#the guilt over not loving her the way that he should have burning bright but fizzling out just as quick

[villainisms]

and god knows crying ain't gonna change a thing / she said take care, but i take more than i bring / she said "it just feels inhumane to lose this much" / cause when you leave you know you takе more than your love

let all my red flags fade to white, yeah, i give up / don't let me leave, i'll only take more than i gave / okay, i'll pack my stuff / here at the end of days, my god, what have i done? / christ, now it feels damn inhumane to get all i've dreamed of

cicada days is such a q!slimecicle song to me i can not stop thinking about it like. ARE YOU SEEING THIS?

[cherryheairt]

Hidden Truths pt.2

Cregan x wife!reader

named reader no description, from house Glover

masterlist

part 1

thank y'all so much for the kind words and eagerness to see this part. Please forgive me for not replying to all asks being sent to inbox, you'll understand with the chap lol. The pressure was so real I had planned to write other things between pt 1 and 2 but I dropped everything to do this between work and sleep lol

changed the og ending because so many people thought it would be more fitting and I agreed lol

anon pointed out my mistake on glover and bolton im so sorry for that confusion yall it is meant to be glover originally. i made too many mistakes im a mess rn

Ernest makes it to Cregan's solar first, Ron not far on his heels. Panting, the younger speaks up first when Cregan Stark shoots them a bewildered look whilst hunched over his oak desk.

"Was Lady Stark due for some business today, My Lord?" He asked, catching his breath as Cregan sat up in his seat, attention fully on the guards.

"Not any that I'm aware of. Where is my wife?" He asked, glancing outside of his small window to the blistering storm outside. There was no way she would be anywhere except her chambers—not after he caught her soothing Brandon to sleep. The sight had melted his heart immediately, glad to see his wife finally finding it in her to go see him, to give him a chance.

Though, he could not blame her, of course. He could still remember the day he brought the Stark babe home, and how he dreaded the meet throughout his months of journeying home to Winterfell.

Aelys had been on the forefront of his mind, even through the slimy politicking of King's Landing. The wait was only made ever longer by the fact that the party Cregan traveled North with had to wait until Brandon was old enough to travel, too. Moons went by painstakingly slow, and Cregan moved to load the carriage for the boy as soon as the Maester gave his word that Bran would not be suseptible to the outdoors during long durations on the road.

Cregan dismounted his grey mare, patting her on the neck in thanks before the stable boy guided her back to her designated place. With a tense sigh, he rolled his shoulders and opened the carriage door that held Brandon and his new wet nurse. Sara, his older sister, would join the family in a few short weeks while she continued her stay at the Blackwood's. He wished she was here to console his wife in the coming days. Gods know that he cannot, not when the news of his betrayal had to come from his own mouth. As he promised himself it should be. The sinner should say his own penance, no one else. A Stark is a slave to his oaths.

Thanking Greya kindly, Cregan picked up Bran in his arms. His onyx black curls shifted against the crook of his arm as he shifted the babe to be held better. The four moon-old babe fussed as he was removed from the woman's comforting hold. As if was, Cregan was more of a stranger to the young babe than his wet nurse was. Unfortunately, the Lord had not spent the amount of time with him as he knew he should have. The thoughts and guilt racked up in his mind and burned at the back of his throat every day, leaving Cregan to promise himself that in Winterfell he would spend more time with him.

Another promise for the list.

Cregan stepped through the courtyard's archway, holding his breath as he watched his beautiful wife standing by the Keep's doors, shivering but still insisting that she come out to meet her husband. Her smile was as lovely and bright as he remembered, a much more contented and relieved smile than she had sent him off to battle with. That day, she could hardly stifle her tears back as she hugged him 'goodbye'. He felt quite the same. Cregan would never leave for Southern business again, not in his lifetime. Once had been enough to last generations, though he was sure the Stark family would not go too long before being summoned again.

Her face shifted from joy to confusion in a matter of seconds. As Cregan continued straight towards her, Bran bundled up in so many wools and pelts that it entirely engulfed the babe. She lifted her skirts to step down to meet him. Originally, Cregan had wished to scoop her up in his arms and place a sweet kiss on her cold lips, but the bundle between them prevented such things. He could not greet her so sweetly and then present the bastard to her. Ripping the bandage off a fresh wound, Cregan would not be deceitful for longer than he had been during his moons of silence in the South.

"Husband," She smiled, reaching out to touch his chilled face, pink in the cheeks and ears from exposure. "You should come inside. A feast has been prepared for you—and your men, of course." She was antsy on her feet, eager to get inside to proper reunite with her husband, no bystanders gawking.

Speaking of bystanders—Cregan's entire party had separated and dispersed around the courtyard. They met their own wives, parents, or children as they laughed and conversed. Though, the loud and joyous clamor soon died down when whispers had been spread around by those who already knew of Cregan's boy. Wives that knew Aelys well stared in pity, clutching their shawls to their chests and shaking their heads quietly at their Lord.

He fought the urge to hang his head.

She had not yet seen the babe, only the cloth surrounding him.

"Cregan?" She whispered, tilting her head with concerned eyes. "What is wrong?" His sweet, sweet wife. Her first priority had been him over anything since the days of their honeymoon—the days she had confessed to be extremely anxious about during their courtship. She was a Northern woman herself, hardened and shaped like an ice sculpture but retaining her warm heart and spirit. Cregan had intimidated her greatly, according to her giggling confession, and she had feared he may be a cruel and selfish man since he could easily do as he wished to his Lady wife. He proved her wrong, apparently, getting to know his wife throughout their private honeymoon. They had a bond like no other, always at each other's side and filling in for the weaknesses of the other during their duties as leaders.

Cregan's brow furrowed deep, blinking away as he felt his nose start to sting.

Only then, when his glossy eyes met hers silently, did she glance down to the cloths. Slowly reaching up a shaky, gloved hand adjusted the pelts so she could peer past them. Gasping at the pale babe, Aelys' eyes sharply met his. A million thoughts raced through her head, clearly showing in her facial expressions. Not assuming the worst, as she probably should have done, Aelys asked, "has one of your men died? Is this babe an orphan?" Always so trusting of her Lord husband, something Cregan had admired and was eternally grateful for throughout their marriage.

"Aelys..." He cleared his throat when his voice came out much too quiet and hoarse. "This is my son." He declared to her, and to the onlooking crowd who did not bother hiding scandalized gasps.

Her eyes blinked in rapid succession, shaking her head lightly and smiling. "Don't jest, Cregan. We have no son."

His silence met her words. When he did not cave and admit to messing with his wife, Aelys shook her head more firmly. "No." She said, whispering. Her eyes clamped shut as she breathed in and out deeply, only opening to glance down at the babe, scrutinizing its appearing and comparing every freckle to Cregan's. "Don't do this to me, please. You would never do this to me." Her words were nearly lost to the air.

"It was one time, I swear it on my honor and Stark name." Cregan told her.

"On your name?" She harshly bit, stepping away from Cregan as if he had burned her. "Your honor? You swore on your honor the day we said our vows under the Weirwood tree. Under OUR Gods. Did that mean nothing to you? Did I—" She gasped out, covering her mouth with the back of her hand and clutching her stomach. A choking sob rippled through her, and Greya stepped forward to gingerly take Brandon from Cregan's grasp. His arms fell to his side, clenching as he stopped himself from holding his wife in comfort. She could find no solace in the man who hurt her so.

"I thought you wished to wait. You told me you wanted it, too. Was it just not me you wanted a family with?" She asked, cranking her neck up to look at her shameful husband.

"Aelys, I did—I do!" He started, stepping forward to wipe a hot tear from her cheek.

Flinching away from his touch, she looked up at him with the same mistrust and solemn acceptance that he found in a dying prey's eyes. Suddenly, Aelys looked to become aware of the crowd. Glancing around self-consciously, she straightened herself upright like the people expected of a Lady Stark. "The feast is growing cold. Enjoy it while it's warm." She loudly adressed the weary party and their families, who awkwardly moved to shuffle inside the dining hall. With a final glance past Cregan's shoulder to the wet nurse, Aelys was gone.

Seeing the shared glances of horror between the two, Cregan cleared his throat. "Where is my wife, boys?"

Ernest swallowed harshly, not daring to look him in the eye. "She—she said that she 'ad business in Winter Town. That you approved of it, I swear!"

Ron nodded so quickly that his head of curls messed about and framed his face further. The snow still on their heads and shoulders had now melted in the warmth of the Great Keep, reminding Cregan of the harsh weather the guards had to bear all day. They were trained and honed for such conditions, Aelys was not.

"Yes, Lord Stark! We couldn't disobey our Lady's words." He insisted.

"You think I'd make my wife go settle business in Winter Town during a blizzard?" He growled out, standing from his seat and storming between them to his doorway, where he turned on them and saw them both flinch in shock. "Which way did she go?"

"Uhm..." they shared another glance. "She said Winter Town, Lord Stark. What other way would she have gone?"

Cursing, Cregan grabbed Ice and lifted the great sword to his shoulder. He left without another word to anybody, knowing every second counted when it came to finding her. "Bloody fools." He scoffed to himself, mind turning and thinking of places she might head to.

Clearly, not Winter Town. She had no business there, not that he knew of, and although they had not been speaking these past moons he still oversaw all of her duties as Lady. Though, her reports of dealings and responsibilities was done through the Maester rather than her own mouth. A middleman, the poor elder had become. Cregan endured the silence without complaint, knowing his own actions brought it upon him.

His actions brought her further away from him than he perhaps estimated. He knew the babe would tear a rift in their relationship, and knew it would take a long time before they could even begin to mend it—but he never wanted it to go this far.

Back to her childhood home, to the Glovers in the Motte? Or, perhaps she found a secret lover that would meet her in the storm like a destined and tragic fairytale. He would not blame her for seeking love in another, though his never faded.

His quickened pace was only interrupted by Sara. "What is the rush for, brother?" The elder woman asked, dark brows furrowed with concern. Other the past four moons she had gained her strength back, looking the picture of health now that she was back home and recovering. Cregan could barely meet her gaze, looking between her and the doors ahead.

"My wife is gone." He told her honestly, shifting impaitiently in place. "I don't know where to, but I'm going to search for her."

Sara's dark eyes saddened, face scrunching up in grief. "This is my fault. I should have—"

Cregan stopped her immediately, taking her firmly by the shoulders and dipping his neck down to level himself. "No. It is mine alone. I made the choice to do this, I shall face the consequences of my actions."

"Cregan..." she sniffed, but did not allow tears to fall so easily.

"I'll be back." He promised. "With my wife."

Was she running away?

Cregan swung open the Great Keep's door, blinking staggardly at the wind gust that slammed into him. Not bothing to close it behind him, Cregan stormed to the stables and tacked his horse up. In a matter of minutes he was off and out of Winterfell's expansive walls.

His only option was to head towards Glover territory. It was a two days ride normally, but the storm would make it double or perhaps longer. She would not be far ahead, not even two hours ahead of Cregan and unknowing of how close he might be on her trail.

There were not even hoofprints left in her wake. The snow immediately covered all tracks and left only pristine fields of white powdery frost.

He would not know where she was until he spotted her amongst the white. Cobalt, her black stallion, was sure to stand out within close enough distance.

Until he did see her, he could only wait.

And it was exactly that; a waiting game. Cregan took only three days to reach the Deepwood Motte, faster than he anticipated. He was weary and exhausted, but still pumping with adrenaline and awake off sheer will. Here, in the safe walls of Harriston Glover's keep, his mare could finally have more than a few measly hours of rest, as well as food and water.

His fingers and toes burned with the edges of frostbite. Even in his thick protective gear, he was not entirely safe. The few, small fires that he built for himself in the cold nights gave him only a semblance of warmth. Each step felt like five as his vision blurred and weaned in and out. He steadied himself on a pole, waiting for his father-in-law to come downstairs to greet him. And, if luck be on his side, his Lady wife.

He owed more than an apology.

Harriston was a stern man, though not unreasonable. He loved his children and ensured they had only the best; education, caretakers, spouses. His eldest two children married long before Aelys was even of age to be wed, both men marrying Northern girls that they'd grown up with. When it came to his youngest and only girl, the man knew Lord Stark would be a most auspicious match. The Houses had long been friends and allies, and keeping the tradition of partnership thriving through marriage was no strange thing. He'd been even happier when Aelys wrote to him weekly, describing how enchanted she had been with her new husband and thanking him profusely for giving her a blessed match.

Now, the greyed man stood in front of Cregan with a deepset frown and a fierce look in his eyes. "Lord Stark. I thought you'd be busy in Winterfell."

Cregan cleared his throat, focusing on him intently. It made sense that the man was cross with him, especially after he assumed that Aelys had sent him a few lengthy letters telling of Cregan's infidelity. "I came to see my wife, and to bring her back home."

Harriston huffed a sarcastic laugh. "You send her back home, only to come yourself first?" He gestured around with his arms up.

Cregan tensed, "first? Is Aelys not already here?"

Lord Glover matched in his seriousness. "Aelys wrote to me three days ago, informing me that you had sent her here to be away from danger."

"I did not send her anywhere."

"You mean you do not know where my daughter is?" He asked, voice low and firm as he stepped closer. Though Harriston was a fine swordsman and a battle-worn fighter, Cregan did not fear the Lord's wrath, for he could easily best him in combat.

He did, however, have the brains to fear a furious father's vengeance.

His heart nearly beat out of his chest. "And she stated that she was on her way here?"

"I think I know what she said, boy." Lord Glover hissed. "Where is Aelys?"

"She must still be out there," Cregan murmured breathlessly, turning on his heel and running out of the fort's doors and back out to the stables. Cobalt was in none of them, confirmed to him that Lord Glover was not simply lying and hiding his wife away from him.

Cregan decided to take another horse—one well rested and ready to travel in the packed snow, unlike his own weary mare. Guiding it to the doors where Lord Glover had exited and looked at Cregan with a fear unlike the learned man usually expressed, he asked: Where are the kennels?"

When Aelys left to brave the storm alone, she had not anticipated the sheer unforgivable nature of it. Living in the North her whole life, she'd long grown used to cold weather and hunting for herself. Hunts often lasted days or weeks, being times of comraderie and companionship when out in the wilderness with your people. She had not been hunting in years, much less alone.

The snow had slowed her travel significantly and clouded her navigational judgment. North became South, and East became West after so long of walking. With the skies so darkened, it was even harder to tell the time of day. With every stop she made and every fire that burnt out too quickly for her to be fully warm, Aelys had grown desperate.

She found shelter in a half-conscious act to preserve her on life. Now, curled up with only her fur-lined dress and the pelt she had brought from Winterfell, she could not help but begin to accept that she would die in this cave.

Aelys thought of her life in a few curt thoughts.

She had only lived twenty and two years. She grew up with loving parents and two elder brothers who doted on her greatly. She married Lord Stark of Winterfell, someone who took her heart quicker than she'd ever thought possible. She would die here, alone and cold because of him.

She thought of all the things she had wanted from life. Not much, for a Lord's daughter. Aelys had always wanted love and gave love in return. Trusted perhaps too much and did not gain from it. She wished for children, eventually, and could never have them now. She wished to see the warm deserts of Dorne and the lush gardens of Old Town in her retirement.

Aelys Bolton would not see anything but the North, nothing but the cold snow and frost-tippes trees around. They had grown familiar and warm.

Warm.

She was so warm, now.

Aelys closed her eyes and fell asleep, dreaming of better days.

"You do not wish to return home to a babe in the nursery?" Aelys asked, voice low and humming as Cregan lay beneath her on their shared bed. Most men did, misliking the process of pregnacy but loving the outcome, for it could only serve to benefit them.

"We will have plenty of time for babes when I come back to you." He replied, brushing his lips over her the crown of her head. "What kind of husband would I be if I left you to deal with the struggles of pregnancy and birth all alone?"

"I won't be alone. Sara is staying, too. I will have a sister to keep me company and complain all my grievances about my missing husband to her." She said amusedly.

Cregan paused in his rhythmic stoking of her spine. "Sara has asked to come, my heart."

She paused, too, lifting her head from his chest and squinting at him. "Sara can come down to King's Landing with you, but I cannot?"

He sighed, shaking his head. "She will be staying at the Blackwood's residence at Raventree Hall, not King's Landing. I would never endanger either of you by bringing you to the capitol. She has been offered guest housing by her friend, Alysanne Blackwood, during my time down there."

She huffed, conceding to his words and dropping her head back down, listening again to his ever-steady heartbeat. "Must be nice to see the Riverlands." She said lightly. "I hear they have fields of flowers growing year-round."

"And the permanent smell of fish and mildew." Cregan added with a snort. "You're not missing anything, I swear it to you. Sara and I will be gone for a short period of time. I intend to leave as soon as things are settled and put to rest."

Aelys hummed her quiet acknowledgment. There was no argument to be had, not when Cregan was set to leave in the morning. "There must always be a Stark in Winterfell." She said cheekily, though there was plenty truth to the statement. Alone, she would serve as political head to Winterfell and the temporary 'Warden' while Cregan was missing in action. She had her advisors, consisting of Cregan's trusted councilmen, but the hole that she knew would sink itself into her heart already wore her into her.

Cregan laughed at her words, nodding. "Aye, my love, you will do perfectly. I'm sorry to leave you alone for so long, but I have no doubt you'll do great." He said proudly, kissing her nose. She scrunched it up at the ticklish feeling, allowing a girlish giggle to leave her throat.

"Don't be gone too long, husband. Your wife needs you here." She said, tilting her head up to meet his lips.

"I would never dream of it."

The moons passed by with no reprieve for Aelys. As Winterfell's sole head, her days were busy from dawn til dusk. Letters were exchanged sporadically with her husband while he helped Aegon iii ascend to his place on the iron throne.

Until, one day, his letters ceased. It had already been a full year without Cregan Stark, and Aelys was beginning to grow used to the lack of her husband and sister by her side. Routine had grown to be instinct for her, breezing through her duties like she'd done them all her life. The only thing missing was her lover.

Concerned, Aelys checked in with the resident Maester to ensure Cregan's wellbeing.

When he paused, lips pursed and hands clutching at his cane with a stress unlike the calm elder, he rasped out his own fears. "I, too, have received no word from Lord Stark. Though, no news has come of us death in the capitol, so he must simply be occupied."

Occupied at the end of the war? When Aegon had already been named King and all the men put to trial were either declared guilty or innocent? The brunt of the work was over and done with—told by Cregan himself.

So why was he silent for an entire moon?

It was another fortnite before the Stark wrote back to her. The letter was curt and brief.

My dearest Aelys,

Forgive my abrupt silence these past weeks. Please know that you have been on my mind throughout this entire time.

Sara has grown sick in Raventree Hall, and has not been able to travel with the host of men I have sent back home to the North. We will stay behind for another few moons while she is in recovery. I will return to you soon.

With love,

Cregan Stark.

It was shorter than his other letters by many paragraphs, pages even. Cregan left out no details when describing his miserable times in the capitol. Aelys found herself much enjoying his theatrical melodramatic retelling and was rendered bemused by this letter. Still, she continued to lead with no pause for breaks.

Three more moons later, and Cregan wrote that he was mere days away from Winterfell. Without Sara Snow, unfortunately, as she was still not entirely recovered, but his party could be postponed no longer.

Aelys rushed around Winterfell's Keep in a flurry of excitement. She ordered every room to be cleaned spotless, for rations to be saved for days until a feast could be made for their arrival, for hearths to be extra tended to, and for the courtyard to be prepared to clear the way for the host.

Finally, the days of busy bodies floating around the Great Keep came to a stop. The feast was warm and ready at all available tables. The hearths were warm and ready for sleepy heads to rest within the rooms. The tubs were filled with scalding hot water that would warm by the time they were used. Lady Stark stood for hours at the Great Keep's entry stairs in the courtyard.

She wanted to be there exactly when he walked through the archway. Despite the cold biting at her nose, the Lady stood resiliant and tall.

It was nearly in the afternoon when Cregan's party arrived. He came through first, leading as head of the host as any Lord should. A wheelhouse followed, surrounded by a small league of soliders all around it. She bounced on her heels slightly, seeing Cregan dismount from his ride. Though she found herself bemused and slightly hurt when he glanced at her and made his way towards the wheelhouse instead. Had Sara recovered enough to join and perhaps wanted to surprise her good sister? She hoped so, for she had missed her greatly. After growing up with only brothers, Aelys found a best friend and sister in Sara Snow. The whispers about Lady Stark befriending the bastard of Winterfell followed her around like a dark shadow, but she never paid them any mind.

Bastardry had never bothered Aelys before. Not even when she was a woman of noble birth and was taught that bastards were born inherently lustful, evil, and made of sin.

She waited patiently at the top of the steps for Cregan to fetch Sara.

To her surprise, he only pulled out of the carriage with a bundle of clothes in his arms. Pelts and blankets, it seemed. A plainly-dressed woman from the South stepped out after him but stayed trailing behind. A maid of some sort, though she had no clue as to why a Southern maid would need to follow Cregan back to Winterfell.

As he strided towards her, a strange and unhappy look on his face, she forced her anxiety back down her throat and raced to meet him. "Husband," she greeted with a smile. "You should come inside. A feast has been prepared for you—and your men, of course." Reaching out to caress his face and simultaneously brush flecks of snow from his loose hair, she couldn't help but stop to admire her husband's handsome features. It had felt like an eternity that they were separated, and she had begun to forget the full details of his frame. Forgot his scent in the room and his side of the bed. Nearly forgot the warmth that he provided simply from standing nearby.

The very warmth he is giving to her now, in the chilly courtyard.

His eyes appeared to gloss, his nose and cheeks pinking even more so than they had already grown in the biting air. Glancing over Cregan, she assessed quickly for signs of fatigue or illness.

"Cregan?" she asked gently. "What is wrong?" She prayed he did not catch whatever Sara had caught, or hid a wound under his mass of leathers and pelts.

When he shiftly lifted the bundle in his arms to gesture for her to look at it, she finally spared a look to the mysterious ball of cloth. She had completely forgotten about it until now, noticing the maid still behind Cregan a few yards back, head tilted down and looking at her slippers. Peeking over a fur pelt, Aelys gasped at the sight. A babe, only a few moons old by the looks of it. Her mind raced with possibilities. Why would Cregan bring a babe back instead of leaving it in more temperate climates like the Riverlands that he stayed in on the way up North?

"Has one of your men died?" She asked in a hushed tone, assuming first that one of his soldiers perhaps fathered a bastard babe before perishing in a battle or falling to sickness. "Is the babe an orphan?" Cregan did always have a soft spot for younglings, showcased clearly by his time spent personally training young squires of Winterfell. He had lost his own younger brother in their youth, and the hole had never filled from that loss of kin.

"Aelys..." he started, meeting her eyes with a soft and sympathetic look. "This is my son." Was said loud and clear for any listeners to hear.

