#you are the light that fights back the darkness

[oceantornadoo]

(simon riley x f!reader, same rank!)

violence, cod inaccuracies, reader is a badass

simon riley never calls you baby

until he does.

you tell him it has to stay hidden. you can't be known as "the girl fucking the lieutenant", no matter if you're the same rank as him, the same sweat and tears put into the job. it scares you, the thought of losing decades of hard work over some stupid fling with a man they call ghost. a man who brings you tea on your sick days, a man with soft eyes and a listening ear, the only man who's ever brought you to orgasm. the push and pull of your autonomy and your love is ever growing, that bone deep fear rooted in your marrow.

simon's scared too. scared of waking up and it's all a dream. scared that his enemies will find out, scared that it'll show he isn't so dead after all. he's been a rotting thing on earth for nearly four decades and he's comfortable with it; no matter how alive you make him feel. his hand on your waist feels right, but he can't bring his heart into the light.

so you call each other "lieutenant." maybe "riley" when he pisses you off, just to get under his skin. "dove" is rare, but it warms you up just the same, gives you an unbidden vision of hot chocolate and snow days. mainly its "l.t.", remnant of johnny, the respect and friendliness woven together sweetly. you murmured "babe" to him once, in the early morning when he sneaks out, and felt his shoulders bunch, the weight of it too much to bear. that was the end of pet names, or so you thought.

--

it's a foggy day on what becomes the worst night of your life. the mission is at a standstill, the intel outdated. you were supposed to be taking out a terrorist organization, blowing up the base of their operations, but instead the building is damp and abandoned, echoes of life the only sign they were here. price is in your ear, telling you to clear one last room and retreat, simon already on his way out. you nudge your way into the room with caution, years of practiced steps coming to you on instinct. for some reason, you don't catch the glint of a stranger's eye in a hidden corner. you don't see the rope in his hands, the knife between his teeth. the next thing you see is the floor, fog seeping over concrete as rough hands gag you and mutter promises of ungodly harm.

something's wrong. "price." simon murmurs soft and low, crossing out of the building to the tree cover below. "where is she? s'pposed t' be out by now." he's scanning the building through his scope, looking for that figure he knows so well, could find blind. "copy. 'er tracker says she's still in the buildin'. let's-" there's a piercing scream in the air. the ravens take flight from the trees. dark wings, dark words. "ghost-" "goin' in." a sigh on the other end. he can practically feel price's hesistancy but he doesn't care, heavy feet already moving back into the building. "you're goin' in blind, radar's jus' gone out." he swears under his breath, clearing hallway after hallway as the building falls back into silence. just as he comes upon a 4-way split, you scream again, the sound far away and to his left. "'m comin' dove, hold on." there's no gunfire, no sounds of fight. it's so eerie he thinks he might have dreamed it, his worst nightmare come true. his instincts lead the way, some knowledge of your location hidden in his blood. pop. finally a gunshot, and if he squints hard, he tries to imagine it being from your weapon. he's close, nostrils expanding at the scent of you, memorized even without your favored perfume.

there were four of them. you still can't believe you missed them, the thought in the back of your head as you fight for your life. scrambling from the rope one tries to force on you, becoming an eel as you slip out of their grasps. this is what you do, what you're trained for. until someone stomps down hard on your ankle, the force of it cracking straight through. you scream, can't help it, searing pain blinding your vision for precious seconds. they take advantage of it, gloved hands tying your own behind your back in a tight knot. you can't reach your comms so you scream again, this one out of frustration, desperation that your team, that simon, might not find you.

the big one shuts you up with a hand to your throat, a bruising grip that leaves you unable to speak. they aren't well trained, fumbling hands and shaky grips, and you're finally able to reach your holster, shooting the first between the eyes before you can even glimpse his face. now you're in your element, adrenaline covering the pain of your ankle as you fight back, shooting one after the other, digging out your knife for close combat. it's over in a blink, the men no match for your skills, and once you double check they're dead, you collapse in the corner, the pain of your ankle roaring. that's when you hear it.

"baby?" it's him (but it can't be). he's never called you that. you pretend not to see when he whispers it into your neck as you feign sleep, when he murmurs it in a grunt as he's deep in your cunt. he's never said it to your face. "baby!" it's definitely him, that gruff voice cutting across the fog. you whine out of frustration, your throat too sore from your attacker to call out. instead, you limp to the door, almost running into simon as he comes crashing into your own personal hell. he sweeps you into his arms and you let him, grabbing his shoulders to make sure he's real.

"y' hurt?" he takes a look around the room, at the carnage in your wake. "my brave girl." you're sobbing, unsure whether its from frustration or relief. still can't believe you got caught, feeling like such a stereotype to have your knight in shining armor rescue you. "handled them all y'rself, hm, baby?" he's all sweetness and it hurts, seeing his eyes swell in pride as he takes in the four dead men, gunshots and a knife sticking out of one's eye. "why- why are you calling me that, simon?" he's ushering you out, your arm around his neck as you limp towards freedom. "proud of you." he says it simply, eyes trained on potential threats, not watching your reaction.

"aye, i told you, gaz. ye owe me a drink." soap's voice crackles through the comms. they were on. which meant your team heard the whole thing, heard simon practically claim you, knew you were together, thought you were a slu- "she's too good for him. i don't believe it." gaz's voice replied. "bugger off." simon grumbled into the mic, the sounds of them snickering loud and clear. "good?" he turned back at you, stopping you before you approached the clearing where your team waited. his eyes told you something different, that he'd walk out of here right now if you wanted. the cock of his head meant he'd follow you anywhere, live off the lamb for decades if you wanted. that was all you needed to know. you nodded and pushed forward. "yeah, i'm good, baby."

--

this is SO CRINGE but it's been in my drafts forever and needed to start paying rent

[urdreamydoodles]

X-Men x Reader (Part.1)

You trip a little because you were too busy staring at your crush (Part.1)

Your admiration for your crush causes you to trip, highlighting the awkward yet endearing dynamics between you two.

Characters: Logan Howlett, Remy LeBeau, Kurt Wagner, Scott Summers, Jean Grey, Ororo Munroe, Rogue & Erik Lehnsherr

Logan (Wolverine)

The day had started like any other at Xavier’s School for Gifted Youngsters. You were heading down the long hallway leading to the training rooms, trying to focus on the list of tasks Professor Xavier had assigned for the day. But as you turned the corner, there he was—Logan, leaning against the wall, his arms crossed, muscles tense under his usual rugged leather jacket. His eyes, always intense and piercing, followed your every move as you approached.

Your heart skipped a beat, and though you tried to stay composed, you couldn’t help but let your gaze linger on him a little longer than you should have. His dark hair was tousled just right, and his rough, rugged features seemed impossibly handsome in the dim light of the hallway. You’d always tried to play it cool around Logan, but the truth was you found him irresistible—his gruff attitude, the way he carried himself with quiet authority, and that raw intensity that seemed to follow him wherever he went.

You caught yourself staring too long and quickly looked away, pretending to adjust the strap of your bag. But it was too late. In your distracted state, you missed a small crack in the tile beneath your feet and tripped, stumbling forward with a small yelp.

Before you could hit the floor, a strong arm wrapped around your waist, steadying you. Your breath hitched as you realized Logan had caught you, his grip firm and secure. You looked up, your cheeks burning with embarrassment as you met his smirking gaze.

“Y’alright, darlin’?” Logan asked, his deep voice laced with amusement.

You could feel the heat rise to your face, desperately trying to compose yourself. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just… wasn’t paying attention.”

His smirk widened as he released you, letting his hand linger on your waist just a second longer than necessary. “Seems like you were payin’ attention to somethin’, just not where you were goin’.”

You swallowed hard, your heart pounding in your chest. “I wasn’t—” you started to protest but stopped yourself. There was no point in denying it. Logan had caught you staring, and there was no way to take it back now.

Logan chuckled low in his throat, his eyes darkening as they flicked over your face. “S’okay, darlin’. I don’t mind the attention.” He winked at you, his voice dropping to a low, teasing tone. “Just be careful next time, or I might not be around to catch ya.”

You bit your lip, trying to fight back the flustered smile threatening to break free. “I’ll keep that in mind,” you said softly, your voice betraying the nervous excitement coursing through you.

Logan gave you one last smirk before turning and walking away, leaving you standing in the hallway, your heart racing and your mind spinning. You could still feel the warmth of his hand on your waist, and you couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like if he held you like that for more than just a moment.

Remy LeBeau (Gambit)

The evening sun bathed the mansion’s garden in a warm golden glow, casting long shadows across the grass. You were walking toward the small patio where the team had gathered after a long day, your mind racing with a million thoughts. Most of those thoughts, however, were focused on one man—Remy LeBeau, the smooth-talking, devilishly handsome Cajun who had been stealing glances your way for weeks now.

You’d always prided yourself on keeping your emotions in check, but something about Remy made that impossible. His effortless charm, the way his deep, accented voice could make even the most mundane conversation feel like a flirtation, and those smoldering red-on-black eyes that seemed to see right through you—it was all too much.

As you approached the patio, your eyes immediately sought him out, and there he was, sitting casually on the edge of a chair, flipping a playing card between his fingers with practiced ease. He was talking to Rogue, but his gaze flicked up to meet yours the moment you stepped into view. A slow, knowing smile spread across his lips, and your heart skipped a beat.

You quickly looked away, trying to steady your breathing. You knew he’d caught you staring, and you cursed yourself for being so obvious. Determined to play it cool, you focused on the path ahead, but your thoughts were still filled with Remy—his charming smile, the way he seemed to light up any room he walked into, and the way your stomach fluttered every time he was near.

Your focus wavered for just a second, and suddenly, your foot caught on the edge of a stone step. You stumbled forward with a gasp, arms flailing as you tried to catch yourself, but before you could hit the ground, a pair of strong hands caught you, steadying you.

“Careful, chérie,” Remy’s voice drawled softly in your ear. “Wouldn’t want ya to hurt yourself.”

Your cheeks flushed with embarrassment as you looked up at him, his face far too close for comfort. He was grinning down at you, his eyes twinkling with mischief as he helped you straighten up.

“I—uh, thanks,” you stammered, your heart racing.

Remy chuckled, his fingers brushing lightly against your arm as he released you. “No need to thank me, mon amour. But I gotta say, I like that you can’t keep your eyes off me.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but the words got stuck in your throat. You could see the playful glint in his eyes, and it was impossible to stay mad at him when he looked at you like that.

“I wasn’t—” you started, but he cut you off with a wink.

“No need to be shy, chérie. I know a good look when I see one.” He leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. “And I don’t mind one bit.”

Your pulse quickened at the heat in his gaze, and for a moment, you couldn’t think of anything clever to say. His hand lingered on your arm, his thumb tracing gentle circles on your skin, and you couldn’t help but wonder what it would feel like if he touched you more than just casually.

