#the sorrow in his heart must be deep
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âSuch a tragedy. You were so close to realizing the truth... Surely you would have realized, then, just who waits behind these blinds.â
~Thunderbolt fantasy s3e13, WÄĚn JĹŤn Pò facing âthe Emperorâ
#thunderbolt fantasy#wan jun po#ban gun ha#pili#dolls#puppets#mygifs#tf s3e13#truly feel for the plight of one with the best intentions and facing his demons but somehow unable to win#the sorrow in his heart must be deep
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Seen the request, so I shall deliver. Could you pls write a drabble or hcs of a yandere sunday with an isekaied reader?
Good timing because I'm actually planning a non yan isekai fic for him, I wonder if you saw that post. Here it is in case you haven't.
Sincerest apologies if this isn't the best, this fic is 100% emotionally charged by my obsession with him and frankly with a little bit of a high for passing a tricky exam. This is a treat for myself.
EDIT: Please check out this wonderful comic that @danijaci made me based off this fic!! đđŤś
Picking up the cup from the fine oak table, you gazed towards the eerie galaxy before you, hundreds upon thousands of stars giving you a constant reminder of just how far from home you truly were. Taking a sip from the little porcelain cup you could not help but to hum in delight, the soft notes of the tea soothing your nerves ever so lightly as you pretended to ignore the heavy gaze which lingered at the back of your head.
Even from this distance, it was easy to tell that Sunday was eager to approach you. Still, he kept his distance and made a silent offering in the form of the very tea you drank at the moment.
Anything is better than Himeko's coffee but you were never going privy her to that.
In a not so distant past, all of this was nothing but fiction. The Express, the story, the characters - it was all nothing more but fiction, something to pass the time as your days went on and on, the same monotony repeating each and every day.
It was hard to not think about your friends and family, what sane person would not? Lord knows how they must be feeling right now, worried sick out of their minds with indescribable sorrow. In their eyes you had merely vanished, not a single trace to be found. For all they knew you could have been left for dead in a ditch somewhere, beaten, bloodied and broken, never to see the light again or if they were even more inclined to be morbid, you had succumbed to a fate worse than death. Death at the very least grants you finality, that all is over regardless of what happened moments prior.
But that was simply not the case for you.
Here you were, lounging about in a comfortable chair as you pondered on your old life while enjoying tiny little luxuries, far away where none of your loved ones could reach you. However, life was funny sometimes because it had some fun games in store.
Sunday was very kind upon arrival. He made sure to always be there for you, always checking up on you, always there to keep you company. You were already smitten with him but now to actually witness him in the flesh was just... Indescribable. You got along like a house on fire, so much so that the crew liked to tease that you ought to just get a room. Sunday, ever the gentleman, would just brush their words aside and assure you to not take their playful little jabs to heart.
You wouldn't say anything, resorting to merely giving him a smile but not because of what he said but rather of what he did not - never once did he actually shut down those perverse accusations. Never, not even once did he deny them.
He became an emotional crutch, someone to whom you would come running to when things got tough and he would always welcome you with open arms. Sunday would hold you tenderly, his serene voice dripping with honey along with a tender drop of ecstasy, for his excitement with holding you would just show itself sometimes. His grip would be too tight at certain moments, never quite ready to let you leave. His hugs were warm and comforting, he always smelled so good too. He smelled like kindness and sweet wildflowers, always lulling you back to him no matter the time. In dark corners and perhaps even under the watchful eyes of the crew, Sunday would wrap his scarf around your head, securing the soft fabric in order to provide you with a sense of comfort.
It was humiliating just how much you would try to inhale his scent as much as possible. You wanted it etched deep inside your memory, you wished for it to linger on your very soul and for it to follow you everywhere you went, sticking to your being like tar. The fabric of the scarf would muffle your ears a little but someone was always chatting in the background. Be it March bickering with Dan Heng, Mr Yang scolding someone for doing something they were not supposed to, or just Conductor Pom Pom trying to give a speech, all of it was irrelevant.
You were ready to kill whoever would try to pry you away from sweet Sunday. That thought came often which had left you worried - just what kind of person had you become? Regardless, you kept your mouth shut and had no plans of sharing such violent sentiments with anyone, particularly not to the one you held so dear.
When it was time to part for the evening you would bid the crew farewell and wished them a good night. You always made sure to take a few extra seconds with Sunday, just to ease your aching soul. He would tell you to sleep well and would see you in the morning, ready to take on any endeavor that crossed your paths.
As everyone parted ways, Sunday would wander off somewhere dark and distant, somewhere no one could see nor hear him. He would fall to his knees and clutch his chest in agony, fat tears streaming down his face as he did everything he possibly could to steady his raging heart. In a rush he would reach for the scarf which clung around his neck, his grip tighter than iron as he would bring it close to his nose. Taking a large, deep breath, Sunday was greeted by your familiar scent which would promptly calm his poor heart.
He sometimes wondered if his heart would start bleeding from the pain due to the sheer intensity of his emotions.
This was wrong, everything about this was not right and it hurt. Sunday was obviously ill but he had no clue on how to fight this... This emotion, this white hot feeling of need whenever you stood by his side. He started to choke on the air around him and fell into an abrupt coughing fit but even then, he could bring himself to remove the scarf from the lower part of his face.
Sunday wept and sobbed, filthy snot coming out from his nose but he could not handle that now. He needed you, Oh Heavenly Aeons, how he needed you. However was he going to tell you how he felt? How, oh how was he going to express the sheer magnitude of his true thoughts? He would scare you off, he was sure of it.
Even with this pain, even with these clipped wings and bleeding heart, Sunday had never felt so alive, so harrowingly present in the moment whenever he was with you.
Perhaps, he was doing himself a kindness by just letting you be. Drink your tea, be at peace.
He can always just make you another cup if you so desired.
Without knowing, you both haunted each other in the most agonizing way known to mankind and neither was strong enough to face the reality of the situation.
#yandere#yandere x reader#yandere imagines#yandere x you#yancore#yanderecore#yandere aesthetic#yandere male#yandere sunday x reader#sunday x reader#yandere sunday#sunday#sunday x you#yan hsr#yandere hsr#hsr x reader#sunday hsr#yandere honkai star rail#honkai star rail x reader#honkai star rail
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festered wounds
â when youâve never been the first choice your whole life, itâs hard to accept the possibility that you could be loved.
Š zhongrin | 2023  ⟠ no repostăťtranslationsăťplagiarism of any kindăťai data mining. rebloggers get a free cup of tea âĄ
âź characters â zhongli, al haitham, wriothesley
âź tags â gn!reader, this is more of a vent drabble, hurt with comfort, reader with massive insecurity issues, implied past trauma, slight blood & gore in the portrayal of âhurtâ
âź a/n â thisâŚ. got really personal, haha. i wrote this in a bad headspace, so apologies if it got depressing or if itâs of a low quality. i didn't want to have this in my drafts and i certainly don't want to bring it to 2024 so i'm just posting this now.
á´á´Ę ę°á´ĘĘ á´á´É´á´ (á´á´ęąá´á´ĘĘÉŞęąá´) ⟠á´á´á´Ęá´ĘęąĘÉŞá´ (á´á´É˘ĘÉŞęąá´)
âiâm sorry.â
zhongliâs heart dropped at the words escaping your lips. this was certainly the most unexpected response you could give to his confession, seeing the promising recent developments in your relationship â and so celestia forgive him, he had to pause to gather his thoughts. this made you fidget even more under his gaze, and so you succumbed to your frazzled nerves to continue in a more panicked voice.
âiâm sorry, mr. zhongli, i know youâre not the type to resort to deceit or find joy in toying with peopleâs feelings, but iâm justâ i canâtââ you trailed off, feeling your chest tighten in pain.
âplease, hold your tongue for a moment,â the refined man held out one of his hand to settle onto your shoulder comfortingly. his expression was a mixture of worry and confusion, eyebrows furrowing in a sign of distress. âare you saying that you⌠do not believe my words? you think i have malicious intentions?â
ââŚ.. iâm sorry, iâm just not used to- iâve never-â you stumbled over your words and squeezed your eyes shut, âiâm sorryâŚ.â
zhongli watched you for a moment, observing the smallest ticks and the story behind your body language. you looked so vulnerable, like a scared animal instinctively cowering at some invisible threat. you looked as if someone had stripped away a bandage that had been haphazardly wrapped around a wound left unattended for so long, it had festered into an abomination, eating away at you slowly, even now.
belatedly, he realized that âsomeoneâ was himself.
zhongli inhaled deeply, his palm leaving your shoulder. this time, he took his hands to tenderly grab your fingers, lifting them up to silently plead for your attention. your eyes were troubled and full of storms, the rain and lighting reflecting on your expression as a solemn flutter of your eyelashes and sorrowful downturn of your lips. the slight tremble of your body reflected the silent call for help from a blemished heart that never had the courage to forget.
âmy dearest. i see the pain you have gone through. i have yet to know the tales that had marred your heart, but i want you to know that i am willing to be the pair of ears you tell your grievances to, and you can be rest assured that they will be safe with me. i know my words will not be enough to convince you otherwise at this moment⌠however, you must forgive my impatience, for it stems out of genuine love. i simply must humbly ask once againââ
ââ please, give me a chance to heal you.â
âa-are you sure you want me?â
out of the 18 different responses he anticipated, al haitham did not expect this. however, his surprise merely manifested in the rising of both of his eyebrows and the subtle shift on his legs.
âunlike the consensus the public seemed to have one-sidedly agreed on, i am not foolish enough in the matter of romance as to confess to someone i do not hold deep affection and great care for,â he said in the same tone as the moment he asked if you would consider taking your relationship into the âofficially datingâ phase, âis it not obvious? kaveh claimed i was âlaying it on thickâ and cyno had noted of how i treat you better than how i treat the dendro archon.â
âohâŚ.â
ââŚ.â
ââŚ.â
you thought you had gotten used to al haithamâs stare with how much you both had been hanging out, but right now you couldnât seem to lift your head. the scholar crossed his arms, waiting patiently for your response. you were both gratuitous and dreading his resilience.
âi-i still think you could do better, though. i mean, look at you! youâre so fit, so wouldnât you feel better if your partner is more of the sporty type? and youâre the top graduate of the haravatat darshan, so you would pair better with someone smarterâŚ. a-and someone like me will just drag you down; aesthetically speaking, i⌠uh, leave much to be desired while youâre⌠you knowâŚâ
you spoke of such illogical assumptions and erroneous advices that he couldnât help but roll his eyes. you spoke of belittling yourself as if you were used to riding on the rails of insurmountably low dip of the self-esteem cliff for years. you spoke of these things as if you were repeating words someone told you at least once in your life.
and it angered him.
but he wasnât angry at you. he was angry for you.
funny how empathy wasnât his strong suit, and yet he jumped on the bandwagon as easily as an otter taking off into the waters the moment it came to you and your emotions.
âi care not for such shallow qualifications when it comes to seeking a partner. your presence triggers the relevant hormones that make me feel relaxed and comfortable, and my mind spontaneously seek for your attention. itâs only logical that i seek for an arrangement that would ensure these pleasant things to happen and develop further.â
âyouâre the best choice for a partner, simply because i wish to spend the rest of my life with you; and i think that's enough.â
âi donât think iâm a good choice for youâŚâ
wriothesley looked as if you had pinpointed his weak point in a boxing match and delivered a straight jab right onto it. his lips slacked open and his body froze as he tried to process your words, the meaning behind it, theâ
he inhaled deeply and punched his own fist into his palm, stretching his jaw with a growl before a darker tone took over his voice.
âalright, whoâs been talking shit? let me at them. it wonât be manslaughter if they donât die, right?â
he watched as your nervously fiddling fingers stopped twisting around each other, your eyes widened in shock and alarm at his words. briefly, he praised himself inwardly for being able to switch your mood at the snap of his fingers. now if only he could do that, but instead of surprise-and-horror, it could turn into surprise-and-joy insteadâŚ
âwhat?! wait- no! no one said that, i juââ
âthen is your own head telling you that?â
âitâsââ you gulped, gaze slowly breaking away.
he sensed a secret kept safe under the heaviest chains and locks. pain that had nearly torn up that warm heart of yours, shoved into the furthest part of you in a desperate attempt to save yourself; to silence the damned screams and the river of curses that would have made you self-destruct. he saw the remains of the thousands of needles that had embedded itself deep inside your worn heart a long time ago, and yet still it beat and struggled to not bleed out and drown you in its venomous blood.
he saw a heart as scarred as his skin, and he understood.
â..⌠alright, sweetheart, listen up, and listen close.â
the manâs hands suddenly cradled your cheeks, his icy blue eyes penetrating your clouded gaze. his whole demeanor had shifted into gentle and loving, as if he was holding his entire world in the palms of his hands. he resisted the urge to kiss you when you couldnât help but lean onto his touch, instinctively seeking comfort.
he would do you better. he would give you the kind of love youâve yet to experience. there were so much he wanted to say, but he chose to speak of the reassurance he thought you needed most at this moment.
âi say youâre the perfect choice for me. let me prove it to you.â
âź á´á´á´Ęá´ĘęąĘÉŞá´ (á´á´É˘ĘÉŞęąá´) â @abyssmal-skies | @hamdehlesmis | @depressivecomforts | @sunnshineflxwer | @yuutasbabe | @queen-belial | @stygianoir | @silentmoths | @niktwazny303 | @dustofthedailylife | @marina-and-the-memes | @mixed-kester | @lordbugs | @anonymousficreader | @shizunxie | @ansy-tea | @irethepotato | @sassy-cat-in-town | @syrenkitsune | @smokipoki | @cakeboxie | @crystalflygeo | @ciexuvia | @illaasya | @celestewritestoomuch | @pams-comfortzone | @spidermanluvr444 | @ourstrawberryclouds | @ryuryuryuyurboat
#genshin impact#genshin x reader#genshin impact x reader#zhongli#zhongli x reader#al haitham#al haitham x reader#wriothesley#wriothesley x reader#rin writes
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girldad!geta pleeease!
Filia Divina
Pairing: Emperor Geta x Wife!reader
Tags: childbirth, pregnancy, miscarriage mentioned, implied infanticide, soft!geta (if you squint), historically accurate practices, NOT BETA READ SO IF YOU SEE SOMETHING WONKY NO YOU DIDNâT, good ole fashioned misogyny
AN: Tollere Liberos is in reference to an ancient Roman tradition where a father decides whether or not to accept a newborn as their child. Rejected children were abandoned via âexpositusâ (aka dead ass just leaving a baby out in the wilderness). So basically girldad!geta but historically accurate lol. Enjoy!
It had only been an hour since you birthed herâa sweet little creature with curls the color of honey and supple skin like the flesh of a ripe plum. With a mighty wail fit to be heard across an empire, she came into the world. Your goddess, Juno, generously granted her the health and strength you prayed for. You rejoiced, though your joy was not shared.
The midwives cleaned your daughter in grave silence, save for the whispers of the politic-men gathered to witness the birth of Romeâs divine son. They huddled together in the far corner of the chamber as your girl laid against her motherâs chest for the first time.
âIt cannot be trueâlook again!â Geta frantically commands the weary doctor. He paces across the marble floor in a state of distress. A litany of expressions troubles his face; disbelief, panic, betrayal.
âMy lord, it is not what was desired, but I assure youâthe child is female. You have my greatest sorrows.â The doctor mournfully bows his head, knowing better than to look the short tempered prince in the eye.
Geta was persistent, diligently sewing his seed in your womb since your holy union. You passed two of his children as blood, and he held you as you suffered through the pain. He watched your body grow when his efforts succeeded, massaged your taut skin with olive oil, and fed you bread soaked in sweet wine when you felt ill. He even kneeled at Jupiterâs alter to call for the safe delivery of his first son and the health of his wifeâAll these precautions only to be cruelly slighted.
âThe gods have punished me, yet Iâve done nothing but bend to their will.â Geta holds his head in disbelief, his devastation made evident by a deep scowl.
Senator Gracchus tentatively approaches your distraught husband, resting a sympathetic hand on his shoulder.
âMy lord, we must atone for our offenses, whatever they may be. It is a grave misfortune indeed, but your brideââ
Rage ignites across Getaâs face as he pulls away from his constituentâs touch.
âSpeak tactfully of your empress if you wish to keep your tongue, Senator.â He seethes through a tight jaw. Gracchus relents, his tone softening considerably. He continues slowly and with caution.
âTwo winters have passed since your union, and she has yet to bring forth an heir of Rome. Her body has proved inhospitable. The gods have sent a message, and it would be foolish to turn a cheekâyou must heed this omen! â
Geta takes a moment, carefully considering the senatorâs plea for reason. He looks back to you, Obsidian eyes gazing down at the linen sheet that obscures your sleeping child.
âI am a conduit of their will. Tollere Liberos will prevail and the gods will decide through me.â Geta turns to you fully. Your heart becomes heavy in your chest as you search your husbandâs face for tenderness, but see nothing but solid stone.
In your dreams, you imagined the day Geta approached his first heir as sweetâthat he might kiss your reddened cheeks and proudly claim his child. Never did you think the sight of him would cause you to tighten your grip and cower away. He looms over the bed where you lay, exhausted and perspiring, like a holy monument.
âShow me the child.â
âMy love, I beg youââ
âYour emperor commands it.â Geta callously interrupts.
You unwrap your daughter in your arms, trembling hands moving as gingerly as possible. She shifts in her sleep, curling her precious limbs toward her delicate body, but does not wake. Getaâs eyes widen at the sight of her.
âSo it is true. My faithful wifeâs womb has betrayed me.â His gaze softens. Something stirs behind it, but you are not sure what.
âIf you wish to return her life, then be merciful and do the same with mine.â Your heart twists and aches, your love for your emperor becoming a knife in your rib.
To your shock, Geta reaches out to his daughter, takes her tiny fist in his palm, and runs a thumb over her blushing knuckles. She wraps her hand around her fatherâs finger with a mighty yawn.
You have seldom seen your restless husband become so still.
âShe bears your resemblance.â Getaâs voice is but a whisper. His gaze doesnât stray from her. It appears his heart aches the same as yours.
âAnd a head of golden hair.â You can only offer an exhausted smile.
Geta takes his daughter into his arms for the first time.
âThe gods have spoken!â He declares to the small gathering of senators. Your emperor raises his girl above the laurels atop his head. Some look on with horror, and others with pride.
âShe will have my name! It is done.â
As your daughterâs first weeks pass, Getaâs tenderness only grows. In the lavender hours of dawn, you wake to find him cradling her in the crook of his arm. He speaks to her softly.
âPoor girl, you have wounded your fatherâs pride. My, what tragedy.â
You smile at the sound of her gentle crooning as your husband assuages her back to sleep.
âA son would belong to Romeâbut you, dear Septima, will belong to me.â
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â iâm in love with a dying man
rating: mature. or explicit? iâm not sure. angsty study on grief in unconventional forms. (mild) smut purely for poetic reasons
word count: 4,1k
pairing: viktor x gn!reader
cw: terminal illness. several mentions of death. everyone is horny in a heartbroken way, so grab a napkinâbut not for the reasons you think. and yes, you may dox me for making you even sadder after whatever happened in ep 6.
â
He licks a tear off your cheek, and it seeps in between the bumps on his tongue, all prickly salt running down your face in two glossy trails of sorrow. Stinging, when his calloused thumb swipes over a puffy eyelid, only to inevitably fall to your lip and tug, nudging your mouth agape. His desperate grip softens when you oblige and arch, letting him grunt over the slope of your throat; wheezier than you remember, raw, rhotic and ravenous. The hard shift of his lungs is palpable under your hand, ruckling heavily in his sternum. It almost breaks down to a cough when he cants his hips into you, slanting one last slow, weak slam. Spilling all his pent-up frustration deep inside you through that bitter orgasm, leaving a clumsy mess of stickiness to dry on your inner thigh. Stilling for you to hold him through that collapse, grateful for the shaky hand that you firmly fist into his hair. Not receding until at least a few kisses are strewn upon your shoulder.Â
Itâs always like this now. Viktor clings to you, and you cling to him, nails digging into handfuls of him hard enough to draw blood, each embrace so tight your ribs might just break if he doesnât retreat in time. And god does he wish to let it linger, to drag it out until eternity tumbles inâeven if his eternity is reduced to a question of mere months at best, even if he must crawl out of a casket to have your touch back.Â
The night you almost lost him still has you in shambles. You remember it all too wellâhell, itâs almost like that acute smell of hospitals and doom still coats his skin, more slimline than it ever was, its once ivory shade fading to chalk-like disaster. The utter horror of crushing verdicts, endless heaps of bloodied handkerchiefs and palms so cold that even the heat of your breath fails to make the feeling of him any less chilling.Â
The dark humor of sneaky death: sheâs right around the corner, the cruelest of all mistresses. Ready to snatch him away whenever your fingers ghost over his spine, stroking a languid count over each prominent vertebrae. And no matter how tight you curl up beside him, she will supplant you, and her proximity canât be measured in miles, feet, or inches. Because death is a termiteâshe gnaws at his very heart. And blooms metastases everywhere you still have him. Sheâs inside him. Sheâs merged with him into one.
At first, you denied it. Knuckles drummed against the wall in a frustrated fistfight, painting that scabrous canvas bright with your frustration. White and crimsonâthe speckled pattern of your hysteria. You recall how bad it stung, and how shame creeped up your spineâfrightening and so, so sticky. Throttling, when he tended to that self-inflicted disaster, bandaging your smashed hand in motions sick to the core with gentleness.Â
And it felt so ugly. Like youâve grown to loathe everything around you: the doctors, for their disgusting prognosis; life itself, for being hardly fair. And even Viktor. Especially himâfor slowly slipping out of your pale-knuckled grip. Well, red-knuckled, more like. That angry stunt did cost you a decent injury. White and crimson, remember?Â
Naturally, grief doesnât always progress by the book. However, denial always comes first. Itâs an axiom, an invariable component, and youâre sitting on Viktorâs hospital cot, hand in trembling hand, eyes snapped wide and ferocious. Wrapped up in fear while the silence rings in your ears.Â
His doctor addresses the quandary. It doesnât feel viciousâat least, not yet. Flimsy, more like. Deceptive, too. Like if you just blink it away hard enough everything will snap right in place, and youâll find yourself at home againâwhere that aseptic smell of medication canât reach either of you.Â
Well, of course, thereâs always a possibility of postponing the inevitable. Winning over a year or, even, twoâif Viktorâs lucky enough, that is. But you both know that heâs lacking in that department.
And yet, you grab your little hope by the throat: to look into later, when your comprehension is intact again. Surely, itâs just not plausible: so what if Viktorâs cough pulls you out of sleep every night, so what if every shirt he owns has tiny blood stains on it? Yes, he spends more time in bed than he does at the lab. Heâs simply tired. He needs the rest. Not in peace.Â
The retraction doesnât linger, though. It survives a few more blood tests and a lengthy, dreadful discussion of his calamityâmost strikingly frightening when the doctor talks him through each option. And not a single one manages to appease you. To stop your fury from retching out and causing an ugly scene.Â
So you fling the door to his room ajar and leap inside with a bitter scowl, teeth gritting hard enough to crumble into powder. Arms a tight crisscross over your chest, step wide and listlessâpunctuated with a muffled clack of heels. Viktorâs eyes follow your tremulous circlesâa lazy, sheenless flick of pupils, each widened into a bleak void from the rancid dose of painkillers. He lays supine, with his hair ineptly slicked back, umber waves awry, loose and sweat-damp. Heâs almost mellow, tongue barely a glide over his chapped bottom lipâa martyr-like stiffness, the carrion of a man.Â
But you donât look at him. You pace, and pace, and paceâin that same tiring route, all around his creaky cot. Viktor rasps something indistinctâa muffled plea that tickles the back of his throat, rupturing yet another coughing fit. You silently hand him the speckled handkerchief.Â
He looks up, eyes the saddest shade of buckwheat honeyâdark with remorse; seeking comfort. But you donât have any to give. You stare past him, gnawing at your tongue hard enough to draw fleshy copper. Dodging the kiss he tries to press to your wristâpulling yourself back and out of his loving grip, igniting a staring competition full of glassy eye-daggering. Blink slow and borderline drowsy.Â
âMilackĂş,â he pleads. Pulls at the corner of his mouth to wipe the bloody evidence of his withering.Â
Your tear catches in your bottom lashes.Â
âMilackĂş,â he rasps again, kicking the blanket aside. Stepping one bare foot on the cool tiles and reaching for you: arms, legs, and heartâall yours for the taking. If only you consider crawling under his minty sheets again.Â
You donât.Â
âWhy?â Itâs so meek you barely recognize it as your own. Taut throat tightens even more, and, suddenly, youâre choking on a gasp. âWhy did you turn down the treatment?âÂ
âPlease, if you could justââ He husks, but you canât hear him through the ringing in your ears; the room already smudged into wattery, astigmatic lumps, Viktorâs face but a bunch of fuzzy dots youâre struggling to make out. All missing jigsaws, blurry little fractions.Â
âWhat did I ever do to you?â You yell, shielding your eyes. Turning away from the arm he extends, his weak fist clenching to grab thin air, then tumbling as he stares at his palm in sheer dubiety, upper lip trembling.Â
He winces. Ceases you by the hand and tugs as hard as it getsâfrail enough for you to easily nudge him awayâbut you donât bother this time. Your knees ungainly bend into shaky arcs, drifting apart when he clasps around you and pulls until you finally land on the sheets next to him, your tears mingling with his cold sweatâa salty fusion of mutual suffering.
Then comes a sequence of guttural, squealing whines and you stay twined with him for a while. Lithe fingers run through your hair, spreading to untangle an occasional knotted strandâup, and down, and over your shoulder in a caress. His lips purse on your temple, sucking an indistinct kiss. His heartbeat trails off under your fingertips the second you rake them over his thin hospital gown, growing frenetic again when you tug at the fabric, demanding closure.
âPlease. Please donât do this to me.â You exhale your choked up entreaty into his neck and it pours over his skin in a rigid breath, aftertasting of stinging desperation. His hand seeks your face, taking a forcefully gentle hold of one puffy cheek, drinking in your unsightly, woebegone rebuke. Looking at you like a repentant devotee, his timid eyes meeting your fierce ones.
