#soothing hammering rain

[asmrgiorelaxme]

Top 5 MOST Relaxing Dense Rain Hammering on Tent (Sleep Hygiene) Soothing キャンプ Heavy Rain Sound

[ssweeterthanfiction]

Glimpse Of Us

summary: routine became something finnick cherished. but course, the capitol must ruin everything, including his love. but he will still find a way to get her back.

finnick odair x fem!reader

content warnings for the whole story: descriptions of death, torture, starvation, and everything described in The Hunger Games, mentions of suicidal thoughts, implications of S/A

mood board + playlist

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Chapter V

It didn't take long for the group to move towards the center island.

“The arena- it’s a clock.” Katniss says as she gestures toward the jungle, pointing at the large tree where the lightning just struck. “Everything happens at the same time, in the same sections. The fog, the monkeys, the blood rain, it’s all on a schedule.”

Finnick exhales slowly, forcing himself to focus. He then notices how you’re kneeling with Wiress, speaking to her in hushed tones, trying to soothe her. The tenderness in your voice tugs at something deep in Finnick’s chest.

Your voice is gentle, soothing. "Wiress, it’s okay. You figured it out. You helped us." You reach out, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear. "You’re safe now."

For a moment, she blinks, her gaze settling on you. Her lips twitch as if she wants to say something more. But before she can, Johanna calls for you.

You hesitate, glancing between Wiress and Finnick, then press a reassuring hand to her arm before rising to your feet and jogging back to the group.

Finnick watches you go, his chest tightening with something he can’t name. Relief? Fear? Maybe both.

He's quick to take your hand into his.

But then you both hear a gasp.

It happens too fast. One second she’s kneeling there, and the next, her blood is spilling out.

Everything explodes into chaos.

Katniss’s arrow flies before Finnick can even react, hitting Gloss straight in the chest. His body barely hits the ground before Johanna is charging toward Cashmere, screaming as her axe collides with her chest.

Finnick whirls, trident in hand, just as Brutus lunges at Peeta. Finnick doesn’t think. He moves, blocking the attack, his muscles burning with the force of the blow.

He hears you shout his name, but he doesn’t have time to look. His vision is red, focused solely on keeping Peeta alive, on keeping you alive.

And then the island starts spinning.

The ground lurches violently, sending everyone staggering. Finnick’s stomach drops as he loses his balance, the sky blurring into the water, the trees twisting in his vision. He grips the rocks of the isalnd, trying to steady himself, trying to find you.

He can’t breathe. His pulse is a hammer against his ribs. The island won’t stop spinning, and all he can think is I have to find her. I have to get to her.

When the island finally stops moving, he bolts towards Johanna, who's standing by the edge.

“Where is she?!” he shouts

"She jumped into the water when Katniss fell- I tried to stop her but-"

Suddenly, your head breaks the surface. Finnick doesn’t waste a second. He sprints toward the edge, his legs unsteady beneath him, his vision swimming.

“Finn! I’m okay!” Your voice is breathless but strong, and relief floods through him so fast it nearly knocks him over.

But he doesn’t stop moving until he’s on his knees, his arms reaching for you, pulling you close. He doesn't even realize that Peeta was running over Katniss, who was right next to you.

You cough, shaking from the cold and the adrenaline. “I-I’m fine, I swear.”

Finnick presses his forehead against yours, still breathing hard. “You scared the hell out of me.”

You let out a shaky laugh, your fingers curling into his shoulder. “You really think I’d leave you that easily?”

Finnick exhales sharply, pressing a hand to the back of your head. “Never.”

    🌊 .·:*¨🌊🐚🌊¨*:·. 🌊

Finnick clutches you tightly, your damp hair plastered to your skin as the last tremors subside. The beach around you is eerily quiet for a moment, the faint sounds of distant waves crashing the only thing filling the tense silence.

Katniss, still dripping from the lake, exchanges a look with Peeta, her expression hard but not without a trace of concern.

"I think we should gather some more supplies," Johanna’s voice cuts through the momentary silence, her eyes narrowed as she scans the beach. "We can’t keep relying on what we’ve got. We need a backup plan, too."

You glance up at Finnick, unsure. "You think we should split up?"

Johanna gives you a grim smile. "If you don’t want to, stay here. But I’m not sticking around to wait for another cannon to go off. I’ll grab what we need; you want to come with me?"

Finnick opens his mouth to protest, but you’re already standing, brushing the sand off your legs.

"I’ll go with Johanna. You stay here, keep an eye on the others," you say, trying to offer him a reassuring smile.

Finnick hesitates, his hand brushing against yours. "Promise me you’ll be careful."

"I will." You squeeze his hand. "Besides, if I’m with Johanna, what could go wrong?"

Finnick sighs, “Take care of her,” he says to Johanna, his voice low but urgent.

“You really think I’m gonna let her die out here?” Johanna grins, her usual bite back in place. “I’ve got her.”

As you and Johanna disappear into the jungle, Finnick feels the instinct to follow, but he fights it, forcing himself to stay put. He watches the others, his eyes flickering over Katniss and Peeta, both looking just as grim as he feels.

It’s hard to concentrate. Every part of him is alert, every nerve on edge. The arena feels… wrong now. It feels like it’s holding its breath.

And that’s when it happens.

The world goes still. The trees above sway ever so slightly, and a silence settles over the arena, one that makes the air feel thick. Then, a scream.

Katniss’s face pales instantly. And then she takes off.

Finnick’s stomach drops. He doesn’t need to hear another word. He doesn’t need to know what’s happening. His legs are already moving, his feet kicking sand as he sprints toward the jungle, heart pounding.

There’s something in the air now, a shrill, unearthly sound that mixes with the already suffocating atmosphere. It’s a noise that makes Finnick’s blood run cold, like a thousand voices crying in agony.

And then, a piercing scream.

"Prim!" Katniss’s voice cracks, desperation bleeding into the air.

"Katniss!" he shouts, finally catching up to her, "Are you okay?"

But before Katniss can respond, the screams start again but it’s not just Prim.

It’s your voice.

"FINNICK!"

He hears it clear as day. Your scream, filled with pure, raw terror. His blood freezes.

"FINNICK HELP ME!"

The cry is so desperate, so agonizing, it makes Finnick stumble, his chest tightening as he pushes harder, trying to break through the jungle. His breath comes in ragged gasps, panic building with every step.

"Finnick- Finnick it's not her! It's just a jabberjay!"

"But what if it is her?! What is something happened?! I need to find her!"

The bird then start to swoop down.

Finnick swats at them as they dive toward him, their beady black eyes glinting like they know exactly what they’re doing, torturing him.

Your screams tear through the dense jungle, so agonizingly real that they make his stomach lurch. He knows, logically, that Katniss is right. That it’s just the arena playing its sick, twisted games. But what if, what if it’s not?

What if something happened to you while you were with Johanna?

What if you’re really out there, alone, screaming for him, needing him, and he’s stuck here, wasting time on a trick?

A jabberjay’s wing grazes his ear, its shriek piercing right through his skull. He swings wildly with his trident, slashing at the air. The jungle is alive with noise, with screams, with torment. Katniss is still calling for Prim, her voice raw, but Finnick barely hears her anymore.

Because all he can hear is you.

"Finnick! Please, please!"

He staggers forward, the vines and roots of the jungle grabbing at his ankles. It’s suffocating, like the arena itself is trying to hold him back.

"Finnick, it hurts! Help me!"

His vision blurs. His breath comes in gasps. His whole body shakes. He needs to get to you.

That's when he finally sees you.

You aren't hurt, instead you're putting your arms out as if you're telling him to stop running.

He doesn't know why until he hits the forcefield.

****

An hour passes.

The screaming stops.

Finnick freezes, his pulse hammering in his ears.

The silence is deafening.

The birds scatter, their cries fading.

He feels a hand on his shoulder, it's you.

You barely have time to react before Finnick reaches you, his hands gripping your arms like he’s grounding himself. His chest rises and falls rapidly, his eyes wide and frantic.

“Are you okay?” his voice is raw, desperate. “Are you hurt?”

"Finny- Finny I'm fine I-"

“I heard you screaming.” his grip tightens for a second before he forces himself to let go, dragging a shaky hand through his hair. “I thought- I thought-”

His hands find your waist, pulling you in. He presses his forehead against yours, his breath still uneven.

You close your eyes, your fingers threading through the damp curls at the nape of his neck. “I’m okay,” you whisper again.

He holds onto you tightly, barely hearing as Johanna shouts and threatens Snow, because all he can think about is the fact that you're okay.

Finnick tightens his grip around you, burying his face in the crook of your neck as he tries to steady his breathing. His whole body still trembles, he’s never felt fear like that before. Never felt that kind of helplessness.

Even when he was being paraded around the Capitol, when he was forced to endure things he could never say aloud, he always had some level of control.

But this?

Hearing your screams, thinking you were in agony, that you were dying, and not being able to reach you? That had shattered something in him.

You press a soft kiss to the side of his head. “I’m right here,” you murmur, your fingers still threading through his damp curls.

Finnick exhales sharply, nodding, but he doesn’t let go. He just needs to hold you for a little longer.

After a minute, he pulls back slightly, just enough to look at you, his hands still resting on your waist. Your eyes search his, and he knows you can see everything he’s feeling, the raw panic, the relief, the anger.

Johanna turns away, still muttering curses under her breath. “I swear, if I ever get the chance, I’m putting my axe right between Snow’s eyes.”

Katniss, still shaken, finally moves, rubbing at her arms. “Let’s get out of here.”

Finnick nods, reluctant to let you go, but he forces himself to take your hand instead, intertwining his fingers with yours as you all make your way back to the beach.

Once you all make it back, you turn to Finnick, squeezing his hand. “Let’s sit down for a second.”

He nods, allowing you to pull him toward the water’s edge. The waves lap at your feet, cool and gentle, a sharp contrast to the horror you just endured.

Finnick doesn’t speak at first. He just stares out at the horizon, his grip on your hand never loosening.

“I thought I lost you,” he finally says, voice barely above a whisper.

You lean into him, resting your head against his shoulder. “You didn’t. And you won’t.”

He turns his head slightly, pressing a lingering kiss to your temple. “I can’t lose you,” he murmurs. “Not to this arena. Not to them.”

You look up at him. “You won’t.”

Finnick swallows hard, then nods, exhaling as he presses another kiss to your forehead.

You both keep sitting there, your head on his shoulder as he looks out into the distance.

Johanna’s voice cuts through the moment. “Lovebirds!” she calls, her tone sharp but not unkind. “Quit making goo-goo eyes and get over here. Beetee’s got a plan.”

Finnick exhales a short, almost amused breath before pulling away, though his fingers linger on your wrist for a second longer. You give him a small, reassuring squeeze before following Johanna toward the others.

Beetee sits cross-legged on the sand, his fingers tracing absentminded patterns in the damp earth.

"Where do the Careers feel the safest? The jungle?"

"The jungle's a nightmare."

"Probably here on the beach."

"Then why are they not here?"

"Because we are. We claimed it."

"And if we left, they would come."

"Or stay hidden in the tree line." Finnick adds on.

"Which in just over four hours will be soaked with water by the 10:00 wave. And what happens at midnight?"

"Lighting strikes that tree"

"Here's what I propose," Beetee begins, "We leave the beach at dusk. Head to the lightning tree, and that should draw them back to the beach. Prior to midnight we then run this wire from that tree to the water. Anyone in the water, or in the damp sand, will be electrocuted."

"How do we know the wire's not gonna burn up?"

"Because I invented it. And I assure it, it will not burn up."

You, Finnick, and Johanna share a look and then nod.

Once Katniss and Peeta agree, you all know the plan is now officially in motion.

    🌊 .·:*¨🌊🐚🌊¨*:·. 🌊

It was almost dusk.

You and Finnick were both sitting in the water again, letting the waves lap at your legs.

For a moment it's quiet. Just for a moment.

Finnick sighs, tilting his head back, eyes slipping shut. “Tell me something good,” he murmurs.

You smile faintly. “Like what?”

He cracks one eye open, glancing at you. “Something that makes me forget where we are.”

You pause, thinking. Then, you shift closer, your fingers finding his beneath the water, intertwining.

“After this is over,” you say softly, “we’ll go home.”

Finnick’s eyes flicker to yours. You squeeze his hand.

“We’ll go home, and we’ll sit on the beach, our beach,” you continue. “We’ll watch the sunrise, and we won’t have to run, or fight, or be afraid....We’ll just be us.”

Finnick smiles, squeezing your hand and bringing it up to his lips.

You smile and gaze out at the sky.

"You know…everyone’s probably watching us right now”

He looks out at the water, laughing softly at your comment, “Yeah, i’m pretty sure they are..The cameras just...love us don't they?”

You hum and nod.

He smiles gently, lifting your hand, running his thumb over the back of it. “Do you think they’re enjoying the show?” he teased, resting his head on yours, his hair falling in his face, damp from the salt water.

“Mm…probably”

Finnick chuckles softly, his breath warm against your temple as he presses a fleeting kiss there. The waves rush over your legs, cooling the warmth of his touch, but nothing could shake the weight of reality pressing down on you both.

You shift slightly, your fingers tightening around his, and suddenly, there’s something different in the air. A hesitation. A change.

You swallow hard, staring at the way the waves curl and break against the shore. “Finnick…”

He hums in acknowledgment, still absently tracing patterns over the back of your hand with his thumb.

You take a slow breath, steadying yourself. “If… when it comes down to it…” You force the words out, even as your chest tightens. “I-I want you to kill me, Finnny.”

Finnick’s hand stills against yours. The world around you keeps moving, waves rolling, wind stirring, but he is frozen.

For a moment, he doesn’t speak. He just stares at you, his expression unreadable. Then, his jaw tightens, and he shakes his head, almost as if trying to dispel the words you just said. “No,” he says simply.

“Finnick-”

“No,” he repeats, more forceful this time, pulling his hand from yours. He turns to fully face you, his eyes blazing. “Don’t say that. Don’t even think it.”

You blink back the stinging in your eyes. “Finnick, listen to me-”

“No, you listen to me,” he snaps, his voice sharp with something raw, something desperate. “That’s not going to happen. We both get out of here. Both of us.”

You shake your head. “You know that’s not how this works. The plan-”

“The plan isn’t going to fail,” he says, almost like he’s trying to convince himself as much as you. “Beetee is smart. We have a way out of this.”

“But if it does fail?” you challenge, voice shaking. “If something happens? If we’re the only two left?”

He exhales sharply, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. “I won’t kill you.”

Your throat tightens. “Finnick…”

“No.” His voice wavers. “Don’t ask me that. Don’t ever ask me that.”

“Finnick…please, you need to be realistic…”

"No"

“When it comes down to it…you need to kill me..”

"No"

“You win…you go back to four, and you take care of Mags and Annie…”

"No"

“Finnick.” you say softly. “Listen to me…please”

He doesn’t speak, but nods, his eyes still on yours, his jaw clenched tight, fighting back the tears that threaten to fall, watching and listening intently

You cup his face, tears falling from your eyes. “Finnick I love you so much…but if things don’t go as planned, you need to kill me. You go back to the four and take care of Mags and Annie, they need you more than they need me.”

He can’t bear the tears falling down your face, and that does it, a tear slipping down his own cheek, his hand going from your jaw to your cheek, wiping the tears away

“Don’t do this to me. Don’t make me promise you that. I can’t. I can’t hurt you, I won’t”

“Promise me Finny…If- when the time comes, I want it to be you. Not someone else. Not them."

He closes his eyes, unable to look at you, it was killing him to do this, but he speaks, his voice cracking, “I-I promise.”

You nod and pull him into a tight hug, tears streaming down your face.

His arms held you tighter, like he was trying to pull you closer, to keep you as close to him as possible, his fingers gripping your shoulder, not wanting to ever let you go

“I love you…Gods above I love you,” he choked out, his voice cracking as he tried to speak, his face still buried in your shoulder.

He pulls away a little, still holding you close. “Now you promise me one thing.”

You nod, "Anything"

He’s quiet for a moment, eyes roaming your features before he spoke, his words shaky, his voice soft, “If I can’t…if we can’t get out of this..”

He pauses, struggling to speak. It was taking everything in him not to cry, his shoulders shaking, “Just…promise me you won’t forget about me. About us.”

“Finnick,” you whisper, your voice cracking. “I could never forget you. Not in a thousand lifetimes.”

He exhales shakily, pressing his forehead against yours. “Good,” he murmurs. “Because I want you to remember this. Us. Right now. No Capitol, no arena, no games. Just us.”

Your chest tightens as you nod. “Just us,” you repeat.

Finnick then hears Johanna call out to the both of you.

He sighs and reluctantly gets up, "Let's go.."

You nod and follow him to the rest of the group.

🌊 .·:*¨🌊🐚🌊¨*:·. 🌊

Finnick is quiet for the most part as the group travels to the tree, staying by your side, he glances down at you, his gaze flickering from your face and down to your hands as they walk, his fingers gently entwining with yours, holding on tight as he walks.

Once the group makes it to the tree and after "convincing" Katniss to go with you and Johanna, Finnick pulls you into a tight hug.

“Don’t do anything stupid out there. Stay close to Jo.” he mumbled softly, resting his forehead against yours, closing his eyes, letting out a deep, ragged breath

"Same goes to you." you say, kissing him one last time.

He sighs, his hand shifting on your cheek, gently cupping your face, his eyes roaming your features one last time, drinking in the sight of your face

“You better come back to me.”

“As long as you are alive Finn…I will always come back to you”

Finnick watches as you step away from him, your fingers slowly slipping from his grasp. The moment your warmth leaves his hand, a chill settles deep in his bones. He knows this is the plan. He knows you’ll be back. But something in his gut twists violently, warning him that nothing about this feels right.

You shoot him one last look before turning to follow Johanna and Katniss into the jungle, the coil of wire clutched tightly in your hands.

“Let’s move,” Finnick says, shaking the unease from his mind. He crouches beside Beetee, glancing at the spool of wire. “You sure this is gonna work?”

Beetee doesn’t look up, his expression unreadable. “If they can get the wire wrapped around the tree before the lightning strikes, then yes,” he mutters. “It will work.”

Finnick nods, but something still doesn’t sit right.

****

"Katniss get away from that tree!"

****

Finnick wakes with a sharp inhale, his lungs burning like he’s been drowning in saltwater. His head is pounding. His body feels impossibly heavy. For a moment, all he can hear is the faint, rhythmic beeping of a machine nearby.

Where is he?

He couldn't remember much, everything felt like a blur. The last thing he remembered was shouting at Katniss to not shoot the arrow, and then he remember the pain.

But why couldn't he remember where you were?

He blinks against the blinding white light, his vision swimming in and out of focus. The ceiling above him is smooth, metallic. This isn’t the jungle. This isn’t the arena.

Then it hits him all at once-

The lightning. The arrow. The force of the explosion. The way the world had cracked open beneath them.

His stomach lurches as he forces himself upright, his hands gripping the edge of the cot. He’s in a hovercraft. The realization settles over him, but it doesn’t bring relief.

Because you’re not here.

His breath quickens, panic clawing at his throat. Where are you?

His hands are shaking as he turns, searching the room. Katniss is unconscious on a cot beside him, her face pale, a fresh scar on her arm where her tracker used to be. Beetee is further away, still unresponsive.

But you...

You aren’t here.

Finnick’s eyes scan the aircraft when they land on Haymitch, who was seated nearby. He’s quiet for a moment, watching as Haymitch looks down, his shoulders slumped in what can only be described as despair. His heart sank, watching him. Something was wrong, terribly wrong

He swallowed the lump in his throat, slowly approaching Haymitch, calling out to him

“Haymitch?”

His voice was quiet, his heart thudding in his chest, feeling dread starting to set in. He stops in front of Haymitch, his heart beating faster, trying to keep his breathing steady as he looks down

“Haymitch.”

He repeated, louder this time, a hint of desperation in his voice. He could feel anxiety building in his chest, something twisting in his stomach, dread filling him as the silence was deafening. He stared down at Haymitch, trying to make eye contact with him, hoping desperately for some answers

Haymitch looks up. “Finnick…I’m so sorry.” he says in a quiet tone.

His heart sank, feeling that dread start to grow. When Haymitch looked up, their eyes meeting, Finnick’s heart stopped

He swallowed the lump in his throat, the dread starting to grow, already knowing what Haymitch was about to say, his chest tightening, his breath shaky, “Where…where is- where is she?"

“She didn’t make it out. Neither did Peeta or Johanna.” Haymitch says in a somber tone, “The Capitol has them Finnick.”

His breath hitched, feeling that dread explode in his chest, a mix of fear, grief and anger, his entire body tensing, “No…” he choked out, closing his eyes. He couldn’t breathe, it felt like someone had punched him in the gut. He couldn’t speak, couldn’t think, every thought in his mind racing.

“Finnick…I’m sorry”

He couldn’t speak. His breath was coming in quick gasps, barely drawing in any air, his chest felt like it was tight, his heart was hammering in his chest, his entire body tense, shaking slightly

“No..” he whispered again, his voice cracking. He shook his head, his eyes still closed, trying to take in what Haymitch had just told him “You promised. You promised that if we protected Katniss that we’d be safe. You promised!”

“I know- I know- I’m sorry-”

He could no longer stay standing, his legs feeling weak, his knees feeling like they were going to give out, he leans forwards, one of his hands gripping the wall to keep himself upright, trying to stay standing

“They…they have her.” he mumbled, speaking more to himself than to Haymitch, his voice quiet and shaking, his grip on the wall the only thing keeping him upright

“And you’ll get her back Finnick. When we get to District 13, I promise that we’ll start planning on how to get them back.”

He nods his head, his breaths shaky as he tries to compose himself, his hand still clutched to the wall, his grip tight, his knuckles turning white. He doesn’t speak, a few more seconds passing in silence before he speaks quietly, “They’re going to torture her.” he said, his voice quiet and shaking, the mental image making him ill, the idea that you might be being hurt right now making him want to throw up.

Haymitch tries to approach him...but he continues speaking to himself, taking deep, shaky breaths between his words, knowing that he’s only speaking to himself at this point, but unable to stop himself from continuing.

“You get scared when there’s too many people around you, and when the lights go out, and you don’t like loud noises..” he takes a breath, his voice shaking, his grip on the wall tightening, his knuckles turning white as the image of you being hurt by the Capitol continued to plague his mind.

“What do you think the Capitol will do to you, when you’re trapped in a dark room, the lights out, and you’re completely alone, with someone coming in to hurt you whenever they want, no idea when or what they’re going to do…you’re going to be completely petrified. You’ll be…”

He clenches his jaw again, his shoulders starting to shake as he continued to hold himself against the wall, his breath coming in shaky gasps, a tear finally falling down his cheek, unable to take it anymore. He couldn’t stop thinking about you right now, about how scared and alone you must feel.

“You’re going to be so scared…”

The thought of you afraid, scared as you were tortured, was like a knife in his stomach, his chest tightening as tears start to fall faster, his breath coming shaky, and ragged as grief and anger and fear filled him

“You’re going to be so, so afraid, and it’ll be my fault. It’s my fault that you’re there. It’s because of me, you’re going to be in pain, it’s my fault…” he choked out, a sob escaping from his throat.