A jest. Cregan had seldom liked to be humorous in front of crowds, or anyone but herself and Sara, but he must have been in good spirits today. Briefly glancing at the surrounding people, she found only pitiful looks from the women and severe looks from the men. Shaking her head, Aelys forced a smile onto her face and a shaky laugh. "Don't jest, Cregan. We have no son." She emphasized.

He only stared at her back. No words of comfort, no sudden burst of laughter among his men to tell her that the biggest prank in the world had been pulled on her. Just shameless silence.

He had declared her second best in front of all of Winterfell. Her people and his.

"No." She said firmly, shaking her head 'no'. She breathed in and out deeply, trying to clear her blurry eyes and woozy head. Glaring down at the false babe in his arms, she found many similarities that she wished she had not. The same straight brows that Cregan had, the same scattered freckles, the same pale skin. The only difference was the hair color—black as a midnight sky or dragonglass. The mother must be beautiful.

Moving her eyes to the maid behind Cregan, she found that the girl had a mousy blonde color to her tresses. She could not have possibly bore a black-haired babe. She felt sick, like she'd throw up and choke at the same time. "Don't do this to me. You'd never do this to me." She pleaded out, voice small and hoarse.

"It was one time. I swear it on my honor and Stark name." Cregan promised. But every word was like poison, filling her heart with a heavy black liquid and drowning her from the inside out.

"On your name?" She hissed out, uncaring of the onlookers for this one moment. She was allowed to be angry, callous, and spiteful, even. Any self-respecting woman would be. And she'd be damned if she wasn't. Any Stark woman ought to be when ruling over the entire North. Any Glover woman is.

"Your honor? You swore on your honor the day we said our vows under the Weirwood tree. Under OUR Gods! Did that mean nothing to you? Did I—?" Words spilled from her mouth before she can think properly. But she did not regret any of them, knowing she was in the right. Bile rose in her throat, pushing itself past the forced down emotions. She swiftly covered her mouth, stilling herself to prevent any more embarrassing. Subconsciously, she clutched at her empty stomach with her free hand, both mourning the fact that she'd have no children and thanking the Gods for not giving her any previously. A cry finally escaped her lips, watching the plain maid take the babe into her arms again as Cregan looked on helplessly to his wife.

Aelys found her voice again, though it was ragged and tired. "I thought you wished to wait. You told me you wanted it, too." He was a liar, the worst kind of man. "Was it just not me you wanted a family with?"

She'd rather be struck with his hand than his deceitful mouth. It would hurt much less.

"I did, Aelys—I do!" He pleaded, stepping forward to console her. His arms looked like steel traps in her louded mind.

She took a lengthy step back. She would not share his warmth, nor his love. Or his bed, his room, his damned dining room. His children. Not when he had shared it with another woman. Given her his love, his attention, his son.

She could not bear to keep herself calm any longer. Adressing the entire courtyard, who had made themselves the Stark's own personal peanut gallery, she spoke firmly. "The feast is growing cold. Enjoy it while it's warm." Without a second glance back at the Stark, Aelys excused herself to her chambers, where she emptied the contents of her stomach into the chamberpot until she could only dry-heave nothingness. These chambers had not been used since she arrived in Winterfell, instead choosing to sleep and stay in their marital ones. She would not step foot into those again unless she was dragged kicking and screaming.

Aelys awoke to strong arms lifting her from the stone floor. Groggily, she was stirred from her deep and preserving sleep. How long had she been traveling? How long had she been buried under those pelts? Time was a blur when she was in a near comatose state, dead to the world. Limbs were numbed and her body felt warm after so long in the cold weather.

"I've got you, sweet girl. We're going home." A familiar voice rung in the back of her head. Even the jolting movements of a horse trotting could not fully move her to consciousness as she fell back asleep.

When she fully gained her sense of mind, she could clearly hear the sound of two men arguing. The warmth of a hearth was next to her as she lifted heavy blankets and furs off of her body. Glancing around, Aelys found herself back right where it all started. In Cregan's room, formerly their marital chambers that she had long since moved out of. A large oil painting sat over the heart, depicting a newlywed image of her and Cregan. They both smiled brightly in the photo, much to Cregan's complaint that the painting did not make him look 'serious enough'. She only laughed and tipped the painter extra gold dragons for the accuracy.

She loved that painting more than any others they kept in the Great Keep. Now, the two faces looking down at her only served to remind her of the falsehood she lived every day while Cregan was absent. Taking care of Winterfell and the North all by herself, just to come back and be thanked by his uncouth mistakes.

Shakily standing up, she winced at the feeling coming back to her limbs. Wriggling all twenty of her toes and fingers, she ensured they still all had feeling. Miraculously, she did. The numbess still felt vaguely there, and her throat was extremely dry and achy. But at least she was alive. Even if it was back in Winterfell, she could attempt her return to the Motte as soon as the storm died down.

It had been a dreadful blizzard. Not a rare sight in the North, but usually none lasted so long. Aelys could not help but feel it was the Gods punish Cregan and Aelys for their marital spat. Something like this must be so futile and useless in their eyes and the eyes of the people of the realm, but to Aelys it was her world and her life. No one could help Aelys but herself. She'd leave these spoiled halls even if the Old Gods and the New wished otherwise. If Cregan didn't have to keep oaths, why should she?

Opening the large wooden door, Aelys found the source of the faint yelling. Her eyes widened at the sight of her father in front of Cregan, in all his gruff charm with his silver hair and beard. She hadn't seen him in nearly two years. She stayed at the archway under the door, simply listening in as the men shouted further down the hall. If either turned their heads, they would spot her eavesdropping.

"—cannot even keep her safe during Winter! Am I to expect her to stay safe during a wildling attack, or worse? Or will you be prioritizing the safety of your mistress?" Harriston shouted, veins nearly popping out from his forehead and neck in his fury. Snow still gathered on his pelt coat, meaning he had just arrived recently.

"It is my mistake that she was endangered out there—but I would never let such a thing happen again under my protection. This is her home, I cannot allow her to go back to the Dreadfort. She is a Stark." Cregan emphasized, though had a defensive raised tone.

"Was she a Stark when you bed a whore in King's Landing?"

"The situation is more complicated than that." He responded, clenching his jaw.

"Nothing could ever be more complicated than losing your wit at a brothel, Stark. There is no argument to be had. She is staying with her family, where she was intending." Harriston growled out, a tone of finality to his tone. As he swung on his feet to head down the hall, face set in a worried and seething anger, he finally spotted his daughter.

"Aelys!" He yelled in relief, rushing toward her and scooping her up into his thick arms. "We're going home immediately. We will wash our hands of the Starks once and for all."

"I will not allow that." Cregan spoke from behind. As Aelys hugged her father back just as tightly, it was a battle to keep her tears from flowing in his safe arms. She missed her father more than she knew.

Before Harristone could speak, Aelys nodded. "We will settle this." She said flatly. Her father hesitantly let her go, nodding once firmly after seeing the resolve in his daughter's eyes.

"Very well. I will wait in the dining hall for you." He sighed, walking away.

Aelys shivered in the loss of warmth again. In her bare feet and night gown, she felt the cold of the cobblestone walls and floors start to seep under her skin again. "Here," Cregan murmured, gently shifting his mass of brown wolf pelt over her shoulders and clicking the direwolf emblem into place.

She allowed it, though she did not thank him with words. She took a deep breath, looking him in the eyes. "I want to separate. Divorce, I mean." She said tiredly.

Cregan flinched, jaw ticking and heavily considering her words. "That is entirely my fault. It is in your right to ask that of me." He said, voice dimmed and not nearly half of his assuredness. "But please, hear me out."

"What could I possibly hear you out with?" She asked, exhaustion clear in her tone. She'd dealt with this situation long enough.

Cregan nudged the door back open, nodding for her to enter. Reluctantly, she led the way in and watched as he gently shut it behind them. "I swore an oath, nearly nine moons ago." Cregan started.

Her brows furrowed, bemused. "To whom?"

Guiltily, he looked down at her, looking much alike to a kicked pup. "My sister."

"To Sara? What ever for?" She grew frustrated, knowing he was beating around the bush.

Taking a deep breath, he told her everything. "Sara stayed with her friend Alysanne Blackwood in Raventree hall for the entire time I was aiding King Aegon. In that time—she fell pregnant."

Aelys' heart dropped to her stomach. The same sick feeling overtaking her. She did not say a word.

"Davos Blackwood and Sara had built a bond, much like we did." He said. "When she told Davos of the news, they both went to Lord Blackwood to plea to marry each other. He refused, not allowing his heir to marry a bastard."

"And you legitimized Brandon as your own in turn?" She hissed.

"Sara begged me to. She lived her life as a bastard—she did not wish the same for her own son. I swore to her that my nephew would never be allowed the same treatment. I knew Aegon would do it." He trailed.

"So you bring him home, and humiliate me instead? You didn't even tell me, your own wife! You chose Sara over me. She is your sister, I know, but she chose to be with Davos Blackwood." She could have taken a tea, or moved to Essos or Dorne where bastards were more accepted. There were other options, but neither Sara nor Cregan used them. "That is cruel, Cregan. It is heartless." She cried.

"I never wished to hurt you, I only wanted to protect her. It was my oath." Cregan pleaded, grabbing her hands in his.

She shivered again, though unknowing if it was in chill or her own anger. Part of her was happy that he never truly took another woman to bed—never picked another other her. Though he still hid the biggest secret in the world from her for moons. Allowed her to suffer in their shared home and withstand the pitious looks of the people and court.

"I can't trust you. Not ever again. You could not trust me with your own kin's truth, and punished me for it." She stated. She could not allow herself to cave in so easily, to fall back into his arms.

"I understand, sweet girl." He muttered, softly stroking the apple of her cheek almost mindlessly. "I will sign whatever the Maester's conjure up. You will be free to marry whoever you wish—someone who will not lie to you."

The Starks were known for their loyalty and devotedness to their oaths. If Cregan Stark had lied to his wife so easily, no lesser man could ever make her happy with faithfulness and loyalty. Aelys had accepted her life to be one of loneliness from the day Brandon was allowed into the home.

"I will stay in Deepwood Motte for the time being. From there, I will see where my path leads." She said vaguely, unknowing now of what her heart desired. "Wish Sara well for me." Aelys asked of him, leaving him behind as she wiped any straying tears from her face.

"I love you, Aelys." He said, calling softly after her.

"I know." She whispered to herself.

In the dining hall, Harriston awaited her arrival. Perking up when she entered, he knowingly took her into his arms. "I'm tired, father."

"Let's go home. Your mother has missed you dearly." He said, planting a fatherly kiss to her temple.

Aelys would not yet send word for a formal separation to the Citadel or to the King. For now, time apart was what she declared best for herself.

divider by - @issysh3ll

tags - @palomavz @emithefrog @karinalight @johnshelbywife @tojisrealwifey @baddielizzy @pearldaisy @brookiecookie @jessicar401 @hardkiddonut @littlelilly27-blog @nayaniasworld @just-mj-or-not @flaneurpastel @unsweetenedpeatea @blucesita09 @maxmegara @deeeeexx @masschotch @janniepark1997 @spongelistener @margaaaa30 @paracii @lovebabe18 @rey26 @damneddamsy @yunnifer @kenzcarson @glqmmywhqmmy @arizonadesert @blumin8 @its-your-girl-savy @dreamygirli3 @aemondloverr @zaranobiyuyu @nsr-15 @oxymakestheworldgoround @isansstuff @high-speed-r

so many tags dont work 🥲 will try to tell in comment sec

ending is ambiguous. Will she decide to divorce or eventually mend their relationship? Up to you!

might make an alt ending where he really is just a shitty guy but this had been my idea from the start (many guessed it and i could not reply to them because of it lmao)

sorry if those two scenes got repetitive, but I wanted to show the 'cregan bringing brandon home' from both of their more detailed perspectives. Cregan's shame and guilt and her humiliation and heartbreak.

so many people guessed so close (to the sara part at least) only saw Jace thoughts tho, but he's already dead long before Cregan's walk down to the South. Would have been much more dramatic, but I think Jace would never allow a child of his to be apart from him. Many people swayed me to lead them to separate instead of stick together, and it does make more sense to have her leave him in the end. Although he did not cheat he still lied and publicly humiliated her, even unintentionally, but he's a grown man who is smart enough to know consequences.

[moonlesslights]

Miguel O’hara in Love

Headcanons.

━━━━━━ ✿ 🕷️ ❀ ━━━━━

A/N: I was really looking forward to write this, because I just can’t get this whole idea out of my head.

Warnings: Basically none, a little bit of angst maybe?, some smut references and depictions. Miguel being Miguel. Kinda obsessive (?)

This text is based in that frase of Joe Goldberg: “There’s not a line, in the world, that I wouldn’t cross for you”. So be prepared.

Enjoy, my loves. Every comment or request is welcomed! 🤍

✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

Miguel was curious of you from the very moment he met you. Such a unique presence among all the others.

You had been bitten just a month ago. And it was hard for you. He saw you struggle, falling over and over again, training till exhaustion, fighting to be on the level of the others.

And the worst part of it all, was the guilt coming to attack him with every side eye Jessica gave to him. “If you weren’t going to help her, you should have let her alone.” The woman had whispered while both of them looked at you fighting to climb another building. Miguel knew she was right. He was the one who insisted in bringing you immediately after they found you (only a couple of days after the bite), even when Jessica insisted to give you time for you to figure it out alone. Miguel wasn’t having it, and now… “She’s been at it for the whole morning.” The woman pursed her lips, shaking her head.

What Jessica didn’t quite know was that Miguel hadn’t left you alone all this time… He wasn’t good at talking, that was true. He wasn’t good at showing his support with words, but that didn’t mean he didn’t care.

You let out a pained groan when you finally plop on the concrete of the building’s rooftop. Every single muscle of your body aches and you can fell your heart pounding harshly against your ribcage, making it feel like every breath that makes it to your lungs it’s just a mere miracle.

The weight of the presence of someone standing beside you forces you to blink out of your thoughts. Tiredly, you look up, finding Miguel's mask glaring back at you with a deep frown you can make out of the way his eyes curve.

He holds a white little package on his right and he hands it to you before finally sitting down without making a single sound. It had all started like a little game between the two of you: You pretend you don’t see his figure hovering above a building while you train, or his silhouette watching you getting back to The Society place safely. You also pretend you don’t know it’s him who leaves bandages and painkillers over your bed every day with a little chocolate next to it. And he pretends he doesn’t know that you know.

You cross your legs and smile when you open the small box on your hands, smelling the sweet scent of warm and fresh food. You also take notice of how he changed one of the things he brought you last time, you didn’t have the heart to tell him, but you were sure now he definitely noticed you didn’t like it.

“Eat.” He orders and you are too tired to remark his tone of voice with a roll of your eyes. So you nod, bringing a big spoonful of pasta and vegetables to your mouth, thanking him with a big smile. Smile he doesn’t return. He never does anyway. But now it’s not like always. He’s pissed. “When was the last time you ate?”

You look straight ahead, avoiding his gaze. You swallow, slowly, feeling his eyes burning on the side of your head.

“Mhm… Not long ago, no.” You answer, mumbling while you get more food into your mouth. Miguel raises an eyebrow.

“Training this much without any nutriments won’t do anything good for you…”

“Training this much won’t do anything anyway.” You sigh, keeping then the fork between your lips. Miguel wishes to say something but he can’t find the words, he can’t order his thoughts inside his head to place them on his tongue and tell you just how much you have improved since the first day, so he gladly receives your bright eyes turning to him when you seem to remember: “But I finally climbed this building, see? Without using any web, only my spider fingers.”

The man nods at you waving playfully at him. The determination in your eyes even when your whole body wanted to give up, even when you know you’re still not close to go on a mission by yourself (or with anyone else), even when you probably couldn’t even sleep fine because of the sore bruises, the determination in your eyes didn’t flatter.

That made him feel something deep is his hands, a tingle he couldn’t control. And he hated it.

“Tomorrow at seven.” He sentences, standing on his feet again.

You frown, raising big eyes at him. The brightness in them when the weight of his words hit you destabilizes him.

“For real?”

“Yes.” He looks away. “If I don’t train you you’re not getting anywhere.”

His comment goes unnoticed for the excitement running all along your body.

“Ok.” You nod, trying to look professional but failing miserably.

He grunts in response, soon jumping off of the building and losing among all of the city chaos. In some minutes he would be back at the Society lobby. You… An hour. Give or take.

Training with Miguel was nothing but… Hell.

No, it actually wasn’t. You expected you could say that to make people thing you were having it hard, but he insisted on starting with the basics… basics that you already felt like being good at.

Still, climbing had become easier within the first week of training with him. The tips and advices he insisted you to follow helped you thinking of it more like a game than a must do.

Swinging was still a tricky one. You used to lose your balance when the demanded velocity was too much. Panic rushed over you, feeling like you would crash against a window or a fucking person, or another spider doing their own training.

“Trust your senses.” Miguel said to you every time you fell, and every time you death glared at him for that. He didn’t have one of the most important senses for spider people and he still managed to be better than anyone you could have known. You had them all, and they all seemed to be a mess when you tried to use them.

Soon enough, Miguel learned about a way to motivate you: Rewards. Most of the time was food, some others, the promise of letting you rest for more that five minutes was enough. For a week now, it had been a little bit different.

History. You loved it. And you changed any delicious and tasty food for hours listening to Miguel explaining everything about the multiverse and the tangled webs between all of you. He had told you about his first travels to other Earths at least three times, but you couldn’t seem to get tired.

You might not tell him how much his voice soothes you after a long day out, but it wasn’t necessary, he could see it. On the other hand, he definitely would never tell you how he glanced at you, completely asleep after another history session, memorizing every breath, every mole and freckle, counting every single one of your eyelashes like the stars on the sky above you.

No. You would never find out about that.

Today was supposed to be just like any other day: quiet, calm and premeditated. Nothing out of the routine you and Miguel had adopted for the past four weeks.

But with you, things were never that easy. Boredom was a dangerous thing for you, Miguel had learned it by now. The hard way. If something became not enough exciting for your restless self, you would look for that spark of adrenaline at any cost. It was part of your determination. Heart of a lion. He knew that. But it didn’t change the fact he would have to save you from breaking a few bones every once in a while.

“I’m sorry” You would say after he dropped you on the safe floor again. He would turn to look at you, fire running up his veins. Every time he wanted to yell at you, to snap and tell you it was the last time you do something like that. And every time he would sigh, pressing both finger on the bridge of his nose, finally grunting in a low voice:

“Desobedeciste deliberadamente.” A month was enough for you to know exactly what those words meant.

“I know.”

“You could have hurt yourself.”

“I know…” Then the bright eyes. Always the bright eyes. “But I have to try, I can’t depend on you forever. Getting hurt it’s just part of the way.”

He hated you were right. He lost count of how many broken ribs he got on his first years, of how many scars he still hides under his suit. Eventually, you would have to learn to stand up even if you’re bleeding. Even if you’re dying.

He is not mad at you for disobeying, that’s bullshit. He admired that of you, actually. You don’t act by fear, you do not fear him. You follow your heart even when you know you could get in trouble for it. No, he’s mad because every time he catches you before you hit the ground, all he can think about is that there’s going to be a moment where he won’t be there to do it. And the sound of your body crashing against the concrete, of your pain, would follow him till the darkest moments of the night, where he curses the day you’ll scream his name and he will be too far away to hear it.

“I want to change my reward for today.” You smile at him, both of your hands behind your back, making him suspicious of your teasing voice.

“You’re not going anywhere with Hobie.” He responds in a neutral voice, starting to walk in front of you.

You roll your eyes, shaking your head before getting in front of him and starting to walk backwards so you could keep facing him.

“It’s not that.” You insist. He doesn’t answer and you know that’s his way of telling you to go on. You sigh. “I want to see you without your mask.”

That makes him stop dead on his tracks. He tilts his head, questioning you with curious eyes. That’s all you wanted? No, you wanted that? Why?

Were you really that bored?

“I feel like everyone here has seen you at least one time, except for me. And it’s not fair.” You got a point on that. He spends most of his time training you, you share almost every meal together, he’s the last person you usually talk everyday because you’re too tired to do anything other than going to your room and sleep. You have spent entire days with him, you have cried and made a mess of yourself in front of his presence, and you didn’t even know his face.

You can deny the sting of irritation you get every time Hobie or Gwen, or any other come talking about what they said during the meeting before a mission, meetings where, you had learnt, Miguel used to take off his mask. Peter told you it wasn’t that big of a deal. You wanted to punch him.

“If that’s what you want.” Miguel crosses his arms, tilting his head at you. “Now go tra-…”

You were gone before he could even finish his sentence. He sees your figure going around the building he chose for this particular session. Your swinging had gotten better over the last weeks and the confidence you had in yourself had also been improving, showing your true strength for him to see.

Jessica insisted on you being ready to train at the top levels with the others inside The Society training center, or at least to try. But Miguel profusely refused. He had designed many of the levels to train there, he knew the damage they could cause to someone not prepared to face them.

He blame it on his sense of responsibility over you the fact that he denied any attempt to put you on an unnecessary risk, but deep down, he knew that from the moment he stepped in front of you while you cried for that death he knew all too well now, and then observed how you wiped your tears and showed him your fists, ready to fight him despite everything… He was fucked.

You were the little thing he decided to protect even if it costed his life. The little thing that trusted his claws to hold at her, that puts its life on the line without a second thought. It is not his fault to have never experienced anything like this, to don’t know what to do, to act like a fool, to refuse to lose it… How they cannot understand?

“Done.” You jump in front of him, getting him out of his thoughts.

He looks up, seeing all of the targets on the building covered by a good layer of web. Your precision could be better, but you’re getting at it.

He sighs. He turns to face you completely before ordering his nanotechnology to uncover his face. Dark wavy hair falls onto his temples, brown skin glimmers under the heavy sun above you, full lips press against each other and two cold brown eyes glare down at you.

When you don’t say anything, he raises an eyebrow at you.

“Is this what you wanted? Are you happy now?”

You nod without waiting for another question.

“I just wanted to see your eyes.” You answer confident, smiling softly at him.

It is enough to say he never wore his mask on around you ever again.

Miguel O'Hara isn’t good in what emotion management respects.

He knows it, but he doesn’t have the time or care to try to do something about it.

It wasn’t that big of a deal…

Yeah, it wasn’t that big of a deal until one specially busy morning where he couldn’t make it to your first training, he went on looking for you… And he couldn’t find you.

He went to your room, your favorite places; he went looking all around the city, praying to find you just jumping above some buildings. But you were nowhere to be found. And it wasn’t until one Peter took mercy on him that pointed the worst place to be pointed: The training center.

With his heart going a thousand miles per hour, he started to look for you inside the complex. And when he caught a glimpse of Jessica looking up with a proud smile, he knew exactly where you were.

“She’s doing even better than I could’ve imagined. You’re a great mentor, Miguel.”

