I think losing her broke something inside of you that will never heal.”

He was silent for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then he laughed—a harsh, bitter sound that cut through the stillness like a knife. “You presume to know my heart, mortal.” he said, but there was no true malice in his voice, only a deep, hollow emptiness. “You think because you look like her, you can speak of love and loss?”

“I do not pretend to be her, my lord.” you answered, your voice steady, even as your heart pounded in your chest. “But I know what it is to lose, to live with emptiness. I know what it means to be alone, even in a crowded room.”

His eyes softened, just for a moment, and you could almost see the man beneath the monster, the one who had loved and lost, who had once been capable of kindness, of tenderness.

“You think you know loneliness?” he asked, his voice quiet, almost vulnerable. “You think you know what it is to love someone so deeply that their absence is like a knife in your soul, cutting you with every breath?”

“I think I’m starting to understand, my lord.” you whispered. “More than I ever wanted to.”

He looked away, his jaw clenched tight, and you could see the tension in his shoulders, the way his hands curled into fists at his sides. “You are a fool.” he muttered, but there was no heat in his words, only a weary resignation. “You should hate me. You should despise me for what I am, for what I have made you.”

You shook your head slowly. “I can’t, my lord.” you admitted, your voice breaking. “I don’t know why, but I can’t. Maybe it’s because I see the pain in your eyes, the way you look at me… the way you remember her. I can’t hate you for that. I just… I wish things were different.”

He turned to you sharply, and for a moment, there was something raw and desperate in his gaze, something that spoke of a longing he had buried deep within himself. “Different?” he repeated, almost scoffing. “There is no ‘different’ for us. This is the world we have been given, and we must live in it.”

You felt your heart clench painfully, knowing he was right, knowing that no matter how much you wished for it, you could never truly reach him, could never become more than what you were—a shadow, a reflection of a woman long gone.

But you could not stop yourself from caring, from hoping that somehow, someway, he might see you, truly see you, not as a ghost or a replacement, but as a person in your own right.

You sighed, turning your gaze to the blossoms above. “I know, my lord.” you murmured. “I know that better than anyone. But I still… I still want to understand you. I still care, even if you don’t care for me.”

He was silent, his expression unreadable, and for a moment, you feared you had said too much, crossed a line you could never return from. But then, slowly, he reached out and took your hand in his, his grip firm but surprisingly gentle.

“You are a strange one, little one.” he said quietly, almost as if to himself. “To care for a monster… to care for a man who has nothing left to give.”

You felt a tear slip down your cheek, and you did not bother to hide it. “Maybe I’m just a fool, my lord” you whispered. “But I can’t help it. I can’t help but care for you, even when I know you can’t care for me.”

He stared at you for a long moment, his eyes searching yours, as if looking for some answer he could not find. Then, without a word, he pulled you closer, his lips brushing against your forehead in a gesture so tender it took your breath away.

“Do not mistake this for affection.” he warned, his voice low and rough. “I am still who I am. I am still the monster you should fear.”

But you could only nod, your heart aching with a mixture of sorrow and hope. “I know,” you whispered. “I know, but I’m still here.”

And for the first time, you thought you saw a hint of softness in his eyes, a flicker of something that could almost be… understanding. Maybe, just maybe, you were starting to reach him, one fragile step at a time.

══════════════════

TIME FLEW BY AND WITH THAT, YOU AGED TOO. Slowly, like the steady drip of water carving its path through stone, Ryomen Sukuna began to accept your presence as something constant in his life. At first, it was subtle—the way he no longer sent you away when you appeared by his side, the way he allowed you to linger in his chambers or the garden without a word of complaint.

Over time, it grew into something more. He began to call for you, not often, but enough that you noticed. Sometimes, it was just to sit in silence while he read or stared into the fire, and other times, he would speak to you, his voice low and distant, as if he were speaking to himself rather than you.

He did not love you; you knew that much with painful certainty. His heart belonged to another, to a woman whose name he whispered in his dreams, whose memory seemed to haunt his every step. You were not her, and you never would be. You were a shadow of what he had lost, a pale reflection of a love that had burned too bright and consumed itself in the flames.

But he tolerated you, and in this dark, twisted place where fear ruled and love was a forgotten dream, that was enough. You had learned to find solace in the little things—the way his gaze would occasionally soften when he looked at you, the rare moments when his voice held a note of something other than indifference.

You knew you would never escape Hiromi’s shadow. Her ghost lingered in every corner of this place, in every whispered word and hushed breath, in the way his eyes darkened whenever he spoke of her.

You were not foolish enough to think you could ever replace her in his heart, nor did you wish to. You had come to terms with your fate, with the cruel twist of destiny that had brought you here, to this palace where the walls seemed to whisper her name.

For the finite years of your mortal life, you would be what you were to him—an echo, a shadow, a living memory of something lost. You could have fought against it, could have railed against the injustice of it all, but you chose not to. You chose to make peace with what fate had given you, to find what small joys you could in the fleeting moments he allowed you to be near him.

There were times when the weight of your existence threatened to crush you, when you longed to scream, to demand that he see you for who you were, not for the woman you resembled. But those moments were few and far between, and you had learned to push them down, to bury them deep within your heart where they could not hurt you.

Instead, you found contentment in the little things—in the way his presence filled the room, in the rare, unguarded moments when he would speak to you of things he had buried deep within himself. You listened to his stories, the ones he told in quiet tones when he thought no one was listening, and you treasured them like precious gems, tiny fragments of the man he had once been.

You learned to be grateful for what you had, even if it was not what you had dreamed of. You accepted that you would always live in the shadow of Hiromi, that you would always be the "other woman"; the one who was not loved, but merely tolerated. And for as long as you had breath in your lungs and life in your veins, you chose to find peace in that.

You sat beside him by the fire, you felt a strange sense of calm settle over you. He was quiet, his eyes fixed on the flames, his expression thoughtful. He did not look at you, but you could feel his presence, warm and solid beside you, a reminder that you were not entirely alone in this world.

You turned your gaze to the fire, letting the heat warm your face, and you whispered, almost to yourself, “I do not ask for more than this. I am… content with what I have.”

He glanced at you, his eyes narrowing slightly, as if trying to understand your words. “Content?” he repeated, a hint of incredulity in his voice. “You are content being nothing but a shadow?”

You smiled softly, a hint of sadness in your eyes. “Contentment is a choice, my lord.” you replied. “I chose to be content with what fate has given me. It is not happiness, but it is enough.”

He looked at you for a long moment, his expression unreadable, and then he nodded slowly. “Perhaps you are wiser than I thought now, little one.” he murmured. “To find peace in a place like this… it is no easy feat.”

You nodded, knowing he spoke more to himself than to you. You had accepted that you would never be more than a shadow in his life, but even shadows had their place, their purpose. You would be content with that, for as long as your mortal years allowed.

The days passed with a creeping heaviness that settled into your bones, a fatigue that no amount of rest could cure. You began to feel the strain in every step, the way your breath came shorter, the way your limbs feel heavy and uncooperative. At first, you dismissed it as exhaustion, a lingering effect of sleepless nights and endless thoughts that twisted in your mind like shadows.

But then came the coughing fits, each one more violent than the last, leaving a bitter taste in your mouth and a sharp pain in your chest. You ignored it at first, waving away the concerned glances of the servants who attended you. You kept your back straight and your face serene, refusing to acknowledge the way your body seemed to betray you.

Yet it grew harder to hide. The pain became more frequent, stabbing through your lungs like a knife with every breath, every step. The first time you coughed up blood, it was a shock—a bright, vivid red staining your hand. Your heart raced as you stared at the crimson stain, panic rising like bile in your throat.

You quickly wiped it away, glancing around to see if anyone had noticed. Thankfully, you were alone in your chamber, and you pressed a trembling hand to your chest, willing yourself to calm down. There was no reason to be afraid, you told yourself. It was just a momentary lapse, nothing more.

But it wasn’t. It happened again, and again. You found yourself waking in the night, gasping for air, your throat raw and burning. The servants began to notice the dark circles under your eyes, the way you would clutch your side when you thought no one was looking, the way you moved a little slower, a little more carefully.

There was a day that you sat in the garden, trying to find solace in the soft petals of the cherry blossoms, a violent fit seized you. You doubled over, coughing hard, and felt something wet and warm splatter against your lips. You wiped your mouth with the back of your hand and saw the unmistakable smear of blood.

A sharp gasp came from behind you. One of the younger servants had seen, her eyes wide with fear and concern. She rushed to your side, her hands trembling as she reached out to steady you.

“My lady, oh my!” she whispered, her voice filled with worry. “You’re… you’re bleeding.”

You shook your head, forcing a smile that felt like a grimace. “It is nothing.” you said, your voice hoarse. “Do not worry yourself over me.”

The servant looked unconvinced, her brow furrowed with concern. “I must tell Lord Sukuna.” she said quickly, glancing toward the entrance of the garden as if she expected him to appear at any moment. “He must know—”

“No, no…..” you cut her off sharply, your voice firmer than you had intended. “There is no point in that.”

She hesitated, confusion clouding her eyes. “But, my lady… you are unwell. He should—”

“He would not care, little girl.” you said softly, looking down at your blood-stained hand. “There is no use in troubling him with this. It would make no difference. Sukuna does not love me, nor does he care for me in that way. Do you think he would be moved by something as trivial as this?”

The servant bit her lip, clearly torn between her duty to you and her fear of Sukuna’s wrath. “But… if he knew, he might—”

“Might what?” you interrupted, your voice edged with a quiet resignation. “Send a healer? Take pity on me? No, he would not. I am nothing more than a reminder to him, a shadow of a past he cannot let go. He tolerates me, yes, but that is all.”

The servant looked at you, her eyes filling with tears, but she nodded slowly, understanding the weight of your words. She knew as well as you did that Sukuna’s heart was a barren, desolate place, filled with ghosts and haunted memories. There was no room for you there.

“Promise me, little girl.” you whispered, reaching out to touch her arm gently. “Promise me you won’t tell him.”

She hesitated for a moment, then nodded, her expression tight with worry. “I promise, my lady.” she murmured, though you could hear the doubt in her voice.

You leaned back against the tree, closing your eyes and letting the cool breeze brush against your skin. You knew there was no point in hoping for more than what you had. Sukuna had given you a place by his side, but it was not out of affection. He had lost the woman he truly loved, and you were only a semblance of her—a shadow he tolerated, nothing more.

You were dying, that much was clear. Perhaps it was a blessing in disguise, a way to free yourself from this liminal existence, to escape the torment of being a living reminder of what he had lost. You could find peace in that, you thought. At least, you could try.

You would not burden him with your illness, with your slow, inevitable decline. You would carry it quietly, with dignity, for whatever time you had left. After all, what was one more life in the grand, cruel scheme of his world? You were just another fleeting moment in the endless march of time—another sacrifice, another offering to a man who had already lost everything he had ever cared for.

══════════════════

YOU DECIDED TO LET FATE RUN ITS COURSE. You let time pass by, letting the illness be hidden in the shadows of low whispers and painful tears in your long suffering days and nights. And sure enough, Ryomen Sukuna had returned from his long and exhausting trip within the next few days.

He had been famished from his trip and sent word that he would be having supper with you that night, which you had obliged without another word. You dressed in your finest, watching the servants prepare the table in your chambers and calmly thanked them one after another as they left.

The evening had settled into its usual quiet rhythm, with the two of you sharing dinner in the dimly lit chamber. The flickering candlelight cast long shadows across the walls, and the scent of roasted meat and simmered vegetables filled the air.

It was a routine you had come to accept with a resigned sort of familiarity, a ritual that offered a small measure of normalcy in your otherwise constrained existence.

You sat across from Sukuna, picking at your meal with an absent-mindedness that spoke more to your weariness than any lack of appetite. His presence was imposing, yet tonight, he was unusually subdued, his attention focused on the food in front of him rather than on you. And somehow, you were a bit more grateful for it.

As you took a sip from your cup, you looked up at him, your expression earnest. "My lord, do you not think you should be more understanding of your subjects?" you began, your voice gentle but firm. "I must implore you once more to be more lenient with the people. The fear you instill is one thing, but mercy could win you their loyalty and respect."

Sukuna's eyes, dark and inscrutable, met yours. He did not respond immediately, his gaze lingering on you as if weighing your words. This was not the first time you had made this plea, and it was not likely to be the last. You had grown accustomed to his silence, to the way he would listen but rarely act upon your suggestions.

"It is not for me to coddle them, little one." he said finally, his voice low and dismissive. "Fear is a more effective tool than mercy. It ensures obedience."

You sighed softly, knowing well that your words often fell on deaf ears. Still, you persisted, driven by a conviction that even the smallest act of kindness could make a difference. "I understand your perspective, my lord, but sometimes even the harshest rulers find strength in showing compassion. It can—"

Before you could finish your thought, a sudden, sharp pain gripped your chest. You gasped, doubling over slightly, and a violent coughing fit overtook you. You struggled to steady yourself, but the force of it was too strong. Blood splattered onto the table, the vibrant red stark against the white of your kimono and the pale wood of the dining surface.

Your heart raced as you quickly wiped the blood away with your sleeve, hoping to hide the evidence of your distress. You tried to maintain your composure, but your hands were trembling as you looked up at Sukuna, who had gone still, his eyes fixed on the crimson stain.

For a moment, there was a silence so thick it felt like a physical presence. Ryomen Sukuna’s gaze was heavy and unyielding, his red eyes locked onto the blood that had marred the table and your attire. You could feel the weight of his scrutiny, his silence, a heavy burden that pressed down upon you.

"It's nothing, my lord." you said hurriedly, forcing a weak smile as you tried to brush off the incident. "Just a momentary lapse. Please, continue with your meal."

Sukuna’s expression was unreadable, his eyes narrowing slightly as he studied you. He did not speak, but there was a flicker of something in his gaze—perhaps surprise, or concern, or something deeper that he quickly masked.

You could feel the tension between you, an invisible thread connecting your quiet plea to his unspoken thoughts. It was clear that your condition had not gone unnoticed, even if he chose not to acknowledge it openly. You had always been a presence in his life, but tonight, the reality of your fragility seemed to cut through the usual indifference.

He took a deep breath, his gaze finally shifting away from you as he turned his attention back to his meal. The silence that followed was filled with the soft clinking of utensils and the low murmur of conversation from the servants who hovered at the edges of the room, their eyes darting to you with barely concealed concern.

You ate in silence, each bite of food tasting like ash in your mouth. The pain in your chest had subsided, but a deep weariness remained, a lingering reminder of your deteriorating health. You glanced at Sukuna from time to time, but he was absorbed in his meal, his expression unreadable.

The conversation you had tried to initiate was now buried beneath the weight of your illness, and you knew better than to press further. The battle for his leniency would have to wait for another day, another time when you were not so overshadowed by your own suffering.

As the meal drew to a close, you felt the oppressive silence settle around you once more. Sukuna’s gaze was distant, his thoughts seemingly occupied with matters beyond the confines of the dining room. You could only hope that, in some small way, your presence had made a difference, even if it was not the kind you had hoped for.

When the servants cleared away the dishes and the room began to empty, you excused yourself, retreating to your chamber with a heavy heart. You knew that your time here was growing shorter, that the end was approaching with each passing day. But for now, you would carry on, finding what small measure of peace you could in the fleeting moments you had left.

And as you lay down in your bed, staring up at the ceiling, you could not help but think of the blood you had tried to hide, of the way Sukuna’s eyes had lingered on it. You could only hope that someday, he might see you not as a mere shadow or a reminder of what he had lost, but as a person who had tried, in her own way, to make a difference in his world.

The next morning, you awoke to a disorienting cacophony of shouts and harsh reprimands. The once-familiar silence of your quarters was shattered by the sounds of chaos from the courtyard. Your heart sank as you stumbled out of bed, a sharp pain reminding you of the night before.

As you made your way through the hallways, the noise grew louder, mingling with the harsh, angry tones of Ryomen Sukuna’s voice. Your mind raced, dreading what you might find. You knew it already. You have seen it in the other households of the other concubines. And you can only know what had caused such a commotion. When you reached the courtyard, the scene before you was both startling and terrifying.

Your servants were gathered in the center of the courtyard, their faces pale with fear and their postures crumpled under the weight of Sukuna’s wrath. He stood at the center of the commotion, his expression thunderous as he raged at them. His anger was palpable, his words a relentless storm of fury directed at those who had failed to inform him of your condition.

Your breath caught in your throat, and without thinking, you stepped forward, your heart pounding in your chest. The courtyard fell into a stunned silence as Sukuna’s gaze shifted to you, his eyes dark with a mixture of surprise and irritation.

"My lord, please." you began, your voice trembling as you bowed deeply, your forehead nearly touching the ground. "This is my fault, not theirs. I beg for your forgiveness and mercy for my servants."

Sukuna’s eyes narrowed as he took in your contrite posture, his anger momentarily faltering. He regarded you with a mixture of disbelief and curiosity, his dark, unforgiving, gaze sharp as he assessed your sincerity.

"It was my decision to hide my illness, my lord." you continued, your voice barely more than a whisper. "I did not want to trouble you or cause unnecessary concern. Please, spare them your anger. They were only following my wishes."

Ryomen Sukuna remained silent for a moment, his anger still simmering beneath the surface. The servants, though still shaken, dared to lift their eyes to you, their expressions a blend of relief and apprehension.

Finally, Sukuna's gaze softened, a hint of resignation creeping into his expression. He took a deep breath, his anger dissipating as he looked at you with a new intensity. "You would take the blame for them?" he asked, his voice low and edged with incredulity.

You nodded, maintaining your bowed position. "Yes, my lord. It was my choice, my responsibility. I could not bear the thought of them being punished for my actions."

Sukuna’s expression hardened slightly, but the fury in his eyes had dimmed. After a moment of consideration, he gave a curt nod. "Very well. You will accept any punishment I shall put upon you.”

You swallowed the bile down your throat. “Yes, my lord.”

“Then I will call for healers. You will see them immediately." He says, as though it was the final verdict. “You will see them, all of them. Do you understand?”

“Yes…yes, my lord.” You whispered back to him.

He turned away from the servants, his gaze now fixed on you with an inscrutable intensity. "Go." he commanded, his tone leaving no room for argument. "See to your health, you foolish girl. Your servants too can go. They will tend to you, no matter what you ask.”

You straightened slowly, a mixture of relief and trepidation washing over you. You dared to look up at Sukuna, meeting his eyes briefly before turning to address the servants.

"Thank you, my lord." you said quietly, your voice filled with gratitude. "You have done nothing wrong. Please, return to your duties."