He couldn’t keep talking anymore, unable to choke out another word as the grief finally takes over, a few tears streaming down his face, his shoulders visibly shaking as he keeps his eyes clenched shut, his knuckles turning white as his grip tightens on the wall as he tries to force back the sobs that threaten to escape from his throat.

He can’t stop thinking about you, terrified, in the hands of the Capitol and being hurt and tortured, because of him. And there was nothing that he could do to reach you or help you right now.

Haymitch places a steadying hand on Finnick’s shoulder, but he barely registers it. The world around him is closing in, his breaths shallow and uneven. The rhythmic beeping of the machines, the faint hum of the hovercraft—it all fades beneath the deafening roar in his ears.

"Finnick," Haymitch says, firmer this time, gripping his shoulder. "I need you to listen to me."

Finnick shakes his head, jaw clenched so tightly it aches. "I should've protected her. I should've-"

"You couldn't have stopped this." Haymitch’s voice is rough, laced with exhaustion and something dangerously close to regret. "The Capitol took her, Finnick. But that doesn’t mean she’s gone."

Finnick exhales shakily, rubbing a trembling hand over his face. "You don’t get it. You don’t know what they’ll do to her." his voice cracks.

"She's strong. And she’s going to need you to be strong for her."

Finnick lets out a bitter laugh, running a hand through his hair. "I don’t even know if she’s still-"

He cuts himself off, unable to finish the thought. The idea of you not making it, of you slipping through his fingers before he could save you, sends another wave of nausea through him.

Haymitch sighs, "We’re getting them back. All of them. But you have to hold it together."

Finnick swallows hard, staring at the floor as if it holds the answers. He wants to scream, wants to punch something, wants to claw his way into the Capitol himself and rip you out of their grasp. But all he can do is stand there, fists clenched at his sides, drowning in helplessness.

"She’s going to be scared," Finnick whispers. "She’s going to think I abandoned her."

Haymitch’s expression softens. "Then we make damn sure she knows you didn’t."

Finnick lifts his head, meeting Haymitch’s gaze, and for the first time since waking up, he forces himself to breathe. To push past the grief, the fear, the suffocating helplessness. Because Haymitch is right. You need him. And no matter what it takes, no matter what he has to do.

He’s going to bring you home.

He's going to bring you back to him.

A/N: THE VERY LONG AWAITED CHAPTER IS OUT!!! i hope u all enjoyed <333

Taglist: @jacaeryslover @sundawn1990 @redama @noodleisodd @amara-mars @lovemyself-m-k @goosy-goose @potao-o @womenkisser05 @arsonistlizard @iguanagwen @lover-rep-fanfic *if you'd like to be included in this taglist lmk in the replies!

[mountaesan]

mend me, love me ; k. leehan 

pairing. bad boy!leehan x nursing student!reader genre. hurt/comfort , pining , fluff , a twinge of angst , set in the 80’s but it’s not rly mentioned and it’s not essential to the plot synopsis. leehan was your first ever patient as well as your most frequent, treating him has always been second nature for you. so when he shows up at your window once again, unannounced, bruised and bleeding, you begin to wish that you could see him in different circumstances word count. 4.1k warnings. kissing , mentions of blood / fighting , one mention of a knife , leehan is injured , probably unrealistic and unsafe medical practices  playlist. fallingforyou by the 1975 , meet me in the hallway by harry styles , the night we met by lord huron , like real people do by hozier notes. these two are so precious to me . not proofread

The rain came down in a steady rhythm, a soft patter against the windowpane, threading through the quiet of your room like a soft lullaby. It’s the perfect Friday night. One of those rare evenings where everything feels settled, where there was no unfinished work tugging at the edges of your mind and no looming responsibilities weighing down your shoulders.

The state of your room was pristine, the scent of freshly laundered sheets mingling in the air with the faint herbal aroma of your tea, the steam still curling in the air from where you placed it on your nightstand. The air was cool from the rain, but the warmth of your post-shower skin seeped into the plush comfort of your blankets. It cocooned you in a delicious contrast of warmth and chill.

The dim glow of your desk lamp flickered slightly, its light casting long, slanted shadows across the room. It danced over the neatly stacked textbooks and scattered notes that—for once—weren’t demanding your attention.

With a deep breath, you nestled deeper into the comfort of your mattress, pulling the covers just a little higher as you opened your well-worn copy of Emma in your hands. The spine creaked with familiarity, the pages soft beneath your fingertips, the edges slightly frayed from years of love. You traced your thumb along the words, sinking in the world Austen so carefully crafted; where meddling and misunderstandings unfold within the genteel drawing rooms of Highbury.

The rain continued its ceaseless drumming, a quiet accompaniment to the turning of each page. The weight of the week melted away, dissolving into the hush of the storm and the safety of solitude. 

You’re glad to escape the world of responsibility and work; at least for a little while. In this moment, you were free: free to lose yourself in the clever and playful words of Jane Austen, warmed by your tea as you wrapped yourself in the comforting embrace of the quiet, rainy night.

The world outside is distant, softened by the misty glow of streetlights and the gentle patter of raindrops against your window. The steady rhythm soothed  you, lulling you deeper into—

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Faint at first, barely enough to steal your attention from the pages between your hands. A soft, rhythmic tapping. Your brows furrowed, eyes flicking up from the curling pages of your beloved novel, confusion and caution pricked at your skin.

For a moment, you wondered if it’s just a loose branch from the storm, swaying against the glass. But then, the sound came again, more deliberate this time.

Tap. Tap. Tap. 

Tap. Tap.

TAPTAPTAPTAPTAPTAP—

And then—you saw it.

A face.

Pale against the rain-streaked window, dark eyes peering through the glass and strands of wet hair clinging to sharp cheekbones. 

Your breath caught in your throat, a strangled sound escaping before you could stop it. For a long moment, you simply stared, heart hammering against your ribs as you struggled to make sense of what you were seeing. 

The golden glow of your desk lamp flickered against the raindrops of your windowpane, catching on the sharp planes of his face—pale from the cold, his usual smirk replaced with a tight grimace. His fingers flexed and strained against the wet wood of the sill, and another gust of wind made the familiar looking boy—or ghost—sway precariously. 

“What the—” you spluttered. Finally snapping out of your daze, you scrambled out of bed.  You practically threw the book aside as you rushed to the window, fumbling with the latch. When you shoved it open, for a split second, you simply stood there, the wind howling through the open window as rain splattered against your cheeks and the cold air bit at your skin.

The sight before you was utterly absurd—Kim Leehan, soaked to the bone, clinging to your fourth-floor window for dear life. 

“Are you out of your mind? This is the fourth floor! How did you even—”

“A guy…” Leehan grimaced, tightening his grip on the slippery windowsill as his fingers began to slip. “Never reveals his secrets.” 

He was visibly struggling, his knuckles turning white as he fought to keep himself from plummeting to his death—or at least an expensive visit to the hospital. Your stomach twisted when you glanced down, seeing nothing but the slick, empty space between him and the ground below. His dark eyes, sharp as ever despite the rain dripping into them, flickered up to meet yours.

“Nice to see you too,” he drawled, though the slight shake in his voice betrayed him. “I’d love to catch up, really, but I think hypothermia is knocking on my door—along with the whole falling to my death thing, so—”

“Okay, okay, shut up,” you grumbled, planting your feet as you hauled him in with as much strength as you can muster. He was heavier than you remember—lean but packed with muscle—and the rain didn’t make it any easier (can you tell that he’s done this a few times). Leehan groaned as his torso tipped over the edge, crashing into you as you staggered back onto your heels.

With a final, graceless heave, he tumbled in, landing in an unceremonious heap on your floor and rainwater seeped into your freshly vacuumed rug. A long silence stretched between you two, save for the steady drip, drip, drip of water pooling onto your pristine hardwood floor. You stared at him, breath still uneven from the exertion. He looked up at you through a mess of wet hair, breathing just as heavily, rainwater glistening along his jaw.

“What the hell, Leehan?” you finally said, hands still trembling slightly from the adrenaline. “Why are you scaling buildings like some kind of delinquent Spider-Man?”

Leehan groaned, lifting his arm weakly before letting it drop back onto the floor. “One,” he started, voice hoarse, “never insult the best superhero like that ever again.”

You opened your mouth to retort, but before you could, he sluggishly sat up and peeled his drenched hoodie over his head. It takes a second for your to register what you’re seeing—but then, your stomach twists.

A deep, angry gash cuts across his torso, fresh and bleeding.

“And two,” he finally finishes, lips quirking into a weak, humorless smile as he gestured toward the wound.

Your frustration immediately morphed into something heavier, something sharper. “Leehan,” you breathed, crouching down beside him, “you need stitches.” 

He shrugged, feigning nonchalance, but you could see the exhaustion etched in the lines of his face, the slight tremor of his fingers as he pressed them into his side. “That’s why I’m here, doc.”

You exhaled through your nose as you rubbed at your temples. You should be used to this by now—Leehan showing up in the dead of night, bleeding and bruised, flashing that same reckless smile like it’s all just a joke. But it never gets easier. Not when it’s him.

“Bathroom,” you said with a firm voice. “Dry off, you know where the towels are. I’ll grab the suture kit.”

He nods, pushing himself to his feet with a wince. As he made his way to the bathroom, you pulled open a drawer to retrieve the spare clothes he’d left behind last time. (Which, coincidentally, had been because of the same exact reason.)

By the time Leehan emerged from the bathroom, his hair damp and a towel draped around his neck, you were already setting up the supplies at your desk. But the moment your eyes landed on him, you froze.

Bruises scattered across his arms and collarbone, blooming in shades of purple and blue. A fresh cut lingered just below his cheekbone and his bottom lip had been bloodied up, a stark contrast against his pale skin.

Your fingers twitched at your sides, the words sitting heavy on your tongue. You wanted to scold him. You wanted to demand why he always did this; why he never thought about himself.

But instead, you gestured toward your bed and muttered, “Lie down.”

He obeyed, settled back against the mattress and lifted his shirt without a complaint. You took a deep breath and steeled yourself, ignoring the tightness in your chest as you pressed a sterile cotton pad against the wound. His skin was warm beneath your fingers.

Leehan didn’t flinch. He never does. 

Instead, he watched you, head tilted against your pillow and dark eyes following every movement of your hands with a quiet sort of intensity. The kind that made your throat dry, the kind that made you wish you weren’t so used to this—patching him up and stitching him back together in the dim glow of your desk lamp while the rain sang against the window panes.

A tired cycle. A routine written into your friendship.

The room was quiet, save for the rain drumming against the window. You worked swiftly and precisely, and your hands moved with the familiarity of routine. Leehan didn’t flinch, doesn’t even so much as wince. He just stared at the ceiling, fingers tapping idly against his ribs. 

Finally, you broke the silence. “What was it this time?”

He exhaled slowly, his hand pausing mid-tap. “Just a small scuffle,” he muttered. “Some guys were messing with Woonhak. Thought it’d be fun to pick on him.”

Your brows furrowed. “So you decided to take them all by yourself?”

“It wasn’t like that.” He shook his head, eyes trained back on the ceiling as his jaw tightened. “I just threw a few punches to scare them off. But then someone pulled a knife, and then there were sirens, and, well…” He let out a breathy, humorless laugh. 

You pursed your lips as you knotted the last stitch a little too firmly. He hissed but didn’t complain.

“You’re an idiot,” you said, voice quieter this time.

“Yeah,” he muttered, head tilting slightly to look at you again. His lips twitched into something almost fond. “But that’s why I always come to you. Steadiest hands in all of Koz Uni’s nursing program.”

You didn’t look at him, didn’t let him see the way your expression wavered. Instead, you pressed a final piece of gauze over the wound, taping it down with the care of someone who wished they never had to do this in the first place.

“Yeah, well,” you murmured, smoothing down the bandage, “maybe next time, use that reckless head of yours for something other than getting it bashed in.”

Leehan hummed, the corner of his lips tugging up despite the exhaustion weighing heavy in his eyes. “Where’s the fun in that?”

You didn’t dignify him with a response. Instead, you pressed the heel of your palm into his forehead—not pushing, gently—until he groaned and swatted your hand away, muttering a curse under his breath. 

With a small smile, you leaned back, letting out a slow exhale. No matter how many times you gave Leehan stitches, you were always nervous like it was your first time. “You should rest,” you said. “You lost a lot of blood.”

After giving the typical ‘seek professional medical help in the morning’ lecture, you moved on to the rest of his minor injuries.

Your fingers moved with careful precision, the cotton ball, squeezed tightly between the tweezers in your grasp, was soaked in antiseptic as you dabbed gently at the wounds on Leehan’s arms. The scent of alcohol lingered in the air, sharp and sterile, as it mingled with the lingering traces of rain and something distinctly him.

Leehan didn’t make a sound as you worked, though you could feel his eyes on you—dark, steady, and unwavering. The weight of his gaze pressed into you, searing like embers against your skin, but you refused to meet it. 

You focused on the task at hand instead, the rhythmic motion of cleaning, dabbing, and wrapping. Anything to ignore the way your pulse quickened with each passing second.

But it’s hard to ignore him when he’s so close.

The space between you was barely a breath. The warmth of his body radiated through the air, despite the damp chill that still clung to his skin from the rain. His hair was a mess, black strands falling over his forehead in uneven waves, and there was something disarmingly soft about him like this. Battered and bruised and yet, undeniably alive, existing in your space as if he belonged there.

And maybe he did.

You swallowed down the thought and willed yourself to focus. 

Your hands were steady as you finished treating the cuts on his collarbones, brushing over the bruises blooming across his skin with careful fingers. But when you reached his face, your confidence faltered.

The cut along his cheekbone was shallow but angry. A thin, jagged line that caught in the dim glow of your desk lamp. And then there was his lip—split and bloodied, the wound stark against the soft curve of his mouth.

You exhaled quietly, steeling yourself once again.

Leehan must’ve sensed your hesitation because he tilted his head slightly, giving you better access to his face. His lips curled into the ghost of a smirk, but his voice was quiet when he murmured, “You’re overthinking again.”

You didn’t dignify him with a response, too focused on pressing the cotton ball to the cut on his cheekbone. He didn’t flinch, didn’t even blink. He just watched you, his expression unreadable, eyes dark and glittering beneath the low light.

It’s unbearable.

The room felt smaller, the silence felt heavier. The storm outside softened into a quiet drizzle, but the air between you crackled with something you couldn’t quite name. Something warm and unspoken, coiling between the spaces where your hands nearly touched, where your breath nearly mingled with his own. 

Finally, you moved to his lip, hesitant as your fingers brushed against his chin, tilting his face ever so slightly toward you. His lips parted just the tiniest bit, his breath warm against your wrist as you dabbed at the wound, trying your best not to linger.

Your thumb grazed his bottom lip—barely there, light as air.

Leehan inhaled sharply.

Your stomach flipped, heart stammering violently against your ribs.

You didn’t dare to look at him. You couldn’t.

Instead, you cleared your throat, voice barely above a whisper as you muttered, “Almost done.”

Leehan didn’t reply. But when you finally, finally gathered enough courage to glance up at him, his gaze was already waiting for you. And in it, you saw everything.

The weight of every unsaid word. The years of late-night visits, quiet comforts, and silent understandings. The way he looked at you now, like you were something fragile and precious—something he had spent too long pretending he didn’t want to hold on to.

Your breath was caught in your throat.

For a moment, neither of you moved.

Neither of you breathed.

And then—

“There,” you whispered, pulling back, severing the moment before it could unravel completely. “All done.”

Leehan watched you for a second longer, gaze lingering and unreadable. Then, his lips twitched—barely a smirk, more like an exhale of something unspoken.

“Thanks, doc,” he murmured. 

And just like that, the tension splintered.

But the weight of his gaze still lingered—on your skin, in your breath, in the quiet thrum of your heart against your ribs. 

And you don’t think it’ll ever leave.

Leehan stayed the night, like he always does. It was an unspoken tradition, a ritual that neither of you ever acknowledged out loud but followed without question. After every fight, every wound you stitched up, he stayed—like your dorm was the only place he knew to go.

The bed was too small for the both of you, but neither of you made a move to change it. You laid next to each other, bodies barely touching. Only the occasional brush of an arm, a shift of weight, a shared breath in the darkness. The air was thick with the scent of rain and the sharp sterility of antiseptic still lingering faintly between you.

The world outside was still now. The storm had passed, leaving only the rhythmic dripping of water from the eaves, the occasional rustling of tree branches against your window. Moonlight spilled in through the glass, casting fractured shadows across the ceiling, across the sheets, across him.

Leehan was lying on his side, turned toward you, and you should tell him to be careful. You should remind him that his stitches need time to set, that his body needs rest, that lying like this is only going to make it worse. But the words don’t come.

Because he’s watching you.

And you’re watching him.

His face was half-lit, half-hidden in the dim glow of the moon, his dark eyes softer than you’ve ever seen them. You trace over the curve of his nose, the sharp edge of his jaw, the way his damp hair clings stubbornly to his forehead. Your gaze caught on his lips—split and swollen, still stained with the faintest trace of blood.

Before you even realized what you were doing, your hand moved on its own.

Your palm found the coolness of his cheek, thumb grazing over the cut on his lip with barely-there pressure. The moment your skin met his, Leehan exhaled softly, his eyes fluttering shut like he was melting beneath your touch. His body relaxed, tension unwinding in slow, steady waves, as if he’d been waiting for this.

You whispered into the dark, "I wish you didn’t keep coming to me like this."

Your voice barely carries between you, but Leehan hears it. You know he does, because his fingers twitched slightly against the sheets, because his breath caught just enough for you to notice.

After a beat, you added, "You know it breaks my heart… right?"

Leehan’s eyes opened again, slow and heavy-lidded, the shadows deepening in their depths. His gaze was unreadable, something between sorrow and something else— raw and tender. He lifted his hand, covering yours where it rested against his cheek, his fingers curling gently around yours.

"… I know," he murmured. "I’m sorry."

The weight of those words settled between you. There was something unspoken in the silence that followed, something fragile and uncertain yet wholly understood.

Neither of you moved.

Neither of you breathed.

The only sound in the room was the soft, rhythmic ticking of the clock on your wall, the occasional drip of rainwater outside. The world felt impossibly small, folding in on itself until it was just the two of you, here, now.

Summoning every ounce of courage left in you, you whispered, "Please don’t make me worry like this."

Leehan didn’t respond right away. Instead, he shifted, fingers tightening ever so slightly around your own before he slowly brought your hand to his lips.

Your breath stuttered.

His lips—soft despite the split, warm despite the cold—pressed gently against your knuckles, lingering for just a moment too long.

Your heart ached.

"I always knew you were going to be a nurse," he murmured, voice low, words melting into the space between you. 

Your breath stilled for a moment. “What?” you asked in a quiet voice.

“I could tell back in high school,” he continued, his fingers further interlacing with yours. “Every time I got into a fight, you were always the one patching me up. Cleaning my cuts, scolding me and clucking over me like an old mother hen. You liked making people feel better.”

You swallowed as something warm bloomed in your chest. “I liked making sure you didn’t bleed out on the pavement,” you muttered.

You shook your head, staring at the faint glow of the streetlights pooling against your ceiling. You remembered those days vividly—him showing up at the doorstep of your childhood home with bruised knuckles and split lips; you pressing antiseptic pads to his wounds in an empty janitor’s closet while you muttered under your breath about his recklessness.

Maybe he was right. Maybe you had always been like this—drawn to fixing things, to soothing the ache in others, even when it hurt you in turn.

“You were always my favorite patient,” you admitted, turning your head to look at him again. He still had your hand pressed against his lips.

He exhaled slowly, and when he met your gaze, there was something lingering in his eyes. Something that made your stomach twist and your heart clench.

“Yeah,” he murmured, voice barely above a whisper. “I know.”

Another kiss—this time to the back of your hand, his breath featherlight against your skin.

Leehan lingered there, lips against your skin, like he was afraid to move, like this was something fragile that could shatter if he so much as breathed too hard. His grip on your hand tightened just slightly, as if grounding himself, and for the first time, you saw it—really saw it.

The way his eyes softened when they met yours. The way he always came to you, no matter how bruised and battered, no matter the hour or distance. The way he let himself melt under your touch, let himself be taken care of in a way you were sure he didn’t let anyone else.

He loved you.

And maybe—no, definitely—you had always loved him, too.

You weren’t sure who moved first, if it was you or him, but suddenly the space between you vanished. His forehead pressed against yours, his breath warm and slow, mingling with yours in the stillness of the room. Your noses brushed, the barest hint of touch, but neither of you pulled away. 

You let your fingers slip from his just enough to trail along his wrist, feeling the steady beat of his pulse beneath your touch. Your hand traveled higher, skimming up his arm, over the curve of his shoulder, before settling against the side of his neck. He let you. He always let you.

Leehan swallowed, the movement shifting beneath your palm. His lips parted, but no words came. You could see it—the hesitation, the fear of breaking whatever fragile thing existed between you. 

“If I tell you something,” he whispered, voice unsteady, “will you promise not to run?”

Your throat felt tight. “Leehan…”

“Promise me.”

Your thumb brushed against the corner of his jaw, just barely tracing the line of his throat. “I promise.”

A shaky exhale. Then—

“I think I’ve loved you since the first time you pulled me into that abandoned janitor’s closet and shoved a crumpled up band-aid into my hands. ” He let out a quiet, breathy laugh, though it sounded more like a sigh. “Maybe even before that.”

Your chest ached.

Maybe it was the way he said it—like it had been sitting inside him for years, waiting, festering, like he’d carried this love in his bloodied knuckles and broken skin, in every glance and in every touch that lingered just a second too long.

Or maybe it was the way you had always felt it, too.

Leehan swallowed, his lips parting like he wanted to say something else, but you beat him to it.

“I love you.”

It slipped out, simple and certain, like breathing, like a truth you had always known but never dared to say.

His entire body went still.

And then—slowly, cautiously, like he was afraid you might disappear—he let out a soft, disbelieving laugh, his nose nudging yours. His fingers found your waist beneath the blankets, tentative, uncertain. His touch was barely there, but it burned all the same.

You felt, more than saw, the way his eyes softened.

“Say it again,” he whispered.

You smiled, your heart stammering in your chest.

“I love you.”

Leehan exhaled shakily, pressing his forehead harder against yours like he was trying to memorize the shape of you, the warmth of this moment. His hands—scarred and calloused, always rough, always bruised—cupped your face, thumbs brushing tenderly over your cheekbones.

“God,” he murmured, voice thick. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to hear you say that.”

And then, with all the gentleness in the world, he kissed you.

It wasn’t rushed, wasn’t urgent—it was slow, careful, full of years of quiet longing and late-night patch-ups, of stolen glances and words left unsaid. He kissed you like he was afraid you might slip through his fingers, like you were something sacred, something he had no right to hold but was holding anyway.

When he pulled away, his lips were trembling against yours.

“You break my heart too, you know,” he murmured, voice barely above a whisper.

“Then let me be the one to mend yours,” you whispered back. “Just like I’ve mended your wounds since we were sixteen. And I promise, I always will.”

A breath.

A soft, breathless chuckle.

And then—Leehan’s lips found yours again, sealing the promise between you.