“Why is she here?” He answered immediately. Jess raised an eyebrow at him, confused by the uneasiness on his voice.

“Does that really matter? Look at her, Miguel!” She pointed at you with her extended hand. “Aren’t you proud of her?”

Of course he was. But what he couldn’t stand was someone else messing and taking choices over the one and only thing he has. So instead of answering her question, he sentenced: “Don’t ever get close to her again.”

“Miguel…”

“You can mess around with any other, but there is a fucking line, Jess. You chose yours, and I respect them. Don’t mess with mine.”

When he finally appeared in front of you, you smiled brightly at him. He looked like any other day, completely unfazed and with a calmed expression you were so used to see by now.

“Time to call it a day, don’t you think?” He asked, raising an eyebrow. You were sweating, you arms were trembling and you could barely control your breath by now, and still… You shook your head.

“I want to try this level one last time.” He was ready to talk you out of it but your pleading eyes made him look down at Jess, who, with a single movement, made him understand what she was talking about.

“Fine, but I’ll be with you every step of the way, got it?” His frustration made you giggle when you nodded.

You didn’t make it till the end of the level, but you tried, and that was all that mattered to you. To Miguel, having been able to take you to the wall before you crashed against a crystal under you was the main thing that mattered.

It had been a whole experience, but it remained like that. Enough time at least for him to push his way of react behind him. Until something made it snap again.

His eyes fly to all of the cameras in front of him, fixing his pupils in whatever screen he could catch a glimpse of your suit.

The threat they were expecting for your first mission ended up being a lot more aggressive and capable than hoped. You and your partner had already received a few good hits by the time Miguel reached for the Call button.

“How are you?” Is the first thing you hear when you press ‘answer’.

“Never better.” You reply, smiling at the interface of your pretty boss clenching his jaw.

“Need help?”

You immediately shake your head. “Not at all, we’re managing just fine.” Your figure distorts while you swing around. Heavy steps following you up close. “I gotta go, Miguel. See you back at home.”

“No, wai-…” He widens his eyes, trying to reach you before you end the call. His fists tighten and his eyes close, fighting to keep himself calm.

But our man can’t catch a break, because as soon as his breath starts to get back to its normal speed, a camera showing on one of the screens burst out with a big clatter, forcing his eyes open only to see his worst fear take form in front of him.

You were struggling against the anomaly, kicking your feet in the air and trying desperately to get his hands off your neck. Your partner was nowhere to be seen. You appear to lose you patience when you stop fighting and instead shoot webs to the creature’s eyes. The anomaly maddens, and throws you against the next building on the street.

Miguel's eyes follow your body across two cameras, watching in horror the blood dripping from your mouth when you cough after the blow, struggling to get on your feet again.

His hands move quicker than he can process, bringing all the information about the Earth you were on for him to see.

“Miguel.” Jessica calls from behind.

“Where the hell did you send her?” He whispers, reading the screen displayed. “I told you she wasn’t ready to go.”

“Miguel, look.” She insists, this time with a more demanding voice.

But the man can’t think of anything else more than you bleeding. Alone and injured.

“You said it was an easy one.” He growls in a low and dangerous voice.

“I’m…”

“I told you she wasn’t ready!” He snaps, looking back at her. His fangs pinch on his lower lip, so hard he can feel a drop of scarlet liquid running down his chin.

And it’s not until Jess takes a step back and Lyla calls his name that he realizes the way his claws had ripped the metal in front of him.

And then… A call.

He blinks out of his trance, looking up at the screen with your name on it. He hits ‘answer’ and your dirty suit and scratched face make an appearance.

His red eyes relax at the sight, returning to those soft brown irises and dark pleased pupils reserved only for you. He hides his fangs and his claws are no longer nowhere to see. Just you. It was just you again. And you were okay.

“Miguel, look!” You smile at him, pointing the camera on your watch for him to see your partner finishing to tie up the anomaly. “We got it!”

“Yeah, yeah, I see.” He can’t help but let out a small glimpse of a smile over his lips, nodding at your excitement.

“Oh, you’re smiling. Wait for me to come back, I wanna see it in person.” And just like that, his smile is gone.

“Don’t take any longer. Both of you, come back as soon as possible.”

And with that, the call is ended once again, leaving him in a room with heavy air and thick silence. He jumps off of the platform, still glaring at Jessica in silence.

“You know that wasn’t right.” She whispers. “The way you’re acting it isn’t right, Miguel.”

He shakes his head, slowing his movements until he remains still just a few feet away from the entrance.

“You don’t know what it’s like.” He murmurs.

“Oh, now I don’t know?!” She opens her mouth with indignation, but Miguel doesn’t alter.

“It’s not like that and you know it.” He hisses. “I have lost everything in this world. I am utterly alone. And even between us, there a strings that doesn’t tangle. You have a husband and a soon to come baby, a family that awaits for you at home, but what do I have, Jess?”

The woman, for the first time, remains silent.

“I have her. I only have her.” He says. “Not a single thing in this world belongs to me but her. Everything else have been taken away from me, everything I once had has disappeared: my job, my life, my normal life. If she’s ripped from my hands, I have nothing left. And I cannot keep fighting for a life I don’t want to live. This is not only for her, Jess. If I lose her, I will tear the universe apart with my own hands.”

A single shiver ran down her spine, watching Miguel exiting the complex to find you arriving almost at the same moment.

She watched how his threat takes meaning when you wrap your arms around him and his eyes brighten at the sound of your laugh.

She knows that if they ever were to lose that light, the whole multiverse would dim with them.

Miguel wanted to own you.

He wasn’t good at hiding it.

His hands would come to your hips, grabbing your tights or caressing your waist under your clothes.

Your scent would drive him into his animalistic side at every given moment. Until the point he would have to step meters away from you during the meetings in order to keep himself from the smell of your hair and your soft skin.

But when he didn’t keep himself from you, he would come from behind you, embracing you with his whole body. His face would bury in the curve of your neck, sending shivers with his tongue coming out, tracing a single line till reaching your ear, where he would whisper what he wants, where he would ask you to let him touch you.

When you say yes, he would drop his head and sink your fingers on your tender skin, pressing his hips against your body when you throw your head back, allowing him to do as he wished so with you, to mark you as his as many times as he wanted.

“Miguel…” You sigh this time, feeling his hands clinging at your suit, desperate to touch your skin instead.

He had just returned from a mission that had kept him away from you three days. You had imagined he would’ve returned tired and ready to sleep for fifteen hours, but instead he took you straight into his bedroom and pushed you against the wall, where he now holds you still with both of his arms.

“Take it off.” He whispers, tugging again at your suit. He was being nice this time, and you thank him internally for that. You don’t have the strength to ask Lyla for another suit.

You complain with a happy humming, letting your body fully exposed before him except for your panties still covering your ass and pussy.

The man switches off his own suit, letting you see up close the tent under his boxers. His fingers grasp at your thighs, forcing your legs open for him. Two of his digits run along your folds over your panties for around ten seconds before he decides to tore away your undergarment and place his hand back at your sex.

You would have complained about his behavior but his fingers pressing down on your clit rip only a moan out of your throat. He plays with your sensitive bundle until you’re wet and seconds away from an orgasm he pretends to steal away when he stops his movements.

“No, please…” You cry out, your legs threatening to give up.

“Shhh, patience, mi amor, I’m not done yet.” With one hand he pushes you up, forcing you to wrap your legs around his neck for support before he starts eating you out like a starved man.

You tighten your tights around his head, almost screaming at your over sensitive pussy being stimulated even more, with his tongue pushing in and out for a while until he takes it to your clit again, sucking in, ripping another hard cry out of you. You are so close. And when he finally joins in two of his fingers to curve inside of you, it’s your end.

You scream his name, clenching around his digits, making him growl enough to feel the vibration running down your skin. He guides you through all of it until you finally seem to catch your breath again.

But then, he takes out his fingers and drops his boxes to the floor. His dick throbbed painfully, making him hiss when he stroke it a few times before pressing against you, chest to chest, and bottoming out all the way with a single thrust.

“Fuck, Miguel!” You throw your head back as he does the contrary, sinking his fangs into your skin, trying not to lose control.

“May I move?” He asks, breathing heavily on your skin.

You nod.

“Yes, yes, please move.” He groan in pleasure at your words, starting to move your hips in and down to match the rhythm of his.

You wrap your arms around his neck, moaning sweetly against his ear while he pick up the pace. Soon enough, only the sound of skin slapping on skin could be heard around you, with nothing but your moans and gasps indicating him where he had to thrust, and his deep growls showing you how close he was.

“Cum for me.” He says, pushing your back back to the wall with his hand around your neck, squeezing you under his fingers. “I wanna see you cum.” He demands, making of his pace nothing but a mess of thrusts.

He was so close, he just needed…

“Miguel!” Your eyes roll to the back of your head, letting out desperate whimpers when your legs tremble around him and your walls clench around his cock, sending him so high he has to bite you again to avoid a throaty moan escape from him.

You could barely begin to feel your toes again when you feel him tightening his grip around you before walking out to the bed.

He was ready for the next round.

…

Thank you so much for coming all this way!

PD: I know Miguel fangs have paralyzing venom but let’s just pretend he can choose when to use it and when don’t.

This might not be good but I had the idea of this thread of story and I just wanted to write it.

I hope you have at least enjoyed some of it.

Love y’all. Sending a lot of love. See ya. <3

PD2: I’m trying to work now on a Sub!Miguel thing. It may be still a couple of days from it, but I want to be good. And I haven’t decided if it would be just porn or porn with plot. So let me know!

PD3: I’ll be doing cleaning and correction between today and tomorrow.

[d0llcuries]

LYING HAS TO STOP

pairing(s): neteyam x fem!na'vi reader

summary: neteyam is haunted by memories he shared with you before he left for awa'atlu

author's note: i think this could technically count as angst but it's more melancholic to me, there's just lots of longing. consider this a warning i suppose. i really can't put it here but listen to “lying has to stop” by clairo while reading for the best experience!! unrelated but i have midterms tomorrow and i haven't studied #yolo !!! 😜 (help me)

neteyam stood on the shore of awa’atlu, watching the sky, it's orange and pink light reflecting off the vast, endless sea. the sky here always seemed too wide, too open, nothing like the comforting embrace of the forest canopy he had grown up beneath. here, there were no towering trees to shelter him, the cool breeze that came off the ocean didn’t carry the scent of the forest, of wet earth and soft moss.

two years had passed since they fled. two years since the sully family left their home, their people, and everything they had known. awal'atu, for all its beauty, for all the new skills and wonders he had discovered, this place would never be home.

home was where she was.

he glanced down at the bracelet that circled his wrist, a simple thing—woven vines and tiny purple and blue beads. he hadn’t taken it off since the day she gave it to him. the memory of that moment was burned into his mind, one of the last things he could hold onto when everything else had been stripped away.

the way her wide, tear-filled eyes had stared up at him, as if she couldn’t quite believe he was leaving. he explained everything to her, his voice breaking as he explained why they couldn’t stay. she had understood, of course. she always understood. but that didn’t make it hurt any less.

the day his family decided to leave the omaticaya had been one of the worst of his life. the guilt of it still weighed heavily on his shoulders. they had no choice—quaritch wasn’t just hunting his father, he was hunting all of them. staying would have put their entire clan in danger, would have brought death and destruction to their people. but leaving... leaving meant abandoning the life they had built. it meant leaving her.

he could still feel the soft warmth of her hands, the trembling in her fingers as they brushed against his skin. and he could still hear the way her voice had cracked when she told him she loved him, right before she kissed him as if for the first time. her lips soft and trembling, her breath warm and uneven, the way she had pressed herself so close to him, as if she were trying to imprint herself into his very soul. he had kissed her back just as fiercely, holding her like she was the only thing keeping him grounded, the only thing keeping him from falling apart.

his heart ached at the memory. every night he replayed it over and over, the feel of her, the taste of her, the way her breath had hitched in her throat when he deepened the kiss. he could still taste the salt of her tears, mingling with the sweetness of her lips. it had been bittersweet—knowing it was a goodbye, even if she had promised it wasn’t forever.

forever, neteyam. i’ll wait forever.

he wanted to believe her. he had to believe her. but the distance between them seemed to grow wider with each passing day.

bitterness haunted his heart at the thought of what should have been. they were supposed to be mated by now. it was all so clear back then, so simple. it wasn’t even a question of if, but when. he could still remember the way she had smiled when he first mentioned the possibility of them being mated, how her cheeks had flushed a soft shade of violet, her eyes bright with excitement. he remembered how shy she had been at first, her hands fidgeting nervously as she offered him a carved trinket she had made. a symbol of their courtship. his heart had swelled with pride and affection, and he had taken it from her as if it were the most precious thing in the world. and to him, it was. everything she touched became sacred, imbued with her warmth and care. the future had seemed so sure, so inevitable, like the turning of the seasons or the rise of the sun.

but then quaritch came back, rearing his ugly head into their lives once more, like a demon from some nightmare. everything shifted in that instant. the careful plans they had laid, the promises they had made—all of it was torn apart in the blink of an eye. nothing was certain anymore. nothing was safe.

the metkayina were kind, welcoming. they had taught him to swim, to ride the ilu, to adapt to their ways. but no matter how much he learned, no matter how skilled he became in their ways, neteyam still felt like a stranger. and at night, when the village was quiet and the only sound was the soft lapping of the waves against the shore, he let himself feel it. the loneliness, the heartache, the longing for a life that seemed further away than ever before.

he thought of her constantly. every day, every night. he wondered what she was doing, if she was safe, if she still thought of him the way he thought of her. he would lie awake, imagining what it would be like to see her again. to hold her. to hear her laugh. his mind would drift back to the quiet moments they had shared—the way she would lean into him, her head resting on his shoulder, the way her fingers would trace the lines of his palm as they sat together in the stillness of the forest.

she was always there, in the back of his mind, a constant, aching presence. he would catch glimpses of her in the most unexpected moments—a flash of her smile in the curve of a wave, the sound of her laughter in the distant call of a tulkun. at night, when the village was quiet and the stars reflected off the still water, he let himself remember her fully, let himself drown in the memories of her.

he remembered how she used to laugh, how her eyes would crinkle at the corners when she was truly happy. how she would tug at his braids playfully, teasing him in that soft, affectionate way of hers. he could still hear her voice, soft and melodic, as she whispered his name in the quiet moments they shared alone.

but as the days stretched into months, and the months into years, that trust had started to feel fragile. had she moved on? the thought plagued him, gnawed at him like a festering wound. she had promised to wait, but how long could he really expect her to? he didn’t know when—or if—he would ever return. and if she had found someone else, if she had chosen to be with another, he couldn’t blame her. he knew she had every right to. after all, he had left her. not by choice, but he had still left. he couldn’t expect her to put her life on hold, to wait indefinitely for something that might never happen.

the idea of her being with someone else, though—it tore at him. the thought of another man holding her, kissing her, making her smile the way he used to—it was unbearable.

“neteyam?” his father’s voice pulled him from his thoughts. jake stood a few feet away, his expression unreadable in the fading light. neteyam had grown used to the look—his father’s concern, his quiet observations. “you alright, boy?”

neteyam nodded, though the tightness in his chest told a different story. “yeah.”

jake studied him for a moment, then sighed, stepping closer. “i know this move hasn’t been easy for you,” he said, his voice gentle. “for any of us. but you... you’ve been carrying a lot on your shoulders.”

neteyam glanced down at the sand beneath his feet, not trusting himself to speak. his father didn’t know the half of it.

“ke’loreä’s been asking about you,” jake continued, his tone careful. “she’s a nice girl. strong, kind. maybe you should give her a chance.”

she was kind, sweet even, with a laugh that rang like a bell and sea-green eyes that sparkled when she looked at him. she had taken an interest in him from the beginning, always finding excuses to be near him, to talk to him, to laugh at his jokes, even the ones that weren’t particularly funny.

at first, he hadn’t noticed. or maybe he had, but he hadn’t let himself think about it. but as time passed, it became harder to ignore. she would linger by his side during training, brush her hand against his arm when she spoke, offer to help him with tasks that didn’t require any assistance. she was... nice. there was nothing wrong with her. in fact, she was everything a mate should be.

but she wasn’t his.

“i cannot,” neteyam said, his voice tight. he shook his head, his jaw clenched. “i cannot do that to her.”

“to ke’loreä?” jake asked, raising an eyebrow.

“to yn,” neteyam corrected, his chest tightening at the mere mention of her name. “i can’t... i can’t betray her like that.”

jake let out a slow breath, his expression softening. “son, it’s been two years. i know you miss her. i know this isn’t what you wanted. none of us wanted this. but you can’t hold onto the past forever. we all left people behind. but maybe it’s time to start thinking about—”

“i am not holding onto the past,” neteyam said, his voice quieter now, but no less firm. “i am holding onto her. she is not the past. she...” he trailed off, unable to find the right words to explain the depth of what he felt. “i promised her,” he said finally. “and she promised me. i am not going to break that. she is waiting for me.”

“and what if she’s not?” jake asked quietly. the words hung in the air like a heavy weight, pressing down on neteyam’s chest.

he hadn’t let himself think about that. he couldn’t. if he let himself believe, even for a moment, that she had moved on, that she had found someone else, it would destroy him.

“she is,” neteyam said, his voice firm, though his heart trembled with uncertainty. “i know she is.”

jake didn’t say anything for a long moment. finally, he placed a hand on neteyam’s shoulder, squeezing it gently. “i just don’t want you to spend your life waiting for something that might not happen.”

neteyam swallowed the lump in his throat, nodding stiffly. his father meant well, but he didn’t understand. how could he? he didn’t know what it was like to love someone so deeply that their absence felt like a physical wound, to miss someone so much that every day without them was like another weight added to his chest.

jake didn’t push the issue any further. he placed a hand on neteyam’s shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze before turning and walking back toward the village, leaving neteyam alone with his thoughts once again.

he closed his eyes, letting the sound of the waves wash over him. he could almost hear her voice, soft and sweet, carried on the breeze. he could almost feel her hand in his, the warmth of her skin against his. he could almost see her smile, the one that always made his heart race.

but when he opened his eyes, she was gone. just like she had been.

sobbing. should i do a part two?

[luciferlightbringer]

Love in a Hopeless Place

Chapter 7

Chapter 6|Chapter 7|Chapter 8|Updated through Chapter 12

Lucifer x prostitute fem!reader Word Count: 3.9k CW: Slowburn, Prostitution, Hurt/comfort, trauma, fluff, cuddles, depression, anxiety, Sexual fantasizing, insecurity

Lucifer's eyes started to flutter open the next morning, a beam of light streaming in through the living room window. Wow, had he actually gotten a full uninterrupted night's rest again? What a pleasant surprise. He smiled as he looked up at the ceiling if his living room. Wait... his living room? Was he still on the couch? He was used to you bringing him back to his bed after he fell asleep, what hap-

Lucifer's thought process completing froze as he became aware of the weight holding his body down to the couch, specifically, the weight of your beautiful body, that still laid on him, sound asleep. Lucifer felt his cheeks burn a bright red. 'Oh my god, she feel asleep on me last night?! This is amazing, this is also terrible. Will she get mad? Will her boss get mad at her? Should I wake her up?' God he didn't want to have to wake you up. The sight of you curled up on him with your head on his chest was breathtaking. Shit... he really had fallen for you, hadn't he?

Lucifer had no idea what to do, he many ideas of what he wanted to do, but not what he should do. He could run his fingers through your hair, kiss your forehead, rub your back, any of those things could have encouraged you awake. But instead, he just sleepily watched you dreaming on his chest, until you eventually started to wake up.

After a little while, your eyes began to open. You too had experienced an amazing night of sleep that you were not used to. Perhaps all that crying gelling did you some good. But something felt off, where were you? You looked up to see Lucifer's smiling face, "Hehe, uhh... good morning, I guess."

Oh my god, had you cried yourself to sleep in his arms?! Lucifer cocooned you again in his wings before you could panic.

"Shit! Lucifer I'm so-"

"Shhhh shh shhh shh," Lucifer stopped you, "No apologizes, please. Yesterday was... hard, seemed like we both needed sleep, and frankly, I slept great. What about you?"

You blushed, and laid you head back on his chest while still looking up at him, mumbling, "Well, I guess that's the best I've slept... in a long time..." It was the best you had slept since you had arrived in hell.

"Excellent! So, lets just call it a happy accident, that we figured something out from. Also..." God he was trying to be a little bold and it made him nervous, "Would you be willing to try this again... but intentionally next time?"

"Like... have me stay through the night? And... sleep with you in your bed?" You asked.

"Yes..." he asked with a little more hesitance in his voice. You chuckled, look at him go, asking for what he wants, and so nicely too.

You smiled and shrugged, "Works for me, just let the boss know."

"Right..." he said, he was starting to hate the reminders that you weren't just here because you wanted to be. He wasn't upset at you, it just left him with a pang of insecurity, a curiously if you would even put up with him if it weren't for the fact that he hired you to be here.

He cleared his throat, trying to refocus. "You won't... get into any trouble for this, right?"

You waved your hand, "Naw, I'll just tell him I was out late partying. After what happened yesterday, he wouldn't bat an eye."

"Ok, how are you feeling, by the way?" he asked, looking over your face.

"Much better... Thank you... for... well everything..." you smiled nervously. You still felt guilty that Lucifer had to spend his paid time with you dealing with the aftermath of other client sessions, you were normally better than that. He seemed like he wanted to be there for you, but you had no idea why he would even want to. It felt so good, but you still could not tell how real or how deep the care actually ran. If this continued, the guilt and confusion might become overwhelming.

"It was my pleasure," he said, grabbing you hand and kissing it while staring deeply into your eyes.

Ugh, why did this have to be so hard to figure out!

After that, the two of you begrudgingly got up, and got ready for the day. Lucifer teleported you back to your room, bit you farewell, and left. Both of you back in your own spaces, alone, already missing the other.

______________________________________________________________

The next night you two had together, you and Lucifer would change the end of night routine as had been discussed, ending up with you both falling asleep in each others arms, and getting the joy of waking up to seeing each other first thing in the morning. It was beyond bliss. You didn't know it, but you two were in a secret competition to see who could wake up first, and get the privilege of watching the other as they clung onto their last few minutes of sleep before they would wake up.

The mornings that Lucifer woke up before you were both beautiful and painful for him. He loved getting to stare at your beautiful face, sure, but the urges... oh the urges to run his fingers through your hair, the urges to lace his fingers with yours, the urges to kiss your forehead, your cheeks, your lips, your neck, your... everything... the urges to let his hands explore your body, to sneak his hands under your clothing, to find the sensitive places on your skin that would make your breathe hitch, make the fire grow in your eyes, make you want to touch him the same way... the pain of all of these urges pulled at his mind, every morning, every day.