Before you could respond, Remy stepped back, his trademark grin still in place. “You gonna join us, or you just gonna stand there starin’ at me all night?”

With one last smirk, he turned and walked back to the group, leaving you standing there, heart pounding, and wondering just how long you could keep hiding your feelings for him.

Kurt Wagner (Nightcrawler)

The atmosphere in the mansion was lively today, with the team bustling about, preparing for their next mission. You were sitting in the library, enjoying a rare moment of peace, flipping through a book while trying to calm your racing thoughts. But it wasn’t the mission that had your heart pounding. It was Kurt—Kurt Wagner, the sweet, charming man who had been occupying your thoughts more and more lately.

You’d never admit it out loud, but you found yourself drawn to him in a way that surprised even you. His kind heart, his gentle nature, and that infectious laugh of his—it was impossible not to fall for him. But more than that, you loved the way Kurt treated you. He was always respectful, always kind, but there was an underlying tension between you two, a connection you hadn’t yet acknowledged.

You sighed, trying to focus on the words in front of you, but your mind kept drifting to the memory of Kurt’s smile, the way his bright yellow eyes seemed to light up whenever he saw you. You were so lost in thought that you didn’t hear the soft *bamf* of Kurt teleporting into the room until he was suddenly standing right in front of you.

“Guten Tag!” Kurt greeted cheerfully, flashing you that warm, heart-melting smile of his.

Your heart leapt into your throat as you looked up, startled. “Oh! Hey, Kurt,” you said, quickly closing the book and hoping he hadn’t noticed the way you’d been daydreaming about him.

Kurt tilted his head, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “You looked deep in thought, meine freundin. I hope I did not disturb you.”

You shook your head quickly, offering him a smile. “No, not at all. I was just… thinking.”

He raised an eyebrow, a playful smile tugging at his lips. “Thinking about anything—or anyone—in particular?”

Your cheeks burned at his words, and you quickly averted your gaze, trying to hide your embarrassment. “Just… stuff.”

Kurt chuckled softly, his tail flicking back and forth as he moved closer. “Well, I hope it was pleasant thoughts,” he said, his voice gentle and full of warmth.

You looked up at him, and for a moment, your heart fluttered at the way his eyes seemed to glow with kindness. He always had that effect on you, making you feel comfortable and at ease, even when you were a bundle of nerves around him.

But as you tried to stand up, your foot caught on the edge of the chair, and you stumbled forward, nearly falling face-first into Kurt’s chest. His arms were around you in an instant, steadying you before you could hit the ground.

“Vorsicht!” he exclaimed, his hands warm and firm on your waist. “I’ve got you.”

You felt your face heat up with embarrassment as you looked up at him, your heart pounding from both the near-fall and the sudden proximity. His yellow eyes met yours, and for a moment, neither of you moved, the air between you thick with unspoken tension. His hands lingered on your waist a little longer than necessary, and you couldn’t help but wonder if he was feeling the same magnetic pull that you were.

“I—I’m sorry,” you stammered, trying to pull yourself together. “I wasn’t paying attention.”

Kurt smiled softly, his thumb gently brushing your waist as he held you. “It’s quite alright. But you must be careful, meine freundin, or I might have to catch you more often.”

You laughed nervously, your heart racing. “I’ll try to avoid any more near-falls.”

But instead of pulling away, Kurt’s gaze softened, his fingers still resting against your waist. “Perhaps I wouldn’t mind if you needed catching every now and then.”

Your breath caught in your throat at his words, and for a brief moment, you felt as though the world had faded away, leaving just the two of you standing there, inches apart, with something unspoken hanging in the air between you.

Before you could say anything, Kurt cleared his throat, breaking the moment as he slowly released his hold on you. “I suppose we should both watch where we’re going, ja?”

You nodded, still trying to shake off the lingering warmth from his touch. “Yeah… yeah, we should.”

Kurt smiled at you one last time before teleporting away in a cloud of smoke, leaving you standing there, heart pounding and mind spinning, wondering if you’d ever be brave enough to admit how you felt.

Scott Summers (Cyclops)

The X-Mansion was always a whirlwind of activity, and today was no different. You were making your way through the training center, trying to stay focused on the drills the team had been practicing, but it was impossible to ignore the tall, composed figure of Scott Summers—your team leader, and the one person who seemed to occupy your thoughts more often than not.

Scott was always so serious, so focused on his responsibilities as leader, that it sometimes made it difficult to get a read on how he felt about anything outside of missions. But over the past few weeks, there had been moments—fleeting glances, the way his voice softened when he spoke to you—that made you wonder if there was something more beneath that stoic exterior.

You were lost in thought, your mind running through every interaction you’d had with Scott, when you spotted him across the training floor, arms crossed and eyes hidden behind those ever-present ruby quartz glasses. He was watching the team closely, but the moment your eyes landed on him, he looked up, locking onto you with a gaze that felt more intense than it had any right to be.

Your heart skipped a beat, and you quickly averted your gaze, focusing on anything but the way Scott’s attention made your pulse race. But in your distraction, you misjudged the distance between you and a training obstacle and promptly tripped over a piece of equipment, stumbling forward with a startled yelp.

You didn’t even have time to hit the ground before Scott was at your side, catching you with surprising swiftness. His strong arms wrapped around you, pulling you up before you could completely lose your balance.

“Careful,” he said in that calm, authoritative voice of his. “You alright?”

You nodded quickly, trying to ignore the heat rising to your cheeks as you realized just how close you were to him. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just… wasn’t paying attention.”

Scott’s grip on your arm was firm but gentle, and for a moment, you felt the tension between you, the unspoken attraction that you’d both been trying to ignore. He held you just a little longer than necessary, his gaze focused on you even though his eyes were hidden behind his visor.

“You should be more careful,” Scott said, his voice softening ever so slightly. “I don’t want you getting hurt.”

Your breath caught at the concern in his voice, and you couldn’t help but wonder if there was something more behind his words. “I’ll try to be,” you replied, your voice barely above a whisper.

Scott gave you a small, almost imperceptible smile before finally letting go, stepping back and giving you the space you needed to collect yourself. But as he walked away, you couldn’t shake the feeling that something had shifted between you—that maybe, just maybe, Scott Summers felt the same way you did.

Ororo Munroe (Storm)

The sky outside the mansion was a brilliant blue, the kind of day that seemed to radiate peace and beauty—much like the woman who controlled the weather. Ororo Munroe, with her regal posture and serene presence, had always been someone you admired, not just for her powers but for the way she carried herself with such grace and strength.

Over time, though, admiration had turned into something deeper. You found yourself drawn to her warmth, her wisdom, and the quiet moments you shared together. But you were always too afraid to say anything, afraid that admitting your feelings would somehow disturb the delicate balance between you.

Today was no different. You were walking through the mansion grounds, heading toward the greenhouse where Ororo often spent her time. The sun was warm on your skin, and as you approached, you spotted her among the flowers, her silver hair catching the light like a halo.

For a moment, you just watched her, captivated by the way she seemed to blend so effortlessly with nature, her beauty almost ethereal. You were so lost in the sight of her that you didn’t even notice the uneven ground beneath your feet. Your toe caught on a rock, and you stumbled forward with an awkward flail of your arms.

Ororo looked up just in time to see you trip, and before you could recover, she was at your side, her hand catching your arm with a gentle but steady grip.

“Are you alright?” she asked, her voice soft and soothing, like a summer breeze.

You quickly straightened up, trying to laugh off your clumsiness. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just… wasn’t watching where I was going.”

Ororo smiled, her hand lingering on your arm as she looked at you with those calm, knowing eyes. “It seems you were lost in thought,” she said, her voice carrying a hint of teasing warmth.

You swallowed hard, your heart fluttering at the way her gaze seemed to see right through you. “I guess I was,” you admitted, unable to look away from her.

Ororo’s smile widened slightly as she finally released your arm, stepping back but still close enough that you could feel the warmth of her presence. “Be careful,” she said, her tone playful yet kind. “I would hate for you to fall again.”

You nodded, your cheeks warm with embarrassment, but there was something in Ororo’s eyes that made you wonder if she knew exactly what—or rather, who—you had been thinking about.

Jean Grey

The mansion was quiet, most of the team off on various missions or training exercises. You found yourself in the library, trying to focus on the book in front of you, but your mind kept wandering to Jean Grey—the powerful telepath who had slowly become the center of your thoughts.

Jean had always been kind to you, her warmth and compassion making her easy to talk to. But as time passed, you began to realize that your feelings for her went far beyond friendship. You admired her strength, her beauty, and the quiet confidence she carried, but you were too afraid to say anything, unsure if she felt the same way.

Today, however, you couldn’t seem to stop thinking about her. You had seen her earlier in the day, her red hair shining in the sunlight, and the image of her smile had been stuck in your mind ever since. You were so distracted by thoughts of Jean that you didn’t even notice her entering the library until she was standing right in front of you.

“Hey,” Jean said, her voice soft as she smiled at you.

You quickly looked up, your heart skipping a beat as you met her gaze. “Oh, hey! I didn’t see you come in.”

Jean’s smile widened as she sat down beside you, her green eyes twinkling with amusement. “I noticed. You looked pretty deep in thought.”

You laughed nervously, trying to hide your flustered state. “Yeah, I guess I was.”

Jean tilted her head, her gaze soft but curious. “Anything—or anyone—on your mind?”

Your cheeks flushed at her words, and you quickly looked away, pretending to adjust your position in the chair. “Just… stuff,” you mumbled, not daring to look at her.

But before you could compose yourself, your foot slipped off the edge of the chair, and you stumbled forward, nearly colliding with the small table in front of you. Jean’s reflexes were quick, and she caught your arm, steadying you before you could fall completely.

“Careful!” she exclaimed, her laughter light and melodic. “You alright?”

You nodded quickly, your face burning with embarrassment. “Yeah, I’m fine. I just—wasn’t paying attention.”

Jean chuckled softly, her hand still resting on your arm as she met your gaze with a knowing smile. “You seem a little distracted today. Anything I can help with?”

Your heart raced at the warmth in her voice, and for a moment, you wondered if she could sense what you were feeling. But you quickly shook your head, trying to brush it off. “No, I’m just… clumsy.”

Jean raised an eyebrow, her smile never faltering. “Well, I don’t mind catching you. Just try not to fall too often.”

Her words were playful, but there was a softness in her gaze that made your heart flutter, and you couldn’t help but wonder if she knew exactly what was going on in your mind—even if you weren’t ready to admit it yet.

Rogue (Anna Marie)

It was supposed to be a normal day at the X-Mansion, but with Rogue around, things rarely felt ordinary. You were in the common area, trying to go over mission reports, but your attention kept drifting to Anna Marie. She was lounging on the couch, flipping through a magazine, her gloved hands idly turning the pages as she hummed a familiar tune.