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[inseobts]

Kissing in the Rain

zoro x gn!reader

words count: 0.7k

tags: fluff, humor, soft zoro, sfw

masterlist || ko-fi

The rain starts slow. A light drizzle against the deck of the Sunny, cool and refreshing in the warm night air. You look outside the porthole, watching as the ocean melts into the sky in the distance, dark and endless. The sound of raindrops pattering against the wood is soothing, a soft lullaby for the restless.

But then your gaze drifts to Zoro, sitting cross-legged near you, swords resting beside him. He has his arms folded, eyes closed, probably meditating, or napping. With Zoro, it’s always hard to tell.

A memory flickers in your mind, something from a romance book you once read.

A passionate kiss. In the middle of the rain.

Something about the intensity of it, the way the rain mixed with the heat of two people in love, always stuck with you. And now, with the rain falling around you and your swordsman sitting there completely oblivious, an idea begins to form.

A ridiculous idea.

But you don’t care.

Grinning to yourself, you push off the window and go toward him.

“Oi, Zoro.”

He doesn’t open his eye “What?”

“Come with me.”

Now he cracks an eye open, giving you a suspicious look “Why?”

You grab his hand and yank.

Zoro startles, instinctively resisting, but you tug harder “Come on.”

“The hell are you doing?” He scowls, but he lets you pull him up. “What’s gotten into you?”

You don’t answer, just drag him toward the open deck. The rain is heavier now, soaking the floor, making the lantern lights shimmer.

“Y/N,” Zoro grumbles as the first few drops hit him “Are you serious?”

“Completely.”

Zoro huffs, stopping in his tracks like an immovable boulder “Oi. He glares at you as the rain quickly soaks through his shirt “What the hell is this about?”

You grin up at him, shivering slightly as the cold water trickles down your skin “I read about this once. Kissing in the rain. It’s supposed to be really romantic.”

Zoro stares.

Dead silence.

You pout at him, looking up at him.

Then—

“…Are you kidding me?”

“Nope.” You step closer, ignoring the way your clothes cling to you. “I’ve always wanted to try it.”

Zoro runs a hand down his face, exhaling sharply. “Y/N—”

You grab his collar, rising on your toes. “Just once?”

He looks at you, really looks at you, rain dripping down his face. His expression is torn—half exasperation, half something softer.

Then, slowly, his resistance crumbles.

“…Tch. Fine.”

Before you can respond, Zoro grabs your waist and pulls you in.

And then he kisses you.

Not the quick, flustered peck you were expecting—no, this is something deeper, slower, something that makes the world tilt under your feet. His lips are warm despite the cold rain, firm yet gentle, his grip on your waist steady like he’s anchoring you both.

The rain pours around you, soaking everything, but you barely notice. Your hands fist into his wet shirt, your heart hammering against your ribs as the kiss lingers, heat sparking between you.

When you finally pull away, breathless, Zoro exhales, pressing his forehead against yours.

“Happy now?” he mutters, voice lower than usual.

You laugh, dizzy from the kiss. “Very.”

Zoro clicks his tongue, but there’s a faint, barely-there smile tugging at his lips. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And you love me for it” you tease.

He huffs “Yeah, yeah” But his arms stay around you, rain and all.

The Next Morning...

“ACHOO!”

You groan, sniffling into your blanket. Your whole body feels sluggish, your nose stuffed, your throat scratchy. Across the room, Zoro is in the same miserable state, arms crossed as he leans back against the wall, looking pissed.

“Ugh,” you mumble “Why did we think that was a good idea?”

Zoro glares at you “YOU thought it was a good idea. I just went along with it.”

“You enjoyed the kiss” you counter, voice hoarse.

"You should stop reading actually" he says before sneezing.

Before you can retort, the door swings open.

Chopper marches in, doctor bag in hand, looking equal parts concerned and annoyed “You both caught a cold at the same time?”

Neither of you speak.

Chopper narrows his eyes “What exactly were you two doing last night?”

Silence.

A beat passes.

Then, Zoro looks away, scowling. You bury your face in your blanket.

Chopper gasps “You’re both blushing!”

Outside, you hear Usopp and Sanji cackling.

Luffy pops his head in “Ohhh, did you two do something weird?”

“SHUT UP, LUFFY!”

Zoro groans into his hand as your face burns hotter than a fever.

Maybe kissing in the rain wasn’t the smartest idea.

But, honestly?

You’d totally do it again.

[shaiyasstuff]

stay | sylus

synopsis : You tried to forget him. But love doesn’t forget. It lingers in doorways and unsent goodbyes—until running feels safer than staying.

content : some other alternate reality, best friend’s brother trope

word count : 7k

now playing : paris in the rain - lauv

You smiled to yourself, barely, the corners of your lips curling as the knife tapped rhythmically against the cutting board.

The sound was steady, soothing—just beneath the surface of Shaiya’s voice as she launched into another retelling of her morning. Something about the god awful traffic.

Something about how her brother had the audacity to drop her off late. Again.

Her brother.

Sylus.

The name alone was enough to loosen the air in your lungs.

Tall, quiet, eyes like burning coals beneath a winter sky. That strange silver hair that caught sunlight like it was spun from frost.

Too beautiful for his own good.

Your fingers faltered for half a second. Just half. Heat bloomed across your cheeks like petals unfolding at dawn, and you bowed your head, willing the blush to pass as you resumed cutting.

“You good?” Shaiya called, amused. “You look like a cherry blossom sneezed on your face.”

You huffed a laugh. “That’s rude.”

The door chimed—a soft jingle that pulled you back into motion. You stepped out front with a practiced smile, greeting customers, taking orders, keeping your hands busy so your heart wouldn’t wander too far.

Behind you, Shaiya leaned on the doorframe, arms crossed, her ponytail falling loose with the humidity. “Thank god you’re here,” she said, voice warm with truth. “I’d be six feet under in espresso by now.”

You laughed, tossing a dish towel over your shoulder. “What kind of best friend would I be if I let you go down with the coffee ship?”

“Twelve years of friendship,” she declared dramatically, pouring a latte. “Still worth it.”

Shaiya’s café sat nestled in a quiet curve of the downtown street, ivy creeping over its brick exterior like an old secret.

You’d stepped in to help right after graduation—just a temporary thing, you told yourself.

Until the next door opened.

Until you figured things out.

Three years later, and you were still here. Same apron. Same view out the window. Same quiet life, small and steady and full of tiny comforts.

It wasn’t extraordinary.

But it was enough.

Or at least, that’s what you told yourself.

Because you held a secret.

Not the kind that could be confessed in passing or laughed away over coffee.

No, this one was older—worn soft at the edges from being held too tightly. A quiet ache you carried like a pressed flower between the pages of your life.

It had lived there for years. Tucked beneath every stolen glance. Every heartbeat that stuttered when he entered the room. Every time his name passed through Shaiya’s lips like it meant nothing—when to you, it meant everything.

You had feelings for Sylus.

And that truth, as fragile as it was, felt too dangerous to speak. Because if it ever left your chest, it might ruin the only thing you had—this life, this café, this careful closeness you shared with the sister of the boy you loved.

So you buried it.

Deep beneath laughter and routine.

And told yourself it was enough.

—•

“Why should we need your permission to date your brother?”

“Yeah, screw off before I beat you up!”

Your heart hammered in your chest, wild and thunderous, as you stepped forward instinctively, placing yourself between Shaiya and the group of girls closing in.

Their bats gleamed under the afternoon sun, cheap wood and bad intentions.

Shaiya scoffed behind you, utterly unfazed. “I have standards, thank you. No way I’d let my brother date girls who smell like expired perfume and desperation.”

“Shaiya,” you hissed under your breath, throwing a hand back to keep her behind you. “Stop.”

One of the girls snarled and raised her bat. Your breath hitched. You shut your eyes, bracing yourself.

And then—

“Walk away before I make you regret it.”

That voice.

Low. Gritted. Cold as steel dragged across gravel.

Your eyes flew open.

There he stood.

Sylus.

A wall between you and the world, sleeves rolled, expression carved from stone.

Back turned to you like a shield.

That was when you had realised, you were in love with him.

“Y/N.”

Shaiya’s voice stirred you from your thoughts, soft but amused, pulling you back to the present like a thread tugged gently through fabric.

You turned, blinking as if waking from a dream.

“Yeah?”

She tilted her head, a knowing smile playing on her lips. “You’ve been staring at my brother for a while.”

Heat rose unbidden to your cheeks. You started to speak—some excuse, some denial—but she was already following your gaze.

Sylus stood just beyond the counter, sleeves still rolled, wiping his hands with a towel. His expression unreadable as always, but there was a quiet in him today. A stillness, like the hush of the sky before the first snow.

Shaiya chuckled softly. “He can be quite gentle sometimes, right?”

You swallowed, your voice barely above a whisper. “Yeah… he can.”

But what you didn’t say hung heavily in the space between you.

He’s gentle when no one’s looking.

Gentle in the way he hands you your favorite mug without asking.

Gentle in the silence he keeps so you don’t have to explain your sadness.

Gentle in a world that rarely offers you kindness.

You looked away, afraid she might see too much.

And perhaps she already had.

“Look at you,” Shaiya drawled behind you, her tone sing-song and merciless. “Always avoiding him. Do you like him or something?”

You nearly tripped over your own feet as you spun around, heart lurching. “W–What? No way! He’s not even my type!”

She only laughed, loud and unbothered, slipping beside you as if she hadn’t just tossed a grenade into your carefully maintained composure.

“Oh? Then what is your type, hmm? Tell me, I’ll play matchmaker. I know people.”

You said nothing. Couldn’t.

Your blush spoke louder than any words could manage, burning across your cheeks like dawn creeping over a horizon.

And still—your eyes betrayed you.

They flicked toward Sylus, where he stood in the soft golden wash of closing hour, wiping down tables, sleeves pushed up, silver hair catching the fading light.

How could anyone not like him?

The street outside had grown quiet. The kind of quiet that comes after a long day, when even the city holds its breath.

Shaiya stepped out, tugging her coat tighter as she made her way to the waiting car.

“She’s not coming?” Sylus asked, eyes on the rearview mirror, though his tone barely gave him away.

Shaiya smirked, arching a brow as she slid into the passenger seat. “You already know the answer. Shouldn’t you be used to it by now?”

He grunted, low and dismissive. “Shut up.”

The engine hummed to life. The car pulled away.

And from the second-story window, you watched them go—hands pressed lightly to the glass, breath fogging the pane.

The lights of the café flickered out behind you, the night folding in like a sigh.

“I have someone I like.”

Even now, the words echo—soft but sharp, like a paper cut across memory. He had said it so casually, as if it meant nothing, as if he hadn’t just split your world in two.

It was during your school days. Shaiya had teased him, poked at his ever-serious facade like she always did, and he’d let the words slip without looking up.

Your heart had leapt in that moment. Both soaring and sinking.

Maybe… maybe it was you.

But maybe—more likely—it would never be.

You sighed, the weight of the past settling over your shoulders as you closed the book in your lap. Its spine creaked softly in protest, like even it didn’t want the chapter to end.

A small mewl cut through the silence.

You looked down to see Lucifer—your cat—padding toward you, his ruby eyes curious, head tilted just so.

You smiled, leaning down to scoop him into your arms. His body was warm against your chest, soft and alive.

“Oh, Lucifer,” you whispered, voice barely more than a breath, “what am I gonna do?”

He blinked at you slowly. Then let out a plaintive little meow, as if he understood every syllable of your sorrow.

That night, you fell asleep curled up on the couch, a blanket draped over your legs, Lucifer pressed at your feet like a silent guardian.

And in your dreams, you stood in the rain. Your voice trembled, but you said it anyway.

“I like you.”

For once, he looked back. And for once, he didn’t walk away.

—•

The café smelled of rain and something sweet—vanilla, maybe, or the promise of a slower morning.

You arrived earlier than usual, unlocking the doors just as the first light stretched pale fingers across the street.

Clouds hung low, the world still damp from last night’s drizzle, the sky a soft gray that made everything feel softer, quieter.

The bell above the door chimed, and in walked Shaiya—hood up, sleeves too long, a coffee cup clutched between her hands like a lifeline.

“You’re early,” she said, voice half-yawn, half-surprise.

“Couldn’t sleep,” you murmured, smoothing your apron as you tied it on.

She hummed, setting her cup down and stretching her arms overhead. “Must be the weather,” she said, “feels like the world’s still dreaming.”

You didn’t answer. You were still dreaming, in a way.

Of a boy with silver hair and tired eyes.

Of a voice that once said, I have someone I like.

Of a you who was brave enough to ask who.

The machines whirred to life beneath Shaiya’s hands, the café waking up with its usual rhythm.

You moved through the motions without thinking, the warmth of routine grounding you, though your mind wandered far from the tile floor and polished cups.

“You know,” Shaiya said as she handed you a mug, “sometimes I wish he came by more often.”

You blinked. “Who?”

She gave you a playful look. “Sylus. My brother. You two used to talk more when we were younger, right? I always thought it was nice.”

Your fingers tightened around the ceramic.

She didn’t notice—just smiled, breezy and warm. “He acts cold, but he listens, you know? Always ends up remembering things you didn’t think he would.”

You nodded wordlessly.

Then Shaiya laughed.

“Don’t worry, I’m not trying to set you up or anything. He’s too grumpy for that. Still… I think he could use someone who softens him a little.”

Your heart stuttered.

But you said nothing, just took the mug to the window seat like she asked.

Outside, the rain had stopped. The sky remained gray, but there was a certain kind of stillness in the morning light that made everything feel possible.

Even if it wasn’t.

The morning unraveled slowly, like yarn slipping from loose fingers.

You refilled sugar jars. Wiped down windows. Let the hush of early hours settle into your bones like a familiar lullaby.

Outside, the street was quiet—just the occasional passing car, the rustle of trees shaking off last night’s rain.

Shaiya worked beside you, sleeves rolled, hair pinned in that messy way she always insisted was intentional. She hummed under her breath, some nameless tune, soft and off-key.

Every now and then, she’d bump her shoulder into yours, and you’d smile like everything inside you wasn’t carefully folded and hidden.

“I wonder what it’d be like to live somewhere else,” she mused suddenly, hands deep in a bag of beans. “Not forever. Just… to try. Big city. Rooftop bars. Men in suits who aren’t chronically sleep-deprived.”

You laughed under your breath. “Sounds dangerous.”

She grinned. “Sounds alive.”

You didn’t respond. Because your version of alive wasn’t neon lights and unfamiliar sidewalks—it was something smaller. Simpler.

It was a cup placed silently beside you, before you even asked.

It was a glance across a quiet room.

It was a boy who rarely spoke, but always seemed to understand.

“I think he’d visit,” she added, almost absentmindedly. “If I ever left. Sylus, I mean. He acts like he wouldn’t, but he would. He always shows up eventually.”

You nodded, not trusting your voice.

Eventually.

The word clung to you like steam on glass.

Somewhere behind the counter, the coffee dripped slow and steady into the pot.

The smell was warm, bitter, comforting.

And time passed, as it always does.

Quietly.

Until something changed.

The hours slipped by, unnoticed.

Midday brought a flutter of customers, laughter echoing off the café walls, the hum of conversation filling the empty spaces between your thoughts.

Shaiya handled the register, you manned the bar—falling into rhythm, into habit, into the gentle blur of familiarity.

By the time the sky began to dim, the scent of rain was already in the air—earthy, electric. Shaiya checked the weather app and groaned.

“Looks like we’re getting another round,” she muttered, shrugging on her coat. “I texted Sylus. He’s picking me up again.”

You nodded, wrapping up the last few dishes. The café was quiet now. Nearly closed.

“Need a ride?” she asked over her shoulder, already halfway out the door.

You shook your head, too quickly. “It’s fine. I’ve got my umbrella.”

She didn’t press. Just smiled and left with the soft jingle of the door behind her.

From the window, you watched her climb into his car—Sylus in the driver’s seat, leaned slightly back, hand resting on the wheel like it belonged there.

The rain came quickly.

A sudden hush, then the soft patter against rooftops, then more—a steady rhythm that blurred streetlights into halos and soaked the world in silver.

You stepped outside, umbrella opening with a reluctant click. The chill clung to your clothes, and the air smelled like memory.

You walked. Slow. Head low. Feet careful on the slick pavement.

And your thoughts—of course—drifted back to him.

To the way he never looked surprised to see you, even when he should’ve been.

To the way he never said much, but when he did, you listened.

To the space he occupied in your chest without even trying.

Maybe it was stupid, still hoping. Still thinking of him when he likely thought of everything else but you.

You sighed.

Then—headlights.

A soft purr of an engine drawing closer. Slowing.

Sylus’ car pulled up beside you, its lights casting long shadows across the rain-soaked road. The window rolled down.

Shaiya leaned across from the passenger seat, grinning through the drizzle. “What did I say about walking home like a tragic novel character?”

You blinked, startled. “I— I’m fine—”

“No, you’re not,” she cut in. “Get in, dummy. Before you start narrating your heartbreak to the clouds.”

Her tone was light, teasing. She didn’t know. She never knew.

The passenger door opened—Sylus had leaned across silently, unbuckling her seatbelt to make space. He didn’t say a word, but his eyes were on you. Unmoving. Waiting.

Rain slid down your umbrella, pooling at your feet.

And before you could stop yourself, your hand moved.

The door creaked open.

You got in.

The door closed.

And for the first time in a long time, you were three people in a car—with one secret pressing against your ribs like it wanted out.

Your gaze wandered, following the sway of rain across the windows, the blur of passing streetlights painting golden streaks over the glass. Then it caught—something small, familiar.

Hanging from the rearview mirror was a charm—woven thread, pale blue and white, worn slightly at the edges from time and touch.

Your breath caught before your voice did.

“I always wondered where it went,” you murmured, leaning forward slightly. “Why is it here?”

Shaiya turned in her seat, grinning as she glanced between you and the charm. “Because my emotionally constipated brother’s car needed more colour,” she said sweetly.

You blinked, startled by the honesty and the ease of it.

Sylus reached over without a word and pinched her cheek, earning a dramatic yelp. “Ow! Hey! I was complimenting your character development!”

“You weren’t,” he said, low.

You laughed—quiet and real, the sound catching you off guard more than them.

And for a moment, everything felt suspended. Still.

You didn’t see it—but in the rearview mirror, his gaze never left you. Not even for a second.

Not as your laugh faded into silence.

Not as you leaned back again, hugging your arms to your chest.

Not even when the charm swayed gently with the motion of the car—between you both, like a secret too old to speak.

The drive wore on under a blanket of rain, the world outside blurred into watercolors—streetlights smearing gold across windows, puddles blooming across the road in soft ripples.

Shaiya’s voice, once a constant stream of stories and laughter, had faded into a gentle hum. You glanced forward.

Her head had lolled slightly against the window, breath steady, hands tucked into the sleeves of her jacket.

The rhythm of the rain had lulled her into sleep, and she looked younger like this—softer, peaceful in a way you rarely saw.

You didn’t say anything. Neither did Sylus.

The silence that followed wasn’t awkward. It was full—of things neither of you dared to say.

He didn’t look at you, eyes fixed on the road, one hand resting on the wheel, the other relaxed near the gearshift.

You sat in the back, still, the sound of rain once again filling the space between you and him.

The charm swung faintly from the mirror—your charm. The one you gave Shaiya years ago, when you were both too young to know what permanence meant.

He didn’t speak. Didn’t look back.

Just reached out and adjusted the rearview mirror.

His eyes met yours.

For a moment, nothing existed beyond that small reflection. Just you, and him, and the impossible weight of everything you never said.

Then—

“You still make those?” he asked, voice low and rough from disuse.

You blinked. “Huh?”

“The charms,” he clarified. “You used to give them to everyone. Shaiya… your classmates. You stopped.”

You hadn’t realized he remembered. Or noticed at all.

“I don’t know,” you said softly. “I guess I didn’t feel like they worked.”

A pause.

“Yours did,” he said, and looked away too quickly, like it hadn’t meant anything at all.

Your heart beat too loudly in your chest.

The rain continued to fall, and the car sat still in the quiet streetlight haze.

Outside, the world was wet and golden and lonely.

Inside, you could barely breathe.

The car slowed to a stop in front of your apartment building, tires humming against the wet road. You reached for the handle, but paused, your gaze slipping once more to Shaiya.

She had fallen asleep not long after the roads grew quiet. Her head rested against the window, her breath fogging the glass in gentle bursts.

In sleep, she looked small again.

Softer. You wondered if she was dreaming of home.

You moved carefully, not wanting to wake her, fingers brushing over the door latch—

“I’ll walk you,” Sylus said.

You froze, glancing toward the front. His voice was calm, low, like always—but there was a firmness in it, an edge of something unreadable.

You hesitated. “It’s fine, really. I’m used to—”

“I’ll walk you,” he repeated. No space left for argument.

So you nodded.

Outside, the wind met you first—cool and damp, threading its way through the folds of your coat.

You opened your umbrella with a soft click, the rain meeting the canvas with a hush like whispers.

He didn’t open one of his own. Just stepped beside you, hands in the pockets of his dark coat, silver hair catching droplets like a halo.

You walked side by side beneath the streetlights, the silence between you stretching long and delicate.

Each footstep was a quiet echo, each breath shared in the fragile space beneath the umbrella.

It should have been easy.

It wasn’t.

Your chest felt tight. Like something was blooming inside you, too wild to hold, too old to ignore.

The charm still lingered in your mind—the one you gave Shaiya so long ago, now hanging from his rearview mirror like a memory refusing to fade.

He kept it.

You didn’t want to think about what that meant.

Didn’t want to let your heart believe.

You glanced at him, just once. The side of his face was quiet in the dark, sharp in its stillness. His eyes fixed ahead, unreadable. Distant.

Like always.

And then, like a ghost, the voice of memory stirred.

“I just don’t want anyone to steal my brother from me.”

Shaiya had said it once, back in school. Half-pouting, half-serious, when the two of you sat eating cheap snacks behind the gym.

The sun had been warm that day, and you’d laughed at her dramatic tone.

You remembered your response.

A quiet vow, almost silly back then.

“I won’t.”

You never meant to fall for him.

But feelings don’t ask for permission.

They just… grow.

And now—now that vow clung to you like a chain.

I can’t be the one who steals him.

You reached your door.

Fumbled with the keys, hands trembling slightly—whether from the cold or something else, you couldn’t tell.

Sylus stopped beside you, saying nothing.

The rain gathered at your heels. The light above your door flickered faintly.

You turned the key. The lock clicked open.

But you didn’t step inside.

You stayed there, fingers curled around the doorknob, eyes downcast.

“Thanks,” you murmured. “For the ride. And… for walking me.”

He didn’t respond right away. You thought that would be the end of it.

But then—

“You’ve been avoiding me.”

The words cut through the quiet like a thread snapping under tension.

You turned to him too fast, heart stumbling. “I haven’t.”

He gave you a look. One that didn’t accuse. Just… waited.

You swallowed hard. “I haven’t,” you said again, softer. “I just… didn’t want to get in the way. Of you. Of Shaiya. This life.”

A silence.

Rain fell between your words, steady and unrelenting.

“You’re not in the way,” he said, voice low. Rougher now. “You never were.”

You looked at him then. Really looked.

His eyes weren’t cold like you remembered them. They were… tired. And something else. Something quiet. Something like—

Hope?

