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triptuckers · 3 months ago

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drunk in love - remy lebeau

Request: nope Pairing: remy lebeau x reader Summary: remy is comes home drunk, so you take care of him Warnings: mentions of alcohol, language, mentions of sexual themes/making out but not actually the real thing dont worry, remy being a whiny lovesick puppy, one mention of throwing up but no actual throwing up Word count: 1.7K A/N: currently binge watching x men 97 PLEASE give me more gambit content pls marvel I'm willing to beg you on my knees. based on a screenshot I saw of a comic page. enjoy!

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you're sitting on the couch, reading your book. it's dark outside, and the clock on the wall tells you it's way too late for you to be awake. you weren't a night owl, but this book was just too good. every time you want to put it away, a chapter ends in a cliffhanger. you couldn't bring yourself to close it without finding out what happened next.

the story is so good and you're so focused on it, you nearly jump out of your skin when you hear the door knob rattle.

it was late and remy wasn't home. he went out drinking with some of the other x-men. it wasn't often they were all free and in the same city, so you knew if it did happen, remy would usually stay out til late. not coming home til long after you'd gone to bed already.

you weren't expecting him to come home this early, so you're immediately on guard. slowly, you put your book down and creep closer to the front door. you grab the closest thing you can find to use as a weapon. you don't know how much damage a tissue box could do, but at the very least you could throw it at the intruder and run away.

remy had tried to teach you some self defence tricks in case something happened and he wasn't home, but he was nearly always right there with you, so you never really learned it.

you wish you had paid him more attention now.

as you get closer to the front door, you see a shadow silhouetted against the glass. and then you hear a voice, cursing while trying to open the door.

'merde... why won't this fucking key fit... fuck off...'

you unlock the door and open it. maybe a little too quickly, because remy all but stumbles into you. you barely manage to catch him.

when he looks up at you, he gives you a dazzling smile with his eyes half closed. 'hello, mon amour.' he says.

you laugh softly and roll your eyes as you shake your head. of course he'd stumble home drunk. you already know your evening is far from over when he's like this.

'come on.' you say. 'let's get you inside.'

remy does a spectacularly bad job at getting up. and he's heavy.

'remy.' you say, holding on to him. 'work with me here.'

you manage to get him inside and lock the door again. remy is looking at you with a smile on his face.

'I hadn't expected you back yet.' you say, walking into the kitchen.

remy follows you and grabs one of your hands with both of his.

'I missed you, chéri.' he says, pulling you close and nuzzling his face in your neck.

'we live together, remy. I saw you this afternoon.' you say.

you feel his lips press against the side of your neck. you briefly close your eyes and allow yourself to revel in the feeling. then you gently push him away.

you hear remy whine and turn to see him pout at you.

'you don't love me anymore?' he says.

'of course I do, my love.' you say. 'but you're drunk. you need to drink some water and go to bed.'

you grab a clean glass and walk over to the sink. as you're filling it up with water, you can sense remy's presence behind you. seconds later, you feel his hands on your hips and his chin on your shoulder.

you mange to turn around in his arms and hand him the glass of water.

'drink up.'

'can I get a kiss afterwards?'

you roll your eyes. you don't want to admit you think it's adorable when he's this handsy and affectionate. you would only encourage him and you really meant it: you wouldn't do anything when he's drunk. he'd do the same if the roles were reversed.

'sure, love, you can get a kiss afterwards.'

you have to hold back your laughter as remy's eyes light up and he downs the glass in one go. you smirk and blow him a kiss before he can lean in.

'hey, what the fuck! no fair!' he exclaims, frowning.

'come on.' you say, holding out your hand to him. 'let's go to bed.'

he all but stumbles over his feet in his haste to grab your hand and follow you.

'yeah, let's go to bed.' you hear remy say behind you. you can tell by the tone in his voice you two have different ideas about 'going to bed'.

'to sleep, remy.' you clarify.

he sighs so loudly you can feel his breath on the back of your neck. you smile to yourself, amused at how fast his moods change when he's drunk. and about the fact he's such a love sick puppy when he's had a few. that is, more of a love sick puppy than he normally is. god, he really loves you.

when you get to your bedroom, you motion for remy to sit down on the bed. you kneel down to untie his boots.

'loving this view, mon amour.' comes remy's voice from above you. 'you know I love it when you get on your knees for me.'

'I'm just taking off your boots.'

'sure you are.'

'I am, remy.'

'are you sure?'

'yes, I am sure.'

remy sighs dramatically and lets himself fall back onto the bed. you glance up at him and see how tight his pants are. of course he'd not only be overly affectionate, but also turned on.

you tug off his boots and socks, raising to your feet.

'stand up for me, please.' you say.

remy opens his eyes and smirks at you from his position on the bed.

'now this view, I like.'

'it's literally so late remy, come on, I want to go to bed.'

he takes a hold of the hand you offer him and lets you pull him to his feet. you reach out to undo his belt.

'wow, chéri, buy me dinner first.' remy mumbles above you. you can tell by his quiet voice he's ready to go to sleep but fighting to stay awake. you wonder how much of this he'll remember tomorrow.

after undoing his belt and helping him out of his pants, you tell him to put his arms up so you can pull his shirt over his head. he does what you ask and doesn't even make a flirty comment about it. that tells you his tiredness is really kicking in.

you briefly step away to get a pair of sweatpants and a shirt out of the closet. as you hand them to him, you allow remy to rest his hand on your shoulder as he puts on the pants you've given him. you let your eyes linger on his muscular chest as he puts on the shirt. you really did get lucky with him, even if he can't keep his hands off of you when he's drunk.

you gently guide him to the bed and help him lay down. you get into the bed next to him and feel how remy pulls you closer, burying his face in your neck.

'you will kiss me tomorrow, right?' he mumbles against your skin.

you run your hands lazily through his hair. 'if you aren't hungover as fuck, which I think you will be, then yes, I'll kiss you, my love.' you say.

'oh fuck yes.' he says, making you chuckle softly.

'goodnight, remy.' you say.

'sweet dreams, mon amour.' he says.

just as you expected, remy falls asleep within seconds. you lay there for a while, absently running your fingers through his hair and thinking about how much you love him, before you eventually fall asleep as well.

when you wake up in the morning, your chest feels heavy. you open your eyes to see remy has somehow put his entire body on yours during the night.

you stay like that for a while, until you can no longer deny you really want breakfast.

with some effort, you push remy off of you so you can get up. he's still asleep as you lean in and press a kiss to his cheek.

as you make breakfast, you're softly humming to yourself while you're in the kitchen.

your morning is quiet. you decide to let remy sleep for as long as he wants, maybe it would make his hangover less extreme.

just as you're making your lunch, you hear remy coming down the stairs. he stumbles into the kitchen, grumbling something in thick accented cajun you can't understand.

then he all but leans his entire body weight on you as he's standing behind you.

'why does the world hate me?' he says.

you laugh. 'good afternoon to you too, my love.'

'morning.' he mumbles. 'your voice is so loud, chéri.'

'this is the thanks I get for taking care of your drunk ass last night?'

'sorry. was I being an asshole?'

'no, just the usual. you couldn't keep your hands off of me.'

'you're used to that.'

'I am.'

you turn around. remy wraps his arms around you and drops his forehead to your shoulder.

'is this what dying feels like?' he mumbles.

'no, my love, this is what being extremely hungover feels like.' you say. 'you want coffee?'

'dear god no, the thought of it makes me want to throw up. I'll just lay on the couch.'

'you're so dramatic.' you say, gently taking a hold of his face and holding it in front of you.

remy closes his eyes and leans into your touch. 'this is making me feel better already.'

you lean in and press a kiss to the tip of his nose. when you pull back, he opens his eyes and smiles briefly at you. then he sways a bit on his feet and sucks in a sharp breath.

'still want to kiss me like you said yesterday?'

'oh, mon amour, I think if I stand really still and you don't move, the world stops spinning.'

you laugh at him as he groans, pressing one hand to his forehead. you decide to take it easy for the rest of the day. the two of you alternate between taking naps and you reading your book out loud to him. as the day passes, you can't help but to think that maybe a hungover remy isn't so bad. you secretly love how he refuses to leave your side when he's hungover.

A/N:If you want to request something, make sure to read my house rulesHere’s the list of characters I write for. Everything that I have written can be found on my masterlist. Please don’t repost, steal or translate my work, as I spend much time and effort on it!! Thank you for reading! Much love, Marit

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shotmrmiller · 8 months ago

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tw: simon's mean and a sexist.

Simon who doesn't like you. He respects Laswell, who's intel is vital to their missions. Price as the leader of the Task Force. Gaz because he's proved his mettle time and time again, and Soap whose stubborn self has burrowed under Simon's thick, knotted flesh.

Not you, though.

You've yet to do anything substantial.

As a sniper, your job is to aim and kill; provide overwatch. Why Johnny insists on giving you praise for doing what is required of you is beyond him.

You aren't taken to below-zero temperatures as emotional support. Why you're taken at all is also another mystery.

Without your gun, you're utterly useless. And Simon proves it, time and time again during training spars at base.

He comes at you as if you're the enemy, with dangerous precision and quick movements. Simon gets enjoyment out of seeing your eyes widen when he moves, like an injured gazelle who's just spotted a ravenous lion.

His grip is bruising— the force that he slams you to the ground with devastating.

Simon can hear the air punched out of your lungs once your back hits the mat, and the time it takes for your vision to sharpen, he's already pinning you down viciously with a knee to the sternum.

Useless. Women don't belong in combat. He's seen that big brute from KorTac. He'd crush your pathetic little head under his palm, he'd kick your ribs hard enough to crack and the splintered ends pierce your lungs.

He'd kill you without a hint of effort.

And Simon intends to remind you that there is no place for weak, bitty things like you in the front lines. Unless you're to be used as a distraction by flashing your tits at the bad guys.

Out of place.

Every time you go up against him, he uses his size and strength against you, just like every other person will. He launches you across the floor with a single arm, only to watch you struggle to get up and continue this sham of a fight.

Confidence born of ignorance.

As if sheer will would ever beat physical prowess.

If your feet won't touch the ground, then the rest of your body will. Through spilled blood and bruised flesh, may you learn.

He whistles at Johnny, gesturing at him to take his place, only for the end result to be the same, albeit much more gently.

Simon watches you through half-lidded eyes as he leans up against the wall. You fight against inevitability.

Pathetic.

And then one day, you come at him with a snarl on your lips. Blunt teeth that have never had to sink into someone's neck and rip a throat out, out of utter desperation. An unblemished face that's never felt the sting of a sharp blade as it's sliced open contorted into 'rage.' Frothing at the mouth like a lap dog with rabies, barking out words that are as empty as your future.

A forceful wave of his hand abruptly halts you mid-sentence, causing you to involuntarily flinch in response. Good.

"If ya have a complaint, take it to Price. I am not obligated to humor your stupidity."

He spins on the balls of his feet, leaving you to sputter indignantly.

Then on a mission, you get shot. Simon grabs the handgun that's holstered on his chest, and places it in your bloodied hands. "Keep them off of us, or we're both dead!"

His fingers are curled around the thick strap of your tac vest as he drags you toward the LZ; his pace never faltering even while getting clipped by stray bullets. But you?

He'd think you got your legs cut off. Wailing like a cat in heat over a wound above your hip. A clean in and out, nothing vital hit.

Simon has seen Gaz fall out of a helicopter, dangle from a rope, and still use his gun. He's seen Johnny cross a town full of Graves' Shadows bleeding from his shoulder, armed with nothing but the makeshift weapons he crafted on the way to the church. Price inhaled toxic gas and made it out just fine. Even Laswell was taken hostage and didn't crack under the pressure, going as far as killing her captor with her bare hands.

And you're decomposing in front of his very eyes over a superficial wound.

Landing at base, he walks out without a glance back and heads straight for Price's office. He didn't join the 141 to babysit anyone, least of all someone who belongs in either intelligence or a kitchen.

#call of duty #simon ghost riley

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oh-my-damn · 2 months ago

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Cat Behavior

Pairing: Astarion x Female!Tav/reader

Summary: You've noticed certain behaviors in your vampire lover. And it's adorable.

Wordcount: 1600

Warnings: None. Pure, unadulterated fluff. Fun and sassy (and in love) Astarion. Astarion being a kitty-cat.

Masterlist

The best part about getting that damn worm inserted in his head was the fact it took away some of the side effects from being a vampire.

Astarion had never been able to enjoy the benefits of being one - for 200 years he was forced to do his masters bidding, always hiding in the shadows and being fed rats to sustain himself - if he was allowed to eat, at all. That's without even mentioning the things he was forced to do, the matter of his consent not even an afterthought in Cazadors mind.

But the tadpole had taken away those issues, even if it was only temporarily for now, which allowed him to enjoy the things about himself he hasn't been able to for the past 200 years. Those things included his speed and agility when fighting, using his fangs as both a weapon but also as a way to taste the sweetest nectar he could ever imagine. Nothing quite compared to sinking his teeth into your beautiful neck, the little shivers in your body as he drank from you.

Except maybe one thing.

The tadpole allowed him to be in the sun, again.

When the nautiloid first crash landed and he was thrown from it haphazardly, he thought it would be the end of him. He woke up on that beach, and he immediately felt heat - something he hasn't felt in several lifetimes. He thought that would be the end; that he would perish right there, on some disgusting beach surrounded by smelly fishermen and even smellier mindflayers, burning in the sun.

But when his scarlet eyes popped open after minutes of feeling that heat but no pain, he realized that whatever had been done to him must have had an affect on his vampirism, in some strange way.

And since then, he has cherished being in the sun – almost as much as he cherishes being around you.

You've noticed how he tends to gravitate towards the sunny spots wherever you go. The first time you took note of it was in Grymforge. Astarion had managed to find the only spot in your entire camp where, despite Grymforge being in the Underdark, a small beam of sunlight had made it's way through the rubbles.

You chose not to comment on it, though. It didn't surprise you to learn that he wanted to enjoy the sun for as much as possible, after hundreds of years of lurking in the shadows. Seeing him in that spot in your camp reminded you of the first time the two of you spent the night together - or rather, it reminded you of the morning after the two of you had spent your first night together.

Waking up to see him standing in that clearing, his eyes closed and head tilted backwards, soaking in the warmth of the sun. You hadn't fully realized what it meant at the time, being so early on in your acquaintance, but you understood now.

Which is why you've never mentioned it to him when you notice him subtly moving around whenever you're in camp, to try and find the best patch of sun to sit in. Part of you is unsure whether he is even aware he is doing it - it starts out with him leaning towards where the sun is moving, and then shifting short distances when it moves too far; all while still reading his book, or talking with the others, or drinking his wine.

The one time it does annoy you, however, is during times like today.

You're all back at camp, enjoying a well deserved half day off, and the sun has been beating down on you for most of the day. The afternoon is lurking, which means the sun is slowly moving across the sky, preparing to set for the day.

You're sitting around the un-lit campfire with the others, Karlach and Wyll sitting at your left, Gale and Shadowheart at your right, and Halsin and Jaheira straight across.

Everyone is talking casually or reading a book, seemingly all enjoying an afternoon of quiet resting before your next big confrontation interrupts it.

You and Astarion are sitting on a blanket, each of you with a glass of well deserved wine in hand. Well, perhaps sitting is not the right word; he is leaning back on his hands with his legs in front of him, and you're resting your head on his thigh. He's deep in conversation with Halsin, and you wouldn't have considered Astarion to be as interested in the druid as he seemingly is, if it wasn't for the fact you suspect he might be just a teensy bit attracted to the beefy elf.

You're having a conversation with Karlach and Wyll, the two of them asking questions about your past and defending their inquiries with the fact that you know so much about them and they barely know anything about you.

You're replying with chuckles and smiles for the most part, indulging them, carefully taking sips of wine with your head leaning on Astarions thigh.

The sun moves slightly on the blue sky, as it always does this time of day, and you want to curse at yourself for not seeing what happens next coming in advance.

Just as you're about to reply to one of Karlach's questions, your pillow (Astarion's thigh) is snatched away from under your head, resulting in it thunking against the grass. Your boyfriend shifts away, completely oblivious to what just happened as he lets out a delighted laugh at whatever Halsin tells him.

Your let out a hrmpf at the impact, your brows pulling into a frown when you sit up, rubbing the back of your head with your fingers, "Ow."

Karlach and Wyll both watch you with widened eyes, their gaze bouncing between yourself and Astarion, the latter still completely unaware of how he just moved away from you to accommodate for the moving sunbeam he always chases.

"What just happened?" Karlach muses, tilting her head. The question makes Astarion glance over at her, taking a sip of his wine, "What do you mean?"

You narrow your eyes when they find your lover, letting out another disgruntled noise, "My head just hit the grass, you oaf!"

You push at his shoulder (gently) to make your point, making him spill af few drops of wine, "Hey, watch it! This is a perfectly balanced red!"

You glare at him, his scarlet eyes searching your face in confusion, "Astarion!"

"What?!" He exclaims, looking utterly confused as he looks between you and the others, "What is it?"

"You made my head hit the ground when you moved, you doofus!" You exclaim in exasperation, scooting closer to him to get back to your former position, your lips forming a pout, "Apologize."

That makes him frown instantly as if the notion of apologizing is obscene, his nose wrinkling as he glances down at the blanket, "What are you talking about, I didn't even move?"

"Yes you did!" You exclaim, and Karlach chimes in with a "Yeah, you did," which makes you look at him pointedly.

Astarion's expression only gets more confused, but he glances at the others who look equally confused yet entertained by whatever is happening between the two of you right now.

You let out a dramatic sigh, sitting up to point at your former spot, "We were over here, now you're over here. See? You always do this."

"Do what?" He asks in annoyance, "I don't even remember moving."

"I know," you quip, grabbing his glass of wine out of his hand to take a sip, "But you always do it. As soon as the sun moves, you do too."

He blinks in surprise, and the others around you snicker in response.

"What do you mean?"

"You move with the sun, vampy," you jest, cupping his confused face in your hands, "And normally it's real cute, but not when I'm using you as a pillow. Got it?"

His eyes search yours, his lips lifting slightly at your teasing expression, but he looks a little embarrassed when he asks, "I move with the sun?"

"Uh-huh," you nod, ruffling his hair and making him sputter in protest, "Whenever the sun moves so you're no longer in it's direct path, you move to wherever you need to in order to get back in it. It's very cute, all things considered, but it's not very practical when I need to use your milky thighs for resting. Okay?"

He pushes your hands off at your little comment, making the others chuckle, and instead he reaches up to curls his hand around the back of your neck. He smirks, clearly embarrassed and a little flustered but trying to hide it as he pulls you closer, "All right, I think we all got it. I move with the sun."

"Yep," you quip, "Just like a kitty cat."

His eyes narrow as the others laugh, and then the two of you have a staring contest, each refusing to back down. Your smile turns wider, enjoying the teasing banter between the two of you, your previous gripe already forgotten.

"Are you calling me a cat, darling?" He asks, his voice lowered, "Is that what I am to you?"

"Yes, just a cute kitty. Like Halsin!" You muse, glancing over at the wood elf. Astarions eyes dart over to look at him momentarily, and you can tell he gets even more flustered when the large elf only smiles back at him.

"You hear that, Astarion? Guess we have more in common than we thought."

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icarryitin · 6 months ago

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Episode 18: Help Me?

spencer reid/gn!reader

i love being in this guy’s brain there is just something so Character about him🧡 and happy birthday to you anon!!🥳

series masterlist

word count: 4.5k // warnings: injury description (dislocated shoulder), mentions of injections and pills for pain relief, poor and inaccurate medical knowledge, non-sexual undressing, would you believe me if i told you the sexual tension in the second half of this was accidental? for those reasons this is 18+

summary: You get injured on a case, and Spencer gets to play nurse. It’s a special kind of torture for both of you.

“Try it, see what happens.”

You appear out of the shadows ahead of them, the gun in your hands aimed carefully at the Unsub’s back, like a goddamn guardian angel.

The guy isn’t going to give up without a fight, even with three federal agents to contend with, that much is obvious. His grip on his weapon is far shakier than any of yours, fingers twitching ever closer to the trigger. You’ve made the split second decision to launch yourself at him before he has the chance to fire off a shot.

Which means Spencer has a front row seat to the sickening thud of your side against the ground when you tackle the Unsub. He’s grateful that he and Hotch aren’t staring down the barrel of a gun anymore, but less grateful that it’s come at the price of the grimace clear on your face. You’ll be bruised for sure, going down as hard as you do.