Some of them he could get away with more once you were awake, fingers through your hair, kisses on your hands, but he wanted more. Beyond that, he wanted them to mean something. He knew that he could just ask you for kisses or sex, and you would say yes, but he didn't want that, he wanted it to be real, he wanted passion, he wanted to make love to you. Every day with you made those feelings grow stronger and more unbearable.

Luckily, at least for another couple weeks, Lucifer would still be distracted by the upcoming extermination, and he figured that it was best that he focused on one life altering event at a time. You and Lucifer would spend more of your evenings hanging out with Charlie and the others at the hotel. Alastor had helped Charlie recruit many of the people of Cannibal Town to help, much to Lucifer's chagrin, and Vaggie had also gotten some intel on angels being able to be killed with angelic weapons, and was able to get resources from Carmilla Carmine, another Overlord and the only Angelic Weapon-Arms Dealer in hell.

Lucifer did not like learning that angels could be killed for a number of reasons, but he tried not to focus on that right then. Right now, he cared about being there for Charlie, and enjoying the calm before the storm.

The night before the extermination, most of the hotel crew, honestly, seemed like they were in good spirits. Alastor was even behaving and not doing everything in his power to piss of Lucifer, just some minor loitering on the edge of his conversations around the hotel. Angel and Husk were hanging out at the bar, and Angel's best friend, Cherri Bomb, had also come to hang out to join the fight. You noticed that Angel and Husk had increasingly been giving each other cute looks, and that Sir Pentious was nervous when it came to any interaction involving Cherri.

What you didn't know, was that Angel, Husk, and Cherri had also been watching the way you and Lucifer interacted over the last couple of weeks, the way you too looked at each other, the way his touch would linger, or that any hug would last a littleeee too long for a hug between just friends. Whenever you were not at the hotel, those three would come up with theories on what was going on with you two.

At some point, you ended up in a conversation with those three, chatting it up, and eventually Angel was the one that finally brought it up.

"Alright, babe. So...spill it. What exactly is goin' on between you an' da Boss Man, hmm?" Angel said, leaning his hand on one of his hands with a cocked eyebrow. You were startled by the question. Shit.

"Uhhh... w-what do you mean?" you say sheepishly, messing with your hair.

"I think you know exactly what I'm talkin' about~" Angel replied with a wiggle of his eyebrows.

"I-uhhh..." you started.

"Come on, (y/n), cut the crap," Husk chimed in, cleaning a cup. "Ya!" Added Cherri, "We can all tell you two are seriously vibin' with one anotha," she said in her spunky Australian accent.

'Shit, had these three really been that curious about my relationship with Lucifer? Was it that obvious? I have been just trying to follow his lead on things when we visited.'

"I mean... we are just really close, and comfortable with each other... that's all," you say, not trying to look at them directly.

"But how close are you too exactly?" asked Husk. "Yaaaa, like bedroom close~?" Angel pushed in his flirty voice, talking a little louder.

You quickly covered Angel's mouth with your hands, looking around, no one else had seemed to hear him. Lucifer was across the room, chatting with Charlie and Vaggie, and Alastor seemed more focused on listening in on their conversation than yours. You look back to see Husk and Cherri with satisfied looks on their faces, along with a twinkling mischief in Angel's eyes.

You sigh and remove your hands, "Look, guys, I really want to talk about the details around my dynamic with Lucifer, but... I really can't... I'm not allowed. Even saying that might be too much..."

The trios' faces became more concerned. "Wait... he doesn't... own your soul, does he?" Husk asked.

"Oh! No, no, nothing like that. And he has been nothing but kind to me. It's just... not something I can talk about... no matter how much I may want to..." you say, holding yourself and looking down sadly. The other two looked to Husk, Husk looked sadly back at them, he could tell this was not a bluff, you were telling the truth.

Lucifer glanced across the room at you, and was surprised to see your body language had suddenly changed from how it had been during the rest of your conversation with the others at the bar. Your body language looked more sad to him. Lucifer briefly excused himself from his conversation with Charlie and Vaggie, saying he would be right back, and made his way over to you.

Cherri, Lucifer, and Husk saw Lucifer approaching, and he giving off a protective look of 'what did you do?' before putting a hand on your back.

"Darling? Is everything ok?" Lucifer said, his face softening as he looked down at you.

Your head spang up at his sudden contact and sound of his voice, 'Crap, did he hear any of that?'

You looked up at him in surprise. "Oh! Ya... sorry, we were talking about Adam and the battle tomorrow... just made me think about how worried I have been for you all..." you say sadly. The other three relax once they realized you were covering for them, Husk almost didn't like how good you were at pulling out a story like that, but right now he cared more about not pissing off the King.

Lucifer sighed and ran his finger through your hair, before pulling you in for a comforting hug, "I know... we are gonna get through this." He looked over at the other three over your shoulder, smiling, "Together."

The others smiled back at Lucifer and he released you from the hug before asking if you felt like we needed to leave for the evening. You shook your head, telling him you wanted to stay longer. He nodded, and then walked back to his conversation with Charlie and Vaggie.

"Well, one thing is for sure," Husk said looking after Lucifer, "That man cares a lot about you."

You blushed, you hoped so, you hoped and prayed that was true. But because of the structure, no matter what he said or did, you always had some level of doubt hanging in the back of your thoughts. You wish you didn't have to second guess every interaction. You wish you knew how an actually health dynamic looked like so that you had something to compare to. Most of all, you wished you didn't have to be scheduled and paid in order to see him. Would he even want to see you outside of the time he pays for you?

"How do you know?" you asked Husk. Husk gave you a soft smile, "No man spends as much time as he does constantly checking in on you if he does not care."

You cock an eyebrow, "But, he doesn't constantly check on me."

"Maybe from you're perspective," Angel chimed, "That mothafucka is constantly lookin' over at you, why do ya think he was over here so fast as soon as you started pullin' into ya'self. Which, thanks for da save by da way. I am not ready ta get on his bad side."

You looked over your shoulder at here at Lucifer, a moment later, he looked at you, smiled, and waved. You waved back, and looked back to the others.

"See? Man's totally whipped," said Cherri. Doubted that, Lucifer having feeling for someone like you? Ya right. But you could see how they would think that way without knowing the truth behind your relationship, and they made a fair point, he did care to some degree. You couldn't keep the blush from tinting your cheeks. I mean I guess he did send a man to be tortured for all eternity for hurting you, that has to mean something... No matter how small.

Before long, it was time to go. You hugged everyone goodbye that wanted hugs. While hugging Charlie you said, "Kick his ass honey, I'd really hate to lose a good housing option." Charlie beamed and hugged you even tighter, to the point where it almost hurt, "We will! We'll get you set up right after we kill all of the angels or kick their asses back up to Heaven!"

You laughed, said goodbye, and you and Lucifer departed back to his place. Little did you know, that would be your last time inside of that hotel.

______________________________________________________________

Sleep had not come easily for both of you that night, but it did all the same. Your time at Lucifer's did not end the following morning, Lucifer had booked out the rest of your day, he did not want to risk you getting caught if an exterminator if the angels were successful at wiping out everyone at the hotel and started going after the rest of the sinners. He knew the exorcists would not go anywhere near his house, Here, at least, he knew that you would be safe.

You wanted to help, but you knew you weren't a fighter, and giving Lucifer some peace so that he could fight when it came down to it was more important. Lucifer already had his hands tied in this situation. He had been the one to originally allow the exterminations to happen in Hell, mostly because he had no clue what else to do and he had been backed into a corner in that initial discussion with Heaven.

There was one rule however, that if broken, would allow him to fight, that rule being that hellborns were not allowed to be harmed. Funny, that a rule that he originally set in place to protect Charlie was now the rule that he hoped would get broken in order for him for be able to fight, and the only hellborn in this fight was Charlie, well, and Razzle and Dazzle too. Lucifer had created them as guardians to protect Charlie, and creations fell into a weird catagory. But an attack on them normally meant an attempted attack on her. He had to gamble that one of them would get hurt, but not so hurt that Charlie would be erased. It was a very uncomfortable situation, but nothing about this whole situation was anyway.

The two best case scenarios were that they could take out everyone, including Adam, without hurting Charlie, so Lucifer would never be needed, or for Charlie/her guardian's to get lightly hurt, so that Lucifer could jump in. Once he was able to jump in, the battle would basically be over. You didn't know much about how powerful Adam was, you had only seen small bits of Alastor and Lucifer's power, and nothing of Charlie's ability to fight him off. You had no idea how this was going to play out.

Lucifer however, knew how powerful Adam was, as well as his and Charlie's power, and he had a small idea of Alastor's power based on how he had defended the hotel a month ago. Lucifer didn't think that Alastor was going to be able to take out Adam completely, but he thought he would be able to most like put up a good fight, delay him, maybe get a few good hits in. If Charlie was as much of a fighter at Lucifer was, he wouldn't be as worried, but she was a gentle soul and didn't utilize her powers a lot. It was gonna be hard to tell how this was going to go.

Lucifer sat on the couch, tense, holding your hand, wings already out, waiting for the signal, waiting for the energy between him and Charlie to activate that would inform him that Charlie or her guardians had been hit. Before long, the sensation of a sting of shared pain ran through his body. He quickly kissed you on the forehead, said "See you on the other side," and jumped through a portal out to the battlefield.

You were now alone with your own fear.

You went to the window to see if you could see the hotel from his manor, but you barely couldn't. All you could do was pace around the house, waiting for Lucifer to return. You thought about turning on the tv or radio to listen for any news, maybe looking for a livestream on your phone, but no, all of that would have just made it worse. So you paced, until you decided to lay on the floor and stare at the ceiling, trying hard just to breathe.

Until... a portal opened up. You sat up, looking at the portal, through the swirling red magic, you saw a familiar black claw reach out to you. You smiled, as the image continued to clear up, and you could see Lucifer, next to Charlie, and Vaggie, Angel, Husk, Cherri, Niffty... all covering in golden blood, except for Lucifer who looked exactly the same as when he left.

You felt tears well up in your eyes as you jumped through the portal into the arms of your friends. You all hug in a group before Lucifer picked you up and spun you around. After the laughter and smiles you looked around, something was missing, something big. It was quiet.

"Where are Alastor and Pentious? And... oh my god! The hotel!" you said realizing that it was not only some friends that were missing, but that the group was literally standing on the rocky remains of the Hazbin Hotel.

Charlie rubbed her arm, "Pentious... Pentious scarified himself for us... Adam killed him... he's... he's gone. And, umm... we aren't entirely sure what happened to Alastor either... He was fighting Adam, and the next thing we knew, Adam was out fighting the rest of us. We haven't seen him since. And... ya... Adam took out the hotel."

"And I took out the Bad Angel Man!" Niffy said, proudly holding up her little dagger, both her at it covered in bright golden blood.

You and the others laughed at Niffy's excitement, but your heart broke for your friends, you hadn't really gotten to know Sir Pentious very much, but your knew he had meant a lot to the hotel crew. You hoped that Alastor had found a way to slip out or something, he was... a unique individual... but he was also an important piece to the hotel. And the hotel...

Lucifer grabbed your hand, "The hotel, however, we can fix." He said with a smile, "Wanna help us build a hotel?"

You smiled, finally something you were able to do to help.

"Lets do this!"

The rest of the afternoon was spent with the whole crew building up a new Hazbin Hotel, one that was even bigger and better than the previous one. You had no idea that it was possible to set up a new building in an afternoon, but with Lucifer's extraordinary magic and an amazing team, the shining new doors of the hotel were gleaming and open again.

Lucifer could not stop smiling the whole rest of the afternoon, to have a purpose behind his creativity and powers of creation, to have a community again that liked him, to have his daughter back and getting to support her dreams, and to have you, you who made all this happiness fall into place again. Getting to beat the shit out of Adam had also been quite enjoyable.

He looked down at the wedding ring that was still on his left hand, after wearing it for so long, he had forgotten that it wasn't just a part of him, it was his reminder of Lilith. He would still always have love and care for Lilith, but the time of her had come to an end, and you were his new horizon. He wasn't ready to take off the ring just yet, he didn't want to tip anyone off, but god did he just want to toss of the ring, swoop down from the sky, scoop you up, kiss you, and tell you how much he loved you in front of all of hell, but this wasn't the time. This day was about Charlie and her dream. Plus... he was still really fucking nervous and didn't know how to say it to you.

Eventually, Alastor manifested himself back from the shadows and re-joined the group, Lucifer and Husk were... less than thrilled, but everyone else was happy, including you. The group celebrated at their new beautiful hotel together late into the night.

Eventually, you and Lucifer split off for the night to celebrate the rest of the night together snuggling in each other's arms. You fell asleep first that night, and Lucifer spent his last few minutes awake looking at your beautiful face in the darkness or his room, daydreaming about the best way to tell you how he felt.

______________________________________________________________

Don't get too comfortable! I've got one more twist in store for these two :) xoxo, dany As usual, leave a comment if you want added to the taglist so that you can get notifications when future chapters drop!

Taglist: @froggybich @wonderlandangelsposts @glowinthedarkbones1150 @marydragneell @crescent-z @superdinosaurnacho @jam0001 @kyo-kyo1 @so-get-this-sammy @lilzebeth @kelppsstuff @loquacious-libra @pinkhoneydrop @luleck @writer-girl99 @lavenz @stormz369 @littleladydemon @soujiswife @melday0105 @luluxx118 @sseleniaa @futureittomainn @cktkat @zaneyyyy @uravitsy @liecoris @starlitvenus @hannahrose130 @elleofdragons @butch-medusae @concentratedconcrete @erosamasan

[zazter-den]

Wake-Up Call

Synopsis- Your situation Bakugo is on a mission in another country, so why bother worrying him by mentioning that you're sick? (You really should have known that would backfire).

Reader Characteristics- Gender Neutral, Sick (Implied COVID), Brat.

Warnings- Suggestive Ending

Tags- Illness Comfort, Dom Fluff, Long-Distance Fluff, Spanking Mention, D/S Dynamic, FWB!Bakugo, Caretaker!Bakugo.

Word Count- 1500

A breeze slipped through the slightly ajar window of your apartment, filling your bedroom with the smell of rain. The world outside was blanketed in a thick mist, the city was still asleep, muted to a quiet hum. It was a chilly morning, the kind that would have you reaching for a warm cup of coffee and a cozy sweater. But for you, it was perfect.

The sun wasn't even up yet, and you were curled up in bed, buried deep under a pile of blankets. Your makeshift nest kept you warm, while the cold air from the window nipped at your nose. Every breath you took was crisp morning air and the smell of rain-soaked soil. It was a smell you loved, one that always soothed you when you were sick. With a soft sigh, you snuggled deeper into the comforters, letting the calm of the early morning lull you back to sleep.

The world could wait.

With your face nestled into the cool sheets, you were on the verge of slipping back to sleep. At least you were, before a sudden melody filled the room. The calming marimba cover of the Final Fantasy intro was a sound only assigned to your closest party members. With a groan, you reluctantly popped your head out from under the warm cocoon of your comforters. Your fingers clumsily fumbling for the source of the noise. The cellphone screen hurt, even with the reduced brightness of night mode, and you squinted at it, trying to make out the caller ID. Your heart skipped a beat as your eyes finally focused on the TNT emoji that popped up with the video call.

Katsuki.

A facetime call? This early? Your sleepy confusion only got worse. Your… well, you weren't quite sure what to call him. Best friend? Lover? Bro with benefits? It was complicated. Bakugo was supposed to be away on a mission in another country. Their facetime calls were always scheduled ahead of time, taking into account the time difference and the unpredictable work shifts you both had. An unscheduled call like this was… unusual, let alone a video chat. With a sense of growing dread, your mind started racing with possibilities. Was the mission a success? Was he okay? What if something had happened?

Pushing down the worry that had begun to creep up, you swiped to connect the video call. Your heart pounded in your chest as you waited for the connection to go through. The phone flickered, and then Bakugo's face filled the screen. It was a bright afternoon wherever he was. His spiky blond hair glinted in the sunlight, and his red eyes seemed even brighter. His face was a sight for sore eyes, and without realizing it, a sleepy smile found its way onto your face. Whatever was going on, it was good to see him.

"You wanna tell me why I had to hear from Deku that you're sick?"

Oh. Oh, you take that back.

"Good mornin' to you too Kacchan" your voice squeaked, trying (and failing) to hide the guilt you felt. Cheeks flushing, you quickly buried your face into the pillow. Your eyes peeped out over the top, like a child caught with their hand in the cookie jar. You could feel his glare burning into you through the screen, and knew you were in for an earful.

"Don't fuckin' 'Kacchan' me" Bakugo snapped, his scowl deepening. His voice had that distinctive edge to it, the one that told her he was more worried than mad. It might be bright and shining where he was, but his mood was anything but sunny.

You swallowed hard, throat dry as you tried to find the right words. "It's just a mild case, Katsuki" you admitted in a small shaky voice. You nestled your fevered face further into the cool pillow. "I'm just tired, can't really think straight… and I've been sleeping a lot." You gave him a weak smile, trying your best to reassure him.

Too bad your words didn't seem to have the desired effect. If anything, his frown only grew. "I'll be over it by the time you fly back home… so I figured I wouldn't worry you" you added, trying to sound upbeat despite the fatigue that weighed you down.

Bakugo pinched the bridge of his nose, his eyes squeezed shut in frustration. "Great plan" he muttered sarcastically. "Do you have any idea how fuckin' worried I was when Deku told me you had to catch your breath on the stairs?"

You let out a nervous chuckle, hand rubbing the back of your neck. "You'll be happy to know I've started taking the elevator?" you offered, attempting to lighten the mood.

Bakugo's glare softened a little, but he wasn't about to let you off that easy. "Not the point, and you damn well know it. You should have told me, sweetheart. I don't care if it's “mild” or not. I should've been the first to know. If you're sick, I wanna be there for you, even if it's just through the phone."

The screen shook a bit as Bakugo let out an exasperated sigh. He cares, deeply, that much is clear- even if neither of you have taken the step to label what's going on between them. It's in the way his eyes softened after the initial anger, in the way he called you first thing after hearing the news, even with oceans between the two of you. "Just...take care of yourself, okay? And keep me updated, no matter how small the shit is. Got it?" Bakugo's voice was rough, but the concern unmistakable.

"Heh, you care about me" you couldn't help but poke fun, laying back and stretching your arms above your head. The chilly morning mist moved the translucent curtains, but you couldn't feel warmer. As you settled back on the bed, the phone angle shifted, giving him a clearer view of your "pajamas".

"I care about you not being a dumba-" Katsuki began, his usual attitude ready on his tongue, but it fizzled out as you derailed his train of thought. His eyes fixated on the bright red stylized skull stitched across the cotton top you wore. He already knew the answer, but asked anyway. "...Is that my shirt?" he demanded in a softer voice, his cheeks quickly gaining a subtle pink.

"Ah, ya, sorry. You left it here last time you were over" You admitted a little sheepish, fingers nervously started to play with the hem. The fabric was worn and soft from use, and it's comforting in a way that's hard to describe. "I've been having really bad body aches and it's the softest shirt here" you added. "I'll take it off if you want?" The offer is genuine, but it's clear from the reluctant tilt of your head and the way your grip tightened on the fabric, that you'd rather not part with the small piece of him you have.

"No" Katsuki blurted out more quickly than he intended, his ears now matched the soft pink of his cheeks. He turned away from the camera, as if his sudden interest in the landscape in the distance could hide the heat he felt creeping up his neck. "It's fine."

"Bakugo Katsuki- are you blushing?" you teased, amusement clear as day. He could practically hear the smirk in your words. Your sleepy grin was wide on his screen, and he could feel it without looking.

"Hush" he growled, trying to regain composure as he glared into the camera at you. The red in his cheeks deepened despite his best efforts. "It's not like I haven't seen you in my stuff before. Just... keep the damn shirt on if it makes you feel better" he conceded gruffly, unable to hide the fact that, deep down, he likes seeing you wrapped up in something of his. Bakugo's eyes narrowed as he caught the bratty grin still stretched across your face, your smugness speaking volumes through the screen. His initial embarrassment at being caught blushing quickly evaporated. If the little brat wanted to play, then fine by him.

"But don’t think you’re off the hook for keeping me in the dark, darlin'" he chuckled darkly, the sound sent a shiver down your spine. Your grin faltered, replaced by a nervous gulp. You knew that tone, the one that signaled you had danced on the line and now Katsuki was about to remind you just who’s in charge.

He leaned closer to the phone, his red eyes piercing into yours. "Once I’m back, you’re gonna wear that shirt- and that shirt only" Bakugo said with a feral grin, the demand in his voice leaving no room for argument. "Then I’m gonna spank that ass of yours until it’s as red as the skull on your chest." The edge in his voice stole your breath away, and you sat up a little straighter.

Bakugo was miles away but it felt like he was here, invading your bedroom, taking over every inch of air around you. You could feel his authority fall over you like a comforting weight. Your body already ached for his touch, for the slap of his hands, the sharp bite of his teeth, and the relentless pounding of his cock. A whimper you didn't realize you were holding back slipped out, and now Katsuki was the one leaning back with a satisfied smirk. “Better be good for me and rest up, brat. I'll see you when I get home.”

No pressure tags for the Kacchan fans!: @bakubunny @neon-gothicc @dcsiremc @sadgirltrademark @purecoco

[nightlyrequiem]

Hello, so I was wondering if you could do a fic where the reader and Valeria are in an on again off again relationship. They obviously love each other very much but the circumstances of Valeria's life and occupation just make it hard to have a stable relationship but they both do try to make it work though.

I absolutely can!

I like messy relationships. Complicated relationships. Gives me angst and fluff (Depending on the situation.)

Realistically, I think this would be how being in a relationship with Valeria would be like. On and off again and so much fighting. It's okay though bc it's Valeria

Tags/Warnings: Light Angst, Mildly Happy Ending, Complicated Relationship, Making Compromises

Complications

Valeria is a hurricane and the calm that comes after it. A candle and it's flame. The flame will melt the candle down to nothing and burn itself out of existence. You slam the door to your apartment shut. Furious and certain that this is the last time. You swear it. You can't stand Valeria. So bullheaded. She takes any kind of criticism as a personal attack. You wipe your eyes and walk into the kitchen, grabbing a bottle of water and chugging it. She insists on putting herself in danger every day and can't seem to understand why you seem to have an issue with that.

She doesn't know that you're plagued with nightmares about her dying. Always just out of reach, cold and alone. Screams you've never heard echoing in your ears after you jolt awake. She doesn't hear you as you get up and move to the bathroom to cry without disturbing her. It's a never-ending fight. One you've had before, and it always ends the same way. You're not sure why you even bother trying to talk to her about it. You can't even bring up wanting her to be safer without her blowing up at you.

Not only are you always worried about her, but you're also always lonely. Whatever it is she does at work keeps her there for most of the night every night. You eat most meals alone and you go to bed alone in the too-big bed. You're tired of being worried about someone who seems to not hold any grievances towards putting themselves in danger. The fact that you kept your apartment in case of you two breaking up again should be a sign, a blaring, bright red one, that things just aren't going to work out between the two of you.