The umbrella drooped slightly in your hand. Neither of you moved.

The rain kissed his hair, clung to his coat, shimmered along his lashes. And he was just standing there, saying the smallest things that somehow meant the most.

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” you confessed, barely breathing. “I think I’ve been waiting. For something. For… nothing. I don’t know.”

He didn’t offer comfort. Didn’t reach for you. Didn’t promise anything.

But he didn’t leave.

And that, somehow, was everything.

You stepped back slowly, into the warm light of your apartment, your heart pulling at the doorway like it didn’t want to part.

“Goodnight, Sylus.”

A pause.

Then, “Goodnight.”

And just before the door closed, your eyes caught his one last time.

He hadn’t moved.

Just stood there.

Looking at you like he didn’t want to look away.

The door shut behind you with a soft, final sound—

Like the closing line of a story he hadn’t finished reading.

Sylus stood there a moment too long, rain slipping down the collar of his coat, trailing along his jaw, gathering at the edge of his lashes. He barely noticed.

The cold didn’t bite.

What did—was the look in your eyes.

I didn’t want to get in the way.

You weren’t in the way.

You were the way.

He drew a breath through his nose, jaw tightening as he turned and made his way back to the car.

Inside, the heat hit him like a held breath released—warm, fogging the windows, thick with the scent of sleep.

Shaiya was still curled in the passenger seat, head tilted toward the window, breathing slow.

He slid behind the wheel, closed the door with care. Tried not to disturb the quiet.

But she stirred anyway.

“Mm,” she mumbled, her voice sleep-rough, teasing as it slipped through the dim. “You watched her the whole way to the door, didn’t you?”

Sylus didn’t answer. His hands rested on the wheel, knuckles pale beneath the soft glow of the dashboard lights.

Shaiya cracked one eye open, catching the tension in his shoulders. A slow smile tugged at her mouth. “You’re ridiculous.”

She yawned, arms stretching as she added, “I should charge you every time you look at her like she’s the only thing left keeping you tethered.”

He didn’t flinch. Didn’t deny it.

She studied him for a beat longer, then softened.

“She doesn’t know… does she?”

Still, silence.

“I mean, you’ve liked her for what—ten years? Since that day she tripped and dropped her lunch in the hallway and you picked up every last grape?”

His brow twitched. “That wasn’t—”

Shaiya snorted. “Please. You’ve been quietly pining like some tragic poetic antihero since we were teenagers.”

“She’s your friend,” he said at last. “I didn’t want to cross a line.”

Shaiya turned to face him fully now, voice gentling. “She’s my best friend. And you’re my brother. I’ve watched both of you dance around this for years, and I promise—there’s no line except the one you drew yourself.”

Sylus looked out the windshield. Rain slid in ribbons across the glass.

“She already looks back,” he said, barely audible.

“Not the way you want her to,” Shaiya replied softly. “Not yet.”

His grip tightened. “I don’t know what she feels.”

“Then ask,” she said simply. “Show her something real.”

He said nothing.

So she smiled, more gently this time. “You’re not going to break her, Sylus. And she’s not going to disappear just because you’re scared.”

His eyes drifted to the charm swinging faintly from the mirror—your charm. The one she’d given him quietly, without fanfare, like she was handing over something sacred.

He reached up and steadied it with two fingers.

Still holding.

Just like him.

Shaiya leaned back in her seat with a soft sigh, watching him like she had all the time in the world.

“I never told her how you’d ask about her after class,” she said, a smile in her voice. “Or how you’d sit by the door until she finished packing her things just to walk her halfway home.”

Sylus shot her a look.

She grinned. “Don’t worry, I kept your tragic romantic streak a secret. You’re welcome.”

He rolled his eyes. “You’re imagining things.”

“I’m your sister,” she replied, tone light but grounded. “I don’t need to imagine. I see you.”

There was a long pause.

“She makes you softer, you know.”

That caught him.

“You’ve always been difficult, guarded. But around her, it’s different. You laugh more. You try.”

He turned his face slightly toward her, eyes shadowed under the low light. “And if I mess it up?”

“Then at least you tried.” She gave him a small, earnest smile. “She deserves to know she’s wanted. You deserve to stop pretending she isn’t.”

Sylus looked away again, the city blurred in rain outside the windows. But his hand hadn’t left the charm.

“I just…” he began, but couldn’t finish.

Shaiya’s voice softened to a whisper.

“You wouldn’t be taking her from me, Sylus,” she said. “You’d be choosing her.”

And maybe—for the first time in all these years—he allowed himself to imagine what it would feel like…

To be chosen too.

“You’re leaving?”

The knife paused for a split second above the cutting board, but you didn’t look back.

You kept your tone light. “Yeah. You know me—I’ve always wanted to travel. See more of the world than this little corner.”

Shaiya didn’t answer right away. You heard her footsteps behind you, pacing the narrow kitchen floor like she didn’t know what to do with the space between you.

“I guess,” she said finally, but her voice was quiet. Brooding.

You tried to chuckle. “You can visit me when you’re free. I’ll send postcards. Bad ones.”

There was a beat of silence.

Then her arms wrapped tightly around your middle, hugging you from behind like she could hold you still.

“Can I bring Sylus?”

Your hands stilled. The knife froze mid-slice, blade reflecting pale lime and trembling fingertips.

You looked down. Smiled softly to the floor.

“That… probably wouldn’t be a good idea.”

She said nothing at first. Just held you a little tighter, like she knew what your voice was trying to hide.

Then, suddenly—blunt and impossible to ignore.

“But he really likes you.”

The words hit like thunder under skin.

Your hand jerked, slipping.

A sharp sting followed, the blade grazing your finger. A single drop of blood swelled and fell against the lime.

“Shit,” Shaiya hissed, rushing to grab a towel. “Wait—here, let me—”

You took it from her silently, pressing it to your finger, heart pounding in a rhythm you wished you could silence.

You didn’t look at her.

“He’s never said anything,” you murmured, voice quieter than the rain outside.

Shaiya exhaled, almost a laugh—fond, exasperated. “Of course he hasn’t. He’s Sylus. But he’s been in love with you for years, you know that, right?”

You shook your head, not trusting yourself to speak.

She leaned against the counter, watching you, her voice softening as she continued.

“You remember my birthday in high school? That girl who tried to flirt with him the entire time?”

You nodded, eyes still on the towel, watching the red fade into pink.

“I dragged her out by her extensions,” Shaiya said proudly. “Told her he wasn’t available. Not for anyone but you.”

Your head snapped up, startled. “What?”

She shrugged, sheepish now. “I’ve done it more than once, actually. Fended off half the women in town. I always thought you two would end up together. You belonged together. You still do.”

Your throat tightened.

“But…” you began, voice cracking like old glass, “you once said—you didn’t want anyone to steal him from you.”

Shaiya blinked. Then her face softened into something bittersweet.

“I was a stupid kid,” she said quietly. “I was scared of losing you both. But if I had to lose you, I’d want it to be to each other.”

You closed your eyes.

The towel in your hand was damp now. Your chest ached with everything you never let yourself feel.

He likes you.

How were you supposed to walk away now?

You stood in silence, your finger still wrapped in the towel, the lime forgotten on the board, its scent sharp in the still air.

Shaiya leaned back against the counter beside you, arms folded loosely over her chest, a small smile tugging at her lips.

Then, teasingly—like the sting of truth wrapped in silk:

“So…” she tilted her head, eyes glinting. “When did you start liking my brother?”

You blinked. Heat flooded your cheeks instantly.

“I—what?”

She grinned. “Come on. Don’t give me that. You think I never noticed? The way you go all quiet when he’s in the room? The way you look at him like he built the moon?”

You scoffed, half-horrified. “I do not—”

“You do,” she said, laughing now. “It’s kind of adorable, actually. Tragic. But adorable.”

You turned back toward the board, trying to hide behind the task, your voice barely a whisper.

“It was a long time ago.”

Shaiya’s smile faded into something softer. Waiting.

You swallowed, fingers trembling as they smoothed over the edge of the counter.

“I kept telling myself I couldn’t. That I shouldn’t.”

Shaiya was quiet for a moment, then stepped closer. “Why didn’t you ever say anything?”

You met her eyes. “Because you’re his sister.”

A beat.

Then she smiled again—wry and achingly fond. “God, you’re both so stupid.”

You let out a breathless laugh, eyes stinging.

“Seriously,” she continued, nudging your shoulder. “I’ve been watching you two orbit each other for years like it’s some forbidden fairy tale. Do you know how frustrating it is? I practically wrote wedding vows in my head.”

You rolled your eyes, but your smile broke through the ache. “Stop.”

“I won’t,” she said proudly. “Because you love him.”

You didn’t deny it.

And for once, it didn’t feel like something to hide.

There was something comforting about saying it out loud. Here. Now.

In the kitchen that had always been a kind of sanctuary.

Where grief had been met with coffee and heartbreak stirred gently into soup.

Where silence never lasted long, and everything, somehow, returned to warmth.

Shaiya leaned beside you at the counter, arms crossed, smirk playing at the corners of her lips like it was muscle memory.

“You’re really going to leave without telling him?”

You didn’t lift your eyes. Just kept them fixed on the cutting board, where the lime’s bright green bled faintly into the grain.

“It’s not like it would change anything,” you said quietly.

She gave you a look—not cruel, not even stern. Just one part teasing, one part exasperated affection. “That’s probably the most melodramatic thing I’ve ever heard you say.”

You let out a soft, half-hearted laugh, one that barely stirred the air. “I’ve spent so long pretending I didn’t feel anything. Saying it now—it just feels like bad timing.”

Shaiya didn’t say anything for a while. The silence stretched comfortably, but not without weight.

You could feel her gaze on you, studying you the way only someone who’s known you half their life can.

Then, casually—too casually—she reached into her back pocket, thumb tapping quickly across her screen.

You blinked. “What are you doing?”

She shrugged, sliding the phone back out of sight. “Nothing. Just texting Eli. Or… you know, Sylus. Who’s to say, really?”

You turned toward her, brow arching. “Shaiya—”

She looked at you, all innocence and mischief. “Yes?”

You sighed, already regretting every life choice that brought you to this kitchen, this moment, this woman’s friendship.

She only smiled wider.

Like she knew exactly what was coming next.

You stared at the cutting board a moment longer, hands steady but your breath unraveling.

The lime had bled into the towel beside it—green, acidic, staining the fabric the way certain memories stain you. Subtle, but forever.

Your voice came quietly. Too calm for the storm that lived inside your chest.

“I’ve loved him for so long.”

Shaiya blinked, her teasing expression softening instantly.

You didn’t look at her. You couldn’t.

“It started before I realized it. Before I knew what it even meant to feel something that big. It was just the way he stood behind me when I was nervous. The way he remembered how I took my tea, even when I forgot. The way he looked at me like he already knew what I wasn’t saying.”

Your throat tightened.

“And I thought maybe—maybe it meant something. Maybe I meant something.”

You shook your head slowly.

“But then you said you didn’t want anyone to steal him. And I told myself I couldn’t be the one who did.”

You pressed your fingers to your eyes, as if it might hold the feeling back, keep it from spilling over.

“So I buried it. I buried every glance, every wish. I pretended it wasn’t real. And now I’m leaving. Because I thought if I put enough distance between us, I could finally be free of it.”

A pause. The air held still.

Then Shaiya raised an unimpressed brow. “I literally just told you he likes you.”

You blinked. “It doesn’t mean it’s that simple—”

“Actually,” she cut in, stepping closer, her arms crossed again but her voice gentler now, “sometimes it is. You’re acting like this is some doomed fairy tale. But he’s not a prince trapped in a tower, and you’re not cursed. You’re two emotionally repressed idiots who have loved each other in silence for too damn long.”

You opened your mouth, but she wasn’t done.

“And let me just say, if I went to all the trouble of pushing away every girl who blinked at my brother for you, and you still run away, I swear—”

You let out a breath of laughter, shaky but real.

“I was trying to do the right thing,” you whispered. “For you. For him. For me.”

Shaiya tilted her head, expression softening again. “Then do the right thing now. Let him decide if he wants to stop you.”

And just as those words settled into your bones—

The front door slammed open.

It echoed through the café like the sudden snap of a thread pulled too tight.

You startled, the sound cutting straight through your chest—and through the storm of emotions still settling after Shaiya’s words.

Your hands froze on the edge of the counter, breath caught mid-inhale.

Behind you, Shaiya looked up casually, as though she’d been expecting this precise moment down to the second.

And then, there he was.

Sylus.

Soaked to the bone, rain dripping from the sleeves of his coat, his breath uneven and labored as though he’d run the whole way here.

Which—knowing him—he might have.

Your eyes met his across the café, and for a moment, time did that impossible thing it always did around him. It stilled.

He didn’t speak. Just stared.

His chest rose and fell with effort, like every breath carried the weight of words he didn’t know how to form yet.

“Wow,” Shaiya muttered beside you, barely holding back a grin. “That was fast.”

You could barely process it. Could barely breathe.

You turned to her, your voice a whisper. “You really texted him?”

She shrugged, all faux innocence. “I said maybe.”

You opened your mouth, heart in your throat, but she was already backing toward the kitchen door, hand raised like a curtain call.

“I’ll be upstairs,” she said lightly. “Don’t break anything. Or do. Emotionally.”

And then you were alone.

With him.

The door swung shut behind her with a quiet click, and the silence that followed was deafening.

Even the rain seemed to still outside, giving the moment a reverent hush.

Sylus didn’t move right away. Neither did you.

Then.

“You weren’t going to tell me.”

His voice was hoarse. Barely above the hum of the overhead lights.

You swallowed hard. “I hadn’t… finalized anything yet.”

His brow creased, but he took a step forward. “You’re leaving.”

“I’m thinking about it.”

“That’s not better.”

You looked down, suddenly very aware of your hands. “I just… I needed space. A change. Something new.”

“From what?” he asked, a little too quickly. “From this place? From me?”

You winced. “From myself.”

He paused. And for the first time since he walked in, you saw it—the flicker of pain behind his eyes.

“I thought,” you whispered, “if I left, maybe I’d finally stop waiting. Stop hoping.”

He blinked slowly. “Hoping for what?”

Your laugh was small and bitter. “Do you really not know?”

He didn’t answer.

So you went on. Soft. Shaking.

Truth peeling itself from the edges of every word.

“I’ve loved you for so long it feels like part of me. And I thought—if I stayed here, I’d always be waiting. Always watching you walk into the room and pretending it didn’t feel like gravity. And that’s not fair. To me. Or to you.”

He was still. Completely still.

You pushed the words out, afraid they might choke you if you didn’t.

“I’ve loved you for years. Quietly. Stupidly. I thought it would pass—but it didn’t. I buried it for Shaiya’s sake. For yours. I thought I didn’t have the right.”

Sylus stepped closer. The air shifted with him, thick with rain and unsaid things.

“I wanted you to cross the line,” he said. “To look at me like I wasn’t just your best friend’s brother. And you did. You do. But you always looked away after.”

Tears welled in your eyes, hot and unrelenting.

“You never said anything,” you whispered.

“I didn’t know how,” he admitted. “I thought I had time.”

A silence fell, full of things neither of you had the language for.

Your heart stuttered.

“Don’t go,” he said, stepping close enough that his voice dropped to a whisper. “Not yet. Not when we haven’t even started.”

You stared at him, trembling.

“I don’t know what happens next,” you said. “I don’t know if this will work.”

His eyes searched yours, steady and soft.

“Then let’s figure it out. Together.”

You didn’t move. Neither did he.

But the distance had never felt smaller.

And for the first time in years, you weren’t waiting anymore.

But everything between you pulsed like a thread pulled taut—one heartbeat, one breath, one word away from breaking open.

Sylus raised a hand, slow and unsure, as if even now he feared he’d be pushing too far. His fingers hovered at your cheek for a moment—then touched.

Lightly. Like rain. Like memory.

Your breath caught.

His touch was careful, reverent.

Like he wasn’t sure you were real.

Like he didn’t believe this was happening.

“I should’ve said something sooner,” he murmured. “I should’ve fought harder.”

You leaned into his palm, eyes fluttering shut. “You’re here now.”

That was all that mattered.

He didn’t ask.

He didn’t need to.

Because when he leaned in—slow, like the world might shatter around him—you met him halfway.

The kiss was soft. Tentative at first. Like two people learning each other in a new language, after years of speaking only in silence.

His hand slid to the back of your neck, fingers threading through your hair, and your own clutched the fabric of his coat, holding him close, holding him steady.

It was warm. And aching.

And full of every breath you’d held back since the day your heart first whispered his name.

When you broke apart, it wasn’t with urgency. There was no panic now.

Just his forehead pressed to yours, both of you breathing the same rain-damp air, the same stunned stillness.

“I haven’t bought the ticket,” you whispered again.

“Good,” he murmured, thumb brushing gently across your cheek. “Stay.”

You closed your eyes. And for the first time, you didn’t feel like running.

You didn’t feel like waiting.

You just stood there, in the middle of a small kitchen that had seen your tears and your laughter, wrapped in the arms of the boy you had loved in silence for too long.

And this time—he held you back.

masterlist

[manmuncher777]

˚ ༘♡ ·˚ ₊˚ˑ༄ؘ. Someone had been teasing Cho all say… whoops

Dom choso x reader smut

You heard the front door open — then slam shut.

Your whole body tensed in anticipation.

And then there he was — Choso, standing in the doorway of your bedroom, backpack slung over one shoulder, hair a little messy from the rain, the look on his face so dangerous your stomach flipped.

“Hey, princess,” he said lowly, tossing his bag to the floor. “Been waitin’ for me?”

You sat up a little straighter on the bed, nerves sparking — but you couldn’t hide the way your thighs squeezed together, the way your whole body leaned toward him.

He smiled — slow and mocking, like he could see right through you.

“Aww,” he cooed, cocking his head to the side. “Poor thing. Bet you’ve been suffering without me, huh?”

You opened your mouth to answer, but he was already walking closer — stripping off his jacket, dragging it slow just to torment you — until he was standing right in front of you, towering over you.

“Go ahead,” he said, voice syrupy and mean. “Tell me how bad it hurt. How much you missed me. How you couldn’t stop thinking about me even for a second.”

Your face burned, heart hammering in your chest —

because he was right.

You had been begging him all day.

Pathetic, whiny little texts that you couldn’t even look at now without cringing.

He crouched down so he was eye-level with you — big, calloused hands cupping your cheeks almost gently, thumbs stroking over your flushed skin.

“You look so dumb like this,” he murmured, smirking. “All pretty and desperate. Bet you were touching yourself too, huh?”

You shook your head frantically — but he just laughed, soft and cruel.

“Liar,” he said, voice full of fake sympathy. “Don’t worry, baby. I’ll take care of it.”

He slid his hands down, over your shoulders, your arms — slow like he was soothing a spooked animal — then tugged you gently onto his lap.

You whimpered, clinging to his shoulders — overwhelmed by how solid he felt underneath you, how easily he handled you like you weighed nothing.

“So needy,” he tsked, pressing little kisses to your throat, your jaw — mockingly tender, like you were a silly little thing he pitied. “Can’t even wait five minutes without getting all worked up.”

You whined, hips shifting over the hard line of him — and he grinned, tilting his head so he could murmur against your ear.

“Go on,” he whispered. “Rub that cute little pussy on me. Show me how bad you need it.”

You whimpered again — embarrassed, humiliated, soaked — and he cooed at you, running a hand up and down your back.

“Poor baby,” he sighed, rocking his hips up just a little, enough to make you gasp. “All wound up and nowhere to go. You need me to help you, huh?”

You nodded frantically — and he smiled, so sweet it was almost cruel.

“Okay, princess,” he said, pulling you closer, nosing along your neck. “I’ll help you.”

He shifted you — dragged your panties to the side with one finger, thick and slow —

and pressed two big fingers against your aching cunt.

You sobbed at the relief — and he laughed, mocked you for it, still stroking slow.

“That’s all it took, huh?” he murmured, condescending. “Touch you once and you’re already about to cry. So easy. So pathetic for me.”

You shook under his hands — too desperate to be embarrassed anymore — grinding down shamelessly against his fingers.

Choso loved it.

He thrived on it.

The way you fell apart for him with just a little teasing, a little mean sweetness — it made his cock throb almost painfully.

“You’re lucky I’m nice,” he said, tilting your chin up to look at him, smiling like a devil. “Otherwise I might leave you like this. Poor little thing. So desperate, so empty.”

And then he was kissing you — filthy and deep — and pushing two fingers inside you at once, stretching you open, swallowing the broken, needy sounds you made.

You were clutching at him, panting, already trembling —

and he was grinning into the kiss, fucking his fingers into you slow and deliberate.

“Good girl,” he purred against your lips. “So good for me. Bet you’ll cum just like this, huh? Just from my fingers?”

You whimpered, grinding down harder — and he groaned, low in his throat.

“God, you’re pathetic,” he breathed, voice shaking slightly now. “You fuckin’ love it.”

And you did.

You loved it.

You loved every humiliating, sweet, mocking second of it.

[dem-obscure-imagines]

Midnight Rain

Bob Reynolds x Reader

Fandom: MCU

Note: We are so back babey.

Warnings: Allusions to Bob’s past as a drug user (light withdrawal symptoms). Otherwise, just fluff.

Word Count: 1.3k

Reader Is: A healer. Gender-neutral, I believe.

It was pouring outside. Rain trickled down the windows of the tower you now called home. It was…interesting living there. By the time you joined the team, the original team, they were all broken up already, so you’d never gotten the pleasure. Sam had found you around the time he found Scott. You were a healer.

Healer was a loose term, actually. You had healing powers, yes, could use energy to patch nearly any wound, but you had soothing powers, too. Like a living heating pad. That was why Sam found you. To calm the Winter Soldier when he’d been set off, just in case he and Steve needed one last ace in their back pocket.

It was why Bucky had called you now. And why you were sitting in the Tower where you now lived, watching the midnight rain, nursing a mug of Chamomile.

You could feel him walking down the hallway before you heard or saw him. It had only been a week since the Void Incident. You’d been in the Tower for a grand total of three days. You had only seen him in passing, as he’d been keeping mostly to himself. For obvious reasons.

Bob Reynolds aka Sentry aka the Void.

He stood in the doorway in a pair of pajama pants and an oversized sweatshirt, trembling. You scanned over him like a doctor, noting his symptoms, but it was clear from the very start, based on the file you’d been given. He was in withdrawal. Apparently the super-soldier cocktail they’d given him hadn’t fixed everything.

“Um h-hi. I’m Bob.” He waved, hand swallowed up by his sleeve, messy brown curls falling in his face.

You smiled warmly. “Hi, Bob. I’m (Y/N).”

“I knew that. I, uh…Yelena said you’d be in here. Bucky said to find you if I ever felt…uh…like this, I guess.” He motioned down to his trembling form. “But if you’re busy, I…”

“I’m not busy. What’s going on?”

“Just cold. Really cold. I…can’t sleep. Can’t stop shaking.”

You sat up a little straighter. “Did they tell you how my powers work?”

He nodded, fiddling with the ends of his sleeves.

“Do you want me to come to your room with you? Or we can do it out here?”