“Are you okay?” Hotch asks you as he hauls the Unsub up by his cuffed wrists. You take a moment to check yourself over, mentally inventory every joint and nerve, before you nod. Spencer holds a hand out towards you, which is taken without hesitation and you start pulling yourself up off the ground.

The crack of your shoulder as it pops out of the socket is so loud that the vibration of it tingles through your interlaced fingers and all the way up to his own.

A sharp yelp, followed by a weak whimper that makes his stomach flip, and he drops your hand like it’s scalding hot. You pull it into your chest with your good arm, palm cradling your elbow to give yourself a little support. Maybe you’d hit the ground a little harder than you meant to. It’s definitely dislocated. He can’t help but feel like it’s his fault.

Maybe that’s why he’s manoeuvring around you, where you sit pouting in a dusty heap. It’s what he tells himself anyway, as he slips large hands underneath your FBI vest – fingers pressed snugly against your ribs, separated by only a thin shirt, and he carefully helps you to your feet. The action has his face dangerously close to yours, so close that he’s terrified you’ll be able to hear how shallow his breaths are. But you seem to be far too focused on your own breathing to really register his proximity. Hotch is ahead already, Unsub in tow, but you’re the only thing Spencer is worried about right now. Someone else can collect the abandoned firearm from the ground, he has more important things to do. Like getting you into the care of a professional instead of his clumsy hands.

“Can you walk?”

A rhetorical question if he’s ever asked one. It’s your arm he’s pulled out of the socket, not a leg. You nod anyway, gently, but you don’t pull away from him. Instead your voice is soft, unsure.

“Help me?”

Of course he does, as if he’d be able to do anything else.

Does he really need to keep a hold on you, help you across the warehouse floor and out to an ambulance? Probably not. Does he do it anyway? Absolutely. You don’t seem to mind the closeness, judging by the way you lean into the solidity of him as the two of you shuffle towards the open door. He relishes in it, just a little. Because for all the camaraderie and familiarity that has built your friendship over the past few years, touches like this are so rare. Rare and usually instigated by you, when a case has hit him a little too close to home. It’s precious. To have you in his arms the way he’s wanted, wished for, literally dreamed about. There’s an irony in his earlier misplaced attempt to help you up, somewhere. Why can he only have you this close when one of you is hurting?

Raised eyebrows from the rest of the team be damned, he’ll carry you to the ambulance if he has to. He doesn’t but he’d try if you asked.

Spencer has seen all manner of terrible things. He’s seen them happen to strangers, friends, he’s been the one under the spotlight more than once. But he finds himself wholly unprepared to watch you wince as you hop up onto the back of the ambulance, legs dangling over the edge, arm still cradled protectively close to your chest. You flinch almost violently when the paramedic approaches you with outstretched hands which, in turn, only makes you hiss in pain. Your apology is small, quiet, sheepish. Everything he knows you not to be, which only makes him feel that much worse about being the reason you’re in this position in the first place. He’s not, the little logical voice in his brain tells him it was the fall you took, but he’s the one who offered to help you up. Can’t take that back.

“Do you have to?” You’re arguing with the paramedic when his brain checks back in to the conversation.

A sling has been placed by the open medical bag beside you, but it’s the object next to it that has your eyes wider than dinner plates. A needle, carefully sealed in its little package, ready and waiting to give you the pain relief that all three of you know you’re in desperate need of. There’s no way your shoulder can be reset here without it.

“You look at dead bodies all day, and you’re telling me you’re afraid of this?” The paramedic means well, he knows she does, but the grating sound of the sterile packaging being ripped open only serves to shrink you away from it even further.

“Phobias are rarely rational. In fact, the dictionary definition refers to one as being an extreme or irrational fear of, or aversion to, something. Phobias relating to medical procedures are pretty common actually.”

The barely hidden eye roll he gets from the paramedic would suggest he’s not helping the situation, but it’s the look that you give him. The one he gets across coroner slabs and conference tables and crime scenes, that tells him he is.

“I wouldn’t be offended if you didn’t want to, considering this is kind of my fault,” Spencer holds his hand up between you, wiggling his fingers in front of a sad little smile, “But squeeze away.”

“I don’t know, I might break it.” You’re going for a light-hearted joke, but your gritted teeth pay you no favours.

“Then we’ll call it even.”

You take his hand, and he wonders if he’ll need to ask the paramedic to break out the defibrillator next – judging by the way his heart stutters in his chest.

And, to your credit, you only almost break it. The first squeeze is tight, muscles in your forearm trembling as the needle plunges deep into your shoulder. It won’t be enough to completely numb you, the paramedic confirms, but it’ll go a fair way towards dulling the pain. You should really go to a hospital, a bodge job in the back of an ambulance isn’t exactly Bureau protocol, but he knows that isn’t happening. God forbid you ever get shot, he’s sure that getting you treated properly for something like that would be more traumatic for you than any injury.

The second squeeze isn’t something he’s prepared for. You hang onto his hand as though your life depends on it once the paramedic has decided the painkillers have kicked in enough, though her fingers on your shoulder still have you tensing. She tells you to relax, uselessly. Instead, you turn your head away, bury it into Spencer’s shoulder, and dig your nails into the back of his hand. His knuckles crack under the pressure, synchronised popping absolutely miniscule compared to the thunderous pop your shoulder gives when the paramedic manipulates it back into place. Tears seep through his shirt as they dampen his shoulder, the tension in your jaw gives away the sob you’re biting back. You swallow it before you pull your face from the security of his warmth – brave face, as always – and dutifully allow the paramedic to tug the Kevlar vest over your head to make way for the sling she’s prepared.

You’re too on edge to really pay attention to the instructions she’s giving you, too preoccupied on slowing your heart rate to hear about the over the counter pain meds you should take, how long you need to keep the sling on. So, Spencer listens. He remembers, as he always does. He nods and tells her he’ll make sure you do everything by the book, because he knows you won’t be on your way to the doctor’s office in a hurry if your recovery doesn’t go to plan.

JJ popping up in your field of vision seems to lighten your mood, the stiffness falls away and you choke out a laugh alongside a sarcastic comment about heroics being above your paygrade. It’s fake, the laughter. Your spine is still rigid, smile a little too tight to be true. But nobody else seems to notice. They’re just glad you’re alright. Something about your rapid mood change scratches an itch in his brain, the smallest part of it that’s just a little smug. Because you don’t let on about your fear to the others. Just him.

Spencer piles into the back of the second SUV after you, behind Rossi and Emily, and takes it upon himself to make sure you’re strapped in. Admittedly, you could manage it yourself, but he doesn’t want you to. There are eyes on the back of his head when he leans over to carefully pull the seatbelt across you, when he makes sure to steer clear of your sling, but they’re easy to ignore when you’re watching him the way you are. Your quiet affirming hum follows the click of the seat belt plug when you meet his questioning gaze, calming the pounding in his chest and he doesn’t pull back right away. Involuntarily, his eyes drop to your lips for the barest of moments.

He could kiss you.

Right here, right now. In the back of the SUV, with your arm in a sling, and your colleagues watching on. He could do it. But he doesn’t.

He knows what he wants your first kiss to be like – a little pocket of his brain is dedicated to it, plays scenario after scenario in the moments before he settles down to sleep every night. Silly little bedtime stories.

Except they’re not silly, because somewhere along the way he stumbled out of his harmless little crush and into something much more serious. He knows what it is, he won’t put a name to it. Instead, he daydreams. It’s not always the same, the location varies - sometimes you’re at work, in the bullpen or the conference room, or obscured from the rest of the team by the metallic bulk of an SUV. Sometimes you’re in his apartment, in the kitchen, by the window in the living room, in the doorway of his bedroom. Sometimes it’s just a street corner, at night, at midday, dawn, dusk. But you, you’re always the same. You always look at him with a smile that could light the entire city, and he just tells you.

Spills his guts out all over the floor, every part of him left raw and vulnerable, as he tells you he loves you - has always loved you. Maybe even before he met you. He tells you how his heart stopped in his chest that first morning you walked into the BAU office, how he nearly spilled his coffee down his shirt, how his glasses steamed up with the heat from his cheeks. How Derek, JJ, Garcia, the entire team has been teasing him for literal years. How sometimes he thinks he catches you looking at him, but that’d be just too good to be true wouldn’t it?

And then your smile grows, and you take a step further into his space until there’s scarcely any room between you. That’s when you tell him you do look at him, you look at him all the time. Because you love him, just as hopelessly and desperately and effortlessly as he loves you. That’s when he kisses you. When he grasps your face in his hands and takes a deep breath of you before crashing into you with a bruising force. You take it, of course you do, just as eagerly as he pours himself into it. The kiss of a lifetime. That’s how he’d do it.

But he can’t do any of that, not now.

So, he pulls back, plugs his own seatbelt in, and lets himself wallow in the post-case stillness that settles in the car. Punctuated by Penelope’s voice through the speaker on your phone though it may be. She’s relieved, a little mad that you’d put yourself in harm’s way, but ultimately glad you’re safe. He smiles to himself at that, he can’t help but agree.

Quantico’s parking garage is dark this time of night, of course it would be, but the chill of the concrete seeps into his bones. You shiver beside him as he helps you slide out of the SUV. Goodbyes are short, sweet, exhausted. Each member of the team wandering towards their own vehicles, leaving you and Spencer standing alone under the fluorescent lights.

“Let’s get you home, superhero.” He grins at you as his hand settles gently on the small of your back, guiding you towards the street exit.

It’s not far to the train station, the streets are still busy even at this time of night. Tourists and businessmen and politicians all alike. But you don’t get jostled in the slightest, he makes sure of it - carefully weaving through the throngs to get you safely to your platform. It’s only as he steps onto the train with you that you realise his own home is in the complete opposite direction. It’s borderline unfair how fuzzy he feels at your concern for his own journey.

“I said I was getting you home, not getting you to the station.” He can’t help the fond smile that settles on his features as you look up at him from your seat. He’s chosen to stand, partially in front of you, as a sort of makeshift barrier between your injured arm and any potential commuters who might stumble into you. He holds his hand out to you expectantly and it takes you another moment to fish your keys out of your bag. They’re placed softly in his palm, your fingers barely brushing his. The touch is so gentle compared to the way you almost squeezed that same hand to death only a couple of hours earlier. He just about manages to suppress the shudder that threatens to buckle his knees, and he counts his lucky stars that your building is only a block away from the train’s destination.

The thought only occurs to Spencer when he’s halfway over the threshold of your apartment, too preoccupied with getting you back safely to realise he’s actually never been in your home before. Organised chaos is the term he’d use. The open plan kitchen and living area is tidy but cluttered, books of every genre piled on shelves with no real strategy, a haphazard stack of second hand vinyls that are mostly Tom Waits sit atop an old record player, a small collection of cacti in mismatched terracotta pots are lined up on your little kitchen windowsill. The cupboards are a deep green, which should really be at odds with the peach tinged wash on the walls, but the combination is just soft enough to work. It’s very you.

“I can take care of myself, you don’t have to stay.”

Your name leaves his lips in the same tone it usually does before he can stop it, the same heavy sigh that wraps around the letters more often than not. God, you know exactly how to push his buttons, even when you don’t mean to. You’re missing the point entirely – he wants to take care of you. It’s so rare that you let him.

“Nice try,” He says as he sets your work bag down on one of the chairs at the round kitchen table, “Get changed, I’ll fix up some dinner.”

“You will?” The teasing grin on your face is either because you don’t think he can cook, or because you can’t. He’s leaning towards the former.

“Hey, I’m a man of many talents.”

You stand there for another long few seconds, just watching him. It’s not dissimilar to the look you gave him at the ambulance, in the SUV, on the train home. Like there’s something you’re desperate to say to him; only, you’re not sure how to say it. So you turn on your heel and close the bedroom door behind you.

Spencer physically has to shake off the weight of your gaze before he can move again, even after you’re gone. His own bag finds its place beside yours, jacket folded and draped neatly over the back of the metal chair. It’s the kind of dining set he’d expect to see outside a Parisian cafe, as opposed to being tucked in the corner of a DC apartment. Chipped white metalwork and all, probably originally a garden set, but it fits the eclectic thrift store vibe you’ve curated throughout the space. He finds himself drifting towards your overstuffed bookshelf, to the beat up record player and the pile of albums - the protective sleeve of each one shabbier than the last. He’d been right at first glance, the collection is mostly second-hand Tom Waits albums - with a little Queen, The Magnetic Fields, and Fleetwood Mac in the mix. The album on top is the most dog-eared, and he doesn’t have to employ a single one of his profiling skills to know this one is the most loved, most played, and he’s sure you’ll appreciate the comfort of some background noise. So he’s concentrating on sliding the record out of the sleeve, carefully placing it onto the turntable, and setting the needle down.

The bluesy first bars of Tom Waits’ Heartattack and Vine fill the room at the same time you open the bedroom door, looking more than a little sorry for yourself. And, to his credit, Spencer does a pretty good job of not laughing at the picture of you in the open doorway.

You’ve got yourself tangled up, all wrinkled shirtsleeves and oozing embarrassment - one sleeve dangles empty by your side where the other is still firmly encased by the sling, your sole free arm pokes out of the bottom of your sweater. Your eyebrows are drawn as you look everywhere but at him.

“Can you…?” You trail off. A breath pushes its way out of your lungs, half-sigh and half-helpless laugh.

“Come on.” He erases the distance between you in two strides, hands turning you at the waist before he can even really think about what he’s doing. You shuffle into the room ahead of him, soft rug shielding your socked feet from the cold of the wooden floor. He’s pleased to find the same decorative tastes extend through to your bedroom.

Another bookshelf, also stuffed to the brim with enough material to start your own bookstore. A little wooden desk by the window paired with a chair that doesn’t match, the wall to the right of it is plastered in multicoloured post it notes - a few of them catch his eye, reminders and ideas and shopping lists. Your bedspread is the same dark green as your kitchen cabinets, although it’s mostly obscured by a mess of patchwork blankets and jewel toned decorative pillows. Your sunshine plush has pride of place balanced against the left-hand bedpost on top of the headboard. Even without an eidetic memory, he’d remember the look on your face when he won it for you. Undercover at a travelling carnival in Oregon, the job at hand was to lure out an Unsub whose tastes fit you to a T, but he’d been uncharacteristically powerless to resist at least trying to get something for you. Your cover was a couple, anyway. He’d only been in character. Not only do you still have it, but it has pride of place, and something about it has his pride rearing its head.

You’re fussing with your pyjamas, a threadbare hoodie and garishly patterned sweatpants, when he turns his attention back to you. The reality of the situation seems to hit you both in the same moment.

Spencer is going to have to undress you.

It’s not how he imagined it would be - and that is definitely not something he needs to think about right now. He could keep his eyes closed? Although not being able to see where he should put his hands is arguably more dangerous than it would be to pay attention. He has to clear his throat before he can find his voice.

“I’m going to have to take this off,” He gestures to the sling, hoping he sounds less noticeably wrecked to you than he does to himself, “But we’ll go slow, okay?”

It’s cruel, is what it is, to watch you nod your agreement, to witness your unshakeable trust that he won’t hurt you so closely. Ultimately, it’s not overly different to the way he checks over your protective vest. There’s a strategy, a system to it just the same as the task that lies ahead, and he’ll follow it step by scientific step.

The sling is first, straps carefully undone and the support sliding off your arm - you both support it, your elbow in his palm where yours settles under your wrist. The one free hand you have between you, Spencer’s, works your shirt up over your uninjured shoulder and tugs it over your head. His eyes never drift beyond what you’ve asked of him, though it isn’t for lack of temptation. He slides the remaining sleeve off of your injured arm with a touch so light that neither of you wouldn’t know it was there if not for the skim of his fingers over your bare skin. Your hoodie replaces your work shirt just as carefully, in reverse. Injured arm first, head, uninjured arm. His tongue pokes out of the corner of his mouth absentmindedly as he concentrates on looping the sling over the thick cotton, securing your arm tight to your chest again. Job done, and without too much embarrassment. He’d call that a success.

“Would you mind-” You struggle for a moment, “The clasp is fiddly.”

Spencer doesn’t know what you mean at first, and then it clicks - and it’s like all the air has been sucked out of the room. You need him to undo your trousers. He can do that, he can do it. He might feel like he’s about to spontaneously combust over the request, but he can do it.

There’s not a whole lot he wouldn’t do for you, to tell the truth.

It takes him longer than it should to slip the hook out of its clasp, usually nimble fingers fumbling under the weight of both of your gazes. But he doesn’t stop there. Because his usually brilliant mind is buzzing with static and his hands are moving of their own accord and the teeth of the zip on your trousers as he pulls it down is loud.

Spencer pulls back like he’s been shocked, while your eyes remain firmly glued to his hands. Hands that now wring themselves with anxiety as he quietly asks if you can manage the rest. You don’t respond verbally - it takes another long second, but you start shimmying the trousers off of your hips with your free hand. The slightest glimpse of bare thigh has him spinning on his heel and marching towards the kitchen in search of food.

He’s not thinking about the soft material of your sweatpants being pulled carefully over your legs in the other room, as he roots around in your kitchen cupboards. He’s not. A can of chopped tomatoes, a handful of half-empty spice jars, just about enough dry spaghetti for two. It’ll do. A pot of water is set on the stove to boil, the noise is enough of a distraction when the bedroom door opens again behind him. You shuffle about for a few minutes, digging around your shelves and Tom Waits’ gravelly tone cuts off abruptly to be replaced by the softer voice of Stevie Nicks instead. The volume ticks down a couple of notches before you join Spencer in the kitchen as he warms the tomatoes and spices alongside the boiling noodles, moving around him with the same ease you do in the office. You pull out two bowls that don’t match - one is shallower and wider and glazed a sunshine yellow, there’s a chip in the lip of it. The other one is smaller, deeper, glazed navy blue instead and with a cheeky face etched into the pottery. Its nose protrudes slightly, rounded out on one side. He can’t help his smile when he dishes out two equal portions and the red sauce drips down onto the bowl’s nose. He swipes at the mess with his thumb before handing you the bowl.

“Thank you.” You search out his gaze this time, urging him to look you in the eye. For cooking, or what he’s sure is your favourite bowl, or staying. He’s not sure. He wants to tell you that you don’t have to thank him, he’d drop anything and everything at any moment if you needed him to. But something in your eyes has stolen his voice, a flicker of something he’s far too terrified to acknowledge. So he only smiles, takes the yellow dish in his hands, and follows you to the comfort of your vintage floral couch.

It’s not a table dinner kind of evening, you seem to have decided. Although the precarious balance of the bowl on your knees suggests otherwise, as you try to eat one handed. Spencer leans forward to pull the cushion from behind his back, his own dinner temporarily abandoned on the floor in front of him, and he picks up your bowl to slide the cushion across your lap in lieu of a tray. Your laugh is quiet, you don’t look at him, but whatever tension had built in the bedroom dissipates with the sound.

Even so, he shoots off a text to Penelope while you’re preoccupied with your spaghetti, asks if she can lend you a helping hand for the next few days if you need one. You shouldn’t need the sling for more than a week anyway. She responds with a smiley face and a kiss almost immediately. It’s not the first time in his life he’s thanked whatever mystical force is responsible for Penelope Garcia.

Spencer will corral you to the doctor’s office for a checkup in a few days, he’ll make sure you do your stretches, he’ll set alarms for your painkillers. And, ultimately, he’ll come back if you ask him to. He’ll help you in and out of your pyjamas if that’s what you want, of course he will.

Regardless of the way it sets his insides aflame. He’ll do it for you.

yes i know reader inserts are blank slates yes this apartment is basically just my own flat no i don’t care thank u🧡🧡

#acts of service as a love language is so underrated he just wants to hELP YOU!!!!#AAUUGGGHHHHHH anyway #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #criminal minds #the canyouniverse #lou is writing

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sky-is-the-limit · 1 year ago

Text

Captain Price and Commander Graves fighting for your attention would consist of:

(Reader is part of TF141 and only has a professional relationship with both. On the outside at least.)

Explicit part 2 here

➳ Price having to hastily leave the room whenever Graves would so blatantly hit on you by either complimenting your shooting skills or devouring you whole with his gaze so he wouldn't remove Grave's head from his neck.

➳ Graves daydreaming about Price getting blown off whenever you'd call him 'Captain' or look at him with those puppy eyes awaiting for a command and Price staring at your lips for way too long.

➳ Price purposely pairing you up with him so you wouldn't have to be the one to go with Graves and his Shadows (plus a lot of whining from Soap cause he'd always have to do the dirty job.)