âThis is not about you,â he wheezes, too stern for your liking. Presses his forehead against yours and holds you through yet another shudderâand thereâs no avoiding his pleading stare. âIâm not trying to get away from you. I merely want to escape my conundrum.âÂ
âThese arenât mutually exclusive, Viktor,â you hiss, voice simmering with betrayal.Â
âUnfortunately.âÂ
âUnfortunately?! Is that all you have for me right now?âÂ
âIâm afraid so.âÂ
He sighs like he means it. His words keep slipping away from him, drowned in coughs and ambiguous humms. You get it, though. Your semantics became sparse the minute Viktor almost died in your arms.Â
You melt into one-another in a teary, sniffling twineâsimply breathing, trading tense silences. His stately stance collapses into a lifeless hunch, straightening a bit only when your fingers billow over his shoulder-bladesâchiseled like ones of a famished dog. There are plenty of dog-like things about him nowâthe pleas lodged in his glances, the newfound hunger for your touch. Especially for the way youâre holding him; every embrace like a loving headlockâand the pressure soothes him.Â
âIâm tired of taking risks,â he finally whispers against your temple. âAll these⌠labored efforts for mere fractions of peace. Decaying steadily. Constantly hurting. Iâm spent.âÂ
âExactly. Which is why you need the treatment.âÂ
His lashes shudder against your cheek in a prickly tickle. They keep fluttering when he recedes, shaking his head with a bitter frown.
âBut its success is⌠highly improbable.âÂ
âYes, but thereâs still hopeââ
âItâs running thin as we speak. I shouldnât squander it on⌠the imminent.âÂ
Viktorâs irksome choice of words had you springing backwards in glossy-eyed delirium. Staring in disbelief as if heâd requested something inexorable: which he did, inherently so.Â
He curses when tears slice your face againâtends to them with the softness of a man most contrite of his omission, shaky hands already catching holds of your waist, using your temporary pliancy to swiftly nudge you into his cot. Curling up close enough to have your weeps reverberate in his sternum.Â
âIâm sorry,â he repents with a deep rasp. âPlease, donât cry.âÂ
He held you in reticence again: this time horizontally. Offered you every solace his body could provide: your fingers in his hair, fumbling mindlessly (he put them there himself). Tangled legs. Apologetic neck-kisses. His head heavy on your shoulder, its weight a welcome tranquility. And only when your last tear soaks his pillow does he commence with his explanation.Â
âI donât want to spend what little time I have left miserable,â he tells you, drawing a breath. âYes, the treatment might win me a yearâa year I would spend bedridden, nauseous, and weary. A travesty of life. An illusive salvation. Iâve had enough of those.âÂ
Your hand stills in his hair, nestled within unkempt strands. Youâve run out of tears, so this bitter truth is met with nothing but a piteous sighâthe only thing you can still master after crying your heart out into his skin. Now you can only stare at the ceiling, chewing on your cheek in cruel denial.Â
Heâs right. He always is.Â
Viktor sees the shift in your faceâknits his eyebrows together in tender pity, tucking himself firmly against your face. Wincing, when he feels the aching tension in your temple.Â
âI know Iâm asking a lot of you. Too much, even.â Heâs sincere when he says that, and you can sense the gratitude in his voiceâfor even allowing him to utter this excruciating of a thing, for attempting to understand.Â
You simply nod. Yes. It is a lot. But you want to hear everything he has to say.Â
So Viktor continues.
âI would hate for your last memories of me to be tainted with despair and hospitals only for all the struggle to go to waste when I inevitably pass away. I have no desire to postpone this torture at the expense of growing indifferent towards everything that makes me feel alive.âÂ
âBut what if we manage to cure you?!â
âThatâs too much of a âwhat ifâ to risk dying a grim death for. I want to dieâŚcontent. I want to enjoy myself before I do. Please. Donât take that choice away from me.â
His eyes brim at you with every ounce of guilt he possesses, big tears wallowing in his eyes like an earnest pleaâtacit, weary, earnest. Yes, itâs not like you have a word in his terrific decision, but Viktor wants your blessing. Itâs only right that he includes you. Even if heâs intending to refuse the treatment regardless. As absurd a bid as that is.Â
You clasp his face like itâs about to vanish. Like you wonât be able to make it out when heâs gone if you fail to remember it right this instant, your gaze frantically jumping from one feature to another, seeking to embroider the image into your very eyeballs. Roaming over the artifically-white hospital light hallowing every streak of his hair. Indulging in a bittersweet smile when you note how prettily it spills over the pillow. Lingering on the patterns in his ochre irisesâalmost fully swallowed by his void-like pupils. Observing how they match the insomniac, mauve shades under his bottom lashes. Tracing every convex little thingâtwo lovely moles, thick eyebrows, the pointy mouth. Everything youâve grown to love so dearly. Everything his illness keeps taking away from you.Â
You wince, cradling his cheeks, your thumbs dipping into the hollows of them gently. Urging him to scoot closerâeye to eye, lips on lips. Breath over shuddering breath.Â
âAre you sure?â You mouth the question on his skin, barely even uttering it. Hot pressure meanders into your head like a prickly impulse. Itâs timid like motion sicknessâborderline nauseating, tooâall murky splashes of trippy lights under your closed eyelids. And the unease is diluted only when he finally kisses youâan approbatory, guilt-ridden thing.Â
Heâs certain. And for that, heâs so, so sorry.Â
You try not to think of it, focusing on the feeling. No tongue, no teeth: just sheer tremor and so much rawness. A soft, soothing exhalation straight into your mouth like the gentlest of placebosâand yet, it works for you, slaps your pulse out of its frantic antics, and the stiffness slowly leaves your limbs under his touch.Â
When itâs over, he winces at you in that sleepy, adoring way of his. Attempts a wry, sad smile. The cold light besieges his head into an even clearer haloâa foreshadowing of what is to come, an inconspicuous little thing. But everything about him is conspicuous to you. Loving Viktor has made you wary, and you wanted to hold onto that attention to the detail before it eventually slips away alongside him.Â
 âAre you sure?â You repeat, tightening the inadvertent chokehold around his neck. The grip weakens only when he pulls away to clumsily clear his throat.Â
âYes.â And you know he means it when his face turns just as solemn as when he confesses his love to you.Â
âIâve had a nice life with you,â he adds, hoarsely. âI want it to feel nice when my time comes, tooâwhenever that might be. Sooner than later, I presume.âÂ
The figurative knife in your stomach twists anticlockwise.Â
âWill you stay with me?â He dares to inquire. Meek, shaky hope tingling in his throat. âFor however many months I have left?âÂ
And when you look up at him with a hurt frown, heâs reminded not to ask you rhetorical questions.Â
âÂ
A few days later, Viktor is discharged from the hospital and insists that you both go back to normal. Well, to the new, tainted definition of itâwhere one spoiled napkin less is considered an ephemeral improvement and grief is a fixed variable by your side.Â
Your slow-paced, quiet life that keeps turning even more timid in a frail attempt to savor whatâs left of it. Faux preservation, but he allows itâsavors it just as earnestly as you do, and your weeks weave into a darling, familiar routine. With some minor, necessary changes, no less: rest comes before the lab now, all deadlines fashionably late to accommodate this newfound tempo. Mandatory hourly breaks. Weekly check-ups. Four days off for every three he spends bent over the parchment. But this time, he doesnât protest. His body demands it, inconveniently so.
You donât tell anyone about your horrific arrangementânot yet, at the very least. Itâs all you can think about, and the words threaten to slide out every time you speakâbut youâre forced to swallow them with a smile so lopsided that everyone around you can only suspect the worst. A mantra of countless âWhatâs wrongâs irritating your ears with pure sincerity.Â
What is wrong with you, indeed? Youâre a spectator to deathânot just any death, but the one you dreaded most. And not only are you witnessing it in the making, but this decision was never forcedâyou handed Viktor the choice and accepted whatever he went with so obediently that it felt absurd, and it had your skin crawling every time someone vaguely mentioned anything even remotely related to his condition.
But theyâwhoever that refers toâcould never get it. They wouldnât know what itâs like: to be stripped of your selfishness for the sake of Viktorâs peace. Defying your needs. Forcing yourself to find relief in demise. You mightâve failed to intimidate her into allowing you to keep him, but you could still accompany him into her arms and make it glorious. Here it is. Your new, appalling reason. Itâs all that you want now.
Or is it?Â
Thereâs plenty of nobility in being his chaperoneâwelcoming him into bed every night, painfully aware that it can become his death one. Treating every new invention of his like a soon-to-be postmortem legacy. Mourning the living. Anticipating the inexplicable. Marking every shared kiss the last, just in case.Â
But then it cameâunabashed and sudden. That blurry line where mourning merges into something dubious, a confusing paradox that leaves you full of filthy carry-over somewhere within your gut. The scorch his lips engrave into the column of your neck. The way it ignites a swell you can almost convince yourself is actually tangible, running your fingers over it recursively like a tactile little prayer. The gaze he throws at you across the lab ever so sneakilyâa figurative punch that feels surprisingly close to a kiss. And you never resist turning it into one. Escalating. Claiming. Indulging those ambiguous, yet-to-be-defined things and having them wash over the remnants of your decorum.Â
You try to fight it when it first happens, but it doesnât last. Thereâs no place for restraint in griefânot when it turns into a beautiful desire to be all over him, to take everything life has to offer before he runs out of it. And Viktor doesnât judge you. He encourages it. He craves it, just as badâif not moreâthan you do. How many more undoings can he claim before the final one absorbs him? Youâve already lost that count. So much for having your love bleed on every inch of his skin.
Tonight you let it bleed mouth to mouthâa sweaty, heartfelt thing that commemorates your hunger for him in a kiss so dizzying that he has to lean back with a silent, breathless plea for brief interludeâfoggy eyes staring up at you so devotedly. Shuddering, when your arms wander over his chest to feel the rasp, pointed lips bruised full of spit-slick swell. Heâs a beautyâexquisite, albeit worn-down, his lines and angles blurring together into one eager, contourless essence, and you cage him in a firm straddleâyour bare thighs over his clothed onesâgrinding in a whiny attempt to reach him through his pants.Â
âIâm sorry,â you mumble, leaning back to let him breathe. Heâs sprawled out beneath you, tortuous hands already busy with tugging his tie offâimpatient, clumsily nervous. âI donât know whatâs gotten into me,â you say at last, averting your gaze almost shyly. His fingers lurch to your hip, locking it in a gentle cradle, stilling above your backside in hesitationâasking for a laze caress, pushing your flimsy limits. As if forgetting that you never set those for him. Or, perhaps, he simply likes hearing your excited âyesâ every time. You canât quite figure out which it is.Â
He grabs a handful of you with reverence, and yet thereâs something resilient about that gripâlike he dreads that you might slip through his fingers if he doesnât hold on possessively enough, staring up at you with his head thrown back in a curious, admiring droop. Aiming to dispose of your shirt in a nimble pull. Plotting a sequence of kisses from neck to collarbone.Â
You expect it when he rises on his elbows, then grips the bedframe to shift beneath you in a silly leap. Inelegant, but he couldnât care less, releasing his hips from the hedge of your legs to make you slide up his crotch insteadâa most welcome, brusque change that you adapt to in a squealing instant. Your moaning mouth agape under his grin. His hips thrusting through restraining fabric. Shaky. Erotic. With your arms tumbling astride his shoulders.Â
âDonât apologize,â Viktor insists in a lulling whisper, switching to a cautionary nip on your ear. âIâve missed you, too,â he confesses somewhere into your hair, brushing through it with a tip of his noseâbreathing you in through a tender whiff. Â
Your words get lost in a deep fluster, rolling back into your throat and lingering there in a suffocating lump. They have you stiffening, heavy eyelids squeezing shutâa voluntarily blindfold to help you explore him through touch only. An invitation to feel you where he pleases. And, wellâit just so happens that your whims align with hisâa cohesive, welcome collateral.Â
Viktor starts at the slope of your shoulder. Pulls the shirt down and traces that lovely curveâfingers first. Throws a brief, askance glance at your face to make sure that your eyes are closed, and, when met with the flutter of your lashes, gets back to his lovely tease. Tender, warm lips taste your skin with delicious, savoring sounds. Getting wetter when his tongue makes a fickle appearanceâleaves a slick, capricious lick in the dip of your collarbone, fluffy hair tickling your face when he bends to tend to your chest, tooâand you shiver as he sucks a plum love-stain that youâll proudly wear under your shirts.Â
âSee,â he cooes. âWhatever gets into you must be contagious.âÂ
You give in to a half-lidded peek and find him begging for your assistanceâa sweet request that you understand in half-nod. Arms up in the air and over your clouded head when he unleashes your skin from the thin garmentâthrows it on the floor for you to find later in the morning.Â
âBut it feels wrong.â You sigh. âEver since we found outâŚâ
âIâd rather you quit talking about that in bed, please,â Viktor reproaches, eyes heady with want. His fingers slide into your underwear, contemplating its fateâshould he make it join your shirt or pull it to the side in hasty fashion? Either approach had him shivering at the thought.Â
But the sudden sorrow stops the rush, rendering your urge for consolation. It wraps you around him all over again, legs locking in a tangle around his waist, drooping hands combing through his hair in a brusque, fervent tug. Seeking succor. Heart to heart and thumping an anxious march.Â
âIâm afraid,â you admit, but itâs not a revelation. All shuddering shoulders under his idolatrous caress, and you pang with guilt at that, tooâitâs you who should be fondling him this delicately, warm reassurance seeping into his earsânot yours. But Viktor wants to be your comfort. If anything, itâs the only thing on his mind.
âWhat are you afraid of, beloved?â A little shiver at the unforeign endearmentâa rare occasion. His thick brows still drawn together in a concerned arc. They relax only when you rake your fingers down his bodyâcounting ribs, toying anxiously. The hurry is gone, thereâs only caution now: his enamored eyes, waiting for you to find your slippery words.Â
âOf losing you before I get to show you how much I love you.â You whisper, suddenly tasting teary salt in your mouth. His thumb comes to the rescue, swiftly flicking the wet trails. So you chuckle at the affection in a silly stagger to bump sweaty foreheads together.
âNonsense,â he insists. âYouâre showing me right now.â
âIndeed.â You shrug. âBut⌠Is this the right way?âÂ
And when he puts your palm over his eager heartbeat, youâre reminded not to ask him rhetorical questions.Â
â
tags: @zaunitearchives @blissfulip @nausicaaandhermouth @thehistoriangirl @vyshnevska
#viktor arcane#viktor fanfic#arcane season 2#viktor x reader#arcane season two spoilers#viktor angst#viktor smut#viktor x reader smut#viktor x gn!reader#viktor x f!reader#viktor x m!reader#viktor x any reader really#not specified AT ALL#wrote this in severe writers block so please be nice to me#im serious ill cry#arcane fanfic#arcane angst#viktor arcane angst
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simon makes weekly visits to your flower shop, leaving you curious about the person heâs mourning.
pairing. simon âghostâ riley x reader
word count. 4.2k
Every Tuesday, exactly at three in the afternoonânever a minute early, never a minute lateâhe walks into the shop. Simon always looks the same: tired and drained, pale skin stark against the bruised shadows under his eyes. The cracked red of his lips stands out like a wound, and the way he moves, slow and heavy, makes it seem like sorrow clings to him, weighing him down like an old coat that doesnât quite fit. Among the bright flowers and soft light of the shop, he stands out like a dark cloud against a summer sky.
"Just a bouquet," he mutters, his voice rough, as though speaking is a struggle.
You grip the counter a little tighter, his presence unsettling yet familiar by now. "Any flowers in particular?" you ask, knowing what the answer will be.
"Doesnât matter," he says, shaking his head. "Whatever works. Iâm not staying long."
He avoids your gaze, as he always does, like looking at you would be too much. The question lingers at the edge of your tongueâWho are the flowers for? Why every week?âbut you hold it back. The weight that surrounds him warns against prying too deep, like a thin layer of ice ready to crack.
Instead, you turn away and begin gathering the flowers. You choose yellow and orange roses, soft lilies, daisies, and carnationsâdelicate blooms that contrast with his rough edges. For some reason, the usual kraft paper wrap feels wrong today, so you arrange them in a small white basket instead.
He always drops more than enough money into the animal shelterâs donation bucket by the door, so you add a few extra rosesâyour own small gesture to a man who seems to be carrying too much on his back.
When you finish, you find him standing at the far end of the store, idly turning over small trinkets in his large hands. His fingers brush the edges of old picture frames and porcelain figurines, movements careful, almost reverent, like heâs touching something that once meant something.
You approach him quietly, the bouquet in hand. "Will you be back next week?" you ask softly as you hold the flowers out to him.
Your fingers brush hisâjust for a secondâand itâs enough to make him freeze in place. His breath catches, and something shifts in him, like a fault line trembling just beneath the surface. His expression flickers, the tired vacancy in his eyes replaced by a sharp, aching sorrow.
"I⌠I shouldnât be here," he mutters under his breath, as if heâs only now realizing it. His hand retreats from the bouquet, and for a moment, he stands there, lost, as though the ground beneath him has crumbled.
Before you can say anything, he takes a step back, stiff and disoriented, his shoulders weighed down by something unseen. "SorryâŚ" he mumbles, though youâre not sure who the apology is meant for.
Then, without another word, he turns and strides toward the door. The bells jingle softly as it swings open, letting in a gust of cold, rain-scented air. You watch as he disappears into the storm, swallowed by the rain, leaving only the faint scent of flowersâand the feeling that heâs carrying far more than anyone ever should.
You donât see Simon for three long weeks. And when he returns, itâs not inside the shopâbut at three in the morning, under the flickering glow of a streetlamp outside.
He stands there like a shadowâsilent, worn, and distant, as if he exists somewhere far from this moment. His hood is pulled low over his unkempt hair, and his black jacket, torn across the chest, looks like itâs been through just as much as he has. One hand rests in the pocket of his jeans, the other dangles at his side, knuckles split and raw, as if heâs been fighting battles no one else can see.
At his feet lies a crushed rose, its petals scattered near the bushes where it must have fallen. And for a moment, you wonder if his heart lies there tooâshattered and discarded among the ruins.
You step out into the quiet street, the cold biting your skin as you approach. Words linger on the tip of your tongue, but youâre not sure if anything you say will be enough. The silence between you is thick, oppressive, as if the night itself is holding its breath.
A distant siren wails through the empty streets, and a group of strangers staggers past, their drunken laughter too loud for the hour. One bumps into your shoulder, and the force sends you off-balanceâstraight into Simon.
He catches you easily, his grip steady and firm. But he doesnât react. No flicker of emotion, no soundâjust the same vacant stare, his gaze lost somewhere you canât follow.
"Does any of this even matter?" His voice is low, frayed, and cold, as if itâs been left out too long, ready to snap.
You crouch down, gathering the crushed petals by his feet. "What do you mean?" you ask softly, trimming away the thorns with the small scissors always tucked in your work bag.
"Buying flowers for someone whoâs goneâŚ" He pauses, his words falling heavily from his lips. "Whatâs the point? Theyâll never see them. Theyâll never know they were meant for them."
The crack in his voice is small, but it slices through the night, sharp and raw. You know that kind of griefâthe kind that lingers beneath the surface, waiting for a moment to break free.
"Maybe itâs not for them," you say gently. "Maybe itâs for⌠the ones left behind. Trying to find something beautiful in the loss."
For a moment, his gaze softens. Just slightly. Just enough for you to see the exhaustion hidden beneath the rough edges.
"Do you need a ride home?" you offer, voice careful, trying not to push too hard.
He shakes his head, glancing down the empty street, his expression slipping back into something unreadable. "I shouldnât have come here," he mutters, raking a hand through his tangled hair, frustration bleeding into his tone.
"You called," you remind him quietly. "Donât you remember?"
You must be insane, coming after a man this massive. When his call came, you answered without hesitation, not stopping to think how reckless it was to trust a customer you knew nothing about. Rationality had left you somewhere along the way.
âSuch a savior you are.â A bitter laugh escapes him, more a sigh than sound. "You shouldnât waste your kindness on someone like me."
After months of quiet visits and fleeting conversations, itâs hard to believe he was ever a stranger. Youâve learned the way he pulls away just before he opens up, the way sorrow clings to him like an old wound that refuses to heal.
Simon flicks open a lighter, the tiny flame flickering between his fingers. The cigarette at his lips glows faintly as he inhales, the smoke curling into the cold air.
"You shouldnât try to save me," he mutters, more to himself than to you. "Iâm already lost."
You donât push him for answers, knowing he wonât give them. "Iâll call a cab," you say gently.
"Why?" His voice cracks, raw and tired. The cigarette trembles slightly between his fingers. "Why are you being kind to me?"
Your heart tightens with the weight of everything you canât explain. Thereâs no logic to how you feelâno clear reason for the pull that keeps drawing you to him. All you know is that ever since Simon walked into your shop, something within you shifted, and the thought of letting him slip away now feels unbearable.
"I donât have anywhere to go," he admits quietly, his voice breaking under the weight of the confession. "Sheâs gone. Thereâs no one left."
The way he says it. Itâs not just a statement. Itâs a confession, a truth too heavy to carry alone.
"Loving someone that muchâŚ" You search for the right words, careful not to tread too heavily. "Itâs not something you just let go of. It stays with you because it mattered."
He doesnât answer right away, his gaze drifting toward the sky where the moon hides behind thick clouds. The weight of the night presses down on both of you, but you stand there with him, sharing the quiet until it feels just a little less overwhelming.
And this time, Simon doesnât walk away.
Simonâs frame fills the entrance, broad and imposing, but the way he stands, rigid and hesitant, makes him seem smaller somehowâweighed down by something invisible yet heavy.
"Hi, Simon," you greet him gently, already sensing the weight he carries. "Visiting her grave today?"
For a moment, his expression flickers, as if your words pulled him back from somewhere far away. "Whoâ?" He catches himself, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. "Yeah⌠yeah, I am."
You nod, knowing better than to press. Some things are only said when the time is right. "Anything specific youâd like for the bouquet?"
He shakes his head, his gaze dropping to the floor. "Whatever you think is nice⌠something youâd like."
The simplicity of his words catches you off guard, unexpectedly personal. Your breath hitches, but you hide it behind a small smile. You step behind the counter and begin gathering flowers: soft pink roses, delicate white lilies, and sprigs of lavender. Something light, hopeful, but not too muchâa bouquet that balances beauty and sorrow without overwhelming either.
The silence stretches between you. Not uncomfortable, but thick with things unsaid. You can feel his gaze following your hands, watching as you arrange the flowers with practiced care. You wonder what it must be like for him, visiting her grave week after week, carrying a grief that never really leaves.
"It canât be easy, coming by this often," you say gently, your voice soft as you focus on the bouquet. "That must be hard."
He shifts slightly, his shoulders sagging under the weight of something invisible. "No⌠itâs not," he admits, his voice low and rough, as if the words scrape on the way out. "But it feels right. Iâll do anything to see her."
You pause, heart aching at the rawness in his voice. As you finish tying the bouquet with a soft ribbon, you hand it to him. "She must have been lucky to have you," you whisper. "If youâve been giving her flowers this often."
Simonâs hand hovers over the bouquet for a second, the compliment hitting him deeper than you expected. He shakes his head slowly, a sad, bittersweet smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
"Not as lucky as I was to have her," he murmurs, voice quiet but filled with something raw and unguarded.
For a moment, the world narrows to the two of you. His hand brushing against yours as he takes the bouquet, the warmth of his fingers a sharp contrast to the cold weight of his words.
"I'm sorry, by the way," he mutters, glancing down at the flowers, then back at you. "For disturbing you the other night."
His apology catches you off guard, not because itâs needed, but because itâs so unexpected coming from him.
"Itâs alright," you say softly, offering a small smile. "You didnât disturb me."
Simon gives you a subtle nod, as if the exchange carries more meaning than either of you will say aloud. Then, with the bouquet cradled gently in his hands, he turns toward the door.
The bell chimes softly as he steps out into the night, vanishing into the shadows beyond the streetlampâs flickering glow. You stand there for a moment longer, heart heavy with something unnameable.
Simonâs presence was different todayâdarker, heavier. The quiet energy that usually followed him had given way to something more burdensome. His broad shoulders sagged as if carrying the world, and his gaze was distant, clouded with thoughts too deep to share.
You offered him a small smile, though you could feel the tension radiating from him. âHey, Simon.â
He tried to return the gesture, but it didnât reach his eyes.
âHey,â he muttered, voice thin and tired, like it barely crossed the space between you.
Concern stirred in your chest, tugging you away from the counter. âYou seem⌠off today. Wanna get out of here for a bit?â
He blinked, surprised by the suggestion, but didnât protest. Maybe he was too tired to refuse.
âCome on,â you said, grabbing your jacket from the hook by the door. âIâve got a place I think youâll like.â
The drive was quiet, but not uncomfortable. Simon sat beside you, his gaze fixed on the passing scenery, lost in thoughts he wasnât ready to share. You didnât press him. The hum of the tires on the road filled the silence, carrying the two of you away from the noise of town and into somewhere softer, quieter.
The sun hung low in the sky by the time you arrived, casting the field ahead of you in warm hues of gold and lavender. Wildflowers swayed gently beneath the breeze, stretching out toward the horizon as if they could touch the fading light.
Simon stepped out of the car slowly, his breath catching slightly as he took in the sight before him. The field seemed endless, open and freeâa stark contrast to the burdens he carried.
You sat cross-legged among the flowers, and Simon followed, settling beside you with his arms draped over his knees, staring out at the horizon like he was searching for something lost in the past.
For a long time, neither of you spoke, the breeze carrying the scent of flowers and filling the silence between you. Eventually, Simonâs voice broke through, low and rough like a confession.
âItâs been a year⌠since she passed.â
The words were simple, but they carried the weight of deep, unrelenting grief. His gaze stayed fixed on the sunset, as if watching the sun disappear beneath the earth brought him closer to her.
âIâm sorry, Simon,â you whispered, wishing there was more you could offer him. âWhat was she like?â
At first, he stayed quiet, and you wondered if you had asked too much. But then, in a voice soft with nostalgia, he said, âA lot like you.â
The simplicity of the statement caught you off guard.
âHow so?â you asked, glancing toward him.
A faint, bittersweet smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.
âShe loved flowers,â he murmured. âUsed to fill the apartment with them, even though I told her it was too much. Sheâd just laugh and say there was no such thing as too many flowers.â
You could see it clearlyâa home bursting with blooms, her laughter filling every corner, her presence bringing life to everything she touched. Now, it made sense why he returned to your shop so often.
Hoping to ease the heaviness in the air, you plucked a dandelion from the ground and held it toward him with a playful grin.
âMake a wish.â
Simon eyed the dandelion, a tired chuckle slipping from his lips.
âWishes donât work like that,â he muttered, shaking his head.
âMaybe not,â you said, twirling the stem between your fingers. âBut itâs worth a shot, isnât it?â
He huffed another quiet laugh, the sound brief but genuine.
âAny chance you got a whole field of these somewhere?â
You tilted your head in mock consideration. âNot yet,â you teased. âBut weâve got this one, and Iâd say thatâs a good start.â
He shakes his head lightly, but the corners of his mouth lift ever so slightly. Itâs a small smileâbarely thereâbut itâs something, and thatâs enough for now.
After that quiet evening in the field of flowers, something shifted between you and Simon. His visits became longer, lingering beyond the brief exchanges of bouquets. What had once been fleeting moments stretched into hoursâsometimes the entire dayâas if your presence gave him a sense of peace he hadnât felt in years.