“Here is fine. I don’t think the others would ever let me live it down if I took you to my room…”

“John’s an asshole, but he’s getting better. I’m sure they’d understand if you want the privacy.”

He shook his head. “Here is fine.”

You adjusted the pillows in the crook of the large gray sectional couch, grabbing the thick blanket you’d crocheted back in college from the back of it. Bob hovered at the armrest, waiting for instruction.

“So, when I’d calm Bucky, and heal his headaches and stuff, I would stand behind him and just kinda…touch his head. Scalp massage, that kinda thing. But you’ve got other stuff going on, huh?”

“Muscle aches.” Bob added. “And the tremors and stuff…”

“I don’t bite.” You promised, in an attempt to relieve the tension.

He gave a tentative little smile at that, taking a step closer. “So I just…get on top of you? Well, not like that. I just meant…”

“We’re gonna cuddle, Bob. Simple as that. Come here.”

It didn’t take more convincing. He swung a leg over awkwardly, arms settling in unsure positions on either side of you, face ever so close to yours, deep blue eyes counting the pores on your cheeks. He was shaking, heart hammering against your chest. You tangled one hand in his hair, the other tugging the thick blanket down over the two of you before finding a steady rhythm on his back.

A deep breath in. When you breathed out, you began to emit your healing energy, glowing faintly, your whole body warm like a heating pad.

Immediately, his body went slack and heavy atop yours, head heavy on your shoulder, a slow breath drawn out from his open lips. His eyes fluttered shut, the shaking stopped, and for the first time in a long time, there was no pain, just peace.

“You still with me, big guy?” You asked, unsure if he was still conscious or not.

“Mmmmm…”

“Feel better?”

He nodded, but it took him a while to find his words. “Yeah. Y-yes. Thank you. Feels…really good.”

“No problem.”

“I haven’t slept in days.” He confessed quietly. “I knew eventually I’d need to…come find you, but…you just got here and I didn’t want to crowd you. Or make you think that this was all they called you here for or…?”

“Oh I’m fully aware of that, Bob. That’s okay. It’s my power. Sam found me to help Bucky, back when he was weaning off of his mental conditioning. And whatever it is you’re going through, I’m going to help you, too. It’ll get easier eventually. Not right away, but…”

He nodded. “I know. I kind of…thought the serum they gave me would, uh…speedrun that process. I don’t think it did. Might have made it worse, really. My body is expecting another hit. Patterns and all that…”

“Mmm.” You toyed with his curls, gently petting his head in a way that was habit for sessions like these. Not that you did them often. Special occasions only. You studied the way his hair caught in your light, the patterns that struck the ceiling through the stitches in the blanket. Like a disco ball.

“How long can you…glow like this for?”

“At this frequency? All night. This kind of energy I can literally put out in my sleep. It’s why I don’t get invited to sleepovers.”

He laughed at that. “Would you? Tonight?”

You nodded. “Get some rest, buddy. You need it.”

“’M not crushing you?” He adjusted a little. As much as he could with your energy kneading his muscles into Jell-O.

You chuckled, shaking your head. He was a little heavy, but he wasn’t doing any serious damage. “No, this is fine.”

He was quiet for a long moment. So long, you wondered if he really had drifted off. But then he asked, “How long are you staying?”

“Probably a while. Since the big breakup, I’ve just kind of been…wandering. Trying to pick up the pieces. It’d be nice to have something stable. You?”

“Forever, I think.” Bob replied, sounding fairly sure of it. “I mean, as long as they’ll have me, I guess. I’m not much use without…the other guy around, but…I can do the dishes.”

“Trust me, in a place like this, someone has to do the dishes. They’d appreciate it.”

Another long patch of silence stretched. You anticipated a snore. Instead, you could almost feel him spiraling.

“You’re not scared? Of me? Did they tell you who I am?”

“If I was scared of you, you would not be on top of me right now.” You said with a chuckle. “I wasn’t afraid of the Winter Soldier or the Hulk. I’m not afraid of you. But yes. I know who you are. I’m not worried about the other guy. My only concern is Bob. And making sure Bob gets sleep.”

“Okay.” He exhaled a sigh. “Thank you. For this. I, uh…I owe you one.”

You felt his eyes on you for a long moment before his eyelids started to get heavy. His anxiety and the adrenaline that came with it weren’t strong enough to overpower you for long. But even so, his gaze was soft, curious, until the very moment it was gone.

Rain continued to pour on Manhattan, the wind blowing the droplets onto the glass every so often. Thunder rumbled softly in the distance. You wondered if Thor was out there somewhere still, causing it. And in your arms was a new breed of supersoldier, his body heavy with sleep, slow, deep breaths entering and leaving his lungs for the first time in what you knew was forever.

You were sure when he woke up the next morning, you’d figure all of this out. A routine for healing sessions until his symptoms stopped and whatnot. You’d get him a sleep mask so you weren’t glowing right in his eyes. Of course, right now, that wasn’t a problem, since he was so sleep deprived you could have knocked him out standing up. But it would be nice for him to have, nonetheless. All of these factors were familiar to you; you’d get them worked out.

But it might take longer, however, for you to figure out the new warmth that was swirling around your heart.

[bluelikebruises]

wanna be yours || rhaenyra & daemon targaryen x f!reader

Rhaenyra Targaryen/TargaryenF!Reader/Daemon Targaryen 18+ MDNI! summary: scared of thunderstorms you seek shelter in the confines of your sister's chambers. but things quickly escalate and you find yourself forgetting all about the storm w/c: 8.2k tw: SMUT, 18+, plot? what plot?, INCEST, threesome, slight breeding kink, loss of virginity, cunnilingus, nipple play, some choking, creampie, rough & gentle daemon, slight ooc daemon, lost the plot about half way through tbh, not proof read

a/n: havent written in a while my bad yall the claws of depression got me and then i got a job (booooo). promised a rhaenicent oneshot but yall got this instead im so sorry ((your honor i’m working on it i swear!)) second time ever writing smut so please be kind, any comments or suggestion for improvement feel free to let me know <3

☆━━━━☆━━━━☆

A storm rages outside the walls of Dragonstone, the ocean and sky bashing against the windows of your chambers. They howl and thrash relentlessly, the rolling sound of thunder striking your heart with fear. As a child it reminded you of dragon roars soothing your unease but now it gave no such comfort.

Most nights when you had resided in the Keep the maesters would inform you of an approaching storm and you would sneak into your fathers chambers and read. You’d read passages of your favorite books and poems aloud to him. Whether he was asleep or awake never bothered you, you simply appreciated his presence. 

Another cry of crackling thunder falls upon your ears causing your heart to hammers in your chest. You silently wish you were not alone feeling as though you were a child, small, powerless, and frightened of the world. If you were in King’s Landing you could simply walk to your fathers chambers and let the storm rage on. But as your luck would have it you were miles away. 

For the past few months you had been residing in Dragonstone as a ward to your sister and her husband. You had loved every minute of your stay up until tonight, in hopes of alleviating your fears you shut your eyes trying to forget about the storm outside. 

Your thoughts are scrambled for a moment before you begin to recall your stay in Dragonstone. You’ve made an array of memories from tutoring Jacaerys in High Valyrian to games played with Joffrey and Viserys to your name day celebration. While you try to recall the many more you had, your thoughts are interrupted by the piercing sound of striking lightning. 

It hurts your ears sending a shiver down your spine, Rhaenyra crosses your mind but you know she is lying with her husband—who would waste no time in making a jest out of your fear. You want to banish the possibility of seeking shelter in Rhaenyra, after all you were far too old to sneak into her chambers. But as another flash of lightning bellows through the sky you could no longer stay still. Fear and anxiety guide your movements as you stand and grab the cloak at the end of your bed.

━━☆━━

The castle isn’t as frightening as the Red Keep under the cover of night, yet you still move quickly through its large cold corridors. With shaking hands you make a valiant effort to knock gently on the giant doors of your sister's chambers, pausing to hear for any movement but none comes. 

With no response you knock again this time with a bit of urgency. You don’t have the luxury of waiting for a response as thunder echoes through the stone causing you to yelp. Without thought you push the door open uninvitedly stepping inside. You do your best to shut the door quietly unsure what to do next. The thunder had passed and yet the patting rain could still be heard. You had not thought this far ahead, what were you supposed to do? Sneak into her bed? 

The room is dark, lit by the beams of moonlight that pour in, it’ll take some moments before your eyes adapt to the shadows of the night. Before you could think to move the sound of rustling and a sword unsheathing alert you of a presence. You need not see who it is to know it is your uncle Daemon. 

You curse yourself turning to face him. He holds his sword pointing it towards your chest and it should frighten you but the storm outside threatens you more than he does.

“There is no honor in killing a man while he sleeps”, he says, stepping into the light of the moon ready to strike your unrecognizable form. 

“I do not intend on killing you Uncle”

At your words his sword drops, “Sweet Dragon, why are you sneaking into our chambers?”

You’ve come to grow accustomed to your moniker slipping from his mouth in a mocking manner, but tonight his voice holds no ill intent. 

Lightning cuts through the sky in a loud shout before you can respond. Your skin crawls and you’re trying to keep your voice from wavering, “It’s quite loud”

“Are you frightened?” he asks, stepping towards you. His eyes bore into yours and under the moonlight it’s as if they are glowing. 

Your heart stammers and you shake your head in embarrassment, clearly lying. A small grin spreads against his lips and you know he sees right through you. The thought and his gaze becomes too much for you to bear as your eyes fall onto the floor. 

“There is no one around to pretend for”, he places his hand under your chin as he tilts your head up, to once again meet his gaze. His gentle demeanor disarms you, most times he’s brutish, arrogant, and entirely uninterested in you. 

“I am merely skittish . . .” you clasp your hands behind your back trying to appear more collected than you felt. 

He looks you over, his eyes sparkle in the moonlight only this time you’re unable to avert your gaze. His fingers hold you still and a sinking feeling of being prey washes over you.

“Rhaenyra?” he asks 

The voice of your sister emerges from the darkness surprising you, “Yes, my love,” 

“It seems our intruder is our favorite little princess”, his fingers trace your jaw, concentrating his eyes on your lips. 

Fear is an afterthought as an indescribable feeling crawls up your body. Your stomach flips under his touch and you fear to know why. 

Rhaenyra says your name, “Come here” 

Without a second thought you walk towards her voice, your eyes now adjusting to the moonlight making out shadows in the darkness. 

Rhaenyra sits upon her bed, furs laid spread over her lap she smiles fondly as you approach. 

Once you’re before her she instructs you to sit, “Has the storm unnerved you?” she asks, placing her hands on yours. They’re soft and her touch is almost enough to make you forget why you had entered her chambers to begin with.

“It is quite loud” 

“Yes you have said that already” Daemon says. His approach has gone unnoticed by you as he stands opposite of Rhaenyra. The side of the bed you assumed he slept on. 

“I read to father during storms,” you admit sheepishly

“Oh you poor sweet girl” she coos, “Would you like to read to us?”, you nod almost enthusiastically, “Come then” she pulls you forward unfastening your cloak. 

The warmth of her hands on your exposed shoulder sends you into a panic. Your septa had made it clear how your virtue was to be maintained until you married. No living eyes were to be set on your chaste skin but your future husband’s and yet you sat next to your sister who threatened to stain your skin. You tremble under her touch unsure how you could deny her. 

Grabbing her hands you halt her movements, “I’m only reading, I’ll be returning to my chambers once the storm passes”

“Of course” she agrees, “But while you are here my husband and I can keep you warm, as can the furs” 

Her smile kills your resolve and like a puppet in her control you cave in, Rhaenyra had always had that effect on you. You thought so highly of her and loved her dearly of course you were always eager to please. Any want or command uttered by her and you’d comply instantly. 

Removing your hands from hers, the cloak falls from your shoulders and she tosses it aside. You shiver as the cold air comes in contact with your bare skin. The nightgown you wore was less than modest, showing more skin then was appropriate for a lady let alone a princess. The feeling of being gawked at consumes you—their eyes burn into your skin.

“Come here princess” Daemon’s voice makes your knees weak. In the moonlight you see a smile on Rhaenyra’s lips, you take it as encouragement and crawl onto the bed. You settle between both their bodies but Daemon tugs at you pulling you towards him, the movement causes your nightgown to slide up your thighs exposing more of your skin. 

If your septa could see you now… you cringe at the thought mortified. Your heart patters rapidly, Gods if it kept beating you were sure Daemon and Rhaenyra were going to hear it. 

If Daemon notices your exposed skin he doesn’t show it, he rather seems preoccupied with adjusting you before him. His legs spread as he sat you between them, his chest pressed against your back as he loomed over you. 

He grabs at your sides pulling you closer to him, and if your heart didn't explode before it exploded when you felt Rhaenyra lips kiss your shoulder then rest her head where she had kissed. 

Your mind and heart betray you as you become a victim to their siren song. You’re a vision of adultery and sin, it’s wrong–unbecoming of a princess and yet you do nothing to stop them. 

With his left arm Daemon keeps you tucked under him and he wraps his right around Rhaenyra who nestles into your shoulder. You had not thought this was where you would find yourself at the beginning of the night. 

The storm is a long way from your thoughts as you try to figure out how your body fits into theirs, if it could. You’re against both of them unsure of how to move. 

You feel Daemon reach for something, “Read this” his breath touches your ear as he places a book on your lap. Being caught between them you had almost forgotten how you ended up practically on Daemon’s lap. 

Picking up the book you read the title, The Mythos of the Land Beyond Essos: Yiti. The book provides a much welcomed distraction, you had heard of Yiti before but only in passing from Lord Coryls. 

“Is it real?” you ask absentmindedly to no one in particular

“Of course it is, sweet girl,” Rhaenyra says, slithering her arm over your lap fully intrapping you in their hold 

Opening the book you were met with half of a map littered with cities and towns you had never heard of. As you turn the page the book's wear and tear is visible, it was clearly loved. For a moment you wonder if it was Rhaenyra or Daemon who loved it. Your thoughts like many times throughout the night are interrupted by thunder and relentless down pouring of rain.

You jump frightened hearing a chuckle come from Daemonand who places a kiss on your hair Any other night the gesture would have been ill fitting and strange but tonight it brings you comfort.

“Read” he gently commands and like an obedient dog you do

You read through four pages undisturbed, your voice only occasionally interrupted by the storm outside that is until you feel Daemon’s fingers on the exposed skin of your upper thigh. Gentle thoughtless traces of his fingers over your flesh. 

His touch makes you acutely aware of their bodies pressed against yours, body heat and furs warmed you like no other. With every hound of the wind and pounding of the rain you shook, which was made worse by their hands and lips trying to sooth you. 

Daemon’s left hand draws circles on your left thigh. Rhaenyra kisses your shoulder and any exposed skin she could reach. It was intoxicating her lips and his fingers. How were you supposed to read when there were two hungry dragons trying to feast upon you. 

The words you’re reading pass thoughtlessly through your mouth, once the information found a home in your mind now simply glossed over. 

Daemon’s lips fall on the nape of your neck sending a shiver down your spine and a soft whimper from your lips. 

In a small effort to keep them at bay you ask questions, it works for the first two questions but after the third Daemon grabs the book from your grasp and throws it. 

With the book out of their way they both grew relentless. Daemon kisses and nips at your neck without disregard. Rhaenyra readjusts herself to be able to access your collar bones, her lips beginning to trail up your neck and jaw. The furs had been tossed somewhere on the bed. 

“Nyra” you plead, nervous of what was to come next. Pressing your thighs together as a warm feeling emitted from your womanhood. 

“Shhh” she coos, kissing your cheek dangerously close to your lips. 

Daemon’s hand pulls your nightgown exposing more of your thighs to the night air. 

You should leave, you know you should but the thought of enduring the storm alone keeps you in place, “Perhaps…Perhaps I should r-read from another b-book” you try to stop Daemon’s hand pulling your nightgown from his grasp

Your efforts are futile as Rhaenyra interrupts you by planting her lips on yours. The action leaves you entranced by her, you melt into her lips moving yours against hers. She tastes like tea, warm and sweet. 

Under Rhaenyra’s spell you’re unaware of Daemon sliding your nightgown further and further upward. His hands stopped only to touch your inner thighs nearing your clothed cunt. You squirmed thinking of the septa’s words, the only man who can lay a finger on you is your husband.

“I can’t…I can't,” you say, breaking away from Rhaenyra and moving away from Daemon’s hold. You move away from them putting some distance between your sister and her husband. 

“Why not?” Rhaenyra asks

They’re feigning ignorance and you don’t know why, “I’m not wed” 

They both laugh and share a knowing expression. 

“Silly girl,” Daemon says, pulling you back to them, his hands dragging you back between his legs, “You are not to wed” his breath is hot against your ear as you try not to think of the heat that expels from his hands

Confusion is clear across your face, “But the Queen said—”

At the mention of Queen Alicent his grip of your flesh tightens, “To the Seven Hells with Alicent,” his hold on your flesh is half as painful as it is pleasurable. 

“You are ours”, Rhaenyra cuts in, “You shall not be sullied by hands that are not our own”, she plants a kiss on your shoulder.  

You’re unable to make sense of their words, you could not be theirs, you would only ever be your husband’s. And yet you could not find the words to say it aloud—to let them know you could not be sullied by them despite how desperately you wanted. 

Your attention is fully on Rhaenyra that the sneaking fingers along your jaw have gone unnoticed. Daemon’s fingers trace your lips before gently pushing themselves into your mouth. They’re cold as he presses them against your tongue and you can taste ash. The taste is almost telling, you think. 

“Suck” Daemon commands

You hesitate for a moment frightened at the possibilities of what would happen next and what they entailed. But all your thoughts fizzle away when Rhaenyra’s mouth bites down on your shoulder and without a second thought you do, making sure they’re thoroughly coated in your saliva. He spreads his fingers exploring your mouth before shoving them down your throat. The unexpected action leaves you coughing gagging, which earns an amused laugh from Daemon as he retreats his fingers.

“Good girl” he kisses your ear and you bite your tongue in order to stifle a whimper. His words ignite a fire that spreads throughout your body, it’s alluring leaving a blazing trail of want in its wake. The need to be praised has your head spinning, never had praise elicited such a reaction from you before. You want to continue being good and dutiful for Daemon and Rhaenyra. 

Rhaenyra sits in front of you both simply watching as her husband's fingers trailed under your nightgown. He pulls your small clothes to the side, the anticipation killing you as his fingers neared. It’s reprehensible you know, but you do not have the willpower to stop him.  

Your breathing stops as two of his fingers come into contact with your sensitive pearl. He groans as he feels the heat of your cunt, drawing circles with his fingers. You bite your cheek trying to stop yourself from moaning, leaning your head against his chest. His fingers begin to accelerate as he wraps your hair around his free hand pulling you to look forward.

“Look at Rhaenyra, sweet dragon, she wants to see you” 

Your eyes catch hers, they’re lit with fervent desire, a look you had never seen before. While you wish you could stare at Rhaenyra forever, Daemon's fingers have returned to their slow pace leaving you unfulfilled and on the cusp of pleasure.

Turning to face him you plead, “Please”, you’re not entirely sure what you’re asking for, only that you need more. Embarrassed by your plead you hide your face in the crook of his neck

“Please what princess” he presses against your pearl roughly 

Through a moan you speak, “Need more” 

You don’t see the delighted smile that spreads over Daemon’s face as he gathers fistfulls of your hair forcing you out of your hiding spot. His eyes fall onto your sister and you’re trying desperately not to let out a string of unbecoming moans. 

With another tug Daemon crashes his lips onto yours, the angel which he pulls you almost hurts but his mouth and fingers provide a wonderful distraction. The kiss is rough, tongues and teeth clashing. All the while his fingers never cease their attack and you’re quickly becoming undone. 

An unfamiliar pressure builds and you find yourself near a breaking point you had never experienced. The building pleasure has your heart beating out of your chest, it’s dizzying. But just when you think you can’t take it anymore Daemon’s fingers stop and he releases your lips. You moan out in disappointment.

“Perhaps you should ask the future Queen for assistance” he pulls your hair like a rag doll. Moving you as he pleases, facing you again towards Rhaenyra. 

“Nyra please”

Gripping your hair even tighter exposing your neck he whispers, “Where are your manners?”

“Please, your highness” you beg eyes glossed over full of want

Rhaenyra smirks, leaning into you momentarily allowing your lips to meet again which you welcome eagerly. 

The kiss is gentle at first, your lips moving in sync. Her tongue laps at your bottom lip and you shutter feeling Daemon ghosting his fingers above your aching pearl. When one of his long fingers threatens to enter your leaking hole you moan into Rheanyra's mouth. She takes the opportunity to kiss you with more vigor. Her lips are so soft and you’re entranced by her, thoughts racing, why had you never kissed her before?

When she finally breaks away she leaves you breathless and you get no time to recover as she pulls the top of your nightgown down exposing your breast. Heat spreads over your cheeks, never having been so bare in front of anyone before. 

The thoughts quickly leave your mind as Rhaenyra’s tongue drags against your hardening nipple. She uses the pad of her thumb to draw circles against your nipple, the sensation adds fuel to the fire in your core. She expertly nips and sucks only stopping to change breasts. 

“N…Nyra please … enough” you try to weakly fight her off. Receiving far more stimulation from your nipples then you thought could ever be possible. Instead she removes her mouth and replaces them with her hands, pinching and pulling without regard. There’s an electrifying pain that shoots down your spine, you had never thought your breast to be so sensitive. 

Rhaenyra does not argue, continuing to toy with your breast as she moves towards her husband. She practically purrs as she nears him a smile lingering on her lips, your eyes close shut as she continues her attack. Above your shoulder she kisses Daemon as if she were not inflecting the most deliciously painful pleasure. The drool that leaked out of you was as shameful as it was degrading. 

When they finally pull away Daemon pushes a finger into your neglected hole, earning a yelp from your lips. The sudden intrusion is foreign and stings, biting your bottom lip you try to keep your cries of discomfort from spilling out.

They work in tandem drawing pleasure out of you with their expert touches. The way you squirm beneath them is pathetic and a distant image to the woman the realm knew you to be. 

“So fucking tight” Daemon says adding a second finger causing your head to spin. He moves his fingers expertly in and out of your cunt. Loving the feeling of your velvety walls, he speaks to Rhaenyra but you can’t hear them. Deaf under the spell of your uncle’s long fingers, your eyes are shut concentrating on the flowering pleasure that was beginning to take hold. 

Rhaenyra’s hands stop their movements and you’re half heartedly aware of the way the bed shifts far too caught up in your pleasure. You’re unraveling completely melted into Daemon, unable to keep your moans quiet they fall from your lips like a waterfall. A knot forms in the pit of your stomach as Daemon stretches you open fucking his fingers into you, you’re left a blubbering mess. 

His fingers mercilessly hit every spot in your spongy cunt, you take every bit of bliss he gives you. Sweat gathers on your pinched brows, your skin feels hot against the cool night air. 

After an especially hard thrust he angles his fingers just right and your walls tighten around him. You feel as though you’re going to die, your breaths come in short quick intervals, you're on the edge of pleasure nearly going under. 

And as if he read your thoughts Daemon halts his movements, removing his fingers from your warmth, “So pretty when you moan” 

Your eyes open in disappointment, missing the feeling of being played with. But Daemon gives you no time to react as he orders you to open your mouth. 