➳ Gaz would have to physically remove Price from the meeting room when Graves wouldn't agree on moving forward with the mission unless he had you on the team.

➳ Graves insisting loudly on you joining the Shadow Company after this mission cause he'd be a much better boss and he'd take such a good care of you under his command, a thousand filthy words hiding behind that everlasting smirk on his face.

➳ Price trying to hide his smile whenever you'd tell Graves to fuck off cause your team, especially your boss are just fine and you're good where you are.

➳ Price taking advantage of how comfortable and safe you feel with him with gentle touches, even better if Graves would be there to watch, touching your shoulder, fixing something on your uniform, lingering his fingertips a bit too long whenever handing you something.

➳ Graves biting back by making you laugh, telling you the stupidest jokes quietly enough so no one else would hear just to watch your cold exterior towards him crumble, earning a giggle from your lips before you replace it with your usual annoyed expression towards him.

➳ Price ordering you to do little things outside of the mission just to prove how obedient and eager you are to follow his every command with your usual, playful "Yes, Captain" or "Right away, sir" with a tone that revealed your obvious favoritism and Price having to excuse himself way too early for 'bed' cause that's all he could think about.

➳ Graves feeling so jealous he would unfortunately take it out on his Shadows, wishing you were calling him your Commander instead. One time, it accidentally fell from your lips while you had to pair up with them and Price wasn't present, and he almost finished in his pants.

➳ Price accidentally letting his calm composure slip and mumbling a soft "Don't leave." Wanting to add a silent 'me' at the end but then quickly realising how frustrating it was that Graves proposal got under his skin even though he knows how loyal to him you are. "Don't leave the task force, Y/L/N. We need you here."

➳ Graves following you outside in the beautiful quiet of the night, only the stars and the cool breeze accompanying you as you both sat in silence on the ground. He would let his guard down a bit, telling you all about the starry night sky back in his hometown in the US and how you'd love to see it, indirectly asking you to.

➳ Price bringing you coffee late in the armory while you'd be cleaning your weapon, sitting down next to you with his warm tea in hand. Just your presence would be enough to calm the thousand waves crushing in his mind.

➳ Graves would definitely become a stalker accidentally, trying to catch you alone cause whenever you'd be around your task force or Price, you wouldn't pay him much attention. "Running away from me, soldier?" He'd corner you against a surface, gaze intimidating like a predator about to devour his prey.

If you were to reply with his title like "Why would you think that, Commander?" He'd probably forget where the two of you were and press you up against the nearest wall.

➳ Price would notice you easing up for Graves and would take matters into his own hands, asking you straight away if there was something going on between the two of you and telling you how unprofessional it was, jealousy so very visible on his face.

"Are you jealous, Captain?" Your tone playful and unserious like always. He'd finally do something bolder, frustration catching up to him like a wildfire. "What if I am, Y/N?" He'd throw his cigar on the floor, eyes never leaving yours before closing in so the remaining smoke would hit your face along with the realisation.

"Do something about it then." And so he would.

➳ Graves would intentionally let slip something about yourself that you have told him on your little private midnight walks in front of Price, to let him know that the coldness you display is in fact only for show and that he knows more about you on a personal level.

➳ Price would have to take a step outside before doing something he'd regret, cursing the universe and Shepherd for bringing this asshole into his path to steal you away from him before his racing thoughts would get interrupted by the very person he despised the most.

"We're both grown men here, Price. Oh, and you know what they say. Sharing is caring."

What Graves would imply made him look even more dangerous in Price's eyes. Either let the better man win your affections or have them both share you so you wouldn't have to choose, even at the same time:).

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jasmines-library · 8 months ago

Note

👀 'tis me, i loved the other one so much ❤️❤️❤️, and am back with this wAcky idea muahahaaa:

batboy (you choose) x villain!reader

they are supposed to hate each other because of circumstances (you choose) BUT they got caught in a fight and are working together. after that fight, batboy finds that reader is actually a HUGE softie, and has never really had relationships, and when batboy does find out, he teases reader to embarrassment. they end up falling in love they kiss and fluffy things, under the moonlight, but then reader goes spiraling. like- is it safe to do this? is it okay to show weakness like that? will they put batboy in danger? and they are on the verge of a panic attack. they run away from batboy, which breaks both of them 🥹. reader avoids batboy for months, not really coping with their feelings, having panic attacks every night and all. and then one night, batboy sees reader fighting in an alley. reader takes out the thugs quickly and batboy approaches, and he can see through reader's eyes a whirlwind of emotions and it breaks his heart... and then they somehow make up and a lot of fluff pleeasee <3 (omg it's not totally angst 🥹)

ilyyy muah! (platonic ofc 😘)

Bullet With Butterfly Wings

⛤⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽⛧☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅⛤

Note: This is so cute! I love this idea and I hope you like it. I just wanted to make a side note and say that i am queer, and whilst I am very happy to write romantically for the batboys, It may not be super great (which is why most of my work is platonic tbh) so apologies in advance for that. I also chose to write for Jay so I hope that's okay!

Warnings: Canon typical violence, Minor injuries, self doubt, manipulative parent (bane) but only brief, swearing teasing, kissing but no smut (SFW)

Word Count: 5k (it took me 40 years but it was worth it)

⛧ BATFAM MASTERLIST ⛧

⛤⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽⛧☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅⛤

Jason Todd was your enemy.

That is what you have always been told. It had been ingrained in you since you were very young. Batman and his band of proteges were a nuisance. Bothers. Vermin that needed to be exterminated from Gotham. Your father had countless rivalries: and that had extended to you. Your whole life was dedicated to training to cause havoc and trying to remove Gothams vigilantes.

Jason Todd was your enemy. And you despised him. He despised you too. Not that you cared, he had every right to. Your father had broken his many times.

He had always been tricky. He slunk around the shadows and always put a stop to your fun. His brothers weren’t much better. So when he was killed… you should have been ecstatic. You should have clenched your fists in rage when he returned…but instead you felt…lost.

Jason Todd was your enemy. So why were you helping him…?

You had heard the commotion from nearly a block over. The cacophony of shattering glass, the ricochet of bullets followed by the screeching of the building's alarm: you were over there speedily, tugging your pistols from your holsters as you weaved towards the orange glow of the flickering lights.

The building was completely destroyed. The windows were smashed in, spidering where the bullets had passed through them or jagged where what looked like a brick had been lobbed into it. The frames of the windows were completely broken too, splintering under the brute force of the coloured bandits that had weasled their way inside. Dressed in unsubtle colours, they seemed to be searching for something; they overturned desks and sent an array of papers scattering to the ground. It was that or they were just looking to have fun. You smirked, taking a step closer to the building ready to join them but then you caught a flash of the triangular emblem they had haphazardly spray painted on the back of their jackets and cursed. Safe to say that they weren’t going to tolerate you being near them. Your father had royally pissed them off. More than once. But who were you to back down from a fight?

Shouldering your weapons, you stepped closer crouching to try and keep out of their sight. It was going to be much easier for you if you could take them by surprise. Much more entertaining for you too. Though it seemed that luck wasn’t on your side because one of them, a tall girl with blonde hair she had tied back in a braid, turned her head just before you could dash out of the way and with a cry of your alias, all heads turned to you.

There was no use hiding now your cover was blown so with your guns raised high you aimed and fired. They were quick to retaliate and with their the sheer number of them it was difficult to predict their movements and stay out of their line of fire despite all of your training. The whole ordeal was a mess, bullets and punches flew left, right and centre. The whole ordeal only got a fuck ton more complicated when he arrived. The knight in fucking black and red armour. He perched on top of the roof, teetering dangerously to the edge, before landing on his feet only a few metres away, no doubt with a smug grin hidden behind his red mask. It didn’t do him much good. You knew exactly who he was and it hadn’t taken you much to figure it out. But perhaps that was because you were much more perceptive than most. Perhaps it was because you spent far too much time thinking about him.

Red Hood stood towering over you, glaring at you through his brows. He tutted. “Y/N Bane. Should have known you would be here.”

“And miss the chance to beat your pretty face?” You mocked. “You should know better.”

Red Hood rolled his eyes, shifting his weight as he reached for his weapon. He looked as though he was going to say something; another jest or sly remark, but the moment was ruined when one of the bandits ran up behind him bearing a weapon he intended to plunge into the vigilantes side. However he was much quicker, twisting around to grab the boy by his wrists and flinging him over his shoulder. He landed with a grunt before trying to grab at Red Hood's legs. You beat him to it though, landing a harsh blow to his back and sending him slumping back to the ground.

That seemed to set the rest of them off and all of a sudden the pair of you were surrounded. The street quickly became a flurry of punches and rounds of bullets that lodged themselves in the crackstone bricks or ricocheted off of the metal pipes with a cloud clang. None of them found their mark. Strange for a group of people who wielded their weapons so confidently.

It seemed to be going well. Some sort of unseen rivalry seemed to bloom between you and Red Hood, trying to see who could take the most thugs down. Those that didn’t flee dropped like flies. But you were outnumbered. And even though the pair of you were twice as skilled as them combined, you began to find it difficult to push them back.

Darting into the building to shelter from their hail of bullets, you managed to take down the pair that were hurtling things at Hood. And then it all fell silent.

Exhaling heavily, you wiped the sweat from your brow and holstered your weapons after checking the coast was clear. Smirking, you slid out of the doorway ready to jest to the vigilante. But he seemed to be nowhere to be seen. You rolled your eyes. Coward.

“Given up already?” You jested. “Honestly for a man of your size it thought that you would last a lot longer than-”

Your stomach sank when you turned the corner and saw the vigilante hunched up against the wall, his one hand pressed firmly into the wall, the other pushing hard up against his right side. His breaths came in short, ragged gasps as he tried to catch his breath, his back still turned away from you. You furrowed your brow, taking a hesitant step toward him. It was then that you noticed the crimson that oozed between his fingers.

“Here to finish me off?” He spat, words laced with a thick and potent venom.

“I’m thinking about it.”

He turned toward you, his body jolting in agony as he twisted. From there you could see the two small but ragged circles that jutted out from his suit; one above his left hip and the other a few inches to the right of it. Only one of them seemed to have an exit wound.

“Get on with it then.” He grumbled trying to keep his composure. You could see the way his legs trembled as he tried to keep his composure. “They’re not coming any time soon.” He gestured to his coms. The screen was blank. Broken. “Comms are down.” his voice was torn up by a sickening cough. “But I'd get it over with quickly so you can leave before they catch your trail.”

Your fingers twitched as you reached for your pistol. Instinct. You should finish him off. It would make your father proud. It would end your years of resentment and it would bring you oh so much glorious fame. He was already practically cowering on the ground; an easy kill. Jason Todd was your enemy. You should have pulled the trigger. But instead, you found yourself darting forward as Jason as his body careened forwards.

When Jason awoke, he did so in a panic. His eyes were wide and his heart pounded in his chest. It was only when he tried to push himself up and was met by a sudden pinch in his side that everything came back to him. He didn’t recognise his surroundings. The walls were decorated in artwork that he didn’t recognise, and he was laying in a bed with streets that belonged to a stranger. He scrambled for his pistols only to realise that they weren’t there. And that his mask had been removed.

“Lay back down, you idiot.” You scolded from across the room. “Your wounds are still healing, And relax.” You gestured to his mask and the top half of his suit that you had folded up and laid on a chair. It was then that he realised that he was not wearing his shirt and that the eternity of his torso was wrapped securely in bandages. “I knew who you were.”

Jason had to do a double take. But he soon turned sour. “What the fuck am I doing here?”

You scoffed, placing the glass of water you had brought in on the bedside table. “A thank you would be nice.”

“I’m serious” he narrowed his eyes on you.

You faltered, eyeing him cautiously and pursing your lips. Truthfully, you had struggled to get him back to your apartment. You had to move fast with the amount of blood he had lost. You were glad that he lost consciousness when he did because although you should have left him there to rot… you couldn’t bear the thought of seeing him writhe beneath you as you dug a pair of tweezers under his skin to dig out the bullet.

The vigilante eyed you cautiously, still confused as to why you had decided to drag him all the way back here. It couldn’t have been easy for you. He watched as you dug around in one of the draws in your bedroom. He had never seen you properly without your suit on. And he could fully see your face now it wasn’t obscured by the black and white mask that sat comfortably around your eyes. Jason stared for a little too long and found his thoughts wandering a little too far for his liking. He was supposed to loathe you. He was supposed to think you were vile. But yet again…you were the furthest thing from what he had convinced himself to believe.

“You’re staring.” You could feel his eyes on you.

Jason’s cheeks flushed and he turned his gaze away. Rolling your eyes you tossed him a bottle of painkillers that you had pulled out of the mess of your draw. They rattled as they hit the side of the plastic container when he caught them.

“Take some of those. They should help with the ache.

He gave you an unamused look, hand hovering on the seal.

“Relax, bird boy. If I wanted you dead you would be.”

Jason popped two in his mouth hesitantly and swallowed them down with the water you had left on the side. A loud buzzing sounded from out of the room. You disappeared briefly out of the doorway. Not being able to see you made him nervous, but you returned soon with two items in your hand. The first, his phone and the source of the incessant buzzing, and the second his comlink which was no longer dark like it was before but instead was lit up around the crack on the screen. You handed the two to him.

“You might want to let them know that you’re alive. That damn thing’s been going off all night.” You told him.

“You fixed it.” Jason gawped, turning the small device over in his hands.

You shrugged. “Had to make sure the GPS was off. Besides, I had nothing better to do.”

After sending a quick message to reassure his family that he was alive, Jason frowned at you. “Why are you helping me?”

You faltered. Why were you helping him? It went completely against everything you had been taught. But you hadn’t really thought much about what you were doing. It was like your body was on autopilot, moving without thought of feeling and just following someone’s orders blindly. You shrugged at him. “It just felt like the right thing to do.”

Jason practically laughed. “But doesn’t that go against your entire image?”

“There is a lot you don’t know about me, Todd.”

The vigilante smirked, the corners of his lips creeping upward. Snarky. He liked you. “Then perhaps I should get to know you more.”

No matter how hard he tried, Jason couldn’t take his mind off you. Even once he had long returned home, he couldn’t get the image of your face out of his thoughts. There was something about you that was just so enthralling to him. And that bothered him greatly. His hours passed by quickly as he thought of you. What you had done. And god he was so conflicted. But the part of him that seemed to want to inch closer to you won.

After struggling to pull on his hoodie, no thanks to the dull ache that still emimated from his wounds, he slipped on his shoes and trudged down the stairs. He was just about to slip out of the door when a voice stopped him.

“Jay?” Dick asked, scowling at his brother. “Where are you going?”

“Out?”

“Again? You’ve only just got back after completely wiping off the radar and now you’re sneaking off?”

“I wasn’t sneaking.”

Dick cocked his brow.

The younger Wayne sighed and with a roll of his eyes told him defensively “It’s nothing, Grayson.”

Jason slipped out of the door.

Even though he had only been there once, Jason seemed to practically have the route to your apartment engraved in his mind. After all, he had walked in over and over again in his head as he thought about returning to see you. Although he was confident on how to get there, when he stood in front of the door with his fist poised to rap against the panel, a very rare occurrence happened to Jason. He was nervous. His stomach fluttered and churned underneath the bandages and then the door flew open.

And there you stood. You looked more awake than before. Perhaps because you had actually managed to get some sleep since he had left. It had been a well needed rest. The ache in your bones from the previous night had nearly vanished once you awoke. However, similarly to the vigilante, when you awoke you too had found your mind wandering back to the boy you had dragged back into your home.

There he was. Standing in your doorway.

“Todd?” You darkened your brow. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“I came to get to know you.”

Gripping his wrist you pulled him inside and shut the door behind you.

You and Jason had grown close very quickly. After he had slunk up to your apartment, the pair of you exchanged numbers. This led to many rendezvous and you began to actually enjoy spending time with him. He was an intricate person. He had so many layers to him, each one more interesting than the next. He had also discovered that there was much more to you than your facade let on. You were kind, funny, and deeply compassionate despite your history. It was ironic really. But that made Jason love you even more. He loved the way you smiled with your eyes and the way they lit up when you saw something you adored. He loved the curves of your cheekbones, your nose, your jawline and your figure. He had grown to love your laugh and the way your voice softened when you were tired. He loved all of you. But he wasn’t sure if you so much as even liked him back.

It would be a complete lie to say didn’t. Slowly, the pair of you began to open up to each other. You knew little about his past and hearing him open up about it brought tears to your eyes. That was the first time that you had hugged him. Wrapping him up in your arms seemed to come almost naturally and despite the fact that Jason wasn’t a huge people person, he found himself leaning into your embrace. The two of you began to learn things about each other very quickly. You would tell him something and he would exchange the favour. Countless hours were spent as the two of you messaged back and forth or lounged around on your couch as you talked over the movies you tried to watch but failed because you couldn’t tear your eyes off of him. He was smart and he was kind and it was nice to have someone to really open up to. You had never really had that before Jason. Of course, when he found out about that and your lack of relationships, he couldn’t help but tease you. He thought it was adorable the way that your cheeks flushed and you shrunk into yourself.

Tonight, you were sitting on a hillside. It was a little far out of the city, but Jay had insisted that it was going to be worth it. Reluctantly, but with a little grin, you had followed him up the small hill.

The view was truly magnificent. From here, you had a view of the entire city. You could see all of the lights flickering throughout the skyscrapers and the neon lights of the signs as they reflected off of the dark windows. But what was even more magical were the stars. They twinkled above you brighter than a thousand diamonds all at once. It made your breath catch in your throat. With all of the light pollution in Gotham, it was hard to see the stars. But out here you could see them in all of their beauty. So as you lay back in the grass, basking in the moonlight while Jay pointed out the constellations, you twisted your body to sit face him. He returned the motion, looking at you with gentle eyes and a smile touching his lips.

“Thank you for bringing me here, Jay.” You told him. “It truly is beautiful here.”

He nodded, speaking softly. “I’m glad you like it.”

“I’ve never seen so many stars.” You said, inching yourself up so that you were sitting. “Though I suppose that’s because I’ve never really been out of Gotham.”

Jason raised an eyebrow. This was something new. “No?”

You shook your head as he too sat up. “Never. My father never let me.”

This surprised the vigilante somewhat, but he remained silence and let you continue.

“He’s… protective. And somewhat controlling.” you trailed off. “I know he just wants me to follow in his footsteps but for my entire life I’ve been following his command blindly. It’s always what he wants. He’s never once stopped and thought about what I want.”

Jason reached out a delicate hand to brush away a stray hair, tucking it back behind your ear. “And what is it that you want?”

“This.” You breathed out.

Tenderly, he leaned forward to interlock his lips with yours. They were soft and gentle and he kissed you with a gentle amorous touch. His hands brushed the back of your hair, tangling in your locks as you returned the kiss, leaning into his touch.

Being with Jason was more than you could ever have imagined. It was a different kind of love. Something you had never really experienced before. It was filled with gentle exchanges of touches, reassurances of your love for each other, gifts and small trinkets that you would buy for each other when it reminded you of them and so so much more. With Jay, you could just be yourself and he loved you for it. There was no more trying to keep up a facade that perhaps was much more of an act influenced by your father than you thought it was. Everything was perfect.

Until it wasn’t.

You and Jay had been going out for a few months when it happened. You had returned home after a late night stroll with him to find your father sitting on your couch. He was angry, face contorting with dark lines when he narrowed his eyes at you.

“Dad?” You asked, trying to hide the evidence of your outing from him. “What are you doing here?”

“Don’t play coy with me.” He spat standing to tower above you. “I know exactly that’s going on with you and that little bird.”

He took a step forward, intending to intimidate you but you held your ground.

“How long did you think you could keep that hidden?”

“I don’t see what that’s any of your business.” You grit your teeth.

“I am your father. I made you who you are. Without me you would be nothing.” His words dripped with venom as he backed you into the wall.

“That’s exactly the point! You've never once stopped to consider what I want!”

Bane's face hardened and he leaned forward to speak to you in a scarily hushed tone and he gripped your wrists so hard you were sure it was going to leave a bruise later. “Now you listen here you insolent little girl. Either you stop running around with Bruce Wayne’s little protege or I will end him and I will make you watch. You understand.”

You didn’t meet his eyes. Instead you found a spot on the carpet to burn your gaze onto.

“I said, do you understand?” He raised his voice and you could feel your heart pounding against your rib cage.

“Yes, Father.” You admitted with defeat. He released his firm grip.

“Good.” Bane moved back towards the door. “Because I mean it.”

Without another word he turned on his heel and slammed the door behind him.

You crumpled to the floor, your body wracked with sobs that forced their way out from your ragged gasps.