You’d always admired Rogue—from her strength to the way she handled the burden of her powers. But somewhere along the line, admiration had grown into something more. You found yourself drawn to her in ways that made your heart race and your stomach flip. Her quick wit, her beauty, that Southern charm—it was impossible not to be captivated.

But she was untouchable, literally. Rogue couldn’t get close to people, and as much as you felt something between you, the invisible wall her powers created was hard to ignore.

You sighed, trying to focus back on your reports, but Rogue shifted slightly, causing your gaze to drift to her again. Her hair cascaded down her back, the white streaks so striking against the dark brown. You caught yourself staring, and as if on cue, she looked up and met your eyes.

You quickly glanced away, your heart pounding. But the damage was done—your distraction caused you to knock your cup of coffee off the table, and in your attempt to catch it, you lost your balance and nearly toppled out of your chair.

Rogue was at your side in an instant, catching your arm before you could hit the floor. Her grip was firm but careful, gloved hands ensuring no skin-to-skin contact. She smiled, a playful glint in her green eyes.

“Careful, sugar,” she drawled, her Southern accent making your heart skip a beat. “You alright?”

You nodded, desperately trying to get a hold of yourself. “Yeah, just… clumsy today, I guess.”

Rogue chuckled, her thumb brushing over your arm lightly, sending shivers down your spine despite the barrier of fabric between you. “Looks like you got somethin’ on your mind.”

You tried to laugh it off, though the warmth in her voice and the way she was looking at you made your pulse quicken. “I’m just a little distracted, that’s all.”

Rogue’s smile widened, and she leaned in just a fraction closer. “If you’re thinkin’ about somethin’ important, I could help take your mind off it.”

Her words were teasing, but there was a hint of something deeper in her gaze—something that made you wonder if she felt the same electric tension that you did. But before you could say anything, Rogue pulled back, releasing your arm and stepping away with that trademark smirk of hers.

“Just be careful next time, alright?” she said, her eyes lingering on you for a moment longer than usual before she sauntered back to the couch.

As you sat back down, your heart still racing, you couldn’t help but wonder if Rogue was just as affected by the moments you shared as you were—even if there was always that invisible barrier between you.

Erik Lehnsherr (Magneto)

Being around Erik Lehnsherr was always a challenge. The man was powerful, charismatic, and brilliant—a force of nature who commanded respect with every word he spoke. You admired his strength and conviction, even if you didn’t always agree with his methods. But admiration had turned into something else, something you weren’t quite ready to admit.

You found yourself in his presence more often than you intended, drawn to the magnetic pull of his personality. Today was no different. You were in the briefing room, preparing for a strategy session, but instead of focusing on the task at hand, your eyes kept drifting to Erik.

He stood by the window, his silver hair catching the light as he gazed out over the grounds, his expression unreadable. You’d seen him in action countless times, watched him lead with precision and power, but there was something about the quiet moments—when he wasn’t Magneto, but simply Erik—that captivated you.

You were so lost in your thoughts that you didn’t realize he had turned to look at you until it was too late. Caught off guard, you fumbled with the papers in your hand, dropping them all over the floor.

Erik’s lips quirked into a slight smirk as he stepped forward, his hand outstretched. With a subtle flick of his fingers, the scattered papers floated off the ground, neatly arranging themselves back into your grasp. He didn’t say a word, but the amused glint in his eyes spoke volumes.

“Thank you,” you muttered, feeling your cheeks heat with embarrassment.

Erik crossed his arms over his chest, watching you with that same intense gaze. “You seem… distracted,” he observed, his voice smooth and commanding as always.

You swallowed hard, trying to keep your composure. “I was just… thinking.”

“About something important, I hope,” he replied, his eyes never leaving yours. “Or perhaps… someone?”

Your breath caught in your throat at his words, and for a moment, you wondered if he could sense the turmoil inside you. But you quickly shook your head, forcing a smile. “Just thinking about the mission.”

Erik raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced, but he didn’t press the issue. Instead, he stepped closer, his presence commanding the space between you. “Be careful where your mind wanders, my dear. Distraction can be dangerous.”

There was a subtle edge to his words, as if he knew more than he was letting on. As he turned and walked away, you couldn’t shake the feeling that Erik had sensed the truth—that you were just as drawn to him as he was to power.

[snowballseal]

hihi! i was curious if you would be willing to do a drabble inspired by the sleepy affection with sylus piece, but with out good dr zayne? i feel like sleepy cuddles with him would be so comforting... regardless, thank you sm for sharing your writing!! every piece you've posted has always brought a smile to my face (kicking my feet all happily too) even for characters i'm not as interested in :)

Sleepy Affection ~ Zayne

Summary: It's winter, and there's nothing like cuddling with your sleepy doctor after you've both had a long day (or a long few days in Zayne's case).

Word Count: 1014

Note: I'm honestly so whipped for this man. Like, I'm so soft for him. And he's so soft for reader. This man would turn into a cuddly cat when he's tired, kinda like the misty invasion card (*eyes emoji*)

Hope you enjoy! Thank you for the request! And thank you for your really kind words. I'm glad my writing can make people happy.

---

Winters in Linkon are your favorite.

There’s something about the snow, the crisp chill in the air, the smell of peppermint drifting from the coffee shops. Every store is draped in twinkle lights and each street rings with the song of bells as people come and go. The kids seem somehow more feral and delightful, running through the parks in their brightly colored scarves, building snowmen wherever they can. Being a hunter, you’re drawn into more than a few snowball fights by groups of eager children who want to see your “fighting skills”.

But your favorite part about winters are the sleepy evenings. It’s the feeling of getting home after a long day, a deep chill in your bones alongside the exhaustion, ready to curl up in your blankets with a cup of hot cocoa and a movie. There’s nothing else like it.

And what makes it even better?

When your boyfriend joins you after his even longer shift.

Your apartment is quiet except for the playful soundtrack of ‘Elf’ humming in the background. You snuggle deeper into the couch, eyes glued to the window beside you, watching the thick snowflakes dance with the wind. They look like little ballerinas to your tired eyes, pirouetting round and round and round. Hypnotizingly graceful.

The front door opens with a muted click.

Lazily, you tear your gaze away from the window. You do your best to glance over the back of the couch, your cheek pressing into the cushion, too comfortable to move, eyes half-lidded with sleep.

Your heart flutters at the sight in front of you though. Zayne stands in the foyer, pulling off his many layers of warm clothes with a startling lack of grace. Snow clings to his dark hair and coat, falling to the ground with each of his sluggish movements. The doctor looks tired. His eyes meet yours, dark and warm, hooded just like your own.

You lift the edge of your blankets. A silent invitation.

Zayne trudges across the living room, his steps uncharacteristically heavy. He takes off his glasses and leaves them on the table behind the couch. You smother a giggle when he practically collapses against you. It’s like having a large cat curl around you, nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck with a long, content sigh.

Resting your cheek against his hair, you tuck your blankets around his shoulders, murmuring a soft, “Hey, baby.”

The doctor lets out a low rumble in response, drawing you impossibly closer. You inhale sharply when he slips his hands under your sweater, his freezing cold fingers desperately seeking out the warmth of your skin. You shiver as they trace delicately along your waist, slotting in the tight space between you and the couch.

“Your fingers are freezing,” you whine, jarred from your sleepy state.

Of course you don’t actually mind, though. Not with Zayne. Not when he nuzzles so cutely into your neck, murmuring the most unapologetic apology you’ve ever heard, his voice low and raspy with exhaustion. A fuzzy kind of fondness washes over you.

“Long day?”

Zayne sighs, his breath tickling the sensitive skin of your throat, “I’ve slept only three hours in the past two days.”

Poor thing.

You feel a stab of pity for him. That might be the only drawback of winter, you suppose. Akso Hospital is always infinitely busier with this kind of weather. The snow always brings more accidents and Zayne always volunteers to work extra shifts when the need is dire, no matter the cost to his health. It’s something you love, but also something that worries you.

Brows furrowing, you card your fingers through his hair tenderly in hopes of helping him relax. It’s still a little damp from the snow. Zayne shivers when your nails trace over his scalp. Another shaky sigh escapes him when your hand dips under his collar to massage his nape. He practically melts under your touch, his weight pressing you deeper into the couch.

You’re not sure where the movie is now. The cup of hot cocoa on the side table is likely cold. But it’s hard to care. All you can focus on is Zayne. The steady rise and fall of his chest. The faint smell of jasmine hidden under the lingering scent of the hospital. The comforting weight of his body on top of yours.

Eyes fluttering shut, you nuzzle your face into his hair, hands going still around his shoulders. The two of you stay like that for what feels like hours, drifting in and out of sleep as the snow dances outside. It all feels so distant, your blankets hiding you from the cold, from the rest of the world. 

It’s just the two of you.

The two of you, in your shared apartment, always coming home to one another. Just like this.

Your heart warms at the thought. Nudging his forehead gently, you draw Zayne back just enough to see his face. He looks back at you with those hooded eyes, hazel depths brimming with a reverent affection. Biting back a smile, you lean down to kiss him. It’s a tender thing, a mere brush of your lips against his, featherlight and full of devotion. It leaves the both of  you aching yet content as you draw away.

“I love you,” you whisper, nose brushing his sweetly.

“I love you as well, my dear,” he hums, a flicker of a tired smile gracing his lips.

You can’t resist pressing another kiss to them, your own smile breaking through, “Go to sleep, baby. I’ll wake you when it’s time for dinner.”

Without an ounce of resistance, Zayne settles back against you, his head resting on your chest. The soft thrum of your heartbeat lulls him to sleep, the exhaustion finally catching up and pulling him under. You listen as his breathing evens out, deep and slow.

And while you mean to stay up, you can’t resist the warmth, the comfort of having him there with you.

Vaguely, you hear the credit song playing as you drift off into sleep.

---

I have such a thing for calling stoic men 'baby', I feel like it's so soft and cute and he'd honestly probably melt for it. Idk, maybe just me, please don't come for me in the comments.

[averagewriter-inthedark]

The Doctor's Wife 💘 | Carlisle Cullen Imagine

Set during the events of Twilight (2008)

Twilight Masterlist

Characters & Pairings: Carlisle Cullen x female!vampire!reader (romantic), Bella Swan x Edward Cullen, Edward Cullen x reader (platonic)

Content warnings: fluff, light angst, suggestive themes right at the end | female reader (she/her) | wc: 3.5k

requested 📥 yes/no

Premise: When Edward introduces Bella to his family after weeks of avoiding the inevitable, there was no telling how it was going to go down. Of course, what does one expect when they bring their girlfriend over for the first time…. except it's to a family of animal blood-sucking vampires who's lives each deserve a biography of their own. Bella felt the pressure of making a great impression, but the nerves seemed to heighten in regard to meeting the woman responsible for raising Edward throughout his undead life. The woman whose soul was bonded to none other than the Cullen patriarch.