With a final, respectful bow, you turned and headed back toward your quarters with the help of your servants. As you entered your quarters, you felt like you had lived a thousand lifetimes in that one moment. Your servants were bowing at your feet, asking for your forgiveness. But you had all but shooed them away, telling them it was your duty as their master.

You wanted to be alone right now. At least when you still had the chance. When the healers arrive, you would have a life to yourself any longer. You would be stuck in their mercy, with their potions and their whims.

You must prepare yourself for the arrival of the healers. You groaned lowly as you clutch your chest, a wave of pain hitting one after the other. It will be over soon, that’s what you hoped. That’s what you want. You want to be free from this pain. You wanted nothing more than to be free.

══════════════════

THE PAIN WAS RELENTLESS. The days dragged on in a relentless cycle of pain and futile hope. Despite the best efforts of countless healers, none seemed able to bring you any real relief.

If anything, your condition worsened, each new treatment only seeming to accelerate your quick decline. Ryomen Sukuna’s frustration was palpable; his anger had become a regular presence, casting a long shadow over the already bleak atmosphere of the estate.

You had heard the whispers of the fate that befell each healer who failed to improve your condition. It was a grim reminder of Sukuna’s volatility, a dangerous mix of desperation and rage. The once-bustling quarters were now filled with an air of fearful tension as new healers arrived, only to face Sukuna’s wrath when their efforts proved ineffectual.

On one of the rare days when you felt well enough to leave your bed, you chose to sit by the garden. The fresh air and the sight of the vibrant blooms were a welcome distraction from the constant ache in your body. You had managed to position yourself on a stool under the gentle shade of a cherry tree, finding some small comfort in watching the birds flit about, their cheerful chirping a stark contrast to the turmoil that had become your life.

Sukuna appeared in the garden, his presence as imposing as ever. He walked with a deliberate pace, his gaze scanning the surroundings with an air of detached observation. As he neared, you looked up and greeted him with a smile, though the effort felt heavy, as if each movement was a strain against the burden of your illness.

“My lord.” you said softly, your voice barely more than a whisper. “The skies are beautiful today, aren’t they?”

Sukuna stopped, his eyes narrowing slightly as he took in your serene expression. The silence stretched between you, an unspoken tension that lingered like the heat of a summer day. He said nothing in response, his gaze fixed on you with an inscrutable intensity.

After a moment, he broke the silence. “How is it that you can accept death with such… calm?” His voice was low, edged with curiosity and something else you couldn’t quite place.

You blinked, taken aback by his question. A laugh escaped you, soft and brittle, more out of surprise than genuine amusement. “Accept death, my lord?” you repeated. “I haven’t accepted death, in truth. But there is no way to avoid it.”

Sukuna’s eyes remained on you, his expression unreadable as he listened. You continued, your voice tinged with a philosophical resignation. “Death will come for all of us, eventually. It’s a natural end to this life. We all must face it in our own time. In that way, we are all freed from the burdens of this world.”

He studied you with a mixture of skepticism and something akin to contemplation. “You speak as if it is an inevitability you embrace, little one.”

“Not embrace, my lord.” you corrected gently, sighing. “But acknowledge. It’s a part of life, as much as the beginning is. We can fight it or we can accept it, but it will come regardless.”

Sukuna’s gaze softened slightly, though his expression remained stoic. He seemed to be weighing your words, his usual fierceness replaced by an unusual quiet. “And you are not afraid, then?”

“Fear?” You tilted your head, considering the question. “I suppose I am afraid of the pain that might come before the end. But fear of death itself? Not so much. It’s merely another step in the journey, my lord. That is what I believe, at least.”

For a moment, there was a stillness between you, punctuated only by the distant chirping of birds. Sukuna’s eyes flickered to the sky, perhaps contemplating the vastness of existence you had spoken of. The anger that had once seemed so consuming in his presence now appeared subdued, replaced by a contemplative silence.

“I see.” he said finally, his tone carrying a trace of grudging respect. “Your words are… unusual.”

You smiled faintly, a tired but genuine expression. “Perhaps. But sometimes, facing the truth can be a way to find peace, my lord.”

Sukuna stood there for a while longer, his presence a dark silhouette against the backdrop of the garden’s tranquility. Finally, he gave a curt nod and turned to leave, his demeanor less harsh than before. The sound of his footsteps gradually faded as he walked away, leaving you alone once more with your thoughts and the gentle rustle of leaves in the breeze.

As you sat there, watching the birds and the shifting clouds, you felt a small measure of contentment. Sukuna’s visit had brought a moment of introspection, a reminder of the fragile balance between life and death. Even in your suffering, you found a semblance of peace, understanding that acceptance was not about surrendering to fate but about finding a way to live with it, even as the end loomed ever closer.

And just like that, the day you had dreaded finally arrived. And truly, you were left feeling an unbearable weakness that signaled the end was near. The once-familiar confines of your quarters now seemed like a distant world, and the pain of your illness was a constant, gnawing presence. Each breath was a struggle, each moment of consciousness a battle against the encroaching darkness.

To your surprise, your lord Sukuna appeared by your side as you lay on your bed, his imposing figure contrasting sharply with the fragility of your own condition. He had not been a part of your daily existence in the past weeks, his visits sporadic and his presence usually marked by anger and frustration. But now, he was here, seated beside you in a rare display of stillness.

You looked at him through the haze of pain and weakness, your voice a mere whisper. “My lord, it seems this is my time to part from you.”

Sukuna’s eyes were steady, his gaze betraying an emotion you could not fully decipher. “I know, little one.” he replied simply, his voice holding a note of finality.

A pained laugh escaped your lips, the sound mingling with a shuddering breath. “I only wish… I could avoid being reborn into such misery again. To be the other woman, to be nothing to you.”

Sukuna’s silence stretched between you, a weighty pause that seemed to deepen the divide between you. After a moment, he spoke, his voice low but firm. “You were something.”

You shook your head, the effort to move even slightly causing a fresh wave of agony. “You lie easily, as you breathe, my lord.” you said with a faint, sorrowful smile.

The silence that followed was heavy and palpable, filled with the unspoken complexities of your relationship. As you lay there, the end drawing closer with each passing moment, you found a strange clarity in the finality of your situation.

“I love you, my lord.” you said softly, the words carrying a weight that transcended the physical pain. “As sad as it is, I do. But I have no intention of having it returned. I hope that, in the next life, I never meet you again.”

Sukuna’s expression remained impassive, but there was a softness in his gaze that belied his usual stoic demeanor. As you took your final, labored breaths, his sigh was a mix of resignation and something deeper, something that spoke to the complexity of your intertwined fates.

“I hope so too, little one.” he said quietly, his voice carrying a rare touch of vulnerability.

With those words hanging in the air, you felt a sense of release, the weight of your suffering beginning to lift. As your consciousness faded and the pain finally ebbed away, you left behind the world that had been both your prison and your refuge. Ryomen Sukuna looked at your lifeless body, pursing his lips into a flat line.

“Live on in a better life, little one.” He whispered, his fingers brushing against your hair. “May you be loved by someone who loves you. May we never meet again, my other woman."

2K notes · View notes

pellucid-constellations · 4 months ago

Text

Trial and Error (6)

Pairing: Azriel x Reader

Summary: Based on the request: "Azriel with single mom reader? I feel like being a single mom in ACOTAR would be tricky as hell… reader comes from autumn court and flees to night court because she got pregnant out of marriage? 😯 the shame"

Word count: 2.4k

Warnings: Angst, brief mention of an abortion

a/n: guess what everyone here’s another chapter ahhh!!! Love you 🫶

Main Masterlist ♡

Your breath left you, lungs emptying of every comfort until they felt tight and constrained. You might have made a sound—might have gaped as Azriel’s eyes darted across every square inch of your face to gauge a reaction.

Mate.

Had he said—

“What?” you finally choked out.

Azriel shook his head with a pained furrow of his brow. “I didn’t want to tell you like this.” His hands steadied as they cradled your cheeks—stability in a time of utter confusion. “But I had to, y/n. You… I needed you to understand why I care so much. Why I want you to let me care. Why you…”

His words trailed off.

Something compelled you to reach up and wrap your fingers around his wrists. You stared into his eyes with nothing to offer him but the uncertainty and poorly disguised hope edging considerably closer to the surface.

“Why I what, Azriel?”

Azriel licked his lips before he spoke, mouth dry at the prospect of the conversation. “Why you can tell me. Everything. You can trust me with everything there is to know about you and Melanie. I wouldn’t—I would protect the both of you. Over anything.”

You felt a piece of you deflate. Azriel’s fingers slightly spasmed against your skin as your shoulders slumped.

“You can’t promise me that, Azriel,” you sullenly replied. “You work for the High Lord. You can’t promise me you would keep things from him for my benefit. I can’t trust that—”

“Y/n, you are my mate,” Azriel emphasized, eyes wide and pleading. “I know you can’t feel it yet within you but it has been carved into my chest from the moment we locked eyes. The way the bond pulls each time I see you—the way it screams at me to keep you safe. I can’t…”

His words broke off as he spoke them—cracked and fractured and desperate.

Azriel cleared his throat and started over.

“There are two things you should know. First, the High Lord and Lady—Rhysand and Feyre—they would never do anything to put you in danger.” You opened your mouth to argue, but Azriel gently spoke over the rebuttal. “They would never. They do not even know you but you are my mate. As an extension, you are their family. Whatever it is you are running from, they would go to lengths to run with you.”

“You can’t promise—”

“I can. And I am. Because the second thing you should know is that I have waited for my mate for centuries. I have dreamed of you and wanted you and I don’t know if that scares you but I hope it can be some consolation.”

The kitchen lulled into a silence punctuated by your heaving breaths, the unsteady sound countering Azriel’s flickering wings as he stood before you. You had no words for him, nothing to rectify the worried way he captured your gaze with his own.

Your instinct fought against everything he said.

To put all of your trust into Azriel—all of it. To make him an integral part of Melanie’s life, of yours.

Could you? Was being his mate enough? You didn’t feel the pull yet, the indescribable ache that caused the desperation on Azriel’s face.

“—and,” Azriel’s voice was low but startling as his eyes shifted to land on the wall behind your head. “It’s not just the bond. It’s you. I care about you, y/n. I care about Mel. I can’t go back to acting so casual about that. I want to be all in with two of you. My life has… it’s changed. It’s different now, because of you.”

He found your eyes again.

Something shifted in your chest, but it didn’t snap.

You wanted him to be all in, but something still needed to be aligned.

You had heard stories about mates in the past—about mates that had children before the bond had made itself known. The stories did not end well and they certainly did not match the pleading way Azriel held you or the hopeful pool of hazel that his eyes had dipped into.

“What about Melanie?” you whispered, squeezing his wrist with your fingers because although he had included her in all of his pinings, you needed to hear him say it.

Azriel adjusted his stance and blinked at you as if you were speaking another language. “What about Melanie, angel?”

His soft-spoken endearment was like a punch to the gut. “W-Would you love her the same? Even though she isn’t yours? I’ve heard what can happen with—”

“I don’t care about that—I’ve never cared. I can’t imagine looking at her and not loving her, y/n. She is so much of you.”

A loaded breath left you as you leaned forward and rested your forehead on Azriel’s collar. You were still sick, still exhausted, and this overwhelming display of affection and devotion was filling you more than you thought you could handle. You released your hold on his wrists to bunch your fists into the front of his shirt. Azriel acted instantly, one hand coming to the back of your head while the other rested along your back.

“I want to trust you,” you promised. “I do. It just might take time. I can’t—I don’t think I can tell you yet. I don’t know why, I just—”

“I know, y/n. You don’t have to tell me. Just… just let me in. Let me be here.”

The rest of the day moved slowly.

Azriel stayed.

When Melanie woke up from her nap, a walk was introduced, Azriel proclaiming that the group had spent entirely too much time inside and fresh air was needed to fight the remaining sickness. That suggestion was met with a raised brow from Melanie who argued that sleep was supposed to be what made us better, Mr. Azriel. Why do you keep changing it?

You had watched the interaction with new eyes; the way she squinted up at him with a skeptical gaze and the way he stared down at her with a smile so wide it looked as if it hurt. Did he smile that broadly all the time? You hardly saw him in any public context, so it was difficult to know.

You doubted he did.

He smiled at you the same way when you teased him for Melanie’s benefit.

The walk was soothing and beautiful and Azriel had wrapped two scarves around Melanie’s neck before he let her get out the door. She had huffed and pointed at his own neck, frustrated that he wasn’t wearing a scarf, but his shadows answered for him as they whisked around Melanie’s eyes and turned her around.

As she giggled, Azriel shrugged a jacket over your shoulders.

“It’s not that cold, you know,” you commented later as footsteps echoed along cobblestone. “I don’t know if she needed both scarves.”

“Can’t be too careful. Wouldn’t want her to get more sick.”

“We aren’t that kind of sick, Az.”

“I know.” He tore his gaze from Melanie and directed it towards you. “But I can’t do anything about Autumn fever. I can, however, make sure the two of you don’t catch a cold.”

You pressed your lips inwards and breathed through the fluttering in your chest as he looked upon you. His gaze was unabashedly admiring and you couldn’t remember if he’d looked at you like that before he’d told you you were mates, or if he had been holding himself back before.

“I am from the Autumn Court,” you thought to say, if only to quell some of the strange feeling in your chest. “Although, you already knew that. Your healer kind of gave it away.”

“You don’t have to—”

“I want to,” you interrupted. You looked out towards Melanie as you skirted along the Sidra, your daughter kneeling by the shore to look in at the fish. “Maybe not all of it at once. But for now, I’m from the Autumn Court. I came to Velaris when I found out I was pregnant.”

You shoved your hands into the pocket of the jacket Azriel had placed on your shoulders. You realized it wasn’t yours when your knuckles swam in the space. And the scent of night-kissed air delicately wafted up.

Azriel said nothing as you collected your thoughts. He simply watched Melanie giggle and dip her fingers in the water.

“Um, I came under duress, obviously. The circumstances of my pregnancy weren’t exactly optimal and there were several people that would have been… more than upset that I was pregnant.”

“What does that mean—upset?”

“Several things. They could have taken Melanie from me, made me end the pregnancy when I didn’t want to, sent me into hiding for shame. I didn’t stick around to find out which horror-fueled thought would come to fruition.”

“Is that who you’re running from?”

You tilted your head to the side as a light breeze swept past your skin. Azriel was already looking at you with an intensity that felt out of place compared to the joyful laughs that flowed from the child by the water. But that was good, you reminded yourself, you were keeping her away from all of these harsh realities for as long as possible.

“Yes.”

“Can I ask—”

“No.” You were quick to cut him off. Your tone wasn’t mean or harsh; it was exhausted. “You can't ask who or why—not yet. I haven’t actually said any of those names aloud since I left. That part might… take me a while.”

“That’s okay,” Azriel softly reassured. He took a half step towards you, hesitated, but then fought against that and wrapped an arm around your shoulders, tugging you into his chest. “I just need to know what I’m up against. If you think they know where you are or if they’re still looking for you.”

Melanie had begun throwing rocks into the Sidra, the sound of the stones plopping into the water mingling with silence and birds chirping.

“I don’t think they know where I am,” you mumbled into his chest. It was so easy to stay there. “But I think they’re still looking. I don’t think they’ll stop.”

You felt Azriel’s lips press against the crown of your head. His chin found a home there as you both shifted to watch Melanie.

“Okay. Okay, that’s fine.”

“Is it? You didn’t exactly sign up for this.”

“I signed up for you. Whatever that entails.”

A calm silence washed over the scene by the Sidra. Azriel brought his other arm around to hold you closer to his chest and you let him, seamlessly sinking into his hold. Melanie was none the wiser to the conversations behind her as she began dropping sticks and leaves into the water.

Azriel kissed your hair once more.

“It could be safer—“ Azriel began, words laced with reproach. “—if some of the Inner Circle were involved.”

You wrenched yourself back as quickly as the words left his mouth. “No,” you shook your head vigorously. It made an ache bloom at the base of your neck. “No, no court involvement. You can’t tell them anything. You can’t, Azriel. I know you said it was safe but you don’t understand. This can’t have anything to do with High Lords or court politics or, or—”

“Okay, okay—hey, I’m sorry. Come here.”

The panic had taken hold of your bearings and inched close to your heart. You reached up to place a hand against the pressure there as Azriel tugged you back against his body and glanced toward Melanie to ensure she hadn’t picked up on your stress.

“I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking,” he comforted, running his hand down your hair. “Nothing with the court, okay? I won’t tell any of them.”

“Do you promise?” you all but whimpered. A tinge of embarrassment seeped under your skin at your actualized panic, but the fear took precedence and Azriel showed no repugnance at your reaction.

For a brief, fleeting moment, you considered that a promise didn’t really mean anything at all—not before.

But, from Azriel, it felt like something.

“I promise.”

A small voice then sounded, facilitating the natural end to the sharing you had offered. “All of the fishies are gone.”

Azriel didn’t even attempt to move you away from his chest as he spoke, his words creating vibrations along your body. “That’s because you keep throwing things at them, Mel.”

“I wasn’t throwing things at them. I was trying to offer those things to them.”

You turned to speak to your daughter, Azriel’s arms unmoving around you. “Why were you offering things to the fish?”

“Just in case they’re water gods. Ms. Fern tolds us about them in school. If you make them offerings then they protect you.”

Your laugh was echoed by Azriel. The two of you shared a smile before you slowly unraveled yourself from him and beckoned your daughter forward. “Well, I’m sure they were very grateful for your offering. It was probably just their bedtime. Just like it’s almost yours.”

Melanie made a face but didn’t argue, instead taking steps past you to stand at Azriel’s feet. “Mr. Azriel, is it my turn to cuddle? I don’t want to walk all the way home.”

You watched Azriel’s mouth twist into a small smile that was obviously in place of a much larger one. He looked over Melanie’s head to send you a wordless question that you were quick to nod in response to.

As if you would tell him no.

Azriel reached down to haul your daughter up, settling her against his hip as if he’d done so a hundred times. Melanie rested her head on his chest almost as quickly as he’d grabbed for her, fiddling with a stick she still held in her grasp. You made to walk alongside them and calm your pattering heart, but certain people had other plans.

“You too, mommy,” Melanie called, peaking the side of her face out from Azriel’s chest.

“Me too?”

“Uh huh. You come too. Mr. Azriel has two arms. And I can hold your hand.”

You sent a knowing glance up to Azriel, but he forwent the snickering and already had his arm open by the time you looked. “In,” he prompted with raised brows. “And you have a hand to hold.”