As you lay awake in your own bed that night, you're overcome by guilt for leaving. You know Valeria isn't putting herself in danger and avoiding you because she wants to. It's apart of her job. Many times she did manage to make it home before you went to bed she collapsed in your arms. Silent but heavy. The stress of her life clearly taking a toll on her. Those nights you stayed up with her, soothing her with whispered words and physical touch.

You wonder how often she needs those things during the periods of time where you are broken up. Does she run herself a hot bath and pretend the warmth is from you or does she go straight to bed with a heavy heart? You're not privy to that information. Valeria has never told you what she does and you feel weird asking. You turn over with a sigh. Is Valeria also struggling to fall asleep? Your thoughts are on Valeria when you finally drift away early into the morning.

Valeria can't focus on what Diego is saying. She can't bring herself to care about what he's saying. 

"-Shipment to Colombia, there's a team waiting." He says.

"Hm." Valeria acknowledges with little enthusiasm.

"And the shipment to Brazil went over smoothly-"

"So why are you telling me about it?" Valeria asks, voice deceptively calm. Though anyone paying attention would be able to see the agitation rolling off of her in waves.

Diego stops talking. Having spent enough time around her to sniff out when things are getting dangerous. If he keeps speaking, he'll enter Valeria's 'red zone.' Such a volatile and violent woman. Valeria narrows her eyes and slowly encroaches on him.

"If something is going over the way it needs to-" She grits out. "then I don't need you to fucking tell me."

Diego backs up and nods. He doesn't say anything, but he knows something happened between the two of you. Valeria has always been a private person but having worked so closely with her for years he's managed to gleam a small amount of trust from her. Enough to have learned about you.

Whenever the two of you separated, work became a lot less pleasant. And considering Valeria has been on the war path for weeks, Diego thinks it's safe to assume that you two have called it quits again. Something, for whatever reason stops him in the doorway. He turns and hesitates. Working so closely with her also had the side effect of him caring, just a little bit.

"Is everything alright?" He asks, knowing that prying is likely to just piss her off even more.

Valeria stiffens and glowers at him. "I'm great."

She's like a dog showing the first signs that it's going to bite. Raised fur and bared teeth.

"... They'll come back." He says stiffly. "Partners leave but they come back."

Valeria looks like she's about to lunge at him for a few seconds. She sighs and her shoulders slump. Raising a hand to rub at her face she replies.

"I don't think they will." She mutters before she straightens and scowls. "It's none of your concern anyway. Go do something useful and leave me alone."

Diego leaves and in a flash of anger, Valeria grabs the nearest object and hurls it at the wall. The result isn't very satisfying as it was a simple little lighter. She stays late. Later than usual and later than she needs to. She has always considered herself to be solitary and independent, but she's grown used to having someone around. Valeria used to love having the house to herself but now it's just lonely. 

Avoiding it will only work for so long though. Valeria has to go home eventually. She pushes open the door and steps inside, greeted by silence. It's incredibly late. 4:56AM. You should be standing in the hall with a hand on your hip, ready to argue with her over it. She hated that. The arguing. It's the last thing Valeria wanted to do after a long, awful day but you could never let things go. Now she'd gladly listen to you yell and chastise her if it meant she could hear your voice again.

It's only because you care. Valeria knows that. You aren't trying to control her you just love her and worry about her. And, like she always does, she's driven you away. Chose the Cartel over you, like she's done many times before. She doesn't want to do that. Doesn't want to lose you. She has a choice to make, and she decides to make it.

Knuckles rap against your door loudly. Disturbing your peace. You set down the shirt you were folding and get up, going up to the old door and peering out the peephole. Not that surprised to see Valeria standing there stiffly. It's all a part of the cycle, after all. You're tempted to not open the door, pretend you aren't home and let her walk away without ever speaking to her. You know her better than that though. She'll sit outside your door, waiting.

You quickly adjust yourself and open the door. Determined that things won't repeat themselves again. 

"Hey." Valeria says, face immediately softening and you hate it.

"Hey." You mutter. Silence settles between the two of you like a spectator. Her eyes dart over your face. "Can I come in?"

You think about it. Tempted to say no, but she's wearing a shirt that shows off her toned arms and tattoos, and she's a little sweaty from the heatwave. And despite your better judgement, you're thinking with your heart, not your head. "Sure." You relent, turning and giving her room to walk in.

She looks around your space. Then at you.

"I miss you." Valeria admits. You're impressed, it usually takes a small argument before she says that.

"... Okay." You respond. You miss her too, but you don't think she deserves to hear those words. You also don't want to utter them for fear that it will be the catalyst for you going back to her again. As if you haven't already pushed forth the first domino by letting her inside your home.

A frown graces her features.

"We can't keep doing this." She says. Looking at you closely.

You wrap your arms around yourself. "I know." You murmur. Suddenly afraid that maybe this really is the last time. You're not as ready to let her go as you thought you were.

"I'll..." She trails off and frowns. Looking as uncomfortable as you've ever seen her. "I'll be better." She promises. Reaching out and unfolding your arms, holding your hands in hers.

Your frown deepens as your hit with longing.

"You said that last time." You murmur softly.

Valeria closes her eyes and rests her forehead against yours. Breathing in your air. "I know, but I mean it this time." She whispers. "I'll come home at an agreed time and take breaks to text you. I'll make more time for you."

"You'll be safer?" You ask.

Valeria takes a moment to respond. "I can't promise that, amor."

"Valeria-"

"I can't." She interrupts. Leaning back to look at you.

You look upon the face of the woman you love. Not your other half but your other whole. You've imagined that face looking up at you from a coffin. Her dying is a real possibility. She's your other whole but when she dies she'll take half of you with her. Leaving you incomplete for the rest of your lonely existence.

"Why do you want to put me through that?" You ask angrily. "Why would you risk yourself when you know what it will do to me? Why?"

Your voice rises and Valeria pulls you into her chest. protecting you with her warmth. "Because as much as I'm your person I'm also my own person." She whispers into your hair.

You close your eyes, saltine tears squeezing themselves out from beneath your eyelids.

"This is my job. My livelihood." She continues gently. "I know the risks, I've had to claw my way up from the bottom to get to where I am, and I like being where I am. I like what I do."

You exhale. "I know."

"It's not fair to ask me to give that up."

"I know."

You pull away and wipe your eyes. Valeria grabs your hands gently and lowers them.

"I'll do things differently, but I won't give up what I've worked so hard for." Valeria says. Wiping your eyes for you.

"Okay." You relent. Deciding that it's good enough for you if it means you get to keep her in your life for just a little while longer. She kisses your forehead.

"Have more faith in me." She says. "It's going to take a lot to kill me."

You avert your gaze. People always think they're immortal until death catches up to them. "Let's go home."

[florencemtrash]

Flame, Shadow, Beast : Shadow

Azriel x Reader x Eris

Summary: Years after Eris frees you from his father’s prison, you’ve managed to find a new love, new friends, and build a life for yourself in Autumn. But when a certain Shadowsinger stumbles upon your home, dragging in painful memories of betrayal and longing, you’ll have to face the things you left in the past and make choices about the future you want.

Warnings: Angst (specifically a very angsty Azriel)

Flame, Shadow, Beast: Masterlist

Masterlist of Masterlists

Azriel gripped his glass so tightly in his fist he wondered if it would shatter. 

Another year gone. Another year without you. Another year where the guilt ate at his stomach and heart so fiercely he wondered if he was hollow on the inside. 

Azriel! WAIT! No! Please, no! AZ! HELP ME!

“Azriel.” Cassian’s voice brought him back to reality, a reality where he sat at an empty booth looking murderous as he tried to drown out the past with his ninth drink of the night.

“Cass.” He said stiffly. His voice was as steady and clear as if he hadn’t drank at all. Cassian could never tell if it was because the alcohol didn’t affect him, or because he was incredible at faking sobriety - either was possible when it came to Az.

“This is the fourth night in a row.”

“You’re perceptive. You should take my job.” Azriel’s voice was so dead and emotionless it frightened him.

“Stop this and come home.” Cassian said, almost begging. 

Azriel grit his teeth and said nothing, downing the rest of his drink and silently gesturing to the bar for another one. When the drink came, Cassian snatched it up first. Maybe the drinks had affected him, because on any other day, Azriel could strike faster than lightning.

“Rhysand has a job for you.” He said, pulling on the small collection of words guaranteed to bring some life to his brother.

Azriel’s spine snapped straight and Cassian flinched at how quickly his brother - brooding and sarcastic as he may be - was replaced by The Shadowsinger. 

“What’s the job?”

Find Bryaxis. Those were the two words that had sent Azriel flying into the night sky and across all of Prythian, chasing after the demon that had eluded them since the end of the war against Hybern.

For over a decade they’d all held their breath when it came to the ancient creature. For over a decade they’d been plagued by more pressing matters than a beast who seemed content to remain hidden and out of mind. Still, Azriel hadn’t forgotten about him. No, he was like a loose thread on a piece of clothing - forever destined to tug and unravel at Azriel’s shortening patience and sanity. 

Nesta had felt something. Something she wasn’t sure of - Bryaxis looming over all of Prythian like a shadow before curling up into a sliver of smoke and disappearing for good. 

They’d written to Elain to see if she had seen anything through her Eye, but she’d also been experiencing blind spots in her vision. The future was always full of events, some malleable and some concrete, but it was more unclear than ever before - like someone had shattered a mirror and she was left to string the pieces back together.

Azriel shook his head, emptying his mind of thoughts of Elain. It would do him no good. Thoughts concerning Elain were painful enough now that she’d left the Night Court… they were made even worse because they always traced their way back to you. Like how rivers must always find their way back to the sea, Azriel found himself drawn back to memories of you, so bright and full of heat they blinded and burned him. Your smile, your laugh, the grim determination on your face as you stared him down during sparring matches. You’d been his anchor without him even knowing it. 

And now you were gone. And it was all his fault.

Stupid, stupid fool. He hissed at himself.

Threads of information concerning Bryaxis were sparse and limited, but Azriel chased after them all, finding himself deep within the gleaming workshops of Dawn, the silent and cherished libraries of Day, and the sea-whipped bellies of Summer Court ships before finally tracing Bryaxis to the Autumn Court.

This has to be handled delicately. It is imperative that no one discovers you. 

Azriel saw Rhysand’s familiar graceful penmanship, read the words, and immediately crushed the note in his hand, casting it into the dying fire. The paper folded and crumpled from the heat before turning to ash.

He huddled down in the mountains that crossed the line between Winter and Autumn, grateful to be free from the cutting winds. Beyond the frozen lake were rolling hills of bejeweled forest. He wouldn’t risk flying now. From here he’d travel through shadows and by foot, getting as close to the Forest House as he dared.

If his intuition was right (and it so often was), if Eris knew Bryaxis was within the borders of his court, he would keep him close. Close enough to monitor, close enough to kill if need be. But what The High Lord of Autumn would want with Bryaxis, Azriel had no idea.

With the issue of succession dealt with and Eris planted on the High Lord’s seat, there came less and less of a need to continue relations between Autumn and Night, at least between Autumn and the Court of Dreams. After the war and until a month ago, nearly all of Eris’s dealings had been with Keir and the Court of Nightmares. Rhysand wanted to change that, and that meant if Azriel wanted to search for Bryaxis in Autumn, he would have to do it in secret. Eris would sooner pluck out his eyes than let any member of the Inner Circle scour his lands voluntarily.

Azriel traveled from town to town, inching ever closer to the Forest House, which curled up beneath the earth like a sleeping giant. That was the issue with the Forest House - hardly anyone knew the size of it, and that meant Azriel could be walking above a watchguard stronghold and not realize until it was too late. 

Something stirred within him when he reached one of the Forest House border towns. Everywhere people seemed brighter, livelier than when Beron had been alive, but this place… this place was filled with an uncharacteristic casualness and joy. The marketplace bustled with activity even in the early morning. Plump fruits, freshly baked bread, and sticky treacle candies wrapped in wax paper were laid out with care on hand-built carts decorated with golden chrysanthemums and sunflowers. 

You would have loved this place.

No. This wasn’t what he’d come for. He’d come to distract himself with work and to find Bryaxis.

Azriel slipped up the trees and settled in between two arching branches, straining his ears to hear the talk that went on below. His shadows slithered out to gather information his senses couldn’t reach.

“Faula’s with child, can you imagine! After so-”

“Thirty?! Why, how could you charge so much! The High Lo-”

“Four dozen eggs, two pounds of flour, six slabs of butter, and-”

“Will Our Lady be coming?” 

Azriel’s ears pricked up, blocking out the hushed conversation that went on around the pair of females who sat on milk crates and peeled apples under the cover of a thatched roof. The crisp sound of a knife sliding between fruit and peel followed by the thunk of a cored apple dropping into a barrel was a soft rhythm to Azriel’s ears.

“To ours?! Good gods, Rebessa, to think that she’d spend the harvest here.”

“She lives close by. It’s not as though we’re strangers to her and she’s wonderfully kind!”

“I hear she’s been invited elsewhere.”

The female gasped, her hand flying up to her mouth. “Elsewhere?”

“Elsewhere.” 

“Do you think he’ll-”

“Shhhhh. You mustn’t say anything. I’m not even supposed to know.” 

“Well how’d you find out?”

“Syndra says he’s been visiting jewelers and carpenters every week. He could be preparing a new room… or a bridal chest.”

“About time! And will he be going with her?”

“He follows wherever Our Lady goes.”

“Shame. He was unnerving, but welcome. Haven’t lost a sheep or hen in ages.” 

They continued on, whispering between their bowed heads of matching ruby-colored hair. Autumn Court members were crafty and secretive by nature, an unfortunate byproduct of existing beneath the thumbs of one brutal and cunning High Lord after another. But it would seem their tongues had loosened in the years since Eris had come into his power.

Our Lady. 

Elsewhere. 

He.

Azriel rolled the words around in his mind like a rough-cut stone in a tumbler, then set off to find the “he” who followed this Lady wherever she went.

As he slipped through the village, searching for a home that would be fit enough for a Lady of Autumn, there were two things he noticed. First, the stirring in his chest had grown stronger, like the pulling of the sea as it went out with the tide or the beating of a firefly’s wings against glass. Second, for a town of this size, even one that lay so close to the Forest House, there were only a handful of guards left to trot around atop their horses and an additional handful that patrolled the paths to the fields on foot. Whoever this Lady was, she offered them enough protection and power that Eris would willingly leave it vulnerable - at least in appearance.

Azriel’s nerves sparked with interest, his heart thrumming with the adrenaline that came with staying hidden. It was like a game of sorts. A game of how far he could go, how deep into a court could he burrow, how many secrets he could steal from tight lips without getting caught. 

When he came across the cottage beyond the borders of town, nothing but the faint trail made by footsteps and horse hooves hinting at its existence through the break in the treeline, he was unimpressed. No wave of power rushed over him. No hunting dogs or other monsters were posted at the door. The only thing that strengthened, and had continued to strengthen as he neared this place, was that fluttering tightness in his chest. 

He couldn’t tell if it was his instincts on edge or a bad omen of what was to come. 

There was a flat, empty stretch of land from the treeline to the front door. He called upon his shadows, drawing his power over himself to hide as he slinked across the grass soundlessly. His feet knew where to step, his lungs knew when to take breath, until suddenly he was at the side door. A peek in through the window confirmed his suspicions. 

There was no one here. 

He pressed his fingertips to the walls of the house, feeling the magic splinter outward like a ripple on a still lake. It was an unassuming, but powerful spell that wrapped around the house like a second skin. But Azriel was craftier than that, poking for weak spots in the magic and finding an opening in the chimney. 

He broke through the veil of magic, slipped into the darkness, and emerged on the other side inside the house. 

It was the smell that dropped him to his knees, the scent of witch hazel, rosemary oil, and oranges, clean and bright and warm all at the same time. 

It smelled like you. 

All thoughts of his mission and staying hidden at all costs were wiped from his mind. Now he searched for you.

He walked as if in a trance, finding pieces of you everywhere. He found you in the half-drunken mug of tea sweetened with honey and lavender syrup on the kitchen counter. He found you in the embroidery on the curtains - dainty flowers and vines used to patch up the holes and scratches with a personal touch. He found you in the fingerprints that stained the outer leaves of the books on the table. 

All these small things spoke a truth he hadn’t dared hope for in over a decade.

You were still alive.

He whirled around, searching the space with desperation for any further signs of you. But the house was empty and still, pieces of furniture missing like you’d been preparing to leave.

You slipped into your house, pressing a finger against your lips in warning to Bryaxis.

Stay silent. 

The monster obeyed, his neck twisting to the side at an unnatural angle as his body grew in size, shadowy flesh warping and stretching until he’d taken the form of a bear. 

Your eyes turned black. Power whispering at the edges of your mind just waiting to be called upon. You flexed your hands, calling your sword from the ether and feeling its familiar weight drop into your palm. 

There was a stranger in your home. A male from the looks of his build and height. He rummaged through the drawers by the door, deft fingers pulling out letters and keys while his other hand gripped his weapon.

You aimed the sword in the center of their back, tracing their spine with your eyes and pressing it against the space between two vertebrae, right at the root of their lungs.

“Drop the sword.” You commanded, pressing harder. The blade sliced through the layers of leather armor with ease. A wrong move, too deep a breath, and you’d slice through their spinal cord and leave them paralyzed on the floor.

Azriel’s heart hammered away in his chest and the feeling there twisted and ate away at him. Turn around. The voice commanded. Look at her.

His hold on his sword went slack, the metal singing before it clattered onto the floor. Without being asked, he unsheathed Truth-Teller, dropped it to the floor and slid the weapon back towards you, holding his breath as your boot stopped the ancient blade in its tracks with a solid thump.

You hadn’t recognized him. How could you? It was unnatural to see him in undyed leather armor and his raven black hair was tucked beneath a matching hood. The rich browns of the amour whispered of Autumn. He must have stolen it shortly after crossing the border into your court. But Truth-Teller? There was no mistaking it.

You grabbed him by the back of his jacket, spun him around, and slammed him against the wall before ripping off the hood with a snarl. The cool touch of your blade against his throat and between the slats of his ribs couldn’t stop what he knew was coming. 

The bond burst to life and burned within his chest, swooping and singing like a bird off a cliffside. It was a breath of fresh air. An answer to all his maddening questions.

“Hello Y/n.” His voice rang out in the house, deep and dark and all too familiar. 

You froze, eyes blowing wide open as you tightened your hold on the knife and sword until your knuckles turned white. 

Aside from the clothes he didn’t look any different from the last time you’d seen him. Same black hair, same hazel eyes that shone a million different colors, same beautiful, sculpted face spoiled by an uncharacteristic look of shock and awe. 

He looked the same as he did on the day he handed you over to Beron. 

You for Elain. 

You in exchange for the female he loved.

The betrayal still stung like salt rubbed into a fresh wound. 

Fury set your blood boiling and you answered its call, drawing back and slamming your fist into the side of his jaw so hard you felt something crack and split.

Azriel fell to the ground, catching himself on one hand as the other flew up to his jaw. 

Dislocated. 

He popped it back into place, wiping his mouth and seeing his hand come away red with blood. 

Azriel’s heart threatened to stop in his chest. His eyes crawled over the sight of you, hungry and desperate for every inch of proof that you stood before him. Your eyes were alight, brighter than any fire the world could set ablaze. Everything about you was wide and full of feeling as you stood above him, 

Inside his chest, the mate bond continued to purr happily, refusing to be silenced.

“Y/n.” He said again. The words fell like a prayer from his lips. “You’re alive.” 

“No thanks to you.” 

Bryaxis growled in agreement from your side, lips pulling back to expose teeth stronger than metal and smooth as porcelain. Azriel’s eyes flickered down to him in surprise before going back to you. 

“Bryaxis. You’re his master now.” A flash of pride warmed his chest. Leave it to you to take control of one of the most dangerous monsters in existence. Cassian would lose his mind when he found out.

Again, the creature growled, this time in disgust.

At the mention of the creature you’d come to consider a worthy friend you snapped out of your stupor and pointed the sword at his chest, just beneath his sternum, pressing down. Any more force and you’d break skin. Angle it upwards and push and you’d reach his heart.

“Y/n, please.” He begged. It was another shock to your system. You’d never heard him beg for anything. 

“What do you want?” The words came out hard and trembling.

“I came to find Bryaxis and bring him back to the Night Court. I… I wasn’t expecting to see you here.” 

“Obviously. And yet you’re in my house. Uninvited, might I add.” There was an edge to your voice that hadn’t been there before, a harder gleam to your eyes despite everything else remaining the same. There were some scars that did not write themselves onto skin.

“I… How did you survive?” 

Your lips tightened and turned pale, “Are you shocked? Disappointed?”

Azriel flinched. Your words may as well have been another blow to his face. The flesh around his jaw was beginning to bruise, shifting from an inflamed red to a mottled purple. 

“No!” Azriel lifted his hands up in surrender. “We searched for you. We searched for you for weeks… You have to believe me.” You searched his eyes for an answer, expecting to be met with his usual unreadable expression. But you found the exact opposite. He seemed… lost. Like he didn’t know what to do with himself. If you didn’t know better you would say the Shadowsinger looked frightened.

“I’m sorry.” he gasped, “For everything.” 

It was too late for apologies. Far too late. You told him as much.

“I know,” Azriel swallowed thickly, “I know.” He said again, quieter this time. Something within him dimmed.

“Bryaxis isn’t coming with you.” You said, breaking the silence and finally taking the pressure of your sword off his chest. Azriel moved back onto his feet as swift and strong as a river. “Now get out.” 

You turned your back to him, shrugging off the uncomfortable feelings that weighed on your shoulders. You’d be happier when he was long gone.

“You can run back to Rhys and tell him you failed.”

“Y/n-” His hand brushed against your arm, willing you to look at him again. And you did. You whirled on him in an instant, shoving him back with the hilt of your sword.

“Don’t touch me.” You growled. He flinched again like he’d been burned. 

“I’m sorry, Y/n. I-” He scrambled for words that wouldn’t come. Anything to hold on to you for a little while longer, “Why didn’t you come back to the Night Court? Why didn’t you come home?”

A stupid question to which he already knew the answer.

“That was never my home and there’s nothing left for me there.”

Azriel shook his head, hair shining like a raven’s wing in flight, “That’s not true.” 

I’m there. He sent his pleas through the bond. I’ve missed you so much. I’ve been waiting for you for years… for my whole life. 

“It is true.”

“And there’s more for you here?” Azriel asked quietly. “You live here on your own, no friends, no family.” 

“I didn’t have friends or family in the Night Court either.” You weren’t going to tell him about Eris or Halvor or the others. He didn’t have any right to that knowledge, “You proved that when you traded me away to Beron.” 