“Taste your filth”

Obediently you do, his fingers are heavy on your tongue wrapping your mouth around them tasting yourself—you’re bitter and sharp unlike anything you had ever tasted. 

When Daemon decides you’ve had enough he pulls his fingers out and kisses you. 

You’ve forgotten about Rhaenyra until you feel a wet sensation on your pearl. With a moan your eyes shift downwards where she rests on her stomach between your legs. She’s excitedly lapping you up, her tongue sending you into a frenzy as she focuses on your puffy cunt.

Moments ago you had thought the height of pleasure was your uncle’s fingers yet it was actually your sister's mouth. 

“Ngh…Nyera” 

Your cries only invigorate her, she presses her tongue into your hole and the sudden motion has you bucking your hips. She laughs into your cunt, amused, sending vibrations straight into your pearl. 

She’s an expert at what she does, her tongue running up and down your slit. Sucking on your pearl with such vigor before fucking her tongue into you. This was not the first time your sister had done such a lewd act and the thought of Rhaenyra having done this before with another woman has jealousy crawling up your back. 

Distracted by Rhaenyra you don’t feel Daemon’s hand lowering, not until his cold fingers are pressing into your pearl. Two of his fingers begin moving sporadically electrifying every fiber of your body. You’re writhing in pleasure, burning with passion consumed by Rhaenyra and Daemon, unsure of how much more you could take. Coming undone as they pull you apart just to put you back together with nothing but their hands and lips.

You’re squirming, “Uncle, Ny…Nyra I’m—I”

Like before Daemon’s movements stop followed by Rhaenyra, you look between them dazed with need and confused. You pout in frustration, tired of being dragged to the edge of pleasure only to have it ripped away from you. 

In response Daemon turns you  to face him, “Fret not sweet dragon, we’ll give you what you want”. His lips fall on yours forcibly, kissing you as if you were the only thing able to quench his hunger. 

He moves off the bed and Rhaenyra grabs your hips, pulling you towards her gently pushing you to fall onto the bed backfirst. With your legs hanging off the bed she crawls on top of you slowly, taking her time to ravish your body with bites and kisses. Her teeth sink into the softness of your flesh and though it hurts you can’t help but moan. Goosebumps rise over your body as she sucks the skin under your breast. When she’s had enough she lifts her head to meet your collar bones, she wastes no time sucking on your skin. Making sure to leave her mark on your skin. 

The feeling is different yet so enticing, full of tenderness and lust. You’re moaning under her and you realize just how empty your cunt feels as it drips for Rhaenyra. 

You need more, desperate for it your hands move not entirely sure of what you are doing only knowing you needed more of her. You pull Rhaenyra’s nightgown trying to get it off. But only managing to pull the top of it revealing her breasts. You make quick work of taking them in your hands, they’re soft and firm, plump from having been filled with milk many times. 

Her mouth releases your skin as she moans

“My two pretty nieces playing with each other, I could die a happy man right now” Daemon stands behind your bodies. His hands touch your thighs repositioning your body how he’d like. Your clay in his hands—pliable—letting him mold you however he likes rendering him full control of your being.

He slides what you can only assume is his cock between your folds moaning as he does so. Warning drums sound off in your ears, you should put a stop to the night's debauchery and end it before you’re ruined forever. But your inhibitions are lowered and you couldn’t exactly care to think what a septa or the realm would think. Not when you were pinned between Rhaenyra and Daemon.

Rhaenyra adjusts herself above you, her knees resting on either side of your hips, giving Daemon room to do as he pleases.

“How do you feel princess?” Her voice is laced with teasing affection. You are unsure how to respond if you could at all, focused entirely on the sensation of Daemon’s cock pressing against your cunt. 

He gives you no warning as he pushes the tip of cock into your weeping cunt, it’s tight and uncomfortable. The intrusion is painful; it feels like you’re being pulled apart, like your body was being set aflame. 

“Fuck” the word falls from Daemon’s lips like a prayer

The fur under you is balled in your fists trying to ease the pain, tears form in your eyes 

“Dae–”

He shushes you, “The pain will lull soon” 

“Be good for uncle, won’t you sweet girl?” Rhaenyra asks kissing along your neck

You’re nodding 

When he fully sheaths himself a painful sob escapes your lips. Your eyes are shut trying to weather the storm. You’re half frightening he’ll start fucking you, the pain would surely kill you. But he does not move, allowing you a moment to become accustomed to his length. 

“Gods, you’ve been keeping such an amazing cunt from us” he says after a moment, slowly he begins to move. Pulling himself out before gently pushing himself back in. 

The first few thrusts send shockwaves through your body. In an effort to distract you from the discomfort Rhaenyra plays with your breast. Nipping one with her mouth while she rolled the other between her thumb and forefinger. You shudder at the stark differences in sensations, like ice and fire you’re teetering the line between pleasure and pain. Tears fall from your eyes as you clenched tightly around Daemon’s cock, Rhaenyra kisses them away. 

The longer Daemon continues his intrusion the faster the pain soothes into a warm pleasure. When a moan escapes your mouth he responds with a sharp thrust. Bliss rests heavy on your brow, the lewd squelching from every thrust only adds fuel to your heightened state.

Rhaenyra moans above you, her face contorted in ecstasy, she’s the vision of desire, a nymph of lust and pleasure. You piece together that Daemon’s fingers are exploring the warmth cavern of her cunt. As you watch her, her eyes find yours and she leans down to kiss you. It’s sloppy and full of half-sound moans. Her breaths begin to quicken and for a brief moment your uncle slows his thrusts to focus on Rhaenyra. Though you miss the feeling you discovered your love for watching your sister lose herself to your uncle.

Her moans only grow louder, she’s calling out her husband's name. Pushing herself into his fingers and suffocating you with her breasts. 

She shakes, eyes rolled to the back of her head with her mouth half opened. Her body is spasming above yours, moans fall from her mouth like prayers as she peaks all over Daemon’s fingers.

She falls on top of you, her head resting on your chest as she tries to catch her breath. Without thinking you caress her hair, it's soft and smooth and it almost startles you when she looks up to you. 

For a moment while you hold her gaze the entire world falls away, nothing else matters but her. You could spend the rest of your life just gazing at her—worshiping at her altar. A gentle smile appears on her lips as she climbs off your body, she moves towards Daemon kissing him passionately. You almost averted your gaze, the act felt so intimate it did not feel right to watch.

Daemon rests comfortably inside you as they kiss, the entire time you have not been able to pull your eyes away from them. And when it is over, as if nothing had occurred Daemon resumes his relentless pace. His cock is pressed deliciously inside you forcing you to see stars. He repeats his actions over and over again. 

“Perfect fucking tits,” he leans down to catch your bouncing breast. Wrapping his lips around your nipple as he thrust harder, lapping at it like a crazed man. His mouth is hot against your skin, his tongue rough as he suckles—as if expecting milk. The thought sends a shiver down to your cunt, causing your walls to flutter against Daemon’s cock. 

“I should put a child in you just to watch your breast swell” 

You know he shouldn’t, it’s wrong you’d be ruined–-more so than you already were—no man would ever marry if you had a bastard. But you can’t suppress the moan from leaving your lips, squeezing around Daemon like a glove. His hips falter for a moment as you choke his cock, “Fuck, does the idea appeal to you?” 

“We could keep her here, have her birth our heirs, keep her stuffed with cock”, Rhaenyra chimes and her words are enough to push you over the edge vibrating with pleasure. Your back arches off the bed as your body is consumed with ecstasy. You’re first ever release racking through you without mercy. 

Daemon moans, your contracting cunt making it near impossible for him to move. 

Your chest heaves as you try to regain your breath, try to regain the composure you had lost hours ago. 

But you’re given no time to do so as Daemon pulls himself from your cunt and flips you onto your stomach. His hands grip your hips as he pulls them up, your head is pressed against the bed. A blush creeps on your cheeks, the position is lewd, one you had overheard Aegon say was reserved for whores. 

Your thoughts dissolve as Daemon runs the tip of his cock along your sensitive wet folds. His movements leave you shuddering, wanting him to just get on with it. 

“Uncle please,” you whine pushing your hips back onto him

“So eager” his hands roam the expanse of your ass before sheathing himself once more inside you. 

The angle offers you a new pleasure, spread wide before Daemon like a feast at the ready for him to devour. Your walls flutter with sensitivity and yet it does not deter Daemon from pulling ropes of pleasure out of you. It exudes from your cunt tenfold and wrenches through your body unyielding. Like everything about the night it’s overwhelming bordering the edge of pain, but you’re too drunk off Daemon and Rhaenyra to put an end to it. Not when Daemon is molding your insides, as if to make sure no other suitor could ever compare. Not that you would ever want another suitor, you could spend the rest of your life beneath Daemon. 

Cold fingers slither themselves up your spine, snaking themselves around the side of your neck. Daemon’s touch is rough, callus hands pressed against the soft of your throat. Fingers stretch over the expanse of your throat, squeezing ever so lightly and you swear you see stars. An involuntary moan escapes your lips as you arch your back into him and it's all the encouragement Daemon needs to apply more pressure. 

Every thrust from Daemon has the air in your lungs exuding at a rapid pace. Your head starts to throb, all your senses are melting into one another. Daemon’s touch is paralyzing; you're frozen, stuck in a twisted masochistic purgatory and loving every moment of it. 

The grip on your neck tightens, cutting the little airflow you were getting. Above you Daemon leans down the heat of his chest against your back. He whispers something in your ear but you can’t hear anything above the beating of your heart. You’re not sure how much longer you could take, eyes half lidded and bordering tears—you’re barely holding onto consciousness. 

Just when the arms of unconsciousness threaten to pull you under, his grip releases and his thrusts come to a stop. Like a stone dropped onto the bottom of a river your head falls straight onto the bed. You try to regain your breath, through painful breaths the sound of Rhaenyra’s laughter reaches your ears. Through your lashes you look upon her, she sits before you smiling, eyes glowing under moonlight. 

“What a spoiled princess, receiving such fervent treatment from my husband” 

In response Daemon gently kisses your back. Slowing and ever so carefully moving his hips as he does so, you moan and Rhaenyra laughs again. 

“Come now, before I’m seething with jealousy” she moves. Her legs spread before you, nightgown exposing her flesh as she adjusted. You have an idea about what means to happen next but your inexperience has you doubting your thoughts. 

Your head lifts in realization that she’s settling herself, her clothed cunt only a touch away. You’re captivated by the allure of her covered womanhood. 

“Go on princess, serve your queen” Daemon voice rings out as he reaches to tangle his hand in your hair forcing you towards Rhaenyra’s cunt. 

She looks down at you, a seductive smile playfully lingering on her lips. She lifts her dress agonizingly slow, pulling the thin layer of her nightgown exposing the smoothness of her skin. When she's finally revealed to you in all her glistening glory you waste no time, diving right into her core. You’re half surprised she wasn’t wearing any small clothes but you don’t think twice about it, devouring her with novice eagerness. 

As you run your tongue through her folds you clench around Daemon getting your first real taste of Rhaenyra. She tastes poignant and sweet like a nectar you had never known but were growing addicted too. You kiss her swollen womanhood inhaling her sweet scent, pressing your tongue against it before swirling around it. Though you know your inexperience shows you eat her up like she was your last meal in the living world. 

Her moans are music to your ears, you look up to watch as her chest heaves. Invigorated by her pleasure you flick your tongue fucking it against her dripping hole, through a half open moan her eyes fall on yours. Her brows are pinched together in ecstasy as her thighs close around your head keeping you in place not that you could think of moving away. 

The world falls away as you bring your sister to the heights of pleasure, drunk by the feeling of her warm cunt wrapped around your face. It’s lewd and disgusting and yet you can’t get enough of it. 

In a sudden motion your attention is pulled away from Rhaenyra, you’re unable to turn your head but you feel Daemon’s cock retracting before he thrust it back to the hilt. You moan into Rhaenyra, sending shooting vibrations through her. She chokes out a moan as her hand comes down to grip your hair. 

She roughly tugs as you continue the intrusion of her cunt, pushing you further into her. Your nose bumps her puffy pearl as you move uncoordinated—distracted and falling victim to Daemon’s relentless attacks. The squelching sounds of your weeping cunt sends your mind into a frenzy, it’s filthy and obscene. 

“Such a good girl,” Rhaenyra purrs, “Had I know you were so good at eating cunt I would have had you on your knees long ago” 

Her words of praise have your pussy fluttering around Daemon who grunts in response. Your mind has gone completely blank, you've lost yourself knowing nothing but the hot liquid pleasure that Daemon and Rhaenyra were tearing out of you. They’re molding you into shapes only they knew—only they could touch. 

Daemon nestles himself so deeply you’re sure if you reach down you’d feel him in your stomach. You try to keep up your pace on Rhaenyra but with Daemon’s insistent thrusts you’re having trouble, sloppily licking and inserting your tongue into her. 

“Gods you were both made for my cock”, he grunts out but you can’t think of a single response. You’re pushed into Rhaenyra with every thrust, slurping her overflowing bliss. 

At her husband’s words Rhaenyra releases you from her grasp letting her legs fall away and you take the opportunity to rest your head on the inside of her thigh. Moaning against her skin coming undone on your uncle’s cock. 

“Is that true, do you think we were made for Daemon’s cock?” Rhaenyra’s hand drops from your hair and gently caresses your face. You can hardly process their words, unable to speak, lost in pleasure and too concentrated on the feeling of Daemon pulling out then stuffing you with each thrust. 

“Did the princess forget how to speak?” Daemon teases his hand coming down to slap the meat of your ass

“She’s cock drunk” Rhaenyra laughs, grabbing your hair and pushing you back into her heat, crying out as she does so. Your tongue laps over her absentmindedly but it’s enough to have her legs trembling. 

Roughly she tugs your hair, her moans becoming more frequent and you know she’s just as close to coming undone as you are.

Minutes stretch into hours as you’re used by your sister and her husband as nothing more than an object to achieve their own pleasure. Your eyes are rolling to the back of your head, unable to do anything but writhe in their grasps.  

With a final lap of your tongue over her womanhood Rhaenyra comes undone against your tongue. Like before her thighs press against your head keeping you locked in place. The sounds that escape her are so indecent you would have never thought sounds like that could come out of the realms delight. Greedily you swallow everything she gives you. 

The spell Rhaenyra cast over you is broken when Daemon spanks your ass again, but now you’re able to turn your head to face him. Head laying on Rhaenyra’s thigh looking back to see Daemon smirking, continuing his assault on your sensitive walls, hips slapping against yours. 

“Uncle…Uncle” you breathe out feeling the thundering shockwaves of pleasure crashing over you. Your words do nothing to divert Daemon, who continues to fuck himself into you. 

In a matter of short moments you’re overwhelmed by pleasure—pushed over the edge by a final slap on the ass by Daemon. You muffle your cry into the bed, shaking in elation. Your body feels like it was struck by lightning, overly sensitive by the pleasure that was just ripped out of you. 

Behind you Daemon unsheathes himself from the warmth of your cavern. Without his hands holding your hips up, you drop onto the soft bed. Mind left a puddle of mush as sleep begins to weigh your eyelids. Your consciousness begins to slip into the realm of dreams, not bothering to check on the wellbeing of your sister or uncle. 

The bed dips at both ends and you feel gentle hands adjust you against the bed, laying you onto your back. 

“Come here sweet dragon I’d like you on top when I release my seed”, Daemon says crawling above you. Your eyes flutter open at the sound of his voice and he smiles down at you. 

Rhaenyra laughs from beside you, “You’re insatiable. Can’t you see she is tired” 

He turns to her, “She is free to object,” then returns to you, “Do you object princess?” 

You know you should, not sure if your body could handle any more of what Daemon wanted to give you. He would surely tear you apart, leaving his marks on your body and spent for days to come—the thought sends a thrill of anticipation down your spine. 

His eyes bear into yours and there’s a hint of softness in them you had never seen before. Of the entirety of your stay in Dragonstone he had never once spared you a glace much less held a conversation with you. Yet now he wanted nothing more than to consume you and after the events of the night your mind has gone feeble. And the look in his eyes is all persuasion you needed, through hooded eyes you shake your head. 

“There’s your answer wife” Daemon shoots her a boastful smile, in return she laughs. His attention is drawn back to you with a kiss, it’s short and sweet but you’re far too tired to appreciate it for what it’s worth. 

“Come now,” he pulls you up with him maneuvering you on top of him as he lays with his back against the bed. Without needing to be told what to do you spread your legs straddling his lap. Daemon ushers your hips over his standing manhood, gently pushing the tip of his cock into your drenched entrance. 

Your sensitive walls make it near impossible for you to fully take him. He groans below slowly pushing you further and further onto his cock. Your body shutters as you take all of Daemon, every single one of your nerve endings on fire. 

After a moment his hands fall onto your hips guiding you to rise then fall onto him. The sensation leaves you trembling, unable to hold your head up, it falls on his chest. 

Your eyes are screwed shut feeling an aching pain coiling in your stomach as tears threaten to spill out, “I…I can’t” you almost sob

He shushes you running his hand over your hair in a consoling manner, “You can”

Tears begin to stain your face as your abused walls clutch against Daemon. He thrust into you slowly, grabbing your face so you’d meet his gaze. You’re fully seated on him as a tear falls from your right eye, he brushes a tear from your face bringing your face to his. 

“Such a good girl taking me so well,” he praises, burying his head in the crock of your neck. He leaves a trail of kisses up your jaw, “Could spend the rest of my life buried inside you”

His words shouldn’t thrill you as much as they do, yet you find desire pooling at your feet lulling the coiling pain. Pleasure comes slow and then all at once bliss blossoms through your body, the sensitivity of your previous releases leaving you with a heightened sensitivity. 

Without Daemon’s guidance you lift your hips and sink yourself back down. You moan when Daemon meets your lifted hips, moving your hands onto his chest straightening your back to sit yourself comfortably. It’s like nothing you’ve felt before, you’re completely full of cock—stuffed to the brim. The feeling is addicting as if your sole purpose in life was to be seated on Daemon’s cock. 

He fucks into you quickening his pace, your cries become louder and more frequent completely entranced in a haze of blistering hot euphoria. You’re pressing your hips against his trying to reach your peak again, chasing that intoxicating feeling. Perhaps Rhaenyra’s idea was not so bad afterall, you give them all the heirs they wanted.

“You’ve been such a good girl for us” he says rutting up to you, his grip tightening around your hips. Indenting into the plush of your skin sure to leave bruises. Your mind becomes a flurry filled blur as you begin to bounce on your uncle’s cock. Hands pressed to his chest trying to find some sort of grounding leverage. You find it, if only momentarily before Daemon’s tip brushes against a spongy part of your cunt. 

A loud cry emits from your lips, unable to hold yourself together any longer. Your walls clench around Daemon who digs his fingers further onto your skin. A groan bubbles in his chest; it's almost animalistic as it travels up his throat. Your eyes fall onto his, there's a dangerous edge of hungering lust that has your head spinning. 

A dangerous smile dances on his lips as his hands travel up your chest towards your bouncing breasts. He cups them, holding them for a moment before squeezing. You shiver at the feeling of his warm fingers on your cold nipples. 

Nearly falling apart at the sensation combined with his insistent thrusts. At the speed he’s hammering you with, you know he’s about to reach his peak. Your eyes close shut when his forefinger and thumb clamp around your right nipple rolling it between them. 

You feel your head explode with pleasure, it shutters through you with such intensity your vision goes white. There’s a brief moment where you think Daemon has fucked you blind. But when you see the ‘o’ shape of his mouth you’re almost thankful he did not, loving the image of him left at your mercy. 

The spasming of your high around him pushes Daemon into his own release. Your nails dig into his skin as he spills himself inside of you, his head thrown back in a moan as your cunt milks his cock. 

After a moment his thrusts become shallow as his elation wears off. He smiles triumphantly, hands sliding down to your hips. His glee should fill you with shame—regretful of the sinful actions that took place upon your sister’s marriage bed but instead you feel satisfied.

Breathlessly you collapse on his chest feeling his seed leak out of you. With your head against his chest you think you should run out of the room, flee to the walls of your chambers and hide from the grotesque act you committed. But exhaustion wears on your bones rendering you unable to move. Your legs tremble, tender from the amount of pressure they endured. 

Daemon says something but you don’t catch a single utterance. 

“Mhm” you hum too tired to ask him to repeat himself. He chuckles, readjusting you both on the bed, you moan as he moves—his cock still buried inside you. 

Your eyes close inhaling Daemon, the smell of leather and musk invades your nostrils. You hate that you find it comforting, hate that you want to stay wrapped in the arms of your sister’s husband. A man that was not yours and yet allowed to defile your womanhood. 

As if Daemon could sense your storming thoughts he traces his fingers on the small of your back. His touch brings you a strange solace, tomorrow you would feel conflicted about your blossoming emotions towards your sister and her husband. Tonight you’d sleep sheltered from the storm, tomorrow you’d face the reality of your situation. 

“Are you drifting off to sleep?” Daemon's voice is almost sweet but before you could answer the chamber door opens. The sound of footsteps entering alert you to a new presence but you can’t move limbs weighing you down instead you hide in the crook of Daemon’s neck. Mortified to have been caught in the bed chambers of the future Queen and her King Consort. 

“And where did you run off too?” Daemon nonchalantly asks his fingers still tracing patterns on your skin

“Refreshments my love,” the sound of your sister’s voice comes as a surprise, you hadn’t noticed the absence of her presence. But you’re happy she’s returned, missing the warmth of her body on yours. You lift your head to see her standing at the foot of the bed, a plate full of fruits and a flagon of wine in hand. 

“Who’s insatiable now?”

[daniiye]

Lights Out – Thunderstorm

pairing ; choi seunghyun x reader  ─  genre ; romance  warnings ; none, this is entirely fluff! note ;  around 1.4k words,

It was thundering, raining, and pouring outside. You were at home, standing in your kitchen, searching for a snack while absentmindedly holding the TV remote. Your hands shuffled through the fridge and pantry, but nothing seemed to catch your attention. You hadn’t picked anything yet, still debating what might hit the spot.

Thunder.

You flinched at the loud noise, despite the TV being on. The sound of the thunder spooked you more than you'd expected. 

"Jeez, this weather is going to kill me..." you muttered, brushing off your shirt and shorts, trying to shake off the sudden jump in your nerves. Turning back to face the pantry, your eyes landed on a packet of gummy bears. You reached out to grab it, but just as your fingers brushed the packaging—

The lights went out.

You froze, the sudden darkness swallowing the room. A sharp shriek escaped your lips as the entire house went pitch black. Your heart hammered in your chest, panic surging through you. The storm outside roared louder, and with it, the crushing sense of claustrophobia from the darkness.

You had terrible nyctophobia. Darkness was your enemy, the one thing that always set your nerves on fire. You stumbled, desperate to get to your phone, but your feet betrayed you. Your body felt too heavy, too weak. You couldn’t move.

Suddenly, you heard the sound of a door opening, and the knob turning. Your heart nearly stopped.

You weren’t alone.

Without thinking, you lunged toward the door, pushing it back with all the strength you could muster, screeching as your mind spiraled out of control. 

"Jagi!"