But Simon didnât just idle. He threw himself into the heavy work around the shop without a word. If there were heavy pots to lift or supplies to haul, Simon was already on it before you could even ask.
"Iâve got it," he would mutter whenever you tried to help, brushing you off with that quiet determination. He lifted bags of soil with ease, rearranged displays as if it was nothing, and hauled boxes of supplies like they weighed no more than feathers. Heâd even repair things you hadnât realized were brokenâfixing wobbly shelves or leaky faucets without waiting to be asked.
He worked with an intensity that didnât match the simplicity of the tasks, as if lifting heavy things or rearranging displays was more than just helpingâit was his way of staying close to you. The repetition, the quiet rhythm of it, seemed to steady something deep inside him, keeping him grounded. If exhausting himself with work meant he could be near you a little longer, heâd do it without a second thought.
Some days, the two of you would talk as you worked side by side. Youâd tell him the little frustrations of the shopâhow the clippers were always dull, or how the ribbon spools always seemed to run out at the worst time. Youâd walk him through the same explanations, over and over again, with the same quiet enthusiasm every time. And every time, Simon would listen. Closely. Intently. Like your words were something invaluable.
But the truth was, it wasnât new to him.
He knew the rhythm of your voice, the way you moved effortlessly between tasks, your hands brushing over scissors, twine, and ribbons with ease. It was too familiar, a life he once knewânow distant, fragmented, slipping through his fingers.
And every time you smiled at him, he had to remind himself: She doesnât remember. She doesnât know me.
You werenât the same woman who had once filled his life with flowers and light. The way you arranged bouquets, the way you laughed, the way you tilted your head when you talkedâit was all a little different now. Not enough for most to notice, but to Simon, the subtle differences were glaring.
And still, the pull of familiarity was there, undeniable.
There were moments when he stood too close, lingering a little too long, as if searching your face for something lost to time. When the memories became too sharp, heâd force himself to remember: Sheâs not her. Sheâs not the same.
But the words didnât stop the way his heart softened toward you.
The quiet comfort of your presence, the sound of your voice filling the shop like sunlight through the windowsâhe found himself craving it. If he could stay busy hauling heavy pots, rearranging shelves, or carrying supplies just to stay close, then that was what he would do.
You werenât the same woman heâd lost. But in ways that scared him more than anything, you were becoming just as important.
âHere,â you said, holding the flower out to him.
Hyuck blinked, caught off guard. âFor me?â
You nodded, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. âYeah. It suits you.â
He stared at the rose in your hand, hesitant at first, as if he didnât quite know what to do with it. But then, with a small, uncertain smile, he reached out and took it. His fingers brushed against yours in the exchangeâsoft, fleeting, but enough to make something stir quietly between you.
âWhy a rose?â he asked, twirling the stem between his fingers.
You shrugged, tilting your head thoughtfully. âBecause itâs beautiful, obviously.â
He gave a short laugh, the kind that carried both amusement and disbelief. âDid it remind you of me?â
âMaybe,â you teased, your grin widening. âOr maybe you just needed one. Ever think of that?â
He looked down at the rose in his hands, the smile lingering on his lips. For a moment, the usual shadows behind his eyes seemed to lift, replaced by something softer.
âThanks,â he murmured, his voice quiet but sincere.
You leaned against the counter beside him, close enough that your shoulders nearly touched. âRoses are special, you know. They mean different things depending on who gives them.â
He glanced at you, curious. âAnd what does it mean when you give one to me?â
You smiled, the answer slipping out before you could stop it. âIt means I want you to keep coming back.â
For a moment, Simon just looked at you, his expression unreadable. His breath hitched, and the weight of your words settled between you like the scent of roses on a warm breeze. Something flickered in his eyes, something that looked almost like recognition, but not quite.
He gave the rose a little twirl between his fingers before tucking it carefully into the pocket of his jacket, as if it were something precious.
"Iâll keep coming back," he whispered, the words low like a vow meant only for the two of you.
In that quiet moment, surrounded by flowers and the slow hum of the day, something shifted between youâsomething delicate, like the first petals of a rose unfurling under the warmth of spring. You felt it bloom, soft and new, even though you couldnât fully name it.
But Simon knew.
Because as much as he tried to convince himself that you werenât the same woman he had once lovedâwerenât the same person who had filled his world with lightâthis moment, the way you smiled at him, felt like a memory he had been chasing for years.
And as he stood there, with a rose tucked safely in his jacket and the sound of your voice lingering in the air, he knew he was already lost to youâjust as he had been once before.
And this time, no matter how hard he tried, he wasnât sure he could let go.
So, Simon stayedâlifting, moving, fixingâworking himself to the bone, not because the tasks needed doing, but because he needed this. Needed you. Even if you didnât know who he was, even if you couldnât remember the life you once shared, he remembered enough for both of you.
And being near you, no matter how different things were, was better than being without you at all.
The evening settled over the quiet town, the cool air thick with the scents of late autumn and flowers nearing the end of their bloom. Simon's steps dragged as he made his way toward your flower shop, exhaustion settling deep in his bones from weeks away on deployment. His body was used to this kind of weariness, but the heaviness in his chest, that was something else entirely.
Between his fingers, he toyed with the rose. The one youâd given him weeks ago, now dry and brittle, its once-vibrant petals curled and shriveled. He had carried it with him everywhere, like a lifeline, as if holding onto it might somehow keep him connected to you.
As he approached the familiar glow of the shopâs windows, Simon slowed. When he peered through the glass, he froze.
You were inside, dancing under the soft overhead lightsânot alone, but with another man. His hands rested at your waist, and your smile was radiant, carefree in a way Simon hadnât seen in what felt like a lifetime. Even through the glass, he could see the happiness in your face. Happiness that used to belong to the two of you.
The knot in his chest twisted painfully. He knew things had changed. People moved on, especially when left with no answers, no promises. But seeing you like this, with someone else, felt like a knife to the gut he wasnât ready for.
He thought of the accidentâthe one that had shattered your life and stolen your memories. The memory was jagged and relentless, lodged in his mind like a blade he couldnât pull out. He could still hear the screech of tires, the shatter of glass, and your voice, soft and afraid, just before everything went dark.
You had been with him that night. Trusted him. And he had failed. The guilt twisted in his chest, blooming like thorns, sharp and unforgiving. If he had been more careful, maybe you wouldnât have ended up in that hospital bed, lost to the world. Lost to him.
Inside, the man twirled you effortlessly, your laughter filling the shop with warmth. To you, the accident, the hospital, and everything you shared with Simon had never happened. But for Simon, it was a moment he could never escape. A scar that bled every time he thought of it.
He remembered sitting at your bedside in the hospital, the sterile smell of antiseptic filling the room. Your body had been bruised and broken beneath the white sheets, and your momâs sharp voice echoed in his mind.
âYou prick yourself because you donât know how to take care of flowers,â she had said, her words as cold as the machines keeping you alive.
Simon hadnât argued because she was right. He didnât know how to care for flowersâor for you, not without breaking something delicate in the process. Heâd tried. God, heâd tried. But trying hadnât been enough. And now, he stood outside your shop, watching you dance with someone elseâwatching you live a life where he no longer had a place.
If it were beforeâbefore the accident, before the memories slipped awayâhe might have begged for more time. A proper goodbye. Maybe even a lifetime spent loving you until the flowers grew over his grave, the weeds plucked away so only beauty remained.
But now, he stood outside, a ghost at the edge of your new beginning.
The worst part wasnât seeing you in someone elseâs arms. It was knowing that you had no idea what you once meant to him. That every time youâd asked, "Visiting someone special?" you never realized it was youâyour memoryâhe was mourning.
You didnât remember the nights when your fingers ran gently through his hair, quieting his restless thoughts. You didnât remember the mornings tangled in bedsheets that smelled like the roses from your shop, or the lazy afternoons when youâd hold up dandelions with that teasing grin of yours.
"Make a wish, Si," youâd say, eyes bright with playful mischief.
And every time, heâd push the flower back toward you with a soft, knowing smile. "I donât need to. I already have everything I need."
And back then, it had been true.
But now, standing outside your shop with the brittle rose clutched between his fingers, Simon realized just how much he had lost. Not just you, but the version of himself who once believed love could be enough.
He knelt slowly at the threshold, placing the dried rose among the wilted petals and fallen leaves scattered near the entrance. The petals cracked under his touch, their fragility mirroring the ache in his chest. He didnât bother plucking the petalsâdidnât need to play the old game of âshe loves me, she loves me not.â Love, he knew, didnât need an answer. It just was, even if it went unremembered.
Through the window, he watched you again, the man spinning you under the soft light, your laughter carrying in a way that felt like a distant memory.
And despite the sharp ache in his heart, Simon smiledâa small, sad thing, but genuine.
He had loved you once. More deeply than words could ever express. He still did. Even if you didnât remember. Even if you never would.
Maybe that had to be enough.
With a deep breath, Simon tucked his hands into his pockets and turned away from the shop, his boots heavy against the pavement as he walked into the night. Behind him, the dried rose rested among the dead petals and brittle leaves, marking the spot where he let you goânot because he wanted to, but because he had no other choice.
The cool night air wrapped around him as he walked down the empty street. He thought of those dandelion afternoons, how you used to hold the flowers up to him with a grin, urging him to make a wish.
And for the first time, Simon let himself wonder what he would wish for now, if given the chance. But deep down, he knew the truth. No wish could bring back the version of you who had once loved him.
With your laugh still lingering in his mind, Simon kept walking.
It wasnât the ending he wanted, but it was the one he had.
And this time, he would learn to live with it.
#sad hours lol#call of duty#cod#cod ghost#simon ghost riley#simon riley blurbs#simon riley headcanons#task force 141#cod x reader#simon riley#simon riley x reader#simon ghost riley blurbs#simon ghost riley headcanons#simon ghost riley x reader#simon ghost riley headcanon#simon riley drabbles#simon riley fanfiction#simon riley x you#ghost headcanons#call of duty ghost#ghost#ghost angst#angst#cod imagines
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overwatch headcanons: how they say "I love you" with Ramattra, Reaper, Reinhardt, Cassidy and Hanzo
a bit angsty and some curse words ahead, but still sfw. donât blame me, I enjoy the suffering and since you're still reading I bet you also do
also silly little juno was SMASHED by writerâs block again, please help sending a headcanon request, but read rules first
Ramattra
doesnât say it at all, actually
he was shaped for violence, hands carefully constructed to murder
the sentience came with grief, sorrow, rage⌠but love? this big fella doesnât even love himself, to begin with
itâs hard for him to cope with affection, to learn the aspects of it, mostly the very subtle nuances of reciprocation
but itâs you, and since you came along, this foreign feeling haunts himÂ
and when you say âI love youâ first⌠heâs so silent youâre scared youâve broken him with this three words alone
âHow is it possible for you to love a being as myself?â
he feels the urge to say something back, but simply canât vocalize the words heâs dying to say
you know heâs overwhelmed already, his pride contrasting his feelings, so you donât push him too far: Ramattra shows you enough
but your words echoes in his systems for days
in one of these, heâs with you as he always do before you fall asleep, and the words just came out
âI may not have a heart, and even if I did, it wouldnât be mine: it would be yours. It always has been.â
itâs not an explicit I love you
no, itâs much better
Reaper
you know what happens between you two must stay secretive
itâs⌠casual, if you can name it such
I mean, he comes to you every damn night, and most of them arenât for sex, but for companyÂ
and the cuddles, of course
you see him past the scars, the shadows⌠what lies beneath it as the ghost of a manÂ
and you love him nonetheless
despite all the danger that comes along with him being one of Talonâs counselors and a declared enemy to Overwatch
until one night, when he doesnât show up and never let you know why
and this one night turns into tons
youâre broken, to say at least
he avoids you, not even a single stolen glance through briefings, no more missions together
you donât know where you manage to find the courage to confront him, but somehow you do, so youâre cornering Reaper himself and demanding an answerÂ
âIsnât it obvious?â
well, of course: you were dumb enough to get to attached
but he steps closer, so surprisingly close you can hear a shallow breath muffled by his mask
the shadows engulf you both before you can blink, and his ghostly touch stops just inches away from your cheek
âIâve risked too much so far⌠but not you, not anymoreâ
you know what he means, you just wish you didnât
he departs with a last glance over his shoulder, to never look back againÂ
if he wasnât who he was, maybe things would be different
yet if things werenât the same, you two wouldnât even met
in the end, youâre left to grief in the graveyard he paths on his way away from you
Reinhardt
heâs a hero and will always be
but that doesnât mean Reinhardt is invincible
thatâs why youâre laying by his side, taking extra care to not accidentally touch the bandages covering his torso
youâre little injured from the last mission, a few scratches maybe
thanks to him, who jumped right into the moment to keep your head glued to your neck
per usual, he would be flourishing the battle tales and his epic acts, his thunderous laugh echoing through the HQ, but now?
the sadness contorting his face breaks your heartÂ
he stares down at you, one calloused thumb tracing under the thin line of the stitches on your cheekbone
âIâve let them hurt youâ
oh⌠so thatâs it
âIf I was a second late⌠I hate to even think of what could've happenedâ
he groans, retreating his hand and looking awayÂ
if he could ever be more dearing, you wouldâve explodedÂ
you cup his face and make Reinhardt look at you once again, reassuring him youâre here, safe and sound, thanks to himÂ
it takes a bit of convincing, but soon enough you hear one of his deep chuckles resonating in his chest and know that youâll be just fine
âI will always be there to protect you, liebling, no matter what it takes. For I could never live in a world where there is no you by my side.â
Cassidy
heâs always flirting and teasing, so you would assume itâs all a joke
despite him throwing his arm over your shoulder and resting his head on yours every goddamn time he has a chance
and if youâre quiet and close enough, you can hear his fast heartbeats pulsing
maybe⌠heâs just affectionate, yeah
not that you see Cole like that with anyone else, but
you could never take him seriously, because he can never be serious for once
itâs always a wink here, a smooth darlinâ there
yet he never makes a move on you that gives you the clarity you need
so itâs it, an eternal what if
until one days he comes from a mission, all dirty and hurt
youâre surprised to see he came straightforward to you, still trying to catch his breath while holding to his injured side
but before you can drop any question, Cole smashes his lips against yours
and it feels holyÂ
he keeps you close when you break the kiss, trying to remind yourself how to breath
his breath is so warm against your face, and that familiar scent of smoke makes your knees weak
âI fucking meant everything Iâve ever said, dollâ
for the way he just kissed you, youâre now sure he doesÂ
Hanzo
Hanzo isnât one to speak about his feelings openly
youâre actually surprised youâre now tiptoeing around some sort of serious relationship
at least, you think itâs serious since you barely leave each otherâs side
itâs extremely hard for him to be vocal about his affection, though
sometimes, he would still flinch when you touch him out of blue
but he loves to run his fingers along your hair, your faceâŚ
your body is his to worship
and thereâs this lazy morning, where heâs kissing your knuckles and embracing your waistâŚ
you just feel you could melt right here, into him
until something cold circles your finger and your eyes snap open
a ring
a FUCKING ring
you stare at him in pure disbelief, eyes so wide they must pop out by any second
Hanzo shows the most loving smile you had ever seen, kissing your ring finger
that now has an actual engagement ringÂ
âBeing with you everyday is still too little time. I wish nothing but foreverness with youâ
#overwatch 2#overwatch x reader#overwatch headcanons#ramattra#ramattra x reader#hanzo#hanzo x reader#cole cassidy#cassidy x reader#reinhardt wilhelm#reinhardt x reader#gabriel reyes#overwatch reaper#reaper x reader#gabriel reyes x reader
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â Ë・ âਠThe Ghost of You ŕ§â Ë・ â
"This thou perceiv'st, which makes thy love more strong // To love that well which thou must leave ere long." -William Shakespeare (Sonnet 73)
PART V: âCAUSE I CANâT TAKE THIS PAIN FOREVER
zombie apocalypse sevika x reader au!: sevika was the super soldier; a killing machine driven solely by survival. you were nomadic, constantly searching for something in whatever was left of the worldâtill you met her.
series masterpost: part I // part II // part III // part IV
wc: 8.3k cw: smut (MINORS DNI!!!) author's note: thank you to everyone who read/comments + i see your tags on the reposts you guys make me gay and sappy with all your support tysm đ (also im so sorry if the smut is so mid Iâm not a smut writer and itâs my second time writing smut ever smhhh)
Fifteen died. Including Grayson.Â
Daylight is spent in a daze of cleaning up, tending to the wounded, and trying to process the magnitude of what's happened. People are trying to piece together what little they can salvage, but the damage is more than just physical.
As night falls, the community gathers for a final farewell. The loss is too great, too much to be exposed under the harsh light of day. The night offers a semblance of protection, a cloak under which everyone can mourn and where grief can be private.
Candles flicker in the hands of those gathered and the atmosphere is thick with sorrow. Families huddle together, some on their knees beside makeshift crosses, others standing in silent clusters. The candles illuminate their tears, turning them into tiny rivers of gold that glisten in the darkness.
You stand by Graysonâs cross, surrounded by those who knew and loved her. Vander, his broad shoulders tense and Ekko clutches his candle so tightly that the wax has begun to drip onto his fingers. Powder leans into Vi, who wraps a protective arm around her sister. Caitlyn stands close, her face a mask of composed grief, but her eyes are red-rimmed and distant. Ren holds onto your hand tightly, her small fingers interlaced with yours.
Your gaze keeps drifting to the shadows, searching for one face in particular. Â
Then, as if conjured by your thoughts, you spot her. Sheâs standing under a tree, half-hidden in the shadows. The candlelight doesnât reach her, leaving her face partially obscured, but you can tell itâs her. She's motionless, almost statuesque, her expression unreadable.
Thereâs something in the way sheâs watching the scene before her that sends a shiver down your spine. Itâs almost as if sheâs already a ghost herself, a spirit haunting the edge of the gathering. Thereâs an emptiness to her, as if the life has been drained out of her and what remains is only a shell, a figure standing over a world she no longer belongs to.
A heaviness resides in your chest, a deep, aching sadness that mirrors the grief of those around you. Graysonâs loss is a wound that cuts deep. She was the heart of this community, the one who held everyone together. And now sheâs gone, leaving behind a legacy that feels too big, too important to carry on without her.
The vigil continues, but you feel a shift in the air, a quiet, unspoken understanding that itâs time to go, that thereâs nothing more to be done here tonight. Slowly, people begin to leave, one by one, their footsteps soft on the grass. You hesitate, your gaze lingering on Sevika one last time. She hasnât moved, hasnât acknowledged your presence or anyone elseâs. Â
As your family and Ren head to a neighborâs house, seeking comfort in numbers, you seek solace in solitude instead.Â
The silence is almost deafening in your room. You close the door behind you, leaning against it for a moment as you let out a shaky breath.Â
Thereâs a soft knock at the door, and for a moment, you think you might be imagining it. But then it comes again, and you push yourself away from the door, your heart pounding in your chest as you reach for the handle.
When you open the door, Sevika is standing there, but sheâs not the woman you remember. Thereâs a hollow look in her eyes, a deep exhaustion etched into every line of her face. Sheâs hunched over slightly as if the weight of everything has finally broken through her defenses.
For a moment, you just stare at each other, neither of you knowing what to say.Â
"What's going on?" you ask, your voice barely above a whisper.
Without a word, she steps into the room, her movements slow and almost hesitant.
"Sevika..." you start, but the words die in your throat as she looks at you. Her eyes, usually so guarded, are now pools of raw emotion.
"I could have lost you yesterday," she says, her voice cracking. "I almost did."
You step back and fall onto the edge of your bed, overwhelmed by the intensity of her gaze, the weight of her words. Â
Sevika falls to her knees before you, burying her face in your lap. Her body shakes, hands clutching desperately at your clothes. The sight of her kneeling before you sends a shockwave through your system. This is Sevika, the woman whoâs always stood tall, whoâs never shown weakness.Â
âPleaseâŚâ The word escapes her lips in a raw, broken whisper, her voice laced with a desperation youâve never heard from her before. âPlease⌠I canât take this pain forever.â
Your hands hover uncertainly over her. Sheâs seeking you, but you find yourself instinctively pushing back, your fingers gripping her shoulders to keep some distance between you. The urge to comfort her wars with the part of you thatâs terrifiedâterrified that if you let her in again, sheâll leave, and youâll be left with nothing but this overwhelming pain. Â
Why now? your eyes ask, the ache in your chest tightening. Why now, when I donât even know if I can trust you not to leave again?
Sevika looks up, her eyes red-rimmed and filled with vulnerability. She reaches for you, but you flinch away, your body betraying your inner turmoil. I wonât, her eyes seem to respond. her hands clinging to you as if youâre the only thing keeping her from falling apart completely.
The push and pull become physical - Sevika's hands grasping at your clothes, trying to draw you in, while you resist, your grip on her arms keeping her at bay. You see the realization dawn in Sevika's eyes as she understands your hesitation. She doesn't speak, doesn't try to persuade you with words. Instead, she simply holds your gaze, her hands loosening their grip but not letting go entirely.
The tension between you is palpable, a living thing that fills the space between your bodies. You can feel it gnawing at you - the fear that sheâll pull away, that this moment will shatter like glass.Â
Slowly, almost imperceptibly, Sevika's resistance fades. She doesn't try to pull you closer anymore, but she doesn't move away either. She simply kneels there, her head bowed, waiting.
It's this surrender that finally breaks through your defenses. Your hands, which were pushing her away, now tremble as they cup her face. You tilt her chin up, meeting her gaze fully for the first time.
What you see there takes your breath away - itâs a steadfast devotion that silences your doubts. At that moment, you understand that she's not going anywhere.
Your hands finally move, your fingers threading through her hair and letting it fall from its ponytail. The moment you touch her, she lets out a shuddering breath, her body sagging against you as if the weight sheâs been carrying has finally become too much.
Sevika sees the hesitation in your gaze, the lingering fear, and something shifts inside her. She surges up, pulling you into a desperate kissâa plea for you to trust her. The kiss is messy, frantic, filled with the need to feel, to connect, to hold onto something real amidst all this.
You respond immediately, your hands drawing her nearâeven though parts of you want to stop and shield yourself from the possibility of losing her again, you canât bring yourself to let go.
Her lips are pressing against yours with a need that makes your heart ache, and you both finally give in to the emotions youâve been holding back for so long. Itâs not like the kiss youâve shared beforeâthis is different. Itâs a commitment to each other that youâve both been too scared to acknowledge until now.
You both fall back onto the bed, your bodies tangling together as you lose yourselves in each other.Â
Your hands are never leaving her, your lips never straying too far from hers. Her bionic hand presses into your back gently, pulling you closer until thereâs no space left between you and you can feel the steady beat of her heart against your chest.
She suddenly pulls you onto her lap. One hand slides under your shirt, causing a shiver to run down your spine, while the other lingers on the small of your back. With a swift movement, she removes your shirt, leaving you feeling exposed and vulnerable under the moonlight cascading through the window.
A blush creeps up your cheeks at the sudden exposure.Â
"You're beautiful." The moonlight dances in her eyes and her voice is filled with sincerity and adoration.Â
Your breath hitches as she leans in and presses a kiss onto your chest, her lips travel lower and lower until she forces a nipple out of your bra. Your gasp quickly turns into a moan as her lips wrap around it and her tongue is swirling, her teeth teasing and biting at the sensitive bud. Â
Your hands find their way into her hair and shoulders, grasping at something to stabilize a desire that feels like it could push you over the edge. As her lips dance across your neck, her tongue tracing the curve of your jaw, you feel your hips surge forward, seeking the friction that will bring you relief. Your hands, still fisted in her clothes, tug her closer, the fabric straining against the pressure. Sevika's fingers, still tangled in your hair, pull your head back further, exposing your throat to her hungry mouth. Her breath is hot against your skin, sending shivers coursing through your veins. You grind into her fingers, a low, desperate moan builds in your throat, and you hear yourself repeating her name like a mantra.
"Sevika, Sevika, Sevika please."
Your legs tremble as you press into her, the thin fabric of your panties rubbing against her fingers, which are still wrapped around you. The pressure builds, a crescendo of need threatening to consume you whole.Â
She teases you, her fingers occasionally dipping inside you before pulling back out to rub against your sensitive nub. Each time youâre on the brink of release, she stops and kisses you deeply, driving you crazy with need.
But finally, when you canât take it any longer, she plunges two fingers inside you. Your fingers dig deep into her shoulder as she sets a steady pace with her fingers, hitting just the right spot inside you that has you writhing in ecstasy.
Youâre panting at her touch, your hips bucking into her hand as she moves her fingers in and out of you, her thumb rubbing circles over your clit. Each touch sends jolts of pleasure through your body, making you crave more and more. She whispers sweet words in your ear along with wicked promises that make you wetter than you could imagine.
You grasp the edge of Sevika's shawl, the delicate fabric slipping through your fingers as you slowly pull it away, exposing her bionic arm to you. The shimmering metal catches the dim light of the room, contrasting beautifully with your warm hands. You canât help but admire the way it seems to glow, each curve and joint blending seamlessly into her skin.Â
Sevikaâs breath hitches at the sight of her exposed arm, and a flicker of vulnerability passes over her face. The vulnerability in her eyes makes you want to show her how incredible she is, and how every part of her makes you feel alive. Â
You lean closer, your lips brushing softly against her bionic arm, feeling the coolness against your mouth as you press gentle kisses along the sleek surface. Itâs smooth, almost soothing, and you feel her relax into your touch. Your breath quickens, merging anticipation and a hunger to worship every part of her.Â
She changes your positions, laying you down gently on your bed till your head sinks into a plush pillow. You can feel the heat radiating off of her body as she begins to kiss down your body. Her lips leave a trail of fire as they make their way down your stomach until they reach the waistband of your panties. She easily removes them and throws them aside. She starts by lightly kissing and licking your inner thighs, slowly making her way towards your center. You can already feel the heat pooling between your legs as she gets closer and closer to where you want her most. Her gaze locks onto yours as her head hovers over your soaked folds.
âJust focus on me,â her voice comes out hoarse and commanding.
Sevika buries her face between your legs and you gasp at the sudden sensation, gripping the sheets tightly. She flicks and sucks on your clit while slipping a finger inside of you, matching the rhythm of her tongue. Thereâs a sense of urgency in the way she looks at you â a primal need that mirrors yours perfectly.Â
Her fingers dig into your thighs, holding you down firmly. You feel yourself getting close, but before you can reach your peak, she stops abruptly.
