#sometimes I torture the characters and other times I need them to be soft and comforting

[lunhasissues]

I miss when people drew rlly soft Murder Time Trio Poly stuff (MTT Poly)

Them laying in bed together, the only way for any of them to get peaceful sleep. Being able to confide with each other because living under Nm is shitty. They would’ve hated each other at first but then after months and months of fighting they come to an understanding and they grow closer together and Nm can’t take it away from them.

They can be happy, it’s the only happiness they’ve ever been privileged to have. And they still have their toxic moments, nothing is perfect after all. They still fight and throw punches, but they will always lay in the same bed together. No matter what happened that day, they’ll all rest together.

I’m a sappy bitch I like sappy characters I miss writing about soft things, I miss seeing soft things. A person can take only so much hatred and violent relationships.

Ramble ramble

[delulustateofmind]

House Plant

TW: Yandere Behaviors, Stalking, Mentions of Kidnapping, noncon forehead smooch, Gn! Reader

WC: 500 (teeny tiny blurb)

You always brag about your green thumb. It’s your go-to anecdote: plants practically take care of themselves, you say. All you do is let them bask in the sunlight, barely watering them. Yet, somehow, your basil thrives, your golden pothos spills in luscious waves off the shelf, and your Monstera unfurls massive leaves that seem to stretch toward you like hands reaching out for help.

A miracle, really, considering a year ago you couldn’t even keep a fake plant from looking dull and lifeless. You joke that neglect might be the secret ingredient.

But it’s not neglect.

It’s him.

The sweet man from the plant nursery you met a year ago has been tending your plants in secret. He unlocks your door at night, stepping in with the practiced silence of a predator. Sometimes he comes during the day while you're out, his fingers brushing over the leaves you let burn under the relentless sun. Normally, he wouldn’t care about someone so careless. But watching you torture your plants with that thoughtless neglect? That did something to him. Awoke something he hasn’t been able to silence since.

He waters them. Feeds them. Prunes them. Repots them into richer soil. He’s poured hours into keeping them alive. You haven’t noticed the subtle shifts: the fresh soil around their bases, the slightly different placement of their pots, the way the leaves glisten unnaturally as though kissed by an unseen hand.

You don’t even notice him when he’s standing inches from your bed.

After his nightly rituals, he lingers, his gaze tracing the soft rise and fall of your chest as you sleep. Sometimes he reaches out, brushing a fingertip along your cheek. Tonight, he dares a kiss on your temple. You stir faintly, and for a brief, intoxicating moment, he wonders what you’d do if you woke to find him there, hovering over you like a shadow you can’t escape.

He presses his lips to your skin again. His hands tremble, aching to take you with him. Wouldn’t you be beautiful, kept under his care like one of your plants? He’d monitor your every need—your sunlight, your hydration, your nutrition. You’d thrive in his hands, just as your plants do now.

But there’s a darkness curling around the edges of his thoughts, whispering promises of discipline. Would you thrive under neglect, too? He wonders what you’d become after hours locked away in the dark, parched with thirst and stomach clawing for sustenance. How long before you break, wilting and desperate, begging for his touch, his care? The thought is thrilling.

He laughs softly, a sound meant only for himself. What a pretty little houseplant you’d make. Beautiful, fragile, and entirely his. And like all good things, you’d grow best under his control—until your roots were tangled too deeply to ever leave him.

Perhaps it’s time to stop tending your plants.

Perhaps it’s time to tend to you.

Characters:

JJK: Nanami, Geto, Sukuna, Kenjaku, Mahito

AOT: Levi, Erwin, Zeke

BNHA: Tomura, Overhaul, Dabi, Hawks

HxH: Hisoka, Illumi, Chrollo

Other Characters I thought of: Light Yagami, Douma, Aki

[scorpioriesling]

May I please politely beg for a fic based on the Eris bc post you did? It was so good and I’d love to see him confront Rhys + co and taking care/loving reader

I’m the “Bad Guy”

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *

Pairing(s): Eris x reader

Warnings: some graphic-ish injury

Summary: Eris Vanserra; he was your… what? Enemy? Ally? Both? Sort of — at least, that’s what Rhysand says, and whatever your High Lord says, goes. But, Eris saw you for more than anyone in your court ever could, and deep down you knew he had one more title, reserved for just you: true love. What happens when you’re in danger, and he’s the first and only one you go running to?

SR’s Note: Yes you absolutely can have a fic based on Eris’ HC in this post. No need to beg — I’m happy to oblige. Here it is, I hope you like it. xoxo

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *

The fire crackled and burned in the fireplace, embers creating a soft glow in the darkened sitting room. Eris was alone, lounging on the sofa in the Forest House, his newest read in hand. He liked spending his time this way — alone, reading, warm. He felt… content.

Little did he know, you’d quite enjoyed your evenings the same way.

Sure, he knew you shared an interest in reading. That’s where he usually found you when he’d visit the Night Court — shelf combing in the library of the House of Wind; curled in a chair, a different book to read each time he would see you again; sometimes, you’d even be caught talking about your favorite ones with Nesta. You quite enjoyed her, as well as her company and character, as she was very honest and real with you.

Yet, another thing in you’d shared in common.

On this particular evening though, the sun had already long set and the stars were sprinkling the sky when Eris felt his body tense on instinct. He had suddenly lost interest in what he was reading when he heard a commotion coming from outside. Well, not a commotion, but rather some sort of… crying. Whimpering, rather. He straightened in his chair, straining his ears to hear what was happening beyond the windows of the Forest House.

Usually, when this happened, it was the work of Beron — some cruel or unusual punishment that Eris had learned long ago to stay out of. Recently, tensions were running high with the Night Court; though Eris was still secretly meeting with them, it didn’t change that his father wanted to sever all ties with the solar court completely.

But this… this time, it was different.

“Please… please…”

Eris’ heartstrings pulled in his chest as he strained to listen, wanting to make any excuse or reason for his ears to be deceiving him.

But, he knew in his heart, they were not.

In an instant, he’d snapped his novel shut and was racing toward the front door. He threw it open, rounding the corner of the house and bolting for the enormous hedge maze in the backyard of the grounds. He wasn’t sure exactly what had come over him; on any other day, he’d leave you to suffer as he would the other Night Court Inner Circle members. But the squeeze of barbed wire around his heart propelled him forward.

He knew you were here. He knew it was you that needed him.

It was an odd feeling, tearing around corners in search of the one woman he’d thought over and over about torturing. He’d thought of you crying. He’d thought about how he could hurt you. Did that make him a bad person? Maybe. So be it. You weren’t perfect either. Over the last few years, he’d even thought of how he’d kill you himself — just, once, he’d thought of this. It was during a meeting with the entire Inner Circle, of course; Eris was present. He’d arrived early and heard you, again, talking to Nesta about your ideas on strategy and negotiation. Though you were speaking of ideas that would affect him directly, he didn’t care — the ideas were good. Nesta wasn’t shy to give credit where it was due, either.

But, none of that mattered because during the meeting, you hadn’t opened your mouth once or said a word about your ideas. You’d tried to interject, actually — but Rhysand was quick to silence you.

But how did you handle that?

Like a good pet would. You sat, and stayed silent. Just like you always did. You’d never challenge your High Lord, oh Cauldron no — he could just simply use you as a doormat, and it wouldn’t matter.

Maybe that’s what pissed Eris off so badly.

He knew what you were capable of, what you had to offer, and what you were worth; but it seemed that most of the Inner Circle didn’t bat an eye at you, especially Rhys, whom you bowed to and that was that. Your talents could be used for so much more, but you always stayed within the guidelines in which you were allowed.

“Please… Eris…someone help me…”

Eyes straining in the night, Eris followed your pained cries until he found you in the middle of the maze. You were slumped against the large marble water fountain, breathing unevenly as blood stained your neck. Drying crimson flakes dirtied your usually vibrant tendrils, and your hands braced over your abdomen, hot tears creating tracks down your dirtied face.

"Oh my Gods..." He rushed to you, and you peered up at him in desperation. His heart split in two, seeing you crumpled and hurt in front of him as he took in your appearance in full.

But, his sadness turned very quickly, to anger. You laid, panting and in pain, in his court, on his grounds. No explanation, no one coming to help you. He felt... violent.

He knelt down to your level, leaning in and stretching a hand out to trail over your face, registering the blood pouring from inside your lip. He then reached up to move your hair from your forehead -- a huge gash the cause for the ever growing maroon pool you two were in.

Well, one of the causes. Your hands still covered your stomach.

He was fuming, hands trembling as he tried to stay gentle with you, but absolute rage filled his every vein at how this could have happened to you.

Who could've let this happen to you.

"Eris, I..." you coughed, a few blood-tainted drops landing on the stone pathway below. "I... I didn't mean to... this is the first place I thought of..." another loud sob wretched from you, and Eris cupped your cheek, his thumb stroking over the bone. You relaxed a bit at his touch, though he usually appeared so tense and malicious. When he looked into your eyes again, his whiskey irises were dulled to a deep bourbon, and his jaw was clenched tight.

"Come with me."

He stood then and wrapped his arms around your knees and lower back, scooping you up and carrying you as carefully as he could back to his wing of the Forest House. You let out a few small yelps here and there as the searing pain in your stomach was getting to be too much to handle.

"Please, stay with me Y/N," he pleaded, looking down at you sorrowfully. Your usually soft eyes met his, and his wire-wrapped heart strained once more. He’d felt as though he was carrying a small, injured deer -- that is what you were in his eyes. A gentle, wise, little doe. His little doe.

Whatever he’d been feeling before, it was long gone. The only thoughts clouding his mind were ones of keeping you safe, helping you in every way he could, and providing you with everything you could need.

Little did he realize, you just needed him. Wasn’t that why you were there in the first place?

When Eris had finally made it inside, he sat you gently on the sofa in front of the fireplace, and ran to the washroom. It wasn’t long before he’d returned, presenting a small wet cloth in one hand and taking your chin between his fingers kindly in the other. He began to wipe away the trailing stains all over your delicate skin, trying so hard to stay gentle with you; trying to replicate the softness you'd always offerred others. He felt better seeing you relax into his touch a bit as he continued to work.

But, that's one thing you didn't have in common. He wasn't soft, or sweet like you. It was one thing he pretended to hate; he “hated” your kindness to everyone, even his father, of all people. He “hated” your soft voice, one he wasn’t used to hearing all that often. He also “hated” your gentle loving nature — so, so much he “hated” it.

He tried to steady his breathing, gazing into your round, watery eyes to attempt to ground his senses and avoid thinking about punishing whoever hurt you like this. It only caused him more agony, watching as you tried to hold back your tears. Wiping away the last of the blood from your hairline, he dropped his head for a moment, raking a hand through his hair.

“I can’t stall for you any longer, love.” He said softly. Your stomach muscles continued to tense under your palms, and you watched as he rolled a clean cloth between his hands.

"I’m going to put this,” he held up the rolled cloth.

“In here," he tucked it into your open mouth. You closed your mouth over it, so usually defiant towards your “sworn enemy”, but, really...

You'd do anything he asked of you.

His hands moved to cover your bloody ones, still clutching at your stomach.

"Y/N... you’re going to have to move your hands." He says. Your eyes screw shut as you groan, fresh pain raging from the wound in your abdomen. Eris sighs, looking to you with pleading eyes.

“Please, Y/N… you have to help me help you.” His thumbs stroke over your knuckles, now covered in your blood — and you begin to remove your hands shakily. He breathes a sharp gasp as he sees your laceration in full, and shakes his head slowly. He sits back on his knees, positioning himself between yours.

"Hold onto me." He says. You look to him in confusion, and he places your clammy fingers on his shoulders. One of his hands lingers on yours for a moment, and he pressed the inside of your wrist to his lips. He looks back to you, eyes already asking for forgiveness.

"I'll be honest,” he begins. “I've thought about hurting you before, as you've hurt me," he says, voice deep with ... something. Something you couldn't place. You could barely focus on his words as your mind started to fog over, your vision clouding with black spots. "...but never like this."

He sighs one last time, a hand coming into view between your knees, his fingers ablaze with his gift of fire. You immediately sit up, or try to anyway -- a sob racks your chest, muffled by the cloth, and Eris holds you down, hand splayed over your sternum.

"Hold onto me." He says again, his tone warning. His fingers meets your bubbling would, flames searing the skin as a scream tears through your dry, cracked throat, only quieted by the cloth you’re biting down on. Your eyes blow wide, and you squirm under his hold. He looks at you with regret, pulling back for just a moment — only to press heat onto your would again within seconds.

Your hands claw at the collar of his white button down, red already smeared over most of it. He huffs an apologetic sigh, continuing to carterize your open would, flames stinging and burning your sensitive flesh.

Over. Over. Over again.

You tilt your head back, the familiar weightless feeling becoming all too apparent. You felt it coming; you were going to black out. His once-white collar begins to slip from your fingers, and your eyes meet his one last time before glazing over as you slink into darkness.

: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ

Soft streams of sunlight bathe the room in a golden glow when you open your eyes again. You register the feeling of comfy, loose-fitting pants amid the cool, mahogany silk sheets you’re enveloped in. You blink a few times, and reach a hand up to rub the sleep from your eyes.

When your eyes adjust, you realize what’s so different; everything. The sun is illuminating the room from a window. A window across this… bedroom, with a stoked fireplace and four poster oak bed. A bed with mahogany sheets, a stark contrast to your usual lilac ones at home — as well as the teakwood bookshelf along the far wall. At least those are familiar, most of the titles. One novel is laying on the window seat; it’s one you’d just finished last week.

Then, the realization hits you; you were in Eris' room.

You try to sit up, but wince in pain and end up laying back down, head flopping against the plush pillows under your head. Your hands instinctively reach toward your stomach, tugging at the hem of the tank top you donned. A thick bandage was wrapped around your midsection, concealing your abdominal injury. Your mind wandered to last night, what you'd endured, winnowing to the Autumn Court, the burning...

Within moments, Eris appeared in the doorway, concern threading his brows together as he looks you up and down.

"Is everything alright?" In three steps, he’s made it to the bed, taking a seat on the edge of it. He pulls the covers up, tucking them around you in comfort. You shake your head in honesty, silver lining your eyes as they meet his.

He knew you’d be honest with him. Yet, another thing he “hated” about you.

"I... they took me last night." You manage to choke out. Eris readjusts to face you, scooting closer and reaching out a hand to stroke through your hair. He bites on his lower lip, eyes searching yours.

"Who. Who took you Y/N." He says. It sounds like more of a demand than a question.

You shake your head, a tear slipping free as you remember being kidnapped from your bed and tossed onto the mountainside. The feeling of freezing snow under your knees, the jagged rocks slicing into your palms would only be the beginning of the pain you'd endure before somehow winnowing away.

"It was... they wanted me to partake in the..." you swallow, the lump in your throat only growing as another tear slips free. Usually, he’d be the type to taunt you for crying or appearing so weak, but Eris only brushes his thumb against your cheek, wiping your tears away.

"The fucking Blood Rite?" He bites out. Anger radiates off of him, the small fire in the fireplace near the window growing with each passing second. The muscle in his jaw feathers as his eyes train on yours, and you nod in confirmation. His other hand rests on yours clasped atop the sheets, and you can’t help but register the heat he is emitting, even from the small touch.

He sighs, hanging his head low and shaking it slowly. When he makes eye contact again, he takes your hands reassuringly in his. “Y/N, I’m only going to ask you one more time. Who. Did. This. To you.” You can practically see the flames dancing in his irises, and you lean forward an inch, almost nose to nose with him. His strong scent of cinnamon and burnt timber wafts through your senses, and you feel a small tug on your heartstrings.

“Eris, look it’s not anyone’s fault, okay? I mean, well, it is…” you begin with a sigh, sniffling and wiping at your eyes. “I was sleeping over at the House of Wind with Nesta and Gwyn and Emerie, and… oh, the guys were there too, for most of the night. Cassian and Azriel.” You explain. He nods for you to continue.