#azriel x reader #azriel x female!reader #azriel x you #azriel shadowsinger #azriel spymaster #azriel acotar #azriel fanfic #azriel fanfiction #acotar fanfiction #azriel fluff #trial and error

1K notes · View notes

gremlingottoosilly · 5 months ago

Note

Slasher!König with a reader who is scared of pain so she cries, begs and does everything he wants to not be slapped, have broken bones or be starved or chained. Max "defiance" she does is begging him to prep her so it won't hurt or to not take him all the way to the base so she won't gag. Otherwise she cooks, kisses him and doesn't even run away when the doors are open. Too terrified.

Konig wasn't aware he picked up a whiny kitten during his last hunt, but he won't look a gifted horse in the teeth. Usually, he opts for someone with more fire, a bit of fight in them. However, after his last "wife" - a pretty Scottish guy who definitely served in the military and almost tore his throat open after Konig sliced his boyfriend to shreds - he understood the appeal of having a wifey so utterly terrified of you. It might not be for everyone, but it's definitely for him at the moment...besides, your crying is cute. Kinda. Makes his cock hard and ready for action, even though his abandoned and forgotten moral sense was trying to spring back to life again. You beg him to be gentle, and so he raids the next city over for lube. He usually doesn't care much for the comfort of his victims - if anything, it's a bit amusing, seeing them struggling to take his cock in - but he wants you to last. Konig is way too curious about hearing your moans and comparing them to the little whimpers of pain you exhale whenever he is, as much as tugs on your hair a bit. You're a soft, gentle creature, and he is all made of rough actions and awkward moves. Still a perfect fucking match. He was chaining you down the first few weeks until your muffled cries from the basement started bothering him a bit too much. You're better than the other pets and wives he was taking before - so you deserve the special privilege of only wearing a collar. Not even a branding mark - as soon as he got the hot iron brand out, you started sobbing and reaching to suck him off until he abandoned any idea of torture...honestly, he kinda liked it. Adored it. He knows he is being blatantly manipulated through his hug dumb cock, and he doesn't care - as long as you're being compliant and soft, it's all he needs. Waking up to a pretty lady cooking him breakfast isn't something he thought he'd ever have with one of his pretty kidnapped wives - but here he is, rolling from the bed and not even bothering with the mask. if he is lucky and you're in a particularly scared mood, he could snatch a peck on the cheek over a promise of not fucking your ass raw right on the kitchen counter. Might even get a cute little' kiss if you're desperate enough and want to convince him you don't deserve to die this day. You still don't understand that he forgot about the desire to kill you a while ago - and you still don't understand that no matter what you're doing, he won't hurt you beyond spanking you or tugging on your hair like an unruly puppy you are.

#cod #konig x reader #konig #yandere konig #cod x reader #yandere cod #slasher!konig #slasher

2K notes · View notes

stephanythedramaqueen · 5 months ago

Text

Osha is so full of rage and anguish (love to see it) that what she needs is her balance. Someone who understands her pain yet doesn’t diminish it. Who doesn’t fight her fire with fire. Her calm, her comfort. Someone who doesn’t add even more anger to her space.

This is why I love this moment so much

The way he didn’t start to argue with her or yell at her for her to turn his side of the comms back on. He was clearly annoyed, but he let her be and allowed her her peace. She didn’t want to hear him yap? Fine, whatever you say beautiful

What a king.

#once again I’m saying if you look up the definition of being horrendously down bad you see a picture of Qimir holding up a picture of Osha #oshamir #the acolyte #osha x qimir

2K notes · View notes

maxtermind · 9 months ago

Note

absolutely loved ‘baby, would i still be your lover’, everyone single one got me in my feels! i was wondering would you consider doing a part 2? whether it ends in angst or fluff

I'll tell you the truth, but never goodbye

★ : summary :: when he accidentally insults you during an argument- aftermath ★ : feat :: max verstappen, lewis hamilton, carlos sainz, charles leclerc, lando norris ★ : genre :: hurt/comfort, hints of angst ★ : word count :: 4.3k ★ : a/n :: thank you so much for the love on part 1 💓 some of these have open ending so you can pick whether you'd like to forgive them or not as a reader!! feedback is appreciated :)

( part 1 )

Max Verstappen

You sighed as you sat down to have your morning tea as usual, trying to pretend that nothing was wrong. As if you hadn't spent all night long getting your phone spammed with calls that you were ignoring.

After mindlessly roaming around for a bit, you eventually decided to crash at your best friend’s place. You lazily waved at her as she frantically got ready to leave for work. However, you were on your tiptoe as soon as the door opened.

A body that was possibly sleeping while leaning against the door fell inside and you heard curses that you were quite too familiar with. Your heart clenched at the sight of your boyfriend - or perhaps now, your ex-boyfriend - on his knees, nursing the wound on his head. The ache of seeing him in pain reignited the anguish you thought you had left behind.

“Okay,” you heard your friend murmur. “I'm gonna let you guys get to it.” She was out the door a second later.

You looked at the closed door instead of the man who was desperately trying to make eye contact with you.

“How long have you…” You trailed off before deciding that you didn't want to know.

“As soon as you turned your phone off, Y/N! I've been here since last night.” "Why?" you choked out, the words barely escaping your lips as tears threatened to overflow. His brows furrowed before he ran his hands over his face and got up to sit right next to you. You saw his hand itching toward yours and instinctively pulled it towards your body. "Because I needed to see you in person, to talk." He took another deep breath and you later realized that he was trying to stop himself from crying. “I realize I messed up, baby. I.. I never should have let you walk out.” But his attempt to mend the shattered pieces of your relationship only served to reopen the wounds, your walls instinctively rising in defense,"Talk? You think a talk is going to fix everything?" Max's eyes were filled with a mix of regret and desperation as he reached out for your hand, his fingers trembling slightly. "No, I don't think a talk will magically fix everything," he admitted, his voice raw with emotion.

"But it's a start. I need you to know that I'm truly sorry for what happened. I hate myself for hurting you, for making you doubt how much you mean to me."

You couldn't bring yourself to meet his gaze, the pain of the previous night still too fresh in your mind.

“How can I trust you again, Max? How can I be sure that this won't happen again?" Your voice was barely a whisper, filled with the ache of betrayal.

Max's grip on your hand tightened, his eyes pleading for understanding. "I know I've messed up, Y/N. But I'm willing to do whatever it takes to earn back your trust. I'll work on my temper, I’ll be better to you, I'll do anything you ask of me. I just need you to give me another chance." “You know you’ve always been the best to me, right? I just can’t believe that instead of talking it out yesterday, you straight up skipped to breaking up wit-” Fresh tears started falling down your cheeks. Max immediately leaned forward to hold you in his arms and you let him because you needed him. But how could you trust him again? How could you be sure that history wouldn't repeat itself? That he won’t throw away your whole relationship just because the anger got a hold of him? As Max held you close, you felt a wave of conflicting emotions wash over you. Part of you wanted to push him away, to scream and shout at him for causing you so much pain. But another part of you craved his warmth, his touch, his presence.

"I'm sorry, Y/N," Max whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "I know I messed up, and I hate myself for it. I never meant to hurt you, I swear."

You buried your face in his chest, the tears soaking through his shirt as you struggled to make sense of your feelings.

“I just don't know if I can do this anymore, Max," you admitted, your voice muffled against him. Max tightened his embrace, his arms wrapping around you protectively. "I understand," he murmured, his voice gentle. His admission eased your thumping heart a bit, you were glad to have him back. The storm within you finding a momentary calm.

"I made you feel like our relationship was disposable, like breaking up was no big deal. But that couldn't be further from the truth. You're the most important person in my life, baby and the thought of losing you terrifies me. I'll do whatever it takes to make things right between us, to show you just how much you mean to me. I'll do whatever it takes to earn back your trust if you still want me."

Lewis Hamilton

The weight of Lewis's words hung heavy in the air, suffocating you as you retreated into the sanctuary of your bedroom. Tears streamed down your cheeks unchecked, your heart aching with a pain you couldn't quite comprehend. How had a day that started with such a promise turned into this? You buried your face in your hands, the sting of Lewis's words feeling like acid running through your veins.

Outside the door, the silence was deafening, broken only by the muffled sound of your sobs. Lewis stood frozen in place, his mind racing as he replayed the exchange in his head.

He couldn't believe the words that had escaped his lips, couldn't fathom how he had allowed his frustration to morph into such hurtful remarks.

Minutes stretched into eternity as Lewis grappled with the weight of his actions, the gravity of his words settling like a lead weight in his chest.

He wanted to reach out to you, to apologize and make things right, but his feet remained rooted to the spot, paralyzed by the magnitude of his mistake.

Inside the bedroom, you were consumed by a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. Anger, hurt, betrayal - they all swirled together into an ugly monster, threatening to engulf you whole.

How could the man you loved, the man who had always been your rock, turn on you with such venom?

But beneath the anger and hurt, there was a flicker of doubt, a gnawing fear that maybe Lewis's words held a grain of truth. Maybe you were too insecure, too needy, too demanding. Maybe you were asking for too much, expecting him to be there for you when he had his own priorities and responsibilities. Maybe-

The sound of a soft knock on the door snapped you out of your thoughts, and you looked up to see Lewis standing there, his expression wrought with regret and guilt. For a moment, neither of you spoke, the weight of the unspoken apology hanging heavy in the air. Looking at him distraught made your chest feel worse. How could he make you feel ten fold worse than this and not feel a thing?

"I'm sorry," Lewis finally whispered, his voice barely audible. "I didn't mean what I said. I was out of line, and I know I hurt you. Please, let me make it right." He rushed through the words.

His words pierced through the haze of your pain, and you felt a bit of heaviness leaving your body. He crossed the room in a few strides, dropping to his knees in front of you, his eyes pleading for forgiveness.

"I don't know what came over me," he admitted, his voice thick with emotion before your boyfriend took your hand away from your face and kissed your cheeks. "I was so caught up in my own frustrations that I lashed out at you, and I hate myself for it. You don't deserve to be treated that way, especially not by me."

You studied his face, searching for any sign of insincerity, but all you saw was genuine remorse and regret. And despite the pain still raw in your chest, you couldn't deny the love you felt for him, the longing to mend what had been broken between you. “You hurt me,” you whispered but didn’t push him away as he laid down with you, holding you close to his chest. Some of your resolve wavering when you felt his fast heartbeat. “I wanted you there so much.” He nodded as he shushed you, his own eyes dropping tears. “I’m so so sorry, baby. I can't even begin to express how deeply I regret the way I acted the whole day, I know you deserve so much more but-” You shifted slightly, knowing all that you wanted right now was comfort, you didn't want to forgive him or minimize the weight of his actions. "I don't know if I can right now," you replied, your voice trembling with the weight of your emotions.

Lewis's eyes brimmed with tears as he whispered, "Please don't shut me out. I can't bear the thought of losing you."

You felt a pang of guilt at the pain evident in his voice. "I just need some time to process everything," you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper.

"I understand," Lewis replied, his tone filled with sorrow. "But please know that I'm here whenever you're ready to talk."

You nodded, silently acknowledging his words as you allowed yourself to be enveloped in his comforting embrace.

"I promise to make it up to you," Lewis vowed earnestly, his voice laced with determination. "I'll do whatever it takes to earn back your trust."

"I want to believe you," you admitted quietly, your heart heavy with uncertainty. Everything was a little too raw right now and your emotions were all over the place.

"I'll spend every moment proving it to you," Lewis declared, his eyes locking with yours in a silent vow.

“I was thoughtless and cruel today, and I never should have let those words leave my lips. You are not insecure, you are strong and resilient, baby. You deserve so much better than the hurtful words I spoke. Please know that I can’t lose you, Y/N. I will work tirelessly to regain your trust and rebuild what I have so carelessly shattered. You mean the world to me, and I will spend every moment striving to be worthy of your love.”

Carlos Sainz

As you sat nervously in your childhood home, the familiar sights and sounds providing little comfort, your mind raced with thoughts of disappointment and hurt.

For the third time, Carlos had failed to join you in meeting your parents, leaving you to face their questioning looks and unspoken concerns alone. You had rehearsed what you would say to them, how you would explain his absence, but each time, the words caught in your throat, choked by a mixture of frustration and sadness. For the past few days since you walked out of your apartment, you had been ignoring Carlos’ attempts to reconcile with you. The calls and texts he spammed you with were ignored and curses left your mouth as soon as your mind went back to the day of the argument, bringing unwanted tears to your eyes.

In the passing, you saw a Ferrari conference being conducted and as much as you wanted to reach out and talk it out with him, your heart did flips that you were sure you should have visited a doctor for.

Your parents, ever perceptive, noticed your unease as you fidgeted with the napkin in your lap, casting worried glances in your direction. You tried to muster a reassuring smile, but it faltered, betraying the turmoil within you.

How could you explain to them that the man you loved couldn't find the time to meet them, despite his promises and assurances? "What's wrong, sweetie?" your mom asked, concern evident in her voice.

You sighed, hesitating for a moment before replying, "It's Carlos... He like…"

Your dad's brow furrowed. "Is everything okay?"

You tried to muster a reassuring smile. "Yeah, he said that he got caught up with work. You know how busy he is with his racing and all..." Your dad’s brows furrowed when you trailed off, about to ask you what exactly you meant but just as you were steeling yourself to broach the subject, the doorbell rang, startling you from your thoughts.

Your heart sank as you realized it was likely a neighbor stopping by to meet you since you don’t visit that often, you stood up to go greet them. But then, to your disbelief, you heard his voice drifting through the door, before you saw your boyfriend standing right behind it. Your head titled in confusion and you drew a breath that took most of the stress from the previous days away from your body.

"Sorry I'm late," he said, his tone apologetic yet determined. Carlos took your hand and kissed it lightly,"Traffic was a nightmare." “What about the conference that you-” “You’re the most important person in my life, Y/N.” He cut you off before pulling you in and walking to the dining room that was in his vision. As if that was the answer to your question.

You turned to face him, your eyes wide with surprise and a flicker of hope. There he was, looking slightly disheveled but undeniably earnest, his gaze that locked on yours was as if it was seeking forgiveness. You could see the sincerity in his eyes, the regret etched in the lines of his face.

Your parents exchanged a glance, their expressions softening as they took in the sight of Carlos standing before them.

Despite their reservations about his repeated absences, they couldn't deny the genuine affection that Carlos held in his eyes when he looked at you.

Before you could find the words to respond, Carlos took a step forward, his hand reaching out tentatively. "I'm really sorry, both of you," he said, addressing your parents directly.

"I know how important this is to you, and I should have made more of an effort to be here on time."

His words hung in the air, a silent acknowledgment of his shortcomings and a pledge to do better. You felt a surge of emotion welling up inside you, a mixture of relief, gratitude, and a glimmer of renewed faith in your relationship. "Well, we're just glad you could make it," your dad said, offering Carlos a handshake.

"Thank you for coming, Carlos," your mother said, her voice warm yet cautious. "We understand that life gets busy, but it's important to make time for the people who matter most."

Carlos nodded, his expression earnest as he met her gaze. "I couldn't agree more. Family means putting in effort, I promise to make it up to all of you."

As you sat down to dinner, the atmosphere was tinged with a sense of reconciliation and hope. Your hand still intertwined with his as you saw him charm your family. Despite the rocky start, Carlos's presence brought a newfound sense of unity and understanding to the table. And as you shared stories and laughter, you couldn't help but feel grateful for the opportunity to mend what had seemed irreparably broken.

In that moment, you realized that love wasn't just about grand gestures or sweeping declarations—it was about the everyday moments of connection and compromise, the willingness to forgive and grow together.

And as you looked at Carlos, his eyes filled with determination and affection, you knew that no matter what challenges lay ahead, you would face them together, hand in hand.

Charles Leclerc

Charles had apologized right after he had said those words and though you had both fallen back into routine, the underlying bitterness and resentment was still present. You weren’t the one initiating any kind of affection from your side and every time Charles was initiating anything, you half assed your way out of it. Was it childish? Probably. But you were still not comfortable with how easily you had forgiven Charles, burying your hurt just to avoid conflict once again despite knowing deep down that he has hurt you probably more than anyone else ever has. These thoughts were running through your head as you sat beside Charles, your heart still heavy with the weight, you couldn't shake the feeling of unease that lingered in the air. Especially because Charles seemed distant, his mind preoccupied with thoughts, that you couldn't help but wonder what exactly they were. Why had he even asked to go on a date today? To break up with you? Suddenly, Pippa appeared, her presence causing the knot to form in your stomach to get tighter. She approached with a confident stride, a charming smile gracing her lips as she greeted Charles with a hug.

"Hey, Charlie!" Pippa exclaimed, her eyes flickering briefly in your direction before returning to Charles. "Long time no see!"

Charles returned her hug, though his embrace seemed somewhat forced. "Hey, Pippa. Yeah, it's been a while."

You observed their interaction closely, your unease growing with each passing moment. Pippa's presence always seemed to unsettle you, and you couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to their friendship than met the eye. Was he gonna break up with you in public and confess his years long feelings for Pippa? Charles glanced at you, his expression softening as he reached for your hand, intertwining his fingers with yours. "I was just out with Y/N today."

You couldn't help but feel a rush of warmth at his actions, his affectionate gesture soothing some of the tension that had been building between you.

"Nice to meet you, Y/N," Pippa said, offering you a friendly smile. "Sorry I didn’t see you next to Charlie."

You returned her smile, though it didn't quite reach your eyes and managed to reply without gagging. "Nice to meet you, Pippa." Charles tightened his grip on your hand, silently reassuring you of his presence and support. "We were just grabbing a coffee," he explained, his gaze flickering between you and Pippa. "Care to join us?"

Pippa hesitated for a moment, her eyes narrowing slightly as she glanced at you before turning back to Charles. "Actually, I was hoping we could catch up alone, if that's okay."

You felt a pang of anxiety at her words, a sense of foreboding settling in the pit of your stomach. Despite your reservations, you nodded, forcing a smile as you released Charles's hand. It was better to walk away yourself than to have Charles dismiss you.

"Of course," you said, though your voice sounded strained even to your own ears. "I'll wait for you outside."

Charles shot you an alarmed look as you stood up,”I’ll see you in a few.” Charles’ hand lingered on yours for a moment longer before you reluctantly let go and made your way to the door.

You leaned against your car and enjoyed the wind for a second. You couldn’t help but catch a glimpse of the exchange between your boyfriend and his best friend sitting inside.

You were half scared to find them kissing or something but, instead a sense of confusion washed over you as you watched the way Pippa was angrily point a finger at Charles and scream at him.