And then your phone buzzed. His name displayed brightly on the screen.

Jason: Hey baby. D’you get in okay?

It was one of his usual messages. He sent them often when he couldn��t walk you back to your door. Sometimes even when he had walked you back and made sure you got inside with a parting kiss. You couldn’t blame him for being cautious. You had seen eachother fretting for the other when you came home with injuries. It was normal for Jason. But now it felt so wrong.

Opening the message your fingers hesitated over the keypad as you thought about your fathers warning. Was he right? Were you putting Jay at risk. Would it just be better if you. No. You tried to clear the thought from your mind.

You: Fine. Sorry for keeping you waiting.

You replied, waiting for the small bubble to finish typing.

Jason: you sure you’re okay baby?

You: of course. Why wouldn’t I be?

Jason: No reason. I just had this feeling.

You: Oh? Well I’m fine I promise. Night Jay.

You were in fact, not fine.

The next time you saw Jason your heart was racing. And not in the good way. In the “I think I’m going to hurl” way.

You had been thinking about him nonstop. About how much joy he brought you. How you could never fathom leaving him. But Bane's words kept replaying in your head. Seeing him had brought a part of your old self back. The part that you had long since tried to move past. Was being with Jason making you weak? You had told him so much that it felt as if he knew you inside and out. Was it okay to show vulnerability to him like that? You had been thinking a million thoughts at once. But the one that stuck out most to you was ‘am I putting Jason in danger?’ Would your selfishness of wanting to be with him cost him his life. You had tried to tell yourself that you were being silly. That Jason could handle himself. He was the infamous Red Hood. But you knew Jay. And you knew Bane. So you knew that if he put his mind to it, Jason Todd would die.

And that was why you needed to leave.

When Jason arrived he greeted you with a bright grin that only made your stomach sink deeper into your abyss of guilt. You took a deep breath, trying to hide the tremble of your body and the tears in your eyes. You could not bring yourself to return his mannerisms.

“Baby? What’s wrong?” He frowned as he approached you.

“Jay…. I-I” your voice caught in your throat: a reminder of how little you wanted this to happen. But you had to. For his sake “I can’t do this anymore.”

Jason’s face dropped. “W-what?”

You honestly don’t think you had ever seen him look more hurt. Another wound to add to the collection.

“I can’t do this anymore.” You gestured between the two of you. “ I love you, Jason. But I can’t carry on being with you.”

You took a step back and Jason reached out to try and touch you but stopped, cutting himself off short. “Y/N what’s happened? Please tell me baby. What have I done wrong?”

“Nothing, Jay.” You shook your head, blinking away the tears that fell. “That’s the worst part. Nothing at all.”

You avoided Jason Todd like the plague after that. No matter how much you mourned his face and playful smile. His flurries of texts and calls went unanswered until they slowly thinned out. Never stopping, but as the summer turned to autumn, there were less and less of them.

You could tell it broke him as much as it broke you.

You hardly left the house after that fateful day. Everything seemed to remind you of him and his stupid voice. You didn’t want to run the risk of seeing him because you knew the second you did you would break down again completely.

Your father stopped by occasionally. He would tell you that he was proud of you but you knew he was just trying to manipulate you back into his little copy of himself. You swore to yourself that you wouldn’t go back there, but after a short while you grew desperate. Perhaps it was because you had grown bored of staring at the same blank spot in the wall and the empty space on your bed, or perhaps it was because you secretly hoped that you would catch a glimpse of that infamous red suit.

It seemed that your wishes do come true.

You heard the fighting from around the corner. The cacophony of fists finding their marks. When you rounded the corner you saw him. The red of his suit outlined by the dark of the black to contrast. Your first thought was to run. To bolt back down the alleyway. But you weren’t a coward. You had had enough of hiding. You longed to see him and this was your chance. Red Hood was loosing.

With one swift action, you leaped towards the thugs grabbing one and sending her careening towards the ground. Red Hood had to do a double take when he saw the flash of your suit in the light. But there was no doubt that it was you. After months you had appeared.

Motivated by you appearance it didn’t take long of the two of you to take out the thugs. And when the last one dropped to the ground. Your first thought was to run. But then he said your name and you were glued in place. God you had longed to hear that voice.

“Y/N? Y/N please look at me” you had never heard so much softness in Jason’s voice before. He too was scared.

He was right behind you. Close enough to touch. You could sense him. His hands itching to reach out and gather you up in his arms.

Slowly you turned around to face him and your gaze met his for the first time in months. And his heart wanted to break. Jason had always been good at reading people, but he could see the whirlwind of emotions swirling in your gaze.

“I'm sorry.” You blurted out.

Jay hummed. Although he would never admit how much he had hurt during your absence, he had a feeling that you weren’t not thinking properly and had likely been influenced by someone else. The fear in your eyes confirmed his suspicions. “I know.” Jason wanted to reach out and snatch you up to pull into his embrace. “I know it was your father.”

You felt as if the whole world had been lifted off of your chest when he breathed out those words.

“Truly, I didn’t want to do it, Jay. But he threatened to- I couldn’t let him hurt you.” Your voice broke and your lips trembled as your eye filled with tears. And that was the final straw for the vigilante. He took another step forward and wrapped you up in a tight hug. He had missed you so much.

“Shh.” He hushed. “I forgive you.”

You sniffled looking up at him. “Really?”

“Of course I do.” He nodded, tucking your head under his chin. “I’ve missed you so much.”

“Me too.” You muttered.

“So what do you say?” He asked. “You want to give this another go?”

“If you’ll have me.”

“Oh darling, I would trade the world for one night with you.”

And with that, Jason Todd leaned down and kissed you once more.

⛤⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽⛧☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅⛤

BATFAM TAGS:

@hearts4robs

@hell-o-kittys

@xxrougefangxx

@aestheticdasies

@mamapucket

⛤⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽⛧☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅⛤

side note in case it bothers anyone: I'm somewhat aware that Bane has a daughter canonically, which is sort of why I went with him. If you wanted to you could interpret this as the reader also being created in a lab, or being his biological daughter (how I imagined it) but it doesn't really matter. I also chose bane because I didn't want to go with the joker again, but this this also doesn't really matter as the reader kinda just becomes her own villain.

#batfam x reader #Jason Todd x Reader #dc #batfam #dc x reader #Batfamily x reader #enemies to lovers #angst #fluff #hurt/comfort #red hood #red hood x reader

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sahisan · 7 days ago

Text

— curiousity killed the cat.

featuring . pm!dazai osamu.

tags . suggestive, so slight nsfw. civilian!gn!reader. dazai's a bit sick. just pmzai things yk (he's scary). weapons described (he has a gun). blood mentioned. gunplay mentioned (brief suggestive description). wc 1.8k.

author note . this is so random i don't even know if the paragraphs do well together bc i just poured my most random thoughts into it and i was sleepy and barely managed to proofread it. yep. i imagined mostly 20-22!pmzai here.

dazai hid many things. he hid them well; years of being on constant standby, awaiting, on guard about anything enemy or not related. he hid in the shadows no matter day or night, but the shadows didn't always necessarily mean him only scrambling around in narrow alleyways or in the safety of the headquarters—in reality, he spent little time in the latter, nor did he 'lurk in the shadows' often, unless on a mission.

he hid everything from everyone, including you; of course including you. and the thing that bothered him the most was you finding out about what he does. did. has done. keeps on doing every day. not only does he not want the port mafia's countless enemies to know about you, but dazai also dreads the thought of you getting even a little bit closer to the truth of what he does for a living. he thinks of how he might slip one day and just reveal his true nature, intentionally or not, and either let you be disgusted and scared or kill you immediately because you might report to the police; it bothers him in both ways.

dazai avoids the area of your home when out at work. he makes sure to put on some casual clothes before visiting your place. when things are bad, work routine and you colliding together closer to night, he makes sure to hold a small bottle of hydrogen peroxide in his inner pocket to quickly wash away the stains of blood from his clothes. he keeps a bit of cologne there as well, to hide the stench of blood he usually reeks of during the day—he doesn't even use cologne daily. if you need him right after work, he disposes of his weapons, giving them away to the underlings that follow his word.

everything is always under control.

like tonight. he'd had a "kill and dispose" assignment, after which he'd had to go to yours and spoil you with a movie night he promised you. ah, the long-awaited respite from everyday bloodshed.

yet he was still on guard; he always has been, but today was busy and rough and all he needed was your embrace and a movie as a background noise while he showered you with kisses and cuddled you with neverending hugs.

and dazai forgot.

already at your doorstep, already having ringed the bell by your front door when dazai looked down at himself and—

fuck.

there was a small but clear blood stain right next to his tie. ah. how great. he definitely won't have time to remove it, but he might try to win some time to divert your attention from it if you notice—and you will, if he doesn't do anything about it.

with the door opening, dazai threw himself at you, literally waltzing into your apartment, hip to hip, your left hand in his right and his left hand at your waist, he led you through the corridor in an almost hasty improvisation of a dance, causing his tie to sway just in the right direction and have you giving him a look that screamed "you and your antics again?". good.

"ah, you look especially divine tonight," he mused, nuzzling your neck and making you place your chin on his shoulder; very good, the stain was out of your sight at least for now, and he couldn't be happier about that. "i haven't had dinner yet but i already know what i want for dessert."

distract. distract and avert and keep away—best tactic of dazai's that rarely failed, and he was used to putting it to use everywhere he could, including you. you could be perceptive or gullible, didn't matter—it worked wonders on anyone and will continue working for as long as he wanted to.

dazai swayed you around a few more times, dancing his way into your living room while humming a nauseatingly sweet, random tune he made up in his head a second ago. hip against yours again, he let a content smirk wash over his lips.

a clank. soft, quiet sound of metal clanking once echoed through the room, and it was almost eerie silence aside from his barely audible humming just as his hipbone met yours.

that didn't sound good, considering the only thing on his hip was—

ah. dazai forgot two things tonight.

in reverie about cursing himself head to toe in his mind, he lost the sensation of your touch until it felt too suspicious and he was too late, you reaching for the side hem of his coat and tugging it away from his side to reveal it to the light. you were always so curious, and he couldn't tell whether it was bad or good for him in general.

the soft clink echoed once more as your fingers grazed the object, and his eyes narrowed. the gun. shit. in his distracted state, he'd forgotten to dispose of it along with wiping away the blood.

dazai's hand shot out from beneath the coat, and he knew he wasn't doing himself a favor by raising his hand to grab yours, only revealing the holster further, but he didn't necessarily give a shit right now. he ought to do more than care about the gun right now, like a proper boyfriend, first being calming you down and assuring you it's not loaded and isn't as scary as it looks and that you shouldn't be afraid and the second being change of course of the conversation so seamlessly that you forget about the weapon for the rest of the night at least (unfortunately, the last sentence never crossed his mind).

but when did dazai ever go according to an adequate plan?

his hand held yours in the air, palm gliding up and down your inner forearm, trying to, first, soothe every negative emotion that might come up on the surface of your face, as well as keeping your curious hand away.

"ah-ah-ah, how naughty," dazai purred, voice dripping with false sweetness even as his eyes glinted with dangerous amusement; what he was supposed to be doing absolutely slipped from his thoughts the second he sensed the quickening of your heartbeat and breath and the cautious halting and tensing of your body against his, and he was already getting hard just from this. sick. "what did i tell you about wandering hands, hmm?"

he ground his hips against yours once after that, letting you feel the growing hardness in his pants. distraction. that was the key. keep you focused on his body, on the pleasure he could give you, and you'd forget all about that pesky gun in no time.

“careful there, baby. wouldn’t want you to accidentally shoot yourself,” he said with a twisted, growing grin. his other hand, previously holding your left one, slid away from it to cup your cheek, thumb brushing along your jawline in a mockery of tenderness, visible eye looking down at your mouth.

"i'd hate to see those pretty lips marred by blood."

and yet, once he'd lifted his eyes up to yours, dazai could feel you tense under his touch, heart racing beneath your skin. he knew that look in your eyes, that widening of your pupils; he was all too familiar with it. fear. he had been so focused on the thrilling, twisted satisfaction the situation brought him momentarily, that he hadn't noticed how his actions were affecting you. his grip on your wrist loosened, his thumb tracing soothing circles on your inner wrist.

dazai sighed, deciding it was time to stop scaring you with both his demeanor and the weapon, even if it wasn't what he wanted right now at all; he had a switch to pull off, an appearance to keep up in front of you. ah, but how he'd love to prolong that moment for just a little longer: your fear palpable in the air, that scared glance you cast at him once, the trembling of your hands, hitch in your breathing and increase of your heartbeat.

maybe later.

"easy, easy," he murmured, voice low and soothing even as his mind raced. he tapped the holster twice. "it's not loaded, see?" a lie. "just a little souvenir," a lie. the gun was always loaded, ready to be drawn at a moment's notice, but you surely didn't need to know that. he'd already subjected you to more horror than a civilian would need to witness.

dazai leaned in closer, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear as he spoke. "you know i'd never be involved with these types of things and would never hurt you, right?" honey-sweet, dripping with false sincerity words. what he was absolutely best at was lying and manipulating, and he couldn't even control it anymore; if he needed you to believe, he will make you believe, one way or another.

"but you also shouldn't go poking around where you don't belong," he purred lowly with an audible dangerous lilt to his tone, lips now moving lower and ghosting over the sensitive skin of your neck. "who knows what kind of trouble you might find yourself in. curiosity killed the cat, you know. you never know when you'll be the cat. and I'm not sure i'd be able to live with myself if something happened to you."

dazai could try to keep you away from his sicko tendencies and mind and thoughts that were all over the place and mingled together; the thoughts of protecting you from all of this meeting the ones of putting that gun to better use that just shooting people. and right now, he was barely holding it all in.

think of it this way: the thoughts of keeping his precious favourite civilian away from the corrupted knowledge and pain and feeling you tremble in fear underneath him, with the barrel of his gun tracing over your bare skin and getting dangerously close to where you'd need him most? oh, did the latter make dazai's stomach contort with desire and hips buckle up into yours. he would have to think more clearly about this later when his head wasn't a wreck of everything at once, but now...

"you want to play with something hard, baby?" dazai murmured in the end, all sultry and beaming with desire. "i'll give you something much better than a piece of metal to wrap your pretty fingers around."

dazai was sick and his mind twisted and he didn't get how he could ever keep someone like you by his side, but he supposed it was fate; and for as long as fate was merciful to him, he would make good use of it.

"but behave, hmm?"

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whereianonymouslypostfics · 5 months ago

Text

Break In

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x reader

Word count: 3.4k

Summary: How Y/n ends up moving to the compound

A/N: :(

Warnings: blood, violence, injury, sexual assault, angst, hurt/comfort

You’d been alone for hours which wasn’t rare for your day off. It was in the middle of the week, and rarely was Wanda able to spend it with you due to her busy schedule. For this reason, you’d spent the morning cleaning the apartment and going on a walk because of how nice it was outside. You typically went grocery shopping today, but you were too tired when you returned mid-afternoon and decided to take a nap.

You barely shut your bedroom door behind you when you hear the unmistakable sound of your front door being kicked in. Your heart jumps into your throat as you look around the room for anything that can be used as a weapon. The only one you have within reach is in the bag you take to work, and you barely have the knife in your hands when your door swings open with a loud bang.

You can’t stop the surprised gasp that leaves you at the sight of two men standing in your bedroom. You don’t recognize them, not that you’d expected to, and you move without thinking. You grab the lamp on the table behind you and bring the heavy metal base down hard against one of the intruders faces. You miss and it only hits his shoulder, but you still hear a pained curse as you’re tackled onto the bed.

Your breath is knocked out of you and you stare wide eyed up at the brunette who is crushing you underneath his weight. You flip open your knife as his arm presses down against your throat to stop any sound you were about to make. You can’t tell what you’re aiming for, but you nearly sigh in relief when you hear him scream as you stab him hopefully somewhere it really hurts. You drag the knife up as you rip it free, and you’re rewarded with another scream and a spray of blood that covers your clothes and the comforter.

You don’t have much time to celebrate before you’re hit across the face and thrown off of the bed. You manage to hold onto your weapon, but you feel a burning pain in your stomach from where you land on the ground and roll into the wall. You focus just long enough to close the knife and throw it under the bed before you focus on the shadow looming over you.

“You’re going to pay for that you little bit-!”

You’re grateful about many things in life. First and foremost, that when Wanda moved in with you, she didn’t make you clean up all of the clutter in the bedroom. You’d of course compromised and made room for her by relocating some of your books to the spare bedroom. You’d wanted your girlfriend to feel comfortable, but some of your old habits die hard.

Including moving some of your old storage containers from school.

You reach for the bottom drawer that you know if filled with notecards and random pages from your anatomy class first year. You slide it free from the rest and fling it up and toward the sneering face above you. He’s momentarily distracted by the sudden appearance of pink and green paper, which gives you enough time to stand up and drop the container on his head and shove him to the ground. He stumbles into his friend who’s grabbing a knife much larger than yours from his belt. You curse and do the only thing you can think of and charge toward the brunette who’s thrown the plastic container onto the floor, but isn’t prepared for you to barrel into him.

“Fuck.”

You curse at the strain of shoving him into his friend hard enough that they both end up on the floor. You ignore it as best you can as you jump over the duo and run for the front door. You grab your phone where you left it on the counter as you fly by the kitchen on your way out. You are already dialing when you take a step out into the breezeway.

“Oh no you don’t.”

You press the call button at the same time that someone grabs you from behind with an arm around your waist and a hand over your mouth so your scream is only loud enough for your next-door neighbor who’s never home to hear.

You continue to curse him as he drags you back into your apartment despite your protests. He’s much larger than you are and you’re easily subdued when a third hand reaches out for your phone that you’re holding onto for dear life. You realize it’s the brunette that you stabbed when you notice the bloody hand out of the corner of your eye.

You’re getting lightheaded from how tightly you’re being held back against the body behind you, and you realize that if you don’t do something soon, you’re going to be hurt or worse if these two are after you for the reason you suspect.

“Ow, you fucking bitch!”

You throw your head back as hard as you can into the brunette’s nose as he drags you past the kitchen. Your phone falls to the floor when you throw it down, and you scream as soon as you catch your breath.

“Let me go you fucker! You’re going to—”

You’re honestly not sure what you would have said next because any threat felt empty when it was two against one, and you were once again on your back beneath an angry blonde who had blood running down his face. You only have a second to feel victorious about the probable broken nose when you’re hit so hard you see stars. You curse under your breath and try to regain your bearings only to realize you’re on your stomach now. You panic when you feel strong hands twist your arms behind you back and hold you down while another set of hands fall to your hips. You twist and turn and try to break free, but it’s useless and you feel your anxiety peak when you hear the rustling of clothes behind you.

Someone fists your hair and shoves your face into the comforter so you can barely breathe, but this doesn’t stop you from screaming when you feel a hand between your legs. You try to move away but you’re only pressed harder into the mattress and the hand in your hair tightens.

“I’m going to have fun…”

He trails off and suddenly his hand is gone from between your legs and your hair. You realize that you’re no longer being held down a few seconds after you register the two nearly simultaneous thuds. You sit up on your forearms grimacing in pain as you look around for the intruders. You don’t see them immediately but you hear someone move behind you and your gaze falls to your precious turtle paperweight that you keep on the bedside table next to you. You lunge for it and spin around prepared to launch it into someone’s skull, but you stop short when you spot a familiar face.

“Wait! It’s okay, it’s just me.”

You end up shot putting it at Bucky who manages to catch it and set it aside before he takes a second to look you over. He breathes a sigh of relief when he sees that your injuries appear minor. He reaches out for you when he sees your eyes drop to the two dead men on the ground. Their blood soaking through the carpet and filling the room with a sickening smell.

“Come on, Y/n. Let me get you out of here.”

You don’t think about the dead men or the police that may be on their way, and you just nod numbly as you reach out for your friend and allow him to lead you out of your wrecked apartment.

Wanda’s pacing like a caged animal as she waits for you to arrive. She’d been in the middle of a meeting for something she can’t even remember now when you’d called her. You knew that she was rarely available when at work, and you always texted her unless something was wrong. So when she saw you calling her she didn’t hesitate to answer. She hadn’t been expecting to hear what she did, and the sound of you shouting at someone to let you go sent her running.