--------------------------

Over a hundred years walking the Earth and Edward still experienced the universal feeling of cringe and embarrassment. This time, at the hands of none other than his family as he introduced him to the girl who’d captured his undead heart and made it hard for Edward to stay away. 

“Alright, um,” he swallowed, placing a gentle hand on Bella’s back to nudge her in the direction of the staircase. Away from the prying eyes of his siblings and Carlisle after Alice had to say, ‘Oh, you do smell good,’ and Jesper was literally fighting for his life to keep it together. “Where’s Y/n?”

“In her studio,” Carlisle replied with a smile, the mention of his wife bringing a warmth to his chest. “She’s working on a project and can definitely use a break. She’s been excited to meet Bella since you mentioned bringing her over.” 

Bella blushed, the nerves resurfacing at meeting another member of the Cullen family. The matriarch at that. Edward’s adoptive mother and Carlisle’s wife. 

“Thanks,” Edward turned on his heel, leading Bella in the opposite direction. Mumbling a short goodbye, she followed the vampire down the corridor, past the staircase and a living space before stopping in front of a wooden door. 

Before he knocked, Edward put a comforting hand on Bella’s shoulder, “Calm down,” his teeth sparkled against the light, eyes teasing. “Your heartbeat is out of control.”

“Sorry,” she flushed again, cursing at herself. She didn’t understand why she was so nervous to meet Y/n. More so than the rest of his family. Maybe it was because Edward spoke so highly of her. Maybe it was because she saw the way Carlisle lit up at the mere mention of her name. Or how the townspeople praised Y/n, even if they only had one interaction. 

Edward went to knock, but this time was interrupted by a voice calling out from the other side, “Come in!” Smiling, he pushed open the door, revealing a large room in what only could be described as an organized disarray. 

Bella’s jaw slightly dropped, taking in the scene before her. Eyes first darting to the high ceilings with a drop-down chandelier. Though it wasn’t on, thanks to the natural light provided by the left side of the room with floor to ceiling windows where a wall should’ve been. A beautiful, perfect view of the forest surrounding the home. 

The walls were painted a rusted burnt red, the kind you see in art museums. Floors made of the finest dark wood, with one area covered by plastic reserved for protecting it by the paint cans laying on top, beside an easel holding a large canvas. A very large, vintage clock took the center of the wall connected to the window, surrounded by pieces ranging from old signs to shelves holding books and plants. 

On the main wall parallel to the windows, a map of the world hung, flanked by art pieces. Portraits, landscape. Various mediums of pencil, oils, and acrylic. A phone straight from the 1930s mounted above a small table covered by messy stacks of paper. Bella’s eyes drew to a woven basket that came probably to her waist, filled with pieces of rolled parchment. A few laid on the ground. A foot away from it was a cart holding art supplies. 

Finally, Bella’s gaze landed on the figure in the center of the room. Y/n sat on a wooden stool, her posture perfect, hand scribbling across a large piece of parchment placed on the wooden desk facing the windows. The desk was the type that propped up, a lamp attached to the corner, and side table. Something an artist or engineer invested in. 

“I thought I heard the raging pump of a heartbeat approaching.” Bella squeezed her eyes shut in embarrassment, letting out a small groan. Opening them when she heard the skid of the stool against the floor. 

“Y/n,” Edward scolded, tone playful. 

“Apologies, I couldn’t help myself,” Y/n chuckled, approaching the two with a wide smile. Bella held her breath, admiring the woman before her. Alice may have been the fashion girlie of the family, but there was no denying who she must’ve gotten it from. 

Y/n made even the simplest of clothing look ethereal. White blouse tucked into beige trousers, brown belt with hints of gold, paired with stunning white heeled boots. The necklaces she wore were layered, the longest of which had several charms making them clink together, bracelets covering her wrists, three rings on each hand, and gold hoops. A multicolor scarf consisting of warm tones like red, orange, and yellow tied around her hair. Then of course, her eyes were melting gold. 

She was the picture of an artist. 

Upon closer inspection, Bella had to hold back a whistle at the ring reserved for her left ring finger. Carlisle sure had taste and made sure his lady got what she deserved. That was no ring. That was a rock.

“You must be the famous Bella,” Y/n’s hand shot out, Bella hesitating a moment before taking it. Y/n’s handshake was soft yet firm at the same time. Bringing a chill to Bella as their skin met. “It is truly a pleasure to meet you,” letting go of her hand, Y/n brought both of hers up to make a gesture. “I have been begging Edward to bring you around for weeks. I don’t know why it’s taken him so long,” a playful glare was directed at him. 

Edward rolled his eyes, then put an arm around Bella. “Bella, this is Y/n. My mother for all intents and purposes. Artist, architect, and occasional therapist to all of us emotionally stunted immortal teenagers.”

“You said it, not me,” Y/n smirked, hands raised again. 

Bella laughed, comforted by Edwards touch as she regarded Y/n. “It’s really nice to meet you, Y/n. Edward talks about you all the time.”

“Good things, correct?”

“Of course,” Bella assured, nudging Edward who had scoffed. “He mentioned you designed this house--it’s absolutely beautiful. And this--,” motioning to the space, Bella was again in awe of Y/n’s studio. It’s like she was walking through an exhibit in the Louvre. “Wow.”

“When I made the blueprints for this house, I wanted everyone to have a place--plus everyone was vocal about what they wanted,” she teases with a grin. “Carlisle has his study, Alice her closets, Rosalie wished for a garage, Jesper desired a library, Emmett a game room, Edward got his music room. And me,” a hand waves to the room with pride. “My studio.”

Bella raised an intrigued brow, aimed at Edward, “you have a music room?” 

Had he been human, Edward would have blushed. He brushed it off with a shrug, “Yeah, it’s just where I keep a few instruments. I’ll show you as we go through the house.”

“A few,” Y/n lightly scoffed, earning a small glare from the boy. 

“Carlisle said you’re working on a project,” he changed the subject, nudging his head toward the desk. Catching sight of the blueprints that were in the early draft stages. 

“The high school plans to renovate the library, so they’ve asked me to go over some plans and designs. They were pleased with my work for the gym last year.” 

Edward turns to Bella, “Y/n has the magic touch for designing and constructing. And because we’ve had the time to redo college over and over again….” They share a laugh, “she’s got degrees in art, engineering, design, and business on top of her architecture education.”

The woman simply shrugs, “I like to keep busy. Who wouldn't want to take advantage of obtaining all the world’s knowledge when you have eternity.” If she saw the pointed look Edward was giving her, Y/n ignored it. 

“Anyway,” He sighed, returning his attention to Bella, “The town comes to her for consultations. And, in most cases than often, she designs and oversees the build.”

“Wow, that’s amazing,” Bella awed, past Edward’s shoulder she spotted the white construction worker's hat. Propped beside a coat hanger possessing a pair of overalls, scarves, and painters' boots. “Did you-,” her finger pointed to the display of artwork, “paint all those?”

“Several, yes,” Y/n motioned them to follow her, moving closer to the wall. “This one you might have guessed is the view of the forest from this room. The first one I did when we moved here. But not all are recent, some I did in the 90s--,” she pointed to a canvas framed with gold trimming near the top. Depicting an image of inside a medical tent, “That one is from when I volunteered for the Army Nurses Corps.”

Bella’s eyes bulged, glancing between Y/n and Edward. “You--you served during the War?” 

Y/n nodded, expression now solemn, “First World War. We were living in Virginia at the time and therefore injured soldiers coming back from Europe docked at the bases there first. Carlisle was the trauma surgeon, and I was a nurse.” Her boots echoed against the wood as they strolled down. “We stayed there the duration of the war before settling in Chicago….”

“How long before he wakes up?”

“Not long,” Carlisle kept his eyes on the unconscious boy while his wife paced behind him. Had they been able to sweat they would’ve been drenched. “The venom transferred from his neck. The closest I could get to his heart--it should take less than a day.”

Y/n ran a hand through her neatly styled hair in distress. They’d only been in Chicago a few months. Arriving when the War ended and immediately joining the effort to combat the Spanish Influenza spreading through the population. With their current predicament, there was no way they could stay.  

Ripping the nurses cap off, she asked, “What’s our next move then? We can’t stay here. This city is an endless potluck of people, and we don’t know how strong his urges will be,” she stopped pacing, coming beside her husband with a pleading gaze. “I know you said his parents are dead, but that doesn't mean he may not have family who’ll come looking for him. What kind of people are we to rip him from the ones who love him?” Upon the look she received, Y/n dropped her head, “Unless you mean to fake his death.” 

Carlisle placed a comforting hand on her shoulder, “The boy had the influenza. They saw his condition--it was deteriorating. They’ll believe it took him in the night and his body was sent to the incinerators. Just like the others.”

Y/n sniffed, eyes welling with unshed tears. “I know, but…” she trailed off, “He’s a kid, Carlisle. We agreed that when it came time for us to save someone from death, it would not mean robbing them of their life--.”

“He was dying, Y/n,” his tone was firm, yet gentle. “I promised his mother we’d look after him.” Eyes flicker to Edward, then back to Y/n. While Carlisle hated himself for what he’d done, there was no going back now. “He’s our responsibility now. We’ve to teach him the ways of this life and make sure he copes with it. Not succumb to the darkness like we did.” 

Another sound left her, Y/n taking a moment to process before nodding. “Okay,” she whispered, keeping her voice steady. “We take this day-by-day.”

“Day-by-day.” 

“That’s when Edward….” Bella trailed, biting her lip when she realized it wasn’t the best idea to bring it up. Yet, she was surprised both the vampires nodded, understanding her implication. Instead, she said, “He mentioned you’ve been with Carlisle the longest….”

Like earlier with the doctor, Y/n visibly brightened at each time his name was said. “Will be two hundred years this fall.”

“Two--two hundred??” The human spluttered. Edward had failed to tell her that information. Only saying the two had been together long before Carlisle saved him. 

Chuckling at Bella’s reaction, Y/n tucked a piece of stray hair back in its place. “The vampire who bit me didn’t stick around. Abandoning me. A few days later of endless wonder and unable to control my newfound appetite, Carlisle found me.” Her smile was so wide, bright white teeth bouncing off light. “It’s been quite a life ever since.” 

They spent the next few minutes learning about the history of each painting. From the oil masterpiece of the New York Skyline to the charcoal portrait of Joan of Arc. Bella took time to admire the watercolor image of Carlisle. Donned in his white coat, hair and posture perfect. 

“Ah yes,” Y/n hummed, beaming up at the canvas. “My personal favorite. Though I’m a little biased given the muse of this piece happens to be the muse of my soul.” 

“Stay still.”

“I am.” 