It was a second later when she stormed out before making her way towards you.

"Is he doing this because of you?!" Pippa's accusatory tone sent a shiver down your spine, her words hitting too close to home.

Before you could even process what was happening, Charles emerged from the cafe, his expression determined as he approached you and Pippa.

"Go home, Pippa," he said firmly, his voice leaving no room for argument as he intertwined his hand with yours.

Pippa's eyes blazed with anger, her fists clenched at her sides as she glared at Charles. "You will regret this, Charles!" she spat before storming off, leaving you both standing there in stunned silence.

Once Pippa was out of sight, you turned to Charles, your heart pounding in your chest. "What was that all about?" you asked, your voice trembling slightly.

Charles sighed, running a hand through his hair as he looked at you with apologetic eyes. "I'm sorry you had to witness that, Y/N. Pippa has been... difficult lately."

You frowned, your mind reeling with confusion and frustration. "Difficult how?"

Charles hesitated for a moment, his gaze searching yours as if trying to find the right words. "She's been pushing boundaries, trying to come between us. But I won't let her."

"Hey," he continued, taking your hand in his. "I told Pippa that I wouldn't be spending time with her alone anymore. If she can't accept you, then it's better for us to not be friends at all."

You blinked in surprise, a rush of gratitude flooding through you at his words. "Really?"

Charles nodded, squeezing your hand gently. "Really. You're the most important person in my life, and I won't let anyone come between us."

Tears welled up in your eyes as you wrapped your arms around him, holding him close. "Thank you, Charles. I appreciate you standing up for us."

He smiled softly, squeezing your hand reassuringly. "I'll always stand up for us, Y/N. You mean everything to me."

Tears welled up in your eyes as you threw your arms around him, holding him close. Despite the lingering bitterness and resentment, you couldn't deny the overwhelming love you felt for him in that moment.

Lando Norris

As you stepped out of the taxi, the cool night air enveloped you, offering a moment of respite from the whirlwind of emotions that had engulfed you throughout the evening.

Your heart still felt heavy with the weight of Lando's hurtful words, but beneath the pain, a numbness resided- knowing deep down that you might’ve just broken up with your boyfriend.

Before you could take another step, you heard the sound of hurried footsteps approaching from behind. Turning around, you saw Lando rushing towards you, his eyes filled with remorse and his expression wrought with sorrow. Your hand instinctively went to your chest, trying to calm the rapid beating of your heart.

"Y/N, please wait," he called out, his voice pleading as he reached your side, breathless from his haste.

You pulled your face to meet his eyes, uncertainty and wariness etched into your features as you met his gaze. Part of you yearned to turn away, to shield yourself from the pain of his words, but another part couldn't help but hope that maybe, just maybe, he was sincere in his apology.

"Lando," you said softly, your voice tinged with a mixture of hurt and apprehension. You wanted to say more but the damn ball in your throat stopped you doing so.

He took a deep breath, his eyes never leaving yours as he searched for the right words to express the depth of his regret. "I know I messed up, Y/N. I hurt you, and I can't even begin to tell you how sorry I am for that."

His words washed over you like a soothing balm, offering a sliver of comfort. But still, you couldn't bring yourself to let go of the hurt that lingered in your heart.

"I should have been there for you tonight, supporting you and showing you how much you mean to me," Lando continued, his voice filled with genuine remorse. "Instead, I let my own selfishness and insecurities get in the way, and for that, I am truly sorry."

Tears welled up in your eyes as you listened to him, the sincerity in his voice echoing the ache in your own heart. You were sure you’ll regret letting go of this amazing relationship without at least attempting to work on it.

Despite the pain he had caused you, you couldn't help but feel a glimmer of hope that maybe, just maybe, there was still a chance to rebuild what had been broken.

"I don't expect you to forgive me right away, Y/N," Lando said softly, his hands shaking and showcasing the intensity of his vulnerability.

"I know I have a lot of work to do to earn back your trust and your love. But please, just give me a chance to make things right. I promise to do whatever it takes to show you how much you mean to me, every single day for the rest of my life."

His words hung in the air, heavy with sincerity and remorse, leaving you torn between the desire to hold onto the pain of the past and the hope for a brighter future. As you gazed into his eyes, searching for any hint of insincerity or deceit, all you found was raw honesty and unwavering devotion.

With a heavy heart and a flicker of hope, you reached out to take his hand, intertwining your fingers with his. "I don't know if I'm ready to forgive you just yet, Lando," you whispered, your voice trembling with uncertainty.

Lando takes a step closer, gently cupping your face in his hands. "I'll spend every moment proving I'm worthy of your love, Y/N. Let me show you how much you mean to me, starting from this moment. I'll do whatever it takes to earn back your trust, even if it means giving you the space you need. Just know that I'm here for you, whenever you're ready."

( writing masterlist \ main masterlist \ drop a request ) ©maxtermind // do not copy, rewrite or translate any of my work on any platforms.

2K notes · View notes

maidragoste · 6 months ago

Text

Something wrong with me

Jacaerys Velaryon x Wife!Reader

Summary: Jacaerys comforts his wife after she tells him her worries.

I hope you have a good read. If you like it, don't hesitate to like, comment and reblog. These three things serve to motivate the writer to continue writing 🥰💖

My inbox is open if you want to make any requests or share any headcanon.

Disclaimer: English is not my first language so I apologize for any mistakes.

Something had happened. Jacaerys had no idea what she was but she knew something had happened because today you seemed distracted all day and during dinner, you barely spoke and you didn't eat much either so your husband was worried. First, he waited to see if you would tell him what the reason for your distress was, but now that you were both alone and in the shelter of his bed, your head on his chest and his arms hugging you, even so, you still didn't seem to dare to tell him so. He decided to ask you directly.

“Today I noticed you were distracted, my lady,” he said as he caressed your waist with one of his hands. “Do you want to tell me what is worrying you? That might make you feel better” he asked softly making you look at him.

“I'm bleeding,” you noticed the panic in your husband's eyes so you hurried to clarify. I mean my moon blood” You felt his body relax again.

Jacaerys thought about getting up and asking the maester to bring you some tea to alleviate any discomfort you had but when he was about to ask you to please move so he was going to look for the maester you surprised him by talking again.

“Are you disappointed?” You asked, abandoning the warmth of his chest to get a good look at his reaction, not wanting to miss any small-expression or movement. But your husband didn't look angry or sad but rather he seemed confused.

“Why would I be disappointed?” he asked, feeling lost. You hadn't done anything to make him or his family feel bad nor had you broken your marriage vows so he didn't understand how you could have let him down.

“Because I'm not pregnant!” you responded with obvious frustration and eyes full of unshed tears. You looked away and sat down feeling ashamed of yourself, for having lost your temper and especially for not fulfilling your duties. “And there's obviously something wrong with me,” you said, finally saying out loud what you had been thinking all day since you saw your red-stained clothes.

You hid your face in your hands, not wanting the prince to see that you were starting to cry. Barely a few seconds passed when Jacaerys was in front of you, gently removing your hands from your face. He felt pain in his heart when he saw your beautiful eyes full of sadness and tears rolling down your cheeks.

“Hey, don't talk about yourself like that. There is nothing wrong with you, my sweet wife. Your value is above the children you can give me” he said while carefully wiping away the tears. “You are more important than that, you are the one who gives me love and joy every day” he gently takes your face before kissing you on your forehead, his lips soon land on the tip of your nose and then on your cheeks, he begins to spread kisses all over your face until finally the tears stop and a smile forms on your lips and Jace finally kisses you like a husband should kiss a wife. You feel like you are melting from the sweetness of his kiss and from all the love he transmits to you. You feel so lucky to be his wife. He is so kind, sweet, and attentive to you. And you just want to make him as happy as he makes you feel every day. That's why you're so angry and disappointed in yourself for having your moon blood again.

Somehow Jacaerys must feel that your thoughts are turning dark again because he stops kissing you to calm your fears.

“Now, my sweet wife, I don't want to invalidate your concerns but we have only been married for a few moons so I think it is normal that you are not pregnant yet,” he said as he caressed your cheek. You still didn't seem to be completely calm so he hastened to add. "But if in a few moons, you are still not pregnant and you are still worried about it, we can go talk to my mother or the maester. I'm sure they will be willing to help us."

Jacaerys hoped that the two of you wouldn't have to have that uncomfortable conversation with the maester but for you, he was willing to do anything. He just wanted you to stop worrying.

“To be honest, it doesn't bother me that it's just the two of us for now. “I would like to have you a little more to myself,” he declared shamelessly, making you laugh before rushing you to kiss him again.

Taglist: @chaotic-fangirl-blog @venus-flytrap3 @ajordan2020 @iloveallmyboys @sweethoneyblossom1 @fudge13 @crystal-faith @tita004 @ichanelvxgue @snowprincesa1 @joyouart @rosey1981 @alastorhazbin @papichulo120627 @apollonshootafar @jasminecosmic99 @partypoison00 @labellapeaky @rebelliuna @bxdbxtxh15 @impartinghades @thegirlnextdoorssister @angeliod @snh96 @aleemendoza2425-blog @natashaobo @watercolorskyy @nyenye @savagemickey03 @kishie8 @ewwwitsel @arabis-world @missusnora @nzygftoji @alisoncdariel @cookielovesbook-akie @partnerincrime0 @klara-lily @427120lxld @justhereiguess2 @buckylahey @wa801 @artistadistrada2002 @thelastemzy @justanotherkpopstanlol @yn-jackson @pictureofcaroline

hotd masterlist

1K notes · View notes

girlgenius1111 · 6 months ago

Text

responsibility

you are reluctant to share the problems you are having at home with your teammates. your teammates just think you're an irresponsible teen. it takes an emergency for things to come to light. barça x reader, though this first part is much more platonic alexia & reader. more team involvement to come. cw: some violence / abuse. a lot on grief and the loss of a parent. this is mostly desperately sad angst with some comfort sprinkled throughout.

------

Your father was drunk. Hammered, in fact. You’d seen the empty bottles scattered around the kitchen when you walked in from training, telling you that he’d gotten an early start today. You were on your guard as soon as you’d noticed that, but you only pushed your dresser in front of your door when he began to pound on it, and yell. Some of the things he was saying were completely unintelligible, while others were completely clear. What you could understand was not anything new. He rambled about your mom, and how much he missed her. About how horrible it was that she’d died and left him stuck with you. How you drained away all his money playing football, and how he was tired of how ungrateful you were.

Normally, he didn’t do anything. Normally, the yelling was the extent of it. Sometimes, though it went farther. He’d grab you, or push you, kick you out of the house. When that happened, you’d go to a friend's place and sleep there, only coming back in the morning when you knew he’d be passed out.

Only very rarely did he actually hurt you. The occurrences were rare enough that you could pretend it didn’t happen. You covered the bruises up with makeup if you had too, and ignored them. You told people they came from training until you started to believe it yourself.

Tonight felt different, though, and you knew why. It was your parents anniversary. Any faint reminder of your mother only seemed to inflame your father’s hatred for you. He’d never wanted a kid, but your mom had, and that man had worshiped the ground she walked on. So, your parents had you, and you enjoyed a happy little life for 15 years. And then your mom got sick, and then got sicker.

You thought losing her would be the hardest thing you’d ever do, but as you sat on the floor of your bedroom, you decided that your father hating you because your mother was dead was somehow 100x more painful. He hurled abuse at you through the door, and when the dresser tipped away from it, crashing loudly onto the ground, you were more afraid than you’d ever been in your life.

You barely had the forethought to grab your phone and slip it into your pocket before your father shoved his way into the room, a half full bottle of vodka sloshing in his hand. He had the look on his face that haunts your nightmares. The detached one that told you things were about to hurt. You braced yourself as he raised the bottle, hoping it would hit the window and break it open, instead of hitting you. Instead of breaking you open.

The ground came crashing up towards you as you dropped, trying to avoid the bottle. The world went black around you, and you weren’t sure if it was from the bottle, or from the force of your head hitting the ground.

The darkness only came as a relief.

------

You were at Alexia’s house before you had even really decided where you were going. Your forehead was bleeding a bit, and your head was throbbing. Your shin had gotten cut, too, on the way out your window. Or maybe it had gotten cut as you’d broken the glass of the window in order to climb out.

Realistically, you knew you should call your lawyer, who would call your case worker. Who was really the only one with the power to get you out of that house. Neither of those people made you feel safe though, not like your teammates did. Or used to. Things were fuzzy, now, blurred, and you weren’t really sure if they still cared for you. If they would still feel safe. You hoped they would, because you weren’t sure what else you would do if they didn’t.

It didn’t occur to you that someone other than Alexia would answer the door, but then her girlfriend was staring at you, mouth agape, and you wondered why you hadn’t gone to Ingrid and Mapi’s, or Marta and Caro’s. You didn't know Olga well, weren’t even sure if she’d recognize you. She surprised you, though, turning and shouting for Alexia as her hands found yours and she gently guided you in through the door.

Your captain’s voice echoed back through the house, missing the urgency Olga had tried to convey, and you could hear her leisurely steps coming from upstairs. Olga tried to bring you into the living room, but you stopped, shaking your head.

“Blood.” You mumbled. “I’ll get blood on the furniture.”

Olga was looking at you with something that wasn’t pity, or sympathy. It was anger, far from gentle anger, but her voice was soft when she spoke.

“Don’t worry about that. Come sit down, Ale is coming.”

Numbly, you let her guide you onto the couch. Alexia caught your eye as she entered the room, her face changing from mild curiosity to one of horror.

“Oh my god,” she whispered. You looked away from her, the expression on her face forcing emotions to bubble up inside of you. Emotions you didn’t want to cope with, didn’t want to feel at all.

Olga walked over to her girlfriend, murmuring a few words, before she exited the room. Alexia took a deep breath, before she came to kneel in front of you.

“Pequeña? Are you with me?” She spoke more softly than you’d ever heard.

“Sorry. I know it’s late.”

“No apologies, please.” She reached up to move your hair out of your face, and get a better look at the cut across your cheek that appeared to have stopped bleeding. You flinched away from her violently, and every hope she’d had that this had been an accident flew out the window. She pulled her hand away, trying to keep her voice low and soothing.“You are okay. You are safe. You are with me, and I am not going to let anything else happen to you.”

Nodding somewhat hesitantly, you allowed her to inspect your face, crying out when her hand brushed across the bump on your head.

“What is it? What hurts?”

“Fell. Hit my head on the floor really hard.” You told her, every word feeling like cotton in your mouth as you tried your best to communicate.

“Did you lose consciousness?” Olga asked, sitting on the couch next to you, handing a towel to her girlfriend. Alexia pressed it to the cut on your shin, which was still bleeding.

“Maybe? Don’t really remember.”

The two other women exchanged looks, before they seemed to come to some kind of silent agreement.

“You might have a concussion, pequeña, and I think this needs stitches. I am going to take you to the hospital, okay?”

You considered. The hospital meant police, meant questions you didn’t want to answer. But you’d come here for help, and Alexia was just trying to give that to you.

“Okay.” You agreed, allowing them both to help you back to your feet. Before you could take a step, though, Alexia was tugging you into the softest hug you’d ever experienced, and it took all of your strength not to crumble completely.

“Thank you.” You mumbled shakily, voice muffled by Alexia’s t-shirt. She rubbed your back gently, using the hug to take a moment to pull herself together.

“You don’t need to thank me. I’ve got you, okay? Everything is going to be fine.”

You doubted that promise, all the way to the hospital. As you answered questions you were sure would make things not fine, as you got stitched up and scanned. When they took pictures of your injuries like you were some kind of victim. Especially when you told them your dad hadn’t meant it, and they exchanged disbelieving looks. It didn’t really feel like everything would be fine. It felt like everything was falling apart.

------

“Alexia, what the hell happened to her?” Olga asked, keeping her voice low so that you wouldn’t hear from where you were sitting on the lounge in the other room.

The blonde shook her head, face twisted with worry. “I don’t know. They wouldn’t let me in the room when they took her statement, and she hasn’t really been talking. It was her father, I know that.”

“Jesus.” Olga sighed, pulling out what she needed to make you something to eat. “They let you bring her here, though?”

Her girlfriend shifted uncomfortably. “Yeah. I… I signed a bunch of forms to be declared her temporary guardian. But, amor, I can take her to my Mami’s, she wouldn’t mind. This is not your responsibility, and I wouldn’t want to-”

“Do not be ridiculous. She’ll stay right here. Ingrid and Mapi are nearby, so many of your other teammates too. She needs them, and she needs you. Of course she’ll stay.” Olga said incredulously, as if she’d never considered another option.

Alexia’s face softened before she all but tackled her girlfriend in a hug. “I love you.”

Olga held her tight, trying to provide some reassurance. “I love you too. Now go try and see if she feels like talking. I’ll bring her something to eat in a second.”

You startled when Alexia took her seat next to you, before trying to muster up a smile. It felt weak, and pulled at the cut on your cheek, but it was the best you could do.

“Your caseworker texted me. They’ve arrested your father.” Alexia said carefully, watching as a myriad of emotions flashed across your face. “So tomorrow, we can go and get your stuff, and move you into the guest room.”

That felt too good to be true, there was just no way. No way that Alexia would want you to move in with her. Why would she want that?

“I can’t… I can’t go home?” You asked. You didn’t want to, and you did. You craved your home, but you also craved safety, and those two things were not congruent.

Why would you want to go back there? Alexia wondered. She had to remind herself that this was more complicated than she could even comprehend, and she had no business questioning how you were feeling. It was complicated, of course it was. “No. Not by yourself, and you aren’t going back there when your father gets home, either. Not if I have anything to say about it.”

“I can stay by myself.” You argued weakly. “You don’t have to let me move in. You don’t have to do that, I can be responsible, I can take care of myself.”

Your captain shut her eyes tightly, guilt flooding through her. You were thinking of Alexia’s harsh words to you a few days ago, and she could tell.

If there was anything you despised, it was being late. It was the fourth time in the past two weeks, too, and though you hadn’t really been scolded yet, you knew it was coming. Sure enough, as you practically ran through the building towards the locker room, you saw Alexia and Irene waiting by the door. Seemingly, for you.

Your text warning them that you’d be late apparently hadn’t done anything to reduce their anger.

You slowed down as you got to them, trying to ignore the anxiety that rose in you at the idea of being in trouble.

“Hi.” You said meekly, stopping in front of them as they glared at you.

“What time does training start?” Alexia asked, her voice cold.

“10:00.” You mumbled.

“And that means on the pitch at 10, all ready to go, yes?”

“Yeah.”