You whimper in frustration, but itâs quickly replaced with adoration as she climbs up to kiss you, tasting yourself on her lips. Â
âYou got such a pretty body,â She bites teasingly at your ear. âPrettier when itâs a mess for me.âÂ
A course of desire jolts through you at hearing her low and raspy voice whisper those words. Your fingers trace the curve of her shoulder, moving down her arm until you reach her hand. You intertwine your fingers with hers, feeling the coolness of her bionic hand. Sevika blows a hot breath over your glistening mound and you instinctively close your legs around her head.Â
The room immediately fills with the sound of heavy breathing and the soft, wet noises of skin against skin. Her finger curls inside you, causing your back to arch off the bed in pleasure.Â
With each thrust and lap of her tongue, she pushes you closer to the edge. You can feel the tension coiling within youâshe intensifies her rhythm, sucking and teasing in perfect harmony with your body's responses. The sensations build higher and higher until they finally explode within you.
You release with a loud cry, shuddering in ecstasy as the waves of pleasure wash over you, leaving you breathless and utterly consumed in bliss.
When you finally break apart, itâs only to catch your breath. Your bodies are still tangled together, a sticky, wet mess, but neither of you cares. Sevika holds you tightly, her face buried in the crook of your neck.
The room is bathed in soft, silvery moonlight filtering in through the window. The sounds of your soft breathing fill the space, mingling with the faint rustle of the sheets. Everything feels tender, and fragile, like youâre both holding on to something delicate and precious, something that could shatter with the slightest misstep.
Your fingers trace the scar on Sevikaâs cheek, the roughened skin contrasting the softness of her lips. She looks at you, her eyes searching yours as if sheâs trying to read the thoughts that youâre too scared to say aloud.
âI donât want to lose you,â you murmur, your voice trembling with emotion.
âYou wonât,â she whispers back, her lips brushing against yours in the softest of kisses.Â
âPromise me..â Your voice falters, struggling to grasp the idea of not being able to feel her, see her, or touch her like this again. âI donât know how to exist without you.â
âIâd spend the rest of my days searching,â Sevika replies quietly, her gaze unwavering. âEven just for the chance of seeing you again.âÂ
She cups your face with one hand, her thumb brushing gently over your cheek. âIâll always find my way back to you.â
You rest your head on her chest, listening to the steady rhythm of her heart, the sound soothing in a way you hadnât realized you needed. Your fingers trace gentle patterns on her skin and a quiet peace settles over you, a sense of calm that you havenât felt in what seems like forever.
As you lie there, holding each other in the darkness, the world outside seems to fade into insignificance. You close your eyes, letting yourself finally rest, knowing that sheâs here with you, that youâre both in this together. Itâs a fragile peace, but itâs yours, and in this moment, itâs more than enough.
âşËâ・°âŠ
One Year LaterâŚ
The kitchen glows in the warm light, sunlight streaming through the window and illuminating the marble countertops. The sweet aroma of cinnamon and vanilla fills the air as you stir a pot of rice pudding on the stove.
Ren bursts into the kitchen, twirling in her new outfit - a pretty blue dress with matching ribbons in her hair. "Look!" she exclaims, eyes shining with excitement.
You smile warmly. "You look beautiful, honey. Are you ready for dinner at Vander's?"
Ren nods enthusiastically. "Can I go over early? Please?"
"Of course," you reply, giving her a quick hug. "I'll see you there in a bit."
You watch her go, a fond smile lingering on your lips. Ren has become such a central part of your life, switching between living with you and Sevika, and some nights, staying over at Vanderâs with the rest of your family. Dinners at Vanderâs have also become a tradition, starting as a semblance of normality for the kids until you realize that sometimes everyone just needed a family meal too.
You turn back to your work, carefully measuring out the sugar to add to the pudding. Youâre so focused on getting everything just right that you donât notice when Sevika slips into the kitchen. She moves quietly, her steps almost soundless as she approaches the stove. Itâs only when you glance up and see her broad back that you realize sheâs there, her figure blocking the light from the window.
"Hey, you're home," you start to say, but then you spot the spoon in her mouth. "Sev!" you exclaim. "I'm not done with that!"
Sevika turns, the spoon still between her lips. "Tastes good," she mumbles around it, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.
âItâs supposed to taste good when itâs finished,â you retort, gently pushing her away from the stove.Â
Suddenly, you feel Sevika's arms encircle your waist, her body warm against your back. She nuzzles into your neck, placing a soft kiss just below your ear. "Mmm," she hums, "doesnât taste as good as you, though."
âDonât think you can sweet-talk me into letting you try more,â you say, trying to stay focused despite the distraction sheâs providing.
She chuckles again, her deep voice rumbling against your back. âCanât blame a girl for trying.â
You smile, the familiar banter easing you into a comfortable lull. The gentle pressure of her arms around you, the way sheâs so casually affectionate now, fills you with warmth.Â
"Hey, did you bring home any fruit for the pudding?" you ask, turning in Sevika's arms.
You feel her tense slightly, her smile faltering. "Weâre having a bit of a dry season," she says, her tone careful.
The words hang heavy in the air. You know the reality - supplies have been tight lately, with produce struggling to grow and the scavenging teams venturing further each time.
Before you can dwell on it further, Sevika leans in to kiss you, clearly trying to change the subject. But as she does, you catch a whiff of something less than pleasant, and you instinctively pull back, wrinkling your nose.
"Babe, you fucking stink," you blurt out.
Sevika's eyes goes wide in shock, then narrows playfully. "Oh, really?" she growls, trying to pull you closer.
You dance out of her grasp.âGo start a bath,â you say between giggles. âIâll join you in a bit, okay?â
She lets out a noise of disapproval but obeys regardless. âI wasnât that bad,â she mutters as she turns toward the bathroom.
âYes, you were,â you call after her, still grinning as you watch her go. âGo on, Iâll be there soon.â
With Sevika finally convinced, you head to your bedroom to grab some towels.
The bedroom has changed over the past year, becoming more of a shared space than it ever was before. Sevika's red shawl drapes over the back of a chair, while your jewelry glitters on the dresser. The wall above the bed is adorned with colorful drawings - Ren's artwork, depicting your entire makeshift family, the sight of it never failing to warm your heart.
It had started casually enough - a few items of clothing left behind after hurried encounters, a toothbrush appearing in the bathroom. You and Sevika were sneaking around, stealing moments together whenever you could.
When you finally told your family about your relationship, they celebrated, of course.  It wasnât a surprise to themâthey had seen the way you and Sevika gravitated toward each other, the looks you reserved solely for one another. You found yourself practically living at Sevika's, though neither of you had officially acknowledged the change.
Then came the day you noticed the difference in her dresser. The already sparse drawers had been reorganized, creating a dedicated space just for you. Your scattered belongings were neatly arranged, claiming their place in Sevika's life.
You remember standing there, staring at that drawer, your heart swelling with emotion. It was such a small gesture, but it spoke volumes. Sevika, always more comfortable with actions than words, had found her way of saying "stay".
A small smile forms on your lips at the memory as you close the closet.�� Gathering the towels, you head towards the sound of running water.
You settle onto the stool beside the bathtub, watching Sevika relax in the warm, soapy water. Her broad shoulders peek out from the bubbles, her head tilted back slightly as she rests, eyes half-closed in contentment. The sight of herâthis tough, unbreakable womanâ soaking in the bath like she has nowhere else to be, makes you giggle.
"You look adorable."
Sevika cracks one eye open, giving you a playful glare thatâs nowhere near as intimidating as she probably hopes itâll be. "Iâm not adorable," she grumbles.
You reach for a washcloth, gently running it over her back. Your fingers work out the knots in her muscles, and you feel her relax under your touch. The bathroom is quiet except for the soft lapping of water and Sevika's contented sighs.
"Don't get me wet, Sev," you warn as she shifts in the tub.
âI thought I always did,â she shoots back with a sly grin, and before you can react, she splashes a handful of water at you.
The warm water hits you square in the chest, soaking your shirt. You let out a small gasp, and Sevika just laughs, clearly pleased with herself. Â
âNow Iâve got no choice but to join you, huh?â you say, feigning annoyance as you peel off your damp clothes.
Sevika's arms wrap around you as you settle between her legs, your back pressed against her chest. "No funny business," you remind her. "We've got dinner later."
She groans, burying her face in your neck. "Do we have to do that?"
You intertwine your fingers with hers, squeezing gently. "Yes, we all need it. Even you, Miss Grumpy."
Sevika huffs, but doesn't argue further. It's rare to see her act so petulant, and you can't help but find it endearing. You lean back further into her embrace, savoring the warmth of her skin against yours.
A chuckle escapes you as a memory surfaces.
"What's so funny?" Sevika murmurs against your ear.
"I'm thinking about us," you reply, still grinning. "Remember the first time you came to family dinner?"
Sevika groans again, this time in embarrassment. That first dinner had been spectacularly awkward. Sevika, sitting at Vanderâs table, towering over everyone, her presence so imposing that no one knew how to break the ice. You could feel the discomfort radiating from the others as they tried and failed to strike up conversation. Sevika, never much of a talker herself, hadnât made it any easier.Â
"I thought Caitlyn was going to have an aneurysm trying to make conversation," you laugh.
"She kept asking about the weather," Sevika recalls. "As if we don't all live in the same damn place."
âBut my family loves you now.â
Sevika raises an eyebrow. âTheyâre still nervous around me though.â
âTrue,â you admit, chuckling. âBut now they know youâre not going to kill them if they say the wrong thing. Well, most of them know that, anyway.â
âI like to keep them on their toes.â Sevika smirks, her lips brushing against your neck. âCanât let them forget who I am.â
You turn in her arms, facing her now. "I donât think they would be as afraid if they saw you in a bubble bath right now."
She narrows her eyes at you. "Iâm still scary."
"Is that so?" you challenge, your faces inches apart.Â
Instead of answering, Sevika closes the distance between you, capturing your lips in a kiss. You sigh into it, brushing a damp strand of hair behind her ear.
You're nestled against Sevika, the warm water lulling you into a peaceful state when a sharp knock shatters the moment.Â
"Who the hell..." She's about to call out, likely with some choice words, when a familiar voice filters through the door.
"Sevika? You in there?"
It's Ran. Sevika's expression immediately hardens.Â
She gives you an apologetic look as she carefully extracts herself from the tub, wrapping a towel around her body. You remain in the bath, straining to hear the muffled conversation. Snippets reach your earsâ"Silco... needs to see you... scouts..."Â
By the time you've dried off and dressed, Sevika is already changed, her face grim. She's heading for the door, and you follow.
Out on the streets, the usual bustle of Zaun seems subdued. Sevika turns to you, her eyes softening slightly.
"It's just a quick meeting," she assures you, though her tone lacks conviction. "I'll be back, okay?"
You look at her, worry evident in your gaze. She must see it because she adds, "Family dinner is still on. I promise."
You watch Sevika disappear down the street, her words echoing in your mind. Despite her assurances, you can't shake the feeling of unease that settles in your chest. Instead of heading home, your feet carry you to a familiar path.
The old target practice area comes into view, untouched since Grayson's passing. The targets are weathered now, the paint faded and peeling. You moved the practice area after... after everything, but this place still holds a piece of history you canât forget.
You settle onto the worn bench, you could almost hear Grayson's patient voice, the sound of gunfire. Now it's quiet, a ghost of what it used to be.
Lost in thought, you barely notice the approaching footsteps until a shadow falls across you.
"Quite the view from up here, isn't it?"
A manâs voice cuts through your reverie. You look up to see him, his usual sly smile in place.Â
"Mind if I join you?"Â He doesn't wait for an answer before settling onto the bench beside you.
âWhat do you want, Finn?â you ask, your guard instantly up.
âJust wanted a place to admire Zaun,â he replies. "Itâs getting a bit crowded down there.â
You remain silent, wary of engaging. Instead, youâre both gazing out over ZaunâThe community sprawls below, a patchwork of light and shadow.
"You know," Finn begins, his voice casual, "I used to come up here sometimes, watch Grayson train the new recruits. She had a way about her, didn't she? A real vision for what Zaun could be."
You nod, unsure where he's going with this.
Finn continues, his tone thoughtful. "Things have changed a lot since then. More people, less space. Resources getting tighter." He glances at you sideways. "Makes you wonder what Grayson would think of it all."
There's something in his voice that puts you on edge, a subtle challenge. You choose your words carefully. "Grayson always believed in Zaun's potential."
"Ah, but potential for what?" Finn leans in conspiratorially. "It looks like things are starting to fray at the edges. People are getting restless, hungry. And when that happens⌠well, who knows what might come next?"Â
You feel a surge of anger, but you keep it in check, refusing to let him get under your skin. âZaunâs strong,â you say firmly. âSo if youâre trying to stir up trouble, you can take it somewhere else.â
Finn holds up his hands in a placating gesture. "Of course, of course. I'm just thinking about the future, you know? But hey, I'm sure Silco's got it all figured out."
Finn stands, brushing off his pants. "Give my regards to Sevika," he says lightly.Â
"Tell her... we're all counting on her to keep us safe."
âşËâ・°âŠ
You and Sevika walk side by side through the bustling streets of Zaun, the rice pudding cradled carefully in Sevikaâs arms. As you approach the door, you can already hear the sounds of laughter and chatter from inside. Before you can even step over the threshold, a blur of blue barrels into view.Â
Just as Powder rounds the corner, she nearly collides with you, her eyes wide as she skids to a halt. âOops, sorry!â she exclaims, a sheepish grin spreading across her face as she steadies herself. âSorry, double for last time,â she adds with a knowing look.
It had been a few weeks ago, when Sevika was trying to grow out her hair, a fact she was oddly self-conscious about. You guys were standing in the courtyard, watching as Powder excitedly showed off her new contraption, a slime trap shooter she cobbled together from spare parts.Â
The demonstration started off well enough, but suddenly a glob of viscous slime shot out wildly, landing with a wet splat right in Sevika's hair.
Powder's enthusiasm instantly turned into fear as she realized what she's done.The look on Sevikaâs face had been pricelessâa mix of surprise and horror as she reached up to touch the mess clinging to her hair.
âIâm gonna kill that kid,â Sevika grumbled, her voice low and menacing. âMy hair looks like shit.â
Youâd barely managed to suppress your laughter when it first happened, but now in Vanderâs bathroom you couldnât hide your amusement.Â
âSo, thatâs a no on having kids, then?â you joked as you reached for a pair of scissors to help trim the slime-covered strands.
Sevika had turned to look at you, her expression one of shock and something elseâsomething deeper that neither of you had wanted to confront. It was just a small joke, but it carried the weight of a conversation you hadnât yet had, and might never have. Sometimes, you couldnât avoid the fact that this was it for you two.
But you quickly brushed it aside, focusing on the task at hand. As you carefully trimmed the damaged hair, you leaned in close, whispering in Sevikaâs ear, âYouâre sexy already. No amount of slime will change that.â Â
That had earned you a reluctant smile from her in that moment.
"No harm done.â You tell Powder, inconspicuously kicking Sevikaâs feet to agree.
âYeah.â She grunts, and you hold in a snicker at the obvious grudge she held.Â
As you enter the kitchen, you're greeted by the sight of Vander attempting to wrangle a massive pot of stew. Â
âThere you two are,â Vander says, looking up from his cooking. âThought you mightâve gotten lost on the way here.â
âNot a chance,â Sevika replies, setting the rice pudding down on the counter with a grin. âThis one would never forgive me if I missed dinner.â
âDamn right,â you reply. âYou need any help, Vander?â
âNah, weâre about done here,â Vander says, wiping his hands on a towel. âJust need to get everything into the living room. You know how these animals are when theyâre hungry.â
You laugh, grabbing a tray of bread rolls while Sevika grabs a platter of roasted vegetables. She follows you out into the living room, where the rest of the group is already making themselves comfortable. Ekko is lounging on the floor, watching Powder and Ren as they buzz around him. Caitlyn and Vi are chatting quietly in one corner, Viâs arm casually draped over the back of Caitlynâs chair.
âHey you two,â you greet, setting the tray down on a table near the center of the room. âFoodâs here.â
Vi reaches for a roll, and Caitlyn swats her hand. "Wait for everyone, you brute," she says affectionately.
"Come on, cupcake, I'm starving!" Vi whines dramatically.
Soon, everyone settles in various spots around the room, grabbing plates and piling on food. Vander passes around mugs of ale, the rich, amber liquid sloshing slightly as he hands it to the adults.Â
Sevika sits down beside you on the floor, her back against the couch, and you hand her a plate, watching as she loads it up with a bit of everything. Powder's regaling everyone with a tale of her latest explosive experiment, complete with dramatic reenactments.
"You guys won't believe what I made today!" She exclaims, barely touching her food as she launches into her story. "So I took some wires from that old TV we found, and I connected them to a car battery. Then I rigged up this pressure plate..."
"And then - BOOM!" she exclaims, throwing her arms wide and nearly knocking over Ekko's plate.
"Watch it, Pow," Ekko grumbles, but there's no real annoyance in his voice.
The two of you eat in comfortable silence for a while, the sounds of laughter and conversation filling the room around you. As the meal winds down, Powder's eyes light up with a new idea. She bounds over to you and Sevika.
"Hey, hey! You guys wanna play Nerf guns with us?" she asks, her eyes wide and pleading.
Sevika raises an eyebrow.Â
"I modified them. They shoot further now, and I added a cool light-up feature, and-"
"Modified?" Sevika interrupts, looking slightly alarmed, she was already thinking about the last mishap with Powderâs âmodificationsâ.
You laugh at the expression on Sevika's face, she couldnât hide the suspicion and concern written all over it. "Come on, Sev," you nudge. "Could be fun."
Powder's practically bouncing now. "Please? Pretty please? I promise thereâs no slime this time!"
Sevika sighs. "Fine." she concedes.
"Yes!" Powder cheers. "You won't regret it!"
Powder herds you, Sevika, Ekko, and Ren onto the couch, squishing you all together as she stands before you, eyes gleaming with excitement.
âAlright, listen up!â Powder announces, pulling out a set of nerf guns. The colorful plastic weapons are covered in stickers and doodles, clearly customized to her liking. She hands one to each of you.
Sevika takes hers with a skeptical look, turning it over in her hands. âYou canât shoot shit with this,â she mutters, the derision clear in her voice.
âOh, yeah?â Powder smirks, clearly prepared for this. She whirls around, aims at a water bottle perched on the windowsill, and fires. The nerf dart flies across the room and smacks the bottle dead center, sending it tumbling to the floor with a satisfying thud.
Sevika raises an eyebrow, impressed despite herself.Â
âNow that weâve established these arenât toys for babies,â Powder continues, pacing in front of the couch. âhereâs the game: upstairs, thereâs a crown stashed somewhere by Vi. The goal is to retrieve the crown and bring it to Vander downstairs. Upstairs is a no-shoot zone, but downstairs, if youâre hit with a dart, youâre out.â
She claps her hands together, clearly relishing her role as the game master. "Now, we need to split into teams," Powder continues. "Sevika and Ekko, you're one team. And-"
You all glance at Ren, the youngest of the group at just eight years old. There's a moment of awkward silence as everyone tries to figure out how to handle this diplomatically.
"You should take her," you say sweetly.Â
Sevikaâs eyes narrow playfully, already sensing where this is going. âThe kid likes you more."Â Despite being dubious of the game at first, you could tell Sevikaâs competitiveness was taking over.
âI thought this was just a kidsâ game?â you tease, leaning in slightly with a raised eyebrow.
Sevika gives you a sheepish look, clearly caught between her competitive streak and her soft spot for Ren.Â
Feeling a bit guilty, you suggest, "Why don't we let Ren pick?"
Ren beams up at both of you, clearly delighted to have the choice. "I wanna be on your team!" she exclaims, pointing at you and Powder.
âYouâre gonna be our secret weapon,â you whisper, wrapping an arm around Renâs shoulders.
âAlright then,â Ekko chimes in, finally managing to free himself from the couch. âLetâs do this.â
Everyone grabs their nerf guns and heads outside. You can't help but chuckle at the sight of Sevika, usually so intimidating, clutching a bright orange plastic gun with a determined look on her face.
"Alright, teams start at opposite ends of the house," Powder instructs. "When I give the signal, the hunt begins!"
You crouch behind a bush with Powder and Ren, all of you trying (and failing) to look serious with your toy weapons.
"Ready?" Powder calls out. "Set... GO!"
And with that, you all come barreling into the house. Powder darts ahead, her movements quick and erratic. You follow, trying to keep an eye on Ren while scanning for potential ambush spots.
As you round a corner, you come face to face with Sevika. For a moment, you both freeze, nerf guns pointed at each other.Â
"Sorry, babe," you say, not sorry at all as you pull the trigger.
But Sevika's reflexes are faster. She ducks, the foam dart whizzing over her head, and returns fire. You barely dodge, and you take the moment to sneak onto the stairs.
Upstairs, you quickly begin your search, darting in and out of rooms, peeking under beds and behind curtains for any sign of the hidden crown. Renâs small size gives her an advantage as she slips into tight spots that you and Powder canât quite reach.
But despite your efforts, it was nowhere to be found. "How?" you mutter, bewildered.
Powder's eyes narrow, scanning the area. "Ekko," she hisses, pointing to an open window. "He must've climbed up from outside!"
Quickly, you formulate a plan. Ren is dispatched to keep watch with Vander, ensuring Ekko can't make a sneaky victory while you and Powder hunt down Sevika and Ekko.
With that, you guys head back downstairs, moving quietly as you scan the house for any signs of the other team. As you move through the house, you and Powder eventually decide to split up, hoping to cover more ground.Â
It doesnât take long before you spot Sevika, her broad frame moving stealthily through the hallway. She hasnât seen you yet, and you quickly close the distance, pressing yourself against the wall to remain hidden. When she finally turns the corner, youâre right there, catching her off guard.
âDrop the gun,â you command, your voice low and teasing as you pin her against the wall, your body pressing into hers. Sevikaâs eyes widen in surprise, her hands instinctively going up in mock surrender, though thereâs a glint of amusement in her gaze.
âAnd what if I donât?â she murmurs, her lips quirking into a playful smile.
âThen Iâll have to make you,â you reply, your tone equally flirtatious as you lean in closer, the game momentarily forgotten.
"Ewww, get a room!" Ekko's voice breaks the spell. You spin around to find Ekko aiming at you, the crown tucked under his arm.Â
But before you can react, Powder emerges from a doorway behind Ekko, her nerf gun raised and ready. Without missing a beat, she fires a dart that hits Ekko square in the back. âGotcha!â she shouts triumphantly.
Ekkoâs eyes widen in shock as he instinctively drops the crown, clutching his back where the dart hit. âHey, what the fuck, Powder?!â he exclaims, his tone incredulous.
âLanguage, Ekko!â Vanderâs voice booms from the kitchen, echoing through the house.
Taking advantage of the distraction, Sevika quickly knocks the nerf gun out of your hand. But before she can fully capitalize on her victory, you kick the crown down the hallway, sending it skittering toward the kitchen.
âMove kid!â Sevika barks as she grabs Ekko by the arm, dragging him behind a couch. Ekko, still nursing his mock wound, yells out dramatically, âMan down! Man down!â
There's a moment of tense silence, then Ekko's voice pipes up again. "I'm getting healed by a health kit!"
âWhat the hell?â Powder says with a look of utter disbelief. âThereâs no health kit in this game!â
"Yeah, 'cause I took it!" Ekko retorts, popping up from behind the couch and unleashing a barrage of foam darts.
The living room erupts into chaos. You dive behind an armchair, Powder taking cover behind another couch. Foam darts fly in every direction, peppering the air with colorful streaks.
You peek out, catching Sevika's eye across the room. She winks at you before ducking to avoid a well-aimed shot from Powder.Â
"Cover me!" you shout to Powder, making a dash for the hallway where the crown disappeared.
Ekko leaps over the couch, trying to intercept you. "Oh no, you don't!" he yells, unleashing a volley of darts in your direction.
You slide across the hardwood floor, narrowly avoiding his attack. Sevika provides covering fire for Ekko, keeping Powder pinned down.
As you scramble to your feet at the kitchen entrance, ready to grab the crown and make a triumphant dash to Vander, you freeze. The crown is gone.
A throat clears behind you. You turn to see Vander, sitting calmly at the kitchen table. Beside him stands Ren, a victorious grin on her face and the crown placed neatly on Vander's head.
The chaos in the living room dies down as everyone realizes what's happened. Ren's giggles fill the sudden silence.
"I believe," Vander says, his eyes twinkling with amusement, "that we have a winner."
For a moment, you're all too stunned to speak. Then Powder bursts out laughing, followed quickly by Ekko. Soon, you're all in stitches, the absurdity of the situation hitting you all at once.
As you catch your breath, you feel Sevika's arm wrap around your waist. "Canât believe we were outsmarted by an eight-year-old," she murmurs in your ear.
You lean into her, watching as Vander lifts Ren onto his shoulders, parading her around the kitchen as the victor. Ekko and Powder are already arguing about a rematch and new teammates for next time.
As the excitement of the game winds down, Vander glances at the clock. "It's getting late."Â
You nod in agreement, glancing over at Ren. âDo you want to stay at Powderâs or with us tonight?âÂ
Ren's eyes light up. "Stay with Powder!" she exclaims without hesitation.
Before you can even respond, Powder and Ekko are already shepherding Ren up the stairs, their voices a jumble of excited plans for a sleepover.
Caitlyn and Vi exchange a knowing look. "Ooh, you two are finally getting some alone time," Vi teases with a wink.
You feel your cheeks flush with embarrassment, but Sevika seems unfazed.Â
"So, how are those new recruits doing on the walls? Getting the hang of things?"Â You ask, trying to get the attention off you.
Caitlyn's face does a complicated dance between diplomacy and honesty. "Well, they're... enthusiastic."Â
Vi snorts, unable to contain herself. "Come on, cupcake. Tell 'em the truth."
Caitlyn's facade cracks. "Alright, fine. Their aim is absolutely atrocious. I've never seen so many missed targets in my life. We had one recruit who managed to shoot his own hat off."
You all burst out laughing, the mental image too ridiculous to resist.
Vander shakes his head. "Everyday Iâm thankful thatâs not me, I'm getting too old for that kind of headache."
Sevika raises an eyebrow at him. "Not too old to keep experimenting with your homebrews though, are you?"
You all laugh at that. It's true - besides overseeing the community's agriculture, Vander's taken to crafting various meads and ales in his spare time.
"I'll have you know that my brewing skills only improve with age, unlike my patience," Vander puffs up his chest in mock indignation. âAnd I'm taking back the ale from tonight, can't have you lot disparaging my other talents.â
Vi grins. "C'mon, Vander. You know the community needs that alcohol. How else are we supposed to cope with Powder's 'experiments'?"
This sets off another round of laughter, but your conversation is suddenly interrupted when Ren comes downstairs, looking shy and hesitant.Â
"What's wrong, sweetie?"Â
Sevika seems to understand before you do, her voice softening as she reaches out to Ren. âCome on, kid. Letâs get you tucked in.â
The three of you make your way upstairs, the house now quiet as the night settles in. Ren leads you to the bedroom sheâs sharing with Powder and Ekko.Â
Sevika moves to the bed, pulling back the covers and helping Ren climb in. Ren looks up at you both, her eyes wide and a little sad, as Sevika tucks the blankets around her snugly. âCan you get it?â Ren asks quietly.