“No, you’re not,” Y/n berated, dipping the brush back into the golden color before continuing to paint Carlisle’s hair. “I know this is time consuming, darling, but it’s not like you haven’t done it before.” 

“In my defense,” his hand raised, quickly putting it back in his lap when she groaned, “I’ve never technically sat for a portrait. The ones from Volterra were done while I wasn’t aware they were being painted.” A grimace took his features, remembering his time with the Volturi. “Aro preferred moments to be captured as they were happening in real time.”

Y/n threw him a look, shaking her head in the process. “Yeah, he seems like the type.” 

“First and last time he got to play model,” she laughed at the memory. “Thanks to the creation of the camera I could develop a photograph and wallah!” her hands made a gesture, “A still image to use as reference. And now with cell phones….I don’t even have to put in the work to develop the photo. It’s right there!”

Initially Bella found her reaction to a camera phone a little odd. But then remembered Y/n was a 200+ year old vampire and literally witnessed the development and advancement of technology. 

“But I don’t always create,” Y/n winked, stopping in front of a stunning work of a lily pond. “Sometimes I collect.”

Stepping closer, Bella inspected the art, finger on her lip as her brows furrowed in concentration. She’d seen it before. The familiarity of it was driving her brain into overdrive. Then it hit her, breath hitching, “Is that…A Monet?” Her confirmation nod made Bella nearly choke on her saliva. “How--?”

“Being alive 226 years and getting the privilege of traveling anywhere means I’ve had the pleasure of meeting interesting people,” her smirk was the type a movie villain showed that made the audience fall in love with them and brush away the fact they were a villain. A captivating sight. “One of those people happened to be Claude Monet during our time in France. Our shared love for art and nature brought a great friendship. I was actually with him when he painted this,” she casually said, aware of Bella’s astonished reaction despite her eyes trained on the canvas. “Unfortunately, Carlisle and I left before I got to see him finish. After he died several of his paintings went to museums or auctioned off. I made sure to acquire this one--took me about three years to find.”

After a moment of gawking, Bella gathered herself and moved onto the next piece. It really felt like they were in an art museum. Soon they came to the end of the gallery. 

“You’re incredibly talented,” Bella praised, unable to take her attention off the marble sculpture enclosed in a glass case by the small bookshelf. 

“Thank you. It’s nice to finally have someone to show this all too. Instead of just me admiring it daily.” Y/n put her hands in pockets, “Now I hate to kick you out, but if you’ll excuse me, I have a deadline to beat,” Y/n led them to the door, “and I’ll let you get back to your tour of the house. It was lovely to meet you, Bella, and please don’t be a stranger. Our door is always open for you.” 

“I really appreciate it,” Bella smiled, standing beside Edward in the doorway, “It was great meeting you too.” A wave of a goodbye and promise to visit again, Y/n watched Edward escort his girlfriend up the staircase to the second floor. Leaning against the side, Y/n touched a finger to her lips, not bothering to hide the giant grin surfacing. 

“I know that look.”

Despite speaking after Bella and Edward disappeared, Y/n felt Carlisle’s presence the second he breached the corridor. Not to mention the tingling sensation at the base of her spine. 

Slowly turning to face him, her smile widened, and Carlisle saw the way her golden hues sparkled when he approached. “And what exactly is that look?”

“The one where you’re overcome with happiness unable to be measured with how much it consumes you.” 

Hands took hold of her shoulders, gently brushing down until they reached her own, Y/n leaning into his touch, voice teasing, “What mother would I be to not be overjoyed for her son and the wonderful girlfriend he’s brought home?” 

Carlisle chuckled, tilting his head down to place a kiss on her forehead. The floral aroma of her Marc Jacobs perfume amplified her already sweet scent. Oh, how addicted he was to her scent. It was like walking through a garden of the most beautiful flowers on Earth. 

“You didn’t embarrass him, did you?”

Y/n rolled her eyes, tapping his chest to scold him, “Not much more than you lot. He was practically dragging Bella out of the kitchen.” Carlisle raised his hands in defense, making her raise a brow.

“That was all the kids. I’m innocent, my dear, you must believe me.” 

She tsked, “Well, at least you didn’t scare the poor girl like Rosalie and Jasper. And as much as I love Alice’s excitement, you might want to tell her to take it down a notch,” Y/n made a face, “I thought we all agreed last night not to bring up Bella’s scent.”

She was met with a sigh, her sculptured-God of a husband dropping his head onto her shoulder in defeat. “What was I supposed to do? You left me to fend for myself.” 

Laughing, Y/n reached her arms around his shoulders, encasing him in an embrace to which he greatly accepted. “I’m sorry, my love. Will you forgive me? I promise to find you the finest stag in all of Washington for you to feast upon.” Instantly his head shot up, moving it so their noses brushed against each other. 

“That’ll do.” Their lips met, igniting fireworks throughout their bodies as it always had for 200 years. Never once losing the feeling. 

They’d seen everything in the course of their century's long life. Several wars. Epidemics. The fall of countries and rise of new ones. Medicine advancing, technology overtaking man. The race to space and the rebirth of the Olympic Games. 

Met people who’d changed the world. Witnessed humanity evolve--and sometimes wondered how the hell it could be so stupid. But overall, they were the stagnant figures in their plane of existence. Time moving, they remained still.

And yet, somehow, they were able to find a family after all. 

When they pulled apart, their expressions of love remained. “God,” she hummed, “That never gets old.”

“Just like the first time?” He chafed, gold eyes glimmering.

Y/n pretending to think, lips pouting, “Less nervous,” a squeal escaped her at the feeling of his fingers tickling her ribcage. Shoving him away, the woman chided, “Get back to the hospital old man. There are patients to be seen, and I have a deadline to finish.” The gasp that left him made her grin.

“Old?! I’ll have you know that if I’m old then that means you are---.”

“Don’t you finish that sentence,” her finger pointed at his chest, “otherwise you’re sleeping on the couch.” Carlisle smirked, entering her personal space once again. 

“I can’t sleep. Neither can you.”

“Damn,” she exhaled, feigning defeat when really, she was becoming more invested with their little game. “You’re right.” Then her eyes turned dark, sinister. Face consorting to a look that made Carlisle shudder. 

A look he’d seen hundreds of times, and not once did not bring a chill to his already cold body. Enough to bring his heart back to life. Enough to send the frozen blood down to his spine. 

“Guess we’ll have to find another way to pass the time.” 

[novaursa]

The Last Fire

- Summary: You survived the fall in the desert, and now it's up to you again to decide where your story leads or ends.

- Paring: sister!reader/Aegon I Targaryen

- Note: This part contains two new possible endings that were requested. Pick your poison. These events happen after The Last Flight, and these two short stories are part of The Broken Crown series. For all parts in one place, visit my blog. The list is pinned to the top.

- Rating: Explicit 18+ (just to be safe)

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne @oxymakestheworldgoround @fiction-fanfic-reader @fireandblood-mharmie @poisonedsultana

Ending where Y/N survives the fall, but still dies.

The last thing you remember is the unbearable pain, the world spinning out of control as you and Tesaerix plummeted toward the unforgiving sands below. Her agonized roar still echoes in your mind, a terrible sound of agony and desperation. The impact had been a blur of fire, darkness, and then nothing at all.

When you wake, it is to the sensation of a dull, throbbing pain that pulses through every inch of your body. The air is thick with the scent of herbs and smoke, and your mouth is dry, lips cracked. Your eyes flutter open, struggling to adjust to the dim, unfamiliar light. Stone walls loom around you, cold and unwelcoming. A Dornish castle. Your heart sinks.

Your first instinct is to move, to fight, to escape, but your body betrays you. Sharp pain lances through your side as you shift, and a low, involuntary groan escapes your lips. Everything hurts. Every breath is a struggle, every thought fogged with the weight of what has happened. You reach for your belly, your hand trembling as it finds the emptiness where there should be life. The child is gone. A sob rips through your throat, raw and jagged. The loss is a hollow ache, a void that you cannot fill, no matter how hard you try to pull the shattered pieces of yourself together.

A guard standing at the door turns at the sound, his expression a mix of surprise and something darker—satisfaction, perhaps. His armor gleams in the dim light, the crest of House Martell emblazoned on his chest. He watches you struggle with an impassive gaze, offering no words of comfort or aid.

“How long?” you manage to rasp, your voice barely more than a whisper, rough from disuse.

“Eight days,” the guard replies, his voice flat. “You’ve been unconscious for eight days.”

Eight days. The weight of it settles over you like a shroud. Aegon must think you are dead. The thought of him mourning you, believing you lost, brings a fresh wave of pain. You try to imagine what he must be feeling—the grief, the rage. It’s almost too much to bear.

You attempt to sit up, but your body refuses to cooperate. Every movement sends sharp stabs of agony radiating through your limbs. The guard takes a step forward, a warning in his eyes.

“Stay down,” he commands, his tone brooking no argument. “You’re under orders not to leave this chamber.”

“Orders?” you ask, your voice trembling with a mixture of fear and anger. “From whom?”

“Princess Meria Martell,” he replies. “You are to be held here until he decides your fate.”

Your fate. The words chill you to the core. You are a prisoner, a trophy to the Dornish princess, held captive in the land that has stolen so much from you. Your dragon, your child. The realization hits you like a punch to the gut, and for a moment, the hopelessness is overwhelming. You close your eyes, fighting back the tears that threaten to spill.

But you cannot afford to break. Not now. You have to survive. You have to find a way out, a way to let Aegon know that you are alive, that you are still fighting.

The days pass in a haze of pain and frustration. You are too weak to move, too broken to plan an escape. The guards change shifts, faceless men who bring you food and water, who watch you with the wary eyes of those who know they are in the presence of something dangerous, something they do not fully understand.

One evening, as the sun sets below the horizon, you hear it—a low, distant rumble. Your heart skips a beat. It is a sound you know well, a sound that has haunted your dreams since the day you fell. Dragonfire.

You push yourself up, the pain almost unbearable, but you force yourself to ignore it. You stumble to the small, barred window, your breath coming in ragged gasps. The sky is a dark canvas painted with flames, the unmistakable black silhouette of Balerion the Black Dread soaring above, his jaws spewing torrents of fire that rain down upon the castle below.

“Aegon,” you whisper, your voice breaking. He has come. He has come to avenge you, to burn this place to the ground in his wrath. But he does not know—you are still here. Panic surges through you, cold and sharp. You pound on the door, shouting with what little strength you have left.

“Help! Someone, please!” But no one comes. No one hears. The guards have fled, the castle descending into chaos as Balerion’s fury turns stone to ash and sand to glass.

The flames grow closer, the heat becoming unbearable. The walls of your chamber begin to crack, smoke seeping in through the seams. You cough, your lungs burning as you struggle to breathe, to think.