The voice—familiar, warm, and soothing—cut through your terror like a lifeline.

"Stop!" Seunghyun’s voice rang with authority as he grabbed your hands after getting through the door, holding you firmly.

You stopped fighting, your breath still shaky, your chest tight. His grip softened as he pulled you into his chest, wrapping his arms around you with warmth and certainty. His heart beat steadily against your ear, grounding you.

"Don’t scare me like that," you said, your voice still trembling as you clung to him, the fear still evident in your shaky breath. Seunghyun sighed softly, pulling you even closer as if to make sure you knew he wasn’t going anywhere. "Sorry, jagi," he muttered, his fingers ruffling your hair gently. "I finished work early and I wanted to see you."

You held onto him like your life depended on it, your body slowly starting to relax in the safety of his arms. The storm outside still raged, but here, in this moment, you felt shielded from the darkness. His touch was soothing, grounding, and as you felt his warmth, the trembling in your body started to subside, though your heart was still racing. "I... I don’t like being alone in the dark," you confessed softly, your voice barely above a whisper.

Seunghyun's arms tightened around you, his voice low and reassuring "I know, I’m not going anywhere." 

Seunghyun gently tried to guide you toward the couch, his hand resting on your back as he took slow steps. "Come on, let’s sit down, jagi," he murmured softly, but you didn’t move. Your body was still trembling, too shaken to even consider standing on your own. He sighed, his eyes softening with understanding. With no hesitation, he bent down and carefully lifted you into his arms. Your legs instinctively wrapped around his waist, and your hands found their way around his neck as he adjusted you in his hold. Your face pressed against his neck, your eyes shut tightly, not wanting to face the overwhelming darkness.

Seunghyun’s warmth surrounded you as you clung to him, your breath shaky but gradually slowing down in the comfort of his embrace. He walked slowly toward the couch, cradling you in his arms like you were the most fragile thing in the world. 

As he finally settled down on the couch, carefully adjusting you so that you were nestled against him. You sat on his lap, your head resting in the crook of his neck. Your arms were wrapped tightly around his neck, your legs draped securely around his waist. The storm outside still raged, the thunder rumbling, but with Seunghyun there, the darkness didn’t feel quite as suffocating. It felt like, for the first time tonight, you could breathe without fear creeping in.

His hands gently rubbed your back, as if he could chase away all the fear you’d been holding onto. Seunghyun let out a soft chuckle as you held onto him, clearly sensing how tightly you were clinging. "You know, jagi," he teased lightly, his voice playful, "I’m not going anywhere. You don’t need to strangle me." 

You pulled your head back to face Seunghyun, opening your mouth to respond. "I’m not strangling you—" but before you could finish, a deafening thunderclap shook the room, the sound so loud it made your heart race and without a second thought, you immediately pressed your face back into the crook of his neck, your arms tightening around him like a vice once more. Your body went rigid, and all the teasing, all the laughter, disappeared in an instant, replaced by a familiar wave of panic.

Seunghyun let out a soft laugh, though it was filled with understanding. "Guess I spoke too soon," he said, a playful smile tugging at the corner of his lips. He gently cupped the back of your head with one hand, his other arm still around your waist, holding you as you buried yourself back into him.

After a while, you slowly sat up, still nestled against Seunghyun’s chest but now more aware of your surroundings. You glanced over at him, watching as he scrolled through his phone, his thumb swiping casually over the screen. But just as you were about to say something, the sudden rumble of distant thunder caused you to flinch and in that brief moment of shock, you lost your balance and teetered backward, your body swaying dangerously.

Seunghyun’s eyes shot up from his phone, his hand instinctively reaching out to steady you. "Woah, easy there," he said, his voice both surprised and amused as he caught your waist, preventing you from toppling over.

"I didn’t expect that," you mumbled, cheeks flushed with embarrassment, though the situation wasn’t entirely your fault. Seunghyun couldn’t help but chuckle softly. "You really are a handful, jagi," he teased, his grip tightening around you as he helped you sit upright again. "One minute you’re clinging to me like your life depends on it, and the next you’re trying to take a dive off the couch." His smile softened as he noticed your slightly flustered expression, still recovering from the moment of near-falling. He leaned in closer, his gaze steady and reassuring. Then, without warning, he placed his hands gently on your thighs, guiding you back toward him, closing the small gap between you two.

"You know," he said, his voice low and a little more intimate now, "I think you need to stay a little closer to me." You blinked, feeling a slight flush spread across your cheeks as he held you there, his hands lightly squeezing your thighs as he moved you gently, his eyes never leaving yours. "I can’t help but worry about you," Seunghyun murmured, his voice soft but sincere. "Especially when you’re like this…’’ You swallowed, meeting his gaze. "I’m okay," you said, your voice a little quieter now.

You wrapped your arms under Seunghyun’s, leaning into his chest, your head finding its way into the crook of his neck. Feeling your eyelids grow heavy, the tension in your body unwinding completely as his gentle hold on you cradled you like you were something precious. The rhythmic rise and fall of his chest was calming, and your breath evened out as you slowly drifted off to sleep, the last thoughts in your mind a peaceful hum of contentment.

Seunghyun remained still, his arms never leaving their place around you, and he quietly looked down at you with a soft, affectionate gaze. Seeing you so calm, so peaceful, his heart swelled with tenderness. His fingers lightly brushed through your hair, his touch soft and comforting. He could tell you needed the rest, especially after everything tonight.

"Mmmm... I'll wake you up later," he whispered softly, his voice full of warmth as he carefully adjusted you so you were more comfortably nestled against him. He let you stay in the quiet serenity of your slumber, the storm outside gradually fading into a distant background hum. He kept you close, ensuring you felt nothing but safety and warmth, content to let you rest in his arms for as long as you needed.

[itsreallynotriri]

Thunder

After James and Lily’s passing, they entrust their son, Harry, to the care of James’ sister, Y/N, and her husband, Regulus Black, who raise him as their own.

[regulus black x fem potter! reader]

warnings: fluff

One stormy night, the wind howled through the trees, rattling the windowpanes as rain splattered against the glass in uneven bursts. The heavy clouds outside swallowed the moonlight, casting the house into near darkness. Inside his small bedroom, four-year-old Harry Potter tossed and turned, his tiny fingers gripping the soft fabric of his blanket.

Then, a particularly loud crack of thunder split the night, shaking the walls with its ferocity. Harry gasped, his heart hammering in his chest. The sound was too much—too loud, too sudden, too scary. His small body tensed, and tears pricked at the corners of his emerald-green eyes. He sat up quickly, the dim glow of the enchanted nightlight barely doing anything to push back the shadows that seemed to loom larger with every flash of lightning.

Without a second thought, he flung aside his blanket and clutched his beloved stuffed stag, a gift from his Uncle Siri, one he never went to bed without. Holding the plush toy tightly against his chest, he scrambled out of bed, his little feet hitting the cool wooden floor. The hallway stretched ahead of him, dark and unfamiliar in the storm’s flickering light, but he didn’t hesitate. He knew the way by heart.

Each step was cautious yet determined as he padded down the corridor, his breath coming in quiet, hurried puffs. The house groaned under the storm’s weight, and another rumble of thunder sent him into a near run. By the time he reached the large wooden door of his baba and mama’s room, his tiny hands were shaking. With effort, he pushed the door open just enough to slip inside, the comforting scent of home immediately wrapping around him like a warm embrace.

Blinking in the darkness, his bright green eyes searched for them, his safe place. The familiar figures of Y/N and Regulus lay curled together beneath the blankets, the rhythmic sound of their breathing a soft lull against the storm’s fury outside. He didn’t hesitate. With a soft sniffle, he scrambled up onto the bed, crawling between them and pressing himself into the warmth of their bodies.

“Mama… Baba…” he whispered sleepily, his voice small and frightened. “The sky is loud.”

Regulus stirred first, groggy but instinctively protective, his arm curling around Harry and pulling him close. “Mmm…” he hummed in acknowledgment, his voice thick with sleep. “It’s alright, Harry”

Y/N shifted as well, barely opening her eyes before instinctively reaching out, her fingers brushing through Harry’s wild, untamed hair. The feel of his small frame trembling slightly made her frown, and she gently pressed a kiss to his forehead. “You’re safe, love,” she murmured, her voice warm and reassuring despite her drowsiness. “The thunder can’t hurt you.”

Regulus, still half-asleep, let out a low hum of agreement, his hand rubbing slow, soothing circles on Harry’s back. “Just the clouds talking to each other,” he murmured.

Harry buried his face against Y/N’s side, his small fingers clutching at the fabric of her nightshirt. “Don’t want the sky to talk anymore…” he mumbled, his words slightly muffled by sleep.

Y/N chuckled softly, exchanging a knowing glance with Regulus over their son’s head. Thunderstorms had never bothered her much, nor did they seem to faze Regulus, but she knew to Harry, that each roar of thunder felt like a monster lurking in the dark.

“Well then,” she whispered, brushing her fingers through his hair in slow, comforting strokes. “We’ll just have to drown it out, won’t we?”

Harry peeked up at her with tired, curious eyes. “How?” he asked softly, still gripping his stuffed stag.

“With a bedtime story, of course,” she said, her voice gentle and sure.

Regulus gave a sleepy chuckle, shifting slightly but not letting go of Harry. “Hmm… make it a good one,” he murmured, already half-asleep again.

Y/N smiled as she began weaving a tale, her voice soft and rhythmic, each word forming a safe, warm cocoon around them. Harry’s little body relaxed further, his breathing evening out as his eyelids drooped heavily. The storm raged on outside, but he felt safe here, nestled between the two people who loved him most.

Within minutes, his quiet, steady breaths told them he was asleep, his tiny fingers still curled around Y/N’s nightshirt, his stuffed stag tucked under his chin.

Regulus let out a contented sigh, tightening his hold on both of them before whispering, “He’s ours, isn’t he?”

Y/N smiled, pressing a soft kiss to Harry’s head. “Always,” she whispered back.

As the storm continued outside, their little family slept peacefully, wrapped in warmth, love, and the quiet promise of safety.

-> next chapter

[disturbedbeautywrites]

Nightmares - Tyler Owens

The air was muggy and heavy, heat coursing through it. You could smell the tornado coming in the air; a smell that was 100% Oklahoma during the spring. The sky was a dark black and the clouds were forming into a funnel cloud above your head. The rain was slow to come but was coming down now. “Baby, my rigs rated for an EF1. I’ll be okay.” Tyler’s words echoed in your mind as the sirens started to blare and suddenly you were in an empty field.

Well, it wasn’t completely empty. The all too familiar red truck was in the middle as the tornado was descending from the sky. The tornado was a lot bigger than you thought it would be and it was headed straight for your boyfriend. “Ty!” You were calling out to him, the wind stealing your voice and taking custody of it. “Ty! You gotta go!” You were screaming at them top of your lungs, watching as the darkness enveloped his truck.

You were screaming until you were hoarse, watching in a panicked state as your boyfriend’s truck got picked up by the winds and force of the beast that was on top of him now. It picked the truck up and threw it like it was a hot wheel-

You shot up in bed, tears rolling down your cheeks. Your heart was absolutely hammering in your chest and your breaths were coming out in ragged, uneven pants. You could feel Tyler reaching out for you, starting to worry at the lack of your presence. “Baby?” His voice was deep and laced with sleep, his hand resting on your knee as he slowly pulled himself up in bed.

He heard your sniffles and your uneven breathing, his eyes snapping open as he got noticeably worried. “Hey, hey. Talk to me.” His words were soft as he enveloped you in a warm embrace, pulling you into his body. You were shaking and almost unable to speak, the dream right on the cusp of your memory. You could’ve even think of it without more tears streaming down your cheeks.

You let out a soft sob, your chest heaving. You knew he had a dangerous job and he loved it. But, you couldn’t help the fact that you worried about him. You had been through tornadoes before and knew just how dangerous they could be. “It got you. The tornado got you.” Your voice was panicky and cracking as you looked at him, a look that absolutely broke his heart. He knew you worried but he didn’t know it was this bad.

“C’mere..” He murmured out the words as he pulled you into his body, his own leaning over you as he coaxed you to lay down beside him. “No tornado is scary enough to get me.” He teased and sighed when he saw the glare you leveled his way, his fingers brushing through the hair that was stuck to your sweaty forehead. “My perfect girl.. always so worried about me..” He whispered the words as he leaned in to kiss your cheek, his nose nuzzling against your clammy skin as you tried to push him away. But, it was to no avail.

He held your hips, pulling your back against his bare chest. He held you close, this arms enveloping you in a tight hug. He was grounding you and you could feel the air slipping back into your lungs. They were no longer burning and you could feel them expanding now with each and every breath you took. You could feel his arms massaging your shoulders and gently running down to your wrists as he tried to soothe you even more.

He pulled the blankets up over the two of you as you settled back into his warmth, feeling the thoughts of the nightmares slowly slipping away. Tyler was your person and it was even more obvious in moments like this. He was allowing his hands to soothe down over your skin, sliding up under the big t shirt of his you were wearing. “I love you.” You breathed the words out as you allowed your eyes to slowly slide closed, relaxing into his touch. “I love you more, angel.” He brushed his nose against the shell of your ear before he peppered kisses along your jaw. “Get some rest. I’m right here.” And you could finally feel yourself relaxing enough to sleep, knowing that he was safe and right next to you.

[asmrgiorelaxme]

Hammering RAIN Sound & Distant TRAIN Soothing Sleep Hygiene and Mental health + Teen Sleep tips

[bambieyedoll]

WHEN THE WOLF BOWS .・。.・゜✫・゜・

summary: she’s spent her whole life afraid of wolves. he’s spent his whole life waiting for her. when fate ties them together, love must fight to be louder than fear.

pairing: sam uley x fem!reader

word count: 2,8k

warnings/notes: short writing, angst and fluff, reader is afraid of wolves, mentions of trauma, desperate and begging sam, mix of headcanons and a detailed scene.

masterlist | check out my other work !

sam knew immediately the imprint was different the second he saw you —the pull was there, magnetic and undeniable— but when you flinched away from a dog walking past you on the beach, he understood something was deeply wrong.

his heart cracked a little, seeing the fear flash across your face.

he learned about your childhood trauma from embry, who overheard you mentioning it once in passing: a terrifying encounter with an aggressive wolf while you were camping as a kid. it left deep scars you never fully healed from.

“she’s scared of wolves, man. like, seriously scared.”

sam felt trapped for the first time since phasing —desperate to protect you, desperate to be close, but terrified of what you’d think if you knew the truth.

he swore he’d move slowly, no matter how much the imprint ached inside him.

at first, sam approached you like he was trying not to spook a deer. gentle smiles. careful distance. his voice always low, soothing.

“i’m not here to hurt you,” he’d murmur whenever you seemed overwhelmed, “i promise, sweetheart.”

the more you opened up to him, the more sam fell. you were kind, clever, so soft-hearted despite your fears —and every day, it killed him a little more that he couldn’t be honest about what he was.

sam refusing to phase anywhere near you. even if he needed to. even if it hurt.

he would not risk you seeing the wolf and losing the safe place he was trying so hard to build between you.

“i’ll tell her when she’s ready,” he promised himself, clenching his fists until his knuckles went white.

when you eventually admitted your fear to him —cheeks burning, voice trembling— sam just listened. no judgement. no pity. just silent, steady acceptance.

“i don’t think i could ever be near a wolf again,” you whispered, shame creeping up your spine.

sam touched your hand so gently you barely felt it. “then you won’t have to,” he promised.

the night he realized he had to tell you the truth nearly broke him. he sat awake for hours, fists tangled in his hair, replaying every way you might scream, cry, run.

but the imprint pulsed inside him—trust her. she’s stronger than her fear.

nothing could prepare him for the moment you finally found out. it didn’t happen the way he planned.

the storm hit earlier than anyone expected. one minute you were sitting on sam’s porch, laughing at the sound of thunder rumbling far away, and the next, the sky cracked open, heavy rain hammering down.

“stay here,” sam said, already standing, voice steady. “i’ll grab something to cover us.”

you nodded, hugging your arms to your chest against the sudden chill. you loved storms —normally— but something about the sudden drop in pressure made you uneasy, your skin prickling with a warning you couldn’t name.

you didn’t mean to follow him.

you just didn’t like being left alone in the sudden dark.

padding inside the house, calling softly for him, you heard something —a low, almost animalistic growl— from deeper in the hallway.

“sam?”

no answer.

the next few seconds were a blur.

you turned the corner toward the back door and froze—

sam was there, or —no— not sam —something huge, something black and hulking, crouched just beneath the porch light, the shape of it flickering like a nightmare against the rain.

a wolf.

a massive wolf.

your mind short-circuited, instincts screaming before your brain even caught up.

you didn’t see the way the wolf’s black eyes widened —how it stumbled back, trying to make itself smaller— because your body was already moving, heart slamming against your ribs, feet pounding the slick floor as you ran.

you didn’t hear the desperate, broken whine the wolf let out as you bolted into the woods.

you just ran.

branches slapped at your arms, the rain blinding you, but none of it mattered. you had to get away —from the house, from that thing— you had to move before it came after you, before it—

“Y/N!”

you choked on a breath as you heard sam’s voice behind you —not the growl, not the snarl you expected— but his voice. rough. frantic. human.

“please—wait—!”

you stumbled to a halt without meaning to, panting, turning back just enough to see him—

sam.

soaked to the bone, barefoot, standing in the mud, his hands raised like he was approaching something wild and wounded.

“it’s me,” he panted, voice cracking. “it’s still me, baby—”

he took a single step closer and you flinched so hard it was like you’d been struck.

the pain on sam’s face was worse than anything you’d ever seen.

he dropped to his knees in the mud without hesitation, as if lowering himself would make him less terrifying —as if it could undo the sheer panic clawing up your spine.

“i didn’t mean—” his voice broke, “—god, i would never hurt you. please, you have to believe me. you have to—”

you shook your head, backing another step away, still trembling, too many emotions strangling your throat.

sam’s face crumpled like he’d been punched.

the imprint —that golden, glowing thing tying him to you— howled inside his chest, raw and desperate, feeling you pulling away, feeling your fear—of him.

“i’m so sorry,” he whispered hoarsely, rain dripping from his hair into his eyes. “i should’ve told you. i should’ve told you, sweetheart. i swear to you, i’m still me. the wolf—it’s part of me, but it would never hurt you. i would never hurt you.”

the woods were so quiet around you both that you could hear his breathing —shaky, uneven, pleading.

you wanted to believe him. you did.

but the memory of the black wolf standing where sam had been —the fear still flooding your system— kept your feet rooted in place.

sam didn’t move. he stayed kneeling there, hands open, throat working around a thousand apologies he couldn’t force past the lump in his throat.

if you asked him to walk away—

if you asked him to leave you—

he would. even if it killed him.

because seeing you terrified of him —his imprint— was worse than any death he could imagine.

the rain kept falling. hard and cold, soaking through your clothes, chilling you to the bone. but you barely noticed.

all you could feel was the pounding of your heart —the twisting, wrenching confusion inside your chest— and sam’s voice, still raw and broken, repeating again and again:

“please, sweetheart. please.”

“i would never hurt you.”

“i’m so sorry.”

you stared at him. at the man you trusted with every piece of you. at the man you loved without even realizing when it had happened. and yet…

there had been a wolf standing there. massive. terrifying. how could both things be true?

your legs shook. your body screamed at you to keep running. but your heart —the part of you that had always felt safe with sam— hesitated.

he wasn’t chasing you.

he wasn’t angry.

he wasn’t trying to force you closer.

he was kneeling in the mud. shivering. silent now. waiting like a man on the edge of a cliff, begging silently for a chance not to fall.

something inside you cracked.

“sam,” you whispered, barely audible over the rain.

his head snapped up instantly, eyes wide, desperate —but he still didn’t move, didn’t dare.

you swallowed hard, your throat burning. every part of you was screaming in confusion, in fear.

“i don’t understand,” you choked out, taking a stumbling half-step backward. “how— what—”

the words collapsed in your mouth, too huge to untangle.

sam stayed perfectly still, his bare hands open, palms facing you like he was trying to show he was harmless. his voice broke when he spoke:

“i never wanted you to find out this way,” he rasped. “i wanted to tell you. i swear to you, y/n. i was trying to find the right time. the right way.”

you flinched back a step without thinking, and sam’s face crumpled —but he still didn’t rise. still didn’t chase.

“i’m not…” he swallowed hard. “i’m not human. not fully. i’m—” his voice cracked. “i’m a shapeshifter. a wolf. part of an old tribe meant to protect this land. protect everyone.”

you shook your head, dizzy. “that thing—”

“me,” he said quickly, urgently. “that was me. i would never hurt you. i could never. even like that, y/n. especially like that.”

the ache in his voice —the desperation— made your chest tighten painfully.

you looked at him, this man who had only ever been gentle with you, whose touch had always steadied you, whose voice could chase nightmares away.

you thought of the way the wolf had folded into the ground, trying to look smaller, less frightening, even as it towered above you.

it didn’t make sense.

and yet… it did.

some part of you —the deepest, most instinctive part— had always known there was something bigger about sam. something ancient. something untouchable.

now you understood.

your hands trembled at your sides, heart hammering so hard it made you lightheaded.

sam lifted his gaze —slowly, pleadingly— but stayed kneeling, rainwater dripping from his hair, his clothes clinging to his body like a second skin.

“i understand if you can’t—” his voice broke, and he squeezed his eyes shut like he couldn’t bear to see the answer on your face. “if you can’t love me like this.”

“i’ll give you anything you need—space, time, anything— but please,” his voice broke, raw and pleading, “i’ll be yours however you need me.”

your heart twisted violently.

because sam uley —strong, steady sam— looked like he was the one about to fall apart now.

you stood there for a long moment, rain running down your face like tears, fists clenching and unclenching at your sides. fear and instinct gnawed at your ribs, but something softer pressed against it. something louder, deeper —the way your heart had always known sam even before your mind caught up.

the bond between you —the pull that had always felt like home— was still there.

strong. unbreakable. true.

tears blurred your vision as you stumbled a half-step closer, your hands shaking so badly you almost missed when you reached for him.

sam froze —a tiny, wounded sound escaping him, like he couldn’t believe you were touching him— but he didn’t dare move, didn’t even breathe.

“i’m scared,” you said honestly, voice trembling. “i’m still scared.”

you watched the light flicker in his eyes —the way his whole body seemed to wilt— but you didn’t stop.

“but i’m trying,” you whispered. “because it’s you.”

sam made a broken, desperate sound —half-sob, half-laugh— and dropped his forehead against your hands where they cupped his cheeks, like he couldn’t believe you were still there.

you threaded your fingers into his rain-wet hair, grounding yourself in the familiar feel of him, and choked on a sob of your own.