“What time is it right now?” Irene chimed in.

Your face was burning with embarrassment, your eyes trained on your shoes as you refused to look up at your captains. “10:20.”

“This is the fourth time in two weeks.” Irene sighed. “Where were you?”

“I… I slept through my alarm.” You lied. There was no way you could admit the truth. What you were doing was your business, it was private. And you knew that if your captains found out what was going on, they would involve themselves. And you didn’t want to burden them.

Alexia’s face hardened. She felt like you were lying, but she had no evidence to back that up. And even so, she couldn’t understand why you would be lying. Teenagers were weird, she reminded herself. And difficult.

“That is unacceptable. You are 17, yes, but you are on this team. You are expected to act responsible and prove that you care to be here. Showing up late does not prove to us that this is a priority for you. You are benched. Until you can get your act together.”

This wasn’t the first issue they’d been having with you. You’d been distracted and distant recently. Zoning out during training, skipping team bonding. You were quieter than normal, too, which really came off as you being annoyed by your teammates. Which you weren’t, not at all. You were just trying to get through. To get up every morning like everything was mine and make it to training. To get everything done that you needed, so that you could get out of your house. Where you would go when that happened, you weren't exactly sure. With the way your captains were looking at you right now, you knew you couldn’t go to them. They were upset, rightfully so. You just couldn’t do anything right.

“Ale-”

“No. I am disappointed in you. I expect you to be more responsible. Now go run your extra laps.”

With a sigh and a small nod, you headed off, completely missing the slightly concerned expressions that your captains were exchanging. You just weren't yourself, and they weren’t sure what to do about that.

Alexia hadn’t understood, then. She knew that something was off, but she didn’t know it was this bad. She’d scolded you for being irresponsible, and she knew now that was unfair. And that you’d very much taken it to heart. You’d let her help you before, when your body was in shock, everything in fight or flight mode.

Now, you were withdrawing, just as you’d been doing for weeks. This time, though, Alexia didn’t think it was just teenage carelessness anymore, or a rebellious phase. She could deal with her guilt for not understanding, for getting everything so wrong, later. For now, she had to make sure that you didn’t completely shut down.

“Listen to me. I didn’t mean any of what I said before. I didn’t know what was going on, but I do now. So let me help, okay? You don’t need to worry about anything. Just let me take care of it all.” She took your hand in hers, feeling it tremble in her grip. You looked conflicted, and though there were tears in your eyes, all your captain could do was look at the jagged cut on your cheek. It wasn’t deep enough to need stitches, but she was pretty sure it would scar. A reminder, forever, of what someone who was supposed to love you had done.

All she wanted to do was make it better. “Tell me how I can help.” She asked, doing her best not to beg.

“I… um. I have a lawyer. I’ve been trying to get emancipated, I should call him.”

“I’ll call him tomorrow.” Alexia said quickly, watching the cautious vulnerability dawning across your face.

Olga walked in then, bringing both you and Alexia some food. You both ate in silence, not even the TV on to fill the void, before you leaned back into the couch and pulled your knees to your chest. You were safe, you knew you were safe, but you didn’t feel it. You didn’t feel much of anything, honestly. Your head hurt from the concussion, and the stitches in your shin pulled with every movement.

The physical pain, you could deal with. It was the threat of feeling that terrified you. You felt a pang of emotion every time you looked at Alexia, though, when you saw the concern on her face, so you tried your best not to look at her.

Your captain and her girlfriend exchanged looks, and Olga mumbled something about going to get you some ice cream, before she grabbed her wallet and keys and left the house.

Within a minute, Alexia was turning her whole body towards you, completely attentive. You didn’t want her attention, but you had it.

“What happened tonight, nena?”

You knew the question that was coming, yet still, you were wholly unprepared for it. You’d answered the questions earlier from the police, but that had been different. They had been strangers. They’d been sympathetic but professional. As much as you’d been trying to downplay what had happened in your head, you knew Alexia would be horrified to hear what had happened. And that would chip away at your very fragile belief that it hadn’t been that bad.

“You can tell me. Whatever happened, you can tell me.”

You decided to give her as few details as possible. “He was really drunk. He gets like this sometimes.”

“Violent?” Alexia asked bluntly.

“Not always. Most of the time he just yells.”

“But tonight? It was more than yelling?” She hated pushing you, but she needed to understand what had happened if she was going to be able to help.

You took a shaky breath before responding. “Yeah. When I got home from training, he was already drunk, yelling at me.”

“Was he angry about something?”

“He’s always angry.” You dismissed. “Always. Ever since mom… he didn’t want me, not really. And now mom is gone and he’s stuck with me. I think he hates me. I mean, I know he does. He tells me all the time. That’s what he was yelling about. How much he hated me.”

You sounded detached, which Alexia was sure wasn’t healthy, but she pressed on anyway, knowing that you needed to tell her what happened, and only then could she help. “What happened then?”

“He broke my bedroom door down and threw the bottle of vodka at me. I hit my head trying to dodge it, but I think it hit me anyway. I broke the window open and climbed out. And then… I don’t really remember. Then I was here.” You went through it blankly, as numbly as if it had happened to someone else.

“Oh, nena.” Alexia sighed, truly incapable of understanding how someone could be so cruel to you. You were shaking again as you glanced up at your captain with watering eyes and a trembling lip. “Cariño, I am so sorry this happened.”

You shrugged one shoulder, trying to keep your tears at bay, but your captain persisted.

“You are safe now, do you understand? I will never let him hurt you again, ever.”

This time, there was no response from you.

“Nena, look at me.” Alexia pressed, her eyes wide as they met yours. “You are safe with me, I promise you.”

You wanted to believe her, you really did. Trust was hard, though. Only harder now. If your father could hurt you and not feel any remorse, what was to say other people would feel differently? What’s to say you could trust anyone?

Alexia could practically see you come to that conclusion. Your body tensed back up, you leaned away from her, and your face grew completely blank. She wondered if she hadn’t been so harsh the other day, if you’d still be so wary of her. It wasn’t complete distrust, because you’d shown up on her doorstep and that was something. You were trying to protect yourself. Alexia couldn’t blame you for being so afraid, she really couldn’t.

“Thank you for letting me stay here.” You told her, unsure if your shaky voice was doing a very good job conveying just how grateful you were. “I know having a 17 year old disaster move into the house you share with your girlfriend probably wasn’t something you were hoping for-”

“If I had known what was going on, I would have gotten you out of there a very long time ago.” Alexia interrupted, cursing herself when you blanched and looked at her with wide eyes.

“I don’t get it.” You mumbled after a second. “You don’t have to do this, do any of it. Why are you doing this for me?”

Alexia wished you were joking, wished she couldn’t hear the genuine wonder in your voice that someone would go out of their way to help you.

“Because I care about you.” Alexia said simply. “We all do, every single member of the team. And you are welcome here for as long as you want to stay here.”

“But Olga,”

“Olga would pick up every stray dog on the side of the road and bring it home if I let her. She doesn’t mind that you’re here.”

“I’m not a stray dog.”

“No, you aren’t. I was just pretty sure you’d think the dog to be worthy of a home. Just like I think you are.”

It was a jarring thought. The realization that you did, indeed, think of a dog as more worthy of a home than you were was a shock to your system. You weren’t sure when you’d stopped being so angry, and started believing the words shouted at you, but somewhere along the way, you’d lost yourself. Without even realizing.

Alexia continued. “If Olga had driven by you walking here, and had no idea who you were, she would have brought you home. She would have done exactly what she did earlier. That’s who she is. She’s happy to have you here, happy to help. Really, pequeña. I promise.”

You nodded, the only acknowledgement you gave her that you’d registered what she said. “She’s been gone for a while, I thought she was just going to get ice cream?”

Alexia smiled slightly, glancing away from you. “She’s been in the drive for 10 minutes, she wanted us to finish talking without any interruptions.”

You frowned at her and your captain tensed, suddenly worried she shouldn’t have told you that. Worried that you’d wrench away from her and resist the help she and Olga were trying to give you.

Instead, you looked at her like she was a bit stupid. “The ice cream is going to be melted, Ale.”

The blonde relaxed back into the sofa, a huff of laughter falling from her lips. She’d forgotten how seriously you took your ice cream. It was difficult to mesh together the two versions of you in her mind; the one she knew that was happy and carefree, except when it came to the texture of your ice cream. And the one sitting in front of her, broken.

“Well, do you want to talk more or-”

“If Olga walks in and my ice cream is melted, this night will really be ruined.” You deadpanned, more amused at the surprise on Ale’s face than you were at your own joke. You didn’t like how she’d been looking at you. Anything to break the tension, anything to distract from what had happened.

The distraction didn’t last long, because your head was beginning to hurt and you were too exhausted to really hide your pain. The look of sympathy returned to Ale’s face, and to Olga’s, and it wasn’t long after you finished your ice cream that you were ushered up to bed.

If the universe was kind, a dreamless sleep would follow. You were beginning to think the universe was cruel.

------

You liked to think that your mom visited you in your dreams. Sometimes, they were good dreams. Warm and kind of fuzzy, but unquestionably filled with love. You found that the good dreams were the hardest to remember. The bad ones were the easiest, maybe because more often than not, they were memories.

Of course, the dream you had almost as soon as you’d drifted off to sleep was a bad one. It was flashes of a day that made you sick to think about. It had been a week after the funeral, and you’d yet to realize that the father you’d grown up with was gone for good. Though, that realization would come soon.

A few of your friends had insisted on taking you out to grab coffee. It had been agonizing, sitting and listening to them try to distract you. It was still wallowing time, you argued. You were allowed to lay in bed in a ball and cry for as long as you needed to. Grief wasn’t a process that could be rushed.

Of course, your father would try. The dream grew hazy as it continued, flashes of memories more than anything. Your arrival home from coffee. The realization that he was stuffing your mom’s stuff into garbage bags and boxes, labeled for donation or trash. You remembered the way your blood had boiled; fury rising that he was trying to erase her. As if that would make it any easier.

You remembered the way you pushed him away from her closet, tears running down your face. Your voice had trembled as you’d cursed at him, begged him not to get rid of all her stuff. He’d cursed right back, pushed right back. Told you that he couldn’t live in a house so full of memories of her. The way he’d said it, implying that you were nothing more than a painful reminder of her. A weight had settled on your chest when your first instinct was to run for your mom, and tell her what your father had said.

You couldn’t do that anymore. There was nowhere to run to. You pushed him again, and he pushed back again. You fell to the floor, looking up at him just in time to see how horrified he looked at himself. He looked down at you in complete horror, shocked at himself for what he’d done. He backed out of the room, repeating apologies over and over.

That was one of the last glimpses of the father you’d known all your life that you’d had. And it would never not haunt you that you’d been the one to make things physical the first time. That made it your fault. All of it was your fault.

The dream ended as it always did, with you grabbing what you could from the bags and the boxes, stuffing it all into your closet. It ended with you pulling on her favorite sweatshirt, the one she’d worn the most. It smelled like her perfume still, and you got under the covers of your bed, burying your nose in the fabric. You cried, and you pretended your mom was there with you, though she never would be again.

You woke as you always did, face wet with tears, but this time with a horrible feeling in the pit of your stomach. You’d left all her stuff in the house. You’d come here without it, and you needed it. Needed it now, needed to be surrounded by her like you’d been on that day.

It was with a blind dedication that you slipped out of Alexia’s guest bed, put some shoes on, and went out the front door. You couldn’t leave her stuff there. Not in the house that reeked of alcohol and hatred and sadness.

------

Alexia was pretty sure she knew where you’d gone, even if she’d couldn’t understand why. When Olga shook her awake, though, and told her that she’d heard the front door shut, Alexia knew you’d fled. And she knew you’d gone back to that house. Back to the place you still considered home, somehow. As Alexia pulled into your driveway, she reminded herself that she couldn’t understand. Growing up, she’d only ever felt love in her house. She’d never been through what you’d been through, never felt anything but safe with her parents. So it didn’t make sense to her that you’d go back. Not when you’d been trying to get out in the first place. But it didn't’ need to make sense to her, because it made sense to you. And you were her only concern.

The front door was unlocked, and Alexia opened it carefully; the last thing she wanted was to frighten you further. The house was dark and cold, and it smelled heavily of alcohol. She followed the only light she could see down the hall to what she assumed to be your bedroom. The door bore the marks of your fathers fists, the wood dented and peeling.

Before she even stepped into the room, Alexia could hear you crying softly. You were neatly folding up clothes and putting them into a duffel bag. The precision with which you worked completely contrasted how disheveled you looked; each shirt and sweater folded as if it would disintegrate if you weren’t careful.

Alexia paused in the doorway, not sure there was any way she could let you know she was here without scaring you. It seemed like you were lost in your head, regardless. Your face was set tightly, a grimace etched across it, but your hands trembled, and tears fell almost continuously. It was as if you were too emotional to keep your feelings at bay, but simultaneously felt too unsafe to really let go. Your despair leaked out like your tears did, a little bit at a time.

Your captain wasn’t sure she’d ever seen someone look so haunted and so numb at the same time.

“Pequeña?” She spoke as quietly and soothingly as she could, yet still, you jumped half a foot into the air, a fearful whimper escaping. “It’s okay, it’s just me. It’s just me, you’re okay.”

“Ale.” You mumbled, recognizing your captain in front of you. It hadn’t even been a thought that Alexia would get up and come after you. The consequences of your actions seemed so far away, like you were just acting with no follow up. There was only the present, because if you thought too hard about there being a tomorrow, you weren’t sure you could survive it.

“Hey.” Alexia cooed, taking tiny steps closer to you, moving like a snail. She sat down a safe distance away, looking curiously into the bag you were packing. You knew Alexia was wondering why you were here, and honestly, you were too. It had made sense, when you’d awoken from your nightmare and left her house. It didn’t make as much sense now. “What are you doing back here?”

There was no accusation in her tone, no frustration or annoyance, yet still, you felt the need to explain yourself. “I woke up, and I just… I had to come get a few things.”

Alexia didn’t point out that it was the middle of the night, and that certainly such a task could wait until the following day. She just nodded in understanding, even though she didn’t understand, and tried to think of another question to ask. One that wouldn’t be too much, but one that might get her some more answers. Because truly, your captain was at a complete loss on what to do here.

“What did you need to get?” She asked casually. This was normal, she decided. She’d pretend this was normal, and maybe then, you’d talk.

You were almost done packing the clothes. It was an odd assortment of items that Alexia had seen you place in the bag. Mostly t-shirts and sweatshirts. And she’d never seen you wear any of it before.

You didn’t reply right away, picking up the last sweatshirt and pulling it on. It was faded, too big on you, and there was a hole in the sleeve, but your entire body relaxed once it was on. Not much, but a noticeable amount. “Just some clothes.”

“I’ve never seen that sweatshirt before.” Alexia commented, a wave of sadness washing over her as she began to connect the dots.

“Yeah, it’s- it was my mom’s.” You whispered. “I just really needed to get this stuff. Sorry for leaving without saying anything.”

Alexia looked at you, seeing a younger version of herself. Wearing a shirt that was much too big on her to bed, convincing herself that if she inhaled deep enough, it would still smell like him. Even if she couldn’t quite remember what that scent even was.

“That’s okay, nena, I’m not upset.” The blonde gazed out the window for a moment, noticing the sun peaking above the horizon. It was bathing the room in a soft golden glow, and she noticed for the first time the broken bottle on the floor. The rest of the room was warm and soft, very you, but that bottle seemed to mar the entire atmosphere. It was a stain, and Alexia understood, suddenly, why you needed the clothes.

You wanted the sweatshirt for comfort, yes. But this room had probably been the last place in the house that had remained untouched from your father and his cruelties. And now it had been ruined, and you couldn’t bear the thought of your most favorite possessions remaining here. Especially when you’d left.

You wrapped your arms around yourself and spoke quietly, almost as if you’d read Alexia’s mind. “This is all I really have left of her. He got rid of the rest of it but I managed to save some of her clothes. I… I just didn’t want to leave them behind.”

Didn’t want to leave her behind. Not in the place that had turned into hell after she’d gone.

You were trying to be strong, Alexia could tell. Jaw clenched, blinking hard. Wiping carelessly at the never ending stream of tears. Alexia remembered trying to be strong, too. How it hadn’t even been something she wanted, it was just something she did.

“Tell me about your mom.” The request escaped without her permission, and she jerked her head in your direction fearfully, terrified that it had been too much. Your lips were turning up at the corners, though, just a bit. Tears still fell, but you did as she asked.

“She was really funny. We had the same sense of humor, I think, so everything she found funny, I found funny. She’d tell a joke I was already thinking.”

Alexia hummed, a gentle encouragement as she inched closer to you. You were smiling a bit more now, still in the part of remembering that didn’t yet hurt.

“She always helped me with my homework after school, and she always tucked me in at night. Even when I was way too old for it.”

You took a deep breath. It was overwhelming, the love you felt for her. It felt like love, but it also felt like grief. Hot, painful, lingering grief. Still, once you’d started, you didn’t want to stop. You didn’t want to ever stop remembering every good thing about her.

“She used to watch videos of people explaining football strategies, so we could talk about them. Even when she was sick she still… still watched. She never missed a game, even when she was doing treatment. She’d sit in her car and watch from the parking lot if she had too, but she never missed a game. I was always the most important thing to her. She used to say that being my mom was the best thing she’d ever been, that she’d ever be.”

“She sounds like a really good mom.” Alexia’s hand was on the back of your head, combing delicately through your hair. It felt nice. Safe.

“She was the best.” You choked out. “She gave the best hugs, and she told me she loved me everyday. And I really really miss her.” You tried to swallow the sob that threatened to force its way out, but you couldn’t. Your grief couldn’t be contained, not anymore. It was an almost unconscious movement, turning to bury your face in Alexia’s sweatshirt. Your body shook with cries, and your captain wrapped her arms around you tightly. As if she could hold you together.

You appreciated Alexia, more than you would probably ever be able to express. For being so patient, for coming after you, for asking about your mom. For hugging you and holding you tightly as she promised that everything would be okay. But Alexia wasn’t the person you wanted.

The blonde didn’t understand the first time you said it, your words muffled by the soft fabric of her sweatshirt. But the second time, she did, and it felt like her heart was plummeting out of her chest.

“I want my mom, Ale,” you sobbed. “I just- I want my mom,”

She felt your words in her soul, and in that moment she would have done anything to give you what you wanted. It didn’t work like that, though, and she knew that all too well. So, she rubbed your back and kissed the top of your head. She rocked you gently, and made promises. To herself, and to you.