Azriel tipped his head forward, closing his eyes to the feeling of shame that weighed him down.

Azriel! WAIT! No! Please, no! AZ! HELP ME! 

“It was Rhys and I who made the decision. The others didn’t know. Don’t hate them for what we did.” 

Your laugh came out like a sharp bark, “I have a hard time believing that.” 

If the circumstances were different, he might have pulled down the neck of his shirt and shown you the thin scar on his shoulder, courtesy of Nesta stabbing him with a kitchen knife after she’d learned what he’d done. She would have gone for a second attempt if it hadn’t been for Cassian. He’d dragged her away screaming and crying. 

“It’s true. I swear it.” Azriel whispered.

You didn’t say more, didn’t give him the satisfaction of continuing the conversation. His eyes burned into you, moving across your body with a lover’s touch like you were a well and he was looking to drown.

Before you would have melted under his gaze. Before you’d wanted nothing more than to see him look at you this intently. Things had changed.

“I’ll give you an hour to leave these lands. If you’re not long gone by then, I’ll send Bryaxis after you.” 

The creature bristled with excitement, teeth bared in a terrifying smile.

“Y/n-” Azriel begged. “Please. The others-”

“I don’t care about the others.” Your voice cracked and you hated yourself for it. 

“I don’t believe you.” 

“I don’t care what you believe or don’t believe.”

“Y/n…” He knew you were serious about your threat and that time was ticking, but he needed to see you again. He needed it like flame needs oxygen. “The others didn’t know…” 

To your surprise he dropped down to one knee in front of you, eyes tilted towards the ground.

“I hate what I did to you. I hate that I hurt you and.. And I know…” He swallowed thickly, “I know I don’t deserve any kindness or forgiveness, but at least let the others see you… Let them visit,” He added after a short pause, “In Autumn, if that’s what you want.”

“Get out, Azriel.” 

To hear you say his name broke the dam on old memories, painful and numerous. Memories of you screaming out for him to help you when Beron’s men strapped the ashwood chains around your wrists and ankles. Screams begging him to take you home. Anywhere other than Autumn. Anywhere other than under Beron’s thumb.

Azriel! WAIT! No! No, no, no, no, no. Please, no! AZ! HELP ME! 

“Please. Consider it.” Azriel murmured. You turned away from him, looking at the engraved clock on the wall. Every tick tock of its hands felt like a death knell. 

“They’ll be glad to know you’re alive and safe… more than you know.” 

You said nothing, heard nothing as he took his things and slipped out of your house. But you felt his absence like a stone in your stomach. It wasn’t until Bryaxis nudged your waist that all the anger, sadness, and longing crashed in around you. You broke down on the floor, and began to sob into Bryaxis’s side.

<- Previous Chapter Next Chapter ->

______

Author's note:

Yeahhhhhh, Azriel fucked up. But I feel like this would be in character for him? He gets fixated on the people in his life that he's able to 'save' (i.e., Mor and Elain) and especially because of the whole '3 sisters for 3 brothers' thing, I think he would be willing to make big sacrifices to save Elain if it came down to it... but perhaps I'm wrong. I would be curious to hear other people's opinions on it.

Anyhow, sorry for the sad and angsty chapter.

Love,

Florence B.

Taglist: @nightless @mmb-09 @thesnugglingduck @cleverzonkwombatsludge @kemillyfreitas @logankemaek @the-sweet-psycho @a-frog-with-a-laptop @flameandshadowx @applerubyy @esposadomd @imma-too-many-fandoms @bubybubsters

[anianurst]

The Sun and The Moon

Summary: Yuji’s return to the jujutsu world prompts you to say some words that you’ve been holding back

A/n: takes place in season one (ep 14), reader has a shy personality and is kinda based on an OC that I have but feel free to change some things to suit your tastes, hints to unrequited feelings on Megumi's part so some angst

Warning(s): mentions of death, unrequited feelings

"You know this could be considered a form of bullying?" Yuji whimpers, and you can't help the smile that forms on your face. Yuji always had a way of trying to be funny, which you appreciated. Nobara rolls her eyes and turns away from the pink-haired boy.

"Shut up and stay that way for a while."

Panda and Toge are quick to reason with the stubborn girl. Walking over to Yuji, you nod in agreement. "Gojo-sensei is the one that made Itadori-kun keep his revival secret. We shouldn't hold it against him," you add, gently taking the picture frame out of Yuji's hands and offering him a small smile. The boy grins back at you as his hands intertwine and comical tears fall from his eyes.

"(l/n)! You're an angel!" A red hue spreads on your cheeks, and you quickly turn away from the boy and return to your spot next to Megumi. Your eyes briefly meet his, and a buzz spreads in your heart. Megumi's always found it easy to read you (and you, him), so he tells the others to let you get some fresh air after discussing their plan for the exchange event. Silently nodding at him, you quickly leave to escape from the other student's question gazes, especially Yuji's.

Jujutsu Tech has always been beautiful. The landscape and quiet air have felt like home ever since your father brought you to the school as a toddler. Looking out at the swaying trees and tall grass, you sigh. You love the quietness and tranquility of the grounds, but at the same time, it fills you with unease.

Life as a sorcerer isn't meant to be calm and still. Kento's always been straightforward, reminding you of the grim reality of your lives. How quickly and abruptly it can. Either your's or your comrade's.

Maybe that's why Yuji's death at the detention center had impacted you more than it should have. Before, it was just you and Megumi, a stable and familiar life you've known ever since Satoru introduced Megumi into your life. It's a life you wouldn't trade anything for, but at the same time, it was always the same thing every day. When Yuji joined, it was like a bright ray from the sun had been cast upon your life. His cheery attitude and kind smiles were rare in the jujutsu world. Even though he knew that his death was inevitable and his future was grim, he still smiled so brightly.

Tears roll down your cheeks, and you curse quietly as you wipe them away. Even after wiping the fallen ones, new ones continue to fall, and you jump when you hear a worried voice call out to you.

"You okay, (l/n)?" Yuji asks, his eyebrows furrowed and a frown on his lips. He quietly moves to sit next to you, and you furiously nod while looking down at the ground. You didn't want Yuji to see you like this, like some crybaby. "Is...is this about me?" he whispers, and in a hope to spare him from guilt, you don't respond. "I wanted to tell you, ya know. More than anyone. I didn't like thinking that I was the reason you were sad."

You laugh shakily and lift your gaze to meet Yuji's. Despite your watery eyes, you smile at him. "When you died, it just reinforced something that I always knew."

"Huh?"

"In this life, as jujutsu sorcerers, good people always die." Yuji frowns even more at your grim words. "But, when I saw your body on the ground at the detention center," a shaky breath escapes your lips as your heart beats widely in your chest, "It was like the sun stopped shining."

Yuji's eyes widened at your words, and his lips parted in confusion. The sun? Him? "When we first met, you smiled so brightly. You were shining like the sun that comes after cloudy mornings." You can feel your cheeks burning and go back to starting at the ground ahead of you. A short silence passes, and a pit forms in your belly. Oh no, maybe you should've just kept your mouth shut. What if Yuji is creeped out? What if he thinks you're a total freak and tells everyone else but the stuff you said? What if he stops being frien-

"If I'm the sun, then you're the moon."

Huh?

"The moon always shines in the dark night and always calms everyone down like you do." Your eyes widen, and this time it's you who looks confused. Yuji chuckles at your face and delicately tucks a strand behind your hair before smiling his oh-so-bright-and-radiant smile. "When night comes, everyone looks up at the pretty moon."

Swallowing the lump in your throat, you giggle and smile at the boy beside you, the one you fell for at first sight. And it looks like that boy may have also fallen for you. Two lovers who always gravitate around one another and share a cosmic connection that transcends all.

Extra:

"Go talk to her," Megumi says, and Yuji raises a brow. 'Megumi's a confusing guy', Yuji thinks.

"But you just said that (l/n) needs some air and I don't wanna bother her." The stoic boy rolls his eyes and lifts Yuji from the floor by his hood. A different kind of frown pulls at his lips.

"Just go talk to her, moron." Yuji raises his hands in surrender and fixes his hood as he exits the room. Megumi excuses himself shortly after and stands in the hall alone.

His heart clunches pitifully as his hands tighten into fists. Why had you fallen for Yuji? Why not him? 'No', he thinks. He already knows the answer, which pains him even more.

If you were like the moon, then Megumi was like the stars, the first to see your beautiful glow and always wishing that you would notice him.

[magnifythesun]

Absolutely loved ur latest prompt about Anthony picking Ian up and how you stick true to their characters it feels too realistic. On that note, since I'm an avid fan of protective worried Anthony, would you pls write something with Ian passing out while filming and Anthony hyperventilating over it.

aaaa this prompt has had my mind spinning since I first read it I'm so hyped to write it! and thank you soooo much, I tried really hard to keep their voices realistic in that one and I'm honestly very happy with the way it turned out! I'm so glad you enjoyed!! :D

(post-writing note: this turned out way more comfort than hurt lol, but it was just too cute to resist!)

It was a rager of a hot day in southern California. They were filming their latest sketch, which was unfortunately entirely outside, and were eager to just get the thing done.

"Should we take a break?" Anthony asked, "It's been a few hours out here, and this heat's really killing me."

"Let's just finish up this scene," Ian said wearily, his face slightly red from the sun.

Anthony nodded in agreement and turned to tell the crew to set the cameras at another angle.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Ian suddenly drop like a sack of potatoes, one second standing, then not. It was almost like a bit. It would have been funny, except that the way he ragdolled to the floor sent a horrid chill through Anthony. That was not the way someone fell on purpose, for comedy or otherwise. Anthony turned.

"Ian?" He said, distantly.

Erin was already running toward him, holding her huge water bottle. "Someone bring a sheet!" She called over to the crew, who, behind the sudden haze in Anthony's vision, were little blobs scurrying to and fro, some toward Ian, others running toward the house.

Anthony stumbled over. "What happened?" Erin glanced up at him. "Is he all right?" Her eyes widened at the way he was swaying on his feet.

"Don't you pass out too!" Erin snapped, voice tight with worry. "Go sit down." She waved toward the shade by the house.

"But, Ian," Anthony started. He swept his eyes over his friend, who was starting to stir. Ian's eyelids flickered, then opened as he started to wake up.

"Ow," He groaned, raising a hand up to clutch at his forehead. "Oh wow, my head hurts really bad."

"Like you hit it?" Erin asked sharply, then looked back up at Anthony. "Anthony. Go sit down."

Anthony took an involuntary step backward from the command in her tone alone, then kept backing up until his back hit the side of the house. Tears jumped to his eyes, and he knew in that moment he needed to get out of sight. He went inside the house, ignoring the way different members of the crew were reaching out to him, worry in their voices, and headed straight to the bathroom. Closing the door, he sank to the ground immediately, trying to breathe.

His breath was tight in his throat, like a great beast had a hold on his neck and was squeezing him. The sensation traveled down to his chest, causing him to gasp quick, shallow breaths as he tried to wipe away his tears.

Was Ian alright out there? His mind was spiraling as he desperately sucked in little gasps of air. He had just left him there, too wrapped up in his own frightened reaction to comfort his friend. A pang of guilt burned bright in his chest. He had to get this under control and he had to get back out there.

Anthony focused and started his yoga breathing routine that he used every time he exercised. Slowly, slowly, he controlled his breathing. He stood up shakily, and glanced in the mirror, making sure to wipe the tears from his eyes. There was nothing he could do about how pale he looked, or how red-rimmed his eyes were.

He took one more deep breath and pulled open the door to the bathroom. Walking out, he could hear many voices in the kitchen, which was out of sight. Sounded like most of the crew had taken shelter from the sun in there.

Anthony turned toward the living room and startled. Ian was sitting there, a wet rag on his head and Erin's big bright blue bottle of water clutched in his hands. Anthony felt his breath catch in his chest again.

Anthony walked over to him. "Hey, man. You feeling okay?"

Ian smiled guiltily up at him. "Well, better now," He glanced up at Anthony towering above him and patted the couch cushion next to him. Anthony sat. "I should have called a break sooner. I could tell it was getting to me."

"You don't need to push yourself that hard," Anthony said quietly.

"True," Ian's mouth quirked. "Plus the crew deserved a break too." Ian stared off in the direction of the kitchen for a moment. "Are you alright?" He asked quietly, fingers shifting on the pastel surface of the bottle.

Anthony grimaced. "Yeah, I'm good."

Ian turned to look at him, a sharp look in his eye. "Uh-huh."

Anthony intently examined the table in front of the couch. "You saw?"

Ian took a big gulp of water. "I may have just woken up from the consequences of my own hubris, but I, I caught a glimpse."

"Sorry," Anthony said quietly, "I really don't know what came over me."

Ian didn't say anything for a moment, just slurped another sip of water. Anthony couldn't look at him. Then, Anthony felt Ian's hand, cold from the surface of the bottle, rest on top of his own hand and squeeze slightly.

"Always good to know you care." Ian said lightly, the veneer of a joke over his words, but the slight drag of his thumb over the back of Anthony's hand emphasized his words.

Relief and affection rushed through him, and Anthony glanced at Ian. "Your head okay though?"

"When is my head ever okay?" Ian laughed, "But yeah, I didn't hit it. Water?" He lifted the bottle and offered it.

"God, yeah." Anthony took it with the hand that wasn't still covered by Ian's and took a long, refreshing drink. "I can't believe we still have to go back out in that to finish filming."

"Ugh, don't even remind me," Ian groaned.

Right then, Erin's voice called from the kitchen, "Alright, back out there to shoot in ten minutes!"

Various shouts of "Heard!" echoed around the house, accompanied by several grumbles.

"I gotta lay my poor heat-stricken head down for a few minutes before we head back out there," Ian said.

"Oh okay," Anthony said, preparing to get up to let him lay down, when Ian just tilted his head slightly to rest it on Anthony's shoulder. Anthony stilled, his breath catching for the nth time today.

"I'm gonna try to visualize myself in the Arctic," Ian mumbled, "Quiet on set."

Anthony tried to not shake his shoulders as he laughed. "Alright, alright. Make sure to get back from your polar expedition in ten."

Anthony let himself rest his eyes too, the warmth of Ian's hand and head soothing the last of his rattled nerves.

[theautisticjedi]

Hello there autistic jedi.... I have one simple question for you.... Could you tell me everything about your Michael Afton please and thank you

Why hello there connectionteterminated13.... I have a not so simple answer....

Also I thought tumblr deleted this but it didn't! Thankfully omg.

So! *claps hands together* I'm working on an AU rn, as in, first chapter is 75% doneish, and I have a plan sorta.

Things could definitely change as I change things constantly if I get a better idea.

So my Michael Afton...this poor boy, oh God where do I start...

Trigger warning for child abuse and self harm mentions under the cut

When Michael was 16, he walked downstairs to find his mother dead in his father's arms by his hand. Michael is of course horrified and tries to call the police, but William threatens him into staying silent.

Michael was very close with his mom, and her loss caused him a lot of pain understandably. Especially when, now that Clara is gone, William can hurt and lash out at Michael as there's no one to stop him. William never liked Michael, as he was an accident baby, and later caused the death of Evan (accidentally of course, Michael is haunted by the guilt every day).

After being compared to his father (the two look near identical, only that Michael's eyes are bright blue and he has freckles), Michael takes matters into his own hands and purposely burns half his face so that he won't ever be mistaken for his father again.

When Michael graduates high school, he decides to run away, he's an adult now, there's nothing stopping him from running. He packs his car up and starts to drive, no destination in mind. As he's driving, he starts to see signs for Las Vegas, and decides he'll go there, he's always wanted to visit.

Here is Mike (made with picrew so not exact but close to what I have in mind, the cross necklace was his mother's)

He arrives in Las Vegas and explores the city, immediately loses $10 to a slot machine and decides to never gamble again (smart man).

While wandering around, he ends up meeting the owner of a club, who immediately offers him a job as a security guard.

See, Michael may have soft, wide eyes and be mostly soft-spoken, but he's tall. As in, 6'8 tall. So he's pretty intimidating.

He enters the club, and his eyes fall to one of the dancers on stage, who's the most beautiful woman he's ever seen.

Meet Nancy Schmidt (stage name Serenity), an aspiring dancer.

Mike is head over heels in love with her at first sight. He walks her to her car every night, and finally he works up the courage to ask her out on a date. She agrees, and he skips all the way home.

Their first date is a bit rocky, as Mike has no idea how to be romantic, but they work things out, go on more dates, and start to fall in love. He spends three years with her, they move in together, he's planning on proposing, all is well.

Until his father gives him a call, says he needs his help with something to do with his sister. (Who Michael thinks went missing) He doesn't want to go back, but Nancy, who has no idea about William's abuse and murder, tells him he should go back, just so they don't end on bad terms, like her and her father. So he agrees.

And then he gets scooped.

He wanders around as Ennard until Ennard makes a dash for the sewers, leaving Michael an empty husk. He limply crawls to the only person he knows I'm town that might help him.

His Uncle Henry.

Henry has been a complete shut in since Charlie died back in '83, Michael hasn't seen him in years.

He knocks on his door, it's late, Henry opening it to find Michael slumped on the ground, his chest haphazardly stitched together. Michael begs for his help, which Henry gives, taking him inside and doing his best to properly stitch him up.

After being scooped, Michael doesn't call Nancy, to ashamed of his appearance to tell her, hoping she'll just find a new man and move on. But she doesn't, tracking down Fazbear’s and giving them a call, and while William nor Henry own it, she manages to get Henry's contact info and gives him a call. He tells her that Michael is here, without telling Michael.

Nancy drives down immediately, knocking on Henry's door, who let's her in.

She hears Mike in the kitchen, begging her to stay away. He's hiding in the dark, and when she flips on the light, she's horrified. She asks what happened to him, who did this to him. She steps closer and cradles his face, she's so worried about him.

Much to Michael's shock, she's worried, not disgusted with him.

Michael explains what happened, not just the scooping but everything before that. His father abusing him and killing his mother, how he got his burn scar, etc. She holds his hands as he explains, heartbroken at how much he kept inside.

Michael expects her to leave, but she won't, she's staying with him, he's still the same man she fell for, just purple and missing most organs.

There's so much more to get into, they get married, they have a kid, how the games play into the story, the ghost kids, Scrap Ballora, etc. But this is enough for now I think :D

If you made it this far, thank you! Some of these details will change when I write the actual fic of course. Thank you so much for asking me!

[sequinsmile-x]

Burning Embers

He’d tried, and failed, to ask her out numerous times, backing out of it at the last second each time. Her friendship was precious to him, something that had saved him from the brink more than once, and as much as he loved her he was hesitant to risk it. 

Which is how he found himself in the situation he was currently in. 

AKA - the one where Aaron panics, and tells Emily that what he intends to be a date is a movie night with his son.

-x-

Hi friends!!

This is based on a comment from one of my frequent commenters on Ao3, SallyAlbright, on one of my recent fics, The One You Reached For, in which I mention that Aaron intended to use what he told Emily was a movie night with Jack to actually take her on a date.

SallyAlbright mentioned I should write that eventuality out, and here we are over 3k words later with smut because I cannot help myself.

Hope you all enjoy <3

-x-

Words: 3.3k

Warnings: Smut, 18+

Read over on Ao3, or below the cut

He was nervous. 

It wasn’t a feeling Aaron was used to, or one that he liked. He could do his job without flinching most days, and face down the worst of humanity with confidence in his team, in his decision-making, but this, something as relatively straightforward as asking a woman out on a date, had left him feeling like a teenager. Part of the problem, he thought, was that this wasn’t just any woman. It was Emily. His best friend. The woman he was in love with. 

He’d tried, and failed, to ask her out numerous times, backing out of it at the last second each time. Her friendship was precious to him, something that had saved him from the brink more than once, and as much as he loved her he was hesitant to risk it. 

Which is how he found himself in the situation he was currently in. 

Emily was on her way over for what she thought was a movie night with him and Jack, even though Jack was away with Roy and Jessica. The mention of his son a failsafe whenever he stopped himself from asking Emily out. He felt guilty when she called him earlier, asking who was Jack’s favourite character from the movie they were going to watch, and he’d almost admitted to it then but had instead told him about the blue forgetful fish Jack was obsessed with. 

Aaron is just finishing adjusting the dining table, the flowers he’d bought her in a vast in the middle of the two places he’d set when there’s a knock on his front door. He gives himself a moment, breathing out slowly before he opens the door, his smile genuine when he meets hers. 

“So,” she says, walking past him into the apartment, a bottle of wine in one hand and a cuddly bright blue fish in the other, “The woman at the toy store told me that this is Dory, so I hope she was right, and I brought us some wine.”

He can’t help but smile at her as he closes the front door, his eyes fixed on the gift she’d brought his son as she drops it onto the couch and places the bottle of wine on the side table.

“You didn’t have to get him something.” 

“It’s his favourite movie,” she replies, shrugging it off as if it was nothing, as if her love for his son wasn’t everything, as she leans against his couch to remove her shoes, “Where is he anyway?” 

The guilt he’d been feeling all day returns all at once, and he’s sure his cheeks must physically be burning with it, “He’s not here.” 

“Oh,” she replies, her eyebrows creasing, “Is he on his way?” 

“No.” 

She looks at him curiously, crossing her arms over her chest, “Oh,” she says again, staring at him. For once she can’t read him, and she wasn’t sure she liked it, “Well, we can hang out just the two of us,” she smiles at him, trying to pull her best friend out of the trance he’d seemingly fallen into, “Although, if he isn’t here we can probably watch a more grown-up movie than Finding Nemo.” 

He chuckles half-heartedly and swallows thickly, “That would be nice, I can’t remember the last time I watched a movie that wasn’t a cartoon.”

She smiles, but it develops into a frown as he continues to look at her, “Are you ok, Aaron?” She looks past him and her eyes widen slightly as she looks at the dining table behind him, clearly set up for a meal for two. Flowers and candles that were yet to be lit in the centre. She looks back and forth between the table and him, realisation dawning on her. “Oh.”

“You’re saying that a lot this evening,” he says, trying to joke as he scratches at the back of his head. 

“Is this…meant to be a date?” She asks tentatively, pushing down the dangerous hope that tries to climb up her throat, sure that she could have read this all wrong.

Aaron sighs and clears his throat before he nods, “Yes,” he admits, “I wanted to ask you, I have for a while actually, and I panicked halfway through and said Jack wanted you to come over to watch a movie.” 

Emily stares as his words sink in, and she recalls the, now admittedly obviously strange, invite from him just a couple of days before. How he’d been unsure that she’d want to come over even though she spent most of her weekends here these days, the Hotchner boys a key part to her finding herself again after Paris. 

“Why didn’t you just ask?” She asks gently, her arms crossed over her chest as she stands only a few paces from him. 

“I didn’t know how,” he admits, avoiding eye contact with her.

“You didn’t know how…” she repeats, her eyes incredulous as she looks at him, “Aaron you’re 47.” 