“Well, we were just having a nice time and when we went to sleep, I don’t know I just… one minute I was asleep and the next, I had a mask on my eyes and someone was… uh…. mm… uhm covering my mouth and… Nesta was screaming-“ you hadn’t noticed your hands beginning to shake, until Eris laced his fingers with yours. You took a steadying breath, but the shaking only subsided a little as you still remembered the horrors of the night prior.

“So… Cassian and Azriel. They were supposed to be watching you.” Eris says evenly. You look at him incredulously.

“Watching? Oh, hardly. I mean, we’re not eight years old, Eris.” You explain. He nods, biting the inside of his cheek and contemplating your words. You can practically see the gears turning in that beautiful little head.

“It seems a little chat is in order.” He chides. Your eyes widen, and your hand braces on his bicep. He glances down at your touch, then back to your face again, nose still just inches from yours.

“No! Uh… I mean, no. Please.” You say. “They haven’t done anything wrong, and-“

“I’d hardly say allowing for you to be kidnapped for the damned Blood Rite is an inexcusable offense.” He interrupts. You narrow your eyes at him.

“Andddd, I shouldn’t have been allowed to winnow at the Blood Rite. Anyone found using their powers or plotting to escape the rite once it’s begun is…” you trail off. He nods. He knows; it’s an executable offense. Bringing any of this to attention could perhaps put you in more danger.

He didn’t care. He was prepared to do anything to save you, just as he’d done the night before. He definitely wouldn’t allow some dirty Illyrians get their hands on you again, either.

“How were you able to winnow, anyway? I thought powers weren’t able to be used on Romiel during the Blood Rite,” he asks, quirking a brow. You shrug, wincing and regretting the movement.

“I don’t know… maybe, since no one knows I am capable of winnowing, they didn’t think it’d be necessary to shield those abilities from me? I don’t know Eris, I don’t know how all this works.” You say exasterbatedly, absentmindedly wiping at your nose again. Eris only seems to become more troubled by your response.

“So… they didn’t teach you to winnow, you just… did it… and they didn’t think you could do anything with your powers, so much so that no one bothered to remove them?” His voice pitches, and you nod in agreement.

“I suppose.” He slips his hand from yours, standing and straightening his shirt. He moves toward the door, not uttering another word.

“Eris, where are you-“

“Y/N, trust me; I’m only doing you justice. You’ll thank me later, dove.”

: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ

“What are you doing out of bed?”

You hear him before you see him. When you slowly turn from your spot at the stovetop, Eris is leaned against the doorframe, a cocky grin on his lips, brow raised in question. You roll your eyes, the only movement you can do at normal speed without tensing in pain.

“Well, smart guy,” you say. “You ran off and left me for half the day, and didn’t feed me. So, I forced myself up and… went on a little scavenger hunt. To the kitchen.” You say simply. He scoffs and strides over to you, stopping to lean against the counter behind you. You turn to face him, and he glances at the bandage peeking out from below your top.

“How are you feeling?” he asks, no tone or condescension evident in his voice. You cautiously take his hand in yours, and his eyes gaze at you in silent question. You press his palm to your side, and smile softly at him. All those years thinking he was your enemy; all those years thinking he would truly hurt you; all those years suppressing what you knew was true all along. Maybe he wasn’t the bad guy that everyone made him out to be. You knew he was a good male.

“I'm stronger than you thought, hmm?” You say with a wink. His eyes soften, and a little smile plays on his lips as his other hand braces your other hip bone. He pulls you close, so close your pelvis is touching his upper thighs. You peer up at him through your lashes as he leans down to whisper in your ear.

“You’ve always been the strongest woman I’ve known.”

You blush at his words, finally accepting what you’ve been running from all along; you care for Eris. Truly, you did. Why else would you winnow here, of all places? Why else would you feel a familiar tug on your heart strings when he was around?

You cared.

And, Cauldron behold; he did too.

“And… you had to show me how strong you could be today?” You ask, your tone dipping low. Eris rolls his eyes and scoffs.

“All I did was go over there, and demand to know why the hell they’d allow for you to be kidnapped in your own home-“ You gasp and swat his arm lightly.

“Eris!” You scold. He grins down at you, taking your face in his hands and looking at you lovingly.

“Maybe I should irritate you more… look at you, taking initiative and putting me in my place.” He chuckles. Your face reddens, and you stare at him wide-eyed as he runs his knuckles down your jaw, his cool silver ring easing the burning hot you felt beneath your cheek.

“Maybe you should do what you're suppos-“ Eris cuts you off with a tsk tsk tsk, pulling you in close and finally pressing a soft kiss to your lips. You part your lips, fingers caressing his jaw and threading through his hair as his lips dance with yours. His fingers trail from your cheek down to your waist, holding you close as one hand runs up and down your side; grabbing firmly when your teeth graze his bottom lip. He pulls away, breathless as he supplies you a feline grin.

“Now, where is the fun in that?

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *

[myabsurddreamjournal]

Fate

(part 1)

Soldier Boy x Fem! reader

Summary: Reader is a scientist who is forced to work at lab that they keep soldier boy frozen, she talks and cries to him when she is alone, thinking he can't hear her but he hears everything.

warnings: None, im a ace so my character and story is going to be asexual💜

she slowly approached to cryo where they kept him frozen. it has been a while since she had a opportunity to do this. Since she was taken here they always kept an eye on her, watching every move, punishing any sign of disobedience. It didnt take long for her to learn to be silent, be obedient. scar on her arm reminded her to keep her mouth shut every time she wanted to question something they do. She still remembered the pain. It was her second week here, and she made a mistake of asking why they kept him frozen for almost 40 years. She got the scar for her mistake. The sound of her bone breaking... She could still hear it.

Teardrops started to fall from her eyes as she opened the door of cryo, whenever she was alone she was crying now. It almost became a ritual, sitting on floor with her head hanging low while confessing and apologising to him. Who looked like a statue of a almighty god.

"Hello Ben" she opened her mouth. It made her feel weird hearing her voice saying something other than "yes", or "sir"

"its september 19 today, your birthday isn't it?" she was crying harder now. "i read your file other day. It says you had a rough childhood, me too you know, and now we are both prisoners here. What a fate huh?" she looked at his face as she said that. He looked pale, too pale for human. Well he was in this damn lab for almost 40 years...but deep down she liked the thought of him being something other than a human. Humans always hurted her after all.

After watching the torture tapes she learned he experienced pain and anger just like her. (she threw up all night after seeing the tapes for the first time) he had a life once, he was a child, he had a family. favorite food, favorite drink, he even smoked weed which made her a bit shocked when she read it on the files. But in time she found out he was a lot different from what they made him seen. She saw the few unaired interviews where he acted strong and confident as usual until he was asked about his family or childhood. His eyes getting teary for few seconds, Then his hard expression getting back. His mouth twitching every time journalists made a rude remark.

She knew he was a human. But him being alive after all things human did to him told her he was also something other than human.

and it made her feel good.

"i never wanted to be here, i never wanted this, she said. "i wish i could save you. If i had a powers like you, i would burn here to the ground. And kill all of them. But im so weak. Im so sorry Ben. Im so sorry." She waited there for few minutes. Her head between her hands. Until tiny beeping sound from her watch made her flinch. Telling her it was almost midnight. She needed to get up. Too many work tomorrow. Another day as a prisoner here

She cupped his cheek before closing the door of cyro. It was so cold, but still soft. She couldn't help and kept her hand there while looking at his face. His closed eyelids, then freckles on his nose. Still remembering the first time she noticed his freckles, it was one of the days where her legs hurted for being on her feet for so long. She was taking his blood for monthly test. And she saw them. He had freckles on his nose! They were never shown in his movies or pictures, always hidden behind makeup or his green-gold mask. But they were here. She found them adorable. Never showed it of course. keeping hidden behind her cold emotionless expression.

But she often find herself thinking about him when she tried to sleep at night in "room" they gave her. what else he was hiding under all that persona? What made him happy or sad before all this happened? was it true that he never cried? She tossed and turned at night. Sometimes thinking about him and sometimes thinking about her life. The similitaries between them. Humans hurted him just like they hurted her. They stole their life. She usually fell asleep with this thoughts. And in her dreams it was always end of the World. Everything burning in flames and she watching it from distance with smile on her face.

with a deep exhale she withdrawed her hand from his cheek. "see you tomorrow Ben." she whispered. And she was gone. Not knowing that he heard every word.

that night, she dreamed of something else for the first time since she was captured. Pair of green eyes. They were looking at her. Their shade reminded her a small lake she saw everday when she was a little girl. It was on the right side of the road that she used while walking to school. She always loved the way water moved in small waves. After 2 years, for the first time, she woke up with a warm feeling that morning. it felt like gentle morning sunrise.

[heaven4lostgirls]

hope (S.R)

pairing: steve rogers x reader

warning: angst, a little bit of comfort.

summary: the aftermath of reader leaving steve gives him clarity and has them both realizing that he needs to work harder to gain his girl back.

word count: 1.6k

a/n: I am so sorry this took so long to come out, I’ve been swamped with uni work but I’m so happy you guys liked part 1, I will probably post a part 3 to this, which other characters do you ship reader with??? Steve is looking at some competition soon!

part 1 , part 2, part 3

tags: @nouk1998, @spngingerbread21, @blackhawkfanatic, @immyowndefender (if I wasn't able to tag you that means your tags don't work!)

Steve,

If you’re reading this, then you have realised I’m not staying in the tower anymore. Tony helped set me up in safe house for the next few weeks, I can’t stay here. You chose Sharon over me Steve and you must know that I can’t stay with someone who would choose another woman over me.

I need you to know that although it’s been hard for me to accept it, I understand. It’s not okay that you chose to leave without talking to me, but I understand if she is who you want okay? I am so grateful to have spent the last 3 years by your side, but I can no longer watch on from the sidelines as you look at her like how you used to look at me.

When I come back, hopefully I’ll be ready to talk, but I am asking you that if you ever held any form of love and respect for me, to give me this time to heal.

Thank you, Steve, for everything,

y/n.

Steve crumples your handwritten letter in his hand, the paper squashed in the palm of his hands as he throws back the bourbon in his glass. His eyes are red rimmed and his face unshaven. He has been a mess since you left a week ago, unable to move from his room, and spending his time rereading your letter hoping that he could find some small sign that you still loved him, still wanted him.

He was unaccustomed to this feeling of pain, when he got out of the ice, he assumed the pain of knowing that he had missed his time with Peggy was truly the worst form of torture but the agony of once having your love and affection and having it so brutally stripped from him, may just be at the top of his list.

He sighs as he uncrumples the paper to place it on his desk as he moves to lay back in his bed, he had been part of a repetitive cycle for the last week, working purely on survival mode before he’s interrupted by a soft knock on his door.

He knows better than to feel excited at the small hope of it being you however he knows that it’s Bucky and Sam checking up on him and bringing him food before they annoy him into getting into the shower. He can’t stand the look of pity in their eyes as they hand him his food, so he slams the door shut as soon as he gets it, placing it on his desk, he moves to the bathroom.

He turns the shower head all the way to cold, hoping it will bring some shock into his system, however because of his super soldier abilities, his immune system is fried and numb to the coldness of the water.

His eyes burn as tears roll down his face, sobs wrack his body as he pounds his fist into the wall in front of me which breaks at the force of his strength. He hears the door quietly open before he feels Bucky’s metal arm tugging him from under the water into a towel.

This has happened nearly everyday for the last 3 days, sometime on the first day, Steve had stopped acting like you abrupt leaving hadn’t affected him and broke down during his training session, to which Bucky had been helping him through his depressed state however all he ever really wanted was you.

“I want her back�� Steve sobs into Bucky’s clothed shoulder as he feels his friend cooing and soothing him like a baby before he is gently placed on his bed. His body shakes with his painful sobbing as he feels Bucky rubbing his back. “I know Stevie, I know” Bucky sighs as he tucks Steve in after he exhausts himself from crying.

Meanwhile you haven’t been doing any better, your mental health slowly deteriorating at the acceptance of the end of your relationship with Steve. You had known somewhere deep down that throughout the past month whenever you had caught Steve looking at Sharon that this was the beginning of the end.

However now it was time for you to face the reality of the situation, you may have spent the last week crying your eyes out at sad romance films with ice-cream and chocolate  but you knew that enough was enough, you needed to talk with Steve and hear what he had wanted to say the day you left.

Running from your problems was not the best solution however you knew realistically you did not have the mental capacity to hear whatever Steve had to say and that it would only end up doing more harm than good considering how high strung you both were about the whole situation.

Now, as you step off the quinjet, you are greeted with Bucky’s genuine yet sorrowful smile. “Hi Buck” you greeted softly as you stood awkwardly, worrying if you could still hug him even though you knew he probably spent the last week comforting your ex-boyfriend. Not than you could blame him, they had been friends for far longer than the both of you.

Bucky just rolled his eyes before his smile widened as he pulled you into a tight hug, you breathed a sigh of relief and slumped into your friend. Your moment was interrupted by a loud voice chiming in from behind the both of you.

“Y/N!!!!” you and Bucky both separate, you with a look of amusement and Bucky with a look of annoyance. Peter’s joyful gaze found yours as he sprinted towards you. “I knew when you didn’t respond to the meme I sent you this morning, something was up!” he said excitedly as he spins you in a hug as a laugh bubbles out of you.

“Hey kid, yeah I was on a flight back from South Africa” you smile and separate from him before you see his joyful gaze darken at something behind you.

“Y/N.” you hear softly from behind you, and you freeze.

You turn around and place a polite smile on your face, not quite ready for the conversation ahead.

“Steve” you say and nod at him, he moves as though he’s going to hug you but thinks again and moves back and you’re somewhat grateful, you don’t think you’d be able to compose yourself.

You all stand in awkward silence for a bit before you break it, “I should uh” you gesture inside and he nods before he opens his mouth, “Can I help with your bags?” he asks nervously.

You were hoping to have a few minutes to compose yourself, but Steve is probably right to get the conversation out of the way.

As you both walk through the tower, you realise how quiet it is and make note to thank everyone for steering clear of the both of you.

As you both reached your old room since you had been sharing with Steve, you place you bag down before you turn to Steve who is standing sadly outside your room. “You can come in” you tease him and that snaps him out of his mood as he moves to sit at the desk in front of your bed and you sit on your bed.

“So” you both start before you motion to Steve to carry on.

“I love you y/n, I don’t want this to be the end, can we please work on this? I promise I’ll do better, and I won’t choose Sharon over you ever again.” He rushes out in what you assume is an attempt to stop the inevitable.

You smile at him in pity and before you can start talking you see him shaking his head as tears fill his eyes. “Steve, if you really wanted me as bad as you say you do, where was all this attention and affection this last month? Why did it take me leaving for you to realise how badly you fucked up?” you question and watch as he breaks in front of you.

The last week must have been hell for him, the same way the last month was for you.

“Please just let me try y/n, let me try please” he pleads as he moves from sitting in the small chair to kneeling before you as he grasps your hands.

You move your hands to grasp his face as you wipe his tears.

“Love, I will always love you but you need to realise how hard it was for me to sit here on standby every time you left me for Sharon, I need to choose myself for once” you confess and Steve sobs into your legs as you thread your hands through his hair as you try and calm him down.

You watch as Steve tries to compose himself in front of you before he looks into your eyes in determination. “I’m going to prove it to you” he says seriously, and you nod to placate him before he shakes his head in protest. “No, you don’t understand, I am going to prove to you how much you mean to me y/n” he says and some part of you is hopeful he tries as hard as he says he’s going to be this time.