You follow her gaze to the small play tent in the corner of the room, where she likes to spend her time during the day. You walk over, crouching down to peer inside, and thatâs when you see itâpeeking out from under a pile of toys. Your breath hitches as you recognize it instantly: Graysonâs yellow armband.
You carefully pull it out, the fabric worn but still vibrant, and bring it over to Ren. She takes it from you, her small hands wrapping around the band as if itâs the most precious thing in the world. âI miss her,â she whispers.
Your heart breaks at the sight of her holding onto that small piece of Grayson. You kneel beside the bed, brushing a strand of hair away from her face. âI know, honey,â you say softly. âWe all miss her. But sheâs always with us, in here.â You gently place a hand over Renâs heart, offering her a comforting smile.
Ren nods and she clutches the armband tightly, her grip strong for someone so small. Sevikaâs expression is unreadable, a mix of emotions flashing across her face as she watches the scene unfold.Â
After a few moments, Renâs eyelids start to droop, exhaustion finally taking over. You lean down, pressing a gentle kiss to Renâs forehead. âGoodnight sweetie,â you whisper.
You and Sevika quietly bid Ekko and Powder goodnight as well, sharing a few last words before heading back downstairs. The house is much quieter now, the energy from earlier having dissipated into a peaceful calm. You say your goodbyes to Vander, Caitlyn, and Vi, thanking them for the evening.
As you step out into the cool night air, the streets of Zaun are mostly quiet. Sevikaâs hand finds yours, her grip warm and comforting. âYou okay?â she asks.
You nod, though your mind is still on Ren and the armband. âYeah,â you say softly, squeezing her hand. âItâs just⌠itâs hard sometimes, you know? Seeing how much she misses Grayson.â
Sevika doesnât respond right away, but you feel her thumb brushing gently over your knuckles, a silent gesture of understanding. âSheâs a tough kid,â she finally says. âSheâs more resilient than we think.â
You wordlessly agree, falling into a comfortable silence as you guys listen to the hum of the surrounding houses and your footsteps on the pavement. For a while, neither of you speak, simply enjoying the quiet together.
You find yourself stealing glances at Sevika, admiring her profile in the dim light. She catches you looking and raises an eyebrow, a small smirk playing at the corner of her lips. You playfully bump your shoulder against hers, and she returns the gesture, a bit harder.
You smile, a soft chuckle escaping your lips as you bump her again, just to see what sheâll do.
Sevika doesnât say anything, but you can see the corner of her mouth twitching upward, that almost-smile that she gets when sheâs trying to keep her cool but failing just a bit. She bumps you back, a little more firmly this time, and you laugh, the sound light and carefree in the stillness of the night.
You nudge her again, and this time, she stops walking altogether. Before you can react, she grabs your hand, pulling you toward her with a gentle but firm tug. The sudden movement catches you off guard, and you stumble slightly, your hands instinctively reaching out to steady yourself.
But Sevikaâs already there, her strong arms wrapping around you, holding you close. Thereâs a brief moment where you just look at each other, the playful teasing of earlier fading into something softer, more intimate. The distance between you disappears, and you feel the warmth of her body against yours, the steady rise and fall of her chest as she breathes.
She doesnât say anythingâdoesnât need to. The look in her eyes, the way sheâs holding you, it says it all.Â
Without a word, she leans down, her lips brushing against yours in a kiss. Itâs sweet and gentle, and it fills you with a warmth that spreads through your chest, making you feel like you could stay here forever, wrapped up in this simple, perfect moment.
You melt into the kiss, your hand sliding from her shoulder to the nape of her neck.Â
When she finally pulls back, itâs only by a fraction, her forehead resting against yours as she breathes out a soft sigh. You can't resist leaning in to place another quick kiss on her lips, delighting in the way it makes her smile. Â
"What was that for?" you ask softly, not that you're complaining.
"Do I need a reason?" she asks, her voice husky but tender.
You shake your head, smiling. "Definitely not. Feel free to do that anytime."
She chuckles softly, pulling you close as you resume your walk home. Her arm wraps securely around your waist, and you lean into her, feeling safe and cherished.
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What Comes After
Pairing: Astarion x reader
Prompt: In which you couldn't convince Astarion not to become the Vampire ascendant, but still do not allow him to do the ritual.
Description: You really did fall so hard, and so, so fast. No wonder when the ground came to meet you did it hurt just as much. But perhaps its not too late to stand back up again, if someone was willing to lend a hand.
Rating: sfw
Content Warning: hurt/comfort
Word Count: 3018 3244
Notes: I had to save scum this so much on my file that was romancing him. And well I be thinking about him a lot lately... I literally have no idea where these words came from btw so I hope u enjoy them! Edited: 10/6/24 Fixed some spelling mistakes and grammar, added a lil more flavor and tried to make it all present tense lol also this has a title on ao3 now it does here too
âItâs over,â Said with such disdain, such pain and hurt, directed your way. âIâm done with this, and Iâm done with you.â Venom, dripping and cold. What happened to the warmth in his eyes? To the love that once shown in them, when he looked your way? âI would say good luck out there, but honestly? I hope you die screaming.â He looked so broken, so hurt.
You hardly remembered what came next, beyond your own tears. Astarion simply⌠left. Walked away as you crumpled to the ground, in disbelief. As you begged him to say. When you told him, over and over again, that you loved him.
Karlach and Shadowheart must have dragged you out of those dungeons, otherwise you might still be there, wallowing in your pity. You donât remember how long it had been since then. Since you had stopped Cazador from ascending, freed Astarion from his grasp⌠and tried to convince him not to ascend himself. Your words may have failed to reach him that day, but your actions didnât. You severed the connection of your tadpoles, kept Astarion from seeing his scars. You would not be the one to allow such evils to be birthed, would not allow him to kill 7000 souls. You did not allow Astarion to become the vampire ascendant.
Astarion, hurt, broken, and lost, then choose to walk away from you and everything the two of you had built together over this adventure.
You hadnât really been the same, since then. Where once you were the leader of your little ragtag group of adventurers, now you couldnât find it in you to leave your tent. Well⌠Astarionâs tent, to be precise. You never had one of your own. And when the two of you got together, it just seemed natural to share.
Gale had taken over in leading everyone for day to day adventuring on your behalf. Even though you wished it, the world would not slow down because you were hurt. No kindness spared on your broken, broken heart. Yet you couldnât stop wondering where you went wrong. Were the two of you not as close as you thought? Could you have been more convincing, hells, more intimidating, anything to have kept him by your side?
It must be night now. Your candles are all stuffed out, the bustle of the streets beyond are quiet, and you canât hear the patter and stomps of Scratch and the owlbear cub playing around camp. Your tears have all but dried, even if your sorrow remains as fresh as a new wound. No, all is silent in this moment. You take a deep breath. Yes, it would be best to sleep. Maybe tomorrow, you would wake up and feel like a person again. One who could attend to all her duties. One who could save Baldurâs gate.
But sleep never comes for those whose hearts are so heavy. This isnât the first night youâve lied awake, thoughts wondering. All for the better, perhaps-- because in the heavy quiet of the cities dark night, you hear the flap of your tent open with the utmost quietness. And you, just as quiet, sit up from your laying position. Who ever has invaded your space must have dark vision, for they pause upon seeing your form and do not move an inch.
âI can see you there.â Your voice comes out, gravelly and rough. You donât sense your in danger, though, even as your heart beats and pounds in your chest. Who would be stupid enough to steal from a camp full of adventurers, with an owlbear lurking around no less. Still, with some trepidation, you cast the cantrip for light, and watch as your messy tent (and new guest) are bathed in cool, blue light.
âOh,â Is all you think to say. You canât really trust your eyes, so you rub the days of built up sleep and sorrow from them. No, you canât even speak his name as you stare upon him. But you dare not look away. Even if it was a dream, it was him. It was him.
â...Youâre a mess.â His words are soft, quiet. He seems to relax a little when he sees you make no movement.
â...I suppose I am.â You clear your throat a little after speaking, if only because a new lump seems to be forming now that you look to him. âHow⌠how can I help you, Astarion?â
âGodsâŚâ He heaves a heavy sigh, looking over your pitiful form. âIâve hurt you this much, and you still think to help me? Are you stupid?â He shakes his head in disbelief.
âPerhaps.â You nod softly. âStupid enough to fall in love with you, after all.â You can only smile weakly at him.
âI came here tooâŚâ He frowns, looking away from you for a moment. He seems to reconsider what he was going to say, sighing and shaking his head before speaking again. âWell it doesnât matter why I came back. You clearly need some sense knocked back into you.â With that, he moves in closer to you. Surprised, you move in a little in order to accommodate him. You try to ignore the beating of your heart, ignore the hope that rises within you like a phoenix from its ashes.
âWhat⌠are you going to do?â You turn to him, nestled into your side like he might have been not too long ago.
âTalk, as terrible as that sounds.â He keeps his gaze down, looking at the messed up bedding. What does he see, in this room that shows the layers of your sorrow?
âTalk?â You repeat. âI thought you⌠didnât want to see me again.â You look to where he keeps his eyes trained. All you see is a monument of your regrets.
âWell, that was then. This is now.â Astarion looks to you. To the bags built up under your eyes. To your cheeks, still rosy and sensitive with just how many tears youâve shed (for him, no less). Your hair is unkempt and as gross as you are, all he can see is someone that loves him. Its bracing, in an entirely disgusting way. After all-- he was the one that did this to you. âI⌠said and did some terrible things during that ritual. Things that⌠looking back, I may not have done were I in the right head space.â He swallows hard. âI was⌠scared. And the promise of power, the smell of blood⌠it was all so intoxicating, I forgot myself there for a moment.â
The two of you sit in the silence a moment, festering in it. Words dance on the tip of your tongue but Astarion isnât done speaking. He, too, needs a moment to compose himself. âBut⌠you never forgot who I was.â He looks to you, something soft, something sad, something gentle written into the contours of his face. Even as he turns to you, he struggles to meet your eyes-- shining, glimmering, with everything sweet and promising and loving in them. Something that he doesnât deserve; not after the actions he took that day.
âYou did everything in your power to convince me what I was doing was wrong, but all I could see then was the security that power could bring me.â He closes his eyes, taking a sharp intake of air though his nose. âI was so blinded, I could not see that with you by my side, I was the happiest Iâve ever been these past 200 yearsâŚâ As he opens his eyes, he looks down to his folded hands, then over to yours before quickly looking away once again. You realize, with much sadness, that even now as he tries to burrow into your familiar warmth, he hesitates to reach out and touch you. Maybe he felt as if he wasnât allowed to do so any more, or perhaps felt he was no longer worthy⌠Whatever the reason, it breaks your heart just a little bit more.
âI⌠see.â Itâs a lot to soak up. That in the moment, you couldnât reach him but in the days sense Astarion has realized maybe this was for the better. The thought hadnât even occurred to you that he might consider that. That he might actually miss you too.
âYou saved me from becoming the very man I lived in fear of, and all I gave you in return was heartbreak.â He seeks your eyes, his own wide and wet and you realize heâs crying now. Tears flood your eyes as well, because he was right; you cared for him so much, though, it almost didnât seem to matter. Almost. âHow can I ever expect you to forgive me?â With that, he breaks, closing his eyes roughly and crying out, sobbing into his own hands. It hurts just as much as when you watched him sob after killing Cazador.
Some how, you summon new tears to cry with him. Two, love sick idiots broken and hurt but not beyond mending-- not yet.
âItâs okay,â You find yourself struggling to say the words, even as you usher him into your arms and hold him. He does not hesitate to hold you in turn, to cry unto you as you into him. âWeâll be okay, I promise, I promise.â Your words come out as prayer as you hold him close. âJust donât leave again, please!â
âI wonât, I wonât.â Astarion seems to compose himself more quickly than you do, but he does not let go, even as you know your tears stain his shirt. âIâve got you and I wonât leave you ever again.â He rubs his hand along your back slowly, doing his best to try and comfort you in the same way you have for him in the past. Itâs a long moment before you feel yourself begin to breathe normally again, before your tears once again dry and you find yourself staring into his red eyes once more.
âI love you,â Your words are softer than a whisper, said with a trembling smile.
âI love you too.â Astarion responds in kind, resting his forehead against yours. You two stay content a moment, settling into one anothers missed company before he speaks again. âBut youâre disgusting-- let me take care of you.â He pulls away from you and your left no room to argue. You merely blink, owlishly, as he pulls back. He moves to stand but you grab his hand before he can get too far.
âWhere are you going?â You hold on to him with both hands now, and he has to pause to take the sudden fear on your face. Astarion had planned to leave to return with a little wash bin and rag but seeing you so distraught makes him pause. The last time he left you, he didnât come back⌠He can forgive your sudden clingyness, then, but not how youâve let yourself go in his absence.
âWeâre going to get you cleaned up.â With a bit of a struggle, Astarion gets you to rise to your feet next to him. âDonât make it more difficult than it has to be.â He adds. You nod slowly, still a little on edge from the panic that just flooded your system but nonetheless, choosing to trust Astarion.
So, with the difficulty that comes with only having one hand, Astarion pins open the flaps of the tent (your light cantrip soon goes out as well, but the inside is illuminated but the torchlight of your camp). Some of the stale air you had been living in gets to escape, and youâre able to take a fresh breath of air you hadnât realized you needed.
Astarion gathers his wash bin, and the rag, and with you in tow, rummages through that the travelers chest you seem to toss anything and everything into. But, avoiding unmatched boots and careful not to prick himself on all the arrows that are in there (and trying not to think about how they were likely dumped in there after he left), he finds what he was looking for-- some soap. And though the water is cold, and the night is cool, at least with a little bit of soap and his careful hand, itâs not all bad.
âYou need to wash these clothes too,â Astarion huffs. âI know you have other things, so letâs get you into something cleaner.â Youâre guided back into your shared tent (which is already starting to smell better, but the scented water is helping as well) while Astarion rifles though your clothing. Here together again, you finally let go of his hand but stay close to him.
âThank youâŚâ You pause, watching him pick out something comfortable and warm. âI can take care of myself, though.â You add, attempting to take the clothing from him.
âIâm sure you can-- but I want to take care of you.â He doesnât let go of your clothing as you try and take it. âSo, let me.â His gaze flicks up to your eyes and youâre surprised to see him look so stubborn.
âOh,â You let go of the clothing, surprised. âI⌠That would be nice.â You say it quietly, still too caught up in him being here, being real and touching you, loving you.
âNow, out of the nasty clothing, if you would.â He persists, grabbing the hem of your current shirt. He pauses before lifting it though, looking to your face. âThat is, if youâre okay with meâŚâ he trails, unsure.
âItâs you, so itâs okay.â You assure him. You raise your hands so he can take off the offending, stinky shirt, and toss it aside. Next, he removes your pants, tossing them the same direction.
âThis might be a little cold,â Astarion tells you, but it doesnât stop the flinch (nor the shiver) as the cool rag touches your skin. Still, his touch is delicate and careful.
He first wipes your face (part of it, still covered in blood and dirt from that same battle). He dips and wrings out the rag, before continuing his work. Your chest, your arms, legs-- all of you, gently washed and cared for. You realize this is the first time heâs been so intimate with you in a non sexual way. Itâs⌠nice. To see his brow furrowed in concentration, have his hands upon you just hold you. Itâs not like the two of you went entirely without touching one another in that time, but to have him initiating it, warms you in a way youâve needed since his departure.
âNow, back in your clothing before you catch a cold.â You nod at him and smile, sliding on the familiar pants and shirt with comfort and ease.
âI already feel a lot better, thank you.â He smiles softly, but sits you back down.
âJust let me attend to this rats nest, and we can be done.â Astarion reaches for his comb, and sits beside you. âLean back so I can wet your hair, darling.â He guides you down, with your head over the basin, and cups his hand to gather water before wetting your hair.
You let him work quietly, until your hair is wet and he can begin working out the knots starting at the ends. When the comb runs freely through your hair, he grabs the soap and carefully massages it into your scalp, scratching here in there. You let out a sigh in content, and Astarion canât help but smile softly.
He was still shocked that you even talked to him-- let alone let him touch you. But the two of you needed this. To hold and be held, to love and let go. He was a fool to ever think he could be without you. But he was lucky, then, that you were fool enough to let him back in.
With your hair washed, combed, and dried and the water dumped and wash bin put aside, Astarion lets you sit back up and look at him. âSo⌠what happens next?â You ask softly.
âWell⌠Iâm not sure.â He admits. âI didnât think you would forgive me so⌠I hadnât really thought much beyond that.â
âI suppose we get our rest, then.â You heave a heavy sigh. âI know Iâve taken enough time off from adventuring⌠And you have some friends who deserve an explanation as well.â
âMore talking?â Astarion groans softly, but makes no move to leave your side as you lie down and tug him with you. âBut⌠you are right.â
âYouâll be okay.â You give him a good, full body squeeze. âEveryone here cares for you. Theyâll be willing to hear you out.â
âPerhaps only with you by my side.â He lets out a little chuckle. âBut⌠thatâs not such a bad thing.â He readjusts in your grasp, snuggling close and turning towards you. âRest well, darling.â He kisses the top of your head, and smiles down at your sleepy expression.
âI will, now that youâre hereâŚâ It didnât take long for sleep to find you, wound up in Astarionâs arms. You hadnât slept so well in days, and who was he to wake you when you looked so peacefulâŚ? It seemed like time passed so quickly with you in his arms, and before long he could hear the sounds of everyone else waking in camp.
Astarion couldnât help but grow anxious as footsteps grew closer to the tent. âSolider, you in there?â Karlachâs voice called out. âI know you havenât been very hungry lately, but I brought you some breakfastâŚâ Unable to do anything to stop her, Astarion watches, helpless, as Karlach pokes her head into the tent. In the bright morning light that pours in with her, all he can do is look at her with wide eyes as her mouth begins to open. Acting fast, Astarion speaks before she does.
âShh, just let them sleep a while longerâŚâ Astarion turns from Karlach, brushing some stray hairs from your face. âWhen theyâre ready to wake up, Iâll⌠Iâll be ready to.â He turns from you, back to Karlach, a look of surprise and glee on her face.
âRight! Right⌠Iâll be quiet!â She gives him a little thumbs up and quickly retreats from the tent. But⌠Astarion can hear Karlach, even if she is all the way across camp. First, she tells Jaheira, then Minsc, and Minthara and Laeâzel overhear⌠Then Wyll, Shadowheart and Halsin of course overhear and then Gale finds out, and now the whole camp is aware that heâs back here even if they are being remarkably polite about itâŚ.
Still, it brings a smile on his face. To know they were so excited to see him again (maybe even if it was only to see you happy again) was a comforting thought. To be among friends⌠That was something truly special indeed.
âAstarionâŚ?â You wake slowly, eyes barely open as you look to him, hold him a little tighter.
âIâm here,â Astarion assures you, giving you a squeeze in return.
âGoodâŚâ You close your eyes and cuddle back into him, letting out a small yawn. âLetâs stay alone for just a little longer yet.â
âThat can be arranged.â He canât help but smile, and relax into you. Everyone else could wait a little longer yet-- you deserved what ever you wanted in this moment. And if that happened to be him, well, Astarion was in no place to say no.
#astarion x tav#astarion x reader#baldur's gate 3 fanfic#bg3 x reader#just... thinking about how alone and afriad he would feel after that#made me kind of insane
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A PROMISE IN THE DARK
Aegon Targaryen x Reader
Summary: After enduring relentless cruelty from your family and betrothed, Aegon Targaryen, you break down one night, revealing the depth of your suffering. Aegon, moved by your pain, vows to protect and care for you. He exiles your abusive family and forces them to apologize, marking the start of your healing journey.
You lived in a world of silence, a place where your voice had long been stolen by the cruelty of those meant to protect you. Your familyâs abuse had silenced you so thoroughly that you could only communicate through your eyes and your silent tears. The betrothal to Aegon Targaryen was supposed to be a chance for a new beginning, but instead, it became a new source of torment.
Aegon, with his royal air and a crown that should have symbolized justice, became a new tormentor in your already painful existence. He found cruel amusement in your silence, often mocking you in front of others. His words were like daggers, each one aimed at the heart of your already fragile sense of self-worth.
"You know, itâs quite amusing," Aegon would sneer, his eyes glinting with malice, "how you choose not to speak. It must be quite a skill to pretend to be so superior just by keeping your mouth shut."
His jabs were relentless. His laughter echoed through the halls of the castle, a constant reminder that your suffering was entertainment for him. Each day, you tried to shield yourself from his barbs, but they were like relentless arrows, piercing through your defenses.
The nights were the worst. When the castleâs corridors fell silent, you would sit alone in your room, clutching a faded piece of fabric that once belonged to your mother. It was the only remnant of the warmth and love you had known before your familyâs abuse drove you into this cruel new reality.
Your familyâs abuse had been systematic, a steady erosion of your spirit. They had isolated you, belittled you, and made you feel as though you were nothing more than a burden. They had taken away your voice, your confidence, and most painfully, your sense of belonging. When Aegon came into your life, it was meant to be a rescue, a chance to escape the shadows of your past. Instead, he became a new source of pain, a mirror reflecting all the harshness you had endured.
But there were moments, rare and fleeting, when Aegonâs gaze softened, when his cruelty was replaced by something like curiosity. It was on one such evening that you felt the strain of your silent existence come to a breaking point. The castleâs grand hall was filled with laughter and conversation, a stark contrast to the oppressive quiet of your own life. Aegon had been in particularly high spirits that night, mocking you with a cruel jest that drew laughter from his courtiers.
âDo you not think youâre depriving yourself of so much by remaining silent?â Aegonâs voice rang out. âHow can you bear to miss all this? Perhaps your silence is the result of some deep-seated fear, or maybe you simply enjoy being the center of everyoneâs attention through your absence of words.â
The jest was met with laughter, and you felt the familiar flush of humiliation. But tonight, something inside you snapped. The weight of his words, the weight of your familyâs cruelty, the weight of your own isolation, all crashed down upon you. You felt as though you were drowning in a sea of despair, and you couldnât hold on any longer.
As Aegon continued his mocking, you felt a tight knot of emotion form in your chest. Your breaths came in ragged gasps, and you could no longer hold back the tears. You collapsed onto the cold stone floor, your body shaking uncontrollably. The laughter of the courtiers faded into a distant murmur as the overwhelming sensation of pain and sorrow consumed you.
Aegonâs laughter died abruptly as he saw you break down. For the first time, he was confronted with the full extent of your suffering. His eyes widened in shock, the cruel mask slipping away to reveal a flicker of concern. He knelt beside you, his usual arrogance replaced by a raw, genuine emotion.
âWhat is happening?â Aegonâs voice was softer now, tinged with something like fear. âWhy are youââ
The words caught in your throat, unable to escape past the storm of emotions. You looked up at him, your eyes brimming with tears. It was then that Aegon saw not just your silent suffering but the story behind it, the profound depth of your pain. The realization of what he had been complicit in hit him with a crushing force.
Aegon took a deep breath, trying to steady himself. âI didnât know,â he murmured, his voice filled with a newfound understanding. âI never realized...â
He helped you to your feet with a tenderness that was foreign to him. The harshness in his gaze had been replaced by a solemn determination. âI am truly sorry,â he said, his voice breaking slightly. âI didnât understand the depth of your suffering. I never meant for you to be subjected to this. I promise you, I will make it right.â
The promise was more than words; it was a vow of change. Aegonâs eyes were filled with a mixture of guilt and resolve. âYou will be cared for and protected,â he continued, his tone firm. âAnd as for your family, they will face justice. They will be held accountable for their cruelty.â
You could scarcely believe the transformation in Aegon. The man who had once mocked you now seemed genuinely committed to making amends. He left the chamber, his footsteps echoing with purpose as he began to set things in motion.
In the days that followed, Aegon kept his word. Your family was summoned to the castle, their expressions a mix of fear and defiance. When they arrived, they were forced to kneel before you in the grand hall, their arrogance stripped away by the gravity of their situation.
âBeg for forgiveness,â Aegon commanded, his voice resonating with authority. âYou will apologize for every moment of pain youâve inflicted. Only then will you face the consequences of your actions.â
Your familyâs once imperious demeanor crumbled as they knelt before you, their faces contorted with shame and fear. They begged for your forgiveness, their pleas echoing through the hall. Aegonâs gaze remained steely as he observed the scene, his resolve unwavering.
âFrom this day forth,â Aegon declared, âyou will be exiled from everything you have ever known. You will live in isolation, removed from the society you once dominated. It is the least you deserve for the suffering you have caused.â
As your family was led away, you felt a mixture of relief and sorrow. The justice served was necessary, but it came at a cost. The wounds of the past would take time to heal, but with Aegonâs newfound understanding and commitment, there was a glimmer of hope for the future.
In the quiet that followed, Aegon approached you once more. His demeanor had softened, and there was a genuine compassion in his eyes. âYou have suffered too much,â he said gently. âI promise that from now on, I will be your protector. I will ensure that you are loved and cared for, and that no one will ever hurt you again.â
The sincerity in his voice offered a fragile hope. Though the path ahead would be difficult, Aegonâs pledge to protect and cherish you gave you a new reason to believe in a brighter future. The journey to healing was just beginning, but for the first time in a long while, you felt a glimmer of hope that maybe, just maybe, you could find solace and a new sense of belonging in the midst of this tumultuous world.
#angst#imagine#aegon ii targaryen#house of the dragon#hotd season 2#hotd#aegon targaryen#king aegon#aegon targaryen x reader
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stubborn heart ch. 9
yan!capitano x wife!reader
summary | or in which capitano is told he needs a wife. and he begrudgingly agrees.
previous | next
You paced your shared room with the Captain, the urge to bite your lip in nervousness becoming strong until you heard the bathroom door open. Your pacing came to a quick stop as you glanced towards the door where Capitano stood.
âBed, now.â
The way his voice reverberated in his chest sent chills down your spine when he came up to you, his hold all but firm when he grabbed you. Then, he bent down. His mouth pressing to your neck and your senses went on overdrive.
And that was all could remember when you woke up the next morning, but it was clear what had happened.
Groaning to yourself, you sat up in the bed and tugged the covers up so you could hide your face into the soft blankets, âI- I canât believe I fainted again!â
You could feel your face become increasingly hot at the mere memories of everything that had happened yesterday. How you admitted to being experienced, how he said he would show up what a wife and husband do, and consummating a marriageâŚ, âwhen am I going to stop making an idiot out of myself in front of him?!â
You plopped back into the bed, your hands pulling the covers just enough for your eyes to peek out so you could stare up at the ceiling.
âI wonder if he is already regretting taking me as his wife,â you all but muttered to yourself as someone gave a few knocks to your door â that someone being Atri as her voice piped up behind the barrier separating you both.