You have to escape. You have to find a way out. But there is no time. The fire is everywhere now, the heat scorching, the air thick with the acrid scent of burning flesh and wood. You stagger back, your legs giving out beneath you as the ceiling above begins to splinter, molten rock falling like rain.

In your mind, you see Aegon’s face—his eyes dark with grief, his jaw set in that way that you know means he is barely holding himself together. You want to reach out to him, to tell him that you are still here, still alive. But the words stick in your throat, lost in the choking smoke and searing pain.

The door to your chamber bursts open, flames licking at the edges, and you know this is the end. There is no escape, no hope. You close your eyes, a single tear slipping down your cheek as you surrender to the inevitable.

“I’m sorry, Aegon,” you whisper, the words barely audible over the roar of the fire. “I’m so sorry.”

The flames engulf you then, and the world fades to black.

The great hall of Aegonfort was cloaked in an uneasy silence. Servants moved quietly, casting nervous glances at the somber figure of the King. Aegon Targaryen sat on his throne, a shadow of the man he had been. His face was pale, eyes haunted, the lines of grief etched deeply into his features. Each breath felt like a burden, each moment a struggle to maintain the stoic facade he had been forced to wear since that day.

He had returned from Dorne victorious, or so it seemed to others. But victory felt like ash in his mouth. The fury that had driven him to lay waste to Sunspear had given way to a hollow emptiness. The cries of the dying, the smell of burning flesh—all of it haunted him, because none of it could bring you back.

It was then that a servant approached, holding out a small, sealed scroll with trembling hands. “A message from Princess Meria of Dorne, Your Grace.”

Aegon took the letter, his fingers almost numb as he broke the seal. His eyes scanned the parchment, and as he read, his blood turned to ice. The words blurred, but their meaning was unmistakable. You had been alive. Captured, held prisoner. And he had—without knowing—burned you alive in his wrath.

He staggered back, the letter slipping from his grasp and fluttering to the ground like a dying leaf. The world spun around him, his knees buckling as the weight of the revelation crashed over him. His vision dimmed, and he would have collapsed, had Visenya not been there, her strong arms wrapping around him, steadying him.

“Aegon!” Her voice was sharp, full of concern, cutting through the fog that clouded his mind. Rhaenys was there too, her face stricken, rushing to his side.

“Aegon, what’s happened?” Rhaenys asked, her voice trembling. She reached for him, her hands gentle but insistent, trying to draw his gaze to hers. “Please, tell us.”

He could barely speak. The words lodged in his throat, a jagged knot of guilt and horror. His body trembled uncontrollably, a tremor that started in his hands and spread through him like a plague. His eyes, wide and filled with unspeakable anguish, locked onto the faces of his sisters, searching for something he could not name.

“I—I killed her,” he choked out, his voice breaking on the last word. “I burned her alive.”

The silence that followed was absolute, the kind of silence that is born from disbelief, from horror too deep to comprehend. Visenya’s grip on him tightened, her face ashen, her eyes reflecting a grief that mirrored his own.

“No, Aegon,” Rhaenys whispered, shaking her head, tears spilling down her cheeks. “That can’t be true. You wouldn’t—”

“She was there,” he whispered, his voice hollow. “In the castle. Alive. And I... I didn’t know.” His words faltered, breaking under the weight of his confession. “I thought she was gone, and I...” He buried his face in his hands, a raw, strangled sob tearing from his throat. “Gods, I killed her. I killed them both.”

Rhaenys’ hands flew to her mouth, a sob escaping her lips as she stumbled back, her legs giving way as she sank to the floor. Visenya’s face hardened, though her eyes shone with unshed tears. Her grip on him remained firm, as if trying to hold him together when everything else had shattered.

“Aegon,” she said, her voice breaking through the haze of his despair. “You didn’t know. You couldn’t have known.”

But her words felt meaningless, empty. There was no solace to be found in them, no absolution for what he had done. He had let his rage blind him, had let his need for vengeance consume him, and now the price was beyond bearing. The child—your child—gone forever, as he believes it was taken by his own hand. And you... you, whom he had loved more fiercely than life itself, gone because he had failed you in the worst way imaginable.

His body shook with the force of his grief, tears he could no longer hold back streaming down his face. “I killed her, Visenya,” he whispered, his voice a broken thing. “I killed her and our child. I... I’ve destroyed everything.”

Rhaenys reached for him then, her arms wrapping around him, pulling him close as though she could somehow hold the pieces of him together. “Aegon, no,” she wept, her voice a soft, desperate plea. “It wasn’t your fault. You couldn’t have known.”

But the truth of it was a knife twisting in his gut. He had believed you dead, and in his fury, his pain, he had become the very thing he had sworn to destroy. He had let his grief turn him into a monster, and in doing so, he had taken everything that mattered.

Visenya knelt beside him, her hand resting on his shoulder, her touch a steadying force amidst the chaos. “We will get through this,” she murmured, though her voice shook. “Somehow, we will.”

But Aegon knew there was no coming back from this. No battle to fight, no enemy to conquer. The enemy was within him, a darkness he could never escape. The flames of Balerion’s wrath had claimed more than just stone and flesh—they had taken the very heart of him, leaving nothing but ashes and ruin.

And so he wept, there on the cold stone floor of Aegonfort, his sisters by his side, but no comfort to be found. The King of the Seven Kingdoms, broken by his own hand, mourning the woman he had loved—and lost—twice over.

Ending where Y/N survives the fall with her dragon near Sunspear.

The air was filled with the acrid scent of smoke and blood, the heat of battle suffocating even in the high sky. Tesaerix’s wings beat heavily, each movement strained, her breaths coming in labored, ragged bursts. You could feel her pain through the bond you shared, a deep, searing ache that tore through your side as if it were your own. She had been struck, the harpoon lodged deep in her flank, just beneath her wing. Her roar of agony still echoed in your ears, a sound that would haunt you forever.

“Hold on, girl,” you whispered, your voice trembling as you leaned forward, your hand pressing against the warm, slick scales near the wound. Blood, dark and thick, oozed from the gash, and your heart clenched with fear. “Just a little longer.”

Tesaerix let out a low, rumbling growl, her muscles tensing beneath you as she angled downward. The ground rushed up to meet you both, but her descent was controlled, her movements careful despite the pain wracking her body. You clung to her neck, every jolt sending fresh waves of agony through you both, but you held on, murmuring soft words of encouragement.

The landing was rough, her massive form crashing down onto the rocky terrain outside of Sunspear with a jarring thud. The impact jarred you from the saddle, sending you sprawling onto the ground. Pain flared through your side, and you gasped, your hands instinctively moving to your swollen belly. The baby. The fear that gripped your heart was cold and sharp. You forced yourself to take a breath, wincing as you struggled to your feet, pain lancing through your body.

“Tesaerix…” You turned to her, your heart breaking at the sight. She lay on her side, the harpoon still embedded in her scales, her eyes half-closed, her breaths shallow. You stumbled toward her, your hands trembling as you reached out to touch her snout, your fingers brushing over her warm, familiar scales.

“We made it,” you whispered, tears blurring your vision. “We’re safe now.”

But even as you said the words, you knew they were a lie. The sound of approaching footsteps and the clatter of weapons made your heart sink. You turned, your body tense, as a group of Dornish soldiers surrounded you, their spears raised, their faces hard and unyielding. Behind them, riding in a litter shaded by silks, was Princess Meria Martell, her gaze sharp and calculating as it swept over the scene.

“You are far from home, Targaryen,” she said, her voice carrying over the tense silence. “And in no position to bargain.”

You straightened, ignoring the pain that shot through your side, your hand still resting protectively over your belly. “I am Queen Y/N Targaryen, wife of King Aegon. I demand safe passage for myself and my dragon.”

Meria’s lips curled into a cold smile. “Demands, is it? You are in no position to demand anything, child. You and your dragon are prisoners of Dorne.”

You glanced at Tesaerix, her body still and trembling with pain, her deep red eyes flickering weakly. Chains were already being brought forward, heavy iron links that were meant to bind her, to keep her grounded and helpless. The thought of her, proud and fierce, being chained once more like a common beast made your blood boil.

“Please,” you said, your voice breaking despite yourself. “She’s wounded. Let her be treated, and I will come with you peacefully.”

Meria studied you for a long moment, her eyes narrowing. Then she gave a curt nod. “The dragon will be tended to, but she will remain under guard. And you will come with us, now.”

The soldiers stepped forward, and you forced yourself to stand tall, even as fear and pain threatened to overwhelm you. Tesaerix let out a low, pained growl, her eyes locked on you as the soldiers approached, her body tensing as if she would rise and fight, despite her injuries.

“No,” you whispered, your voice firm as you placed a hand on her snout. “Stay, Tesaerix. Stay.” She let out a soft rumble, her massive head lowering to the ground, her eyes closing as if to conserve her strength. You turned back to the soldiers, your heart aching, but you forced yourself to move forward.

They escorted you into Sunspear, through winding streets that echoed with the murmurs of the people, curious and wary as they watched the procession pass. You kept your head high, your gaze fixed forward, refusing to show any sign of weakness or fear.

They led you to a chamber in the castle, its stone walls cool and unyielding. The door closed behind you with a heavy thud, the sound of the lock sliding into place echoing through the room. You were alone now, a prisoner in an enemy’s stronghold.

The days blurred together, each one filled with a growing dread. Your thoughts were consumed with worry for Tesaerix, chained and wounded outside the city. You paced the confines of your chamber, your mind racing with thoughts of Aegon, of what he must be feeling, believing you lost. You could only hope he would find out the truth before it was too late.

On the fifth day, Meria visited you. She stood in the doorway, her expression inscrutable, her eyes lingering on your belly before meeting your gaze. “Your dragon will survive, though her wing may never fully heal,” she said, as if discussing the weather.

Relief washed over you, though it was quickly followed by a fresh wave of anger. “And what of me? What do you intend to do with me?”

Meria tilted her head, considering. “You are valuable, Targaryen. As long as you remain with child, your life is safe. But know this—I will use you to ensure Aegon’s compliance. The war has cost too much already.”

You clenched your fists, fighting to keep your voice steady. “And if I lose the child?”

“Then your fate will depend on my whim,” she said simply, her eyes hard. “Do not try to escape, Y/N. Your dragon may be chained, but even a wounded beast is dangerous. And if she dies trying to save you…” She let the implication hang in the air, the threat clear.

Rage and fear battled within you, but you forced yourself to remain calm. “I will not try to escape,” you said, the words bitter on your tongue. “But if you harm her, there will be no place in this world you can hide from my husband’s wrath.”

Meria’s smile was thin, humorless. “We shall see, my lady.”

As she left, you sank onto the hard bed, your body trembling with exhaustion and despair. The days that followed were a blur of pain and uncertainty, your thoughts constantly turning to Aegon, to Tesaerix, to the fragile life within you. You had to survive, for their sake. You had to find a way to endure.