“I’m not going to sit around and wait for you to make it up to me Steve, you’re going to have to work for it” you say, and he deflates but nonetheless nods in understanding, realistically he acknowledges that he deserved worse treatment. He just can’t stand the idea of you finding love and connection with someone that isn’t him.

[iamcautiouslyoptimistic]

🦅Russell Adler Headcanons

{Author's Note} Since I'm literally obsessed with this man, I thought I'd post my headcanons for him. All of these are based off of his canon backstory and character with bits of my own speculation thrown in so nothing should be too out of left field here. I may end up posting more of my thoughts on him soon so we shall see. Hope y'all like it and I'd love to hear what you think, as well as any headcanons you guys might have! Tagging @littlemissclandestine for this since she's an Adler fan. Let me know if I did this man justice lol🤭

‼️Content Warning: swearing, suggestive themes‼️

~ ~ ~

-Badass asshole

-Takes awhile for him to soften enough to really love someone

-Flirtatious jerk when he has a crush

-Shows he cares through small actions that can be hard to notice, as well as vague, rather backhanded compliments

-Shamelessly stares from behind those glasses of his

-Thinks it’s really cute when you wear his shades but would never admit it

-Stylish with heavy 70s influence

-Probably modeled for a male fashion magazine at some point LMAO

-Definitely knows how to dance

-Seems like the type to meme a bit on British people (specifically Park lol)

-Very sarcastic, sometimes to the point that you don’t realize he’s actually joking because he's always so monotone

-Secretly loves Belgian waffles (this is a reference to that one Bruce Thomas TikTok lol)

-Has a soft spot for the Beach Boys (I mean, look at that 🎶bushy, bushy blonde hairdo🎶 of his)

-Since so many people have asked and teased him about it (I see y'all in the fandom and I will not accept this slander lol) -> his hair isn’t fake, it’s actually pretty soft, very bouncy, he likes styling it

-Very particular about his appearance as it is one of the few things that he can truly control

-Prefers cats over dogs

-Can get obsessive about certain things and lose himself to them (i.e. his search for Perseus) -> Mason quote: “He spent so long searching for Perseus, he didn’t notice when he lost himself.”

-Still struggles with PTSD from his time in Vietnam, which, alongside his obsession with finding Perseus, is what led to his divorce

-Carries a lot of guilt and regret that he doesn’t like to acknowledge

-Started smoking to cope with the trauma of war, now has a nicotine addiction; when he’s really stressed, he chain smokes like a chimney

-Gets restless if he doesn’t have a cigarette

-Doesn’t sleep well and when he does, he usually wakes up every few hours

-Scars - Shrapnel? Abuse? Torture? Animal attack? No one knows and he’ll never tell

-Kiss or trace those scars and he WILL melt

-Difficult for him to let his guard down

-Has a tendency to isolate himself -> Mason quote: "You were never alone, Adler. Only in your own stubborn head."

-Always wearing those damn glasses cuz STYLE but also to hide his eyes to remain as a sort of blank, emotionless slate to other people

-Absent parents who never showed him real love or support as he grew up so he struggles to do the same for others -> they were the reason he joined the army as soon as he turned 18

-When it comes to cuddling, he loves holding you against his chest and running his fingers along your arm, cheek, or through your hair; small but intimate actions like that are his favorite

-Doesn’t like to show emotions at all, even during more intimate moments; he needs some coaxing to relax in that way, which takes time

NSFW Below👇🏻 (it's really not too bad tho)

-Sit on his lap👀

-Will pin your wrists during the sexy times🫣

-EDGING & OVERSTIMULATION

-After his divorce, he's tended to view sex as more of a transaction where both parties are fulfilling needs for each other so he'd be selfish at first but as your relationship progresses, he'd become far more generous

[4pfsukuna]

Hiii❤️can you write some headcanons about sukuna with a asexual reader? It could be modern sukuna or any version. Of course you dont have to if youre not comfortable with it🙏

OMG Can i? This is my first request you can bet Sukunas masochism i can! Originally i had no idea what to write and then i had 17 ideas.

Then i began writing couldn’t save it as a draft it got deleted so now here’s the second idea i had.

It’s not often someone steals Sukunas attention but you do it with ease.

At first he’s annoyed by the way you stare at him with a deadpan gaze. No thoughts, no emotions just gaze.

He’s used to either fear, adoration or lust but you just give him a blank stare it’s torture…he kind of likes it.

• He likes listening to you read, sing and cook you do those things with such passion it engulfs you to the point of you forgetting he’s there.

That’s when he takes the time to Admire  your hair, dark pink curls that resemble the soft texture of cotton Candy… kinda smells like it to. (It’s vanilla) 

and no matter how many times you swat his hand away he cant help it…its pretty. Like you.

He’s infatuated and how dare you not be equally infatuated with him as he is with you?!

You get lots of…gifts. The head of a goat, skull of…something and the blood of your enemies. You don’t want to question how he got any of these things.

“What? Why do you not look happy?” He questions yet youre speechless unaware of the same dead gaze you’re still giving him. He cant read it but he knows its not joy.

“I shower it with gifts and yet still no emotions, these human things are so confusing”

“I’m not a thing or an it im a human and im not emotionless im asexual” 

Now its his turn for the blank stare except you can read his and hes completely confused.

You laugh at his idiocy, how can you not. Or maybe the irony of someone like Sukuna trying  to get you to show emotions.

He wants to hate you laughing at him but he likes the way your plump lips reveal your sharp teeth and you’re shaking with laughter.

He definitely ask uraume about asexuality. Uraume just stares— the same stare you give and it dawns on him uraume is also asexual. 

Sukuna is very hands on hes just adapted to different ways.

Biting? Yes he will bite you just for his own shits and giggles. Hard enough to leave bite marks but never enough to break skin…ok maybe once but he thinks its okay because your blood didnt make him want to eat you.

hes learned your blank stares at this point and this one means you think he’s an idiot.

He also will just randomly pick you up and sit you on his lap as you rant about the characters in your book. And when you think he isn’t listening…

“Sweetheart if they were real id dismember them and make a necklace of their blood for you to wear” he promises wrapping a curl of yours around his finger ignoring the countless times youve told him to stop touching your hair.

This results in you biting his hand. 

He likes having his hair played in, he won’t say it aloud but the soft groans he lets out that turn into snores is all the confirmation you needed.

Imagine how angry he was waking up to an empty bed, hair not being played with to see you talking to one of the guards in the middle of the night.

“Jealousy doesnt suit you, king Sukuna” and he hates when you call him that as if you were nothing more than just a servant and he meant nothing to you.

He uses all 4 arms to make sure he doesnt wake up in the mornings without you. Sometimes he’ll peak one if his eyes open and it’s never long before you feel his gaze and smile.

“Im still here… Now go to sleep before i poke you in your eye” Did you just threaten him? He smirks turning his head the other way… he wasnt willing to risk that.

You sometimes wondered if being asexual bothered him… it didn’t. He like that someone just wanted to spend time with him no fear, no lust, no requirements to do or be anything.

Especially after a long day of being king he just wants to rant about how annoying everyone is especially you since you weren’t there because you were soooo busy.

You went shopping with uraume, who seemed to like you for Sukuna. Though After spending the day with uraume you understood why they were bestfriends. Uraume was equally as unhinged just quiet.

He hates when you use your pointer fingers to direct his frown literally upside down. And your giggle that you let out… he needs to punch something— or turn away so you cant see him actually smile.

When it comes to dates he takes you to grand places he’s not a date person. He heard you talk about stars once so he takes you to the top of the castle and explains each constellation watching the way you hold onto every word with fascination.

Or he shows you his domain for the first time and tells you about war stories and as you look around at the piles of skeletons you notice this may be where he got the skull he gave you as a piece of him. 

You realize he might have a crush on you.

Or the day he avoids you completely after you yelled at him about plucking a fish from water just because only to wake you up at 2am to show you the koi fish pond he had installed with so many different colored fish.

Hes shocked when your tiny body hugs him, laughing in pure excitement before leaning over the lake admiring each and every fish.

Its when you turn back to him the same adoration on your face this time aimed at him that his brain lags for a second. He finally… FINALLY got what he’s been wanting for so long.

and like the greedy man he is he wants more vowing to say yes to whatever you want.

He doesnt process you running back into his arms with pure excitement until you speak.

“Can we get more? I think a bigger lake. Sukuna could you imagine a wall in our bedroom with these fish? Or a secret mini pond in the throne room that can only be accessed by us” 

And the sounds of we, our bedroom and us along with the way your bright eyes gaze up happily and hopefully at him makes his insides hot. 

You never talked about the status of your relationship but he was yours the moment you gazed at him with that deadpan expression. And the way his name rolled off your lips through your razor sharp teeth infatuated does nothing to explain how he feels about you.

[marbl3z]

Xiao drabbles as I suffer from insomnia.

i really love Xiao, like. It's so much sometimes, I wanna write him but sometimes I start choking up on my words and everything becomes 10x more difficult, I'd possibly do everything I could to protect him. Like everyone has that one character they love more than love itself and for me that's Xiao.

--

Comfort drabble, SFW, romantic elements, established relationship. A bit of angst. Mention of death.

Xiao is sensitive, like in battle he doesn't think about being touched as much, but when it's you. Gently tracing his cheek with your thumb, your lips on his. The soft tug of your hand on his lithe waist, oh how his limbs turn to jelly and it takes everything in his power not to melt in your touch.

Xiao sometimes will go missing for days and it has always worried you, but you know it's okay, he's okay. You feel it on the breeze, the occasional butterfly leaf on your nightstand or sometimes a flower picked freshly from a field, it reminds you that he's alive.

When he comes back late, your reading in your bed, the overthinking had gotten too much for you and you decided sleeping wasn't an option anymore. He teleported in your room, nearly making you scream.

"Sorry.." he was the first to speak, you immediately could tell something was wrong... you sat up, climbing out of bed and opening your arms before him.

He didn't say much, just furrowed his eyebrows and closed his mournful eyes and basically melted in your arms. He knows he can't bring back his family, friends, things can't be the same as they once were. But, heavens knows he would do anything to bring them back.

"It'll be okay," you mumble against his ear, rubbing his back gently. He doesn't cry. You know of his karmic debt, how the memories of his family slain before his very eyes, how much torture and pain he has delt with.

"..."

"Xiao," you whisper against his head, hugging him close.

"hm."

"You've done so much for Liyue, my hero," you run your hands through his hair, he tenses. "Do you want to lay down for a little bit? I know you don't need to sleep, but your muscles are so tense.." he reluctantly agrees and lays with his head on your chest as you softly massage his shoulders.

-

Xiao will hold your hand as you sleep, watching your sleeping frame. Sometimes he'll reach over and brush your hair to the side and admire from his side of the bed. Other times he can't help but press a soft kiss on the back of your hand and then get embarrassed about it a few moments later.

His hearing is insane, he can hear anything and everything, like. Dude, you can't sneak up on him, he hears your steps, recognizes them immediately. You tried surprising him with a hug but it immediately backfired by him turning around mid lunge and he just gave you the most confused look of your entire life.

Sometimes though, you're lucky. He'd get lost in thought, his mind filled with memories of his family, wars he's been in, Lantern rite, etc. You wrapped your arms around his hips, your head on his shoulders, it snapped him back to reality in a instant.

"what were you thinking about?" You asked him.

"...memories," you didn't pry any further, only hugging him slightly tighter, he didn't mind it at all. He closed his eyes as his relaxes in your hold, his hand intertwined with yours.

"I asked them for Almond tofu for you,"

He rolls his eyes, "you didn't have to do that,".

"hm, but you've done so much," you blow into his ear which makes him shiver pleasantly. "Let me treat you to something lovely, yeah?"

He nods slowly.

-

He stares at the moon, longingly. His tired eyes blink slowly as his lip quivers. He hates getting to this point, he knows emotions are "human", as you like to call it. But it pains him, drains him of energy Everytime he does cry.

His heart feels as if it's shattering, the flashbacks of his brothers and sisters flood his mind, the domestic moments, pulling pranks, laughing with each other. Daydreaming of the future, oh, how he wishes he could've prevented their demises.

"I'll see you all within the stars once I have done my oath, my brothers and sisters..." he'll whisper to himself, clutching his polearm as a shooting star flies past.

He doesn't indulge himself in philosophies and legends of that humans, but he lets himself make a wish. He wishes, humans and adepti— won't suffer with the unbearable sins that he has to carry until his final breath. That night he teleports to the Inn, the warm, lively atmosphere long since died once the sun had set. It was quiet, you and the others were asleep in your respective rooms.

He appears in your room, watching you engulf yourself further into the soft blanket on the bed. You were having pleasant dreams, it calmed his heart and mind. He brushes your hair to the side, tucking it behind your ear. Pressing a soft kiss to your head, he debates joining beside you, just to lay there. There was no reason to sleep, but his muscles ached and he was afraid you would have a nightmare if he got too close.

--

I hope you enjoyed this, I enjoy writing for Xiao but I get too self conscious sometimes so I never post it.

[mi-i-zori]

When Her Blood Burns

CoD - Krueger x Fem!Medic!OC/Reader (Callsign : Nephilim)

SYNOPSIS : What I think Nephilim and Krueger’s relationship would be like.

WARNINGS : NSFW. Mentions of wounds, violence, blood, death and torture, smut, switch!Krueger and OC/Reader, mention of kinks. Kind of religious metaphors, though they do not indicate any of the character’s beliefs.

I do not give permission to re-publish, re-use and/or translate my work, be it here or on any other platform, including AI.

No Heaven or Hell - Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Based on his Reaper skin, as well as other similar attires of his, it’s obvious Krueger doesn’t mind going on a battlefield without any kind of protection for his torso and arms. Just him, and his massive balls I guess.

So my headcanon is that he could be at least a little bit masochistic, and definitely a sadist sometimes. Addicted to the adrenaline flowing from the idea of being injured, in a dangerous environment or in the middle of a certain type of stimulation.

On that note, I also don’t think he would mind his carnal adventures being a little risky too.

So I’m gonna throw him into Nephilim’s life like a goddamn feral raccoon. Always up to no good, enjoying being scolded when the pretty medic patches him up after inevitably getting injured in one way or another. Focusing on her soft, steady whispers as she comforts the injured soldiers and civilians who end up in her care ; coming up with fascinating stories whenever she needs to soothe the minds of the terrified children she holds in her arms after saving them from the wicked hands of the terrorists she and her group are trying to destroy. He is shameless when it comes to flirting, drinking up the tiniest reactions that slip through her tough façade. Loving the way she sometimes allows herself to actually be shy in front of him.

He takes the time to slowly unravel the web she hides behind as he holds her flushed skin against his. He drinks every noise flying past her lips, hands holding her hips and breasts in a bruising grip - grunting and growling as he pounds into her. The feeling of his teeth sinking into her shoulders sends her over the edge, pleasured tears dripping down her face and nails tearing through his arms. Waves of scorching heat never fail to rise from every touch they share, burning flesh and mind as their climax drips between them like lava flooding an endless valley, filled with their most primal wilderness.

As he watches her struggle to catch her breath afterwards, pressing corrosive kisses down her spine and slowly descending from his own high, Krueger thinks he could not have found a prettiest angel.

Yet those thoughts come to a screeching halt once he actually witnesses first-hand the real reason behind her callsign. When he sees her fly through the ruins littering the battlefield, all bloodied and bruised, leaving a trail of utter destruction in her wake. Her curses rise like a storm as she tries to maintain everyone in one piece, the emergency medical supplies working flawlessly in her dexterous hands. She doesn’t hesitate when it comes to dragging the enemy soldiers’ names and faces in the dirt, tearing their own supplies from their soon-to-be cold carcasses whenever she can.

Krueger shivers madly when he sees her bring the most cold-hearted war veteran to shame during an interrogation, making her targets whimper and beg before filling their very souls with lead. The burning wisps of her cigarettes light her blood-soaked fingers with each drag, a cold breeze whisking the smoke away from her lips as soon as they part, frozen eyes staring into the night before meeting his.