“I’ve never done it before,” he exclaims, taking a breath to calm himself down, and she has to stop herself from smiling, knowing that admission alone was something he wouldn’t share with someone else, “Haley asked me out and…you’re not just anyone, Em.” 

She feels her heart seize in her chest, doubling in size at his words, at everything he hadn’t said but was written all over his face, and she blows out a slow breath, “I’ve seen you face down serial killers. Fuck, you’ve been known to purposely aggravate them, but asking me out made you nervous?”

He looks down at the floor, his hands in his pockets, and answers quietly, “You’re my best friend, Em. I…don’t want to risk that.” 

She sighs, and she stares at him, her teeth sinking into her lower lip. She knew if it was anybody else she’d be annoyed, that the white lie he’d told to get her here would make her shackles go up, but she knows him. She knows he’s telling the truth now, that he simply hadn’t known what to say, because she’d felt the same way for longer than she cared to admit even to herself.

There had been countless moments when she’d danced around asking him out, convincing herself it was better to have him as a friend than not at all. Her past, and her fear of the future, enough to stop her from taking the step he was now taking for the both of them. 

She steps closer to him, feeling herself relax as the smell of him washes over her. The cologne she was always chasing, followed by something that was uniquely him. He’s still staring at the floor and she places her hand on his cheek, guiding him to look at her, her smile wide as their eyes meet. 

“Why would you ever think my answer would be anything other than yes?” 

It takes a moment for her words to register, the feel of her skin against his always enough to short-circuit his brain. He huffs out a laugh, sure that he’d somehow misunderstood her. 

“You mean…” 

She smiles and nods, leaning in to kiss him before he can say anything else, always a believer that actions spoke more than words. It’s everything she’d imagined it would be for years - firm and somehow soft at the same time, just like him. 

This time his reaction is immediate. His hands seek out her hips, landing on them as if magnetised, pulling a sigh from her as he tugs her closer, her body pressed up against his. He loses himself in the feel of her, in her warmth, in how she seemed to fit perfectly against him. It was better than any dream he’d ever had about her, and he knew now he’d had a taste of the reality he could never have enough.

She’s insistent as she kisses him, her lips parting as she swipes her tongue along the seam of his, and his hands shift to her lower back as hers move to the back of his neck. She moans, rolling her hips against his at the same time as she grips his hair in her hands, and it’s enough to bring his brain back online.

He pulls back to look at her, smiling as she chases his lips, a slightly dazed look in her eyes as she does so. 

“Em,” he says breathlessly, cut off as she kisses him again before he shifts his hands to her cheeks, holding her in place so he could talk, “We should talk.” 

“We can talk later,” she replies, her fingers grasping his shirt collar, anchoring herself to him. He sighs and leans forward, pressing his forehead against hers. 

“Em,” he tries again, “You aren’t…this could never just be sex to me.”

She beams at him, her smile wide and bright, and she kisses him, “It could never be just sex to me either,” she assures him, although she knows if they had done this years ago, when she was new to the team, it likely would have been just that. But they’d grown since then, their roots tangling together so it was impossible to see where he ended and she began. It’s what had made them both hesitant to make it even this far, but for the first time in a long time she feels brave - spurred on by the small piece of him she’d already had, “I love you.” 

Her admission stokes the fire in his belly and floods him with relief at the same time, and he presses his forehead into hers, almost choking on the laugh that escapes him, breaking free from deep inside of him, as if it had been held captive for years. 

“I love you too,” he replies, feeling lighter for saying it, her smile impossibly wider as she leans in to kiss him. He’s briefly lost in it again before he pulls back, making her groan in frustration, “Emily-”

“We can talk later,” she promises, her eyes wide, almost feral, “Please. I…I need you.” 

She thinks it’s the longest second of her life as she watches him balance his usual sensibilities, his desire to be a gentleman, against his desire for her. She feels nothing short of relief when she clearly wins, his touch switching back from soft to desperate as he pulls her back in for a kiss. 

He leads her towards the kitchen counter, her back pressing against it as he crowds her, all of her senses overwhelmed by him. She groans as his hands sneak under her shirt, untucking it from her jeans without her even realising. His palms are scorching against her skin, and she's sure she could overheat with it. She removes her hands from his hair and grabs the hem of her shirt, pulling away from him just enough to pull it over her head, depositing it somewhere on the floor behind him. With anyone else, she’d be self-conscious, worried about a reaction to the scar on her abdomen and the brand on her breast, but with him, it doesn’t matter. He already knew all of her, and had been there for her worst moments, and if anything it makes her feel more empowered as he looks her up and down. 

Aaron gives himself a moment just to stare at her, her beauty beyond what he had imagined over the years. He traces a finger over the scar he had only read about in her files on her breast. The shape of it was distorted now, covered by skin grafts that would never entirely remove it, and he watches as she shivers, goose pimples trailing below her surprisingly simple black cotton t-shirt bra. 

“I was planning on spending my evening watching a movie with your son,” she heaves out as if reading his mind, “I wasn’t expecting to be fucked by you on your kitchen counter. Next time I’ll wear lingerie.” 

“You look beautiful in anything,” He says as he looks back at her face, feeling some pride when he sees the look in her eyes, somehow darker than they had ever been, her pupils blown by desire, “Next time?” 

She nods, tugging him back in for another kiss, whispering against his lips as if she didn’t want any space between them at all. “Next time.” 

He lifts her up, making her squeal as she wraps her arms around his neck, her legs following suit around his waist before he deposits her on the kitchen counter. He trails kisses across her jaw and down her throat, alternating between laving her skin with his tongue and nipping it with his teeth, wanting to taste every part of her. 

She moans, holding his head against her chest as he kisses the skin between her breasts, one of his hands busy trailing up her spine until he finds the catch of her bra, undoing it on the first try. She shivers as he pulls away just long enough to take her bra off, the comparatively cool air of his apartment briefly replacing the heat of him. He palms one of her breasts, rolling her nipple, before he leans in to kiss the other one, his teeth gently biting at her skin enough to make her throw her head back, her palms flat against the countertop. 

“Aaron,” she breaths out, “Fuck that feels good.” 

“You’re so beautiful,” he mutters, his lips never fully leaving her skin, simply trailing across it instead, “So fucking beautiful.”

The praise makes her skin flush harder than his attention to it, and she clenches her thighs together, desperate for some friction. He notices, because he always noticed everything about her these days, and he smirks, something she’s sure should make her angry but it somehow only turns her on even more. 

Aaron kisses her, swallowing her moan as he trails his fingers down her stomach, reaching for the button of her jeans as she unbuttoned his shirt, desperate to feel his skin against hers. She tilts her hips upwards so he can slip her jeans and underwear down her legs. She jumps when she sits back down, the countertop cool against her overheated skin. 

He pushes her thighs a little further apart, making her jump for an entirely different reason as his fingers trail upwards, leaving her with no option but to cling onto him, her arms looping around his back under the material of the shirt he was still wearing. The moan she releases as he tentatively circles her clit is guttural. She presses her face into his chest, murmuring words of encouragement against him.

“So wet for me, sweetheart,” he murmurs, his touch already firmer, as if he had a manual for her body, as if he’d written the damn thing, “So perfect.” 

She bucks her hips, the movement not voluntary as he slowly builds her up, her stomach feeling as if a coil was tightening deep within it, “Please, more.” 

He doesn’t need any further encouragement, and he shifts just enough to press one of his fingers into her, groaning at the feeling of her around him and the sensation of her nails digging into his back. He presses the heel of his hand against her clit and moves his finger in and out of her, drawing a series of moans out of her as he pushes her closer and closer to the edge. 

It’s a pressure that builds throughout her body until it sparks in her belly, catching fire as pleasure spreads through her veins, her moan loud in his otherwise quiet apartment. As her vision clears, her senses return somewhat to normal, she can feel his lips against her temple, words she can feel more than hear against her skin.

“Holy shit,” she breathes out, shifting her head to press her lips against his, her words punctuated by kisses, “Take your pants off.” 

Aaron smiles, doing as he’s asked as he steps far enough away from her to undo his belt and push his pants and boxers, lowering them to his knees. 

She watches from her place on the counter, her breathing still uneven, her lungs stuffed full of pleasure, and her eyes widen slightly at the size of him, a question that had always lingered in the back of her mind finally answered. She smiles, sitting up enough to close the gap between them, kissing him as she wraps her hand around him, drawing a punched out groan from him as she pumps him up and down.

“Em.” He breathes out, reaching for her, his hand on the outside of her thigh, hoisting it over his waist, both of them gasping as he notches over her still sensitive skin. 

She kisses him, the softest one this had started, her lips tender against his before she rests their foreheads together as she guides him into her, her breath catching in her throat at the stretch of him. 

Aaron growls at the feel of her around him, clenching his teeth as he controls himself, aware she needs a moment from the way she’s grasping at him, her nails surely breaking his skin. 

“You feel so good,” he grits out through his teeth, trailing his lips down her cheek and jawline before burying his face in her neck, “So fucking good.” 

“You too,” she replies, clenching around him as she moves her hands up to his hair, holding him in place. She thrusts her hips against him and he takes it as a silent request to move, something he does without further prompting. 

It was odd for both of them to think that this was their first time, because it felt more like coming home. Like something they had done countless times, each able to draw pleasure from each other like they’d done this before, like they’d had years of practice. Emily hooks her leg slightly higher around his waist, groaning as it changes the angle, and she feels familiar pressure in her belly. 

“Close,” she mutters, her hips stuttering. He reaches between them and gently rubs at her clit, pushing her over the edge again. He closely follows, her name a moan against her skin as he bites into her shoulder, leaving a bruise they both knew would last for days. They both take a second to allow their breathing to slow, their grip on each other never loosening. 

“So,” he says eventually, neither of them sure how much time had passed, how long they had simply stayed there tangled together. He pulls back just enough to look at her, tucking some of her hair behind her ear, “That’s a yes for the date?”

She smiles and nods, gently kissing him, “Yes. For this one and however many more you want to take me on,” she kisses him again and then looks him up and down, his shirt rumpled but still on, “You’re still fully clothed and I’m naked, that doesn’t seem fair.” 

He kisses her forehead before he steps away from her, both of them lamenting the feeling as he slips out of her. He pulls up his boxers and pants, doing the zip and button back up but leaving his belt hanging open. He shrugs off his shirt and offers it to her, watching intently as she slips it on, only doing up a couple of the buttons as she stays sitting on the counter. She opens her mouth to say something but is cut off by her stomach rumbling, a sound even he hears a few feet away from her, and they both chuckle. 

He leans in and presses a kiss to her red cheek, “I’ll check on dinner,” he says, walking the short distance to the oven, grimacing as he opens it, smoke and the smell of burning quickly escaping. He slams it shut and turns it off, leaving cleaning it up until the morning. He walks back over to her, smiling at her as he wraps an arm around her, “It’s ruined, we’ll have to order in.” 

She wraps her arms around his back, smiling up at him, her teeth sinking into the inside of her cheek, an unsuccessful attempt to stop her smile from getting any wider. “Worth it.”

He kisses her, still revelling in his ability to do so, and smiles as he pulls back, “Definitely worth it.” 

-x-

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[deepdonutkid]

Matching wounds

Pair: Katniss Everdeen x Peeta Mellark (forever everlark)

Requested: none

Warnings: ptsd, nightmares, needles, tattoos, thought of self-harm

Summary:  During the Victory Tour, she is more than just temped to seek Peeta’s comfort once more. Yesterday, she asked him to stay with her and he did. She doesn’t want to keep bothering him again with her horrors, because she knows, he would do it without batting an eye and she already feels guilty using him like that. But after one terrifying nightmare, her longing surpasses her conscience. Just when she sneaks to his train compartment, she is witnessing his very own pain.

A/N:

This is my first THG fic, please be gentle with me, I’m still unsure, how to portrait the characters. It’s not beta read!

it’s absolutely innocent but doesn’t feel like… Somehow it came out more sexual than I had imagined, but the analogy was right there

The fic takes place in CF after Katniss had the nightmare on the Victory Tour and Peeta helped her with it. I kept it mostly canon compliant, but u know… she felt guilty for sharing a bed with Peeta and I thought, well she would have been a little more resistant at first.

Also I have this headcanon, Peeta loves all kinds of art. Painting, drawing, body art, architecture… stuff like that

gif from @everlarking-always​

By now I should be used to wake up sweaty, shaky and screaming, but I wasn’t. After all those years, one would come to think, it got easier, how wonderfully wrong one could be. I couldn’t handle this on my own accord and it was noticeable. Cinna, my styling team and finally Effie were giving me concerned looks.

The issue was handled Capitol Style. Effie shoved a pillbox in my direction, told me how much to take and send me off to sleep. Normally, I would trust medicine. It helped me a lot in the arena, the remedy for my physical pain. The burns, the cut, the stings, all of this went away with a cream or a plant or something else.

But when I had the first pill in my hand and rolled it around with my fingers, doubts were sneaking in. The bright pink pearl felt heavy, almost like a burden. Then I wondered, if I should lay my internal pain into the Capitol’s hands. Should I really do it their way? Just numb the symptoms instead of treating the cause.

Well, unfortunately, I didn’t have the luxury to think about this further. I had to function tomorrow. Hold a speech and smile for the camera. Look happy, act happy, but don’t actually be happy. Snow had me right there were he wanted me to. By holding hostage of my loved ones, he ensured, I would do anything he wanted me to. Even if it was against my very own belief.

And I was better at following orders, when I got a decent amount of sleep. It was really sad in a way, I’m not able to describe, but that was harder to swallow than that pill Effie gave me.

Of course, it didn’t help. Maybe that’s why I was so conscious about it in the first place. Or maybe I was just lacking the faith for things to get better in order to be better.

Just yesterday, I finally found relief. When I got up in the morning, was looking fresh and almost healthy. The dark circles under my eyes were gone and I was able to read my speech without any mistakes. However, on the inside I was still itching. Something bothered me and I couldn’t point it out until dinner.

My remedy smiled at me across the table, asking me, if I was enjoying my food. Something about the way he looked at me, made me uncomfortable. At first, I misplaced it as the usual amount of awkwardness between us, whenever he exuded his undying love for me, but I was wrong.

It was worse. Guilt was eating me alive. Nibbling on my soul. Then, it hit me. I was doing him wrong once more. Yesterday had been a mistake. Again, I was feeding him false hope. Not sending him away, when he lay next to me, was like poking at his wounds. Maybe even more cruel. Sticking the knife right back in, after he started to get over it.

We were avoiding each other since we got home. Now, we were making some progress again, I blew that all over the place by being so… needy for comfort. Any comfort, no… his comfort. It had to be his. Nobody knew how to help me but him. I didn’t even need to tell him, he just the right thing without being asked to.

That’s why, I shouldn’t slither in old habits. He kept me warm during the Games, not more, not less. By staying with him, I would only hurt him. And I couldn’t see his heart breaking again. At the train tracks in the middle of nowhere, he left something behind, something that was good and pure.

“No”, I kept whispering to myself, while walking in circles in my room. I shouldn’t, but I wanted. And this pressing feeling in my chest was crushing me more with every syllable coming from my mouth. Really, I was forcing myself to stay, and I was losing that fight.

My urge to feel safe once more was stronger than any coherent thought that crossed my mind. So, I stumbled through the dark train in my pajama, searching for him. Every noise that late at night was scary and every light was burning my eyes.

It took me back to a time, where I was little and my father was still alive.  The house was so quiet and moonlight paved my way through the darkness. Then I would sneak into my parent’s bed. My father would grown and my mother sigh, but they took me in nevertheless. It was a bit cramped up there, with all of us in one bed. I never felt safer than.

Perhaps, I was longing to recreate that moment ever since.

Barefooted and brave, I was fighting the darkness. My steps echoed through the corridor, only being muffled once I reached the carpeted area before his compartment.

This need kept me going, even when doubts and worries tried to take me back. These thoughts were trying to bring me to reality, but failed. Only the sound of his muted pant could. Suddenly, I was very aware of my surroundings.

Before I knew, what I was doing, my hand was at the door knob and pulling it aside. The revelation was both, scaring and confusing at the same time. In the glimpse of a second, I had thought about every possible threat and I was ready to deal with any opponent.

However, nothing in my life had prepared me for this scene before my eyes. He was lying in bed, half-naked by the way, and was jabbing his leg with a thick needle. And even in this glim dose of light, I noticed how his fair skin was smeared with his own blood.

While I was still processing, what I just had witnessed, he was pulling the blanket over his leg.

“Katniss”, he hissed with worried eyes: “Why didn’t you knock?” He didn’t even seem surprised to see me in the middle of the night, but he was certainly concerned that I entered without making myself known first.

Well, I thought, he probably wanted to cover up himself. No… his mess. The things he did to himself and all the pain he has been going through since leaving the arena. I know, he must have been suffering just like I did. We had matching wounds… physically and mentally and while those on our bodies have washed away, the others would burden us for the rest of our lives.

But still, I couldn’t understand. Why would he hurt himself like this?  After the Games, after everything, why add more pain?

I walked over to him and pulled the blanket away. He was gripping it tight, but eventually gave in once I breathed: “Why?”

All the sudden, he was wrapping his arms around me. His hand was patting my back. Then I realized, I was crying. Tears were running down my cheeks. Once again, he was comforting my pain, swallowing his own.

“It’s nothing.”, he whispered against my hairline.

I sought this, but not like this. So, I shoved him away and snarled: “It’s not nothing!”

One second to the next, his eyes drew dark. He bit his lip and gulped, while avoiding my gaze.

After a while, he said: “Well, then it’s not like you think it is.”

“I know, what I saw, Peeta.”, I argued, crossing my hands before my chest: “You were hurting yourself. There was blood for fucks sake!”

Instead of answering, he just chuckled, which made me incredibly mad, and then he turned around to the lamp on his nightstand. The flash of light was filling the room and burning my eyes at the same time.

Once I got used to the brightness, I looked at him again. He was really just wearing his underwear. I turned on him.

Technically I had seen him with less, but this felt way more private then next to a river, while he was literally dying. This was intimate in a way I had not expected.

“Look at me!”, he insisted loud and instant, but I shuddered so hard, I heard him say pleading: “If you want to know the truth…”

I pushed the last doubts away and glared over my shoulder. Peeta was way too close to me. All those details I could see. Yes, all those scars were gone. Even Cato’s slash on the upper left leg, which I treated so frantically, was now perfectly normal skin. Maybe that’s why the black stain just above where the injury used to be stood out so much.

My hand was reducing the distance between us inch by inch. Finally, I placed my fingertips on his hip, felt his skin on mine. He let out a hiss, but didn’t move.

“Why is it black?”, I wondered, still looking at the wound. There was a darker line, which was even puffier than the rest.

Peeta blinked. Once, twice. Then he laughed again. I pulled my hand away, while he retorted: “It’s ink. I’m bored. I can’t sleep and the pain keeps me focused.”

Now I was the one to be lost in translation. “Katniss, it’s a tattoo.”, he chuckled: “It’s really not that bad. I swear, I wouldn’t do anything serious and leave you all by yourself.”

That was a lot to take in. I had a thousand questions, but I had to start somewhere. “What’s the idea? I mean… what are you trying to draw there?” My fingers are itching to touch him again. Somewhere in the depts of my mind, I still hear him panting.

He was suggesting me to sit down next to him. So, I did, even though I wasn’t as close to him, as I wished to be. “Don’t freak out, but…  it’s going to be an arrow.”, he confessed.

“Like my arrows?”

“Yes, like the one that saved me from bleeding to death.”

I frowned. Coming to think of it, all I did was trying to forget the Games, but he was putting a reminder of his worst moment there on his body. Like a constant warning. “Why?”

He took my hand and rubbed it with his thumb, which he had done before a million times, but only with cameras around. This was probably the first time he was showing me affection not meant for the public eye. His bright blue eyes were piercing me with a soft and tender look, when he spoke: “I want to appreciate surviving.”

How could he keep saying stuff like that? I couldn’t quite grasp it and started raising my eyebrows at him. Without any words from my part, he explained: “My immediate thought after Reaping was… I am not going to survive this. The only thing I could manage to do was to help you get out of the arena. And everybody else seemed to agree with me on that, whether it was my mother or Haymitch, Ceasar or even the Game makers. Except you.”

A gulp went down my throat. That was the very talk I feared. The next sweeping declaration of love was on his lips.

“I’m grateful to live, even with the tour, even with the uprisings, even with Snow threatening us and all the nightmares… because just months ago I was very convinced, I would be rotting in a grave right now. Somehow, I’m not. And sure, I wasn’t too excited, when you told me, what you did in the arena, but you still managed the unthinkable. By accident you proved all of them wrong, who said, the only thing I can do for you is die.

And when I thought of this, I realized what I had to do. As somewhat of an artist, I bleed ink and paint. So, I just grabbed a needle and started a while ago with two letters. K and E.”

At least he did not mention love, but he did put my initials on his body. I had no answer to all of this. There was just this big relief, he wasn’t hurting himself.

Peeta took a tissue and cleaned the spot on his hips with a bit of water. After a moment of silence, I fumbled for words to say: “It doesn’t look like the tattoos from the Capitol… I like it.”

“Yeah, didn’t you know, there are different styles of tattoos. Some of them are ancient.”, Peeta beamed: “I have a book about it back home. My friends gave it to me for my fifteenth birthday and I hid it under my bed most of the time, because I was afraid my mom would find out.” A nervous chuckle left his lips. “I only read it at night, but I always wanted a tattoo. Just not like the ones from Capitol.”

I didn’t know, he was so into that topic. Slowly, I began to relax, while an idea was forming in my head. “Can you give me one as well?”, I asked with a smile.

His eyes widened with surprise. “You want me to give a tattoo?”

“Yes, I think that’s what I said.”, I nodded.

“Which motive do you have in mind?”

Now I had to think. I was sure, he would try to stop me, but somehow, I really wanted to know, what it feels like. Having a reminder like this on your skin. But what I liked to be reminded of? Peeta chose his survival, maybe I should choose mine. Not from the arena of course, but the one, that made me who I am.

“Can you do a little loaf of bread?”, I wondered. A part of me was pleased with the idea, getting a tattoo similar to his. Just like our matching wounds. “And two letters… P and M.”

Suddenly he got up from the bed and walking around. Then he stopped, turning to me, he reassured himself: “You want this?”

“I do, Peeta”, I insisted: “Now hurry up, we don’t have much time left before sunrise.”

“Let me just…”, he mumbled, while running around in his compartment: “grab my utensils and we can start right away.”

Curiously I watched his movements. He was quick, but he sure knew what he was doing. “Where do you want to get it?”

The sound of low thinking left my lips. “Uhmm… I don’t know… nobody where my mother can see it… or Effie. I assumed you would to it on the same spot as yours. On the hip.”

Peeta cleaned his needle with alcohol and grinned goofily at me. “What?”