âRise and shine, sleeping beauty!â
You, in fact, did not want to rise and shine. You would much rather fall and dull. Granted it seems you did enough falling last night.
âIâm getting up,â you called out to her, your body moving on its own but quickly winced when you felt a slight sting on your neck. Raising your hand to the sensitive area, you felt a few indents that suspiciously mirrored a set of teeth. The realization was quick to slap you in the face as you felt your face grow hot again.
He bit me?!
Your mind was working on overdrive as you stumbled over yourself to get ready. Pure steam basically coming out your ears as you got your clothes on.
You werenât mad, far from it. You were just incredibly embarrassed. When he kissed and bit onto your neck, you must have gotten to overwhelmed and fainted. You seriously wanted to hide away by this point. What was wrong with you?1
Shaking your head, you exited your room.
âGood morning, y/n.â
âMorning Atri- whatâs wrong with your face?â
You quirked an eyebrow when you looked at her and then you followed her gaze and realized what she was looking at.
âAtri, no-â
âOhh! Iâm so happy! I wonder if youâll have a boy or a girl. Maybe even twins-â
You covered her mouth to quiet her. Your face darkening a deep shade of red across your (color) cheeks, âwe didnât- we didnât do anything like that! I mean, we were, at least I think we were, but I- I- fainted the moment he got his mouth on my neck-â
You talked fast, almost in a panic as you talked to your maid, and when you were done she had gently pried your hands from her mouth and patted your head, âitâs alright-â
âNo it isnât.. Iâm supposed to be his wife, but I- I mess everything up. I canât even be in the same room as him without fainting. I just⌠I just think heâll be better off within someone else.â
Atri studied you for a moment before smiling. Her hand gently running through your hair as she pulled you in for a hug, âitâs been tough on you, hasnât it? Getting married to a harbinger without a say in the matter, being moved to an unknown place with unfamiliar people. Then thereâs your life before Capitano. Your life at the hearth. I may not know what you went through, but I can tell itâs been an uphill battle. And you want to know something?â
You opened your eyes and looked up at her then.
âYouâre stubborn.â
You deadpanned, âwhat?â
âWhat?â
You quirked an eyebrow again, your previous sorrow momentarily forgotten, âIâm⌠stubborn?â
Atri smiled and nodded, âyep! Stubborn hearts like yours are hard to come by in such a cold place, Lord Capitano must have seen that and immediately took interest in you. You being here is a testament to all the hardships you endured, so itâs ok to embarrass yourself and to relax, ok?â
You nodded along while trying to keep up with everything she was saying. Back then, there was never any room for error. You either do it and succeed or donât and let the cold kill you. There was never an in-between.
âSo⌠itâs ok to just⌠not do anything at all?â
Atri nodded almost enthusiastically, âof course! No more silly work, or worrying about stupid bills. Itâs just you enjoying your new life with Capitano, and donât think for a second of trying to back out of this. You deserve this. So just sit back and relax.â
You sighed but eventually surrendered causing Atri to be pleased with herself as she grabbed a hold of your hands again, ânow, time for breakfast, and afterwards we can go shopping for a dress for you!â
âWhat for?â
âFor a small party the Tsaritsa is holding for her harbingers that you and Lord Capitano will be attending.â
âOh, ok- wait, what?!â
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#genshin impact#genshin#capitano#capitano x reader#capitano x you#capitano x y/n#yandere capitano#yandere capitano x reader#yandere capitano x you#yandere capitano x wife reader#stubborn heart capitano
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a when they're dads au series.
pairing: dad & husband! kaedehara kazuha x fem! reader
cw: established relationship, you and kazuha are married and have children. original characters. domestic and parenting universe. quick mention of pregnant reader. slightly ooc to fit the plot. fluff and not beta read.
reblogs and comments are appreciated âĄ
part i. | part ii.
Considering Kaedehara Kazuhaâs reputation for his mild personality and free spirit, it was difficult for most to imagine the wandering samurai ever pausing his travels, let alone settling into the routines of a homely life.
So you can imagine the shock among fishing and sailing communities throughout Teyvat when whispers began to circulateânot only had Kazuha settled down, but he had also married and started a family.
At first, no one believed it. Surely, it must be some sort of prank.
That was until Captain Beidou, her cheeks flushed with rum, produced a photo to prove the rumors true. The image captured Kazuhaâs weddingâa modest yet joyous celebration held by the Crux Fleet on a secluded island in Inazuma. In the photo, Kazuha gazed at you with such unmistakable love that it silenced all doubts.
As the night went on, barrels of rum and beer loosened Beidouâs tongue, and soon, she was regaling curious listeners with tales of your love story. She described how you quite literally fell from the sky into Kazuhaâs arms, how your relationship blossomed, endured challenges, and culminated in a heartfelt proposal. She recounted how the two of you decided to rebuild the Kaedehara Clan together, leaving behind the open sea for a life that was quieterâbut no less meaningful.
âOh, and did I mention?â Beidou added with a mischievous grin. âThey have three kids now!â
The crowdâs shock was palpable, their wide eyes demanding further details. Beidou, never one to shy away from a good story, obliged.
For Kazuha, this new chapter in his life was one he never thought possible. His teenage years had left him with deep scars, his relationship with his father fraught with tension and misunderstanding. Back at the time, leaving the Kaedehara estate had felt like his only option.
But time and distance had brought healing, and when Kazuha returned to his ancestral home with you by his side, he was overwhelmed not by sorrow, but by a sense of belonging. The estate, once a source of pain, now brimmed with warmth and life, thanks to you and the laughter of your three children.
Kiyomi, your middle child and only daughter is the heart of the familyâs liveliness. With her extroverted and mischievous personality, she kept everyone on their toes. Neither you nor Kazuha knew where she had inherited such a fiery temperament, but her boundless energy often left you with gray hairs and Kazuha with an amused smile.
As the only girl in the family, Kiyomi was undoubtedly spoiled by her father, who adored her unconditionally. Her beauty was a perfect blend of your features and Kazuhaâs, but what truly set her apart was her kind and stubborn heart.
Your eldest son, Kazumi, was the embodiment of his father. With his relaxed demeanor and serene smile, he was often mistaken for a younger Kazuha. However, Kazumi carried a deep sense of responsibility as the eldest sibling, always keeping a watchful eye on Kiyomi and Haruki.
At the age of ten, Kazumi had already begun learning the Isshin Art from Kazuha. Though he mastered its techniques with ease, he preferred to follow his own path rather than dedicate himself entirely to bladesmithing.
Last but not least, your youngest, Haruki, was the familyâs surprise blessing. Born on an autumn morning, he arrived into the world fragile and unwell. Those early months were filled with sleepless nights and anxious hearts, but with the help of friendsâincluding Beidou, Traveler, and even Yae MikoâHaruki eventually grew into a healthy and vibrant child.
Unlike his siblings, who were often found running around the estate, Haruki was introspective and studious. From a young age, he displayed an insatiable curiosity, devouring books and scrolls that even scholars would find daunting.
When asked about his new life, Kazuha often reflected on how vastly different it was from the one he had once envisioned. There was always something to worry about, the days rarely deviated from routine, and the call of the open road still stirred within him from time to time.
Yet, as he watched you and the children, he knew he wouldnât trade this life for anything. The love he shared with you, the joy of raising a family, and the warmth of a home filled with laughter and belongingâthis was the greatest adventure of all.
For Kazuha, every day with you was a journey worth taking, and there was no horizon more beautiful than the one he shared with you by his side.
.
.
a/n: i must confess that i have this plot on my drafts for almost two years now but iâve never found will enough on myself to sit down and write it. nevertheless, iâm thankful for my mind to remind me of this plot and make me re-write new ideas.
those who knows me, or not, mustâve know that i really do love parenting, domestic and pregnancy universe so not so often i caught myself writing about it. itâs so relaxing and enjoyable to picture these guys as dad idk.
i hope youâve liked it so far. i would like to share more about this headcanon in the future, so let me know if you want to learn more about the kaedehara clan. thank you so much, bye!
#genshin impact#genshin impact x reader#genshin#genshin x reader#kaedehara kazuha#kaedehara kazuha x reader#kazuha#kazuha x reader#genshin kazuha#dad kazuha#kaedehara clan#genshin husbands au#genshin dads au#when they're dads
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a/n: (un)intentionally turning this into an ode to price, but who can blame me??! anyways, enjoy and yesssss, simon will suffer, you just wait :)
cw: angst, angst and some more angst
part 1 - part 2 - part 3 - part 4
you shouldnât have come here.
how the hell could he?Â
your emotions felt like an inferno inside you, one that consumed you whole. it left behind nothing but a path of destruction; from every cell of your being, right to your heart. disbelief had turned to confusion, had turned to a pitiful sadness, had turned to hot burning anger. the cocktail of emotions stirring you on in your path.Â
where you were going you didnât even know. nor did you know how far you had walked. your surroundings nothing but a blur of colours.Â
the never-ending cycle of scenario after scenario, thought after thought, made your mind spin.Â
a gruff laugh took you by surprise and strong arms wrapped around your waist. the soft summer breeze ebbed through your apartment. simonâs face pressed into your neck, so lovingly, so possessively. âso beautiful.â back then you had giggled, twisting around in his arms till you could look at him. your eyes getting lost in the endless depths of his. âi will keep you forever, luvâ
now you were left with nothing but a cruel laugh that bubbled up in your throat. the sound that escaped a guttural, angry mess.Â
slowly your feet stopped moving in their tracks. exhaustion covering you like a heavy blanket. your breath heavy and strangled, as it escaped into the frozen air in tiny clouds.Â
for the first time since that fight - it felt so long ago now, decades, millennia - tears prickled your eyes. falling in fat drops down your cheeks and leaving burning paths behind.Â
your mind was spinning out of control, faster and faster. so much so that the approaching footsteps didnât even register as a threat anymore.Â
a deep, rumbling voice cut through the noise.Â
your body went rigid, immediately turning to the source. you must have looked like a rabid animal, expression wild, eyes bloodshot.
âdarlin'?â price's gentle voice disrupted the war in your mind.Â
you couldn't help the nasty snarl spreading over your features. what did he think he was doing here? following you? feeling sorry for you? now that his dear friend had ripped you to shreds in front of a whole crowd of people?Â
at the cruel reminder, a punishingly cold shame washed over you, the nasty feeling making your insides churn.Â
"go away, john." your angry words were broken up by the overbearing violence of a sob that rang through your whole body, from the tips of your toes to the top of your head.Â
you couldn't stand him seeing you like this. not after everything he already had to witness. none of them had cared enough to stop simon from this in the first place. so why would he suddenly develop sympathy for you? why would he care now?
"not much for taking orders, doll. but iâll stand far enough back that you donât feel like decking me", he teased, a soft smile pulling on his lips.Â
at first it didn't even register, though slowly but surely your eyes met his. the flicker of something more than endless sorrow spiking in your heart, bubbling up your throat and escaping as a honest to god laugh through your lips.Â
"that smile suits you much better, darling."
carefully, as if he was approaching a wild animal, price slowly stepped towards your cowering form. his hands slightly raised, as to appear as nonthreatening as he could be, this bear of a man, a captain in the fucking military. if you had a better sense of humour right then, you'd probably have laughed at the pure ridiculousness of it all. but you didn't. instead, your lips pulled down into a frown, and your eyes took price in warily.Â
"let's get you home, yea?" a cautious little smile played around price's lips as he regarded you. it almost felt like he saw right past your guarded edges, and somehow, that made it worse.
"why?"
your voice carried so much venom, you were surprised the man didn't just turn around and leave you alone in the dark.Â
"why the fuck are you even here?" the tone of your voice rose and rose, till you found yourself screaming at price. tears prickled your eyes, and your throat felt rough from all the emotions of the night.Â
"simon doesn't know what's good for him if it punched him in the face. doesn't mean you deserve this."Â
his serious eyes looked right into your soul, reaching in and seeing the deepest darkest depths. inside you were battling with yourself, unsure if you could handle someone so close to him comforting you. someone that shouldn't even be in your corner right now.Â
"let me at least take you home, darling. afterwards you never have to see me again, if thatâs what you want."Â
you couldn't even begin to untangle the weight behind those words. this lifeline wasn't meant to be there, it wasn't meant for you.Â
but you'd be damned if you wouldn't take it.Â
ever so slowly and carefully price reached out his hand in invitation.
and for the first time, you reached back.
taglist: @rafaelacallinybbay @fruitymoonbeams-blog @jdeclerc @valuyhh
#simon ghost riley x you#simon ghost riley x reader#simon riley x reader#simon riley x you#ghost x reader#ghost x you#captain john price x you#captain john price x reader#john price x reader#john price x you#ghost#price#cw: angst#â§ď˝Ľďžâš astra writes đ
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the soulkeeperâs betrayal â prologue
When Jun realizes that something has gone awry in his kingdom, he has no choice but to ask for help from his estranged wife. Though not without paying a price.
âş pairings: wen junhui x female reader âş aus: hades jun, king jun, exes to lovers, husband jun âş genres: angst, fantasy, fluff, smut (18+) [none in this part] âş word count: 661 words
âş đ§: things we lost in the fire â bastille | nfwmb â hozier | end of the affair â ben howard | lover please stay â nothing but thieves | conspiracy â paramore | only â ry x | cosmic love â florence + the machine | caught up â sights & sounds, nicole dollanganger . . . listen on spotify
âş this fic is part of the greek gods collab â§
Âť read more
no warnings apply in this part
âş prologue, the journey
The morning felt stale under a colorless sky, announcing a cold and cloudy day ahead. A soft whooshing sound preceded the breeze that swept through the forest, rustling the leaves of the timber trees.
The leaves had begun to turn a vibrant shade of yellow, the King noticed. As he gazed at the land before him, he felt the urge to bend down and pick up the leaves that had begun to blow around his feet in the wind, creating a soft, crumpled blanket on the ground.Â
He paused for a moment, aware that the wind was whispering something from afar. It carried with it the distant, melodic calls of phoebes, their voices echoing through the crisp air of the morning.
Junhui tilted his head forward, allowing the cool breeze to brush and sweep between his eyelashes as he closed his eyes. With a gentle, respectful gesture, he bowed to the wind, feeling its whispers in his brown hair.
The earth would gradually grow barren and lose the sweetness of spring. This was familiar to him; he had witnessed the signs time and time again. Yet this time it carried a significant weightâit meant that you were on your way here, it meant that you were coming home for the very first time since you had met.Â
With a deep, steadying breath, he straightened his neck, feeling the anticipation rising within him, he felt an exhilarating rush of energy coursing through him. Slowly, he opened his eyes to the land stretching before him.Â
Paradise. Where the sunlight seems almost tangible, it rises but never reaches its zenith. Colorful waves of grass stretch far and wide, dotted with small mounds of tiny white flowers, inviting anyone to rest their head on them.
This place was beautiful. At least this side of his kingdom was tranquil and robust with color. The birds choose to seek shelter and sleep here. It is where the souls who were granted peace would grow quiet and witness the king of the lands spend his mornings.
The place reminded him of a long-lost childhood. The music from the phoebes, the cold but gentle breeze. He wanted to run, he wanted to become one with the wind and not feel anything at all.
But alas, the dread came.
âWhat are you doing here, Clotho?â he asked, his voice was low and raspy from not speaking to anyone in what felt like months.
âIt is time. Must follow tradition,â she said with a gentle tone, but Junhui knew better. He knew she was pressing on the importance of your arrival there. One of the Fates, only doing her work, but vague as to how to be tactful.Â
âI am aware of that. Thank you,â he replied, turning to face her, turning his back on the land.
Her pale face looked stricken with worry and embarrassment as she lowered her eyes to the ground. âForgive me.â
Jun raised his gaze to the silvery sky, trying not to roll his eyes. âYou have nothing to apologize for,â he said coldly. âYouâve done nothing wrong.â
Clotho frowned. Those around him saw his apathy, and they took it as a sign that he was grieving his break-up with you. They were right; his heart was heavy with sorrow, even if he refused to show it. Beneath the surface, a storm of grief raged within him, slowly consuming him, even if he wore a mask of calm.
You came into his life in the most devastating way imaginable. Like a merciless wave, washing away everything that preceded you, leaving only you. Your arrival was not only abrupt, but it was like a shock that altered the course of his existence, forcing him to deal with the remains of the things you made him feel.
But then he lost you, all because of a lie. Now, as autumn slowly awakened, you were coming to him; it was time to make amends.
Only if you let him.
âş author's note: heeeey (â´âĄ`â)
this is the prologue to a one shot i have planned to release on november 16th!
this is kind of a challenge for me because i never write detailed descriptions of places. i hope you like this one-shot. hehe
toodles!
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Š RIGHTS RESERVED TO HANNIEWEEN I DO NOT ALLOW TRANSLATIONS, CONTINUATIONS, REIMAGINATIONS OF MY WORKS OR THEIR REPOSTING ON OTHER WEBSITES.
#jun x reader#jun fic#wen junhui imagines#wen junhui fluff#svthub#wen junhui x reader#svt imagines#svt#svt fluff#svt x reader#svt fic#svt smut#jun smut#seventeen smut#jun angst#junhui angst#seventeen angst#svt angst#junhui x reader#seventeen x reader#junhui smut#wen junhui smut#hannieween#ff:the soulkeeper's betrayal
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Perfect illusion (Sauron x Celebrimborâs daughter!reader)
-> in which you have to sit by your fatherâs side as Sauron coerces him into finishing the Nine, realizing just how blind you have been all along
Warnings: No romance, just angst. You marry Annatar (+ implied smut) when you donât know heâs Sauron, so thereâs all the emotional torment and consent issues that come with that. Uncomfortable touching (not smut) after you find out heâs Sauron. Manipulation, mind control and victim blaming as per canon
You sit in your chair, watching your father work. A familiar thing, which you have done a million times before. Before, however, there had never been a shackle around his wrist, or blood marring his brow. There had never been rubble scattered about the workplace, or the sound of battle coming through the window. Before, there had never been The Dark Lord standing behind you, his hands weighing you down as though the ceiling had collapsed upon you.
That is not to say that they are forceful. No, his touch is soft, as it has always been, his fingers brushing your hair gently, almost absent-mindedly. At times they reach your neck or your cheek, grazing your skin and sending shivers down your spine. You dig your nails painfully into your own hands to keep from trembling. Itâs the least, even if the most inconsequential thing, that you can still doâto deny him this small satisfaction.
âStop that,â Sauron says, his voice deceivingly gentle as he gives your shoulder a warning squeeze. âYouâll only hurt yourself.â
Of course, that only makes you want to clench your fists harder. But you force yourself to open them, mindful of what might happen if you disobey.
âYou once took comfort in my touch,â he says. If you knew no better, youâd believe the sorrow in his voice is genuine. âIt is only comfort I wish to give you now as well.â
His knuckles brush your cheek, painfully tender and excruciatingly familiar. Though youâve been trying to keep as still as possible, you cannot help but turn your face away, if only just an inch.
His hand stills mid-air, then returns to your shoulder. He takes a breath, quiet but long and deep.
âI have caused you suffering. That is true,â he admits, patiently. âBut I assure you that this too shall pass. Once Middle-Earth is healed, and the people will see what we did here... your feelings will change.â
You canât help how your breath quickens, chest trembling with anger. It only becomes worse when Sauron puts his fingers to your chin, coaxing you to twist your neck and look up into his piercing eyes. âYou must know it pains me,â he says, âtreating you likeââ
âLike you have treated countless others?â your father intercedes in haste.
Sauronâs attention turns to Celebrimbor then, as your father had no doubt hoped it would. The whole time heâd been working, his eyes kept straying to you, as if to make sure you are still alive and whole. To your relief, Sauron removes his hand from your face. To your dread, he is now moving towards Celebrimbor, displeased with his remark.
âLike Morgoth treated me,â he corrects, hovering over your father.
You are not bound. You could, in theory, try to run. But you are not foolish enough to believe you could escape. Any such attempt would only earn you a shackle of your own, similar to your fatherâs. Though, youâre starting to believe that the cold bite of metal might just be more bearable than the silent imprisonment of your husbandâs touch.
Your husband. The word twists in your stomach, carves holes into your heart. It all came so naturally to you when you spoke the vows and sealed the bond. Now, you canât imagine how you got here. All you know are the facts of what happened, and even those no longer seem to make sense in your weakened mind.
You know who you used to be, when the world still made sense: daughter of Celebrimbor, the greatest of Elven smiths. You think his talents mixed with your motherâs magic may have resulted in your gift to manipulate materials in particular ways which do not necessarily come naturally. You know the mithril had refused to be coaxed into joining with the other metals without your intervention. You know Halbrand had been the one to suggest that you try it.
You know how easily he had endeared himself to you from the moment you met, and how confusing and sharp the pain had been when he disappeared without a trace. You know how quick you had been to let him into Eregion when he returned, despite Galadrielâs inexplicable request that you refrain from doing so.
You know the transition from Halbrand to Annatar had been unexpected, if not jarring, but in the end the pull you felt towards him was unchanged. You know there were touches, desire... trust.
You no longer know why. Because there never was a reasonânot a true one, anyway. Only his deception, his mind games. But at the time, you didnât know. At the time, it had made perfect sense when, one night, you had found yourself at the dining table, anxious about giving your father the news of what had happened a mere few hours prior.
Annatar was to your side, sitting at the head of the long table, while your father was across from you. He may be the Lord of Eregion, but he had insisted that an emissary of the Valar should take the most important seat. Yet despite your fatherâs deep admiration for Annatar, you were not sure how he would react.
âAs you know,â you began tentatively, âLord Annatar has been a close and trusted friend to me, these past few weeks. As he has been to you.â
âIndeed,â your father nodded. His unsure smile and knitted brow told you he was at a loss for what you were leading up to. You opened your mouth, but found yourself quite tongue-tied. You glanced at Annatar, who graciously took over.
âHowever,â he continued, lips forming a gentle, almost bashful smile, âafter a time, we found that there were... deeper feelings between us.â
Though he was speaking to Celebrimbor, his gaze sought yours. You met it, heart fluttering as he wrapped your hand in his, resting them on the table in such a way that the new ring on your finger was in your fatherâs line of sight.
âAnnatar has proposed marriage, father,â you finally say, turning to him. âAnd I have accepted.â
Your father blinked, eyebrows lifting in an expression of wordless surprise. When words failed to leave his mouth, Annatar took it upon himself to break the silence once more.
âMy friend, I...â He trailed off, uncharacteristically hesitant in his choice of words. âI am well aware I should have asked for your blessing beforehand. Especially since things have progressed with such unusual haste, butââ
âOh, nonsense!â your father burst out, as if finally regaining his senses. âNonsense, my friend, this...â A short laugh bubbled out of him as he turned to you with a face-splitting grin. âSuch wonderful news! Oh, my dear,â he took your hand in his, gazing in wonder upon your betrothal ring before he pressed a kiss filled with fatherly love to your knuckles. âYou could not have found a better match,â he praised.
âThe same is true for myself,â Annatar said, giving you that kind smile of his that never failed to have you return it.
Relief washed over you. All was well.
Youâd be lying to say there isnât a part of you that resents your father for giving you away so eagerly. He could not stop you no matter who you chose to wed, but with anyone else, heâd have at the very least warned you that the engagement had happened much too quickly. Heâd have been more cautious of your betrothed, tried to determine whether or not their intentions towards you were true. But Annatar, in your fatherâs eyes, was of divine nature, and the thought of becoming kin with one of his kind had filled your father with such pride, it overshadowed all else.
You wonder if he is as ashamed of that moment now as you are. And of everything that came after.
Youâre not sure if speaking the wedding vows had somehow allowed Sauron better dominion over your mind, or if you were simply too far gone by then. Little by little, more and more over time, you came to depend on your husband. When your father began acting strange and ill-tempered, Annatar alone knew of his ailment, and he alone could help him heal. He alone could provide the comfort you needed as you watched your father lose himself by the day, unaware that the same was happening to you.
He always knew when and what to say to bring you peace. He never seemed to leave your side, whether in the presence of others or alone. And you craved being alone with him more than anything else. He was an expert lover, so attuned to the needs of your flesh, it was as though he could slither beneath your skin and discern for himself which of his touches felt the most exquisite. Being near him was a delight in itself, but intimacy with him was simply addictive.
Warm morning light flooded through your window, and you wondered how you were supposed to ever leave this bed. Lying on your husbandâs chest, skin to skin in the afterglow of your love-making, everything else in the world seemed so inconsequential in comparison.
âDo you ever sleep?â you asked, wondering suddenly how it had never crossed your mind before. He was always by your side as you drifted to sleepâmost often spent from yet another passionate exchangeâand he was there to greet you each time you awoke. Yet he was not of your kind, and an emissary of the Valar seemed to you above such things as sleep.
âIt is not in my nature to sleep,â he admitted, fingers tracing gentle lines up and down your spine. âBut I rather enjoy laying by your side as you do.â
Your heart soared at the quiet adoration in his voice. And before long, you found yourself aching for him once more. You brushed his neck with your lips, lightly at first, and then with more insistence, making your desire known.
âAgain?â he asked, faintly amused.
You lifted your head, the smallest furrow in your brow. âDoes it bother you?â
âNot in the least,â he replied. If that wasnât reassurance enough, his lips caught yours, and he moved so that your body was safely beneath his, and even the thousandth time would not have been enough.
You can still taste his kissesâand they feel like ash. You remember how each time you became one, it felt better, but only now can you see how it made things so much worse. A corner of your mind, growing larger by the day, was always occupied by him. Each time you aided in the making of one of your fatherâs Ring designs, you did so with thoughts of Annatar. You know now why he wanted it that wayâyour craving for his touch, your utter devotion to him, seeping into the Rings the Power, one by one. You think you might have known even then. But he was always careful not to push you too far, to bring you back from the brink of suspicion before it ever started to take shape in your mind.
Even when the reality of things was undeniable before your eyes.
Your last night before finding out had been spent in a dreadful haze. Sleep felt more like a waking prison as you dreamt of terrible, yet distant things, hearing screams without seeing where they came from, seeing blood and ashes on streets you felt you should but could not recognize. You were grateful to wake up and see the sunlit sky beyond your window. Its light adorned your husbandâs hair beautifully, the familiar sight of him sitting on the edge of your bed bringing you further relief.
âThere you are,â he greeted softly, brow creased with a trace of concern. âYou gave us quite the scare.â
âWhatâ?â Your attempt to speak ended in a cough, as if youâd been breathing dust instead of air. Annatar left your side in haste, returning but a moment later with a glass of water.