An Angel and a Demon live in harmony behind the humanity of her mesmerising features. Should any of the Sacred Texts hold even the slightest ounce of truth, he might indeed be the only man to taste the flesh of a Nephilim, at least since the first Divine Purge. The first mortal to savour this rare kind of danger multiple times and come out of it as unscathed as one can be.

It makes him wish he was in her enemies’ place as he watches her with a new kind of interest, lust rippling through every single one of his muscles.

And he does ends up being in their place, in a way, once she really gets more confident with him and their relationship. He realises the façade was not always a fluke when she forces him to kneel, not budging under his touches - for she’s in a bad mood tonight, and it’s finally time she let go of her own chains. He acts like a brat when she digs her nails into his skin into a series of scorching touches while restraining his hands, smirking and not uttering a single sound. Until he can’t take it anymore. Her scent is too tempting behind the blindfold, her touches too mesmerising, her voice too hypnotising.

She takes advantage of his heightened senses, turning his own little tricks against him. Whispering honeyed threats in his ears, pressing her bare self against his back, hands wandering up and down his body without ever going where he wants them to be.

He’s never been so hard.

And he cracks, savouring her coos as he pleads and begs, fighting against his restraints. Whimpering when she finally goes down on him, only to deny him his release. Stimulating him far beyond his limits like he has done countless times to her, biting his lips until blood floods from under his teeth. She licks it up, the flavours of his skin, sweat and blood mixing with the taste of her lips as she kisses him, riding him feverishly until there nothing left of them but groans, moans and pants - whimpers, cries and thundering heartbeats. Rendering them both as brainless as one can be.

After this, Krueger realises that, as dominant as he likes to be, he may or may not have a huge mommy kink.

[sjsmith56]

Soft Touches - A Private Man, Chapter 6

Summary: Bucky, Rebecca and Tracey go to Coney Island where he helps during an incident. On his return, a sudden visit by law enforcement surprises them.

Length: 4.8 K

Characters: Bucky, Rebecca, Tracey

Warnings: Minors DNI - contains sexual content (including p in v) that may be unsuitable for readers under the age of 18, Sokovia Accords are referenced.

Author notes: The roller coaster ride begins.

<<Chapter 5

🥞 🎢 🚔

During the night Tracy woke up from a bad dream to Bucky watching her.  He smiled softly and caressed the side of her face with his left hand.

"You were dreaming," he whispered.  "Making little whimpering sounds.  I wasn't sure if I should wake you or not."

"Sometimes I have a dream that I'm stuck in the sand at the beach and the tide is coming in," she said quietly.  "The more I try to get to higher ground the more I sink into the sand.  I wake up just as the water reaches my head."

"Do you know what it means?"

"Something to do with feeling overwhelmed for the drowning part and unsatisfied needs for the sinking part but I really don't feel overwhelmed, except maybe by loneliness," she answered.  "I like my job.  I liked being in Belize."  She smiled softly at him.  "I like being here with you."

"Next time I'll whisper in your ear to take my hand and I'll pull you to safety," he said.  He was quiet for a moment.  "When I was the Winter Soldier I had no control over anything.  They told me what to eat, what to wear, to speak only when I was spoken to, to never question, or disobey.  If I rebelled I was punished with abuse and torture.  When they froze me until the next mission I would dream of being buried.  Every time I went under I thought I would suffocate and die."

With this admission Tracey caressed his face.  "Do you still have those dreams?"  He nodded.  "Then I'll whisper to you that I'll dig you out and take you to safety."

He reached for her and they kissed with a desperation borne out of both loneliness and hope.  As he wrapped his arms around her body she intertwined her legs with his and they held each other for some time, her cheek pressed against his chest while he felt the softness of her hair on his chin.  The heat from his body felt like being in a sauna, permeating her being, and she drew comfort from it.  Shifting her head so she was looking at him in the dark Tracey traced his cheekbones, running her fingers into his thick hair.  Bucky watched her intently as she touched his face and head, liking the softness of her fingertips on his skin and feeling soothed by the gentleness of her touch.  His eyes dropped to her lips and he licked his own before softly touching them to hers.   As they kissed she threaded her hand into his hair, her fingers massaging his scalp while their lips opened and their tongues began exploring.  Her hand went down his neck and over his metal shoulder, tracing the still sensitive seam between vibranium and skin.  Her touch was so delicate that it felt erotic and he could feel himself getting hard from the sensations he felt.  At first he was going to apologize but there was a smile on her face and he mirrored her motions with his left hand, but didn't stop at her shoulder.  Bringing his hand to her collarbone he traced that then ran his fingers down her sternum and across to her breast, lightly brushing against her now erect nipple, all while gazing directly in her eyes. 

"Can we make love again?" he asked quietly, with an earnestness that Tracey found appealing.

"Yes, I'd like that," she replied, then kissed him, touched that he would ask permission, even though he was more than capable of overwhelming her with his strength.

"Lie on your left side," he whispered as he positioned himself behind her. 

He gently lifted her head so he could sweep her hair underneath.  Reaching to her front with his right hand he massaged her pubic mound, while caressing her breasts with his left one.  Mouthing the sensitive part under her ear he whispered how good she felt to him.  Gently he opened his mouth on her shoulder, running it up into her neck and the top of her back.

"Put your hand under my right hand," he whispered, then interlaced his fingers with hers and ran them over the front of her body before ending up at her clitoris.  "Guide my fingers to where it feels the best."

Together they moved their bodies, hands, and fingers just touching and tasting while he ground his hips into her from behind, rubbing his cock over the soft skin of her cheeks.  Twisting her head towards him Tracey could see his lips, wanting them on hers.  As if he read her mind Bucky kissed her hard, with his tongue thrusting in her.  A groan from deep in her throat followed by her hand pressing hard on her clitoris signalled her orgasm.  Slowly, he guided himself into her from behind, until he was fully in.  Bucky continued the dual caresses while he thrust deeply into her.   His whispers of how beautiful she was were followed by soft moist kisses down her neck to her shoulder. 

"I'm going to come again," Tracey gasped.

Thrusting harder and deeper Bucky gently pinched her nipple bringing out a sharp cry as she let go, allowing the pleasure to run through her.  He continued his pumping motion until he came, holding her tightly against his body, thrusting deep inside her several times as his orgasm crested and waned.  Slowly he relaxed his hold, caressing and kissing her until he pulled out and lay flat on his back, his left hand resting on her shoulder.  Tracey turned over and laid herself partially on him so she could look at him from above.  Bucky's right hand moved to her hair and they kissed; a soft, sweet kiss that felt so satisfying to both of them.  She lay with her head on his chest, as his arm encircled her.  Bucky spoke first.

"Can I ask you a personal question?"

"Go ahead," she replied.

"Since your divorce what did you do to satisfy yourself?"

"A vibrator," said Tracey.  "But that only barely satisfied the sexual needs.  It did nothing for my skin hunger."  She could feel Bucky relax and she lifted her head up.  "You were with men, weren't you?  It's okay if you were.  You were alone and I'm guessing masturbation wasn't enough.  Sorry, that's the nurse in me talking.  You must have been so starved for soft touches.  I know I was."

Bucky's hand went up into her hair and he gazed at her.  "I didn't know how to tell you.  It's not something I'm proud of even though it's more accepted now.  I'm still stuck in the 40s for some things.  I was just tired of being alone, and they were all one time casual moments, just...."  He couldn't say more for a moment and Tracey put her fingertips on his lips, then kissed him gently while he gathered his thoughts.  "I tried one of those dating apps and once they saw it was me they just wanted to get into weird domination stuff, but with me role playing as the Winter Soldier.  I'm not him, he was something HYDRA created to have control.  The real me is just old fashioned enough to want to woo a woman with romance, music and dancing."

Her soft smile in response to his admission made him feel warm inside.  Being vulnerable with her felt right and he knew he could trust her with his thoughts. 

"Good thing we found each other then.  All I wanted was someone who could be romantic, and gentle, then knock my socks off in bed."  They both chuckled at her words before they kissed deeply.  "I have to go to the bathroom.  Do you have a robe?"

"No, you can wear my dress shirt instead," he replied. 

She got out of the bed and picked up his dress shirt, buttoning it up over her but leaving enough open so her cleavage showed.  Bucky laid back against the headboard and watched her, loving how it looked on her body.  While she was gone he picked up his dress pants and hung them up.  Her dress was on the floor so he picked that up, draping it over a chair, then placing her underwear on it.  He put his briefs on and a pair of sweatpants, and was just picking a T-shirt out of his drawer when she came back, with the shirt sleeves rolled up.  She came to him and took the T-shirt away then smoothed her hands over his chest, before kissing him sensuously.

"Leave it off," she said, then got into the bed and waited for him. 

He slipped under the covers, turned off the light and watched, bemused, as she took his right arm, put it under her neck and placed her head on his shoulder.  Then she draped her arm over his chest and put her leg over his leg that was closest. 

"Comfortable?" he asked.

"Very.  Goodnight, Bucky."

"Goodnight, my darling."

When Tracey woke up in the morning she was alone but she could hear Bucky and Rebecca talking.  She desperately wanted a shower but wasn't sure if she wanted the older woman to see her in Bucky's shirt as she changed rooms to use the bathroom.  Stepping out of the bed she picked up her overnight bag and reached for the door at the same time as it opened from the other side.  Bucky smirked lovingly then kissed her.

"Sorry, I heard you get up." He gestured to his ear.  "Sensitive hearing.  Go ahead and have a shower.  Rebecca is okay with how you look.  She's happy for us."

He opened the door for Tracey and she stepped out, noticing a smiling Rebecca in the living room.  Waving at her she took the few steps into the bathroom then closed the door behind her.  Twisting her hair up into a messy bun and securing it with a hair tie she took off Bucky's shirt and dropped it in the hamper that was there then turned the water on and stepped in. 

Out in the kitchen Bucky heard the sound of the shower and he started the coffee maker going.  Coming out to the living room and sitting near Rebecca he looked at her.  They had already talked about how he and Tracey spent the night; not in detail but how much it meant for both of them.

"You could ask her to leave some clothes here," suggested his sister.  "Like a robe, although she definitely looked cute in your shirt."  Rebecca got a soft look in her eyes.  "I would wear Harvey's shirts to bed sometimes.  Something about a crisp cotton shirt against the skin that pleased both of us."

She looked at Bucky's bemused expression and got halfway out of the chair to swat him on the arm in jest.  His eyes widened as she made contact before sitting back down.

"That was something," he said.  "How did it feel?"

"Good, the physiotherapy is really helping.  I had my doubts at my age but I do feel stronger every day.  We should eat at the table instead of the living room."

He agreed and set the kitchen table for three.  He checked the sausages which were browning in the oven then began making scrambled eggs and toast.  There was a bowl of fruit salad in the fridge that he made earlier and he put that out along with some Greek yogurt, which Marie had recommended would be good for increasing Rebecca's protein intake.  By the time the eggs were done Tracey was finished her shower and appeared in the kitchen without makeup, which made her look much younger.  For a moment Bucky was startled and Tracey noticed his reaction.

"I'm 31," she said, "but without makeup I've been carded when I've tried to buy alcohol.  I forgot my makeup bag.  It's probably sitting on my bathroom counter."

"Do you need some moisturizer?" asked Rebecca.  "I have some in my room."

"Thank you, if you don't mind," replied Tracey.  "I feel naked without something on my face."

Bucky smirked and Tracey went to Rebecca's room before either of them said something suggestive.  While they ate Tracey couldn't believe how comfortable she felt with Bucky and Rebecca, almost as if they had eaten breakfast together many times.  It was also incredible to see how much Bucky ate and while she recalled that his metabolism was high, to actually witness it was still something she would have to get used to.  He noticed her watching him eat and he smiled.

"I was told in Wakanda I need about 10,000 calories a day," he said.  "When I moved in with Rebecca she cooked for me but after her stroke I had to teach myself how to cook.  Watched a lot of videos online.  I took meal replacement bars with me when I worked night shift but they're horrible things.  Now that I'm on day shift I can get meals from a café that caters to dock workers.  They won't believe how much I eat either."

"You're a good cook," said Rebecca, with Tracey agreeing.  "Ma would be proud of you."

Bucky's face coloured, his normal response to receiving compliments. 

"What do you two normally do on a Sunday?" asked Tracey.

"Clean the house, do the laundry, get groceries," replied Bucky.  "Already did that, getting ready for you."

"When was the last time you went to Central Park, or Coney Island?" asked Tracey.  "I'd like to treat you both for welcoming me so nicely yesterday."

Rebecca's eyes glowed.  "I haven't been to Coney Island for almost 30 years," she said.  "Bucky, let's go there.  I can just taste the cotton candy right now."

"Alright, we can go.  But if you get sick from eating too much cotton candy it'll be your fault, just like that time in 1938."

Rebecca laughed.  "Yeah, I remember that.  Ma and Dad were not happy with me." She shook her head remembering that day.  "What ride was it that made me sick, the Cyclone?  It made Steve sick as well, didn't it?"

"Yeah, it did," said Bucky.  "I brought it up to him once.  We laughed about it."  His face dropped for a moment making Tracey realize he still missed his friend.  Then he brightened up again.  "Let's get this breakfast cleaned up and we'll get ready to go.  Tracey did you want to go to your place and put your makeup on?"

"Actually I do, and I have to feed my cat," she replied.  "You're welcome to come in and play with him while I put my face on."

Twenty minutes later they were in the car going to Tracey's apartment.  It wasn't far and Bucky carried Rebecca into the elevator and down the hallway to the door.  A white cat with grey markings was waiting in the entryway as Tracey opened the door, then ran off when he saw his owner wasn't alone. 

"That's Alley Cat, Al, for short," said Tracey.  "I found him as kitten, under my car outside the office one cold day.  He came right to me and I've had him ever since.  I just picked him up yesterday morning so he's probably still angry with me."  She kneeled down.  "Come here, baby, I have new friends for you."

The grey and white cat stayed under the table glaring at the three of them so Tracey went to the kitchen and poured some food into a dish, putting it on the floor.  With great dignity, and a bit of haughtiness, the cat strode out of its hiding place and began to hungrily attack the food.

"Give him some time and he'll be on your lap," said Tracey.  "I'll be right back."

From their seat on the sofa Bucky and Rebecca looked at the small apartment.  "She has a nice place," said Rebecca.  "Organized but homey."

The cat came out of the kitchen and sat on the carpet where it could see them.  Rebecca suggested they ignore it and its own curiosity would bring it over.  Sure enough, a couple of minutes later he jumped up on the couch arm next to Rebecca and sat there licking his paw to clean his face.  Then with a little trill deep in his throat he gently stepped onto Rebecca's lap and made himself comfortable.  Gently Rebecca scratched behind Al's ears receiving another little trill in appreciation. 

Tracey came out of her bedroom and chuckled when she saw the cat had already made friends with Rebecca.  Bending over she picked up the cat giving it a few quick strokes then placed it on the floor. 

"Okay, I'm ready to go," she announced. 

Soon they were back on the road arriving at Coney Island 20 minutes later.  After parking and getting Rebecca settled in her wheelchair they headed towards Luna Park.   Their first stop was to get Rebecca some cotton candy which she ate with great enjoyment, tearing bits off and stuffing it into her mouth.  She even offered some to the others.  Bucky took some but turned down repeated offers.  As they walked through the midway together they stopped to watch people go on the rides.

"Did you want to go on any of them?" Bucky asked the two women.

"I'm too old for most of these," said Rebecca, "but I sure like watching them."

"I don't do well on them," answered Tracey.  "Motion sickness, mostly.  But if you want to go on I can stay with Rebecca."

"Nah, I think I'm too old for them as well," he replied, squinting his eyes against the sun as he looked up at the Coney Island Cyclone.  "I went on this one a lot.  Not sure I would trust it now."