She’d told Bucky to keep close to you since she’d moved in, but today he’d been a little farther away running errands for her. She’d had him check in every hour or so by walking by your apartment, and she was grateful that he was on his way back when you called her. He’d called her after finding you and given her a rundown of what happened. She’d been furious and slightly miffed that she hadn’t been the one to kill the two men that hurt and violated you. She’d sent Steve to survey the damage at the apartment and clean up the evidence. He’d sent her pictures as requested and ever since Wanda saw the destruction and the amount of blood in the bedroom, she’d been inconsolable.

Bucky had told her that you had a few minor injuries, but he’d found you being held down on the bed. She luckily didn’t need to ask before Bucky clarified that everyone was still dressed, but that didn’t stop her from seeing red. She had asked for her rooms upstairs to be ready for when you arrived and finished up in medical. You wouldn’t be able to stay at your apartment anytime soon, if ever again, but she’ll figure that out later. Right now her main concern was you.

The sound of approaching footsteps makes Wanda stop in her tracks and turn. She feels her heartrate kick up and her face fall when she spots you in a wheelchair that’s being pushed by Bucky. There are a couple of nurses walking behind you, but Wanda can’t spare them a glance as she studies you and feels a wave of guilt wash over her.

Your cheek is bruised and you have a couple of cuts on your forehead and temple from where you’d hit the wall or been struck. She notices that your shirt’s been cut away and you’re holding some bloodied gauze over your stomach. Wanda wonders if you’re dizzy and if that’s why you’re sitting down, but you clarify as soon as you see her panicked expression.

“I’m okay, it’s mostly my back.”

Wanda cringes at your voice and how rough it sounds. She looks to Bucky for an explanation, but he just shakes his head as he leads you to the closest room. Wanda watches as you’re brought to the bed and she doesn’t realize she hasn’t said anything until she’s standing right beside you. She sticks to the side that the nurses aren’t on as they rush to get an IV in you and hook you up to something. You wince a little as Wanda reaches out to brush your hair behind your ear which unfortunately reveals caked blood that she hadn’t noticed before.

She doesn’t care what you say. You’re definitely not okay.

“I’m so sorry this happened, Y/n.”

She watches as you lift your hand off of your stomach at the doctor’s request and she pulls away the gauze to reveal a steadily bleeding wound. Wanda didn’t even realize a doctor had arrived until she’s being ushered away so they can take care of you. You squeeze her hand before shooting her a nervous look as you bite your lip. Wanda doesn’t care what you’re about to say, she’ll agree to it and more if it will help you feel better.

“Will you come back soon? Please?”

Wanda gets in the way one last time to kiss your forehead before nodding in agreement. She knows she needs to give them time to examine you figure out the extent of your injuries, but selfishly she hopes it doesn’t take long.

“They won’t be able to keep me away.”

Wanda focuses on your smile as she reluctantly backs away and heads to the door. She’ll be back soon, but first she’s going to figure out what the hell happened this afternoon.��

Unfortunately, there’s not much else to tell her when she checks in again with Steve. They’ve cleaned everything up and they’re figuring out how to replace some things that were damaged beyond repair. He has several people looking into who could have hired the intruders, but so far nothing. Wanda is frustrated but not enough to leave you and try to find answers for herself. She needs to trust that her friends can figure this out while she focuses on you. She’d thought more about what they could have wanted. If their goal had been to kidnap you, they would have left before Bucky arrived, right? If they’d wanted to kill you, as much as she hates to admit it, they probably could have succeeded before help arrived. That said, their injuries told her that you put up a hell of a fight which has her proud and disgusted in equal measure. She hates the idea of anyone touching you, and she swears that if they weren’t dead, she’d enjoy spending hours tearing them limb from limb.

Wanda’s distracted from her thoughts of murder by someone clearing their throat. She turns to see the doctor who’s been treating you, and she immediately has her full attention. After thanking Bucky for his help, he’d offered to go figure out what he could. This left just Wanda to figure out how you were doing.

“How is she?”

Wanda listens patiently as your doctor tells her of all your injuries. The ones on your face she’d seen and guessed how those had happened. She’s horrified to hear that you’d been thrown against a wall, and she has to push down her murderous thoughts to pay attention to the rest. You’d accidentally cut yourself on your knife, but luckily this injury was already treated and closed. It was mostly your back and head that would bother you. She’d been told that the soreness of your throat from being choked will likely go away in a couple of days. Wanda’s told to watch for any signs of a concussion and if they appear that they’ll run additional tests on you. For now, you just needed plenty of rest and some pain medication.

Wanda opens her mouth to thank the doctor, but she stops when she remembers what Bucky had told her. She forces herself to speak even though her mouth is suddenly bone dry.

“Was she hurt anywhere else?”

Wanda can’t make herself say the words, but luckily the blonde seems to understand and she feels overwhelming relief when her response is a negative.

“Not that I can tell, and not that she mentioned.”

You’re lying down when Wanda comes back into the room, and you immediately smile at the sight of her. You consider sitting up to greet her but Wanda rushes forward to stop you. She kneels before you and reaches for one of the hands that you’ve propped your head on.

“Hey detka. Are you feeling any better?”

She watches as you settle back down and nod with a heavy sigh. All of your injuries feel like a dull ache and you’re glad that your exhaustion has finally kicked in. You could sleep for days, but you wanted to make sure you saw Wanda first.

“A little. I’m mostly just tired now.”

You shift slightly and Wanda notices that your IV line beside your pillow dips down toward the ground before running up to the machine that’s hooked to a metal pole. She figures you’re receiving fluids and pain meds. At least she hopes you are. The glazed look in your eyes confirms her suspicion and she figures she should let you sleep.

She nods before she kisses your forehead again and studies your injuries.

“I bet. You should rest, Y/n.”

You seem to start at this and your eyes open as you look around the room briefly. You aren’t sure what else Wanda has to do today and you don’t want to assume that she’ll drop everything for you, but you really don’t want to be alone. You say this and Wanda shakes her head when you ask if someone’s been assigned to watch you if she can’t.

“I’m going to stay with you. If that’s okay?”

Wanda sees relief and joy in your eyes as you nod only to immediately regret it. You wince but Wanda doesn’t get to comment on it before you try to pull her closer.

“Please. Will you hold me?”

It takes some maneuvering and extra caution on Wanda’s part, but a couple of minutes later she’s lying behind you with her arms wrapped around your waist. You already feel safer and you wish you’d never had to wake up this morning to find Wanda gone.

You think back to what happened and you realize how lucky you were that their goal hadn’t been to simply kill you. Although you got a few hits in, they hurt you a lot more and it will take you days to feel better. You shift underneath the thin sheet and cringe at the memory of how far they could have gone if Bucky hadn’t showed up.

You don’t realize you’re crying until you open your eyes to find them clouded by tears. You take a deep shuddering breath before squeezing Wanda’s hands where they rest low on your stomach.

“I’m sorry.”

You barely whisper this but Wanda hears it and frowns in confusion. She can’t imagine why you feel the need to apologize. She’s the one who feels like she’ll need to grovel for forgiveness for not stopping you from getting hurt. She’d thought about it a little, and as long as you were on board with the idea, she figured that it would be best for you to live here with her. It was safer for sure, and although farther from your work, she knew that she could protect you better.

“Why are you sorry?”

Wanda nuzzles her face in the crook of your neck and kisses you as you continue to cry. Her frown deepens when you start to try and wiggle out of her hold, but she lets you go immediately when you start to cry harder. She barely understands you through your hiccupping sobs.

“I was s-so scared. I want t-to be brave like you, but I thought I--.”

You trail off and shake your head again as you turn in Wanda’s hold so you’re facing her. You hide your face in your girlfriend’s hair as your breaths continue to come as uneven gasps. Wanda holds you tightly and grits her teeth as she tries to figure out how to tell you that you’re not at fault. That you did everything right.

“Y/n, you were so brave. I saw what you did to them, and it’s okay that you were scared. Fear can be useful.”

Your breathing starts to calm and your tears have slowed as you relax in Wanda’s arms. You just wanted to be close to her and have her hold you in the way that makes you feel invincible. That nothing can hurt you when she’s around.

“If being afraid is what keeps you fighting and brings you back to me; it’s not something to be ashamed of, okay?”

Wanda waits as you think about this for a bit, and eventually you sigh before nodding in admission. As much as you hate what happened to you, you’re glad that you have a life worth fighting for. Someone who you desperately don’t want to be without.

You fall asleep a little bit later, and you miss Steve coming back with an update an hour later. He tells Wanda that the two who attacked you were a dead end. They traced any and all contact with who hired them but nothing. Fake names and fake accounts left them with even more questions than they’d had before. This discovery is all the reassurance that Wanda needs to decide that she’ll have you move here with her. If someone is after you, she wants you close to the compound. No one who’s out to get you will be able to touch you here…

Masterlist

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff x female reader #wanda maximoff fanfiction #wanda x reader #mob au #silver springs drabble #silver springs

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utterlyotterlyx · 4 months ago

Text

A Ballad of Storm and Shadow

Azriel x F!Reader

Part Three

Summary - Rhys had been content in taking the darkest secret of his family to the grave, but when the threat of Hybern increases, he has no choice but to send a message to another world and pray to the Mother that his call is answered.

Warnings - fluff, mentions of blood, mentions of war, pining

Part One Part Two

This is a crossover series, some aspects will differ from that in the books. Physical attributes are described in this fic, it is essential to the storyline of the character

"Would you mind not staring at my sisters ass, Azriel?"

The smug words of Rhys pulled the Shadowsinger from his thoughts, of what he'd never be able to divulge, but he was certainly pulled from them unwillingly. With red threatening to tinge his cheeks, Azriel uttered a silent apology, unaware that his eyes had been so trained on the backside of Rhys' queen sister.

That morning, Cassian had awoken with far too much confidence, patting y/n on the head and telling her that he'd go easy on her if she asked nicely, to which she had simply hummed and smirked in reply, her eyes finding Rowan across the room swimming with faux annoyance as he passed another grape between his lips, scowling at Aelin when she asked him if he'd like some birdseed instead.

So when y/n sauntered into the Peregryns training grounds clad in a tight black second skin, did Cassian realise that he had most certainly underestimated her, and his thoughts were confirmed by the wicked smiles of Rowan and Aelin who were perched upon a nearby rock. It seemed as though Cassian's challenge had reached the ears of Helion and Eris, both of whom had decided to join the group on the training grounds that morning.

Helion was slightly unnerved by y/n's lack of interest in him the night before; he had gone to spend time with the Inner Circle that he adored so dearly, especially the males within it, but found himself completely awestruck by the Fae Queen before his eyes, an exact mirror to the High Lord of the Night Court but darker in ways that threatened to make him salivate.

Her attention was completely held by her brother the evening before, they spent hours telling stories of their lives, the good and bad, the funny and heart-breaking, and by the end of it the pair seemed rather inseparable. It was Aelin who had to remind them that their presence within Prythian wasn't permanent, that y/n had a people and land to return to in Erilea, and that fact dampened her mood somewhat, so much so that she took herself to bed not long afterward.

It wasn't like y/n didn't want to return to Erilea, or home if you could even call it that, but she wished to stay with her brother in her homeland for as long as she possibly could. Even with her mother, y/n had always felt out of place, like she never truly belonged there, but the moment her eyes connected with those of her brother, the one who used to read her to sleep when she was a babe, did she feel her soul settle.

"You look a little scared Cass," Mor shouted across the ring that y/n had stepped into, hair unbound and swaying at her hips, feathered wings that rivalled the Peregryns own folded neatly behind her back.

Azriel wasn't the only one who seemed to agree with the second skin she wore, noting how it hugged her hips and curved around her breasts perfectly, like it had been moulded to her body and was made for her and her alone. Eris also enjoyed looking at her, and he was far less polite about it than Azriel was.

"No," Cassian huffed, securing the leather of his fingerless gloves around his wrists and rolling his shoulders, "She doesn't even have a weapon."

Cassian's confidence was torn apart by Rowan's laugh, a hearty thing that erupted from his lips which had him almost keeling over on the spot, "Sorry, sorry," he breathed through his laughter, waving a hand in the air and stealing Cassian's attention away from y/n's darkening eyes, "It's just how you think she needs a weapon to end your existence is hilarious to me."

During Cassian's confusion, y/n prowled around the ring, head tilted as her violet orbs assessed each and every muscle and curve, how each one contracted and moved like water rushing around a riverbend. By the time Cassian turned to face his partner for the morning, there was little to no time to stop her onslaught, y/n slid between his legs, grasping his ankles with her fingers and swept the ground from beneath his feet.

Within moments the Lord of Bloodshed had risen to his feet, bouncing back and forth on the balls of them, "That's cheating," he scolded, and y/n simply shrugged and twirled a strand of her raven hair around her finger.

"Distractions get you killed. I thought that you'd be wise enough to know that, considering you're a big tough Illyrian warrior," her voice was low and sultry, violet orbs peered from beneath her lashes and she moved around the edge of the ring, each step sending shockwaves through the dirt.

With nostrils flaring, Cassian paced across the ring, and Azriel watched her heels dig into the ground as he reached for her. Nothing in the universe would have given Cassian the agility to be able to capture y/n, every time he turned she'd slip between his legs or under his arms, or winnow half way across the training ground and taunt him to approach her.

Once he finally landed a single blow to her ribs, although by pure luck, she returned it with three perfectly synced kicks to his knees, abdomen, and then face, the power in her legs sending him sailing through the crisp morning air, and he landed in the dirt with a heavy thud, skidding to the edge of the ring where Helion stood choking back a smirk.

Looking upward, Cassian seethed at the grin on Helion's face, his lips contorting into a growl as he pushed himself up to stand, swirling on his feet to find y/n not even breaking a sweat and instead leaning against Aelin idly picking at her nails. Unphased. Unbothered.

"Amren," he strained, and the firedrake moved to his side, leaving her place by the rack of weapons standing toward the mouth of the ring, "Spear. Now."

Amren smirked and sauntered over to the rack, coiling her fingers around a beautifully crafted oak spear with a tip of jagged glass and throwing it to Cassian whose eyes remained unmoving from the Fae Queen before his eyes.

Crossing his arms over his chest, Rhys' eyes danced with wonder, and he spoke, to Azriel or Feyre or anyone who would listen, "This is going to be interesting."

Azriel couldn't help but notice how everyone's orbs had become fixated upon y/n, the one who had sent the Lord of Bloodshed crashing into the ground with not much effort at all. She dragged her gaze across the spear in Cassian's hands, her eyes widening with a sickening delight as she craned her head to whisper something to Rowan, her lips moving slow and sure.

Not long after she had withdrew her whisper from her companion, Rowan pushed himself from the rock and reached behind him to retrieve two twin blades, curved and sharp and gleaming in the early morning sunlight. Rowan handed the blades to y/n, nodding once to her as she twirled them between her fingers to assess the weight of the weapons, balancing them on her fingers, throwing them up in the air and catching them with ease.

"Don't hold this against me," she spoke aloud, her voice drifting to Rhys in knowing that she was about to harm the general of his armies.

The pair circled one another, Cassian's knuckles turning white around the beam, and y/n's fingers holding steady and true.

Cassian lunged first, and y/n expertly dodged his attack by sweeping away from him like a phantom wind, rounding on the pads of her feet to face him again as he turned. The tension was suffocating, and it seemed as though y/n was tired of his lunges and feeble attempts to knock her off of her feet. So she ascended upon his position, knocking every jab of his spear away with the fortified muscle of her forearm, hair swaying in the breeze and feet dancing closer and closer to Cassian until he was at her complete mercy.

Y/N moved gracefully, feline almost, her arms moved like the wind, adjusting their course when necessary, and she brought her taut fury down upon Cassian, slicing through his leathers and drawing blood from his shoulders and thighs; and when Cassian dropped her to the ground, she simply rose to her knees and curled on them, dragging her blade right across his midsection before coiling her legs around his own and rolling him beneath her.

With the blood coated blade pressed against his bobbing throat, y/n asked sweetly, "Do you yield?"

Panting, and knowing there was no way of winning, not when bloodlust danced in her violet orbs, Cassian breathed, "I yield."

Rising to her feet, y/n offered a hand to Cassian which he took albeit tentatively, and she hauled him to his feet, the muscles in her thighs rippling as she did and steadied his weight against her, "Remind me to never underestimate you again."

Biting back a laugh, y/n motioned to Helion, knowing that his healing touch was what Cassian needed, "I don't think you'll ever need a reminder." Helion gladly removed Cassian from y/n's grip, sending her an impressed smirk and a curt bow of the head before moving the Lord of Bloodshed elsewhere so that he may be able to begin healing him.

Ruffling her wings, y/n turned to Rowan who wore a proud smile, so wide that his gleaming canines could be seen from across the training ring, "I knew I taught you well."

There was a tone of adoration in his words, Azriel noticed, but not romantic, it was the type of adoration you'd find in the words of family, "You did," y/n admitted, walking into his open arm and allowing it to drape over her shoulder whilst Aelin barked on about how that wasn't even a real show of y/n's true power.

"How does someone even fight like that?" Azriel asked himself, catching the beaming smile and calming eyes searching the space, connecting with his own and sending him a subtle wink.

Rhys, nudging into Azriel slightly, spoke lightly, in total awe of what he had just witnessed, a part of him never thinking such a display of raw power and strength was possible, "She grew up in a world where such ability is needed. Mother above."

"Do I even want to know what she's faced to be able to fight like that?" Feyre asked in a whisper, eyes trained on the trio bickering by the rock formation at the edge of the ring now coated with Cassian's blood.

"Yes," Azriel answered too quickly, unable to move his gaze away from her whilst knowing that both Rhys and Feyre were exploring his face with knowing eyes and grins, "I want to know everything."

Though, before Azriel could cross the ring, the same ring that he would have usually infiltrated to save his brother, Rowan and Aelin had taken her away, gently nudging y/n back toward the Dawn Court Palace that loomed in the distance. And Azriel knew in that moment that he would do anything he could to get her alone, if only to know who she was under the mask that she wore.

The second meeting had passed without any other issues, and y/n had watched each and every High Lord make their statements and desires known whilst she and her cadre watched on, waiting for another spectacle to occur like it had at the meeting prior.

And y/n was surprised when the attitudes and composure of the men before her had eddied to calm and stoic. Cassian winced with every movement he made, most of the damage had been tended to, but the bruises to his skin and ego wouldn't be disappearing any time soon.

"And what is it that you want?" Aelin nudged an idly drifting y/n at the question sent her way by Thesan, "For your assistance in this war. What is it that you want?"

Glancing to Aelin and Rowan, y/n straightened in her seat, "I want no lands of titles, there is nothing material that this world could offer us that we don't already have," it was selfish really, her desired gain from a war that would kill thousands, "All I ask for is the blessing to come and go from this world as we please. My brother is here, as is his family, and I wish to be a part of that as well as my own. In return, there are materials in my lands that don't exist here, we can provide you with weapons, and train you in our fighting and healing techniques. We seek an alliance to last until eons after we are all dust. We have seen too much war and bloodshed and loss," Aelin smiled sadly, "We seek harmony."

"A Queen indeed," Helion drawled with a smile, knowing that all she had said was as true as it could be, "Is that all? You could beckon a husband? Perhaps a High Lord?"

As fast as it came and went, Azriel noticed the lightening glance she stole toward him, and she spoke, in a voice like a glorious storm, "I think you'll find that Lords cower before me. My match is someone who welcomes the darkness, someone who is not and will never be afraid of what it holds," y/n's fingers curled around the arms of her chair, and she continued, "To be able to see my brother whenever I wish is all I want, yes."

Thesan dragged his orbs around the room, seeing no objections from the eyes meeting his stare, "Your desire is our honour to grant."

"Thank you."

The second meeting of the summit concurred, and the High Lords and their companions and lovers took their time speaking their farewells. Helion strode up to y/n last, appreciating her figure in the strapless taupe gown she adorned which was glittered in a million crystals, shining dimly in the light from their dwindling sizes; he took her hand in his, noting the length of her talons, and pressed his lips to her knuckles, "It was a pleasure laying eyes on you," he told her gently, his warmth spreading across her skin, "I suppose I'll see you on the battlefield."

"That you will. Try not to gawk, you may end up six feet under."

Helion backed away with a smirk, still facing the exquisite woman before his amber orbs, "I won't make promises that I cannot keep, Your Majesty."

Then he left, taking his clan with him after one final goodbye to Rhys. Aelin appeared at y/n's side, staring after Helion with a feline wonder in her eyes, "I bet you anything that he's a firecracker in bed."

"Aelin," y/n scolded whilst trying to contain a grin, knowing that the thought had passed through her mind rather shamelessly the night prior.

"Don't scold her," Rowan drawled from her other side, he too peering at the retreating High Lord, "She's not wrong."