Outside, you knew the chains that bound Tesaerix were a constant reminder of your captivity, her pain mirroring your own. But you were both still alive, still fighting, even if only by clinging to the hope that Aegon would come, that he would find you before it was too late.

And when he did, you swore to yourself, you would make them all pay for what they had done. For every wound, every chain, every day of fear and suffering. You would see Dorne burn for this. You would see them all kneel before the fury of the Targaryen fire.

Princess Meria Martell sat in her chambers, the heavy stone walls of Sunspear pressing in around her like the weight of a great, immovable burden. She drummed her fingers on the polished wood of her desk, her eyes scanning the letter she had penned days ago. She had offered the King a simple exchange: your life and freedom in return for Dorne’s autonomy. It was a calculated risk, a gamble meant to end the bloodshed that had ravaged her lands and threatened her people.

But the answer she received was not what she had expected.

The messenger had barely finished delivering the news when a sudden, deafening roar echoed across Sunspear, shaking the very foundations of the castle. Meria’s heart froze. She shot to her feet, her blood turning to ice as a servant burst into the room, his face ashen with terror.

“Dragons, Your Grace! They’re here!”

Panic seized her. She swept past the servant, her silks rustling as she hurried down the corridors, her breath coming in short, shallow gasps. The stone walls seemed to close in around her, her mind racing with fear and confusion. Aegon wasn’t supposed to come, not yet. Not like this.

Reaching the balcony that overlooked the city, she pushed open the doors and stepped out into the blazing sunlight. The sight that greeted her was one she would never forget. Balerion the Black Dread hovered above the city, his massive wings blotting out the sun, casting a dark shadow over Sunspear. Below him, Vhagar and Meraxes circled, their screeching cries filling the air as if announcing the coming storm.

And there, on the edge of the city, near the main gates, was Tesaerix. Her golden scales glinted in the harsh light, her massive form still and tense, the iron chains that held her stretched taut. But Balerion was descending toward her, the great beast’s eyes glowing with a dark, dangerous intent. With a mighty roar, he landed beside her, his immense claws tearing through the chains as if they were no more than threads.

Tesaerix let out a guttural snarl, her wings unfolding cautiously as the last of her bindings fell away. The sight of the great dragon, wounded yet still fierce, stretching her wings and shaking off the restraints, sent a shiver down Meria’s spine. She knew then, with a clarity that burned like ice, that she had underestimated Aegon Targaryen. This was not a king who would bargain or yield. This was a man who would see the world burn before he let anything be taken from him.

Meria turned, heart pounding, as she saw the three figures approaching the castle. Aegon, Visenya, and Rhaenys dismounted just outside the gates, the air around them shimmering with the heat of their dragons’ breath. The ground trembled beneath their feet, the power of their presence undeniable, terrifying.

She forced herself to move, to descend the stairs and meet them at the entrance. Her guards flanked her, their faces pale, their hands gripping their spears as if holding on to the last shred of their courage. She stepped forward, lifting her chin, though her heart raced like a caged bird.

Aegon’s eyes met hers, and the fury she saw there was like a living, breathing thing, coiled tight and ready to strike. His face was a mask of barely contained rage, the lines of his jaw clenched so tightly she thought it might shatter.

“Princess Meria,” he said, his voice low and cold, as if he were spitting the words through gritted teeth. “You dare to hold my wife captive and then try to negotiate with me?”

Meria swallowed, trying to keep her voice steady. “I offered you peace, Your Grace. An end to this war. Dorne in exchange for—”

“For my queen? For my child?” he snarled, stepping forward, the raw power radiating from him like heat from a forge. “You think you can trade lives with me, like some merchant haggling over goods? I am no man to be bargained with.”

Visenya’s eyes were like chips of ice, her hand resting on the hilt of Dark Sister, the sword gleaming wickedly in the sun. “You will release her, and our unborn nephew or niece, now,” she said, her voice a quiet, deadly promise. “Or Sunspear will burn until it is nothing but a memory.”

Rhaenys’ usually warm, vibrant presence was overshadowed by a seething anger. “Do not mistake our patience for weakness, Princess,” she said, her voice taut with restrained fury. “You have made a grievous error.”

Meria raised her hands, trying to project calm. “I do not wish for more bloodshed. I swear to you, Y/N is unharmed. She and the child are safe.”

“Safe?” Aegon’s voice was a roar, his eyes blazing. “Chained like a beast, held in your dungeons, with her dragon bound outside like a common animal—that is your idea of safety?”

Meria took a breath, forcing herself to hold his gaze. “I needed to ensure that Dorne would not be crushed under your might. I needed leverage.”

“And now you have none,” Visenya cut in, her tone sharp as a blade. “Release her. Or I swear by the gods, your city will burn until there is nothing left.”

Meria hesitated, her mind racing. She had known this moment was dangerous, but she had thought she would have time, that she could control the situation. Now, looking at the three Targaryens before her, their dragons looming like harbingers of death, she realized just how badly she had miscalculated.

She nodded, slowly, her voice quiet. “She will be brought to you. Unharmed.”

Aegon stepped forward, his face inches from hers, and she could feel the barely restrained fury radiating off him like a physical force. “If I find one scratch on her, one sign that she or my child has been harmed…” He let the threat hang, his eyes burning into hers with a promise of utter destruction. “I will reduce this city to ash and bone.”

Meria shuddered but nodded again, turning to give the order. As she did, she glanced back at the dragons, at Balerion, who stood protectively near Tesaerix, the massive beast’s eyes glowing with a deadly intelligence.

She knew then that there would be no mercy, no second chances. If she failed to deliver, if she tried to deceive them even slightly, Sunspear—and all of Dorne—would be lost to the wrath of the dragons.

And so she prayed, silently, that her people would not suffer for her misjudgment, and that you would be returned to your king unscathed. Because if not, there would be no place in this world that could hide her from Aegon’s vengeance.

[mikashisus]

HSR MEN WITH AS IT IS SONGS !

PAIRINGS: dan heng, aventurine, sunday, jing yuan, blade x gn!reader

CWS: angst

NOTES: all of u can blame gwen and jun for the dan heng section. anyw ive been so hyperfixated on as it is lately bc they just announced they’re coming back from hiatus and RAHHHH IM SO EXCITED, ive been waiting so longgg i missed the pookies sm <//3 ermm this is not proofread sorry for any errors !!

WC: 1.1k

THE FIRE, THE DARK — DAN HENG

“she’s all i want, now that i’m on my own, now that she’s really gone” …

on the days where his mind wasn’t occupied with the data bank or memories of his past life, his thoughts always drifted to you.

you, who always kept him warm with your body heat. you, who always filled the express with constant laughter and chatter. you, who never failed to distract him from his work. your smile that could light up an entire room and your joyful presence that beckoned others to you.

but he let you slip through his fingers. and now, his bed was cold and so was he. his room was quiet, almost devoid of life except for his soft breathing. the parlor car was empty, except for welt and himeko’s occasional whispers. breakfasts weren’t any fun anymore, not when you weren’t there to rile up march and shout “food fight!”

his life was dull without you, the fire that kept him going. now there was a different fire, but it didn’t burn as bright as you. it never would. now that you were gone, traveling elsewhere in the cosmos, you were all he ever wanted.

DIAL TONES — AVENTURINE

“i’ll mend your heart and break it in the same breath, all we ever share are dial tones” …

another night of the same shit. you had been waiting for the inevitable ringtone that always sounded when he called you.

same time every night without fail. sometimes, he wouldn’t call at all. he’d blow off your dates and then gift you things you didn’t need to try and make up for it. but all you really wanted was to spend time with him.

you waited, cuddling a plushie he gifted you to your chest. the clock struck midnight and still no call. you were just about to give up and call it a night, when your phone screen lit up and the caller id displayed his name. you eagerly sat up, reaching for your phone, when you suddenly paused.

he was going to recite the same words. you could feel it. you let your hand drop back onto your bed and sighed as you turned your back to your phone. you wouldn’t answer. not tonight.

when you woke up the next morning, his side of the bed was still empty, but a small note rested on his pillow. you picked it up, only to see the same lame half-assed apology he always gave. you crumpled up the piece of paper and grabbed your phone, dialing his number.

THE HANDWRITTEN LETTER — SUNDAY

“i need you when i’m bruised, i need you when i’m broken” …

he fell from grace. he was no longer the esteemed head of the oak family. he was now… a fallen angel. a fugitive of penacony.

and yet, he came crawling to you for help again. even now, when he knew that involving you meant you would be a fugitive too. but he needed you— needed your smile, your laugh, your presence, your embrace. everything about you.

you always healed him when he felt broken and bruised. you always welcomed him into your home without question, tending to his broken state of mind and allowing him a moment of solace from the outside world.

he knocked thrice, waiting for the door to the shop to swing open like it always did. but there was no answer from the other side, no sign of life. he knocked again, only to realize the sign in the window. the shop was closed, and sold.

you were gone. you didn’t tell him you were leaving. why didn’t you tell him? why didn’t you stay when he so clearly needed you?

he fished out his beaten up phone and sent you a text, only for it to not go through.

THE TRUTH I’LL NEVER TELL — JING YUAN

“how long's it been, it must be months, i swear this time I meant to keep in touch, like always” …

how long has it been? months? years?

he swore he’d keep in touch with you even after you moved to the yaoqing, yet he never took that one step to sending you a text or dialing your number.

it was slowly getting harder for him. his mental health was getting worse. all of his past friends were showing up again, all of them completely different from the people they used to be. they were familiar faces, yet he didn’t recognize any of them.

you were the only one thing that stayed constant in his life before you also left. you moved, and you slowly changed, just like everyone else.

he wondered if you moved on, found a new partner, had kids…

he could easily text you, or call, and ask to catch up sometime. but he was scared. you’d ask about his wellbeing, and he wouldn’t be able to tell you because he didn’t want you to feel disappointed. he didn’t want you to feel guilty for leaving him by himself.

you sent him texts. he read each one. he’d reread them when he missed you terribly. yet, he couldn’t find the courage to reply. you sent him letters once in a while, yet none of them told of how your own life was going. you always asked about him. how he’s been, how yanqing was doing, how fu xuan was faring.

you asked about dan feng once, and that was the only time he responded, telling of his reincarnation. that was the last and only time he replied.