At the arcade Bucky won a couple of stuffed animals giving one each to Tracey and Rebecca.  After watching more of the rides they found themselves in front of Nathan's Hot Dog stand at the Boardwalk.  Bucky bought half a dozen hot dogs and three beers, bringing them out to the table on the patio.  While the women ate theirs Bucky attacked the other four, eating them with enjoyment.  Tracey smiled at how easily he ate four hot dogs.

"You could probably win the hot dog eating contest," she noted.  "Those four went down fast."

"I wouldn't even enter," he replied.  "I watched it on TV and found it a bit disgusting actually.  They don't even taste them."

Rebecca and Tracey smiled at each other, as he wasn't wrong.  They finished theirs and Bucky began pushing Rebecca again along the boardwalk.  They noticed a number of people in Luna Park uniforms run past them and Bucky watched to see where they were going. 

"Go ahead," said Tracey.  "I'll push Rebecca.  We'll catch up."

He ran ahead towards one of the rides and saw what the problem was.  The Endeavor ride was stopped and a man was dangling from one of the seats near the top of the wheel.  Bucky went up to one of the employees who seemed to be in charge.

"I can help," said Bucky.

"Sir, the fire department are on their way," he replied.

"He's ready to let go now," noted Bucky.  "I can jump up there."  He took his gloves off and pushed his left sleeve up to show the man his vibranium arm.  "I've jumped higher."

Another employee stepped forward.  "Ben, that's Bucky Barnes, he can do it."

The supervisor gave a big sigh then looked at Bucky.  "Alright, you accept the risk if you fall off of there?"

"I'm like a cat," smiled Bucky.  "I'll land on my feet but that guy needs someone to hold on to him until the fire department gets here.  I'm your guy."

Stepping back a few feet he took a run and leaped high onto the metal structure then climbed the short distance to where the man was.  As Bucky approached he could see the man was terrified.  As he flailed to try to hold on he was in danger of letting go completely.

"Help me!" he gasped.  "I just pushed the locking mechanism because it was cutting into me and it popped open.  I don't want to die!"

"You won't but you have to calm down," said Bucky.  "I'm going to climb closer to you and grasp your arm then lift you up to where I am.  We'll wait for the fire department to come and help you get down."

"How are you going to hold on to me?" screamed the man.  "What the hell!"

"Hey, look at me," said Bucky, showing him his vibranium arm.  "See this?  Once I grab on I've got you.  I promise.  I'm stronger than I look and can lift well over 500 pounds if I have to.  You're what, 160?"

"165," said the man, then he looked at the arm.  "You're that guy, aren't you?  The one who stopped a robbery?"

"Yeah, that's me," replied Bucky.  "I won't let you fall.  You have my word."

The man nodded his head and Bucky swung down with his right arm, grabbed the man's arm with his vibranium hand and swung him up to the nearest part of the metal structure.  Once he was sure the man was secure he let go of him and pulled himself up then sat next to him, letting out a big breath.  He offered the man his right hand.

"Hi, I'm Bucky," he said.  "We'll just wait here together for the fire department.  Always wanted to go on one of those ladders."

There was applause from the crowd down below and Bucky waved.  "I'm Bob," said the other guy, still a little shaken.  "Thank you, Bucky.  You're a fucking hero in my books."

"Nah, I'm just a regular guy," said Bucky.  "I eat hot dogs and drink beer.  Just didn't want you to fall off before the fire truck got here.  You got family down there?"  The man nodded.  "Wave to them so they know you're okay."

When the fire department arrived and lifted the ladder up to just in front of the pair a fireman climbed up and assisted Bob back down.  Another came up to escort Bucky and he just smiled then pretended he was going to jump down himself.  After the fireman recovered from the scare Bucky stepped on the ladder and climbed down.  Many people thronged around him to shake his hand and he tried to lessen his contribution, pointing out the firemen did this every day.  Finally he got to where Rebecca and Tracey were.  His sister grasped his hand then he looked at Tracey and pulled her into his arms, kissing her as people took pictures.  A news crew came forward and he recognized the man with a microphone as one the reporters who had staked out his job trying to get a comment after the robbery.  Their eyes met and the reporter shrugged.

"It's my job, Bucky," he said.  "Can you give a guy a break and tell us what you did?"

Bucky looked at Tracey and Rebecca who both smiled encouragingly at him.  "I could see he wouldn't last long enough for the fire department to get here so I just calmed him down and told him what I was going to do.  Then I swung down beside him, grabbed his arm and swung him back up to the metal structure.  Once he was safe I let go of him and pulled myself up with him, then waited for the fire department to do their thing.  That's all I did."

"Well, that's more than pretty much all of us are capable of doing," said the reporter, then he noticed Tracey and Rebecca.  "Who are you here with today?"

"This is my younger sister, Rebecca," he said, after looking at them both for permission.  He put one hand on Rebecca's shoulder, then he put his arm around Tracey.  "This is my girlfriend, Tracey."

"How do you ladies feel about Bucky's heroics?" he asked.

"He's been my hero since I was born," said Rebecca.  "I'm 94 years old and he takes care of me because he's a good brother and a good man."

"I think you're right," agreed the reporter then he looked at Tracey.  "And you miss?  How long have you two been a couple?"

"That's private," replied Tracey, looking up at Bucky proudly, "but he is a good man.  I knew that the moment I met him."

Bucky kissed the side of her head then looked at the reporter.  "We good now?" he asked.

"Thanks Bucky, we're good," was the reply and he turned to the cameraman to film his final statement.

"Let's get out of here," said Bucky.  "I've had enough excitement for the day."

As the fire department continued unlocking people's seats and helping them down he pushed Rebecca in her wheelchair to where they were parked and lifted her into the front seat.  Then he put the wheelchair into the trunk as Tracey waited for him.  When he put the trunk lid down he wrapped his arms around her waist and nuzzled her neck.

"Do you feel like making out?" he whispered.  "I'm feeling very aroused."

"What about Rebecca?" she replied, putting her arms around his neck.

"We'll find her a boyfriend so she can make out too," joked Bucky, making both of them laugh then he kissed Tracey firmly.

They got into the car arriving at the house about 25 minutes later.  His sister was ready for a nap.  Once they were certain she was asleep Tracey sat on Bucky's lap in the living room.  They looked at each other tenderly and she kissed him, stroking the side of his face with her hand.  Lifting her in his arms he carried her into the bedroom, letting her close the door behind them, before he laid her on the bed.  Just as he took his top T-shirt off the doorbell rang.  He stopped kissing Tracey and sighed.

"Don't go anywhere," he said, kissing her quickly one more time,  "I'll be right back."

As he approached the front door he saw red and blue flashing lights through the cut out windows on the door.

"What the hell?" he said, as he opened the door.

"James Buchanan Barnes?" said a man who flashed an FBI badge at him.  "I'm here to take you into custody."

"I haven't done anything," said Bucky.  "What's the charge?"

The man looked uncomfortable and swallowed nervously.  Tracey came out from the bedroom.

"Bucky, there's armed men in the backyard.  What's going on?"

The FBI agent looked at her.  "I'm sorry, ma'am, but Mr. Barnes is being arrested for being in violation of the Sokovia Accords."

"I haven't signed the Accords," stated Bucky.  "I'm retired."

"Yes sir, I understand that but a complaint was laid that your actions in dealing with a robbery several weeks ago, and an incident today puts you in violation of your retirement."  He looked apologetically at Bucky.  "I'm sorry but I have to take you into custody.  I'll allow you to contact your lawyer but you do have to come with me."

Bucky looked back at Tracey in disbelief as she began dialling Foggy Nelson. 

"I'll stay with Rebecca," she said decisively, then she looked directly at the agent.  "Where exactly are you taking him?"

He took a card out of his wallet and handed it to Tracey.  She put her hand on Bucky's arm and kissed him.  He offered his wrists to the agent for the handcuffs.

"You're aware I can break these apart with no effort," said Bucky.

"Yes sir, but if you do the armed officers have instructions to taser you.  I don't want that to happen, not in front of your girlfriend or your sister."

He nodded past Bucky making him turn to see Rebecca standing in the hallway, supporting herself by placing her palms on the wall.  Tracey went right to her, supporting her around the waist.  Rebecca smiled at him but he could see she was scared.  He smiled gamely at her and went with the agent.  Tracey helped Rebecca to the living room window and they watched, along with most of the residents nearby as he was placed into a large black SUV.  The armed officers returned to a large black unmarked truck.  Both vehicles pulled away, as did the police vehicles which had set up a perimeter.  On the phone Foggy finally answered and Tracey told him what happened.  Then she hugged Rebecca and helped her sit in the armchair.  They sat there for some time not sure exactly what they just witnessed.

Chapter 7>>

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right down the line: zuko x firebender!reader | part 4

You grew up close to the Royal Family due to your father's position as a General, but you ran away from home after the agni kai against your best friend. Now, you've joined the Gaang and plan on doing your part in ending the 100-year war.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 5

helloo here is part 4... thank u for the support so far! i can feel my writing getting better... hopefully you guys like this part hehe... the next one is going to be so... angst... so... zuko... so stay tuned! again i do not own these characters or the atla world >.< enjoy! about 2,491 words & not really proofread at the end sorryyy

⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙

It was unbearable those first few months, before the move to the Earth Kingdom village. Previous defiance of locking myself in my chambers was a reactive solution to a persistent problem: The Fire Nation. No, I would need a more permanent answer to my problems if I craved peace of mind.

Since the moment Zuko’s screams embedded themselves into my brain, constantly replaying in a cycle of distress, I had not been able to sleep. I would lay down on the large bed with a wine-colored duvet and matching pillow-sheets, hoping the softness would swallow me whole. Take me to a different place than my home.

A lot of things would stop me from the bliss of sleeping.

One of them being my father. He was never one to share a lot with his daughter, let alone exchange kind words or attentive praises. He’s an important man with serious tasks, as he would put it. He doesn’t have time to watch my new fire-bending move or sword progress or whatever it was he most definitely didn’t care for. Over the years, I grew accustomed to our silent agreement. Happily, even. He’ll provide for me, give me everything I ask for, and allow me the freedom of my personal life if I excel in everything that it is I do, surpassing the royal heir’s skills in bending, swords, and education. I suppose it’s why he didn’t care for my special relationship with Zuko. He’d only see it as a move to get ahead in life.

It's what made him such a good General to the Fire Lord.

It shouldn’t have been surprising that he would force me to go to the agni kai. It shouldn’t knock the wind out of my lungs every time I relive the memory of realization that I’d be watching Zuko.

But it does. I couldn’t wrap my head around why. Why did he make me witness such an awful thing?

When sleep did come, I was rewarded with solace. Dreams of flashbacks, a time when I foolishly believed my father cared about the only child he had. There is this one recurring dream that I close my eyes and wish to come every night when I attempt to rest.

The first thing I see is the shamrock grass, crunching beneath my feet. Slowly, the environment pieces together as I fall deeper into my slumber. I see the stone as I walk forward, trading in the pasture for sleek, grey pavement.

Three more steps, and I reach the pond I know so well. This is when comfort finds its way back into my body. I take a deep breath and sigh; I am at the Royal Palace’s turtle duck pond.

Zuko walks up beside me in my dreamland, interlocking his fingers with mine. We stand side-by-side in silence, soaking in the seconds we are in each other’s hands. For a moment, I can believe this is my reality and there is no waking up from this.

Tears form in my eyes and the world around me is suddenly becoming foggy. The green washing away with the grey, becoming blurs in the distance. I can only see Zuko, and he is looking at me, and we are so beautiful.

I wake with a gasp from the one bliss in the round ‘o’clock torture I receive and begin the cycle again. Sometimes I lay back down and wish to return, other times I just lay awake and contemplate what I’m going to do about the pain. The truth.

Years of propaganda washed away in a single decision of the brutal man that calls himself my father. I can finally see clearly. The Fire Nation is a plague to the world, we’re not sharing our greatness. We’re a disgrace to life, and we deserve every bit of shame at our doorsteps.

I’m ashamed to be from this nation, and a fire-bender. A gift that could be warmth is destruction and chaos and terror. Who would ever want to be all those things when we could choose to be soft?

What is one girl’s opinion against a whole nation. A melancholy, depressed, broken-hearted girl at that. They’d never take me seriously. I’d have to try my chances with the outside world. Maybe I could hide my bending, pose as a swordswoman, find a group of some kind. A group who sees things as I do.

My body relaxes at the thought of a solid plan. I don’t know how I’m going to manage it but, I’m leaving the Fire Nation. And I am not looking back.

Jeong-Jeong’s headquarters were built on a piece of land peeking through a steady river. It was a small, tan-colored shack with many similar structures built around it. It was a sort of community of Fire Nation deserters who did not wish to be found.

Katara, Aang, Sokka, and I were taking a pit-stop here to let Master Jeong-Jeong teach the Avatar how to fire-bend.

While the rest of them were by the river, fishing, water-bending, or learning from the Master, I was alone, pacing back and forth from tree to tree deeper into the forest, wondering what to do.

If things here don’t work out for Aang, who would be left to teach him? Fire Nation deserters are not common and those who are fire-bending masters less so. My original plans no longer worked. It wasn’t about hiding my identity and being with the Freedom Fighters anymore. Now, my mind is set on helping Aang take down the Fire Lord.

I just kept stalling it. I hadn’t practiced my bending in front of people for years and suddenly I had to help a twelve-year-old take down an empire. Maybe Jeong-Jeong could do it for me, maybe not.

But one thing was clear: it was time to come clean to my friends. The days keep moving and the nights keep passing, and I’m becoming a part of their group just as quickly. I was never meant to keep this all to myself.

They aren’t like Jet. They can handle it, they can see. They would understand because they’re not here to cause more pain, harm, or war. They know me, they know I want to have peace as much as they do. The worst thing that could happen was I’d be off on my own again, but at least this way, I’d be honest.

Walking back in the direction of Jeong-Jeong’s hide out, I spotted Katara and Sokka by the river on their own. They were giving Aang his own space with his teacher, a few hundred feet away.

“Hey, Y/N, where’ve you been?” Katara asks, as she practices a bending move she’s working on. The water moves gracefully knowing it’s safe in her hands.

“Just… over there…” Awkwardly, I gesture with my hand to the forest.

Holding his fishing pole, Sokka raises his eyebrow at my poor attempt at a smooth reply. “Right… over there.”

I sit down on a log stump between Sokka and Katara and stare at the water for a moment. Is it really necessary that I do this? Do they have to know, I question in my mind.

Yes, of course, the sane part of my brain answers. Anything to stop the Fire Lord, anything to put an end to all of this. Remember? My conscious tells me. I do.

“I have to tell you something.” I finally say.

Sokka and Katara glance at each other, confusion radiating out of their eyes.

“What is it, Y/N?” Katara asks. She allows the water to flow back into the river, pausing her bending practice to sit down on the log stump next to me. She nods in encouragement. Sokka’s standing on my left, waiting patiently for my words.

“I want to start with- I made the decision a long time ago to hide when I was hurt and lost,” I pause. Sokka tilts his head, still confused. “When I was thirteen, I saw my best friend get burned by his own father in an agni kai. An agni kai is a traditional fire-bender duel won when one opponent burns the other.” Trembling, I let the words come out. “It shattered me. I was never the same.”

“So, you’re Fire Nation?” Sokka asks. I look up at him and see his face. A new kind of hurt was washed on it. When it comes to them, that hurt can mean a million instances of violence.