“You know you’ll have to undress yourself for that… procedure.”

Blood flushed my cheeks and I tried to hide it by looking away. “It’s no problem”, I said, like a liar and started peeling down my pajama pants.

Revealing my legs like that, made me squirm internally. On the outside, I played it down.

When he came back to the bed again, I opened my mouth to say something, but no words escaped. They were stolen from me. “Now lay down and try to relax.”, he demanded.

I tried to follow but while I was robbing over the sheets, my thighs got so warm. It was probably just the flurry. Once again, I gulped.

His hand reached my chin and was caressing it with such tender. “I promise it won’t hurt that much.”, he uttered: “I could never hurt you, not in a million years you know that.”

The sound of his voice ran shivers over my entire body. “No.”, I pleaded: “I’m ready.”

With the utmost care he hovered his hands over my chest, finally placing his fingers on my hip. A moan escaped my throat involuntarily.

He laid down between my legs. “Should it face you or me?” It was a weak attempt to calm me down, but it was helping me regaining my focus.

“Me”, I whimpered, mentally preparing myself of the pain to come. At first, I tried to look away, but then I was to curious, how it would look like. A needle entering my skin.

Heavy breaths shook my chest. Apparently so much, he noticed and glared up with a concerned expression. “We don’t have to do this, you know? Maybe you need time to think about this. It can’t be undone.”

I lift myself up a bit and protested: “No, I want to do this. I really do and there is no better time than now.” Every bit of me is possessed with the desire to understand him. His pain, especially. After all the things he did for me, I owe him at least that.

Peeta nodded firmly and lean back down. His underarm was resting on the inside of my thigh. Once the needle was soaked with ink, he put it in. There was somewhat of a resistance at first, but one the needle passed, it went right through. Since I was prepared, I didn’t flinch. My muscle tensed nevertheless.

There was this pain, not strong and overtaking like the tracker jacker stings, but exciting and new. It gave me goosebumps all over my body. So that was, what Peeta was feeling like. He covered it up, so nobody could see it.

But he showed it to me. Now we had a dark secret. One that only belonged to us and nobody else.

Bravely, I clung to the silk sheets of his bed as he proceeded. With every stich of the needle, I became more and more sure, this was what I wanted. What I needed. A companion in the darkness and who would be better than the boy with the bread, whose wounds matched mine.

After the tattoo was done, I was unable to move and fell asleep with Peeta next to me. He wrapped his hands around me and I felt safe once more. Once I stopped thinking about guilt and shame, it was ridiculously easy. This time I came to stay.

[anticomedygarden]

Our crowning glory

-

He got down on one knee/But I said "No way!"

When Catherine sang, she didn't see him. She saw herself as a young woman, fresh out of Durham House and hurling into the arms of Henry VIII.

Packed my bags/And moved into a Nu-nu-nunnery!

She should have known right then and there that her new husband wouldn't, couldn't, love her the way he should've. She should've known right then and there that the convent would've been kinder to her than the castle.

Joined the gospel choir/Our riffs were on fire

When she sang, she gave herself something new, something she deserved. She never wanted a divorce. She only wanted to live in a way worthy of her station and to raise her daughter well.

At the top of the charts/Is where I'm gonna stay

When she sang, she sang for salvation.

-

Henry sent me a poem/All about my green sleeves

When Anne sang, the guilt and heartache washed off her in waves. She stopped seeing her own head in a basket and felt hope take its place, bright and burning in her heart.

I changed a couple words/Put it on a sick beat

She wished she could give her younger self the knowledge she had now, that a life with Henry, however brief, would not make her happy. She only hoped that her daughter learned that before she did.

The song blew their minds/Next minute I was signed

When she sang, she gave herself a do over, separate from her past mistakes. She denied Henry a place in her heart and instead took her life in her own hands.

And now I'm writing lyrics/For Shakesy P

When she sang, she sang for freedom.

-

Since my first son/Our family's grown

When Jane sang, she saw her infant son, tiny and screaming in her arms. Her son, who she only got to know for 12 days before her death.

We made a band/And got quite well known

She reached out a hand to cup his chin, suddenly seeing her little baby as a young man. She savored that face, the one sitting under nearly 3 pounds of sparkling gems. This was what she had wanted with Henry, and this was what she had been denied.

You could perhaps call us/The Tudor Von Trapps

When she sang, she gave herself a family and the strength to know that she was the best she could have been. No matter when she died, she did her damn best, and she couldn’t ask anything more of herself. 

I'm just kidding/We're called the Royalling Stones

When she sang, she sang for the life she should've had.

-

What a shame/Yeah, my face/It cost me the crown

When Anna sang, she saw that stupid portrait, the one responsible for her life trajectory since that idiot king looked at it and saw a pretty, docile young girl. Sure, it made her look beautiful, but what good was beauty in this world?

So I moved to the/Haus Of Holbein!/In my hometown

In her mind's eye, she slashed through the pretty canvas with her finger nails and turned to Henry, pointer finger accusatory and dripping malice. She never should have gotten on that boat to England, and she probably wouldn’t have if she’d been given the choice to not. 

His mates were super arty/But I showed them how to party

When she sang, she put herself right back in Germany where she wanted to be all along. She would never deny that her life post crown was fabulous and resplendent, but she didn't need that. She needed passion, and something to care about, though that palace in Richmond was pretty damn great.

Now on my tour of Prussia/Everybody "Gets down"

When she sang, she sang for independence.

-

Music man tried it on/And I was like "Bye!"

When Katherine sang, she saw her 12 year old self, eyes still big and naive to the ways of the world. Even now, she was sad to admit those same eyes were drawn to the abject beauty of that child, the beauty that would cause her immense grief before her 20th birthday.

So I thought "Who needs him?/I can give it a try"

Now, she raged against the adults that had allowed that little girl to be abused so horribly for so long and then told her it was her own fault. She screamed and cried and tried to live her life on her own terms now that she had that choice.

I learned everything

When she sang, she stopped the grief before it could start. She may not have been able to change her own past, but she could damn well give that little girl something to live for.

Now all I do is sing/And I'll do that until I die

When she sang, she sang for the little girl she should've been.

-

Heard all about these rockin' chicks

When Catherine sang, she saw herself at the altar of all four of her husbands, and she felt the combined dread of each day she was forced to be tied to men who didn't deserve her.

Loved every song/And each remix

She was a published author, for god's sake, but a young, eligible woman such as herself couldn't exist for long without being snatched up by inferior men with more power than her lest she be cast from society.

So I went out and found them/And we laid down an album

When she sang, she gave herself the dignity and independence she earned through hard work. All she ever wanted was to write and maybe make life easier for the women who came after her because no one should have to go through what she and the other five queens went through.

Now "I don't need your love"/All I need is SIX!

When she sang, she sang for the love of herself.

-

also on ao3

[nelapanela94]

“I think…” he scratches his head, closes his eyes and gulps, his Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows the lump of unspoken words that claws raw his throat. His lashes glisten with unshed tears, and your broken image reappears before him. He will never forgive himself for doing this to you, but he needs too. “How can I say this… I… you deserve more than I can give you.”

Shivering, you shake your head, erratic puffs of air slipping past your lips; you’re heaving, aching, praying that all this is the most hideous nightmare, and that you’ll wake up in the morning to a bitter taste in your mouth that will wash out with mint. It can’t be. Levi can’t be breaking up with you. No, hell no. His voice encroaches the deafening shrill, and he continues, adding more fuel to the pit where your heart burns.

“You deserve someone who can provide you with a better life.”

“Levi…” your voice is a soft whisper that scours your throat, cracking at the edges. Your chin wobbles. If you have no other choice but to beg on your knees, you’ll do it. No matter how pathetic it is. He told you once you were going to grow old together; you can’t cross out your plans.

You sniff, wiping away the tears on your puffy sleeve. “I want you. Please. Don’t leave me.” You clutch at his shirt, dipping your face in his chest. Gulping sobs rack through you; dam-wrecking tears soak the linen, blotting a darker blue stain that pricks his skin. He teeters too, but musters all the strength to steel. His dull, expressionless eyes stare voidly to the wall. He reprimands his thoughts and feelings, he can feel the hull creeping over him.

You loll your head backward and gaze up, his jaw clenching so tight, grinding the pain and distress, but he doesn’t dare look down. His eyes are shattered glass, determined. You peel off him and try to reach out for his face, but he takes hold of your wrists. If you touch him, he’ll flagger and lose. He’ll succumb to those hands that have carved every inch of his flesh. “Don’t make it harder than it already is.” His eyes flick to you. Your cheeks are flustered, sheen in tears, your eyes swollen and red. But he can’t take a step back. He wishes you had hurt him, cheated on him, treated him like trash, gave him a reason to break your heart and free himself from the guilt. Why didn’t you make it easier for him? No, you had to be the kindest soul, the prettiest smile, the warmest hugs, so empathetic. He takes a deep breath before throwing the last rock “We’re better of this way.”

“Can I give you one last kiss?”

He shakes his head and let’s go of your hands. For good. He turns around and walks to the door, hesitating, leaving you in that cold, desolated room you shared.

“Look me in the eye and tell me you don’t love me.”

The door screeches and thuds behind him, and your legs yield; your knees crash on the floor.

It’s for her own good, it’s for her own good. Levi replays in his head like a broken record as if his thoughts would shut the soul-sloughing wails from the other side of the door.

*

Levi shifts on his seat, the starched collar itches at his neck. From the last bench, he closes his eyes and concentrates on his breathing; at his sides, his fists clenched like two balls of steel. The vellum invitation with bright golden letters was just a formality. He wasn’t supposed to be there.

In another life, he’d been the smiling idiot, the lucky bastard exchanging vows with you.

When the priest’s voice raises, asking if anyone knows of any lawful impediment as to why these two should not be joined in holy matrimony, Levi clamps his teeth so hard the metallic tang fills his mouth. He can’t no longer take the stab. He sneaks out before the kiss.

He has no intention to offer his congratulations.

……….

A bit of angst before going to bed :3

[father-time-and-baby-new-year]

happy 200! i’m so glad to see your blog grow, it’s one of my favorites and i adore all your writing. i’ve never cried so much and i love the kind of unsettling feeling you write in your fics, it’s perfect in the category of yandere and dark content. in particular, i loved your drabble about shigaraki mourning over a dead reader and i’ve reread that one too many times to count haha! as for asks for headcannons and drabbles, it would be amazing to see that with bully!eren especially since he was such an awful person to the reader. i’d love to see him suffer honestly, but if you don’t want to write it, that’s completely fine! once again, i’m so proud of you for hitting 200! that’s such a huge milestone and hopefully, there will be many more in the future! :)

SYNOPSIS: bully!Eren has to navigate the world without you.

Pairing: Bully!Eren x Fem!Reader

A/N: I can't even explain in words how much I CHEESED at this message like my grin was ear to ear. can't explain how many times I read this. It singlehandedly made my day anon, and to repay you for my happiness....here is some angst. this is a slightly different route than the shiggy one but I hope it still suits you <3

TW: mentions of death, past dubcon/noncon, mentions of trauma, bullying, alcohol addiction, drunk driving, abusive behavior, revenge porn, nonconsensual photography/videography, mentions of infidelity, angst, so much of angst, violent behavior

WC: 2.5k

It's not like Eren had been doing a lot of soul-searching. He's not delusional enough to label his half-assed epiphany of "maybe I'm a shitty person" as soul searching.

It's just the conversation with his very sick mother burned holes through the back of his mind. Carla had asked about you and why you don't come by the house anymore. How she missed baking with you in the kitchen, and how you sweetly smiled whenever you would see soft creamy peaks form in the meringue.

Eren felt like he was swallowing needles as he assured his mother with false truths, that nothing was going on and distance between childhood friends is natural, and if it means so much--ok ok he'll bring you over.

He stays until he sees her chest slowly rising and falling into a gentle asleep. He touches the tip of his ears, unsurprised by how hot it was.

Eren, when you tell a lie, the tips of your ears turn red.

You're not at school the next day. Or the day after that. Or the day after that.

Guilt is not an emotion he feels often but the events of the past weekend replay in his mind. It was just a dumb party that Floch threw, and he was surprised to find you cornered by a trio of thee dunderheads. Like a distorted fairytale, he swept you away from the bad guys like a knight in shining armor, to only shove you in an empty room and demand compensation for playing hero.

Fuck, with that big mouth, you would think that you'd know how to suck cock.

Use your tongue stupid slut. If you use teeth, I'll shove this dick in your ass without any prep.

No, I don't care, you're taking all of it.

There's a video on his camera roll. How could he not record it? You're sobbing, mascara running down your cheeks, looking so beautiful and ruined with jizz smeared at the corner of your mouth. He was brutally fucking your mouth, making you take all of his length.

Breathe through your nose dumb whore. Or else you're gonna run out of air.

You were pleading with whatever garbled sounds you were constricted into producing.

Breathe through your fucking nose. This is for your sake. Otherwise, I don't mind face fucking your lifeless body. You'd be more useful that way anyways.

Eren is conflicted with muting the video because he can't stand to hear himself like that. But he didn't want to miss out on your pitiful whines.

He remembers the distraught expression on your face when he was finally done with you. He tucked himself inside, and sneered, "I've got a girl coming here. Get lost." You looked so fucking distraught. Why? All he did was make you suck his dick. He didn't even fuck you.

He should have. Eren thinks grimly when he stares at your empty desk on the first day you didn't show up to school. He's gotten off to the video more than enough times than he can count over the weekend, and he was aching to see your pretty face twisted into a terrorized expression when he flipped up your skirt to grope your ass.

Kindly, Eren decides he'd allow you to have a rest day. But the second day, Eren pays a visit to your house finding it dark and locked, like no one was home and hadn't been there for a while.

On the third day, you're declared missing.

Your incompetent workaholic mother who finally came home and decided to give a damn reported you missing to the authorities who had scratched their heads because as far as they knew, the pivotal 72 hours were up.

Paradis was surrounded by forests. No one wanted to say it, but they were all thinking it. If you got lost in there, chances are you wouldn't make it out.

Eren wasn't always this admired and fawned over. He had his fair share of behavioral issues that frightened people (not you though, not then at least, not when you were children, and you still came back every day to play).

But when he channeled that anger into sports, there was somewhat of a star in the making, especially for some small-town boy. He was becoming extremely popular, and that's nice and all, but at the end of the day, he has a mother whose health was taking a sharp decline. He was constantly under stress, stress that he took out on you.

Where did his favorite stress-ball go?

It's all fucking surreal. Having detectives in the school. Not that there were many students to question (because christ, did you even have any friends after Eren turned everyone against you?).

Eren was questioned. He can't help but mirthfully chuckle. Maybe this was your grand plan, maybe you were able to finally sort out a mountain of evidence against him. If you were going to fuck him over, didn't you want to see it happen with your own two eyes?

The dark-haired boy wishes that was true. If you had gotten your revenge, would you be here? No, revenge isn't the right word. If you got any justice for what he made you suffer, would you come back?

Hi, I'm Detective Hange. I would like to ask you some questions today. You're Eren Yeager, right?

Yes, that's me.

How do you know ___?

We were childhood friends. We're uh, we're not as close anymore.

When was the last time you saw her?

Friday night at Floch's party-

-Floch Forster right? There were a number of kids there from your school.

Yeah. It was a big party. She uh, doesn't usually come to parties but she was there that night.

You were the last person to be seen with her. Other kids have said that they saw you and her entering a room together, and then only her leaving the said room.

[Sigh] Yeah we sorta...hooked up.

I thought you said you guys weren't close anymore.

You can be not close to someone and still hook up with them.

But you guys were close once right?

Yeah. Once.

The dark-haired boy asks if he was under any suspicion. The detective waves their hand in a dismissive gesture, “If her diary tells us anything, it’s only that she really liked you.”

Were detectives even allowed to divulge that sort of information? Eren doesn’t know but the stray detail that they offered off-handedly made him feel like he was swallowing needles.

At that point, Eren honestly still doesn't believe you're gone. You had a habit of running away, even when you were little kids, but you always came back.

Still, he participates in the search parties with a renewed vigor, even going alone in the forest with a flashlight on most nights.

And he's just so fucking tired. The darkest crevice of his mind almost wishes you were dead because this ignorance was just agony. Almost. Because he still clings to the feeling that one day, he’ll stroll into class and find you in your seat in the back of the class, looking out the window like some cliche shojo manga protagonist.

There are folders and folders on his phone. Albums. The most recent one is dedicated to your crying face as you were choking on his dick. Earlier albums are composed of creepshots of your panties, of that obscene o-face, of your skirt flipped up and your ass cheeks, pictures of your cleavage, videos of you thrashing as he dunked your head into toilets like a villainous middle school bully.

Pictures of your neck covered in hickeys, your naked breasts, ass cheeks striped with red after getting spanked, your leaking cunt, just endless and endless media dedicated to pieces and pieces of your body like you were never a whole person.

The earliest ones though tell a different tale, from off-guards to your drooling face as you napped in the middle of the day.

He has a favorite picture. Your eyes are watery from the cold, snowflakes stuck between lashes, nose and cheeks flushed red, and you're smiling. Smiling right to the camera. Right at him.

"Eren, are you taking a picture?" You asked, bouncing in place, giddy that it was finally snowing.

"Not of you, shut up. Get out of the way." His voice is gruff but not harsh.

You laughed and jumped into frame anyway, and the bright streetlamp behind you made you seem like you were wearing a halo.

He wishes he had more pictures of you being...yourself. Because now your crying face displayed over countless pixels haunt him. But like a fucking degenerate, he still jerks off to all the nudes he coerced from you. Sometimes he cries when he's jerking off which is probably the most pathetic thing he's ever done. This is what you've reduced him to.

He hates the sound of his own voice.

Breathe through your fucking nose. This is for your sake. Otherwise, I don't mind face fucking your lifeless body. You'd be more useful that way anyways.

Eren goes through the motions of life without really feeling like he's in the moment. Seasons change and time flies. His mother dies, and his withdrawn father dies a year later. He proposes to Mikasa because it's something he was always supposed to do. She loves him unconditionally, so even when he doesn't put any effort into the relationship but proposes, she says yes hoping he'll change and be a good husband.

He doesn't go to his parents' funerals because they're already dead. What's the point. He doesn't visit the candlelight vigils in your honor either. After tearing his ACL again and a somewhat traumatic injury, he kisses his pro-football career goodbye. To be totally honest, he's relieved. Because he had gotten quite bored, and maybe he was looking for excuses to quit the entire time. It's not like you'd be cheering on the bleachers anyways.

Mikasa has an affair, more out of a desire to see her fiancé feel something for her as opposed to any burning lust. But when she asks him if he's ever cared at all, with tears springing out of her eyes, he's just calmly drinking his fifth of whisky.

The dark-haired man doesn't even look up, "Let's break up."

"Is this about her, huh? Fucking get over it already Eren. She's GONE. And you have some big fucking audacity moping about her death like you weren't making her cry in the bathroom stalls every fucking day you piece of shit."

"Get out."

"You know what, I bet she killed herse-"

SMASH

The dark-haired woman doesn't finish her rant because the whiskey bottle smashes on the wall next to her head, sending glass everywhere and staining the carpet amber. She's unharmed, knowing it wasn't Eren's intention to hit her but Jesus Christ, what a monster.

She packs her bags and leaves the town like she should have a long time ago. All her friends had left years before and she stayed behind because that's where Eren was. She thanks her lucky stars that they didn't marry.

It's funny because he had always imagined himself being the first to move out of their small town, but he's the one staying. He can't leave this place. feels too tethered to ever leave. Every diner and liquor store is saturated with memories of you. He remembers buying cigarettes and exhaling the smoke to your face to piss you off in empty parking lots.

Maybe he stays in case you'll come back.

Eren's days consist of alcohol-fueled hazes. He doesn't know how his liver is still functioning. He doesn't know he's still alive after crashing his car into a tree when he was drunk out of his mind. He was on his way to get some more vodka.

He barely recognizes himself in the mirror anymore, not that he looks at himself much. His hair is long, nestled around his shoulder because he couldn't be bothered to cut it, dark circles under viridian eyes, and a perpetual stubble on his jaw.

His parents had left quite a sizable inheritance so there's no need to work but he's good with his hands. Likes crafting up birdhouses and cabinets, and occasionally does odd jobs around the neighborhood, never charging the elderly.

He's under the sink, tinkering with a wrench against the pipes when he hears the old lady coo at him.

"We're so lucky to have you Eren. I'm surprised a handsome young man like yourself doesn't have a special lady. The girls must be lining up at your door!"

The dark-haired man winces, and offers no comment, knowing that that the older lady was susceptible to long tangents.

"You know, we're getting a new neighbor." Eren grunts as a response. "They're young, I've heard. Isn't that exciting? Oh my, Eren! I think they're gonna be living in the house right next to yours..."

He tunes out the rest of the conversation because doesn't really care. He just hopes his new neighbors are quiet.

It's Sunday noon when obnoxious noises of moving trucks and people wake him up from his deep slumber. Eren's annoyed to wake up despite the fact he's probably been sleeping over 15 hours. He oscillates between getting too much sleep and getting none, his sleeping habits completely dependent on his dreams.

His nightmares are too visceral, visions of your corpse asking him if he'd enjoyed hollowing your soul with his teeth.

His dreams are achingly sweet. You in your prom gown, shining so iridescently like diamonds were sewn into the silk. He's dancing with you, holding you close, and then after you guys go to your favorite diner and gorge on burgers and milkshakes.

There's a peal of distinctly feminine laughter that stirs up Eren's senses. He's so pathetic, was the mere sound of a woman laughing getting him excited?

He sighs. He thinks of the whore he's frequently visited because of her resemblance to you. Hair color, skin color, face shape--with enough alcohol, he could really convince the person beneath him, was you. Maybe it's time to give her a call, but she's gotten so fucking needy and he hated how her voice didn't match yours.

The green-eyed man peers from the lace curtains, irritated by the brats playing on his lawn. A full family next door? Great, just what he needs.

The friendly knock on his door breaks him out of his daze. He contemplates whether he should answer but on the second more muted knock, he lets his feet guide him.

He turns the knob.

And Eren Yeager completely shatters.

Because it's you isn't it? You're the person standing in front of him? He can hear what you're saying but he doesn't really register it, soaking in the cadence of a voice he had long forgotten because all he had were pleading whimpers and frenzied moans stored on his cell.

He's shaking. Is he dreaming? He's dreaming, right? He knows it's you. You're older, far more beautiful than he's ever seen you. You have a different hairstyle, wearing clothes he would have mocked you for, and there's this joyfulness within you that makes you glow.

There's a mess of emotions electrifying in the pits of his stomach from euphoria, anger, and dread. He could feel his skin growing clammy like he was about to vomit at any second.

"Hey, are you all right?"

Doe eyes full of concern peer up at him. He voices out the syllables of your name like a desperate prayer.

You tilt your head to the side, "How do you know my name?"