"Remind me to bring Aedion and Lorcan next time," she barrelled her fists into either of their arms, noticing the High Lords leaving one by one, "I suppose we should be leaving too."

Aelin titled her head slightly at the tone of defeat and longing in y/n's mouth, glancing to Rowan who nodded once to his mate in agreement to her silent thoughts.

"Perhaps it would be a wise idea if you stayed," Aelin twirled a strand of y/n's raven hair in her fingers, her sentence had caught the attention of an already eagerly awaiting Inner Circle, and they moved to the trio without invitation.

"But, Doranelle-"

"Will be fine," Aelin motioned between her and Rowan, "We will ensure it, and I'm sure Manon would love to play queen for a bit," sensing y/n's apprehension, Aelin continued, "We are not leaving you, and you are not abandoning your people. Our nations are one, it will be alright."

Azriel moved to y/n's side, his shadows peppering her wings with their wonder causing them to rustle slightly with silent delight, and Azriel felt the waves of comfort pour from her, "When was the last time you saw Velaris?"

Turning to face the Shadowsinger, y/n clearly already knew the answer to the question, "It's been too long," her eyes swam with the lost time, and Azriel gingerly settled a hand beneath her elbow, a crutch to do what it was that she wished, and offered her a gentle smile, and she returned it, "Are you sure?" Y/N turned back to Aelin and Rowan who both nodded, "And if you need me-"

"We'll get Lorcan to pull on the bond," Rowan rolled his eyes playfully and closed the gap between him and y/n, pressing his lips into her hairline before taking a step backward, "Live, y/n. Embrace whatever time you have, it's a gift.""

Bond.

Did y/n have a mate?

Azriel's mind swam with possibility, but his marred fingers did not once leave her skin, not for even a moment, "Alright, but prepare yourselves for the arguments once you return without me," y/n waved her fingers and a rippling portal appeared upon the steps where they stood, showing a land of rolling hills and white mountains awaiting beyond.

Pointing a long finger to Rhys, Aelin with a tone of warning spoke, "Look after her."

"Such a mother hen, Aelin," the blonde haired queen rolled her eyes as she stepped to the edge of the portal, dragging Rowan with her.

"No, that's him," and before Rowan could retort in his usual dry fashion, Aelin pulled him through the portal and sent y/n a singular wink as the portal rippled smaller and smaller, until it had vanished completely.

Turning to face Azriel, still feeling his touch against her skin and soul, y/n moved her gaze to Rhys, not moving, not wanting to be away from the comfort of Azriel for even a moment, "So, Velaris then?"

Rhys smiled, taking a step toward his sister, "It's missed you."

"How do you know?"

Shrugging, Rhys spoke with knowing eyes, "You'll see," he offered a hand to her, partly to be able to winnow her into the City of Starlight, but also to get her away from Azriel for a moment, already sensing the Shadowsinger's obsession growing.

"I'd like to fly. It's been awhile since I've been able to stretch my wings," and as if sensing the wind in their feathers, her wings unfolded to reveal the most beautiful set of wings Azriel had ever seen. They were as dark as the night itself, glossed with a thousand stars, and the apex of the one million layered fathers stretched upward to the ceiling.

Before Rhys could offer his guidance, Azriel cut through his thoughts, "I can accompany you, if you'd like?"

With a glitter in her eyes, y/n accepted Azriel's offer and allowed him to guide her outside to one of the balconies encrusted around the duomo of the palace. Peering over the edge of the railing and seeing the drop below, y/n inhaled the crisp air of the horizon, allowed the depleting sun to seep into her skin, "Let's see how fast you can fly, Shadowsinger," and then she leant backward, toppling from the edge and embarking on the most glorious free fall she had endured since the time she had escaped the clutches of her mother.

When she was but metres from the ground, her wings instinctively caught the wind and propelled her upward, sending her soaring past the balcony where she heard Cassian's barking laughter and jeering resonate as she drifted over the dome. It wasn't long until Azriel joined her, smirking at her display and unable to find the words to convey his feelings. His heart was still lodged in his throat from stupidly believing that y/n would be nothing but blood and bones against the rocks below, another mistake of underestimation.

Their wings levelled out, Azriel flying just to the side below her, and y/n couldn't help but watch the world go by as they flew over mountain ranges and fields plush with wildlife, towns and villages glowed gold beneath her eye as the moon began her ascent into the sky, glittering the sky in a violet hue. It was wild to know that she had never witnessed her homeland in such a way, or at all really, but she welcomed each sight like an infant exploring a forest for the first time, stopping at every rock and stream possible.

Watching how the wind swept through her hair, Azriel wondered what it would be like to run his marred fingers through, the silky gloss to it beckoned him in a way even the darkness could not, and he found himself edging closer to her with each passing second.

"I never realised how beautiful it is," y/n muttered to no one in particular, it was more of an aloud statement than an invitation for conversation, and Azriel knew that but chose to engage in it anyway.

"What is Doranelle like?" Azriel observed how her eyes softened in memory, the violet orbs that rivalled Rhys' own shining. What Azriel would give to see the world through eyes like that, mesmerising but calculating, a perfect myriad of awe and observation.

Casting her mind to the city shrouded in pale stone and flowing rivers, a soft smile found her lips, "Doranelle is beautiful," she stated simply, "It's known as the City of Rivers. My mother built the city there to protect her against Brannon's heir. Against Aelin." There was much to her story that she wasn't sure that she'd ever divulge, from the arguments she used to have with Rowan and the initial place she stood at the beginning of the war, to the darkness that lurked within her thanks to her mother and the danger that came with it.

Though, Rowan and Aelin had worked very hard to settle that part of y/n's soul, the part that salivated over the light and sought to devour any form of power that crossed it, and, thanks to their help along with Manon and Yrene, y/n found herself paying little heed to that dark spot hiding within her essence.

"The city is just beyond the Cambrian Mountains and lies east in the continent of Wendlyn. The air is heavy with spice and magic, and I don't ever remember a time when rain found the city naturally," she twirled in the air, diving and dipping without a care in the world.

It was true. Doranelle lay in a rich valley lush with mountains and forests, and it was rare that any negative weather descended upon the City of Rivers, not unless she willed it to and each time she had y/n had been punished greatly.

"It sounds beautiful," Azriel turned onto his back, gazing upward at the Queen of the Fae and appreciating her beauty whilst her wings flapped in long lazy strokes, "Your mother built the city to protect herself against Aelin?"

With orbs darkening, y/n found Azriel's gaze, ignoring the drowning hum sounding in her ears, "My mother was the vilest of creatures, she only ever sought to protect herself, to make herself live for as long as possible. She was known as an immortal queen, but she screamed when I drowned her in the storm. I believe that she only welcomed me into her city to prepare me to host her soul once she tired of her own body."

A preposterous thought, a vile act to insight upon any child let alone your own. Azriel shuddered, not being able to imagine her violet orbs dissipate to black. "Why would she do that?"

Contemplating the question, and not at all feeling like the words she would say would ever be used against her, y/n admitted, "I think she knew that I was more powerful than her. My abilities had always intrigued her, I think that's why she spent so long finding the right being to train me."

"Rowan." Y/N hummed lightly in response. "And what about Lorcan? Rowan mentioned a bond?"

Azriel hated to pry, but he had to know if she was mated, there was no indication telling him that she was, no scent or marking on her skin, but he had to be sure. Tilting her head at Azriel with an incredulous look in her eye, y/n smirked, "Lorcan is my blood-sworn, he protects me and acts on my wishes. Aedion is also my blood-sworn, he's Aelin's cousin, and a fine warrior and friend."

Friend.

Feeling his soul settle somewhat and his shadows finally relax, Azriel dipped low as they approached a mountain range, sighting the rippling wards around the city open with invitation and eagerness, Azriel guessed that the excitement was not for him. Azriel slowed on his flight, willing y/n to do the same, to give her time to prepare herself to see the place in which she had been born.

He reached for her, hands holding steady and true, and curled his marred fingers around her wrist to act as her anchor, or to be whatever she needed in that moment, "Are you ready?"

In a hush above a whisper, y/n replied, "Yes," and the pair dove through that rippling hole that concealed the city from any outside prying eyes, and Azriel could have sworn that the valley of gold brightened immediately, that the closed buds within the gardens bloomed, and that even the Sidra craned its lovely neck to witness her.

As if in welcome, sighing at long last, the mountains roared into the night, rumbling the air and singing their relief. Gasping, y/n soared downward through the night-kissed air, slipping from Azriel's grip as she banked along the waters surface, running her fingers over the perfect reflection of the night sky, smiling when it came alive at her touch and danced up her arms.

The Princess of Velaris had come home, and the city wept with joy at the sight.

Weaving to a place beside her, Azriel smiled faintly at the pure ecstasy that was written upon her features, and he wordlessly kept his pace whilst she ebbed and flowed throughout the city, only stopping when she did. Her wings touched the skies and mirrored the night perfectly, y/n swirled to Azriel, water gathering on her bottom lids, and asked, "Where are they?"

Azriel stretched out his arm, pointing to the opulent residence built into the mountain side, "They'll be up there. It's called the House of Wind."

"Is that where you live?"

Azriel hummed in answer, "And you're welcome to stay there too," he hoped as he edged toward her position floating atop the Sidra, so close to the surface that her toes glided against the water, "The view is incredible from the balcony."

"Really?"

"Really." Nerves settled in his gut, knowing that there was a very slim chance that anyone so beautiful let alone a Fae Queen would ever accept his offer, but he couldn't explain his need to be near her, his need to protect her, "I can show you around the city tomorrow if you'd like?"

"A war is coming. Surely Rhys will be putting you to work come dawn," she took his offered arm and felt his weight propel her upward toward the House of Wind, grand and regal in its own right.

"This is more important."

If it weren't so dark then y/n was sure that Azriel would have seen the blush creeping onto her cheeks. "Then yes, I would like that very much."

"Plus," Azriel leaned in close, his breath fanning against her bare shoulder as he noted the scars littering her skin, "I'm sure that Rhys would give you the world on a string if you asked for it."

"And what would you give me?"

Flickering his eyes upward to meet her own, enjoying how the interior lights of the House of Wind cast a heavenly glow over her face, Azriel smirked, "Name it and it's yours."

Author's Note

Part 3 eeek! x

Also I know I've been super absent recently - life has been hitting me hard but I'm in a much better place now so expect lots of updates next week!

Also - it wouldn’t let me tag certain people, sorry about that! Let me know if you’d like to be added 🤍

Taglist

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soldiersslut · 3 months ago

Text

GHOST OF YOU — SOLDIER BOY "CHAPTER ONE"

Pairing: Soldier Boy x Female!Reader

Warnings: Language

Word Count: 2,638

Author's Note: I am super duper excited for this! I am happy to see others are as well. Thank you so much again!

IF YOU WANT TO BE TAGGED PLEASE LET ME KNOW. DON'T FORGET TO FOLLOW, HEART, AND REPOST. THANK YOU AGAIN!

“I am gone for one day, and this is what happens. Was putting MM to sleep really necessary?” You asked, watching what unfolded from afar. MM told Annie ahead of time what the plan was, and Annie told you.

It was no surprise that neither Butcher or Hughie had told anyone else about the plan. Little by little their recklessness was clouding their judgment. Going as far as to putting MM to sleep. Butcher scoffed and rolled his eyes.

“He is just taking a little nap. I cannot have him getting in the way and as much as you might not want to agree, you do. Soldier Boy is our weapon, and we need to make sure he is satisfied with our gift waiting inside.”

You stayed silent. There was no point in arguing with him.

“Don’t you think someone should stay inside with her? Just have eyes on her in case she tries anything?” you suggested.

Butcher nodded and tilted his head towards the direction of the door. “Since you offered to babysit, have fun. I will be waiting for him out here.”

You did not move until Butcher did. He stayed facing the trees. Your friendship with Butcher is interesting, to say the least. While you did not agree with most of Butcher’s plans the end goal was all the same. He had been the one to recruit you after MM vouched for you. Before joining the Boys you were a combat medic specialist for the Army. Most of your work consisted in base to assist soldiers as well as help in humanitarian situations. Somewhere along the way you met MM, and you made a big enough impact he remembered you.

Here you are now serving as medic most of the times, but when things get bad you are ready to fight and defend yourself.

“Who’s there?” spoke up Countess, panic heard in her tone. All you had done was enter her trailer and stay by the door for a moment.

You looked to your right to see Countess’ hands had been taped and chained down. You stepped out of the shadow so she could have a closer look at you. Though you made sure to keep your distance.

“That’s impossible,” she whispered.

You were unable to hide your confusion. Both of your eyebrows furrowed closer together and you tilted your head slightly.

“I’m sorry?” you questioned, hoping she was going to elaborate what she means by it.

She began to shake her head and a snarl formed on her lips.

“Don’t play stupid with me, bitch. You’ve been alive this entire fucking time!” Countess snapped and attempted to harshly pull on the chains to let herself loose.

You blinked twice at the audacity of her attitude. This is the first time you are meeting her and somehow you are supposed to know her. There is one thing you’ve noticed about Countess though. Behind her anger, there was fear.

“I am not playing stupid! What the hell are you talking about?” you snapped back.

“Come on, Mimi, you’re really wanting to play stupid? Isn’t it just a tiny bit coincidence that Soldier Boy is out of Russia and you are here. You’re not supposed to be here. I was told you stayed in Russia.”

You still could not hide your confusion. You were so taken back you blinked multiple times and shook your head.

“Well, obviously, I am not in Russia. This was the one and only time I went. Care to explain what the hell is going on through that chimp brain of yours?!” you demanded to know.

Before Countess could say anything the door to the outside opened. Your eyes remained on her while she looked behind you to see who showed up.

“Ben? Is that really you?” she asked.

Slow, but heavy footsteps can be heard. Slowly you turned around and came face to face with Soldier Boy.

And there it is again.

The same look Countess had when she saw you was the same look Soldier Boy had. Soldier Boy completely ignored Countess at the moment. He was just staring at you, and you stared back waiting for him to say something. Nothing was said, but there was a trance between you both. You nor him could look away from one another. Countess decided to break it.

“You look so young,” she complimented. Soldier Boy had been quick to answer, “you don’t.” And yet he had not even looked at her for him to say such a thing. This was not your place to be at.

“I’m leaving,” you announced. The trailer was small and the amount of things Countess had made it even smaller. With three steps you would be out of the door, but as you took two steps forward Soldier Boy moved to the side to block you.

“No, you’re staying” he ordered.

You were stunned by his demand and was unable to protest. It was not going to get you anywhere and you did not want to make him angry either. The man was on a vengeance, and you had no power to fight against someone like him. He moved past you and stood in front of Countess now. She let out a laugh.

It was obvious you did not wish to be there. This was something personal, and almost intimate. You tried blocking out their conversation but it was impossible. Nothing in the room was interesting enough to stare at and zone out.

“I loved you.”

That’s when things got interesting. You did not even have to look at Soldier Boy to hear the sadness in his voice. The way he was describing his pain, torture, and yet still held onto the hope. It explains why he felt so betrayed. This time you turned to look at Soldier Boy and Countess. His back was towards you, but Countess could still see you. Her eyes moved to you and she shook her head in disbelief. She let out a scoff and spoke.

“You did not love me, you loved her. Deny it all you want, but it has always been about her. You never looked at me the way you looked at her. Hell, you fucking treated her better than you’ve ever treated anyone else. It was about damn time she got smart enough and left you. She knew her worth. When she left I was furious because I had the hope that with her being out of the picture you would have changed for the better, but you only got worse with time. I would have done the same thing and left you, but I made a vow to make you pay for everything. For every tear, pleads, and humiliation I had to endure because of you. I hated you.”

There was silence afterwards. You were not sure what to think of Countess’ speech. She keeps bringing you up, and yet it makes no sense. You have never met Countess before. Much less Soldier Boy. The last time they were together it was during the 1980s. You weren’t even a thought.

“As for you, why did you go back for him? You had a life all sorted out for you. His words might sound sweet, but you know better than I that the only person he will only look out for is himself.”

This was your opportunity to say something. You wanted to ask her for clarification. She held something against you, and you cannot even wrap your mind around what it is. Though it was too late.

“Leave.”

You looked at Soldier Boy who continues to have his back towards you.

“Wait a minute—” you began to protest but was rudely interrupted.

“Are you stupid and deaf now? Go!” he snapped.

You then realized why he demanded you left. You can see the light forming in his chest and aimed toward Countess. Without a second thought you ran out and sprinted towards Butcher.

“The hell happened in there?” Butcher demanded to know.

“He’s about to explode! Grab MM!” you yelled, and right on cue a loud explosion occurred behind you.

There was so much force that wind picked up and forced you to fall on the ground. Butcher was quick to grab MM and be out of harm’s way. From the ground you turned around and used your elbows to sit up and look at the damage. The trailer was gone, but the debris was scattered everywhere. You stood up and rushed towards MM to make sure he was okay.

Annie called out to you, and Hughie followed behind her.

“MM is alright. Butcher was able to get him out of the way,” you explained and lightly slapped MM’s face multiple times hoping that would wake him up. Once again you heard the heavy footsteps and all attention was shifted to Soldier Boy who appeared from the fog of what used to be Countess’ trailer. You got up from the floor and just watched. Annie had gotten defensive and Soldier Boy noticed. He watched Annie, but then looked at you. He stopped moving and just stared like he has done before.

Once again the both of you were in a trance. The trance got disrupted by Hughie’s voice as he tried to reason with Annie. He and Butcher began to follow behind Soldier Boy. You stayed in place with Annie and MM who was starting to wake up.

“I’m alright,” MM assured. You and Annie helped him off of the ground and watched the other trio walking away. Though Soldier Boy came to a stop and turned around to see who was following.

“What the hell is happening now?” MM asked. Soldier Boy, Butcher, and Hughie were talking and it almost looked like an argument. They began to walk back towards the other trio.

“You are coming with us,” Butcher ordered, pointing at you. Annie and MM quickly got defensive.

“It is the only way Soldier Boy is going to cooperate with us. Either she comes or he goes into destructive mode. I don’t know what the hell you told him in there, but he is demanding you” Butcher explained. Butcher was getting desperate and if he has to knock you out, carry you, or threaten you he’ll do it.

Annie and MM were not convinced, but you were. If someone has all the answers to your questions it must be him.

“Soldier Boy can suck my dick too and I still would not accept her leaving. Go fuck yourself, Butcher. He is your problem!” MM argued.

Soldier Boy now stepped forward, “we can do this the easy way where no one gets harmed, or I can do this my way where I can just kill you both” he suggested. It only made things worse as Annie’s eyes lit up. MM walked towards Soldier Boy to get in his face. You moved quickly to get in between both.

“No! One death is already enough for tonight. I will go with you under one condition and that is for you not to harm my friends. It isn’t because I am scared of you.”

You stood your ground against Soldier Boy. If it were anyone else to have spoken to him the way you did right now he would have put them six feet underground by now. Though this is you, he remained quiet but his hands turned into fist and by how tight he formed them a small squeak was let out from the leather gloves he is wearing.

You heard the squeak and knew he was holding it in together. “Shall we, then?” you asked and motioned the direction they were heading towards to. You looked up at Soldier Boy who continued to stare. At this point it was getting annoying. You said nothing to him and walked away. Before the distance got greater you looked at MM and Annie.

“I will be okay, I promise.”

That was going to be the last time you will see them both until who knows when. You said nothing else, even when you all got to the car. Butcher drove and Hughie got the passenger side. You sighed and got in the back with Soldier Boy. It was a small space and with someone large such as Soldier Boy is sitting next to you the space is limited. Your knee was forced to touch his own. You ignored the way he kept moving his knee slowly as if he was trying to feel you. Butcher was explaining their next destination but they needed to find lounging for tonight. After some time in the road they found a motel in the middle of nowhere. Butcher checked them in.

“You are staying with me Soldier Boy, while Hughie stays with you” said Butcher to you. Hughie was okay with that and offered to sleep on the couch. Soldier Boy hated the idea.

“Fuck you, I am staying with her. I’m not about to share a bed with another set of balls and a dick.”

You rolled your eyes, “and what makes you think I want to?”

“Oh, please sweetheart. Playing hard to get doesn’t get you anywhere. Drop the attitude.”

“Make me.”

Butcher intervened, “alright, alright! All of us are staying in a room together. I will sleep on the floor, Hughie gets the couch, and both of you figure it out in the room. I am going to ask for a refund on one of the rooms.”

Butcher left to the main office while the rest walked towards the room. You entered and took a look around. It was clean, a little spacious, and there was only one bed. The argument began again.