Looking back at the river, I confess. “Yeah, and a fire-bender. I ran away from home a few months after it happened, when my father and I moved to an Earth Kingdom village. The same village you helped save, Sokka.” The compliment does little to distract him from the truth I just spilled. “I found Jet and the Freedom Fighters, and they helped me. They gave me a bed, food, and a home. But then Jet turned out to be…” Katara winces. It goes without saying how my former leader betrayed his values. “You guys know he would never accept me, so I hid my true self. And I don’t want to keep secrets anymore. We have the chance to stop the Fire Lord here, and I want to do everything I can to help. As someone born in the Fire Nation, I have to restore our honor.”

The two siblings remain quiet for a moment, processing the new information. Katara is the first to speak. “You're a victim too. They’re just as violent with their own.” She puts a hand on my shoulder, comforting me after rambling out my past.

Sokka walks away, barely letting the dirt and sticks make noise under his steps.

“Sokka!” Katara calls out to him. She gets ready to follow him but I stop her.

“I’ll go.” I reassure. She nods and sits back down, watching her friend and her brother walk away.

After we’re out of Katara’s sight, Sokka stops in his tracks with a couple of feet in between us. I want to give him the space he needs.

Sokka turns around, his eyes instantly meeting mine. “I’m sorry you had to go through that.” He says, calming the stampede of anxiety in my veins.

Softly, I reply. "I'm sorry too."

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I… was so used to hiding. It’s my first time telling anyone since I left.” I explain. His arms are folded, creating an imaginary barrier between us.

“I should know that the girl I like is Fire Nation! It's very conflicting!” He exasperates. We both let the blood rush to our cheeks about the nature of his feelings.

We hadn’t really talked about it since he told me back at Aunt Wu’s village. There were small things, though. Miniature movements and gestures told me things had changed. Like when he brought me a rock that reminded him of my eye color or brushing his hand against mine when we walked side-by-side. Sokka and I could train in swords while Katara teaches Aang what she knows. He’s learned some of my sparring tricks, I’d have to switch it up on him soon. But it was diverting. At the sight of his ocean eyes, I’d turn into a softer version of myself. One I lost amid the chaos.

“Well, it’s not like I’ve been there recently! Maybe that’s why you didn’t detect me!” I say, keeping it playful. He shoots a direct glance at me, letting me know he’s being serious. I drop the jokes. “I hope we can still be… okay, though.”

“We’re okay, it’s just going to take some adjusting. I mean, you used to be our enemy… But I trust you, ever since Jet.” He uncrosses his arms and plants them by his side. “Is there anything else? I’m not going to find out you have a pet dragon, right?”

“No,” I reply, stepping toward him and closing the space in between. “Not that I know of anyway.” My footsteps stop a few inches away and I smile up at him. The tension from my confession has dissipated into the air, becoming part of the clouds, and now there’s just a little bit of space between us.

“Good, I couldn’t handle that.” A smile is fighting to erupt on his face.

I swear he’s about to lean in when-

Katara screams in pain from the direction of the river. Our bubble of infatuation is popped, and we dash back to Jeong-Jeong’s hideout.

As we rush in, I see Katara holding her hands close to her chest and a fearful Aang. Jeong-Jeong’s face says it all. He burned her.

Sokka's overprotective nature takes over. “Look at what you did! I told you we shouldn’t have come here!” He runs to his sister’s side, but she hides her hands away from him. Probably to protect the wound and… Aang.

“Katara, I’m sorry!” Aang pleads.

In a crying hurry, she runs away. Sokka motions to follow her but I stop him. “I’ll go, you calm down. Be easy on him.”

He huffs at me. “Fine.”

☆

Katara’s leaning over the river when I first spot her. Her hands are in the water, flashing a white light as her cries soften. She doesn’t notice me.

I step closer as I watch her witness the glow. Once the light dims and she pulls her hands out, I have a chance to speak.

“That’s a healing ability.” My voice catches her by surprise, but it doesn’t affect her any more than her new-found skill. “Water-benders are gifted with the ability to heal wounds. It’s like a medicine.” I explain.

“How do you know this?” She asks. I sit down next to her as she’s resting on her ankles, both of us facing the continuous river. If we followed it in the other direction, we could find Jeong-Jeong’s hideout again.

“My father always told me to fight your enemy, you must know your enemy. Basic aristocratic education. Didn’t someone teach you?” I question.

“No.” She looks down at her hands. “My mother died in a Fire Nation raid. They took all our water-benders.” The pain contorts her face.

“Is that why Sokka reacted like that?”

“Yeah.” She nods.

“Oh.” Seconds of silence pass, letting our recent exchange process in our minds. I attempt to make her feel better. “Water can heal, you’re lucky. All fire seems to do is destroy.”

“It’s powerful.” Katara says.

“He didn’t mean to hurt you, yaknow.” I defend the young Avatar. “Without proper control, it can get out of your hands. Then, all you can do is sit and stand. It’s not like the other elements.”

“Maybe Jeong-Jeong was right, maybe Aang isn’t ready to fire-bend.”

“I don’t think he is.”

[kckt88]

Take My Breath Away VI.

Summary:

A new Targaryen is born.

Warning(s): Swearing, Angst, Child Birth, Complications, Choices, Threats of Murder.

Word Count: 3111

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!!

GREENS WIN - ENEMIES TO LOVERS.

Tag List - @a-beaverhausen, @ammo23, @immyowndefender, @watercolorskyy, @toodlesxcuddles

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon or Fire & Blood characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used.

Comments, likes, and reblogs are very much appreciated.

Some dialogue/scenes from Dynasty have been reused.

Seeing Vaeryna wife grow round with their child gave Aemond a sense of happiness that he’d never known before. He marvelled how her body changed and the feeling of their babe moving was something he would never forget.

The mood swings however were something else entirely.

Sometimes Vaeryna would scream and cry at him whenever she felt uncomfortable, she would rage and order him to stay away from her, only for her to come to him in floods of tears and drag him back to their chambers and beg him to fuck her.

Often there were times where she would wordlessly sink to her knees and tear open his breeches, only for her to stuff his cock down her throat and torture him as she sucked and licked his hard cock until she’d milked every last drop of seed from him.

Quite the predicament, that of course his brother Aegon found extremely amusing.

“You do realise that she’s already with child. You don’t need to keep sticking it in her all the time” said Aegon smirking.

“That makes a change from your orders to bed her every night or they’ll be consequences”.

“Well, it’s different now, she’s actually with child” replied Aegon.

“I just can’t help myself. Seeing her belly round with my child, knowing that it’s my seed that’s taken root. Drives me mad with desire” replied Aemond honestly.

“Drives your wife mad with desire too from what I’ve heard” said Aegon.

“Hm” muttered Aemond.

“Heard she was ordering you not to touch her anymore, only for her to find you training with Ser Criston and without skipping a beat she dragged you back to your chambers and neither of you were seen for the rest of the day” laughed Aegon.

“I had my husbandly duties to perform” retorted Aemond.

“We all know how seriously you take duty little brother” exclaimed Aegon.

Aemond rolled his eye and turned to face Vaeryna who was sitting with Jaehaera in the gardens, they were singing some kind of nursery rhymes.

It made Aemond’s heart burst, just simply watching how Vaeryna was with his niece, she would be such a good mother.

“He will be so pretty” said Jaehaera.

“Who?” asked Vaeryna.

“The babe” replied Jaehaera as she placed her little hand on Vaeryna’s round stomach.

“Oh, so he’s definitely a boy then” mused Vaeryna.

“Yes, he will look a lot like uncle Aemond, but he will be sweet like you”.

“How do you know that?” asked Vaeryna curiously as she stroked Jaehaera’s soft silver hair.

“I have dreams-I saw him flying on a dragon with uncle Aemond” replied Jaehaera.

“On Vhagar?”

“No, he will fly my mama’s dragon” said Jaehaera.

“Dreamfyre” exclaimed Vaeryna, placing a hand on her stomach as she felt the babe kick.

“Yes, they will be good friends”.

“Will you be ok with that?” asked Vaeryna.

“Dreamfyre loved my mama very much, but she’s sad and all alone. Dragons shouldn’t be lonely”.

“No, they shouldn’t” said Vaeryna softly.

“Besides the others will fly too”.

“Others?” mused Vaeryna.

“Your other children-silly” said Jaehaera.

“How many others?”

“Seven, one for each of the gods” replied Jaehaera in a sing song voice.

“I don’t think that’s accurate” gasped Vaeryna, not knowing if she should feel horrified or not.

“I saw them all, even the boy surrounded by snow” replied Jaehaera.

“The boy surrounded by snow?” asked Vaeryna.

“Yes-the boy with the wolf, don’t worry auntie Ryna, I won’t tell anyone” whispered Jaehaera.

“Jae-“ said Vaeryna nervously.

“It’s ok, I promise I won’t tell-” muttered Jaehaera.

“-Promise you won’t tell what?” asked Aemond.

Vaeryna looked at Jaehaera who smiled sweetly and patted the grass next to her. Aemond smiled as he sat down next to his niece.

“The seven” muttered Jaehaera.

“T-The seven?” asked Aemond furrowing his brow.

“All the children were going to have, Jae said she saw them in a dream” replied Vaeryna.

“One for each of the gods” said Aemond smiling.

“That’s exactly what Jae said-you don’t seriously want seven children” gasped Vaeryna.

“I don’t know, might be interesting. Who knows” replied Aemond shrugging.

“Your not the one that will have to give birth to them” snapped Vaeryna.

“No, but I’m sure I’ll have fun making them” said Aemond smirking.

“Your such an arse-honestly, no way am I birthing seven babes” muttered Vaeryna shifting uncomfortably as the babe currently inside her began to kick.

“Yes, you will” cheered Jaehaera as she picked up a ladybird from the grass and took it to the bushes.

“Thank you for listening to what she says, usually people either don’t understand or they think she’s mad” whispered Aemond.

“I would never think such a thing” replied Vaeryna taking Aemond’ hand and placing it on her stomach.

“The child is very active today” muttered Aemond.

“Indeed, he kept me awake most of the night” replied Vaeryna.

“If your tired, let me escort you back to our chambers, if you cannot sleep, then you should rest” said Aemond as he stood up and offered his hand to Vaeryna.

“Ready and pull” exclaimed Vaeryna as Aemond hauled her off the floor.

Vaeryna brushed the grass of her skirts and smiled at Aemond who was gazing at her with such fondness, that it made her blush.

“-And where are you two sneaking off to, not more marital duty?” asked Aegon.

“My wife is tired, so I’m taking her to rest, is that ok with you” snarked Aemond.

“Of course, the health of my heir is important” said Aegon as he reached out to lay a hand on Vaeryna’s stomach, but she stepped away.

“Do that again and you’ll lose it” snapped Vaeryna.

Aegon didn’t answer, he simply smiled and watched with mild curiosity as Aemond wrapped an arm around Vaeryna’s back and guided her inside the Red Keep.

Aemond didn’t know how much longer he could stand listening to Vaeryna’s pained wails, as he paced back and forth outside their closed chamber door.

Vaeryna’s labours had begun during the night and Aemond had been ushered out of their chambers, as a flurry of Maesters and midwives surrounded his wife.

“A-Aemond,” cried Vaeryna.

Aemond had been ordered to remain outside as the midwives claimed the birthing room was no place for a man, let alone a Prince of the realm.

“I want AEMOND” screamed Vaeryna.

Aemond couldn’t stand it anymore, so he took a deep breath and barged into his chambers.

“My prince. You should not be here. It is not proper” urged Maester Munkun.

“I don’t give a shit what’s proper. My wife needs me. I’m staying” snapped Aemond.

“B-But my Prince”

“Do not attempt to remove me again Maester, or I swear to the seven I will throw you out of that fucking window” shouted Aemond.

“P-Please. Aemond. I need you” sobbed Vaeryna.

“I’m here ābrazȳrys” (Wife) exclaimed Aemond as he knelt down beside the bed and took Vaeryna’s hand.

“It hurts so much Valzȳrys” (Husband).

“I know. But you can do this. I know you can” said Aemond, doing his best to reassure his wife.

“No, I can’t” wailed Vaeryna, grimacing in pain as a contraction ripped across her stomach.

“Yes, you can Issa prūmia. Squeeze my hand as much as you want” (My heart).

Maester Munkun instructed Vaeryna to take a deep breath and push.

“That’s it. Issa dōna, keep going” encouraged Aemond (My sweet).

Aemond had no idea how much time had passed since Vaeryna was instructed to push, even as the labour tired her, she kept going. Her red face covered in sweat and tears.

But it soon become clear that things were not progressing as they should, especially when Maester Munkun and the midwives were sharing looks of concern and began whispering to each other.

“W-What’s going on?” asked Aemond as one of the maid’s quickly left the room.

“My Prince, may I have a word” urged Maester Munkun.

Aemond nodded sharply and pressed a quick kiss to Vaeryna’s sweaty head before standing up and following the Maester.

“Unfortunately, My Prince, the babe isn’t coming and with every second that passes we risk losing them both” said Maester Munkun.

“Isn’t there anything you can do?” gasped Aemond.

“You need to make a choice My Prince, there is a procedure we can perform to bring the babe out, but-“

Suddenly the door burst open and Aegon lumbered inside. He reeked of stale wine and his eyes were completely bloodshot.

“I received word that are complications?” asked Aegon.

The maid who had left the room, shrunk into the corner as Aemond glared at her, no doubt one of his brother’s little spies.

“Yes, Your Grace, I was just informing Prince Aemond that there is a procedure we can perform to bring the babe out”.

“Well then. Do it” urged Aegon.

“You must understand Your Grace, the mother would not survive such a procedure”.

“WHAT?” exclaimed Aemond.

“Would the babe live?” asked Aegon.

“There is a chance Your Grace” replied Maester Munkun.

“Well then, do it. I will not risk my heir-“

“-Aegon. No-” urged Aemond shaking his head.

“I am the King. You will perform that procedure” snarled Aegon desperately.

“A-Aemond” whimpered Vaeryna.

“Go on, get on with it” said Aegon waving his hand dismissively.

Aemond watched as the Maester rummaged around in his bag, before he pulled out a small sharp blade.

They were going to cut her open, she was going to die. No, he couldn’t lose her, not now.

With a ferocious roar of rage, Aemond surged forward and shoved the Maester away from Vaeryna.

“Have you lost your wits” yelled Aegon as he too was buffeted out of the way.

“You will not touch my wife” snapped Aemond as he stood over Vaeryna protectively.

“We can’t risk the babe, the Maester needs to-“

“I swear to the seven and every single god in old Valyria, if your obsession with having a male heir costs Vaeryna her life, I will slit your throat from ear to ear” raged Aemond his hand moving to the dagger at his hip.

“I am the King and-“

“That is my wife, and I will not have her butchered for the sake of a babe” said Aemond as he turned his back on Aegon and took Vaeryna’s hand.

“Aemond-what’s happening-I’m scared” sobbed Vaeryna.

“Your going to dig deeper than you ever thought possible and find the strength to deliver our babe. Now come on” muttered Aemond as he kissed Vaeryna’s hand.

“I-I can’t”

“Yes, you can. You are Vaeryna Targaryen, daughter of Rhaenyra and the Rogue Prince, you are the rider of the Cannibal the most feared dragon in all of Westeros. Now show everyone in this room why you are the true blood of the dragon” urged Aemond.

Vaeryna nodded slowly as she took a deep breath and pushed.

Never had Aemond seen anyone display the level of strength that Vaeryna currently displayed, she must have been exhausted but she didn’t give in.

“I-I don’t believe it, M-Maester the babe” exclaimed a midwife.

“That’s it Princess. I can see the babes head” said Maester Munkun.

“You can do it my love. That’s it. Keep pushing” urged Aemond, grimacing slightly as Vaeryna squeezed his hand tight.

“Keep going Princess. Your doing so well-“

“The head’s out. Now just wait until the next contraction and push”

Even though her strength was waning, Vaeryna took a deep breath and gave one last push.

Then an ear-piercing cry shattered the silence of the room. 