âHere,â he said, putting the glass to your lips. You took it gladly, relishing the water soothing your throat. Once Annatar had helped you sit up and settle against the pillows, you asked, as you had meant to, âWhat happened?â
There was pity in his gaze. âDonât you remember, my love?â
You shut your eyes, trying to grasp at figments of blurry images. âI was outside, I think. Mirdania was there. And you. And...â
Annatar shook his head, speaking as softly as if to a frightened child. âEarlier in the day, perhaps. When you collapsed, you were in the forge, with me and Lord Celebrimbor. When you sought to aid your father in merging the metals for his latest attempt at the Nine, your efforts over these past weeks took their toll on you.â He gave you a sympathetic smile, fingers brushing your cheek. âYou fell right into my arms.â
âI did?â
His words did evoke images. The memory was there, somewhere. But the more you tried to reach for it, the more your insides churned.
âBe at ease,â Annatar soothed. âYou merely slept through the night. I have watched over you all the while, and I shall do so until you are better.â
Better. Yes, you would get better.
But you knew, deep in your bones, that you were not well. The sense of dread within you refused to recede, lingering in the furthest corner of your mind even in the moments where you felt the safest. Something deeply rooted in you wanted it all to be overâthe work, the forging, the ailments, your fatherâs as well as yours. You wished so desperately for things to return to the way they used to be before the Rings, it felt as though a great fist had clenched around your heart and refused to release it. But then again, before the Rings, there hadnât been Annatar. And your need for him hurt just as terribly.
In the end, everything hurt. Everything.
âAre you in pain?â your husband murmured. You hadnât realized tears were already sliding down your cheeks.
You broke into sobs.
He slipped beneath the covers and wrapped you in his arms. It became even harder to breathe, and you clung to him all the harder for it, desperate to find that peace that he had offered you time and again.
âHush, my love,â he cooed, holding you close to his chest as you wept for reasons unknown. âAll will be well soon.â
You had fallen into his arms, just like heâd said. Only, you hadnât been inside the forge, but outside, just as your mind had fruitlessly struggled to remind you. You were there when the siege alarms began to blare and chaos erupted in the streets. When you saw your husband walk amongst it, you had run to him at once. Asking where your father was, wanting to stand united with your kin amidst the unfolding madness.
Darkness had engulfed your vision instead, shrouding your memory as well. He must have carried you back to your chambers himself, crafting an illusion within your mind to match the one in which Celebrimbor was already trapped.
It makes sense now. How desperately you had clung to the very source of your misery. One cannot satisfy thirst by drinking sea water, but you, in your foolishness, had drunk enough to drain the sea.
âYou chose it,â he now tells your father, speaking of the suffering he had inflicted, ânot I.â
And thereâs a part of you that believes him, even as another screams inside you that his words are poison. You cling desperately to the scrap of reason within you which recognizes that his claims are atrociousâthat it is Celebrimbor who forced Sauron to torment him, that he is the true author of his own torment. You watch in disbelief, feeling as though youâre falling through the floor, waiting for your father to refute Sauronâs lies as if hearing the truth spoken out loud will save you from shattering to pieces at the bottom of the abyss.
And you can tell he wants to. There is defiance in Celebrimborâs eyes as he glances to you, the fire of his will still burning beneath the burden of his torment. But, slowly and surely, he tames it. Averts his gaze in shame.
âVery well,â your father says. âGive me the blame. Punish me as you see fit. You have already taken my city. But I beg you,â his voice trembles, tears gathering in his eyes, âlet my daughter leave.â
A smirk tugs at Sauronâs lips. âYour daughter...â He returns to your side, gathering your stiff hand in his and thumbing your wedding ring. â...is my wife, Celebrimbor. It is only natural that she should remain at my side.â
You and Celebrimbor exchange a despairing glance. Your father, determined to plea for your freedomâyou, fearing the consequences he might bring upon himself.
âPleaseââ
âFather, donâtââ
âNo!â he cries out. âI all but pushed you into his arms.â Tears slip from his regret-filled eyes. âThat is my fault.â
Sauron takes a seat next to you, his brow furrowed as if he couldnât possibly grasp the reason for such grievances.
âShe has given herself to me freely,â he says, your hand still trapped in his as he wraps an arm around your shoulders. âHave you not?â
You glare daggers at him.
âHow could I have chosen you freely, when I never knew who you were?â you hiss. It does nothing to deter him.
âWhy do you lie to yourself? You knew.â You shake your head. He nods his, insisting, âYes. Deep within your heart, you knew.â
âDonât say such things to her,â Celebrimbor pleads, âI beg youââ
âSuch things as the truth, Celebrimbor?â Sauron asks roughly, irritated by the interruption. âTell him, my dear wife,â he challenges, âthat you never once suspected I was more than what I claimed to be. That you never felt the caress of darkness within my touch.â
You cannot look at him, or at your father. You cannot speak those words, however desperately you wish you could.
âTell him,â Sauron insists cruelly, squeezing your hand to the point of near pain.
âI did,â you murmur miserably. Sauron loosens his threatening grip on your hand, pleased.
âYet even as you cried yourself to sleep in fear of it,â he goes on, âit was within my arms that you took comfort. Because, in truth, you were not afraid of who I wasâyou were afraid of how little it mattered to you.â A last spark of defiance drives you to make the mistake of meeting his gaze, and his sickly sympathetic smile makes you shudder within his hold. âHe needed to create,â he reasons. âYou needed to be desired. And I needed you both.â
His arm is no longer around you, but the relief is meager and short-lived as he then cups your cheek, thumb catching the tears that have begun to fall from your eyes. He insists to hold his hand there as you flinch, screwing your eyes shut. A small sigh leaves him.
âHave I not treated you well?â he asks. âWas I not kind to you when you most needed it? A caring husband, a most... generous lover?â
âHold your wicked tongue!â you all but growl, your head jerking with enough force that he retracts his hand. Your eyes fly to Celebrimbor, and see that he has shut his in great pain. Shame crawls under your skin. Sauron smiles in a mockery of bashfulness.
âForgive me for speaking of such matters before your father, but it is only the truth. You must admit that. And it need not change.â
His hand returns to your cheek then, pressed more firmly to it, and you only now realize itâs the one he cut. You feel a warm wetness on your skin, and know that once he removes it, his blood, black as the pitch, would be smeared there, marking you even further as his.
âThe Rings are nearly finished,â you say through gritted teeth. âYou never truly desired me. What more use could you have of me?â
âWho says I never desired you?â he whispers, almost as if wounded. âI would not have made you my wife, if it hadnât been my wish to make you my Queen as well.â
His voice is so alluring, so saccharine and familiar to your ears, it takes everything in you to remind yourself that every word is a lie. And if you grasp at reason, you can tell why he speaks them. Because of your involvement in making the Rings, you would always have some measure of influence over them, so it serves him well to have you under his control. But not only that. He would relish knowing he has subdued you to his will. That he not only ensnared the mind of the greatest of Elven smiths, but also claimed his daughter as his prize.
A storm brews in Sauronâs eyes as he senses your persisting reluctance. His fingers grip your chin, pulling you close so that his breath falls on your cheek as he speaks.
âYou will say yes to me once more.â
You hate how determined he is to make it so. You hate how helpless you are to do anything other than glare back at him.
But what you hate the most is that you are not certain he is wrong.
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Found You Again
You'll Survive - Part 2
Garrick Tavis x Reader
Angst/Violence/PTSD
Minor Iron Flame spoilers
Summary: After Garrick finds you still alive, you both have to deal with the consequences of torture, the coming war, and your relationship.
Word Count: <10k
A/N: Get a beverage and get comfy, this is going to be a long one. Got a little carried away with this one, so it's going to be three parts. I have a few more scenes I want to add and didn't want to cram them all here! Hope y'all don't mind.
All it takes is a moment and you are shooting up from the bed that you had apparently been laying in. A scream still tearing from your throat as you scan your surroundings frantically. There are beads of sweat pouring from your temples and you can feel your heart beating a rapid staccato that you canât seem to control.Â
As you continue to heave breaths in and out you wildly search from left to right for any threats, the lingering phantom of hands holding you down ghosting across your skin.Â
Your eyes finally snag on another pair staring at you with agonizing sorrow. You canât help the way you scramble back out of the bed and as far away from the figure as you can. Your brain tries to remind you this figure wonât hurt you, but you canât seem to connect the thoughts with the remnants of your dream that felt more like reality.
Your back finally hits cold stone and that makes you turn and jump again; memories of your head being smashed into the same type of stone only days ago vivid in your mind.
As the present slowly comes into focus and your dream fades away, your heartbeat slowing to a more reasonable rhythm, you finally begin to process the room in front of you.Â
Thereâs no longer the smell of rotten earth and the metallic iron of dried blood, the floors are clean and thereâs a large window showing the beginning cracks of sunlight rising from the horizon. You try to continue taking deep breaths as your gaze finally sweeps back to the pair of eyes that had you scrambling back before.
You meet the hazel gaze that shines with unshed tears and a sorrowful look on his face that you had never seen before. No one could miss the way that he is holding himself to the chair that he has been sitting in, obviously an effort not to move or scare you. You can hear the wood of the chair creaking under the pressure and his knuckles turning his pale skin even whiter.  Â
You both stare at each other for what seems like an eternity, neither one of you speaking seeming to not want to break the spell that youâre both in.Â
You slowly begin to straighten yourself from the shrunken in shape you had taken when waking from your nightmare. As you do, you notice that you are no longer in your torn and shredded flight leathers you were tortured in. Now, you are in oversized training clothes that you know must be Garrickâs. Your hand moves to your hair and the strands slide through your fingers. Someone must have bathed and changed you after you were mended.
You continue to look around the room you are in and take in the way that it looks lived in and has notes of Garrick all around. Thereâs a tapestry over the large inner wall that has a desk in front of it and a weapons rack right next to it. You canât help the way you notice the number of swords that are littered on the other wall making rainbow of glittering sharp weapons.
Out the corner of your eye, you can see Garrickâs form slowly move from grasping the chair with a death grip to relaxing his hands in his lap. You swallow, noting the scratch of your throat as you do. The memory of the scream you awoke to striking in your mind. You bring your hand up to your throat and tap, hoping that he will understand the gesture and get you some water.Â
Garrick gives you a short nod before he moves to the small table that is beside the bed. You watch as he pours a glass of water before turning back to you and slowly making his way to where you stand. Neither one of you deigns to speak as if either of you do the spell will be broken.Â
As he hands you the glass, you give him a curt nod before taking a few steps out of his reach. His eyes continue to look pained, and his arm falls back to his side as if in defeat.Â
You slowly take sips of the water trying to relish in the way the liquid quells the scratch of your throat. It doesnât escape your notice that something that was so trivial now seems to be such a luxury. The use of your hands, a mended body, the ability to move away from someone whether a threat or not. You hold onto the glass with both hands as you continue to drink the water while walking back to the bed. You sit on the side and let your body drop back in relief of not being restrained.Â
Emotions hit you hard suddenly and you look at your hands noticing the way theyâve begun to tremble. You let yourself slide from the bed onto the floor carefully placing the glass at your side. As you finally make contact with the ground, you clasp your hands together trying to steady them. Leaning your head against the mattress, you canât control the gasp that leaves your mouth as your throat constricts and tears begin to stream down your face. You continue to take gasping breaths as the tears fall and your head stays firmly planted against the mattress.Â
As the fog of emotion slowly begins to clear, you hear carefully measured footsteps come towards you. Turning your head slightly, you watch as Garrick comes towards you slowly. He crouches down not far from where youâve melted into the floor, and you notice the tear streaks that mar his pale cheeks. Your gazes collide and thereâs nothing but raw, charged emotion hanging in the air. If the last week had never happened, you would be laughing at the way the mountain of muscle before you had become so tentative. Gone was the bravado and over-confident air that seemed to follow him around.
âC-Ca-Can I touch you?â He questions stammering, his tone quiet and reserved.Â
Your mind is suddenly a cacophony of thoughts. The anger that youâd been clinging onto burning bright, the fear of anyone touching you in any way, and the undeniable want to be held close and safe by the man in front of you waging a war on every front.Â
âP â Please donât.â You whisper as the fear and then anger win out over the softer emotions roiling within you.Â
You know that the fear youâre feeling must have leeched into your voice, because itâs almost as if you can see the heart of the man in front of you breaking as the words leave your mouth.Â
âWhat can I do?â He mumbles as he seems to waver on how exactly to move forward.Â
You look at him with a mix of sadness, resolve, and anger in your features before replying. âNothing.â
The fear and helplessness you were feeling moments ago morphing into the relentless anger that you had harbored for the man sitting next to you. Itâs with that spark of fire that ignites in your body that you find yourself getting up from the floor and marching towards the door.
âWait!â Garrick calls from behind you as you go to open the door. Youâre immediately met with a barrage of sounds that cause you to shrink back. Your eyes wide with pure fear, darting back and forth among the cadets that seem to be milling about wherever you are.Â
You immediately close the door again, your breaths coming in ragged pants as you plaster yourself to the back of the door. Terrified eyes look back up at Garrick before the questions start rapid firing in your mind.
âWh-where are we?â The question coming out with pure confusion laced in your words. You knew you couldnât be at Basgiath, but all those people couldnât possibly be lieutenants.Â
âYouâre at Riorson House in Aretia.â He says in a calm tone.
âWho are all those people?â Your brows furrow trying to make sense of everything thatâs happening all at once.
âThey are all the cadets that defected when Riorson and I came for Violet.â As he continues to explain, you watch as he slowly moved forward. His hands are fisted at his sides and look as if they are trying to hold him in place.Â
âWhen I finally found you again.â He continues as if the thought of getting to Basgiath for anyone but you wasnât worth his time to dwell on. His hand starts to reach out for you of its own accord, but he finally realizes, and it falls back to his side.
As the facts start taking shape in your mind, you canât help the confusion that seems to blanket you as well.Â
âDefected? Are you telling me that you took me, injured, from the little protections that Navarre does offer?â You incredulously look back at him, your eyes boring into his soul.
Garrick seems taken aback by your phrasing of the question and rage flashes in his eyes. âWhat protections?â His voice starts to raise slightly as the anger builds.
âDo you really think torturing you within an inch of your life is much protection? Of course, I fucking took you! I wasnât leaving you with those sadistic fuckers.â He hisses, the switch to anger turning palpable as you see memories haunt his face.
He stops just a few steps from you and brings his face down to be level with yours. âAnd I would fucking do it again if it means knowing you are safe. I donât give a shit whether you like it or not.â
Your face contorts into a sneer as the anger you felt before being taken roars back to life. But you arenât complaining because at least the anger can drown out the fear. With that knowledge, you turn again back to the door and fling it open while Garrick tries to grab your arm, the fear you had shown him forgotten as he tries to catch up with you.Â
You have no idea where you are going, you are just moving down the hallway trying to get away from the man that is yelling your name. You slink through the cadets that are milling about as fast as you can, using your smaller agile frame against Garrickâs herculean form. You descend the stairs and find a door open to the left and swiftly enter trying to escape.Â
Unfortunately, it seems Zinhal has other plans for you today. As you suddenly come to a halt you look around and see that youâre obviously now in a training room that regrettably contains Bodhi, Xaden, and Imogen. The three of them turn to you with slight shock on their faces before you can hear Garrickâs voice burst into the room.
âY/N.â He breathes in an exasperated breath before looking at the other three gathered as well. His eyes seeming to zero in on Bodhi.
You watch as Garrick stomps over to Bodhi with deadly intent. His uncertainty on how to handle the situation with you crumbling all the restraint left to his anger, fear, rage, and powerlessness to fix the torture you had to endure.
âYou.â He growls menacingly while staring at him with a murderous gleam.Â
âYou knew she was fucking alive and didnât think to tell me!â He roars. âI never thought my âbrotherâ would keep something like that from me.â
Bodhiâs face falls completely and thatâs when you know that you must step in. You may not be overly friendly with Bodhi, but he doesnât deserve to be treated badly because of the spot you put him in. You walk in between the two right before Garrick goes to grab Bodhiâs collar. You push Garrickâs hand aside and look up at him with a fire dancing in your own eyes.
âI made that decision for him.â You utter coldly.Â
Garrick finally removes his gaze from Bodhi and looks down at you, the anger in his eyes softening in some of its sharpness.Â
âBodhi told me to write you the minute he saw me land at Basgiath, but I tied his hands.â You explain with no hint of remorse. âYou left me behind, all while your little pink girlfriend smirked at me in smug satisfaction. You showed your cards to me, remember?â
Garrickâs anger seems to evaporate, and his entire expression turns into regret, but this time you arenât swayed.Â
âThen I went to Eltuval and found myself alone on patrol and learning that venin and wyvern were real. Alone. Something I believe you know a little about.â You add sarcastically as you gesture to the expanse of Riorson House.Â
Your anger at the whole situation and what you had to face alone comes rushing back. A derisive laugh bubbling up at the predicament you find yourself in.
âYou left me behind, told me I would survive without you, then I was left alone on watch and became the number one target for a massive wyvern doing its own patrol of Navarreâs borders.â You revealed while the anger and level of your voice began to rise.Â
The expression on Garrickâs face is laughable to say the least. You watch as his regret turns to disbelief back to anger and finally lands back on regret.Â
âThat â Thatâs impossible.â A female voice stammers from behind you.
You huff a humorless laugh and turn towards the voice. You narrow your eyes in a glare at the girl staring back at you in disbelief.Â
âTell that to the scars on my back from the wyverns razored feathers.â You say as you stalk towards Violet with an ominous look in your eyes.
âDid you think that your little group was the only one who found themselves the victim of the cadreâs wrath? Did you think they were only after your precious Wingleader?â You spit the derision in your tone obvious as you gesture towards the brooding shadow wielder.
âYou are more naĂŻve than I thought if you believe that Colonel Aetos was only going to go after the marked ones alone.â You asserted as you walked into Violetâs space, looking down at the girl who was a few inches shorter than you.
You couldnât help the mocking laugh that slipped past your lips when you noticed Xaden step up to her back as if you intended on hurting the girl in front of you.
âDonât worry, Riorson. I have absolutely no intention of hurting your dear girl. I just want her to realize that you werenât the only ones that the cadre had an issue with.â You sneered with boredom lacing your tone.Â
âNow if your little family gathering will excuse me.â You gesture towards all the ones gathered there making a circling motion with your hand. âIâm going to get some fresh air.â
You take three steps away before you feel a large, calloused hand wrap around your upper arm. You canât help the way you flinch and your eyes flash at the touch.
âYou canât go out there by yourself. Itâs dangerous and anything could happen to you.â Garrick explains sounding like heâs trying to reason with you. You forcefully pull your arm from his grip before turning around.
âNo, see hereâs where youâre wrong.â You purr with conviction while thrusting your finger into his chest forcefully. âI can do whatever the fuck I want. If I die,â you shrug your shoulders conveying your nonchalance âthen so be it. At least I wonât be haunted by the nightmares any longer.â
âI will not let you put yourself in unnecessary danger.â Garrick barked blocking you from your path.
You take your time looking back directly into those hazel eyes. âYou, my dear Garrick, lost your fucking privilege of caring about what I do about five months ago. Why donât you go rut with one of the other mares in your stable and leave me the fuck alone.â
As you swiftly turn your body and continue your walk, there was no way to avoid hearing the shocked gasps at the words you said. Even though you knew you still loved Garrick, your heart was walled off to him after he became just another one of the men who continued to disappoint you.Â
Right before you closed the door, you couldnât help overhearing Garrickâs loud curse and a roaring bang that you surmised must have been a punch to the nearest punching bag or possibly a wall. A small, satisfied smirk crawled across your face when you realized that you could successfully still get under Garrickâs skin.
As soon as you were outside the heavy wooden doors of the fortress, you looked down and noticed the shifting of shadows.
âLeave me the fuck alone Riorson.â You spit while stepping over them.Â
As you kept walking, you found yourself entering the small, reconstructed town of Aretia. You had heard stories of the burning and due to your interest in geography and history had more knowledge than your average cadet. However, you had no idea where you were going; you just knew that you needed to get away.Â
You continued along the path, but still noticed the wisp of a shadow that followed you. Clearly Xaden wasnât going to let you be alone, so you knew what you would have to do to throw off your wisping tail. Without much thought, you walked into the nearest shop that was bustling with townspeople trying to do their daily shopping.Â
The minute you stepped in, you changed your entire appearance with the aid of Diomatâs power. You made your hair shorter and darker, your eyes a shade of sapphires you hadnât seen anyone else have and reduced the look of your height. As soon as your looks were fully disguised, you walked back out of the shop. Taking a deep breath when you were finally away from the crowd, and you stepped into the shade of the nearest tree. Looking around for your unfortunate addition, you were happy to find that you mustâve slipped the shadows notice.Â
When you confirmed there was no longer a wisp following you, you proceeded to continue your walk into town.
You couldnât help the smile that immediately lit up your face as you watched children playing and motherâs going about their days. Something about seeing this domesticity made your resolve about fighting in the coming war harden. You knew there was no way that you would let these people suffer if you didnât have to. Especially after experiencing what torture could be doled out from your own cadre, let alone an enemy.Â
After walking a while, you found a small cafĂŠ and ordered a hot chocolate while sitting at one of the small tables. You sat there watching the calm lives of the civilians outside and continued to smile in your revelry of the small things. You were so engrossed in your own daydream that you startled when you felt a hand on your shoulder.
Looking up in a swift turn, you are surprised to find a pair of liquid silver eyes staring back at you. You couldnât help the way you appraised the stranger. You had never seen a man with such mesmerizing eyes. You continued to stare at the man in front of you, now noticing his raven hair and warm honey skin.Â
âCan I help you?â You asked as you continued appraising the stranger in front of you.
âIâm sorry to bother you. But I had to ask as I was unsure if I was hallucinating. Did you change your appearance in that shop across the road?â He queried you while giving a slight tilt to his head indicating the shop you had left.Â
You turned a little sheepish not really knowing how much you should reveal to the man in front of you.
âI donât mean to catch you off guard.â He continues with a placating tone. âIâm a guard at Riorson House and by the clothing, I assumed you were a rider, and obviously noticed you before the hair and eye color change.â
You shake your head in acknowledgement before giving him a reply.
âYes, I did. I was just trying to shake a little shadow and have some time to myself.â
He nods in acceptance obviously realizing what exactly you are insinuating.Â
âAh, yes. The real question is why Lieutenant Riorson is needing to follow you around.â He added pure curiosity in his face.
âIf youâre asking if Iâm a threat, I can assure you Iâm not. After days of torture, Iâm not sure how much of a menace I could be right about now.â You muse not afraid to share your misfortunes.Â
âSo, are you the Sorrengail or Lieutenant Tavisâ interest?â
You canât help the laugh that escapes you at the remote possibility you could be Violet Sorrengail.Â
âIâm not naĂŻve enough to be Sorrengail. Besides, do you really think Riorson would let her out of his sight?â You criticized seeing that you canât imagine how someone who was hailed at being so smart couldnât imagine that the cadre of Navarre wouldnât just take out anyone they saw as a threat in any way.
âSo, youâre the one that Tavis thought was dead.â He surmises.Â
Your eyes widen slightly and then narrow in suspicion.Â
âAnd exactly how do you know that?âÂ
He gives a small smile before continuing. âI promise I mean you no harm and I donât report back to Riorson or Tavis if thatâs what youâre worried about.â
âIf thatâs the case. How exactly do you know all of this? I canât imagine that the love lives of mere lieutenants are the subject of gossip.â You canât help but question this man that has seemingly popped up out of nowhere.
He nods in understanding and gestures asking to sit at the table that Iâve taken residence at. You offer the seat, and he immediately sits down across from you.Â
âYouâre right in one instance. People arenât normally interested in the love lives of the Lieutenants. However, Iâm guessing you are aware of why people would be concerned with Riorsonâs life.â You give a slight shift of your head confirming your understanding.
âBeing that Riorson is the most important person to the Tyrrish people, it does not escape them that Tavis is his right hand. Therefore, both of their lives are heavily scrutinized from the Assembly, hence my knowledge on the subject.â
He goes on to continue to regale you with stories of both men, including Bodhi in the bunch. He takes time to explain how the Assembly learned of your existence since you were apparently a wrench in their plans. No one expected Garrick to be entangled with anything more than physical, let alone a first year. Â
You also learn that this manâs name is Fabien, and he has been a guard at Riorson House since about two years after the Apostasy. His family owns the cafĂŠ that you are currently sitting in, but they had previously been servants at Riorson House as well.Â
Oddly enough, you begin to let your guard down and find yourself being drawn into the grey eyes and warm personality of the man in front of you. It has been a while since you had met someone so open and willingly trusting.Â
You could only think that a person like Fabien would be torn down immediately at Basgiath. The sad reality that the thought even crossed your mind crashing into you.
Soon enough, the light of the sun began waning into the horizon beyond the cliffs. You looked out at the setting sun and something in the shift of your facial features mustâve given away your decision to get back to Riorson House.Â
âI know itâs getting late, and I imagine that you need to get back. Would you mind if I escort you back to the fortress?â Fabien asks as you both rise from the table.Â
âIâd hate to be a bother, especially if you werenât planning on going back today.â You say giving him an easy out from his ask. Although you were hoping he would still want to as you were slightly unsure of how to get back to the fortress.
âI insist. Iâm more than confident you can handle yourself, but I will feel better if youâd allow me to escort you.â He declares.
âI expect you to accept his offer, Bold One.â Diomat slithers into your mind, reminding you that sheâs watching out for you as well.
âYes, maâam.â You sass back, smiling at the exasperated huff you hear down your bond.
You nod your head in agreement and push in the chair that you had been relaxing in all day. As soon as you step into the night air you canât help the shiver that crawls up your spine, the oversized training clothes not doing much to shield from the chill of the October air. Fabien must see your discomfort because not even ten steps later, he has thrown his cloak over you and closed the middle clasp. You give him a small thankful smile before you both continue your saunter back towards the doors of the fortress.
As you walk with him, you find yourself continuing to fall into conversation and chat about anything and everything. He takes great care to point things out around the town and let you know little stories from both his childhood and the âthree musketeersâ that ran terror around the town growing up. In return, you tell him stories of your childhood growing up on the coastline and the scuffles you got yourself into with your siblings.Â
As you both get to the gates of Riorson House, you canât hold in the boisterous laugh that tears from you at a particularly funny story involving three small children and a two-tiered chocolate cake. As you round the corner, you see a tall, muscled figure pacing back and forth in front of the wooden doors. The minute the sound of your laugh touches his ears, you watch as he turns to look directly at you.Â
Garrickâs eyes twinkle at the sound of your laugh before his gaze follows to the person that is standing next to you. His eyes immediately harden at the man standing next to you. You watch as he strides towards you with clear purpose.
Without giving him too much attention, you turn to Fabien and go to unclasp his cloak. However, before you can undo the clasp, Fabien touches your hand stopping you.
âPlease keep it.â He says while looking out the corner of his eye, obviously watching the mountain of muscle that is marching straight towards you.
âYou donât have to do that.â You go to protest, but he shakes his head.