“You are indestructible, a soldier, and have been sleeping for a long time already. You do not need the bed! You can sleep anywhere else!” you snapped.

At this point Hughie had given up in playing mediator.

“The bed is large enough for the both of us. Quit your whining!” Soldier Boy reasoned.

The argument continued until Butcher showed up and put an end to it. In the end you were going to share a bed with him. You sat down on your side and just watched the rest get comfortable. Butcher had clothes for Soldier Boy to change into.

“We have a long day tomorrow. Get some sleep” Butcher ordered. He turned off the lights. Hughie said goodnight to you and you said it back. You laid on the bed and felt it sink next to you. You turned and saw Soldier Boy smirk. You were ready to wipe the smirk off of his face.

“You know you can scoot in closer if it gets too cold. I don’t bite” he whispered the last part to you. You scoffed and turned to your side. There was not enough pillow to form some wall between you both. Eventually sleepiness took over the nerves, and you had fallen asleep.

Soldier Boy had yet to fall asleep. He was the last one awake. Everything that has happened in the past two days has been replaying over in his mind. He looked down at you sleeping so peacefully. Why were you acting like this? Why was he a stranger in your eyes? It has been a conflicting thought since the moment he laid eyes on you. Even now he wonders if this was a test and he was actually at the lab still. He was hoping it wasn’t.

You moved in your sleep and was facing him now. Hair had fallen onto your face. Slowly and lightly he moved it out of the way of your face. His finger stayed on your cheek; feeling your soft skin.

Whether this was a test or a dream, he knows he never wants to wake up for he has found you once again.

Next Chapter: Chapter Two

Author’s Note: Hello again! I hope everyone is enjoying this as much as I am. As you can tell we are following season three but there will be changes along the way. I chose to start on season three so we can see how it begins to unfold for Soldier Boy and reader. There will be lots of angst and drama soon. Just please be patient and thank you so much again for reading!

#jensen ackles #soldier boy #soldier boy x reader #soldier boy x female reader #soldier boy x y/n #soldier boy fanfiction #soldier boy x you #the boys series

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ihtherik · 4 months ago

Text

When You Bare Your Teeth It Almost Looks like a Smile

Pairing: Astarion x Female!Tav (not described)

Astarion’s POV

SFW/Fluff/Angst (seriously there’s no s€x here)

Summary: Set in Act 2 when the group begins scouring Moonrise Towers and Astarion and Tav encounter Araj Oblodra, the Drow blood merchant. She won’t take no for an answer, and learns why that is a very very stupid thing to do.

~3.2 K words

Bit of a deviation from the canon interactions/dialogue and what the outcome is because ummm little guard dog with her love that most certainly does doesn’t need one is a trope I LOVE and needed to vomit out a lil flash fic at 1 AM last night to perform catharsis help I also kind of made myself sad

I may get this posted on my AO3?

I also will post the next part of Turn My Heart to a Spade soon!!!

“Oh, but I’d prefer if you did.”

The sneering Drow’s reply to his assurances that he would not bite anyone doesn’t quite register for Astarion before she lets slip another gut-reeling string of words, this time directed at you.

“I assume he belongs to you? Judging by the way he’s clung to your shadow since you walked up…” her laugh is mirthful, the metallic smear of red around the blue-grey skin of her eyelids crinkling and cracking in her amusement. “It’s a truly remarkable boon, to have had a spawn at your beck and call during your trek through the Shadow-cursed lands. I’d be remiss and dishonest to say I’m not jealous.”

His pale brows furrow as an unfamiliar emotion hits him. Maybe unfamiliar isn’t right, but he’s been so long separated from it that encountering it again feels like meeting a stranger he’s all too wary of.

Much like how he felt when he met you.

Kind, generous, trusting, infuriating you.

Oh, how he loathed being proven wrong. Having his tried and true skills of determining who people are and what they want sidestepped, his—sometimes hastily drawn—conclusions about things tipped on their heads like a cat swiping a cup off a table. Mostly by you. Endearingly and maddeningly.

For Gods’ sakes, he is supposed to be the unpredictable, unreadable, unflappable one. It’s his armour. His sodding lifeline. When one is in control of their faculties and has only themselves to rely on, their ability to save themselves is entirely up to their skills, or lack thereof.

But you, you whose only purpose was to take a fall or stab (sometimes literally) for him, has somehow managed to get him to willingly hand over the one thing that could kill him.

His trust.

It had kept him from trancing, some nights, gnawing the inside of his lip to shreds while going over every possible scenario in which his trust could be wielded against him.

Yet thus far, you’d not only permitted, but encouraged him to hold the other metaphorical end of it.

Both in battle, and in his bedroll.

He wonders most days if you know. If you’ve caught onto what he’s now realized was a very poorly conceived ploy. He has to tell you, at some point.

There’d been a humbling, blind fierceness in every fiber of your being when you last drew your weapon for him—looking up at the devil Yugir as if he didn’t have his crossbow bolt aimed right between your glaring brows. You swung and hacked and sliced like it was your soul you were fighting for, not his.

You’d done more than received his trust, you’d earned the right to hold it.

And here he is, silently watching, pleading, mentally tugging on the other end like a child grasping at their mother’s shirt—hoping you feel it.

“He has a name,” your voice appears as even as ever to the average onlooker, and certainly to this Drow; but there’s a strain, a warning that Astarion can detect that, to him, feels like the gentlest tug back from your end on the rope.

“Is that so? How quaint,” the Drow tilts her head. Turning her attention back to him, she appraises him from his boots up to his curls with a gaze that makes that strange, ugly feeling swell again. “Do indulge me then, what are you called, spawn?”

“Astarion—but-hold on—“

“Well, Astarion,” the way her tongue flicks over every syllable of his name puts a crinkle of disgust on the slope of his nose. So unlike how you say it. Usually uttered, quick and delicate, the ‘Ah’ nearly clipped off—shortening it to ‘Starion. Familiar and sweet and warm. “I’ve dreamt of being bitten by a vampire since I was a young girl.”

His disbelief manifests in the way he stutters over his words, managing to compose himself into a semblance of his normal character by the end of his reply. “You—What? I’m sorry, You—you want to be bitten?”

“To feel your life’s blood slipping away? To dance between the edge of life and death? Yes, I want it.”

Though he’s already decided that this woman is, in fact, a stem short of a brain, the arrangement she proposes catches his attention. And not in any way that’s enticing. A likely dangerous and potentially faulty potion in exchange for drinking her blood is a shoddy deal at best, and a revolting one at worst. Her blood smells foul. Acrid. He can’t pinpoint exactly what it is, which only worries him more. Not a sort of sickly sweet smell of decay like Gale’s. Nor is it twinged with something medicinal like Halsin’s, or like the pleasant muddle of Shadowheart’s half-elven and half-human blood. And certainly not like yours.

Putting on all the politeness he can muster, which is already more than the Drow deserves, he replies.

“I will have to…erm, decline.”

“Excuse me?” The Drow scoffs, displeasure creasing the space between her brows. “This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, and you’re squandering it.”

“I gave you my answer,” he shocks himself with the lack of grace he speaks with, voice lowered and snarling. He used to be so good at evading people like her. What the Hells has gotten into him?

Tutting, the Drow turns back to you. “Can you talk some sense into your obstinate charge?” Addressing you like he’s not in the room, with scant more respect for you than she had for him.

Proving the Drow’s earlier observation right—as loyal as a bloody mutt—he looks to you, anxiety tightening the muscles over his stomach. The scenarios begin to churn in his mind, the worst among them not even that of you asking him to bite her to get the potion—but instead acquiescing his wants in front of the Drow only to reprimand or even punish him in some way later.

They come to a hilt as both he and the Drow await your move, holding his breath.

Then, you do something that manages to stun, relieve, and thrill him all at once.

You smile.

Though a half of a head shorter than him, and barely a few inches taller than the Drow, your presence seems to swell to intimidating heights among the three of you.

“My, you are slow on the uptake, Ms. Araj,” you speak with a lowered, gentle voice, one which commands the both of them to listen carefully—maybe even get closer, though at this point the Drow would have to have a death wish to get within stabbing distance of you. How dreadful, and disappointing, to Astarion; that the ominous and certain threat in your voice still yet seems to fly over the Drow’s head.

And how entertaining it will surely be to watch her pomp crumble in a few moments.

“My dear companion deigned to give you his name and answer, twice. I would pity the other acolytes and pilgrims here—if I cared for their lives—for the mere cruelty it is to converse with you in any capacity.”

Dear companion? Now this is new. And not…entirely unpleasant.

“I’m—sorry, I—“ the Drow’s poise wavers, though outrage still lines the edges of her voice.

“You will be sorry, if you do not shut your Godsdamned mouth while I speak,” you let the full fury of your voice be felt, though you have yet to raise it past what can be heard within five paces of the Blood Merchant.

As a meager credit to the Drow’s intelligence, she does snap her jaw shut. Astarion’s lips curl all the higher with each passing second.

“As I was saying—though I do not pity the acolytes here for the ordeal it must be to give you some form of station here, I think I have reason enough to remove you from it. For how you have treated my—for how you have treated Astarion,” your smile beams brighter, not a crease beneath your eyes to suggest you’re anything but seething. He realizes, in a way, you’re baring your teeth for him. The near possessive slip seems to loosen the anxiety in his frame, slightly. But your self-correction helps more.

“You may be a True Soul, but you don’t have any authority to—“ the Drow’s lips suddenly quiver shut again, but clearly not of her own doing. Astarion glances at you and his own tadpole wriggles as he feels yours come to life.

“I should have been more specific,” you sigh, your tadpole holding the Drow rigid. Brushing past him, you beckon with your finger as you move towards the balcony’s doorway across the room. The Drow begins to follow, feet shuffling awkwardly as the fear wells in her eyes. He’s not used to feeling planted to the floor, but for a moment he can only watch in gleeful disbelief at what you’re doing. He picks up his feet at the Drow crosses the threshold and slips out to the balcony with the two of you.

“When I said I had reason enough to remove you from your station, I meant that in less of a bureaucratic sense—I mean literally remove you from it,” you continue to hold the conversation calmly, one-sidedly, as you turn back to look at the Drow from the stacked-stone guardrail. You point and snap your fingers, gesturing to the one spot on this balcony where the stones have broken off and fallen down to the inky, boulder filled shallows at the bottom of the tower. The Drow moves even more resistantly as the psionic force from your tadpole urges her to obey, but eventually she stands at its edge.

“Tell me, Araj, would you like the once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to feel what it’s like to fly? All you have to do—“ you lay a hand upon her back, just between her shoulder blades, giving her the slightest nudge. “Is step off.”

Astarion hears a strange, strained sounding humming, and realizes it’s the Drow trying to plead behind sealed lips.

“Oh—but it’s a simple exchange, really! And I’m a woman of my word. You step off, and I cast ‘Fly’ upon you. The only risk is if you fall too quickly, well—then my spell won’t reach you in time…and I’ve only seen it happen once before, but to fall from this height? Your body would pop like a champagne bottle thrown to the floor. Skin and muscle and bone will split, and all your warm guts and blood will burst and spray everywhere. What do you say? In my mind, it’d be plain idiotic to squander an opportunity like this.”

You turn back, meeting Astarion’s eye. Within yours, he can see a volatile mix ready to explode. Wrath. Outrage. A cruel hunger for revenge.

But even with those powerful emotions threatening to overtake you, there’s a tenuous thread of patience still wavering. Patience, and a question: that which asks for his permission. To not merely act or speak on his behalf, but decide whether or not to take this woman’s life for the affronts to his dignity and autonomy.

Indignation. Righteous indignation.

That is the feeling that’s been gnawing at him, the words for which he couldn’t recall until now. And it’s all because of you. Because you’ve refused to let him think of himself, talk about himself, treat himself, like a loaner to his own body and mind. Stepping off the wall, he approaches the two of you with a swagger.

First taking hold of a strap on the Drow’s armor, he then plants a steady foot on a piece of the stone guardrail to hold himself upright. Looking to you with a reassuring smirk, you step back, and with a rough shove Astarion sends the Drow’s upper half forward, dangling her precariously over the edge of the balcony. He lets her moan and protest wildly behind her teeth for a moment longer before nodding to you, and you release her from the hold of the tadpole. She takes a ragged gasp, as if preparing to scream, and he leans in to her ear.

“Now now, Araj, let’s not arouse any undesirable attention from the guards, hm?”

Stifling a groan of fear, her arms unsteadily pinwheel in the air as her feet try to find solid stone, and not the edge which Astarion has forced her onto.

“I think I’m feeling generous, so close to the overwhelming splendor of the Absolute—“ he mocks the name of the so-called deity that had proven itself a thorn in their group’s side thus far. “Whom, need I mention, blessed and deemed me a True Soul, just like my dear companion.”

Throwing a conspiratorial smile your way, it deflates only slightly to see your face set so tightly, all but trembling in anger. Not at him, of course. With a sigh, he tuts and yanks the Drow from the edge, throwing her to the stone floor of the balcony further in. She scrambles back from the both of you. Following her towards the door with unhurried steps, he tilts his head in the same mocking way she had before addressing her once more. “The next time someone tells you ‘no’, Drow, I suggest you not argue. You might not be so lucky next time.”

—

The two of you eventually reconvene with the remainder of your group, and after determining your next move you all settle within an abandoned wing of the tower for the night.

Neither of you relay what happened to the rest of your companions—and in turn don’t find an easy opportunity to address it with each other, until the others have gone to bed.

He finds you hunched over your pack, inventorying your potions yet again—worrying and fidgeting his hands and fingers as he approaches.

“I think we’ll come across more, we’ve not unlocked every door in this bloody tower,” he offers—sounding uncharacteristically optimistic. It betrays just how uncertain and uncomfortable he feels about what he’s actually come over to say to you.

“Ah, I know. Just a bit paranoid since we got here. We had our asses kicked out in Reithwin, then again when we took care of Raphael’s dirty laundry—and to walk in to that whole spectacle with Thorm? Gods above—“ you huff, coaxing a genuine smile to Astarion’s face. Finally you turn, rising from your crouched position with a tired, lopsided grin. It falters as you take in his expression, and Astarion worries he’ll collapse in on himself if you look at him for a moment longer like you currently are.

Like you’re concerned about him. Which you are. Like you care for him. Which you do.

Like you love him.

“Everything alright, ‘Starion?”

“Oh—yes, of course I’m fine-“ he stumbles over every word, his charming, easy, impervious shell cracking. “It’s just that…I feel—awful.”

You push aside your own exhaustion, giving him your full attention—of course you do. You ask him why. He’d almost rather pull his own fangs out than confess what he’s about to. But as you listen, as you take in everything he hurries and tries to explain or make excuses for, your expression does not change. Not for the worse, anyway. Those same shining, gentle eyes hold his, and make his undead heart swell. He makes sure to express his gratitude, for how you stood up to the Drow—but even more so for letting him decide.

“Well—yeah,” you sheepishly look down at your feet, scrubbing at the back of your hair. He almost can’t take it, how wonderful you are. “I wasn’t going to rob you of that satisfaction,” you joke. Sighing, you meet his eye again. “I was ready to kill her, Astarion. You know I was. But then… I wouldn’t have done anything for you. Not really. Who’d’ve been empowered if I’d done it? Definitely not you. So, sorry for almost doing that. I was…well, I was fucking pissed.”

He’s not sure if he can recall how to breathe. How could you be apologetic right now, when you were ready to defend him like some knight in shining armor? He came here to apologize to you, not the other way around.

“Hells, darling, I might find an opportunity to make you a villain yet,” he offers you a small smile, voice soft.

You reciprocate, your cheeks dusted with a blush illuminated by the few candles lit outside your tent.

“So, um…what you said—about forcing yourself through-does that mean our—erm,” you try to be so cordial, so empathetic, even though pain seeps from every pore at the implication of what he said.

“No—no, darling,” he rushes out, taking a breath. “Being…close to someone, it just…it was always something I did, had to do, to lure people back—for him. I—want us to be different. I know we are. But intimacy feels…” he struggles to articulate it, feeling your eyes on him even as his own flit around the shadows of the room. “…tainted. I just…don’t know how else to be with someone, no matter how much I’d like to.”

“I care about you, Astarion,” you murmur after a heavy pause, and he manages to find your eyes again.

“Really?” He asks, throat filled with a bubble of emotion that threatens to burst.

And where words failing him and the inability to wield his body would normally make him feel completely hollow—a useless husk of a man—the embrace your arms suddenly surround him in makes him seem…whole. Solid.

And unfortunately, capable of dragging him down to the depths of sadness and pain with how heavy he now feels.

However, your arms around him remind him that you’re there with him. That you will be there with him no matter what, Gods and Devils and Mindflayers be damned.

Astarion remembers how to use his own as realizes they’ve been merely hovering, outstretched, and hugs you back. You tighten around him, sighing into his shirt.

He closes his eyes, nuzzling his face into your hair, into the crook of your neck—looking for those places he’d be happily cradled in for the rest of his thus-far miserable life.

When you eventually pull back—Astarion’s hands linger at your waist, his fingers almost curling around your shirt to tug you back in.

“You’re—um-full of surprises,” he musters a shaky smile, which you reciprocate, warmly.

“I am yours until you tire of me, Astarion,” you offer half-jokingly, the gravity of which does not go amiss in his mind.

“Well, unfortunately for you, I don’t sleep—so don’t get your hopes up for being rid of me, darling.”

Your eyes crease, nearly obscuring your irises as you smile.

“I love you, Astarion,” the words are carried from your lips on a breath as it slips out—falling tenderly as a kiss to his ears and piercing as true as an arrow through his heart.

You can tell as much, stepping forward into his arms once more to squeeze his hand and reassure him. “You—you don’t have to say it back. I just want—need you to know that. In the event we die tomorrow or something. Very real possibility, given our dwindling potions.”

“Oh. Well. If we’re telling each other things we need to know, I suppose I should tell you how I’ve been building a stash of potions I’ve erm…borrowed from you, then. You know, clearing guilty consciences and all,” he counters, squeezing your hand back. “I’ll share them with you—as a last resort—of course.” You snort, and then fall into a fit of giggles that he’s dragged into all too easily.

After a considerable effort and a number of failed attempts to stop laughing, a sharp ‘Tsk’va’ uttered from Lae’zel’s tent nearby finally manages to silence you both as you slip into his tent, you staying awake only long enough for him to clear the bedroll of clutter and shake the blankets out.

As you settle your cheek on his chest, snuggled up to his side, his lips press idle kisses to your forehead and hair, desiring to commit your smell, warmth, and weight in his arms to memory.

He eventually slips into a trance—for once, one not filled with crimson eyes and shadows and death—but your sweet smile, laugh, and the way those three words he once longed to forget sound in your voice.

#astarion x tav #astarion x reader #astarion x female tav #astarion #bg3 astarion #bg3 #astarion ancunin #fluff #fanfic #short fiction

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itsabouttimex2 · 3 months ago

Note

Hi, I wanted to say that I really liked reading your analyses when it comes to flaws in lmk's writing, along with the ranking of the villains that you did. I hope it's alright to ask for advice, since I'd like to make a romantic self insert story with Macaque, but the thing is that I'm worried on how to portray the platonic relationship between Sun Wukong and Macaque. While we still don't know entirety of how Macaque died in his fight with Wukong, I've already made decision to address both of their faults that caused their relationship's downfall. What I'm worried about is how to portray it clearly that it's both of their faults, without making them too OOC. Some fans have tendency to chose sides with their whole situation, which is something I'd like to avoid. But I'm not sure how to avoid that, which is why I'd like to ask for your advice on it.

Sun Wukong and Macaque

A Rundown on the Fallout

This is an interesting question, and thank you for asking! Given how much of their personal backstory is left to viewer interpretation, I’ve included a little bit of mine.

I think the big, big thing that people miss with the Sundial/Shadowpeach fallout is how severely uneven it is. But give me a minute to get there…

Probably the biggest of Past!Sun Wukong’s biggest issues is what I’m going to call “externalizing”. (This isn’t the appropriate way to use that word, but I’m at a loss here) Wukong is bright and loud and happy- and very, very desperate for attention.

Sun Wukong’s literal first action in the world was to excitedly barrel towards a group of monkeys. His first words end with him asking plainly “Don’t ya like it?!” like a child begging for praise from a parent. He shows off to Subodhi’s other students. He eagerly tells a chaotic story to his sworn brothers and is implied to play it up to some degree for attention.

This is direct opposition to Macaque.

Past!Macaque is quiet, withdrawn. He has no ties to other people. He doesn’t pipe up. He’s not bold or confident. So what does Macaque do?