Aemond’s heart swooped at the sound, his lips parting in amazement as he watched Maester Munkun, cut the umbilical cord and quickly wrapped the babe in clean cloth.

Vaeryna whimpered next to him, her eyes shining with relieved tears. 

“Well, what is it?” asked Aegon.

“A boy. Your Grace” said Maester Munkun.

“My heir” shrieked Aegon excitedly as he held out his arms expectantly, but before the Maester could place the tiny squalling babe in the Kings arms, Aemond abruptly shoved Aegon aside and snatched his son from the Maester who made a rather hasty retreat.

Aemond passed the baby boy to Vaeryna who held the babe against her bare chest. Her eyes shining with unshed tears.

“Aemond. Look, our son” gasped Vaeryna.

“He’s perfect” whispered Aemond in awe. His heart bursting with love at the sight of his newly born son in the arms of his wife.

“Jae was right, he looks like you” said Vaeryna happily.

The babe had a full head of silver hair, never in his life had Aemond ever seen so much hair on a babe.

“Would you like to hold him?” asked Vaeryna.

Even though he was nervous, Aemond nodded eagerly. His heart bursting with every single ounce of happiness and love as his son was placed in his arms.

“What’s the boy’s name?”

“The honour belongs to his father” muttered Vaeryna.

“Are you sure?” asked Aemond as his wife nodded slowly, Maester Munkun and the midwives were busying themselves with the delivery of the afterbirth and making sure Vaeryna was ok.

Aemond looked down at the small babe in his arms and smiled.

There was only one name he could think of. A name that he’d picked out after Vaeryna had told him that she was carrying his child.

“Rhaegar” whispered Aemond.

“I had thought to name him Aegon, after myself of course. He is my heir” said Aegon.

“He might be your heir, but I am his father and any decisions regarding him shall fall to me or his mother” snapped Aemond.

“Aemond your not being fair” argued Aegon.

“Get out of my chambers. You are fouling the air with your stench” snarked Aemond.

“You dare speak to me like that” exclaimed Aegon.

“I shall speak to you any way I please and if you don’t listen, I shall be adding Kingslayer to my repertoire”.

Aegon must have realised the seriousness in Aemond’s threat as he quickly vacated the room.

“I’m sorry you had to hear that, but at last we can be alone”.

Vaeryna smiled widely, she had birthed their son, and gone through immeasurable pain, yet she had never looked more beautiful.

Aemond leaned forward and pressed a gentle kiss to Vaeryna’s lips.

“Avy jorrāelan” whispered Vaeryna as her eyes began to close (I love you).

Aemond’s breath caught in his throat, she had never said that to him before. But she was clearly exhausted and needed to rest.

Long after the Maester’s and midwives had finished taking care of Vaeryna, and the maids had ensured there were clean sheets on the bed, Aemond cradled his son in his arms and simply watched over Vaeryna as she slept.

Never in his life had he been this happy.

Vaeryna slept on and off for almost two days before she regained some semblance of strength and energy.

A wet nurse had been helping to take care of Rhaegar and Alicent would often visit, of course still held a slight disdain for Vaeryna given her blatant rudeness, but there some modicum of care.

Aemond wondered if maybe his mother still harboured some warm feeling towards Rhaenyra and now that she was gone, she had come to care for Vaeryna as a way to make up for what had happened during the war.

What ever the reason, Aemond was glad for it. Despite his initial feelings towards Vaeryna when she first arrived, she had completely woven herself into his heart and breathed new life into every fibre of his being.

A soft knock at the door broke Aemond out of his reverie, he gentle placed Rhaegar in his cradle and opened the door to his chambers to find Aegon standing nervously in the corridor.

“I’ve got nothing to say to you” snarled Aemond as he went to close the door.

“No. Wait. Please brother just hear me out” begged Aegon.

Aemond really did contemplate slamming the door in his face, but he’d come here for a reason and judging from the red handprint marring his cheek, he’d been commanded by their mother.

“H-How is Vaeryna?”

“She’s sleeping, but she’s ok” replied Aemond bluntly.

“I-I wish to apologise for my actions. I was wrong”.

“You were willing to have my wife sliced open” retorted Aemond as he stepped out into the corridor and pulled the door shut.

“I-Its just the council kept going on about the importance of me having an heir, and I tried to suggest naming Jaehaera but they refused, saying they could in could conscious allow such a thing because of what happened with Rhaenyra and-“

“Well obviously, it would make us look like hypocrites, and would most likely incite another war” said Aemond sternly.

“The point is, I shouldn’t have said what I did”.

“You know the only reason you’re not dead, is that I do not wish to have our mother suffer the grief of losing another child, even if you are a wastrel” said Aemond.

“Ok I get it. I’m unworthy. Must you constantly remind me how much of a disappointment I am” muttered Aegon.

“No, I don’t think you get it at all” snarked Aemond.

“I didn’t even want the fucking crown in the first place, do you remember that. How I begged you to let me sail away and never return, yet they forced that fucking thing upon my head”

“You are the first-born son” replied Aemond.

“Our grandsire claimed crowning me would prevent a war, but it only succeeded in causing one. Was it all worth it Aemond, tell me brother, the people we’ve lost? Grandsire, Daeron, Helaena, both of my sons. Look at Vaeryna and the people she’s lost” said Aegon the tears rolling down his pale cheeks.

“No, it was not worth it” muttered Aemond.

“Our house has almost fell to ruin because people would rather see a man on the Iron Throne, we cannot carry on like this brother or else we will wither away and die”.

“You think I don’t know that. The whole reason you had me take Vaeryna to wife was so we could further our line” said Aemond.

"You love her though?"

"Yes I do. More than I've ever loved anyone" said Aemond.

“Do you think we’ll ever recover?” asked Aegon quietly.

“Only time will tell” replied Aemond as he pushed himself off the wall he was leaning on.

“I am sorry you know I just-“

“I think in all honesty Aegon, it’s for the best that you stay out of my face for the next week. I can’t deal with your shit. I need to be there for Vaeryna and our son” said Aemond firmly.

“O-Ok” stammered Aegon.

“Goodbye. Your Grace” said Aemond as he opened the door to his chambers and disappeared inside, leaving Aegon standing alone.

[liminsendhelp]

Don't pet the flea cat

Price×f!reader

This chapter contains references to blood and meat and torture. Angst. Our main character is getting worse.

Part 1. Part 2. Part 3. Part 4. Part 5. Part 6.

You, no joke, wanted to scream. As you suspected, the TF141 hadn't been at the base for over a month. They left at night, and you stared at the tail of the helicopter for a long time. You didn't even go out to say goodbye to it. Not having the right to do that was depressing, but sobering. You managed to forget reality.

Over the days, you could chase away thoughts of Price. He was there for you. Now you were starting to realise with horror that you were worried.

You sat down with your victim friends, wrapping a net of understanding around them to get to the bottom of it. You gossiped with your secretary, clearly wanting to get you into bed after realising you were single and not quite heterosexual. You were still training, just without John Price. Day in, day out, day in, day out. So after a week, bored with no grams of infused black humour around, no fair grades, no adorable buzzing and warm cow eyes, no four fuckers you swore you couldn't stand, you began to hate the world even more. Everything seemed bland.

"I swear I'll kill someone." You say at the table on a Monday morning. The sacrificial lambs around you, grinning sweetly as you burn holes in the idiots at the other tables. "You can't." "I have the guts." "And the skills?"

You turn your head sharply towards the black-eyed girl across the table. She's always so genuinely right that at first you don't even realise the suggestion in her words.

"Really?"

And she…nods. The other victims at the table nod, too.

So yeah, you're not bored anymore. You're hurt and hurt every day, now you're also angry. They come to the hall in the mornings, someone new every day, in shifts so that only one person is not in place. They torture you in fights, stances, kicks, punches, somersaults, jumps, reflexes and planks. And you keep quiet. Because you know, each to their own degree, that you are motivated by only one desire - to prove their weakness.

They're scared, sometimes. From the outside, you look empty. Like a shell of a person, not yet torn open to release a ripe monster. They let you joke and chatter, and you stay silent, focused on not hurting anyone. Exactly until you're knocked down time after time, your nose, your lip smashed, hurt. Until you're humiliated. That's when you stop thinking and start killing. It's probably the same therapeutic experience for them. They're trying to put themselves in their past place, the victim's place, and control their loss.

Because you're repulsive, fierce. Your body is big and soft, strong unpredictably, fast desperately. You feel no pain while you're held in a grapple. As opposed to your hips choking you, you squeeze your hands on their throats so hard they almost pass out. When they throw you over their shoulder and you instantly spit out your mouthpiece, ripping the t-shirt on your sparring partner with your teeth because you don't have time to get your hands on it. And if you get clipped, you fall over invariably with a roll to your feet to saddle up and bash their head against the floor.

Because you are violence. Ordinary, domestic, smelling of cheap beer and domestic tyranny. They could be the same if they saw entirely the norm they are prescribed in the morning as a cure for dissent. After all, the victim has two choices. Either kill or die.

"You've got to stop doing that. It's just a workout, no one's going to hurt you more than they need to." "I know. Sometimes, just, you know… No, just forgive." "Tough childhood, huh?"

You don't stop the play. Knowing you're just taking your anger, frustration and stress out on them, you cover yourself by pretending you're out of control. Like you remember how to let it go. But they feel pity. They don't see the rotten fangs beneath the lambskin you barely pulled on. And the days go by again, and you find entertainment again, and you start to trust more and more again. And the confessions pile up on you, and the tape recorder in your pocket won't stop writing, and the secretary helps you get to the right documents. She thinks she's doing a great job with you. You're just hoping for a chance to dig deeper.

You want to find something new, not just to gather statistics, but to run an arse-blowing campaign. Let everything burn with fire while you air your dirty laundry in public. You won't admit, even to yourself, that you just need a surprised expression on Price's face. And after, of course, approval. As if yes, that's what you could have found, just you. To help them throw the rats off the ship.

And to have Ghost. Satisfied only that his hopes were fulfilled.

One pat on the shoulder. One dry nod. You're not asking much. You'd like more.

…

It's fucking hot in here. In the stifling heat, they sat in the basement of the manor. Kings of our world. Their guards piled up near the secret passage in the catacombs.

There are five groups in all. The first will start firing, a diversionary tactic. The second wait inside the walls of the house. The smallest group of all, necessary for the right direction of movement. The third are in the woods surrounding the estate, clearing the field of local patrols. Fourths. "The Attic. Gas on the upper floors, with them, to prevent anyone escaping by helicopter.

And their group. In the basement, with the fuming air, waiting for the team. Each of them wouldn't mind finishing things themselves. But no, it has to be done quietly. Somehow John knows, senses something's going to happen.

Something's already happening.

The signal for action, the steady breathing, the orders. One single wound, and it's a tangential one. It's all coming out really quietly and quickly. Through the same hot catacombs, they lead the cartel goons to armoured trucks with not very friendly guards inside.

Everything goes quietly. The only thing that could ruin the operation is that the Attic group fails to shoot down the almost-mafia-head's helicopter in time. The smoking structure falls not into the woods, but exactly into the right wing of the estate, only to crash and tear up the ground beneath it. But even that doesn't stop the operatives from pushing the fugitives to the basement. All four teams, leading the disarmed and bound defendants, successfully convoy the men to the underground prison. Anxiety not subsiding, John puts a hand to his chest, in the place where a slim book from her collection would be hiding beneath his body armour if… if he asked directly. He would do so before the next mission, and carry a piece of literary reproach close to his heart. Yes, that's right, as soon as he gets there. And will sign an authorisation to access information about himself in case he dies. For scientific purposes. Then it won't make any difference. And no arsehole's gonna take that psychopath's rights away from her. Ghost will see to it that his will is carried out.

The initial interrogation entrusted to their care goes unnecessarily smoothly, too. John blushes away the smiles he sees on the faces of the cartel gangsters so as not to lose his temper.

Three hours later they're recalled to base, and that seems odd to him too. His gut doesn't fail, half an hour later the order changes, they're being redirected. Just their group.

"What's wrong?"

Laswell looks at him from across the table. New mission, heightened urgency, out in five minutes, helicopter will be arriving shortly. John glumly rereads the short brief.

"Something's wrong."

…

Something's wrong. You haven't seen Him in a month. Idiot soldiers, higher ups, yes even your lambs have been quietly alarmed. Dead. That's fine. You hadn't dismissed the possibility, and you were already grieving for Him endlessly. You had no right to show any emotion. You just knew that there were no more people in the dining room who seemed to be predators. You just saw that you had no place in that silence. So work. Work again. Bad habit. If he's dead, you have no-one to be ashamed of where you stuck your nose in.

Medical records label rape as "sharp pain in the lower abdomen." If the victim couldn't remember anything because of the opium, it was labelled "poisoning", if she recognised her attacker it was "cramps due to stress", if she saw but didn't know her attacker it was "suspected ulcer".

The latter cases had additional captions. "Sent for gastroscopy/ultrasound." eaquals to "investigation cited". Positive and negative results respectively implied a found and not found rapist.

Need I mention that ulcers were almost never detected? The patients turned out to be completely healthy. What distinguished rape cases from real cases of GI problems was the number of days off officially prescribed to the patient. More than three days was a bell; more than a week was a bell. There were two cases that imprinted themselves on your memory. The body, accustomed to cruelty and injustice, analysed the data on two month-long leaves and jerked. The first name is classified. The second was a woman who retired a year ago.

Thousands and thousands of military personnel. Only fifteen cases you could pull evidence from.

Fifty suspicious coincidences you couldn't explain.

Hundreds of rapes that never reached you.

And that's considering that any sexual encounter here was severely punished. Rape didn't just mean getting fired. A man would just disappear. He'd go on a mission and never show up. And this, of course, after months of boycott. No one would touch him, no one would communicate with him, no one would treat him as a human being. Rumour. The same rumours. Ghost stood hawkishly guardian of this policy. Of course, the command took liberties. The mass of nurses interviewed laughed coquettishly and outright bawled as they recalled advances from half-dead military men (it's worth mentioning that most of them were still alive). But no one confessed to the relationship, only discussed the varieties of genitalia that had passed through the strong hands of the medics. You didn't bother to use your knowledge of medical records. Anxiously smoking a smoking cigarette butt outside the medical block, you stared at the wall.

He was smiling so sweetly. Like a bear.

"What, Capitainess, are you sad?"

The sweet German woman - your secretary's best friend - was somehow luscious and unpleasantly warm. She smelt of blood all the time, and worked four-handedly at donation and "in confidence and as needed" in pathology.

You remain silent, examining her sly expression. It's not that you don't get along, quite the opposite. Which is why you allow her to mock you a little. To try and bite you. "Do you think yours will be here soon?" "Anticipating the autopsy already?" You mutter. "Oh, yeah, I love marbled beef. Did you see those shoulders? That dad bod." "He doesn't have any…" You begin, looking at her with a raised eyebrow. "Gotcha" she exclaims victoriously and your smile becomes much more noticeable than it was a second ago. "So you're looking at him!" Instead of answering, you toss your cigarette into the nearest rubbish bin and wait for the continuation.

The continuation doesn't come for several minutes as you stare into the surprisingly clear sky. Your hands are in your pockets, your lip between your teeth bitten to a bloody pulp.

"Is he alive?" You whisper. "Most likely. I've been here five years. Rumour has it he once commanded an operation right after he was rescued from captivity. And, I know you're not kidding yourself about that, but he really is a threat. A lethal one. He'll get out on his own." "Or he'll be dragged out." "More like dragged away." It sounds from behind you. You turn around to see an aggressive soldier handing you a cigarette. You smoke in silence. He claps you on the shoulder. "They're supposed to decide tomorrow whether they're sending my unit on its first operation. Nothing much, since the strongest positions are occupied by… whatever they're occupied with." "Back-up?" It's probably the simplicity of your interest in his answer. For a second, in those clear colours of the sun, you seem a little smaller, weaker. The desire to help rears its head. "Not only." He replies. You press your lips together.