“I know, I know you do.” She soothed. “I’m so sorry, cariño. Everything is going to be okay. I’ve got you.”

You only cried harder, and Alexia felt like crying too.

Nothing felt okay. But Alexia had you, and you believed that. Or at least, you wanted to.

------

Well. Have a good night everyone. tell me if you notice any typos 🥺. also tell me if you enjoyed this because i am so incredibly unsure about it.

#woso imagine #woso x reader #woso one shot #woso fanfics #woso imagines #barcelona femeni x reader #alexia putellas x reader #platonic reader #alexia putellas x platonic reader

1K notes · View notes

pretty-little-mind33 · 7 months ago

Text

James Potter x best friend!fem!reader

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

Genre: hurt and comfort

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

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

JAMES POTTER MASTERLIST

James's arrogance is his Achilles's Heel.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"No–"

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

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

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

* * *

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I really like you."

Your eyes widen. "You do?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

2K notes · View notes

winterarmyy · 7 months ago

Text

He Hates Me, Doesn't He?

A series of random Bucky Drabbles that I can't let go but don't have the brain to make the whole complete plot of.

Summary: You hurt Bucky's girl, and now he hates you.

Pairing: tfatws!bucky x female!reader

Words: 6.7k++

Warnings: angstyyyyyyyyy, but with happy ending because I cannot live in agony. miscommunication galore. 'I want to strangle bucky's girlfriend.' soft reader, cold/mean bucky. bucky should've grovel more. horrible attempt of writing verbal arguments. nothing much but pain.

Inspiration: I remember reading a bucky fic years ago and I like the pain that it caused me to feel. Idk why the pain suddenly came back to me lately. So, this is my take on the same idea. I haven't able to find it. But when I do, I'll reblog it in my another acc!

Read my other works here: Masterlist

y/n had always been a steady presence in the Avengers, known for her gentle demeanour and unwavering support. Her relationship with Bucky Barnes had blossomed from a quiet friendship into something deeper. When they first met, Bucky was reserved and hesitant, still grappling with his past as the Winter Soldier. y/n, with her gentle nature and patient understanding, slowly helped him come out of his shell.

She remembered the sleepless nights they spent together when they were on the run with Steve and Sam. They'd share stories, and sometimes just sit in silence, her quiet company offering solace to Bucky's restless mind. The unspoken bond growing stronger with each passing day. Bucky looked up to her, finding comfort in her presence, and in turn, he became fiercely protective of her. They'd watch each other's backs during missions, their synergy on the battlefield a testament to their deep connection.

And somewhere along the line, she fell for him. She had fallen for Bucky's resilience and vulnerability, though she never expected more, knowing that a relationship was not what he needed right now. At least, that's what she thought. Little did she know, Bucky had always loved her; ever since the day she offered him tea the first night they were on the run to Wakanda. Maybe she was just simply aloof, or maybe Bucky’s flirting skills weren’t translated the way he wanted, but they never crossed the line between friendship and ‘something more’.

Then when Jen came into the picture, it felt like things started to change. Jen was bold and confident, and it wasn't long before she caught Bucky's eye. Their relationship seemed to spring up overnight, and y/n, though hurt, tried to be happy for Bucky. Jen was supportive and caring, or so it seemed, and Bucky deserved happiness.

Now, as planned the team was instructed to moved into the Avenger compound for a few months to train new recruits. It had only been the first month but surely it was jam packed with endless of rigorous training sessions. The original team—y/n, Sam, Bucky, Jen, Clint, and his mentee Kate Bishop—were all assigned to train the new recruits, with additional of few agents from different branches coming in to help out.

y/n was heading to the training room; she knew it was way too early but she thought that if she didn’t get out of bed now, she might not even get up at all. To her surprise, she was not the first one. She saw a few new trainees were already on the way to the training room; some of them greeted her a good morning. She simply smiled at their enthusiasm.

The moment she entered the area, she overheard voices coming from the corner of the room. She paused, recognizing Jen's voice, which was raised and laced with contempt. Curiosity piqued, y/n stepped closer, staying just out of sight behind the white board. In hindsight, it might seem weird that she was sneaking around to eavesdrop on Jen, but she couldn't help it.

Initially, y/n liked Jen. She tried to welcome her into their tight-knit group and even supported her relationship with Bucky. However, as time went on, Jen began acting strange. The things she said about Bucky sometimes sounded condescending. She would make comments like, "It's amazing how well he's adjusted, considering his past," or, "It's great that he's trying so hard to be normal." The way she acted often differed from her words, with Jen giving Bucky disapproving glances or sighing heavily whenever he mentioned something from his troubled past.

She had noticed these discrepancies and started to feel uneasy around Jen. She couldn't shake the feeling that Jen’s support was just a facade. Now, standing behind the whiteboard, she strained to hear the conversation.

"…and honestly, I don’t understand how anyone can trust him," Jen was saying. "I mean, sure, he's got that whole 'reformed hero' thing going on now, but let’s be real. He was Hydra’s pet assassin for decades. The things he’s done? It’s unforgivable."

Her friend, another agent from a different branch, nodded hesitantly. "But you’re dating him, aren’t you? Doesn’t that mean you trust him?"

Jen laughed, a cold, humourless sound. "Dating him? Please. I’m in it for the fame and the perks. Have you seen the way people look at us? Besides, he’s hot, I’ll give him that. But trust him? Never. People like him don’t change. They’re broken. He's a monster, and he always will be. It’s only a matter of time before he snaps again."

y/n felt a surge of anger rise within her. How dare Jen talk about Bucky like that?

Memories flooded her mind, flashing back to Bucky’s nightmare-plagued nights. She remembered the prominent dark circles under his eyes, the haunted look that never quite left his face. The silent pain he endured, adjusting to a modern world where he felt like an outsider, magnified when Steve left. She could still see the wary, suspicious glances people cast in his direction, the whispers behind his back when they first ventured out. Before the fame he acquired as he regained his reputation after the Flag-Smasher incident.

She had witnessed his hardships firsthand—the nightmares that woke him in a cold sweat, the moments of crippling doubt and self-loathing. But she had also seen his triumphs, the small victories that slowly built his confidence. The first time he laughed freely in her presence, the genuine smile that lit up his face when he finally allowed himself to relax. She cherished those moments, the sunshine that broke through the clouds of his tortured past.

All of this came rushing back, breaking the chains on the Pandora's box inside of her. The fury she felt wasn't just for the disrespect to Bucky; it was for every ounce of pain he had suffered, every moment of joy he had fought so hard to reclaim. Her eyes hardened with resolve as she stepped forward, her voice steady but cold. "Take that back," she demanded, her presence startling both Jen and her friend.

Jen turned slowly, a smirk spreading across her face as she saw y/n. She knew from the beginning about the cute little crush y/n had on Bucky. To be frank, everybody sort of knew about it, except for Bucky somehow.

"Or else what, y/n?" she replied with a mocking tone. "You’re quite pathetic aren’t you? You think that I can’t see how you’ve been eye-fucking my boyfriend all this time? Come on, now. Backing him up would not give you a leeway into his pants, y/n."

y/n’s face went through a range of emotions—shock, embarrassment, and then seething anger. Jen’s words were like poison, each one landing like a punch to the gut.

Jen continued, confidence oozing out of her cocky demeanor, "Besides, we all know that I can easily beat you in a fight, doll"

The use of doll—a nickname Bucky had given y/n from day one, when Steve had quite literally kidnapped Bucky from the government—made y/n blood boil. Hearing it from Jen felt like a personal attack, a deliberate attempt to undermine everything she shared with Bucky.

And it was true that Jen had graduated top of her batch from the Avengers program and had countless successful missions under her belt, but y/n knew this wasn't about accolades or abilities. This was about something deeper, something more personal.

y/n clenched her fists, taking a step closer. "You think this is about who can fight better?" she said, her voice shaking with restrained fury. "This is about respect. You don’t get to talk about Bucky like that."

Jen scoffed, a cruel smile on her lips. "Respect? For that monster? You’re delusional. He’s a ticking time bomb, a liability to the team. And deep down, everyone knows it."

y/n’s patience snapped. In one swift motion, she slapped Jen hard across the face, the sound echoing through the room. Jen stumbled and fell to the ground, shock and anger flashing across her features.

She stalks forward like a predator cornering its prey, "I’m just done with your lies and your insults. Bucky deserves better than you." Jen instinctively crawled backwards towards the centre of the room. Seeing that she got the attention of the few new recruits she regained her composure, smirked again, but there was a flicker of uncertainty in her eyes. "You’re pathetic, y/n," she taunted. "Defending a lost cause." her voice was loud enough for y/n to hear but quiet enough that the others might not be able to decipher her words.

At that moment, Bucky and Sam burst into the room, followed closely behind by a new recruit who alerted them of the incident. Bucky’s eyes widened as he took in the scene—Jen on the ground, y/n standing over her, shaking with rage. "What’s going on here?" His demand was completely ignored as y/n’s mind was hyper-focused on the wrath bubbling within her.

"Get up," y/n demanded, her voice shaking with wrath. Bucky’s momentarily froze as he watched the confrontation escalate before him. y/n, usually so composed, was now a whirlwind of rage, her eyes blazing as she stood over a trembling Jen. Bucky had always known her to be fierce in battle, but this was different—this was raw, unbridled anger. "I'm going to make you regret every word you said. So get on your fucking feet before I rip it off you.."

Jen, still on the ground, looked up at y/n with wide, teary eyes, playing the role of the victim to perfection. "Please, I didn't– I don’t know what you're…," she whimpered, casting a fearful glance at Bucky and Sam, who had just arrived on the scene.

Bucky's mind raced. Why was she doing this? He stepped forward, trying to diffuse the situation. "y/n, hey!" he shouted, his voice a mix of confusion and anger. "What are you doing?"

Completely ignoring him, "Get up," y/n snarled, her eyes blazing with intensity. "Get up and fight me. I’ll show you who the real monster is." Jen looked up, her hand on her cheek, disbelief mingling with her fury. "You’re crazy," she spat, scrambling to her feet.

Her response was only a furious shout. "I said, get up!"

"y/n, are you crazy?!" Bucky yelled, moving quickly to intervene. He grabbed her wrist, his grip tight and unforgiving.

She turned her fierce gaze towards Bucky; her expression momentarily faltering at the hurt in his eyes. "Bucky, you don’t understand, she--" she began, but the words caught in her throat as she saw Jen's smirk flicker for just a second.

"There's nothing to understand," Bucky snapped. "You’re acting insane."

y/n looked at him, her eyes filled with hurt and frustration. "Bucky, you have to listen—"

But he cut her off, his expression hard. "I don’t care! You hurt her, y/n. You think I don’t see that bruise on her cheek?!" Bucky shouted, his face contorted with anger. His eyes, usually filled with a gentle warmth when he looked at y/n, were now blazing with fury. "This isn’t like you, y/n. I’ve noticed that you’ve never liked Jen, and I don’t know why. But this? This is just immature and reckless." His metal grip on y/n's wrist was tighter than he intended. She winced, her eyes watering not just from the pain but from the sting of his words.

y/n had never seen Bucky like this. His anger was palpable, radiating off him in waves. It was like being hit with a physical force, and she felt her heart breaking under the weight of it. Tears welled up in her eyes, but she blinked them away, her anger flaring even hotter. "Bucky, you don’t understand," she tried to explain, but the words caught in her throat.

Bucky’s expression remained hard, the force on her wrist tightening painfully. "You need to grow up, y/n," he seethed, his disappointment evident in his tone. "You're always causing drama lately, and it needs to stop. Jen’s been there for me in ways you haven’t, and I won’t tolerate you attacking her like this."

The words cut through her like a knife. Her heart shattered at his harshness, at the realization that Bucky thought so little of her. She yanked her wrist free, feeling the sting of his grip lingering. "Fine," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "Believe what you want."

Without another word, she turned and stormed out, leaving Bucky standing there, torn between confusion and guilt.

A gnawing sense of remorse tugging at him, but he couldn't shake the confusion and anger clouding his mind. "Jen, are you okay?" he asked, helping her to her feet.

Jen, tucking herself to his side, managed to summon a few tears, looking up at Bucky with a feigned innocence. "I don’t know why she hates me so much," she murmured, playing her part perfectly.

Bucky fingers softly traces on her wounded cheek before his gaze switched to y/n’s retreating form, a knot tightening in his chest. He wasn’t sure why those mean words had spouted out of his lips. Was it because he saw Jen injured on the ground and his protective instincts kicked in? Or was it because Jen had been whispering doubts in his ear about y/n’s loyalty, making him question his longtime friend?

The truth was, Bucky had always relied on y/n’s unwavering support. She had been his rock through the toughest times, and seeing her so furious, so hurt, shook him to his core. Yet, in the heat of the moment, he had lashed out, unable to reconcile the image of Jen crying with the fierce anger that radiated from y/n.

As Bucky comforted Jen, his mind was a storm of conflicting emotions. He couldn't shake the image of hurt on her face, nor could he ignore the nagging feeling that he was missing a crucial piece of the puzzle.

On the side, Sam was only able to watch the scene play out silently, a frown creasing his brow. He had a feeling there was more to this story, and he intended to get to the bottom of it.

As weeks passed, the rift between Bucky and y/n deepened, fueled by Jen's cunning manipulation. In a private conversation, Jen planted seeds of doubt in Bucky's mind, suggesting that y/n harboured hidden resentments and intentions.

"I hate to say it, Bucky, but maybe she's not who we thought she was," Jen insinuated, her voice dripping with false concern. "Maybe she's been hiding her true feelings all along, waiting for the right moment to strike."

Bucky, already vulnerable and confused after the incident in the training room, absorbed Jen's words like poison, allowing them to fester and take root in his mind. He began to view y/n through a new lens, one tainted by suspicion and distrust. This single conversation, filled with subtle manipulations and insidious suggestions, was all it took to fracture the bond between Bucky and y/n, leaving Bucky cold and distant towards the one person who had always stood by his side.

Most days he would avoid eye contact with her during team meetings, barely acknowledging her presence when they were forced to interact. In training sessions, his instructions to her were curt and clipped, lacking the warmth and camaraderie they once shared. y/n felt each of these interactions like a stab to the heart.

She couldn't understand how quickly Bucky had turned against her, how easily he had accepted Jen's version of events without even giving her a chance to explain. The hurt festered inside her, eating away at her sense of self-worth.

Then one night, as y/n sat alone on the rooftop, staring out into the darkness, Sam found her there. He knew this was where she retreated when she needed space to think, to process her emotions. He approached her cautiously, sitting down beside her without a word.

"Why aren't you at dinner, y/n?" Sam finally asked, breaking the silence. He could see the emptiness in her eyes, the weight of her sorrow pressing down on her.

She shook her head, her voice hollow. "Lost my appetite," she muttered, her gaze still fixed on the horizon.

Sam gently prodded, knowing there was more to her withdrawal than just a lack of hunger. "Is it because of what happened the other day at the training room?" he asked softly.

Instantly, her demeanor shifted. Anger flared in her eyes, directed not just at Jen and Bucky, but at the entire situation. "I don't want to talk about it, Sam," she snapped, her frustration bubbling to the surface. But Sam wasn't one to give up easily, especially when he knew how much y/n was hurting. "Come on, y/n," he urged, his voice gentle but insistent. "You can't keep bottling this up. Talk to me."

Her expression softened slightly at Sam's persistence, but the pain still lingered in her eyes. "Seriously, Sam, please just drop it," she pleaded, her voice wavering with emotion.

Sam could see the cracks forming in her facade, the vulnerability seeping through the tough exterior she usually projected. Without a word, he pulled her into a comforting embrace, letting her bury her face against his shoulder.

As she clung to him, her facade finally crumbled. Her lips trembled, her eyes filled with unshed tears. "He hates me, doesn't he?" she whispered, her voice barely audible over the sound of her own heartbreak. "Bucky hates me."

Sam held her tighter, offering silent comfort as she grappled with the weight of her sorrow. He knew there were no easy answers, no quick fixes to mend the shattered pieces of y/n's heart. But in that moment, all he could do was be there for her, a steady anchor in the storm of her emotions.

The dim glow of the kitchen's overhead light provided a faint sense of solace in the otherwise silent darkness of the compound. Bucky sat at the wooden table, his tired eyes staring blankly at the cup of untouched tea before him. It was a nightly ritual lately, this dance with sleeplessness and the haunting memories that lurked in the shadows of his mind yet again.

Footsteps broke the stillness, and Bucky's gaze shifted to the entrance of the kitchen. y/n stood hesitantly in the doorway, her presence casting a tentative aura over the room. There was a palpable tension between them, an unspoken weight that hung heavy in the air.

She cleared her throat, breaking the awkward silence. "Mind if I join you?" she asked softly, her voice barely above a whisper. She was expecting Bucky to ignore her completely but he didn’t; Bucky simply shrugged nonchalantly, his guard seemed to flatter. "Suit yourself," he muttered.

As she quietly took a seat opposite him, a heavy silence settled between them. Bucky's thoughts churned with a whirlwind of emotions, each one vying for dominance over the others. His guard seemed to falter in the presence of her tentative yet comforting aura. The weight of his own vulnerability loomed large in his mind, drowning out the anger he had harboured towards her.

As the silence stretched between them, she felt a surge of compassion wash over her. She knew why he was awake at this time. She knew that the tea he brewed was to help him sleep. She was the one who planted that habit to him after all.

And despite everything that had transpired between them, she couldn't bear to see Bucky suffer alone. With a deep breath to steady her nerves, she decided to reach out to him, to offer what little comfort she could.

Without a word, y/n rose from her seat and moved to stand behind Bucky's chair. He stiffened at her touch, his muscles tense with apprehension. But as her gentle hands began to massage the tension from his neck, a wave of unexpected relief washed over him.

Her touch was soft and comforting, a stark contrast to the coldness he had grown accustomed to due to Jen’s unwillingness to acknowledge this side of him. She ran her fingers through his hair, coaxing him to relax, to let go of the burdens that weighed heavily on his shoulders. For a brief moment, Bucky allowed himself to forget the walls he had built around his heart. In her presence, her voice, and her touch; he felt a glimmer of hope, a flicker of warmth that he had long since forgotten.

But then, like a sudden gust of wind extinguishing a fragile flame, the weight of Jen's words came crashing back down upon him. Anger flared within him, hot and fierce, directed not only at y/n but at himself for allowing his heart to yearn for her.

He pushed himself away from the table, his movements sharp and abrupt. "I don't need your pity, y/n," he spat, his words laced with bitterness. "Just leave me alone."