Well, just about jackshit. There’s only TWO members of the six-strong brotherhood that he actually shares interactions with- Sun Wukong and Peng.

Azure Lion? Yellowtusk? Demon Bull King? Macaque literally doesn’t interact with any of them even once. Nobody calls him brother. Flash to the modern day, and he’s the last person Azure bothers looking for.

He doesn’t joke, or tell stories, or try to bond with the rest of the crew. This is literally how he responds to being called a coward and a rodent by a “brother”.

By mildly frowning.

(Side note: WUKONG IS NOT IN THE WRONG FOR NOT DEFENDING MACAQUE FROM PENG. Macaque never went above a mild frown and never acted hurt or upset beyond this little facial expression. If he was sad ((WHICH HE WASN’T)) or seethingly angry ((WHICH HE WASN’T)) then it’s on Macaque and Macaque alone for not defending himself. Wukong is not his brother’s keeper, etc.)

(Macaque, even in the past, was a lot stronger than he’s often given credit for. Did this remark make him unhappy? Yes. Did it break or ruin him? No.)

He has no friends or ties to the past. No mentor and no fellows and no troop. No one likes him. No one wants him. No once cares about him… except for the Monkey King.

All he has is Sun Wukong.

So already they’re on this MASSIVELY unbalance scale where Wukong has a title and a troop and a heaping handful of immortalities and a band of brothers and a sacred weapon and a mountain and and and!!!

And… Macaque has… his shadow powers?

Yeah, they’re not on level footing. Wukong could pull out of the brotherhood and away from Macaque and throw down his staff and still have so, so much!

And Macaque, if he left Wukong, would have next to nothing.

Sun Wukong is his one good thing. His one star in a dark sky. Sun Wukong is all that Macaque has.

Already is this an EXTREMELY unhealthy dynamic, where you’re basically living for a second person without them putting that devotion back towards you-

Which is exactly what causes the downfall of this relationship.

Macaque doesn’t speak up for or against anything. He’s just willing to sit pretty and play along… because it’s for his one good thing.

Because it’s for Wukong.

Even if his brothers don’t like him, or he gets mocked, or he doesn’t want to play along, Macaque grits his teeth and stays- because it’s for Wukong.

Because he can’t lose his one good thing.

So he’ll do anything.

And that’s the problem.

The Monkey King isn’t asking him to shut up and play nice. Nor does he ask for blind loyalty. And he doesn’t ask his friend not to voice his concerns and fears.

Macaque is choosing to do these things.

Because he can’t lose his one good thing.

Macaque is choosing to “internalize” (again, this isn’t the appropriate way to use that word, but I’ve set a precedent here) his thoughts and feelings.

Macaque pulls everything inside, and Sun Wukong pushes it all out.

The First Crack: Uneven Expectations

Macaque is not honest with his thoughts and feelings. He never actually expresses the way he feels to Wukong, which leads to the Monkey King never understanding his feelings. But you know what Macaque DOES do?

He gently and softly nudges the idea of maybe kinda I dunno potentially not taking over the entire Celestial Realm???

But he doesn’t say no.

Macaque never expresses himself or genuinely tries to talk Wukong out of overthrowing the Jade Emperor. He just hints at the idea and EXPECTS Wukong to pick up on his thoughts and wants without any real effort on his own part. He puts ALL of the onus onto Wukong to understand and reach out to him, without putting that amount of time and effort in himself.

Macaque wants to be understood without putting on the effort to be understandable, which isn’t fair to Wukong at all.

The Second Crack: Unfairly Divided Consequences

Wukong is solely punished for the crimes of six men, and left to rot while his sworn brothers run free.

(Quotes pulled from prior analysis)

Sun Wukong is trapped. For attempting to overthrow the Jade Emperor, he is sentenced to FIVE HUNDRED YEARS trapped under a mountain.

Let me elaborate for anyone who doesn't sympathize.

For the next five hundred years, Sun Wukong will be 75% immobile and alone under a nearly lightless mountain. There will be no noise, no stimulation, and no company. He will suffer in silence, and he will suffer alone.

But you know who ISN'T being punished for an attempt to overthrow the Jade Emperor?

Macaque.

Now, this is funny. Wukong leads a six strong band of brothers against the forces of the Celestial Realm, but only ONE of them faces consequences for the rebellion- himself.

Even five hundred years later when Wukong is set free and traveling with his fellow pilgrims...

No one else has faced consequences for the rebellion. All five of Wukong's "brothers" (Azure Lion, Peng, Demon Bull King, Yellowtusk, and yes, Macaque) get away scot-free to continue their plans and schemes.

I would be pissed. You would be pissed. There is not ONE SINGLE PERSON in this world that would NOT be pissed about how blatantly unfair this is.

(End Quote)

This is especially important if you read Azure Lion’s about Wukong “surrendering” as the truth (he is an unreliable narrator), then it’s likely his brothers were spared as a result of his surrender. And still, he’s all alone in this cavern, bored and uncomfortable and angry.

And probably very sad and lonely, too.

The Third Crack: Peach Symbolism

When Wukong wants to cheer Macaque up, what does he do?

Engage in snacking and physical affection that leaves the two snuggled up side by side on a sunny beach.

Seems like the Monkey King has a pretty good read on his best bud!

Now, how does Macaque repay the favor?

After an unknown period of time spent in the extensively explained condition above leaves Wukong angry and frustrated, Macaque comes by to-

Jam a peach into Wukong’s face and act like nothing is wrong at all.

Sun Wukong doesn’t want to pretend that nothing is wrong. He doesn’t want to act like everything is okay. He wants to be free.

But Macaque has put on an act this entire time. He’s played along and kept quiet and complacent and been “good”, and even now is he acting.

So he presents, of all fucking thing, a peach.

Sun Wukong likes peaches, yes. They’re likely a comfort food from a time long past, a constant in his long, long life.

(I bet that on Flower Fruit Mountain there’s a special strain untainted by the push of genetically-modified fruit that’s grown to be chock-full of sugar. I bet it’s his absolute favorite thing in the world to eat. I bet he shared it with the Pilgrims. I bet he wishes he could share it with them again. I bet.)

They’re a symbol of massive freedom- freedom from strife and pain and death.

And having that symbol presented to him so plainly and pretend-happily?

It’s just the final nail in his diminishing coffin of self-control.

The Fourth Crack: Wukong Lashes Out

So, as was unavoidable from the start of his imprisonment- Wukong snaps and rejects the peach, mocking Macaque for trying to cheer him up from a five-hundred year sentence with fruit and a false smile.

But he doesn’t stop there-

The Monkey King continues to castigate his best friend, blaming him for things that are the shoulderweights of six men.

Except he’s not really lashing out at Macaque directly- he’s just lashing out, and Macaque happens to be the nearest target.

There was bound to be a breakdown eventually. No matter how you look at this scenario, anyone would snap. There’s literally not even one person who wouldn’t break down eventually.

And then, Macaque lashes right back, and says something very interesting-

The Fifth Crack: Macaque Lies and Run Away

(Censored quotes taken from same analysis)

No, he didn't.

Macaque nudges the idea. He implies the idea. He hints it, quietly and softly.

"You're really going through with this?" Is not him shutting down the idea of fighting the Celestial Realm.

It's him being a coward and trying to dance around the issue without a direct confrontation.

Not even once does Macaque say: “We shouldn't fight the Jade Emperor."

He directly LIES to present himself as being the better person during this fight.

Macaque is lying to his best friend’s face to make himself look better in this utterly pointless argument, then prepares to run away and never comes back- but not before placing literally all of the blame for EVERYTHING onto Wukong’s shoulders.

(End quote)

Final Crack: YOU are responsible for MY behavior!

Finally, Macaque makes a few last “Nothing is ever MY fault!” statements to Wukong, consisting of:

“You dragged everyone else into this!”

“You put yourself here, not me!”

Which are BOTH blatantly untrue, given that

1. The Azure Lion is actually the one who started the Brotherhood in the first place

2. Macaque is a grown man who makes his own decisions

3. The rest of the Brotherhood are grown men who make their own decisions

4. Macaque went along with the plan willingly

5. The rest of the Brotherhood went along with the plan willingly

6. Everyone took part in the attempted rebellion of their own will and volition

Everyone is responsible for the end result, including Macaque who was there literally every step of the way, but he doesn’t want to accept that!

Macaque wants to be a perfect little victim who can wipe his hands of the matter, and who better to blame…

Then his “one good thing”, who is now utterly helpless and incapable of doing anything about it?

Macaque only finally lashes out and speaks up when there is literally no way to face recourse for it- which is proof of the cowardice lurking inside him.

There’s a big reason that Wukong calling him out for “running away” hits so hard and is what finally prompts Macaque into speaking up and tries to absolve himself of all blame.

Because Macaque knows that Wukong is right.

The first thing that Macaque does when things go wrong is to prioritize himself and run away. (Just remember how he responded to unleashing the Samadhi Fire.) Then, when all is said and past and it’s time to tell the tale, Macaque will whitewash himself- which he does blatantly in “Shadowplay”.

So when his gilded “one good thing” finally cracks the image Macaque built up by being a fallible person who stumbles and slips up and makes very human mistakes?

He abandons ship, and allows his flaws to start sliding out- now Macaque is “externalizing”, which he’ll continue to do to the present day- taking everything inside and putting it out- by projecting and slandering and lying and trying to hurt innocent people.

Essentially, Macaque puts his best friend on a pedestal and of his own will and volition plays the role of “lackey” for nothing in return without being asked, then ditches him over a fight and returns to a much unhealthier group of “friends”, while Sun Wukong is left to serve a lonely sentence as punishment. But because the Monkey King receives punishment and does his time, Wukong is allowed a chance at redemption under the loving and caring eye of his Master, Tang Sanzang, and manages to redeem himself, where his guilty brothers going free leads them to continually rack up crimes that leaves them on the receiving end of the pilgrims wrath.

Okay I’m tired now love you guys ❤️❤️

#Time Talks #Lego Monkie Kid #LMK #LMK Analysis #Sun Wukong #Macaque #Sundial #Shadowpeach

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moodymisty · 4 months ago

Text

𝕽𝖊𝖒𝖊𝖒𝖇𝖊𝖗 𝕺𝖓𝖑𝖞 𝕸𝖊

[ 𝕸𝖔𝖔𝖉𝖞𝕸𝖎𝖘𝖙𝖞'𝖘 𝕸𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙 | 𝕬𝖔3 ]

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4 soon

Author's Note: Hi... I finally finish this part. The last two are actually fairly close to being done, I was just really held up on this one. It's not my favorite, but I just had to get it done.

Summary: A Night Lord becomes interested in you while you stand under the eyes of your Salamander guardian, and you find yourself stuck between two titans.

Relationships: Yandere Salamander/Fem!Reader/Yandere Night Lord

Warnings: Hints of nsfw at points, Yandere, Size differences, Very toxic suffocating relationship(s), Some knight/princess dynamics, Demeaning language, Both these guys have hero complexes, Violence blood and bruises and possibly death to say without spoilers

Word Count: 1376

Ever since the moment you met him, Lev has been your shadow whenever Ralkan isn’t around.

Every time, not long after you leave your quarters, he seems to find you.

Whereas the Salamanders have rigid training regimens they must abide by every single day- though day is a bit of a loose term in the depths of space - it seems the Night Lords are largely left up to their own devices as you travel to their destination.

You suppose it makes sense, daily training wouldn’t do much for them other than entertainment; These Night Lords are clearly the best of the their genestock, brought aboard to show the Salamanders who they were working with.

Ralkan had been extremely displeased with you when you’d called this all a pissing contest. The much younger Salamander in your company at the time had snickered at your joke before getting quickly reprimanded and sulked his way back to the firing range.

But as much as he denied your comment and attempted to dissuade any ill will between the two legions as merely the occasion disagreement, you've heard from around the ship that attempts to keep things amicable however have largely failed. You’ve heard rumors of the Night Lords getting into fights with Salamanders, barking and goading confrontation like rowdy, feral street dogs.

Ever since Lev had an altercation with a Salamander- you don't even know if he was the first one to do so- it seems to have only gotten worse. And you still have at least another two weeks in travel before you reach your destination, with everyone trapped in here like fish in a barrel.

At least the Salamanders have weapons, the baseline humans aboard the ship have been forced to shuffle around and avoid eyesight of any Night Lords, and pray they don't stick out of the crowd.

Your conversations with the others aboard the ship might be brief, but you know that some have gone missing. As if the implications let out by Lev's cohorts at the time of your first meeting hadn't already queued you in on it.

Sitting at your desk in the midst of some monotonous work you glance to your left, leaning over to open a drawer and reveal the contents.

The centerpiece of them all is a Night Lord combat knife. The metal shines, but far less that you would expect it to. It's like it eats the very light that touches it. You kept it hidden, Emperor forbid Ralkan found it, but...

You didn't want to throw it away either.

You could hear the sound of the pipes thrumming as you looked up at Lev, and he looks down on you. A serf passed by behind him at a quick pace; Even quicker when Lev turned just slightly at the neck to watch them and make sure they moved along.

He'd found a moment in-between moments- the few seconds where Ralkan wasn't watching - to find you. Perhaps that should unsettle you. But he's given you the first real conversations you've had in awhile besides Ralkan, and you couldn't help but pause.

Ralkan is a safe embrace, Lev is a precarious drop; But you keep looking over the edge.

"You look tired," He said, looking down at you with lazy eyes. He always looks somewhat sleepy and unimpressed himself.

"I was going back to my quarters to sleep, until you stopped me." He grew a smirk that showed sharp, near overgrown canine teeth.

"Maybe you should tell that Salamander of yours to back off then."

You crossed your arms across your chest like a self-assuring hug and focused on the bat wings stretched across the chestplate of his armor.

"Do you know he always has eyes on you? Even when he isn't around? Even his brothers are watching you."

You assumed he's been having trouble getting a moment where it's just you; Many have, not just him. Ralkan has watched you so intently since Lev started sinking his talons into you, and despite finding comfort in him keeping the Night Lord with unknown intentions at bay, you also find yourself tugging away for just an inch of space.

Unfortunately, that space leads right into Lev.

"...His name is Ralkan."

You swallow a knot in your throat. As much as you knew you could talk to Ralkan, push back against some things he said, you had no idea where Lev's limits are; What words might make him decide you're more fun as toy he can break than one he's gentle with.

"Here."

Lev reached to his belt and pulled a knife from it, tossing it in the air gently to grab it by the blade tip and push it out towards you. You didn't touch it, leaning away and staring at it like it's diseased. It might as well be; You don't know what unsaid intentions you'd be accepting if you took it from him.

"I saw your Salamander gave you something," You assumed he was talking about a small trinket Ralkan had made at the forge for you, one of a few. The necklace that dangles around you neck at all times now was also from him.

A practice with things more delicate, he had said.

"Here's something of my own. Don't lose it."

You hadn't lost it, but it had taken some hiding to keep it out of Ralkan's sight. You knew that if he saw it, the rough and disgusting gift- much unlike Ralkan's delicate one - would be gone in an instant.

Perhaps you shouldn't care, it's from an astartes you barely know, but something about it just makes you want to keep it.

Your entire vision as been Ralkan over these past few months. Especially these recent weeks since Lev arrived. The sight of something, someone else is almost enthralling- no matter how dangerous. You've caught yourself looking at the knife multiple times now, remembering the way Lev's armoured fingers wrapped around sharp edge of the blade as he gave it to you, even once having to slam the drawer shut quickly just before Ralkan entered your room to take you somewhere.

He hasn't caught wind of the knife itself yet, but you have a feeling he knows you're hiding something. He's given you openings to say, but you've declined them all. You assume he knows Lev is somehow finding you and is hoping you'll tell him how, what rat holes he's using to get to you, and it frustrates him that you won't.

He probably thinks the astartes is threatening you to not tell him. Rather than that you don't want to.

You close the drawer, hearing the contents jingle around while sighing.

You'd curse even coming aboard the Flamewrought, but you can't deny the advantages of being here. Your work, the people you've met, though most of those people are gone; Ralkan is almost all that remains. You speak to some of his men at times, but the interaction is always brief and controlled.

“Where’s your Salamander now, little one?”

You suddenly burst up from your chair, it sliding with a hideous squeal as you hit it with the back of your knees and nearly stumble over. Lev meanwhile stands in the doorway, watching before stepping inward. You take a step backward as his right hand reaches out to slam the door controls and shut it behind him.

“He left you all alone in here?”

You hold your hands close to your chest as if trying to protect yourself, watching him stare at you with black eyes.

“These are my quarters, he doesn’t stay here.”

Lev scoffs and rolls his eyes. He steps closer, ignoring the way you step back to try and maintain the distance. Seeing him in the halls is one thing; There's a chance a Salamander could see you in distress and help you, or you could scream and try to run, but here you're far out of the way of everyone else by design, and with nowhere to even try fleeing to.

"I'm sure he would choose otherwise, had he the chance. He keeps a very close eye on you, you know. He'd be quite disappointed you left the door unlocked." You do know, quite well in fact, and reiterate as such.

"I'm... Well aware of how through his guardianship is."

He must find either you or the situation funny, and laughs.

"What then, does his Salamander duty and rigor prevent him from going any further? Or do you have someone else already, and he's forced to keep his hands to himself?" He laughs again, but it comes out like an indignant snort.

"A pity, I'm sure it makes him furious having to spend so much time protecting a little thing like you and not even get to enjoy it."

It's cold in this room, always is- the entire ship is chilled, recirculated air - and it makes you able to feel the noticeable heat radiating from his body and his armor as he approaches you.

He smiles, leaning in closer. You know you're out of space when your shoulderblades finally knock against the wall.

Closer again. You can feel his breath on your face, how his long hair tickles your skin. Even closer and his stubble rubs against your skin, burning it.

His lips press against yours and you whimper into his mouth, a noise that makes him moan. Your fear spurs him on and he presses his lips to yours harder, feeling when your hands grab the seams of his armour and either try to helplessly push him away, or at least hold on until he's finished with you. The scar across his upper lip scrapes against yours much like his stubble does- everything about him is rough and jagged. Only when your whimpers get louder and start turning into muffled cries does he finally pull away, his teeth raking over your bottom lip before he pulls them away with a soft ‘pop’.

His smile his bright, like he just found a brand new toy.

“You are soft,”

He says, twisting his brother’s words from weeks earlier. He has this look in his eyes, bright with curiosity, like he’s enthralled by something so simple. You can feel your heart slamming against your chest as you stand in his shadow, tears wanting to prick at the corners of your eyes. You know you have something he wants, but while he's being gentle, the vast unknown behind his eyes his terrifying. But is that unknown better that suffocating?

Lev seems to think it is, one his his gauntlets gripping your clothing as gentle as the armour allows him.

"I can take you, I'll get you away from him and I can keep you safe, all to mys-"

"Get away from her."

Lev pulls back, turning to see Ralkan standing in the opening doorway. His hand rests on the handle of his chainsword ready to pull the trigger and rev it to life, and the look he's giving the Night Lord is nothing short of hellfire.

"It is one thing to be on our ship, but I thought I was quite firm in my orders to keep your disgusting hands off of her, and keep your distance."

The smile Lev had quickly fades into an unimpressed and angry sort of look, wrinkling his nose. He doesn't move away from you, instead just turning.

"You don't get to order me around. I'm no brother of yours."

That struck a nerve of Ralkan's, you can instantly tell. His shoulders squared and his hand flexes around the handle of his chainsword, just tight enough that you hear the engine start to kick on and the chain's teeth rattle as it threatens to spin to life.

“I am from Nocturne. I am well versed in slaying dragons, a rat like you should be nothing at all.”

Lev rolls his eyes, unimpressed by Ralkan's formality. He finally turns from trapping you against the wall to give the Salamander his full attention, allowing you to scurry off to the side.

But while Lev seems casual his hand rests close to his own blade, and despite the smirk on his face and casual lean he is just as prepared to fight as Ralkan is.

“Even if you do kill me Salamander, it doesn’t change that you’re just hoarding her all to yourself.”

The two and their energies make this room feel microscopic in size, as Ralkan shifts and evens his footing. Lev straightens up slightly, putting his hands closer to the weapons hanging from his hip.

You stand back trapped in here with them, with no chance of racing by without either one grabbing you for themselves.

You can only step back, and hope that it doesn’t escalate any further than this.

#warhammer 40k x reader #space marine x reader #salamander x reader #reader insert #reader #mywriting #Yandere!Salamander/Fem!Reader/Yandere!NightLord

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