âI know I donât have to, but Iâd like if you would.â He states. âIâd also like to see you again sometime, whenever you arenât too busy.â
You go to respond to him, but you are cut off by a gruff voice replying before you. âSheâs too busy all the time.â
You turn a glare at the man that has decided he needed to put himself between the two of you. You step around Garrick and give him a glare that he doesnât acknowledge.
âWeâll see each other again.â You say looking at the man who has treated you as more than a beautiful annoyance all afternoon. âIâll make sure to stop by when I get some free time. In the meanwhile, thank you so much for the wonderful afternoon, stories, and the cloak.â
Fabien gives you a slight bow and nod with his smile before he turns on his heels and you watch as he walks outside the fortress walls. You spin on your heels and head towards the doors. As you go to open the door, a large hand covers yours and turns your body to face them.
You look up at Garrick with a face of exasperation your eyes turning tired.Â
âHow did you slip past Xadenâs shadows?â He questions.Â
âThatâs none of your business, Lieutenant.â You snap at him.
âWhy wonât you just talk to me? Iâve been sitting next to that bed for three days waiting for you to wake up. Praying to any gods who would listen to make sure youâd be alright.â He explains while running a hand through his hair.Â
âWill you ever give me another chance?â He says quietly.Â
âWhat chance do I need to give?â You snarl back harshly. âYou made your decision and told me that I would survive without you, didnât you? So here I am, surviving without you.â
You watch as he rakes his hand through his hair again and blows out a growl of utter frustration.
âYes, I said that, and I was a fucking idiot.â He starts as he moves closer to you. âYou donât know how much I regretted those words the moment you mounted Diomat and left me behind. Hell, the moment they left my mouth.â
His hand rises to your face and cups the side of your jaw, his thumb rubbing lazy circles over your cheek.Â
âThen I flew back to Basgiath after Resson and the only bright light I could think of was your face.â A faraway look clouds his eyes as the memory fizzles inside his mind.
âWhen everyone was trying to play their part to make sure no one knew the truth, I kept searching formation for you. I looked up and down every row, every face looking for your eyes.â He recounts. âI was standing there trying to breathe and keep my composure so that we could sell our story. But the only thing I wanted to do was run down to your squad and ask every single person where you were.â
You take a deep breath as you stare into the worried hazel eyes that seem to dart all around your face as if cataloging every detail.Â
âWhat do you want from me Garrick?â You ask tiredly not knowing whether youâre willing to give the man in front of you anything anymore.
âYou.â He says breathlessly while bringing his forehead to rest on yours. âI fucking want you.â
You can feel how tense his body is from holding himself back from rushing to crush your body to his. Every muscle in his arms seem to sing with want to move and not let go, but you arenât convinced.
You push yourself back from him and take his hand from your face. You bring it down and let it fall limp next to his body.Â
âYou of all people knew how many men in my life have let me down.â You reply, drawing your gaze down with the tears that are beginning to fill your eyes. You lift them back to Garrick and let him see your eyes shine with held back emotion.
âI was expecting better from you. I was expecting to be your priority, but I wasnât. Not to mention you were keeping secrets. I feel like I donât even know you.â You tell him as a single tear slips down the side of your face.Â
Garrickâs face becomes a whirlpool of emotion as your words crash around him. He knew all the ways men in your life had failed you, yet he let himself do the same.Â
âI was tortured because of your secrets that you didnât see fit to tell me.â You canât help the small shake of your head in disbelief and the haunted look of your eyes. âYou knew that I would keep any secret and take it to my grave before putting anyone in danger, especially you. However, you chose to take my agency. You chose what you thought was best, with Iâm sure some assistance from your friendly shadow. But, at the end of the day, you made your decisions.â
You begin to walk towards the heavy doors again before turning back towards the man that held your entire heart.Â
âNow itâs time for me to make my own decisions. It will be on my terms if anything else happens between us.â
As you enter the fortress, the realization that you have nowhere to go dawns on you after remembering it was Garrickâs room you woke up in. As if in answer to your question, Xaden steps out of one of doorways in the hallway in front of you. With purpose written on your features, you walk up to your previous Wingleader.Â
âI need a room to stay in.â You say unceremoniously to the man standing in front of you.
He looks at you with a hint of confusion on his face, before nodding his head and walking further into the fortress. You follow him and hope that youâll be able to keep the talking to a minimum.Â
âAre you sure that you donât want to stay where you are?â He asks while continuing to walk forward, though he does turn to glance back at you. âThe rooms in the family wing are significantly larger than those in the barracks.â
âIâm sure.â You canât help the terse way you respond.Â
Suddenly he turns and faces you. The quick way he moves and turns towards you has you retreating and running into the wall. You can feel the way that your face has twisted in fear at his movements and watch as the brooding man before you softens uncharacteristically.Â
âIâm sorry. I didnât mean to frighten you.â He softly says while taking a few steps back. âWeâll get you assigned a room, but you should know that Garrick isnât going to like being separated from you after everything.â
Your eyes roll at the statement and Xaden looks at you with a sad understanding.Â
âTrust me when I say that both of us have said and done things in the past year that we deeply regret.â He starts in a rare moment of vulnerability from the hard man he usually is. âIâm not going to try and convince you to be with Garrick, but I do want you to know that it wasnât Garrickâs call to leave you for War Games. It was mine.â
âI know that.â You argue. âIt wasnât the not being taken, it was the way he handled it and the words he said.â
You huff a cynical laugh before continuing. âIâm sure even Violet would admit that every girl wants the man that sheâs with to show a little fight when it comes to her.â
It was then that Xaden blew out a huff of his own. âYou may think that he didnât fight for you. But you didnât see him after he saw you in that chamber. When Aetos caught you after you fainted,â He stops shaking his head while recollecting the memory. âIâve never seen Garrick move so fast to get to you and wrap you in his arms. When flying back here, he wouldnât even let anyone else touch you.â
âNot to mention, you need to realize that sometimes a man makes a decision purely on the thought of keeping the woman he loves safe.â He catches me before I can open my mouth to argue back. âWhether or not she may like what that decision is. Sometimes he may prefer her to hate him if that means sheâs safe.â
You look into the eyes of the man in front of you and his face is nothing but open and serious. You give him a curt nod noting your understanding before he turns back around, and you both continue down the hallway.Â
Good to his word, Xaden finds you a room and even though you expected to be in the barracks, your room ends up being on the floor underneath the family rooms. You thank him for helping you and close the door to your room.Â
You heave out a large breath before unceremoniously dropping yourself onto the bed. You turn and let your eyes drift to the ceiling of the room trying to quiet your churning mind.
______
Due to the amount of mending that you had to have after Varrishâs particularly brutal forms of torture, you were given some time off before having to join in with the rest of the cadets. However, after learning of your fate in Eltuval, you were summoned to the Assembly to explain exactly what you saw.
As you walked into the large room, you couldnât help but notice the long table that ran the length of the room with several members lining each side. However, the thing that really took your attention was the large chair sitting slightly higher than all the rest and not just the chair, but the man lounging in it.Â
There was Xaden sitting in the half-burned chair, legs stretched out in front of him with a bored look on his face. And if there was any question left in your mind about where Garrick fell, it was answered today. There he was stood behind the chair with his twin swords strapped to his back, arms folded across his chest looking as if he was assessing each and every person and the threat they may pose.Â
A General guarding his King.
Garrickâs eyes met yours and you watched as his stance softened ever so slightly, the same way it always would at Basgiath. A sad smile sprawled across your lips as you shook your head slightly at the memory.Â
âCadet L/N.â You looked up as a man with auburn curls called your name and motioned you to take a seat at the middle of the table. âWe appreciate you talking to us about your experience in Eltuval. Feel free to begin whenever youâd like.â
You make your way to the seat and tentatively sit down. You heart begins to flutter in your chest and nerves begin to make you stomach tighten. You place your hands in your lap to stop them from shaking and take a deep breath to try and steady yourself.
âIâm not sure how much information that I have to share that will enlighten you more than what you already know.â You start, suddenly feeling very self-conscious with all of these older riders.
âI was given orders to patrol a specific area within the borders of our position at Eltuval. Diomat and I proceeded to the area and began our patrol as normal. About a half an hour into the watch, there was a large roar from the northwestern part of our patrol.â You take another fortifying breath before the assembly seems to fade and your eyes become your memories.
âAs I looked towards the sound, blue flames erupted from the mouth of the beast. I consulted with my dragon, as I wasnât sure what exactly I was looking at. Diomat confirmed that it was a wyvern and confirmed that I could kill it with a blade that Lieutenant Tavis had previously gifted me.â As you finish your sentence, your eyes involuntarily flick to the man in question.
âDiomat then flew towards the wyvern as it headed straight for us in return. As we made our way there, I utilized my signet to be able to get down on the wyverns back. Once there, I slammed the blade in and was able to slash through half of its neck while it flailed.â
âRegrettably, I was thrown into its razored mane before I was flung into the air. Luckily, Diomat was able to catch me, and we returned to the outpost. From there, my wounds were tended to, and I told the cadre that I was hurt from falling from Diomatâs back.â As you finish, you look around the room at the eyes staring back at you. A mix of disbelief and astonishment fixed on all their faces, all but one. Garrick is looking as if he might be sick from the recounting of your tale.Â
âAre you saying that you jumped on the back of a wyvern and killed it with your own hands?!?â A man with a hawkish nose barks out incredulously.
Your head immediately whips to him and your eyes narrow. âWhy the hell would I lie?â You challenge the man.
âWhy should we believe this tale? The whole thing sounds of fairytales.â A woman with an axe strapped to her back argues back.
âI thought venin and wyvern were fairytales, yet here we are in an Assembly room that is trying to figure out best way to beat them.â You fume as you gesture to the people sitting around the table while standing up from your seat.Â
âAnd even though I shouldnât have to fucking qualify my story for you to believe me, how about I fucking show you.â The anger at their accusations has turned your body into a raging wildfire.Â
With that fire burning in your veins, you turn around and lift the back of your shirt. Thereâs no way to ignore the gasps of horror that leave the mouths of the people in the room. You know what theyâre seeing, large scars that bisect through the part of the relic that Diomat placed on your back.
âSo yes, I jumped on the back of a damn wyvern and killed it. And no, it wasnât a fucking fairytale.â After you finish speaking you bust out of the room, the fire in your veins still burning brightly.
You know from experience there are only two ways to burn the fire licking at you. You decide that its been too long since youâve seen Diomat and find yourself immediately making a beeline for the large front doors. Just before you are about to grab one of the handles and swing the door open, a large hand wraps around your arm.
You are immediately tugged around and enveloped in large arms. Your anger is still burning hot on the surface so thankfully the fear of being restrained hasnât bubbled up.Â
âGods.â Garrick breathes as he holds you tightly. âItâs so much worse than I thought it was.â
âWhat did you think I was making it up too?â You huff out cynically. He moves one of the hands from the hug and pulls back slightly to grab your chin in his hand.Â
âOf course, I didnât. I was just hoping it wasnât as bad as I thought. But apparently, it was worse.â He answers his eyes serious with a hint of sadness. The next thing you know heâs huffing out a small laugh. âI donât know whether I want to be angry with you for risking your life so recklessly or just be in wonder at how astonishing you are.â
Now it was your turn to scoff. âYou can be both, but I need to get out of here.â With that you turn from the man and make your way outside of the fortress.
Youâre thankful that Diomat shares your mind, because without you even having to ask, she touches down in the large courtyard upsetting the guards and garden below. Without caring, you mount your dragon and immediately take to the skies.Â
After a few hours, your lack of flight leathers begins to wear on you as you become colder and colder.
âDiomat, how close to town can you get me?â You ask your dragon hoping that you can finish of this tiring day with a warm cup of hot chocolate.Â
âI can take you to the edge of the woods. Due to the civilians, they ask the dragons not to get too close and scare them. If you walk the path, then you should be at the town in about ten minutes from what Chradh says.â She confirms down your bond.
You look down giving the back of your dragonâs neck a raised eyebrow as you hear her mention Chradh.
âWhy are you speaking with Chradh all of a sudden?â Your eyes narrowing in suspicion.Â
You hear a huff of amusement in your mind before she replies. âI suppose because his rider keeps pestering him about my whereabouts, and therefore yours as well.â
You canât help the snarking laugh that you let out while Diomat begins to descend into the woods. âWell how about you just let him know youâre going back to the valley and leave me out of this one.â
As you begin walking away, Diomat huffs a blast of steam at you before nudging you with her maw. You glance back at her and give a wide smile.
As you begin your walk into town, the anger seems to bleed out of you again as you enjoy the day-to-day activities of the people around you. Soon enough, you find yourself outside of the cafĂŠ again and a smile breaks across your face as you see Fabien wave you in from the window.Â
âCome in.â He says as he steps out from behind the counter. âI didnât expect to see you in here so soon.â
âI didnât anticipate a visit today, but Iâm in need of a warm beverage.â You admit. âPreferably, one of those delicious hot chocolates.â You say sheepishly.
A genuine smile breaks across Fabienâs face.  âOf course, thatâs no problem at all.â
You watch as Fabien disappears behind the counter to make your hot chocolate. Settling into the chair, you let your head fall to stretch your neck muscles from the flight and take a deep breath. Suddenly you feel someone tapping on your shoulder and you go to move your head expecting to see Fabien looking back at you.
Looking up, you are met with a pair of light green eyes. The snarl that formed on your lips was purely instinctive. Why couldnât this little group just leave you alone when you wanted to be alone?
âWhy canât you all just go the fuck away?â You sighed exaggeratedly.
âBecause you are going to stay seated and listen whether you like it or not.â You canât help but roll your eyes at the commanding tone that Imogen takes.Â
âWell, I donât like it. So how about I donât listen.â You were in no mood to listen to anything the girl in front of you had to say.
âLook, Iâm not here for you. Iâm here because I love Garrick.â You canât help the way your eyes widen and look back at Imogen when she finishes her statement.
âOh-kay.â You say unsure on how to proceed. âWe arenât together, so Iâm unsure as to why you need to talk to me about him. If you want to tell him you love him, shouldnât you be saying that to him.â
Imogen rolls her eyes at you while beginning to sit in the seat across from yours.Â
âThe bastard is more than aware of my feelings.â She replies tersely. âBut that doesnât matter when he only has eyes for you.â
âI know that Xaden has already talked to you.â She goes on to explain and you quirk your eyebrow at the girl in front of you. âDonât look so surprised, we all talk. Besides, its time to get off your high dragon and forgive the man.â
âExcuse me.â You say incredulously. You honestly canât believe Imogen would have the gall to say that considering she wants to be with Garrick.
âLook, I get it. He was an asshole. Welcome to Garrick and his best friend Xaden for that matter. If you wanted the sweet one, you shouldâve gone for Bodhi.â She continues. âI know Xaden told you that Garrick was doing what he thought was best, but it wasnât only that.â
âHe was doing what he wished he couldâve done for his own family. His mother. Heâs always pushed women away because of losing his mom, but you somehow broke through that barrier. Youâre the only girl Iâve ever seen him care about as more than just a friend or good fuck.â
âIâm not saying you should give him a free pass.â Imogen admits. âBut I am telling you to let him in. Let him grovel and work for you. He needs that, needs you, just like Riorson needs Violet.â
You let your gaze bore into Imogenâs and see the hard set of her face and eyes, even though she canât hide the flash of pain. In that moment, you canât help but hate the whole situation that seems to have formed between the three of you.
âImogen, Iâll give what youâve said some thought.â You say seriously. âBut I want you to know I am sorry. I never meant to show up and take anything from you, regardless of if you believe me or not.â
Pale green eyes look straight at you and a sad smile crosses her face fast before it falls, and she moves to get up.Â
âDonât throw away a chance at happiness over some heated words.â She urges before sharply turning and walking out of the doors.Â
As she walks off, Fabien shows up with your hot chocolate and a small smile. You thank him and take a sip relishing the way the warmth of the drink seems to flow through your body.Â
As you finish your drink and bid Fabien good night, you begin your walk back to the fortress and let Imogenâs words ruminate. Between her and Xaden, you could feel the anger in your heart for Garrick lessening day by day.Â
As soon as you arrive back at the fortress, you look up to see the man with the auburn curls from the assembly looking back at you.
âAh, just who I wanted to see.â He says and you look around checking to see if anyone else is there.Â
âYes, Cadet L/N. Iâm speaking to you. I just have a few more questions to ask.â He explains as he beckons you back into the same room you were in earlier.Â
You look around and notice that now you are the only two in the room that was previously filled. He turns back around to look at you and motions to a chair.
You sit as he begins to speak. âIâm Lieutenant Colonel Aisereigh. I know we didnât get to introductions earlier.â
âNo, heâs my brother, Brennan Sorrengail.â A female voice breaks in from the doorway. You watch as the man in front of you rolls his eyes as Violet moves into the room as well.Â
âEither way, I wanted to ask you about your signet.â Brennan continues. âYou said that you used it to drop onto the wyvern but didnât explain what exactly it was.â
You look around at both people in the room and canât help the uncertainty you feel at revealing your secret, even Carr wasnât privy to all that your signet could do.
âI can change my appearance.â You begin to explain. Both of the faces in front of you widen in shock as you begin to detail the fact that you can change your entire body and clothing to replicate anyone.Â
âWith encouragement from Diomat, I â uh â I shifted to look like a venin I remembered from a book that was read to me growing up.â You say tentatively.
âTha -Thatâs incredible.â Brennan speaks up after the shock begins to wear off. âAnd the wyvern didnât think anything of you being on top of it while shifted to look like a venin?â
You shrug your shoulders. âI donât think so, but I wasnât there long before I sliced the blade into it.â
As you look back at the man in front of you, you canât help as you watch the gears in his head turn through his eyes.Â
âCould you show us?â He asks curiously.
âI can.â You reply in turn. âBut â â
âBut, what?â
âYou have to remember that itâs me and not an acutal venin.â You croak worried that youâre about to be seen as a threat.
âUnderstood.â He confirms as Violet goes to stand next to him.Â
After taking a long deep breath, you reach for Diomatâs power and let it flow through your body. You let your mind drift to the illustration in the book and feel as your fingers tingle. When you look back up, you see two sets of eyes as wide as saucers and know what it must look like to the people standing in front of you.Â
Before anyone has time to speak, the door to the Assembly room opens and you can sense two people have entered.Â
âViolence, I ââ The voice stops and suddenly you feel yourself being hoisted up by your throat, your hands reflexively going up to try and grab at the obstruction. However, when you try, thereâs nothing to grab onto and youâre left kicking and flailing your arms. As the fear of being held begins to grip you, the hold on your power leaves and youâve changed back into yourself.
âXaden! Stop!â You hear Violet shout a second before you are dropped to the floor. You try to take a breath, but the fear has you in a cloud you canât escape. You hear footsteps rushing towards you as you continue to take gasping breaths, your hands wrapping gently around your neck.Â
âY/N. Love, are you alright?â You shrink back as inescapable fear comes barreling in and your eyes blow wide. You look back into hazel eyes, seeing pure concern laced there.Â
After what feels like hours, your heartrate finally slows again, and you can take full breaths. Looking up, the room around you feels frozen in time. Looks of horror and sorrow gracing each personâs face.Â
âIâm so sorry, Y/N.â Xaden breathes quietly as if afraid to speak. You sit there with your hand around your neck and stare straight back at the man not really registering his words.Â
âI â Iâm going to go upstairs.â You croak through your abused vocal cords. You try to slowly get up on your feet and as soon as youâre standing, you feel your legs giving out. Before you can fall to the ground, you can feel a strong arm grip you around your waist.Â
Looking to your side, you see Garrick looking back at you cataloging each blossoming bruise on your neck. His brows furrow as his concern grows. You can feel the bruising already and know that they must be turning a mottled shade of purple.Â
Before you can think much more, you find yourself being scooped up into Garrickâs arms as his face turns hard and he begins walking up the stairs. Even though you are tense, you try to let yourself settle into his arms. You close your eyes for a second and before you know it, you can feel Garrick dropping to a bed with you still cradled close.Â
âWhy does it always seem that my family and I are always hurting you?â He rumbles lowly while dropping his head.
âIt wasnât Xadenâs fault.â You rasp, your voice feeling like its grating against sandpaper.
Garrick looks back at you and brings his hand to your chin, tilting your neck up. Soon the blue green of his hazel eyes disappears, and they become a molten shade of gold, hard and angry.Â
âIâm going to fucking kill him.â He seethes as you watch him catalog the bruises along your neck. A sad smile blooms on your face and you bring your hand to his jaw, moving his face to look directly at you. You shake your head no before swallowing hard to speak.
âIt wasnât his fault. I knew it would be a risk to show them. I just didnât think anyone would walk into the room before I could change back.â You finish before you end up coughing trying to coat the damage to your vocal cords.
As you finish, you feel the way Garrickâs face nuzzles into the hand that is still placed along his jaw. You look up to see his eyes closed as if he is trying to drink up every moment. A lost man wandering the desert for a drink of water.
Something about the gesture causes a crack in the wall that youâd built around your heart for the man that still has you cradled close. You realize that this is the first time youâve seen the worry, tension, and stress melt from his face since War Games.Â
A sudden knock at the door brings you both out of the moment. Garrick looks down at you and as if he canât resist, brings his lips to the side of your head and gives you a quick kiss. He then sets you down gently on the bed and goes to open the door.Â
âI thought Y/N could use some mending.â You hear a male voice call from the other side of the door. You watch as Garrick nods his head slightly before opening the door and letting Brennan in. Brennan shuffles in and with sad eyes looks at the bruises across your neck.
âWould it be okay with you if I mend you?â Brennan asks tentatively. You give a curt nod before he is standing before you and you tilt you head back for him to get a better view of your neck. You shut your eyes tight as the tears silently flow down the side of your head, the burning sensation of mending filling your head.Â
Almost as soon as it begins, the pain seems to lessen slowly, little by little. You finally blink open your eyes and slowly lift your head back.Â
âBetter?â Brennan questions as he rises back up to his full height.Â
âMuch. Thank you.â You confirm.
âI know after what just happened, you may want to say no.â Brennan starts. âBut I think it would be beneficial for everyone to get the visual of what they may be dealing with on the battlefield.â
You know where heâs going with his comment and your immediate response is to shake your head. However, wading through the panic, the logic starts to win out and you take a deep breath.Â
âWould you mind doing the same thing when most of the Lieutenants and all the cadets are present? The Assembly all agrees that it would be best for everyone to have a real feel of the enemy.â Brennan finishes in a tacticianâs voice.
You go to open your mouth, but youâre immediately cut off.Â
âNO. You can fuck right off if you think sheâs going to do that again.â Garrick growls while stepping into Brennanâs space. âDid you not just see what fucking happened? And then you want to put her in a room with untrained cadets who donât even know how to use their signets and hope someone doesnât have a bad reaction.â
Undeterred by Garrickâs reaction, Brennan calmly responds to the threat in front of him. âI understand your reservations Garrick and hers as well, which is why Bodhi and Mira will be on hand to make sure that no one responds the same way.â
You stand from the bed you were seated on and walk up to the two men that are still looking at each other trying to calculate who is going to make the next move. Instinctually, you raise your hand and place a comforting hand on Garrickâs forearm. You canât help but feel the tense set of his muscles and crack a soft smile to reassure the hulking man.
âGare.â You say and his eyes immediately dart to you as you use the nickname for the first time in months. âBrennan is right. Everyone needs to see what theyâre going to be facing. Itâs better than sending everyone out without having any idea.â
Garrickâs eyes search yours looking for any hesitation, seeming to hope that you arenât really considering this. Immediately his shoulders sag when he realizes that youâre serious.Â
âIâll just need some forewarning to get myself in the right headspace, so maybe not the next couple of days.â You confirm with Brennan as he shakes his head in agreement.
âYouâll wait until Iâm back here.â Garrick asserts as his eyes dart back and forth between you and Brennan. âYouâll do it after Iâm back from patrol. She isnât going to do it without me being present.â
You roll your eyes at his protective demands but youâre grateful that heâll be there, if only for a sense of safety.Â
âThat can work. We will do it during a battle brief class and will catch the lieutenants while they are switching patrols.â Brennan affirms while he begins to walk towards the door.
You both watch as Brennan leaves and closes the door behind him. Garrick immediately moves forward to you lifting your chin to check for any lingering bruising.Â
âIâm fine.â You say quietly to try and quell the anxiety burning in his eyes.
âIâll be the judge of that.â He quips back.
âYou do realize that weâre both about to be thrown into a war that most likely will take both of our lives, right?â You sass back, getting irritated with his hovering.Â
âNot if I can fucking help it.â He grumbles at you. You snort and roll your eyes at the over-confident man that heâs turned into again.
âPromise me you wonât do that again, unless absolutely necessary.â The earnestness in his eyes a plea for you to listen. âI donât want you to be a victim just because someone canât decipher you from friend or foe.â
You sigh and let your gaze soften. âYou donât think I already know that shifting myself to look like a venin is dangerous? You can ask Brennan or Violet, but I was hesitant with them both before I did it. And what followed just proved why my theory was correct.â
âYou of all people should know that Iâm smarter than that. I wouldnât shift into that form unless absolutely necessary. Brennan just asked to see why the wyvern didnât react to my landing on its back, so I showed them.â
Realization dawning on him seems to do nothing to quell the fire in his eyes. Fire to protect and shield evident on every line of his face. You realize that no words seem to be cracking through the thick skull of the man in front of you, so you utilize your best weapon, your touch.
You bring your hands to his face, cupping each side and rubbing soothing circles on his stubbled cheeks. He takes a deep sighing breath and his gaze bores deep into you.Â
âI donât think you understand how terrified I am of the actual reality of your death.â He divulges as both of his arms snake around your waist tugging you to him. âEver since I laid eyes on you again, I wake up every day busting through my door to search for just a glimpse of your form.â
âHaving to face a reality again where you arenât there is the absolute worst thing I can honestly imagine.â He brings his forehead to yours leaning in and breathing a deep, calming breath.Â
A sad smile begins to crawl across his face. âAnd being so close to you, but far away at the same time is eating at me more than you know.â
You give him a sad smile back in return. âI know.â You whisper, your walls cracking even more with the tenderness and vulnerability seeping from Garrickâs every fiber.
âI need you to know that Iâm working on it.â You tell him while bringing your hands down to grab his own, rubbing gentle circles on his knuckles. âWe arenât there yet, but I can promise you the more you let me in, the more you show up for us, then eventually maybe we can get back to before.â
Garrickâs eyes search yours, probing for an alternate meaning. You just look back at him with the honesty you feel at his words. Youâre unsure of what youâre looking for to be able to let him completely in again, but you know that you just arenât in the right space at this moment.
__________
Taglist: @smashee0789 @batboygirlie @gayandfairycore
#fourth wing fanfic#fourth wing x reader#xaden riorson#bodhi durran#garrick tavis#garrick tavis x reader#garrick fourth wing#garrick tavis x oc#the empyrean fanfic#the empyrean
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