With that, he stormed out of the kitchen, leaving y/n alone in the suffocating silence.The disbelief that clouded her thoughts gave way to a searing agony that twisted in her chest. How could he say such things? How could he push her away so callously, after everything they had shared?

y/n buried her face in her hands, her body trembling with the force of her sobs. The weight of her shattered dreams pressed down on her, crushing her spirit beneath its merciless grip. She had never felt so alone, so utterly abandoned by the one person she had trusted above all others.

The pain of losing Bucky, of losing the love that had sustained her through the darkest of times, threatened to consume her whole. Each breath felt like a struggle, each heartbeat a painful reminder of the emptiness that now filled her soul.

In that moment of crushing despair, she couldn't help but believe that Bucky truly hated her. The thought tore through her like a knife, leaving behind a raw, gaping wound that no amount of time or distance could ever hope to heal.

As she sat alone in the suffocating silence of the kitchen, y/n felt the full weight of her heartbreak descend upon her like a tidal wave. She was lost in a sea of pain and sorrow, drowning in the agony of losing someone she had loved so deeply, so completely. And in that moment, she couldn't help but wonder if she would ever find her way back to the surface again.

Unbeknownst to her, Bucky lingered just out of sight, his heart heavy with guilt. He wanted to go back, to take back his harsh words and hold her close, to chase away the tears that stained her cheeks. But the poison in his mind was too strong, clouding his judgement and trapping him in a cycle of self-destructive despair. And so, with a heavy heart, he turned and walked away, leaving y/n to cry alone in the darkness.

The mission had already been tense enough, but as y/n found herself face to face with Jen in a location she wasn't supposed to be, the atmosphere crackled with an added layer of hostility. It was as if fate had conspired to place them in this confrontation, and her jaw clenched involuntarily as she braced herself for what was to come.

Jen's presence in that spot was no coincidence, and she knew it. Her suspicions were confirmed as Jen turned to face her, a smirk playing on her lips, a gleam of malice in her eyes. y/n's grip tightened on her weapon, her pulse quickening as she prepared for the verbal assault she knew was coming.

"How does it feel, knowing that Bucky hates you now?" Jen's words sliced through the air like a knife, each syllable carrying the weight of y/n’s deepest fears. It was a direct hit, striking at the core of her insecurities, and for a moment, she felt as though the ground had been ripped out from beneath her feet.

But she refused to let Jen see her falter. With a steely resolve, she squared her shoulders and met Jen's gaze head-on, her expression a mask of defiance. She may have been shaken by Jen's words, but she refused to let them break her.

Ignoring the taunts, she focused on the mission at hand, determined to prove her worth despite Jen's attempts to undermine her. But with each passing moment, the weight of Jen's words hung heavy in the air, casting a shadow over y/n’s every move.

It was a battle on two fronts – against the enemy they faced together, and against the doubts that threatened to consume her from within. But she refused to back down, drawing strength from the knowledge that she fought not just for herself, but for the team she believed in with all her heart.

But Jen's relentless barrage of insults made it difficult to concentrate, her words like daggers slicing through y/n’s defenses.

"Aww come on y/n, bet you’re reeling in the loss right now, aren’t you." Jen continued, her voice ice cold. "The Asset’s little lapdog, clinging to him like a lost puppy."

y/n’s temper flared at the insult, her grip tightening on her weapon as she fought to keep her emotions in check. But Jen's mocking laughter only fueled the fire burning within her, pushing her to the brink of her patience. "Shut your mouth, Jen," she growled, her voice low and dangerous. "Or I swear to God, I'll make sure that the team finds your body disassembled in one of these rooms."

Jen simply rolled her eyes, unfazed by her threat. "You love him that much, huh?" y/n had no intention to deny that fact; she does love him, "More than you ever could." her voice was firm and true. Jen’s smirk fell as she scoffed. "Ain't that cute, the Winter Soldier and his little psycho sweetheart."

Before y/n could respond, a voice cut through the tension like a knife, freezing her in place. It was Bucky, his expression dark and stormy as he stepped into view. "What's going on here?" he demanded, his eyes narrowing in suspicion as he took in the scene before him.

y/n’s heart sank as she realized that Bucky might have heard everything. She turned around to meet his eyes and his face confirmed her suspicion; he heard it. Bucky had heard everything – every taunt, every insult, every word exchanged between her and Jen; even the confession of her true feelings. She met his gaze; searching for some sign of understanding of his emotions and the little that she saw was: disappointment, betrayal and guilt, mirrored back at her in the depths of his stormy blue eyes.

In that moment, all she wanted to do was pull him into her arms, to pull him away from all the painful memories and hurtful words; so far away that he would forget he had ever been taunted, betrayed, or made to feel less than he was.

Before she could utter a word, let alone take a step towards him, Jen's voice broke through, but it lacked the usual confidence. "Bucky, it's not what you think," she stammered, her eyes darting nervously between Bucky and y/n. "I-I was just..."

y/n’s clenched her jaw, her patience wearing thin as Jen stumbled over her words, unable to come up with a coherent explanation. She could see the confusion and hurt in Bucky's eyes, a reflection of the turmoil raging within her own heart.

"I-I mean," Jen continued, her voice faltering. "I was...um...just trying to...uh..."

But her feeble attempts to justify her actions only served to further incense Bucky. His brow furrowed in anger, his fists clenched at his sides as he struggled to make sense of the situation.

"Enough," he growled, his voice low and dangerous. "I don't want to hear any more lies."

y/n’s heart ached as she watched Bucky's expression darken with anger and disappointment. She wanted to explain, to tell him the truth about Jen's betrayal and her own misguided attempt to defend him. But the words caught in her throat, choked by the weight of her guilt and regret.

With a heavy sigh, Bucky turned away, his shoulders slumped with defeat. "Let's just finish the mission," he muttered, his voice heavy with exhaustion. "We'll deal with this later."

As he was about to walk away, y/n noticed a red dot on his chest, the unmistakable mark of a sniper's laser sight. Without thinking twice, she leaped towards him, her body acting as a human shield. Time seemed to slow down as she collided with Bucky, pushing him out of the way.

"y/n, no!" Bucky shouted, his voice filled with panic as her body slumped against his chest.

In the chaos, Jen was nowhere to be seen. She had slipped away, taking shelter and ultimately fleeing the area as she heard multiple footsteps approaching.

Bucky tried to pull up his gun, but it was too late. An array of bullets rained down on them. He felt the searing pain of a few shots piercing his own flesh, but it was nothing compared to the sight of y/n’s body being riddled with bullets. She was hit in the shoulder, wrist, thighs, and other places Bucky couldn't even register.

Rage surged through Bucky like an inferno, obliterating any semblance of restraint. He moved with a deadly precision, his eyes blazing with fury as he unleashed a storm of bullets on the enemy. His movements were swift and unforgiving, every shot finding its mark with brutal accuracy. The enemy fell one by one, their bodies collapsing in lifeless heaps. The air was filled with the deafening sound of gunfire and the acrid smell of gunpowder, but Bucky's focus was unyielding.

Within moments, the room was cleared, the enemies wiped out in a flurry of rage-fueled vengeance.

The adrenaline ebbed away, leaving Bucky standing amidst the carnage, his chest heaving. He turned, and his eyes fell on y/n's crumpled form. The sight of her lying in a pool of her own blood shattered his rage, replacing it with a crushing wave of worry and panic.

"Hang in there. Please," Bucky hastily spoke, his voice trembling. He activated his com line, desperation seeping into his tone. "Guys, we need help. y/n... she's... she's been shot. We need to get out of here right now!" Panic coursed through him as he turned his attention back to y/n, frantically trying to stop the bleeding on her stomach. "y/n, doll…please" he pleaded, watching her hazy gaze. "Don't you dare give up on me now. Come on."

"babydoll, stay with me!" Bucky cried, his voice breaking as he cradled her in his arms. Blood soaked through her clothes, staining his hands. "Please, hang on, you can’t leave yet. I haven't told you... I haven't—"

Her eyes fluttered open, her breathing shallow and ragged. "It's okay, Bucky," she whispered, her voice barely audible over the chaos. "It's okay. Don't cry." Her shaking hands struggled to move, and with great effort, she managed to cup Bucky's cheek. The gesture was weak but filled with tenderness. "It's okay," she repeated, her fingers trembling against his skin.

"Don't talk like that," Bucky choked out, his own tears mingling with the blood on his face. "You can't.. I haven't told you...please doll..." His voice wavered with the weight of unspoken words and unconfessed feelings. He hadn't told her how much he truly cared for her, how every moment spent away from her felt like an eternity. He hadn't begged for forgiveness for his coldness, his mistakes, and for letting Jen's poison taint his actions. The guilt gnawed at him, each heartbeat a reminder of the words he hadn't said, the emotions he hadn't expressed.

He pressed her hand harder against his cheek, feeling the warmth of her touch anchoring him in the moment.Her hand weakly brushing against his cheek. "I know, sweetheart," she murmured. "I know."

Bucky's heart shattered as he clung to her, feeling her life slipping away. "No, no, no," he muttered desperately. "You can't leave me. Please, y/n. Please."

She smiled faintly, her eyes closing. "I'm here, Bucky. I'm right here."

With a final, shuddering breath, y/n’s consciousness slipped away. Bucky felt a surge of panic, but he knew he had to move. He lifted her limp body, cradling her against his chest as he ran towards the quinjet. Each step was agony, his own injuries slowing him down, but he didn't care. All that mattered was getting y/n to safety.

"Hang on, y/n," he whispered, his voice trembling. "Hang on. I won't let you go."

In the sterile environment of the medical bay, y/n lay unconscious, her body hooked up to various machines that monitored her vital signs. Bucky sat by her bedside, his eyes red-rimmed and swollen from crying. Every beep of the monitor seemed to echo through the silence, a haunting reminder of her fragile state. He held her hand, his thumb gently caressing her bandaged wrist.

Memories of their time together flooded Bucky's mind, each one a bittersweet reminder of the connection they shared. He remembered the laughter they had shared, the late-night conversations that stretched into the early hours of the morning. He remembered the gentle touch of her hand, the warmth of her smile that never failed to chase away the darkness.

But amidst the memories, there was also pain – the pain of their last conversation, the words left unsaid and the choices left unmade. Bucky's throat tightened as he recalled the day he had walked away from Jen, the air thick with tension and unspoken truths.

His voice was cold and final. "You almost got her killed, Jen," he had said, his eyes blazing with anger. "Stay away from us. Stay away from me."

Jen's eyes had flashed with anger, her words cutting like knives as she lashed out in frustration. "And what, you think you'll find someone better than me?" she had spat, her voice dripping with venom. "Good luck with that, Bucky. You'll never find anyone who would put up with your baggage."

But Bucky had remained resolute, his decision fueled by a sense of longing and regret that threatened to consume him whole. "Maybe not," he had admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. "But I'd rather be alone than with someone who doesn't truly care about me."

Now, as Bucky sat by y/n’s bedside, the weight of his decision bore down on him like a crushing weight. Tears welled in his eyes as he reached out to gently brush a strand of hair away from her face, his fingers trembling with emotion.

"I'm so sorry, babydoll," he whispered, his voice thick with unshed tears. "I never meant for any of this to happen. So, please, wake up. I need you."

But y/n remained unconscious, her breathing shallow and weak as she lay before him. And as Bucky watched over her, his heart heavy with worry and regret, he vowed to do whatever it took to bring her back to him, to keep her safe from harm for all eternity.

For in that moment, Bucky realized that he couldn't bear to lose her – not now, not ever. She was his rock, his anchor in a world of uncertainty and pain. And as he held her hand tightly in his own, he prayed with all his heart that she would find her way back to him, to the love and light that had always guided them through the darkness.

The soft hum of machines filled the air as y/n stirred awake, her senses slowly coming back to her. She blinked, disoriented at first, until her gaze fell upon Bucky, who was sleeping soundly in the chair beside her bed. His hands were clasped tightly around hers, his face peaceful in slumber, but she couldn't help but notice the tear stains on his cheeks, the dark circles under his eyes, the worry lines etched into his forehead.

"How long has it been since?" she wondered to herself, her heart aching at the sight of Bucky's exhausted form. She carefully sat up, trying not to disturb him as she lovingly examined his sleeping face. She couldn't help but smile as she gently ran her fingers through his hair, the soft strands slipping through her fingertips.

Bucky groaned as his sleep was interrupted, muttering something about Sam needs to leave him be; before he abruptly sat up, his eyes wide with disbelief. "Hi there," y/n greeted softly, her eyes sparkling with affection as she watched Bucky's reaction.

For a moment, Bucky seemed unable to comprehend that she was finally awake. His eyes widened in disbelief, his mouth slightly agape. But then the realization hit him, and he threw himself at her, wrapping her in a tight embrace as if she were the most precious thing in the world .Despite the pain that shot through her body, she managed to let out a soft chuckle, returning his embrace with equal fervor. The warmth of his embrace chased away the lingering chill of unconsciousness, and for a moment, everything felt right.

"y/n..." Bucky breathed into her neck, his voice trembling with emotion. She hummed in response, her heart swelling for him. "Hmmm?"

Not wanting to let go of her, Bucky called her name once again, his voice wavering with uncertainty. "y/n-..." She paused, her lips curving into a tender smile as she whispered in his ear, "Yes, Bucky?"

Bucky tightened his grip, his breath hitching in his throat as he buried his face in her shoulder. y/n gently rubbed his back, her touch soothing and comforting as she reassured him, "I'm here, sweetheart." The scent of her hair, the feel of her warmth against him—it all felt overwhelming. Emotions churned inside him like a tempest. Relief, guilt, love, and fear battled for dominance, leaving him raw and exposed.

She gently rubbed his back, her touch soothing and comforting as she reassured him, "Bucky, I'm not going anywhere.

Bucky's mind raced, images of the past few weeks flashing before his eyes. He remembered the coldness with which he'd treated her, the cruel words that had slipped from his lips, fueled by Jen's poison. He thought of the sleepless nights, the nightmares that had gripped him, and the aching void he'd felt every time he saw y/n’s hurt expression.

"I'm so sorry," he whispered, his voice muffled against her shoulder. "For everything. For not believing you. For pushing you away."

Reluctantly, she pulled away, but not before wiping the tears from Bucky's cheeks and fighting the urge to place a tender kiss on his forehead. As she looked into his eyes, she could see the depth of his love and the pain he had endured for her sake. And in that moment, she knew that she had found her home in his arms. Bucky took her hands in his own, his eyes closed as he pressed a kiss to her wounded wrists. "This will never happen again. Ever," he vowed, his voice filled with determination.

Moved by his words, y/n felt her heart flutter with emotion. She realized in that moment that she could never stay angry at him, no matter what had transpired between them. She understood now that they were both at fault, both victims of circumstance and misunderstanding.

With a surge of courage, she reached out and pulled Bucky into a kiss. Her lips met his in a slow, passionate embrace, pouring all of her love and forgiveness into the tender gesture. It was a moment of connection, of healing, of reaffirming their bond despite the trials they had faced.

The taste of Bucky's lips was like a soothing salve to her soul; it was intoxicating. It felt as if the world had fallen away, leaving only the two of them entwined in each other's arms. When they finally broke apart, Bucky whispered those three words that y/n had longed to hear, "I love you."

Her heart soared with joy, and she couldn't help but tease him, "Took you long enough." her teasing words met with a cheeky grin from Bucky. "I love you too, Bucky" she blinked slowly. As he whispered softly under his breath, "Come here," he pulled her back into the kiss, their lips meeting in a tender embrace that spoke volumes of their unspoken love. And in that moment, amidst the chaos and uncertainty of their world, they found solace in each other's arms, knowing that together, they could weather any storm.

Read my other works here: Masterlist

A/N: I just needed to let this out lmao. It's been stuck in my head for several weeks. Thank you for spending your time reading this crap... honestly. Love you so much 🤍

#bucky x reader #bucky x you #bucky barnes au #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #tfatws!bucky #bucky angst #bucky fluff

2K notes · View notes

katiekatdragon27 · 1 month ago

Text

Guys you don't understand how much I love these two. (Oh yeah, and Finn's there too)

Glisten: Awww~ Shrimpo, you remembered Shrimpo: B*tch I'm in LOVE with you, of course I REMEMBERED! Glisten: What!? Wait really?? This is very sudden wow! (You said you were straight?) Shrimpo: AAAAAAAAAA

Finn: (yapping) Shrimpo and Glisten: SHUT THE F*CK UP, FINN!! Shrimpo and Glisten: ... Shrimpo and Glisten: (kissing)

The first comic takes place before the two started dating. Shrimpo is really really really bad at expressing emotions other than anger and frustration, so anytime he tries to express anything, he just blurts out his feelings without thinking. Then he gets second-hand embarrassment lol. Glisten was pretty aware that Shrimpo liked him before, but he's pretending to be surprised to make Shrimpo "feel better" (also to mildly embarrass him lol).

Also, I think that Shrimpo and Glisten bonding over hating Finn is very based and true. They need that autistic man to SHUT UP/silly

I think Shrimpo and Finn are very cousin coded. Not close enough to be siblings but definitely got some familial genes going on imo (plz don't shoot me Shrimpbowl shippers🙏🙏🙏) Doesn't stop Shrimpo from being violent towards Finn tho, and Finn does nothing to deter it lol (he finds it funny). Also, Glisten throws no punches bc he doesn't want to get his hands dirty.

Finn: Sooooo?? How was the daaaate~ Finn: No need to be such a clam about it! Shrimpo: I'M SO KILLING YOU!

The second image takes place the day after this post lol. Shrimpo is recovering from a hangover covered in lipstick kisses and super conflicting emotions and Finn is NOT helping.

On the other end, I've been thinking about Shimmer a lot lol. So here is a doodle of her with her "sister aunt" Toodles, and Pebbles.

They all get along super well. In this pic, Toodles is like 12ish and Shimmer is 4 (but her weird biology made her age up to like 7 here). Pebble is pebble, that's all you need to know.

Also, I was in a horror-ish mood earlier so here are some Twisteds <33 (below cut cuz kinda scary):

I love you angst comfort. My sib pointed out while playing one day that Shrimpo looked traumatized as a Twisted, which like, fair, but it make me think.

Glisten: "They say you are not here anymore. But I think you are."

I had this silly idea that Twisted Shrimpo was infected by Dandy personally, and that whole conflict got Shrimpo's lower jaw ripped off. He is very violent and volatile, and very hard to calm down. But, when he runs into a twisting Glisten alone and scared, he comforts him (to the best of his ability).

Since Glisten is still able to be somewhat conscious, he realizes that the Twisteds are actually not completely gone like he originally thought, and it helps him keep his sanity longer, hoping for a way out for everyone.