The situation only gets more tense. The groups are coming back. Everyone is coming back. Gaz returns in such nervous overload that he can't unclench the hand he's been pressing against Soap's wound. He is silent and doesn't laugh. You look at him quite close, hiding behind the doctors and nurses. That white coat of yours, that skill of yours, that fucking charm of yours. The sight of Gaza is stupefying. The sight of Soap, pale, hooked up to a life support machine, terrifies you. The same iceberg, knocking you cold every time you see the last shots before the cameraman dies. The second before the explosion, those not yet shot run in silent panic. The second before the beast attacks. The recording cuts off only when the battery dies, already after the owner's screams have ended. The second before the shrill sobs of a girl being raped in a circle. That moment of helplessness behind the screen when you see and can't stop watching. When you are a participant and a perpetrator.

Gaz has been silent for a week. Soap is still in a coma. You move the laptop into the medics' lounge. On the floor by the socket, all black and dirty. You've lost seven kilos from the stress. On the floor next to you is one of the nurses' old thermos. You drew a small abstraction of stars and lines on her ankle with a black marker. The drawing is almost washed away, but you see its outline when her feet in crocs stop next to your knee. She shares a meal with you every day. You don't thank her, but you slip her a candy bar or ten quid or a sticker drawing. Your paper now has more than just a skeleton, it has substance. It's almost a good research paper. When you're allowed, you visit Gaza. Sometimes it's ten minutes, sometimes it's half an hour. On the first day, you simply reach out for him to put his palm into the embrace of your cracked fingers. His skin is just as rough and cold, but you can feel the pulse, and that rhythm lets you live, too. Now you come in with a book. You read Oscar Wilde's De Prófundis. Gaz is still silent, but his eyes warm and sparkle as he laughs from your sincerely-sarcastic-outraged intonations. Towards the end of the week, the book is finished, your paper has been sent to Dr Moon for another review, and your anxiety makes you stay on your feet steadier and fiercer. You dread going to sleep and finding out one of them is dead. Their faces looked like a mess when they arrived. Maybe they'd explain it to you, but you've already formed your own opinion. Your hands shake from the slight rise in blood pressure when you do more than just manipulate digitised information, but a real invasion. But. What were you supposed to do? The stolen medical records give insight into the anamnesis. Gaz doesn't speak for a reason. His tongue was cut off, not cauterised at the root, just wrapped in thin wire. The repair was emergency and only affected the major vessels. You think that's a good thing. If he heals well, he should be able to speak again. He'll probably have trouble recognising taste, but he'll be able to function almost fully. Two, three, five months and he'll be good as new. Soap's situation is much worse. Couple of shots to the torso.

Shattered lung, broken ribs, almost hit the heart. Second bullet punctured the liver. The third one tangentially grazed Soap's head. No brain damage, but damage to the skull. The injuries are severe, though not irreversible, but it will be difficult for him to regain his fighting ability. He'll be given an honourable rest. If he does come out of his coma. If he survives.

But he wasn't tortured. Most likely the macho man got out and sat in ambush, devising a plan to free himself. If Gaz was rescued by his forces, you weren't even going to give Soap an extra beating for kamikaze behaviour.

Moreover, you're on the verge of not doing the same.

But you're in luck. After a week in which you've never once been able to check on either Gaz or Soap, a wave passes through the entire base. It starts with the cobble-faced faces of the convoyers and the bags over the heads of the prisoners, and ends near you when one of your victim friends, bows.

"They'll be interrogating the ones who captured Cap and Lt."

A black veil rises before your eyes.

[severusalways88]

Written in Blood - Rated Explicit

Starting things off with my longest SSHG fic to date: Written in Blood. If you're looking for vampire Death Eaters, then I gotchu. Summary: When Voldemort's death unleashes a curse that turns the remaining Death Eaters into vampires, Severus Snape finds all new depths of self-loathing as he attempts to fight his own body for control. Will Hermione Granger's unexpected intrusion into his life help him keep the curse at bay? Or will she push past his shields and potentially bring it onto her own head?

Beautiful cover art by @slytherinsneakers Check out her work! Title by you_are_my_black_world, check out her translations!

Tags include: vampire!Severus, vampire!Ex Death Eaters, slow burn, smut, there's gonna be blood, vampire bites during smut, rough consensual sex, minor character deaths, references to past character deaths, non-graphic depictions of bodies/magical autopsies, some comedy I think, mostly canon compliant to Voldemort's death, HP epilogue what epilogue, violence, depictions of blood draws via needle, references to canon torture, depiction of funeral service, angst, some fluff if you squint, depictions of murder scenes, a bit of a mystery, consensual face fucking, a dash of wizarding politics, grievous injuries, restraints in smut, edging, delayed orgasm

Excerpt (from chapter 1, mind the above tags):

----

The soft pitter-pattering of rain was the only sound infringing upon the otherwise silent room in which Severus Snape stood as he stared out the window.  He liked the rain, it was both soothing and appealed to his still-new aversion to sunlight.  But he also hated the rain, because it tended to force him into unwelcome introspection; something he vehemently eschewed on a regular basis.  He frowned at his faintly visible reflection in the water-streaked glass, and fought the recollections threatening to breach the surface of his mind. 

Suddenly longing for the smell of petrichor, he Vanished the pane and stepped forward, tilting his face toward the sky and inhaling deeply.  His heightened senses picked up on the minutely higher acid content of the raindrops, the smell of freshly disturbed dirt from a wandering rabbit below, and that the barely-there wind was blowing in a Northeasterly direction. 

There was also, of course, the feel of hearts beating everywhere.  Small ones like the rabbit, larger ones like the family of deer grazing in the nearby woods, and those of his fellow occupants in Malfoy Manor - though the latter ones beat as slowly as his own.  The constant thrum of heartbeats were a daily annoyance for him, as he'd yet to determine how to fully block them out.  Sometimes he could make it more bearable, other times - usually when he let his hunger rise to dangerous levels - it pulsed through him until he fed. 

Which brought him to another thing he despised:  Feeding.  Through a large amount of trial and error, he'd concluded he could safely go a week at a time before needing to eat, and so that was how often he allowed himself to do it.  

Severus leaned slightly out the window, permitting a jaunty gust of wind to ruffle his hair in an attempt to quell his own self-disdain.  He'd spent the first three months after his Transformation desperately seeking a way to reverse the curse that turned him.  But when the grim inevitability had settled in, he'd instead begun searching for suitable blood alternatives. 

All attempts at synthesized blood - magical or otherwise - proved fruitless.  Animal blood at least dampened some of the hunger, but it didn't douse the maddening heartbeats.  Pre-harvested human blood was yet another step up, but was still lacking in regard to a true, lasting solution.  And so, the entirety of his efforts had culminated into the realization that should he wish to attain anything remotely resembling peace, he would have to drink straight from the source. 

----

I'll give each chapter its own post over time, ideally leading up to the posting of the sequel (Blood in the Water, announced Dec 2023) hopefully in Spring 2025!

[envihellbender]

Buried avatar Gerry

Rating: General Audience

Fandom: The Magnus Archives

Characters: Gerard Keay, Michael Shelley

Content: buried alive, rodents, abuse reference

Summary: Buried!Gerard goes the Magnus Institute to give his statement, but he’ll only talk to Michael.

—

[WE ARE GREETED BY THE CLICK OF A TAPE RECORDER]

MICHAEL

Statement of Gerard Keay regarding his experience with Hezekiah Wakeley. Recording by researcher Michael Shelley. Statement Begins. [A PAUSE.] So, in your own time, Gerard. Whenever your ready.

GERARD

Oh erm. Okay. So. Yeah. This one isn’t really about mum like the others but I guess that’s the easiest way to explain it, you know? I’ve already told you about the tattoos and mum’s experiments, so next step is how I escaped it. It was her own fault really, she introduced me to my home. I just curled up in the Mother Earth’s arms and never let go. So she messed up, really. Anyway. I was supposed to be getting my buried tattoo, and just like the others it was supposed to be torture… but it didn’t work? Like, okay, so back then I didn’t have mud everywhere and didn’t have the rodent thing.

[THERE IS AN INDIGNANT SQUEAK FOLLOWED BY THE NOISE OF SHUFFLING.]

[GERARD WHISPERS INTO HIS COAT] Hey, y’alright, mate? [HIS VOICE IS LOUDER AS HE TURNS BACK TO MICHAEL.] Sorry, is it alright if Corpsegrinder has a wander around? He’s getting fussy.

MICHAEL

[A SMALL GASP OF SURPRISE, HIS VOICE IS NERVOUS.] Oh! I- yes, of course. By all means. Oh, he’s cute. My boss might not be quite so amenable if he gets out though.

GERARD

It’s alright, he won’t go far. Anyway, where was I? Oh, right. So, mum originally did the usual sort of thing. This time she drugged me whilst I slept and had me moved into a coffin. So I woke up, and… it was nice. It was comforting. I was surrounded by all sides and held tight. It was like I was a kid again, swaddled against mum’s chest in a way I can’t imagine mum ever actually doing. It was pure black, my eyes could rest for the first time. The only thing that would’ve improved it was music, otherwise it just seemed like… Comfortable. Pure. Not remotely terrifying. And maybe that was a sign that the thing already had started to grow inside me. Which is definitely possible because I used to climb into the empty graves at the cemetery down the road when I was a kid, I’d be like, 13, and sneak out after lights out and go to just lay in the soft warm earth. I had my cheap MP3 player playing some music and I was completely safe. I fell asleep there sometimes. I was at peace. It was like that but I wasn’t rudely awakened at six by the gravedigger.

But no, right, so I always liked coffins, being wrapped up in small spaces but I figured I was just a goth or something. I used to get my duvet, my teddies, and curl up under my bed with a book, like one of them Artemis Fowl or Animorphs or something like that. So when mum had me locked into a coffin I just curled up happily and fell back to sleep. Didn’t even realise I was locked in. Mum got mad. She had to go further. So next she started dropping dirt on the coffin to make me feel like I was being buried alive, nothing. The only thing that sort of started to work was when she pinned me to the floor, sat on my chest so I could barely breath. She brought Hezekiah round, that was her big mistake I guess? Because he didn’t really scare me. Didn’t want to either. The opposite really. He was- so he told mum he needed privacy to terrify me properly, instead he edged forward, brushed my hair out of my eyes and talked to me for a little while. He put one hand on my shoulder, he told me that he’d be waiting for me by Saint Columba’s Church if I wanted. When he left he told my mum he could help her. I think she thought that meant he’d do what all the others did. But she couldn’t have been more wrong.

So I snuck out that night to the Church, it was a Catholic one I’d not seen before. I saw Wakeley stood by the doors, he had two rodents on one shoulder curled up together looking at me with tiny beady little eyes. And honestly? That night showed me how fucking liberating fear was. Mum only ever turned me into a shaking crying mess but Hezekiah showed me true actual terror and it was … I don’t know. Pure. Without ill intent. He saw how happy I was curled up in the coffin, he whispered to me about how he’d never let Mum hurt me again. He even let me listen to my MP3 player and hold a teddy close to my chest. I was surrounded by darkness and music. I felt every pound of earth that was piled on top of me. I stayed there in absolute bliss for I don’t know how long, all I know is when Hezekiah dug me back up again the cold early signs of Spring had turned to warm sunlight and flowers blooming over the old cemetery. Hezekiah was so happy. Mate, you have no idea. That weird guy had a smile from ear to ear and he fucking hugged me. I knew then what the Earth wanted. I knew my Mum wasn’t really my Mum, you know? She was… Something else. Someone who was trying to drag me from my real purpose. You know?

I did end up going back home, Mum was furious but she saw something different in me then. Saw I was protected. So the experiments on me stopped. That was when she started forcing me to hurt others. Like. Her. But. A lot of the time I refused. Only took those to the earth that I knew deserved it. It’s a privilege not a punishment. Mum’s ideas weren’t pure, not at all. [THERE IS A SMALL CLATTERING] Hey, Corpsegrinder, what’ve you got- Oh. Erm, mate, he says you dropped this?

MICHAEL

[HE IS NERVOUS, DELIGHTED, AND SURPRISED.] Oh! Yes! Thank you! Thank you erm… Corpsegrinder? Erm. And you, Gerard. Erm, so I guess we’ll leave that one there? Statement ends.

[CLICK]

[your-local-hoemie]

Can i request zhongli thoma and kazuha with reader that gets sick easily and often nose bleed cos of over working?

YES AAAA KAZUHA I get to write my maple prince!! TvT

Ya’ll are being awesome with the requests thank you :P I have three more to do after this and then I’m finally caught up aaaa!

Warnings: Fluff, very caring boys, Gn! Reader, swearing, mentions of blood, not proof-read.

Characters: Zhongli, Thoma, Kazuha.

Zhongli~

For someone so calm and collected 24/7 he’s still unsure of how he managed to fall for someone that’s constantly overworking theirselves into a trembling mess at least once a week.

When you first came home one day with a bloody nose he was prepared to commence with the wrath of the rock istg

When you told him that it just happens sometimes with the most causal attitude you could muster without passing out he just kinda stopped and was like

?????

Deadass just stopped and looked at you with the most deadpan expression ever and was like:

“My dear, I don’t quite believe that’s as ordinary as you try to make it out to be”

After this happens a couple more times he starts to become very good at taking care of you!

As soon as he picks up signs that you’re overworking he’ll immediately make sure to get some tissues and force you to stop whatever you’re doing and pin you to the bed in the most innocent way possible.

If he doesn’t pick up on you destroying your physical and mental state then be prepared for a hour long lecture about how you should take care of yourself!

He just wants you to be safe. He’s already lost so many people he’s loved and wants to make sure you’re ok!

Thoma~

The panic attacks you give to is poor man-

Genuinely thinks you’re about to die every time you show up with blood spurtin’ out your nose.

Has medical supplies at all times

When you told him it happens when you push yourself too much he makes sure to do everything for you when he can!

Makes you food and does chores like the precious housewife he is.

When you’ve been working too long he’ll force you to take a break and give you a nice massage even if you don’t ask for one!

He’ll ask Ayato to put a word in with your boss or teacher to take it a little more easy on you.

It’s not that he thinks you can’t handle the work

Which you can’t you dumbass

He just doesn’t like seeing how much of a toll it takes on your body

He just loves you so much and wants to make sure you’re ok~

Kazuha~

He’s like a concerned parent who also loves you too much to be angry

He understands how important the work you have is but really doesn’t like how you push yourself to literal destruction.

When you first start getting a nose bleed he’d act very calm and do his best to make sure you were ok while sitting you down to rest

But you can bet your ass his poor little heart was terrified something bad had happened ;-;

He has trauma ok! Who fucking doesn’t in this game

Doesn’t have the heart to tell you to stop what you’re doing but does do everything in his power to distract you

Oh look. He found a pretty view and needs you to come and see it with him

It’s life or death

Trust him.

He found these fruits he found and thought you’d like to try them but he needs you to eat them with him so he knows your opinion.

Such a sneaky boy.

If you refuse to peel your eyes away from whatever you’ve been torturing yourself with the last who knows how long-

He’ll finally voice his opinions and tell you to stop.

He never has a harsh or demanding tone

It’s always sounds so soft and caring

Because he is!

You’re like a beautiful flower that even though he knows you can withstand harsh conditions he still wants to protect and care for you!

It’s also impossible to say no to him he gives you his pretty smile and puppy eyes

He’s a beautiful boy with a beautiful heart

And it belongs to you completely~

Thoma’s was kinda short because I’m running out of brain juice for him today ;-;

I’ll be catching up with the other requests in a few days I’m just going through some stuff with my mom not accepting me being no-binary which is really disheartening just randomly inserts a rant wtf but I assure I will get to all the requests sent in :P