“i love you,” you managed, tears slipping down your face.

sam let out a low, shuddering breath —like he’d been drowning and you were the air he’d been clawing for— and without thinking, he wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you into him with a gentleness that broke your heart all over again.

you buried your face in his shoulder, clutching him like a lifeline, feeling his heartbeat hammering wildly against your palms.

sam buried his face in your hair, his whole body shaking with the force of his emotions.

you felt his lips brush your temple —featherlight— and heard him murmur, over and over, like a prayer:

“i’m yours. i’m yours. i’m yours.”

and as the rain washed over you, cold and clean and endless, you held onto each other like you could outrun the whole world —like nothing else mattered but this.

because despite the fear, despite the shock still burning in your veins— you knew one thing with absolute certainty.

you would never leave him.

and sam —fierce, desperate, heart-on-his-sleeve sam— would never stop fighting for you.

sam doesn’t let go of you for a long time.

even when the rain soaks you both to the bone, even when you’re shivering, he just holds you tighter, one big hand cradling the back of your head like he’s afraid you’ll slip away if he loosens his grip even a little.

he speaks so softly to you afterward.

his voice is usually deep and commanding when he talks to the pack, but with you now? it’s a low, almost reverent murmur against your skin. “you’re safe. i’ve got you. i swear, sweetheart, i’ve got you.”

he wraps you in his jacket before taking you anywhere. the moment he realizes you’re cold, he immediately shrugs off his own jacket —not caring that he’s soaked— and gently wraps it around you, tucking it close like he’s shielding you from the entire world.

sam moves slower around you for days afterward. no sudden movements, no raised voice, no flashing irritation —he’s so aware of your lingering fear.

every time he steps close, he hesitates first, giving you the choice to meet him halfway.

he asks permission for everything.

before touching your hand. before sitting too close. before leaning in.

you can see the question in his eyes every time: is this okay? are you sure?

and the tiny, grateful smile that blooms when you say yes.

the pack teases him about being so soft around you, but no one says anything twice —the look sam gives them could kill.

cuddles are a big thing. sam always keeps you on the side of him that’s human and warm, holding you like you’re something fragile and precious.

“you’re safe with me,” he murmurs against your hair. “always.”

sam gets incredibly tense anytime someone in the pack even jokes about phasing near you.

like —deadly serious.

“not around her,” he growls lowly, “or you’ll answer to me.”

it’s not even a threat. it’s a promise.

when you start spending nights at his house, sam makes sure everything feels safe.

no wolf-related books. no forest-y paintings. no sudden noises.

it’s warm, quiet, gentle —like he built a world where nothing could touch you.

sam tries so hard not to fall apart when you tell him you trust him.

he’s very slow with physical affection at first —not because he doesn’t want to touch you (he aches to), but because he’s terrified of making you feel trapped or cornered.

every hug, every brush of his fingers, every kiss is offered like a gift you’re free to accept or turn away.

if you ever have nightmares, sam is up in seconds.

no hesitation. no grogginess. just pure instinct to protect.

“it’s okay,” he murmurs, pulling you into his lap. “you’re safe. nothing’s gonna get past me, alright?”

and he rocks you gently until you fall asleep again, refusing to let you go.

but you slowly start to notice how gentle sam is —even in his strength.

the way he’s careful not to slam doors. the way he makes himself smaller when you’re upset.

the way he’d rather break himself apart than ever scare you.

you are sam’s entire world.

he can’t stop looking at you.

there’s a new kind of softness in the way he watches you —like every time you glance at him, you catch him memorizing you.

she stayed. she stayed. it hums under his skin like a prayer.

sam smells different to you after that night.

there’s something about the bond between you that deepens after you faced your fear —now you can almost feel him in your chest. his scent is grounding: pine needles, rain, the worn cotton of his jacket. home.

little, wordless moments mean the most to him. you touching his hand first. you leaning into him without hesitation.

you falling asleep against him and sighing like you’re at peace.

those tiny moments? they destroy him in the best way.

if you tug on the hem of his shirt, or hide your face in his chest, or climb into his lap without a word —sam just melts. his whole body relaxes like this is it. this is all i need.

sam never pressures you to see his wolf form again.

if you ever want to —if you ever ask— he’ll do it. but until then, he makes it crystal clear: you are enough, just as you are, without bravery or proving anything.

the first time you ask him to shift again (weeks later), he almost cries.

not because you aren’t scared anymore —but because you trust him enough to try.

and when he shifts in front of you again, carefully, slowly—

this time, you don’t flinch.

you step right into him.

bury your hands in his fur.

feel the rumble of his heart under your palms.

and sam —the wolf, the man, your sam— whines low in his throat and nuzzles into your touch like you’re the only thing that matters in the whole world.

one day, you half-joke that he’s like your “guard dog,” and sam gives you this little crooked smile you’ve never seen before.

“guard wolf,” he corrects gently, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “but only for you.”

he swears —deep down— that he will never, ever let the world hurt you again.

no matter what it takes.

[reveryfics]

Symbiotic

Eddie Brock x Male reader

Summary: Eddie hadn't heard from you in months, little does he know, you now have your own symbiote problem.

A/N: I feel like I'm not doing my best compared to when I first started, so hopefully getting back into Eddie Brock fics helps.

The alleyway reeked of stale beer and something metallic, the scent clinging to the damp air like a shroud. Rain lashed down, each drop exploding against the grimy pavement, mirroring the frantic hammering of your own heart. Your body, slick with sweat and the icy rain, writhed against the unforgiving concrete. A sob tore from your throat, raw and guttural, as your lungs seized, gasping for air like a drowning man.

Panic clawed at your throat, a cold, icy tendril squeezing the life from you. Your vision swam, the world blurring into an abstract canvas of grey and black. Each breath was a battle, a desperate struggle against an unseen force constricting your chest. It felt as though something alien, something monstrous, was burrowing beneath your skin, twisting and turning within your very core.

A wave of nausea washed over you, and a thick, oily substance bubbled from your mouth, tasting of iron and decay. It slithered back down your throat, leaving an acrid taste that burned like fire. You could feel it, a subtle, insidious movement beneath your skin, a dark pulse throbbing in rhythm with your own terrified heartbeat. It was moving, slithering towards your center, a malevolent presence taking root within you.

Then, a wave of icy numbness washed over you, extinguishing the fire in your veins. Your body went rigid, every muscle seizing.

You jolted upright, clawing at the brick wall, nails digging into the rough surface, leaving bloody crescents. You gasped for air, your lungs burning, your heart pounding like a war drum against your ribs. It felt like a fever dream, a hallucinatory nightmare birthed from the depths of your own psyche.

Shaking, you stumbled out of the alleyway, the rain plastering your hair to your face. You passed Mrs. Chen's convenience store, her worried calls falling on deaf ears. Her voice, however, was distorted, warped into a mocking echo, a grotesque parody of concern. It was as if something else was speaking through her, trying to familiarize itself with you, to claim you as its own.

Keys fumbled in your trembling hands, finally slipping into the lock of your apartment door. You stumbled inside, slamming the door shut behind you with a violent thud that shook the very foundation of the building. Rushing to the bathroom, you collapsed to your knees before the toilet, a torrent of thick, black liquid erupting from your throat.

The world spun, a dizzying kaleidoscope of colors. You felt lightheaded, weak, as if the very ground beneath you was shifting and swaying. Desperate, you tore off your clothes, the sodden fabric hitting the floor with a sickening thud. You turned on the shower, the icy water a stark contrast to the burning sensation that consumed you.

As the water cascaded over your skin, washing away the grime and the chilling fear, you caught a glimpse of yourself in the mirror. A wave of horror washed over you. Black, veiny tendrils, like the roots of some monstrous plant, pulsed beneath your skin, then vanished as quickly as they appeared.

"I'm going crazy," you whispered, your voice hoarse and trembling. "It's just… it's just in my head."

You stood beneath the icy spray, the cold water doing little to soothe the burning sensation within. Then, the insistent ringing of your phone shattered the silence. You fumbled for it, your fingers clumsy and trembling. The caller ID displayed "Eddie." You hesitated, fear gripping you. Answering felt like an act of defiance, like inviting the unseen entity within you to take control.

You hung up, the sharp, metallic taste of fear filling your mouth. You glanced back at the mirror, your breath catching in your throat. Something was watching you, a malevolent intelligence lurking behind your own reflection. A scream, raw and primal, erupted from your lips as you stumbled backward, your head colliding violently with the tile wall.

The fluorescent lights of the convenience store buzzed overhead, casting long, skeletal shadows across the aisles. Rain lashed against the windows, mirroring the storm raging inside you. It had been months since the incident, a gaping wound in the fabric of your life. You'd become a recluse, your apartment a tomb where you barely slept, the only excursions forced by the gnawing hunger that clawed at your insides.

Weight had melted away, leaving you gaunt and hollow-eyed. Your voice, once a vibrant melody, was now a hoarse croak, a testament to the silent screams that echoed within. Eddie's calls went unanswered, his texts unanswered, his knocks on the door met with the cold, dead silence of an empty apartment. You'd even changed the locks, a desperate attempt to keep him away, to keep yourself hidden from his concerned gaze, from the pity that would surely drown you.

Sleep offered no respite. Nightmares, vivid and terrifying, haunted your dreams. You'd wake drenched in sweat, gasping for air, the memory of the…thing…still fresh in your mind. The thought of seeking help was paralyzing. They'd lock you away, label you delusional, a victim of your own fragile mind. But then, you saw it. Agony, as it called itself, a grotesque alien entity, a symbiote that had chosen you as its host.

Your body, weak and broken, was the only vessel it could find. A desperate act of survival. And despite the agonizing toll it took, you became the perfect host, a conduit for its otherworldly power.

Months later, you found yourself on the sidewalk, a plastic bag overflowing with groceries from Mrs. Chen's clutched tightly in your numb fingers. "Hey!" A voice, familiar and yet distant, sliced through the air.

You froze, your heart hammering against your ribs. Slowly, you turned, your eyes meeting Eddie's. He was breathless, his face a mask of worry, his eyes wide with a mixture of relief and something akin to…fear? "Jesus Christ, I thought you were dead!" he gasped, his voice cracking.

"Eddie…" you whispered, the word catching in your throat. Guilt, a suffocating weight, pressed down on you. How could you possibly explain? How could you tell your best friend that you were now host to an alien entity? "I'm so…"

"Sorry?!" Eddie's voice was a raw, wounded thing. "Sorry is all you have to say?"

You took a hesitant step forward, reaching out a trembling hand towards him. Words failed you, so you simply took his hand, your fingers interlacing with his, and pulled him towards your apartment.

Inside, Eddie paced like a caged animal, his voice a torrent of anguish as he poured out his frustration. "Months! You disappeared for months without a word!" He was unlike anything you'd ever seen him – vulnerable, raw, utterly heartbroken. And it hurt. It hurt knowing that you were the cause of this pain.

He stopped pacing, his gaze locking with yours. "I…I have this…" you began, your voice trailing off.

And then, it happened. Agony, its form shifting and coalescing, materialized before you, its head emerging from your shoulder. But it wasn't alone. From Eddie's chest, another symbiote, sleek and obsidian, erupted, mirroring Agony's movements.

Eddie's eyes widened in disbelief. This wasn't supposed to happen. You weren't supposed to become a host. He'd always been so cautious, so protective of you. He'd even kept his distance at the beginning of his and Venom's symbiosis, terrified of hurting you, of becoming the reason for your demise. "H-how?" he whispered, his voice thick with shock.

You recounted that night, the agonizing pain, the suffocating fear that had consumed you for months. You didn't care what happened to you. You just wanted to survive. You didn't want to hurt him. But you had no idea he was also…bonded.

You sat in a heavy silence, the air thick with unspoken emotions. You talked, not just about the symbiotes, not just about the pain and fear, but about everything. About your lives, your dreams, your fears. And then, you said it. "I…I love you, Eddie."

He was speechless, his eyes wide with a mixture of surprise and disbelief. "I…I…" He stammered, unable to find the words.

"Eddie," Venom hissed inside his mind, its voice a low growl. "You are being a complete pussy! Tell him! We love him!"

Eddie rubbed his face, his gaze finally meeting yours. "We…I…I love you too," he admitted, his voice barely a whisper. "That's why I never said anything. I was scared. Scared of ruining things. Like I did with Annie."

You nodded, understanding the fear that mirrored your own. "I understand, Eddie. I do."

Another silence fell, heavy and awkward. Then, his hand found yours, his fingers intertwining with yours. "Interspecies boyfriends?" he joked, a hint of a smile gracing his lips.

"Wouldn't have it any other way," you replied, a genuine smile finally breaking through the gloom that had settled over you.

The rain continued to fall outside, but inside, a different kind of storm was brewing – a storm of hope, of love, of a future that, despite the challenges, held the promise of something beautiful.

[pickledillytea]

Photo credit to: qvert.tumblr.com Thank you for your amazing art and for inspiring me to write my first Arcane/CaitVi one-shot.

~*~

MIDNIGHT RAIN

The rain was pelting down outside, hammering against the glass windows and at that hour it was a deafening sound echoing throughout the Kiramman Mansion. Some people would find comfort in the rain, find that it actually soothes them but for Caitlyn it was a maddening sound. A sound that kept her from drifting to an eventual slumber. 

She had stared at the ceiling for what felt like hours, Vi draped over her like a safety blanket but the warmth emanating from her lover wasn’t enough to lull her to sleep, this time. She had shimmied herself from Vi’s arms, careful not to wake her and started to wander around the dark hallways of the mansion, no particular destination in mind.

Caitlyn of course having been raised in this house knew the ins and outs like the back of her hand but there were certain rooms she just didn’t enter anymore. Particularly those her mother frequented. It brought back too many memories but tonight she felt braver than usual. She stopped outside the music room and caressed the golden door handle, slowly twisting the knob until it creaked open, the hinges coming to life after not having been in use for months. 

The moonlight was strong enough to penetrate through the cloudy black skies and heavy downpour illuminating the room enough through the open curtains for Caitlyn to make her way around without bumping into anything.

She still felt her mother’s presence around the house but she especially could feel it in this room tonight. The faint smell of her distinctive perfume lingered and Caitlyn could see her mother almost as clear as day behind the grand piano, playing sweet melodies that had Caitlyn in awe and her dad in love. 

So much so fascinated by her mother’s talent that she sat her down one day and taught Caitlyn to read music and play her own melodies all before the age of 6 which she did with an expertise that could only be associated with being a Kiramman. The best of the best as some would say. But Caitlyn was just very determined from a very young age. 

Looking at the instrument now only brought a cloud of sadness over her. She hadn’t touched the piano in years and wondered if she even remembers how to play. She drags her finger across the top of the now dusty black hood of the piano, leaving a clean trail in its wake. Apparently no one has bothered to clean in here either. 

She hesitantly sits down on the cushioned chair, carefully lifting the lid. That too creaks. She runs her slender fingers over the black and white keys, scared to press down. It was probably out of tune by now anyway.

She tests her theory by pressing the first chord she ever learned and to her surprise it rang out clear and in tune. She tries another for good measure and sure enough that too is perfect. She then places both hands on the keys like she was taught and plays the first song she ever learned from her mother. A slow, sweet melody that brings tears to her eyes.

“I didn’t know you could play.” A raspy and sleepy voice disrupts her playing.

Caitlyn immediately drops her hands as if she was caught doing something she shouldn’t and turns just as Vi slowly walks over to her and sits besides her facing away from the piano.

“Don’t stop. It’s a beautiful song.” She says, looking at her hands.

“I haven’t played in ages.” Caitlyn confesses, feeling Vi’s shoulder brush against hers, a familiar comfort she has come to cherish more than anything these days. Vi’s touches was slowly but surely healing her.

“I couldn’t tell. It sounded perfect to me.” Vi says truthfully.

Caitlyn scoffs not really on the same page with that statement.

“Would you play it again? For me?” Her voice low and irresistible.

I would do anything for you, Caitlyn wanted to say but instead gave Vi a rueful smile before mustering up the courage to play again. She however chose a different song this time, something with a slightly more romantic feel to it, something she always imagines herself to play if she were in love and now seemed like the perfect time for it. She squares her shoulders and closes her eyes, seeing the sheet music in her mind.

The notes start off deep and low building into a light playful crescendo of melodies and runs and Caitlyn finds herself fully immersed in the song, picturing herself and Violet dancing in slow circles around this very room, close together, so close that they feel like one body moving, one soul intertwined.

She feels the soft weight of Vi’s cheek coming to rest on her shoulder while she continues to play. Her red hair is longer than she has ever seen it cascading down Cait’s arm, the tips tickling her forearm. She is tempted to run her fingers through them instead of having them glued to the keys but she is also determined to finish the song. Vi’s head is perfectly tucked into the crook of her neck, a warmth that seeps into her skin and boils down her spine.

Vi listens to the melody, lost in its beauty, letting the notes wash over her like a balm. She can’t help but to kiss Cailyn’s shoulder, sweetly to the rhythm of the music but that little bit of contact wasn’t enough. She lifts her head then and kisses the inside of Caitlyn’s exposed neck, eliciting a giggle from her lover but her fingers never falter on the keyboard. 

Vi takes that as a challenge to continue to kiss a little higher, just below her ear which has Caitlyn pressing the wrong note, the distraction enough to make her slip this time. She however quickly recovers, righting herself and picking up right where she left off.

Vi smirks, loving that she has this effect on Caitlyn with just the press of her lips which also spurs her on to continue. She turns slightly, pressing her chest fully against Cait’s arm and kisses the side of her jaw next. She works her way across Caitlyn’s cheek, peppering kisses all over before she stops short of the side of her mouth. 

Vi stays in that position, her nose brushing against the softness of Caitlyn’s skin, until she plays the last note. The sound rings out in the quiet room leaving an eerie quiet in its wake and she waits for Caitlyn to look at her.

When she does, their eyes lock and a sharp intake of breath is shared between them before they slowly come together in fusing of lips. Cait turns toward Vi and softly cups her jaw while they kiss each other in the dark room. Breathlessly they pull back from each other, staying only inches apart. They share a shy smile and Caitlyn’s thumb finds the indented scar on Vi’s lip, brushing over it gently.

“I hate waking up without you next to me.” Vi confesses in a whisper.

“I didn’t want to wake you with my tossing and turning.”

“I’d rather you wake me, Cupcake.”

“I’ll remember that next time.” Cait leans forward leaving a chaste kiss on Vi’s lips.

“Shall we try again then?” Vi proposes.

“To kiss?”

“To sleep. Get your mind out of the gutter, Kiramman.” Vi jokes, “However I do think we can combine the two in some way. How about kissing in bed until we fall asleep?”

“I like the way you think, Violet.”

~*~

PS, the song Caitlyn plays for Vi in this story is Berlin Song by Ludovico Einaudi

[koiiiji]

hideout

summary ; before Jinrang end up in jail, and on his way to become head of busan, he used to hide in old, dirty hotels rooms, hen things went wrong. just like today.

author's note ; i just can't get enough of him, im sorry!!😭

rain hammered against the window of the tiny hotel room in busan, each droplet adding to the rhythmic sound that blanketed the city outside. the dim yellow light from the single bulb overhead flickered occasionally, casting uneven shadows across the peeling wallpaper. musty scent of old wood mixed with the freshness of rain, giving the space an oddly comforting yet oppressive atmosphere.

Jinrang leaned against the doorway, his arms crossed and a faint smirk tugging at his lips as he watched you pace the room. the tension between you two was almost palpable, charged with an odd mix of your annoyance and his unspoken curiosity.

“one bed?” you hissed, spinning around to glare at him. your voice was laced with annoyance, though exhaustion was quickly dulling its edge. “of all the places to hole up, this is what you find? and with one bed?”

he shrugged, feigning indifference. “it’s not like we had a lot of options, you know. cops and half the gangs in busan are on our tails. be grateful i found a place with a roof.”

“a roof would be fine if i didn’t have to share a bed with you,” you snapped back, dropping onto the edge of the creaky bed. “you’re lucky i’m too tired to care right now.”

Jinrang’s smirk deepened. truthfully, he’d been thrilled when he saw the single bed earlier. he couldn’t deny the way his heart raced every time you looked his way. not that he’d ever admit it.

you eyed the bed warily. “and where are you planning to sleep? the floor?”

“why would i do that?” he replied with a grin. “it’s a big enough bed. we’re both adults; we can share without it being a big deal.”

you rolled your eyes, muttering something under your breath before standing up. “yeah, sure, of course...” you said sarcastically, still not believing he gonna sleep with you. “i’m taking a shower first. don’t even think about falling asleep before i’m back.”

Jinrang chuckled as you gathered your toiletries and disappeared into the cramped bathroom. the sound of water running mixed with the rain outside, creating a soothing symphony that he couldn’t help but relax to. faint patter of raindrops against the window blended seamlessly with the soft hum of the shower, filling the room with an almost meditative calm. but still, he couldn’t shake the image of you in the shower. it made him smile.

when you emerged, the steam from the shower followed you into the room, curling around your figure. Jinrang watched as you fished a spare shirt out of your bag, preparing to change right there in front of him.

“you’re not shy, huh?” he teased, propping himself up on his elbows.

you shot him a glare sharp enough to cut glass. “turn around, idiot.”

with an exaggerated sigh, he obeyed, rolling onto his belly, so he was with his back now to you. “it’s not like i haven’t seen worse in the field.”

“doesn’t mean you get a free show,” you retorted, tugging the towel off and changing to dry shirt. when you were done, you cleared your throat. “you can look now.”

Jinrang turned, his dark eyes lingering on you for a moment longer than they should have. the oversized shirt you’d thrown on barely masked the weariness etched into your features, but to him, you still looked—

“what?” you asked, raising an eyebrow. “do i have something on my face?”

“nothing,” he said quickly, standing up to set his jacket on the back of a chair. “you should get some rest. we’ve got an early start tomorrow.”

your hair was still damp, clinging to the sides of your face, and your annoyance seemed renewed as you glanced at the bed again. “you’re still on about this sharing thing?”

“i’m not moving,” Jinrang said lazily, already sprawled out on one side of the bed. his large frame seemed to dominate the small mattress, taking precious little space. “come on, (y/n), it’s just one night.”

you sighed, rubbing a hand over your face. “if you snore, i’m kicking you off.”

“deal,” he said, patting the open space beside him. “now, hurry up before i take the whole bed.”

with a grumble, you slid under the blanket, keeping as much distance as possible between the two of you. or at least, you tried to. Jinrang’s broad shoulders and long legs seemed to take up every available inch of space, forcing you to edge closer. the mattress creaked under his weight, and his shamelessly sprawled posture made it clear he wasn’t about to accommodate your protests.

“why you are so fucking big?,” you muttered, elbowing him lightly. the warmth radiating from his body was impossible to ignore, and despite yourself, it felt oddly comforting against the chill of the rainy night.

“i can’t help it if i’m built like this,” he replied, amusement evident in his tone. “but hey, at least i’m warm.”

you let out an exaggerated sigh but didn’t argue further. the day’s exhaustion was catching up with you, and the rhythmic sound of rain combined with Jinrang’s steady breathing began to lull you into a hazy state. as you drifted off, you muttered something about personal space, though your voice lacked any real conviction.

Jinrang glanced down at you, noticing how your breathing had evened out and your features softened in sleep. the weight of the day’s events hung heavy in the air, but in this quiet moment, he felt an uncharacteristic sense of peace. the way your hair framed your face, damp and slightly tousled, made his chest tighten in a way he couldn’t quite explain.

“goodnight, (y/n),” he whispered, his voice barely audible over the rain.

for once, you didn’t reply with a sharp remark. and as his eyes slid shut, Jinrang couldn’t help but think that maybe, just maybe, this was the best hiding spot he’d ever found.