Willpower is a crazy thing.

On the complete opposite note, I love you horrifying freak of ichor child.

Since Shimmer was made from the ichor itself with no sort of skeleton or solid foundation, her condition is very unstable. And the problem is that her body is affected by her emotions. On a bad day, she can suffer from lots of pain and her body literally melting away. That's when she hides out and waits for her body to stabilize again.

When she completely twists, her body completely falls apart, becoming a puddle of ichor on the ground. If she was an encounterable twisted, she would work like Sprout's puddle root things, but easier to maneuver around and avoid. Also, her antenna glow.

Mini yap session aside, I think I cooked on the art lol.

Anyways, the og images lol:

Have a good one pookies!

945 notes · View notes

luxaofhesperides · 11 months ago

Text

Soulmark AU + Sleeping Beauty ; requested by @candeartist422!

For the last few years, Duke’s been waiting for his soulmate to die.

It sounds cruel to say it that way. But the waiting is more painful, he thinks, than just mourning a lost love. It’s not like most people ever meet their soulmates anyways; his parents weren’t meant to be, but they still loved each other and had a life together. He wishes he could turn his focus away from his soulmate, but Duke is a romantic at heart and has always wanted to find the other half of his soul.

But since he was fourteen, his soulmark has dulled, fading in and out of color. What was once a vibrant blue crystal star, with eight points and a swirl of watercolor hues around it, dimmed more and more until Duke was sure he was watching his soulmate die slowly.

His soulmate didn’t die then. Whoever they are got better, his soulmark gaining color, but it never went back to the way it was. For years after, Duke would check at the beginning and end of each day, keeping track of when it faded and when it regained its color.

He thought his soulmate was sick. In and out of hospitals, fighting to stay alive.

And then it went nearly colorless.

Duke doesn’t remember much about that day. He knows he woke up, brushed his teeth, the lifted up his shirt to check his soulmark in the mirror. The blue was almost completely gone, the star on his left hipbone nearly gray with how colorless it was. He started at it for a moment, shocked, and reality slid away from him as he retreated into the safety of his mind, fully dissociating.

Bruce had found him when Duke didn’t show up for breakfast. He held him and offered quiet words of comfort that Duke couldn’t understand, but just having someone with him lessened the hurt of losing his soulmate.

Seeing the color come back the next day, faint as it was, hurt even more.

A year later, Duke still can’t break the habit of checking his soulmark twice a day. It hasn’t changed at all, still faint and dim, but carrying just enough color to show that his soulmate was still alive. At the very least, they were still breathing, but his chance of ever meeting them is basically zero. Still, he can’t help but hope, wishing that he could meet them even once before they die and leave him forever.

“Same as ever,” he murmurs to himself as he brushes his thumb against his soulmark. He’s terrified that he’s forgotten how beautiful the blue of it was when his soulmate was healthy.

Duke doesn’t let himself think on it too much anymore. Though his thoughts often turn to his soulmate during quiet moments like these, the busy nature of Gotham is usually more than enough to pull his attention back to the here and now. There’s no use in obsessing over his soulmate anyways; they’re just going to die, sooner or later, and Duke knows he’ll never get to meet them. They’ll just be another empty space in his life, right next to his parents.

“Come on, Thomas, focus,” he tells himself firmly, then gets dressed and heads down to the kitchen for breakfast.

The manor is quiet. It usually is in the mornings, with everyone from the night shift dead asleep and trying to get as much rest as they can before they have to start their day. Not that many of them stay in the manor these days; Duke and Damian are the only permanent residents at the moment, but Steph usually stays half with her mom and half in the manor during the summers when she’s home from college, and the others drop in whenever they feel like it.

Bruce lives more in the Batcave than the manor, so he doesn’t really count. It’s also why Duke is surprised to see Bruce awake and dressed like a normal person, drinking coffee in the kitchen as if this is a normal occurrence.

“Morning,” Duke offers.

“Good morning, Duke,” Bruce replies. “Sleep well?”

“Well enough. Alfred out or something?”

“He may have kicked me out of the Batcave to clean it up a bit,” Bruce answers tiredly. “Want me to make breakfast?”

Duke has heard the horror stories of Bruce’s attempts to make edible food in a kitchen. In the interest of not dealing with food poisoning, Duke shakes his head quickly and says, “Nah, it’s fine. I was kinda wanting to eat out for breakfast. Get out there as me, and not a mask, you know?”

“Mind if I join you? Alfred may forgive me for not sleeping if I willingly go outside.”

Duke laughs. “Sure man, as long as you pay.”

“I’ll drive, too.”

“What, don’t trust me behind a wheel?”

Bruce gives him a tired look, eyes dead and dull. “I have taught all my children how to drive. The day I willingly let them take the wheel when I am not actively dying is the day I’ve been replaced by a robot clone of myself who doesn’t know better yet.”

“That is… very specific. Is that a thing you usually worry about?”

“I’m Batman. I have to worry about everything.”

Yeah, that tracks. Duke wouldn’t be surprised if he has at least five contingency plans for that scenario, should it ever happen. “Well,” he says, “Right now, all you need to worry about is having your wallet and driving us down to The Foodie Nook. I’ve been craving their breakfast plates for ages.”

Bruce doesn’t object to his choice of restaurant and follows Duke down to the garage, grabbing a random set of keys and pointing it out to the many cars he owns. One near the front blinks its lights as it unlocks and Duke cheerfully tosses himself into the passenger seat as Bruce opens the garage door.

The drive into Gotham is smooth. They don’t hit traffic until they reach the bridge that leads into the city proper, taking them away from the quiet of Bristol. The morning is busy, but not enough that Duke worries about being out as the Signal to help keep the peace. It’s a normal type of busy, one borne from people going about their lives, feeling safe enough to go out.

The Foodie Nook is entirely local and very popular, so the parking lot is nearly full. But they expanded their space last year, which means he and Bruce don’t have to sit outside while they wait to grab a table. Bruce keeps conversation light and casual, well aware of the many listening ears around them, and it’s nice, feeling normal for once.

Well, as normal as life can be with Bruce Wayne™. The server who comes to lead them to a table realizes who she’s talking to after she gets a proper look at them while holding open the door and promptly stutters over her words.

“No need for any special treatment,” Bruce laughs lightly, “We’re just here for breakfast. Nothing special.”

“Of course,” she replies, cheeks red. “Um, right this way! We’ve got a table by the windows for you. Just two, yeah?”

“Yup! Just two. Thought this was a good day to spend some time with Duke. He’s a great kid, you know, I’m glad I was given the opportunity to foster him.”

The sunny, cheerful Bruce Wayne persona is so different from the usual Bruce he works with that it feels like he’s standing next to a stranger. But his words are sincere and warm his heart, filling up the gaps that his soulmate has left.

“Here you are!” their server announces, showing them to their table. “I’ll be right back with some menus.” She’s gone in a rush, and other customers glance over before quickly averting their gaze.

It’s one of the unspoken rules of Gotham: give the Waynes their privacy while they’re out in public. Questions and conversation are for public events only, but if they see a Wayne out and about during a normal day, everyone leaves them be unless spoken to first. Duke used to follow those rules as well when he was just another Gothamite. It’s strange being on the other side of that now that he’s in with the Waynes.

Duke barely has to look through the menu when it’s handed to him. The breakfast plates are his favorites and he gets one every single time he comes to The Foodie Nook; stacked full with breakfast foods from around the world. As a kid, he loved the Mexico Plate, but these days he’s craving either the Brazilian Plate or the Vietnamese Plate.

He can’t decide on which one and thinks about tossing a coin to decide, but seeing how that’s Two Face’s whole thing, he decides to hold off and settle the matter with eenie-meenie-minnie-mo.

He gets the Vietnamese Plate.

Bruce, on the other hand, reads through the entire menu like it’s a novel, then leans over and says rather loudly, “Duke, what’s a tort-illa.”

The pain he feels hearing that is only worsened by the amusement in Bruce’s eyes. He’s doing it on purpose, playing up the Brucie act for the public so he can psychologically torment Duke. A few nearby customers choke back laughter, turning away to hide their smiles.

Duke shakes his head and says, “Don’t worry about it. It’s just food. Don’t ask any more questions, I just want a peaceful breakfast.”

“Well then,” Bruce replies, “I suppose I know what to order now.”

As if she was summoned, their server reappears before them, cheeks still looking a little flushed. “Hi! Ready to order?”

She writes down their orders quickly, valiantly keeping a straight face at Bruce’s mispronunciation of tortilla, then heads off to deliver their orders to the kitchen.

Rather than draw out a conversation with Brucie Wayne, Duke settles for playing a few idle games on his phone; his current favorite is one quiet cat cafe game where he directs cats into fulfilling cafe orders.

Bruce, despite being out in his civilian identity, is working. He’s on his Batman phone, which looks the same as his other cell phones except this one has a bat symbol sticker just barely hiding a Superman sticker on the phone case. His brow is slightly furrowed as he reads whatever file he’s accessing from the Batcomputer. It’s a little worrying but it could be anything. Bruce makes the same expression when he reads one of Tim’s snarky comments getting quoted in the news.

But that’s not Duke’s problem! He’s here to enjoy his breakfast and it will take the end of the world itself to remove him from his seat before he’s done eating.

The game takes most of his attention until their food comes out, and by then Bruce has tucked away the smallest of his Batman mannerisms. They enjoy a normal, peaceful breakfast. Bruce ends it by asking their server if she has any debt that’s weighing her down, then giving her a tip that’s at least five thousand dollars above that.

She does cry and Bruce hugs her. It’s very sweet.

As soon as they get back into the car, his easy going smile drops and Duke knows some superhero nonsense is about to take over his day.

“Duke,” Bruce starts, seriously, “I received a message from Zatanna.”

“Don’t drag this out,” Duke says, “Just give it to me straight. What terrible thing is about to happen to us?”

“It’s nothing too big. They just recently defeated a magical being who had been tearing apart secret government facilities in Illinois. He had both magic and a high tech weapon, which they confiscated and are delivering to me. The government agency he was fighting was suspiciously interested in the weapon, and based on their behaviors and newly revealed work, Zatanna made the decision to turn the weapon over to us so it doesn’t fall into the wrong hands.”

Bruce smoothly merges into traffic as he speaks, getting them onto the road back to the manor. There’s a look in his eyes that means he’s keeping a lot unsaid, and Duke knows without a doubt that whatever this government agency was doing is bad if Zatanna needs Batman to act as extra security.

He’s not sure about her decision to trust the weapon to be safe in Gotham, either. Sure, Batman will keep it as safe as he can, but with their luck, it’ll end up in the hands of a Rogue and lead to a lot of death and destruction.

As soon as they cross the bridge and return to Bristol, Bruce steps on the gas and the car tears down the road. Without any other cars to worry about (or traffic laws), it takes barely two minutes to reach the manor, when the gates open for them and let them into the garage.

Alfred waits for them by the door, looking them over with a critical eye. “I see you have managed to go outside, Master Bruce. What’s the special occasion?”

“Just breakfast,” Bruce answers. “I’m heading back down to the Batcave. Zatanna will be here soon to deliver a weapon.” He’s gone before Alfred can say anything more, hurrying down the hall and turning the corner, disappearing from sight as he heads towards his office.

“I see we have yet to break that bad habit of his. Did you enjoy your morning out, Master Duke?”

“Sure did, Alfred. I’m, uh, also going down to the Batcave. He’s definitely not telling me a lot about what’s going on, so I’m just going to read about it over his shoulder. I’ll be back up for lunch, though!”

“And perhaps you’ll be able to drag Master Bruce away from that cave of his,” Alfred comments wryly as he walks with Duke towards the office. He gives Duke a nod, then splits away from him, returning to the kitchen where Duke can hear Damian speaking to someone, probably Tim by the annoyed tone of his voice, and mentally wishes Alfred luck in handling them.

Duke sets the correct time on the clock in Bruce’s office and heads down to the Batcave, taking the steps two at a time.

Bruce is already at the Batcomputer, shoulders tensed, when he arrives.

“More bad news?” he asks as he makes his way over.

Bruce doesn’t bother looking away from the screen as he says, “More details about the fight. It seems the magical being called himself a ghost and was going on a rampage due to a betrayal. He says they nearly killed his son.”

“Oh, yikes.”

“And two of the scientists working with the government agency said that he stole their son and is keeping them from saving him.”

“Yikes,” Duke says with more feeling.

He doesn’t get to hear anymore details about JLD’s fight with this ghost when he catches a flicker in the corner of his eye. Duke turns and stares at the empty space in the Batcave near the medbay and watches as colorful magic gathers and swirls in dizzing circles. The portal opens a moment later and Zatanna steps out, looking exhausted and lightly singed.

“Batman,” she greets, holding a white gun that looks like it belongs in an early sci-fi movie from the 60s. “The GIW is trying to arrest us. Constantine keeps burning their badges and documents so it shouldn’t be a problem, but they are determined to get this back. I wouldn’t be surprised if they came after you next. They’ve got some way of tracking things, but I didn’t have time to get any details before I had to leave.”

Bruce takes the gun from her hands carefully, looking it over with a sharp gaze. “Why would a ghost want to use a gun?”

“I don’t know. He had a variety of powers, too.”

“What does this do?”

“Shoots ice. He never let it go and nearly burned me alive for taking it before we subdued him.”

“We’ll keep it locked up,” Bruce promises.

Zatanna sighs. It looks as though a physical weight fell off her shoulders. “Thanks. I’m going to head back to stop Constantine from getting into a fistfight with the GIW agents.”

She opens another portal with a waved hand and a muttered spell. Bruce is already walking away to set the gun down on a work station, so Duke is the one to wave Zatanna goodbye.

By the time he reaches Bruce’s side, the gun is already dismantled, all pieces neatly set aside. Sticky notes denote which pieces go together and in what order. It looks the same as most guns, save for the aesthetic, but the heart of it is a glowing blue orb, large enough to cover the entirety of Bruce’s palm, and it brings a chill to the air.

Duke stares at it and feels his soulmark burn ice cold.

“Duke?”

It’s in his hands. He doesn’t remember reaching out to take it, but it’s in his hands. He can’t take his eyes off of it, cradling it gently and bringing it closer to his chest.

It’s the same blue his soulmark once was. Before his soulmate began to fade, before every day became a waiting game to see how long his soulmate will last before they die.

This has something to do with his soulmate. He’s sure of it.

He won’t let anyone take it from him.

“Duke. Give that to me.”

He doesn’t feel like he’s in his body. He’s detached, floating somewhere outside his body, puppeteering his limbs, making them move without feeling the motion. Shadows condense around his feet and Bruce takes a step back, wary.

“Duke,” he says again, but Duke can’t find any words, can’t draw on his voice, can’t even look away from the bright, bright blue of the orb. It pulses lightly in his hand like a heartbeat.

Bruce reaches a hand out.

He’s pulled back by shadows before he can get close, and Duke holds the orb against his chest, right against his heart, and feels the cold seep into him.

“Duke. I need you to look at me.” This time, Bruce’s voice has Batman’s growl in it, a heavy command that he can’t help but instinctively follow. He looks up and meets Bruce’s eyes, but he can’t focus. All his awareness is in his hands and the heartbeat of the glowing orb.

“I have to protect this,” Duke manages to whisper. “I… I think it’s alive.”

“Okay. Let’s get you to the medbay so you can sit down. We’ll figure this out, Duke.”

Bruce slowly, carefully, sets his hand on Duke’s shoulder. He keeps his attention away from the orb, so Duke allows it and lets Bruce guide him to the medbay and onto one of the medical cots. Bruce leaves him after a minute of quiet fussing, muttering about calling Zatanna.

Whatever. None of that matters when the heartbeat of the orb grows stronger, steadier, and Duke feels it match the beat of his own heart.

Time slips away from him. Distantly, he hears people move around the cave, speaking in low tones. A hand presses against his shoulder, warm, then moves away.

The orb in his hand moves.

Duke blinks slowly, then claws his way back to awareness, pushing past the haze that’s fallen over his mind. The orb turns over in his hand, then cracks right down the middle. The glow grows stronger, washing the medbay in blue light and a symbol appears on the orb.

It’s his soulmark.

Later, he won’t be able to say why he did it. There were no thoughts, no reasonings, no explanations. Duke simply moved on instinct and lifted the orb up to his face and pressed a soft kiss against it.

One moment, the orb was still.

The next, it had burst in a flash of light that blinded everyone in the Batcave, and then a thin, injured teenager had fallen into Duke’s lap.

Hands immediately grab him, pulling him away from Duke. The teenager puts up no fight, eyes barely open, but he reaches for Duke weakly. On his wrist is the bright blue snowflake, the color strong and vivid.

“That’s me soulmate,” Duke whispers as he watches Bruce and Tim set the boy down on another medical cot.

“What?” Tim says, turning to face Duke, concern clear on his face.

“That’s my soulmate,” he repeats, louder. Then, panicked, he pulls up his shirt enough to see his own soulmark; the color is still dull, weak, barely there, but it’s more blue that it has been in a while. He doesn’t need to say anything. Tim sees the dullness of his soulmark, looks at the boy, and puts the pieces together on his own.

“I’ll call Doc Thompkins,” he says, already moving to fix everything. Bruce remains where he is, making sure the boy is tucked in and breathing steadily before he returns to Duke.

“Are you alright?”

Duke swallows roughly, unable to tear his eyes away from the boy. He’s pale and thin, as if he’d been starved, and there’s frost beginning to spread on the bedsheet from his fingers. “He’s my soulmate,” Duke manages to say. “He’s been dying for two years.”

Bruce’s eyes a hard, a determined light in them. “We’ll save him,” he promises.

If anyone can, it’s Batman.

If anyone can, it’s them, Batman and the Signal, and their entire network of family and friends.

Duke’s been waiting for his soulmate to die all this time. Now, he’s going to save him.

#ghostlights #dc x dp #dp x dc #dcxdp #dpxdc #prompt fill #my writing #i dont really know much abt jld so they are not really in here #just duke trying to live his life and have a nice day with bruce #when his soul mate gets thrown at him in the form of an ORB #(ghost core but they dont know that yet)#dannys gonna have to answer so many questions once hes awake bc not many know abt realms beings #its gonna be rough for him bc he's been asleep for 2 years in his core bc he was never safe enough to recover #until duke gave him a boost (plus the power of soulmates really helped him) and he woke up #in a cave with his soulmate and a whole crew of superheroes #what a thing to open ur eyes to. rip danny lol #thanks for the prompt!

3K notes · View notes