PATCHWORK LOVE — BLADE

“i won’t forget you, i won’t regret through the pain, the years i gave to you” …

he knows you used to love him, but you don’t anymore. you loved who he used to be.

yingxing was the man you fell in love with once upon a time. it’s been years since then. did he even remember that time? you did. you oh so clearly did.

whenever you reconnected, you’d bring it up. you’d talk about all the things you two used to do, where you’d go, the holidays you spent together. it seemed as if your head was filled entirely of memories from the past. as if your heart still beat for the man he used to be, when all he used to do was smile. when all he said to you were words of love and encouragement.

but it’s been years since then. and he was not the same man you knew. he was mara-struck, his mental health unstable and teetering on the edge of insanity at every moment.

yet, you seemed to be the same. somehow. you’d text him now and then, and he knew you felt guilty for what happened, even though it wasn’t your fault in the slightest. he never blamed you for anything.

you’d ask to meetup, and when you did, he saw how you were almost the exact same as you used to be. just, now, your eyes were duller, no longer filled with that wonder he always loved the most about you.

you talked of how your life was going. you were faring well— way better than he was. you had kids. they were all grown up with families of their own. your heart no longer beat for him. it seemed as if you finally moved on.

he wouldn’t ever forget you. he swore he wouldn’t. not when thoughts of you kept him sane. although the past you shared was no more, he still felt himself again when he was with you. as if nothing changed.

© 2024 mikashisus. do not plagiarize, copy, repost, feed to ai, or translate my works to any other platforms.

[demonicbaby666]

iii. Take Out with a Side of Make-out

Feelings are Fatal Masterlist | Masterlists

Fandom: Criminal Minds

Pairing: Jennifer Jareau x fem!Reader

Words: 5.4k+

Warnings: 18+, minors DNI, there's literally no warnings for this chapter though...

When you woke, it was to an empty apartment. Your quiet movements to lounge were of no importance because she was gone. JJ was gone. The only mark left of another having inhabited the space was a lonely, loosely folded blanket on the couch that sent a cold shiver up your spine. You walked forward and took the material into your hands, cradling it between your arms and chest as though you could trick yourself into believing it was the woman who marked its fibres with her scent. 

The question of JJ’s whereabouts or sudden departure remained unanswered as you scoured the room for clues. There was no note, no remnants of a coffee made before her leave, nothing but a few strands of golden hair that glinted off the sofa and pillows in the morning light. Still, you stood there for a few more minutes. Eyes closed, mind racing, you breathed in the last bit of JJ you had left held precious in your grasp. 

You allowed self-pity to settle into each slow step leading back to your room, praying your floorboards would turn to quicksand and put you out of your misery. The door creaked open, the hinges crying to be oiled and reminding you of yet another task you had left unchecked. Beside your bed was your phone, a beckon of hope for your worrisome mind that you ran to in desperate hopes an explanation lay waiting in a grey bubble. 

With a single tap, the black screen lit up. You scrolled through everything unimportant without an ounce of remorse. So brutal in your search for answers, you ignored even Garcia, her clump of twenty-odd messages moving up and up till they disappeared entirely. She could wait till later to hear about the so-called ‘hot date’ and how he turned out to be a grimy creep. 

With every passing icon, hope dwindled. The last notification stared at you with its time stamp so ancient that all it read was yesterday. In a late ditch effort, you clicked the text chain with JJ, thinking things could slip between the cracks when it came to faulty technology; you’d dropped your phone once or twice, surely that was enough to dislodge a wire or two. The chat was desolate of new messages. 

The dread you felt that Sunday set the tone for the upcoming week, which was entirely bleak. 

Work was work, and managing an independent bookstore had its good moments. Informing your colleague a friend of hers, or what turned out to be a friend of a friend of a friend of hers, attempted to spike you was not one of them. The only consolation to the awkward encounter was the consoling hug you received, which, for all intents and purposes, filled the gaping space in your chest that yearned for some form of physical intimacy on that first Monday back. 

Police reports were filed, and comfort was found in the awaiting punishment your date would face, but it was hollow and sapless. Each dying day, when the sun took its rest, you still stood in front of your mirror and noted the toll life without solace took on you. The dark circles under your eyes had worsened, taking on the appearance of bruises a person would sustain in a fighting ring. The fullness of your face was no more. Your cheeks looked gaunt and hollow. There was no colour to your face, no life force spare to light up your eyes after days of endless sorrow. The longer you looked, the more you realised you had fallen victim to a situation that was of your own making. 

There was little news on JJ. When a text finally came through on a bleak Wednesday, it was direct and uninformative. 

‘How are you?’ 

The reprieve from your anxieties was short-lived, and you scolded yourself for thinking JJ owed you anything when she disappeared out of thin air the moment the question of how she was doing was posed. 

That’s when the anger came. The blinking cursor mocked you with its potential. Endless texts filled with barbed remarks and pointed accusations were written, deleted, and edited until only the worst of the worst were left. It tore at your chest to read the message back and come face to face with the literate poison you had conjured. The words were sour on your tongue, and your voice was broken between sobs of a pained acknowledgement as you read. There is nothing hurt people do better than share their hurt, but that would not be you. You would not inflict damage upon the person you knew you would always love. No message was sent that day or the following. 

Time moved, and you clung to each new day's possibilities. Maybe if you gave JJ the space she appeared to need, she’d find her way back to you, but no matter how hard you fought to find hope and happiness where there wasn’t any, every passing hour you lived and breathed remained a quiet torment. Despair followed you like a shadow you couldn’t shuck, and for the first time since you parted ways with JJ, you considered the elicit relationship between you was coming to its inevitable end. 

The thought plagued you throughout the week till Thursday and Friday came and left, leaving you empty and tired, ready for Saturday’s promise of a day you could spend under your bedsheets utterly and tragically alone. 

The stages of grief had run their course, and you found yourself at the finale. 

There’s a misconception that when you find acceptance, it’s freeing and beautiful; tranquillity sheds beams of light over all the gloom and loss, like the sun peaking through a winter forest, thawing frostbitten earth. This contrived interpretation does not paint the harsh reality of acceptance. The hole cut through your chest did not feel less hollow; if anything, it was more prominent, leaving an imprint on your past, present and future. Songs, places and faces were draped in black garments, polluted by the faint air of heartache and neglect. 

Acceptance was the sword at the end of a fight that found your throat and put you out of your misery. Acceptance was realising in the death of your old self, you’d strive to be someone better in the next. Acceptance was knowing that you wouldn’t be victim to your circumstances anymore, that you’d carry your pain like armour, wear it proudly as you built your walls back up and never let anyone bulldoze them again. There would be no cracks in the foundations this time, JJ would not sneak her way into your heart, and the parts of her that remained would be snuffed out. 

So Saturday became the closing of a chapter, and Sunday began anew with the shrill of your phone waking you up at 7 am. Not quite how you expected the day to start, but you tried to avoid taking the abrupt start to the day as a bad omen. 

It was an easy decision to silence the call and reclaim the morning as your own. The first step—going back to sleep. 

The second call came through three hours later, and you couldn’t excuse ignoring it under the guise of self-care when sleeping past 10 am was bordering on excessive for someone who went to bed before the sun had fully left the sky the night before. Begrudgingly, you threw an arm over the side of your bed, violently clambering until your hand landed over the vibrating device. Too familiar with the screen layout, your finger pressed the general location of the answer icon as you brought the phone to your ear.

“Hello,” you mumbled, too tired to acknowledge the gruffness of your voice, though you could feel the greeting grate against your throat like sandpaper. 

“Shit. Did I wake you up?” 

Of course, it was her. Out of everyone who could’ve called to be greeted by your crackled, prepubescent morning lilt, it had to be JJ. 

Shooting up, suddenly very awake, you gripped the phone tighter and cleared your throat. 

“I had to get up anyway,” you stated blankly. 

“Oh.” She was off-put. You could hear it in her scattered tone. It was unknown whether it was from your lack of enthusiasm or the reason for her calling.

There was only silence for a beat, and you could hear the thoughts churning inside JJ’s head from the other side of the phone speaker. The responsibility to fill the silence was not yours. You weren’t the one to call, and you wouldn’t be the one to encourage JJ to speak now that she had suddenly re-founded her interest in you. 

“You still there?” she asked, sounding nervous enough for you almost to abandon your indifference to the unknown subject matter of the call. Almost. 

“Yes,” you replied, seemingly unbothered despite feeling the exact opposite. “Just waiting.” 

There came a sigh, and you steeled yourself to remain calm for what was to follow. No one’s heart ought to be beating as fast as yours was at 10 am. 

“I’m sorry. I know I’ve been MIA this week. Work has been hectic, and I’ve had a lot going on, but I should’ve checked in more.” 

“Yes, you should have.” There was another bout of silence, then a drawn-out breath shared by you and JJ. You knew for this conversation to lead anywhere, you needed to give leeway. But you were hurt and still harboured anger towards JJ, enough to leave her sitting in the static atmosphere for a few more seconds. 

“You’re right.” She finally relented, sounding surer than she had been in the last few minutes. There was a bit of shuffling coming from JJ’s end of the call before everything stilled. “I was stupid and blindsided by unimportant things when my attention should have been on you. I should have called. I should have come over and comforted you and kept you safe after everything that happened. There are so many things I should have said and done, but I’m calling now and asking for just a fraction of forgiveness. Let me make it up to you.” 

“And how do you plan on doing that?” you asked, waves of curiously eroding the shores of lasting anger. 

“There’s this thing…”

“Oh well, that changes everything. A thing. Why didn’t you say that earlier? That makes everything okay then.” You were sure she could hear the roll of your eyes in your bit-off tone. 

“My mom’s coming to town next week and I’m being forced to host a luncheon, or what a normal person would call a barbeque.” She paused momentarily, taking a deep breath before rushing through the rest of her request. “I thought you could come along as my date so I could avoid all the badgerings over my lack of love life.” 

“Let me get this right,” you began with a humourless laugh. “To make up for not being there when I needed you, you want me to do you a favour by pretending to be your date so your family and friends don’t pester you?” 

“It doesn't sound so great when you say it like that.” 

“Probably because it isn’t,” you stated matter of factly, the amusement peeking through the cracks of your tone. 

“Free food.” 

“Not happening.” 

“Good company.” 

“I'm assuming you’re dubbing yourself the so-called good company?”

“You like my company!” JJ feigned offence so well that you couldn’t help but laugh. 

“I tolerate it at best,” you stated, failing to hold back a smile. “It’s still a hard no.” 

“I’ll pick you up and drop you back home.” 

This particular clause in the imaginary contract piqued your interest. For reasons unknown, the image of JJ being at your beck and call, wanting your company at her side so badly she’d go out of her way to make it happen, elicited a fuzzy feeling in your chest. A week away from her was good. It was the breathing space you needed to realise things had to change. And as unconventional as it may be, perhaps this was the opportunity to enforce the change you strived for. 

“Will you at least consider it?” 

“Fine,” you dramatically sighed, dropping your body back on your bed and looking at the barren ceiling. 

The conversation came to a natural close after JJ graced you with more details of her week, this time holding little back. She asked question after question, making it silently known your morning would be hers. Your allotted time to make coffee and sip on it also belonged to her, and try as you might have, though you tried little, there was nothing to be done about the rather annoying fact you quite clearly did crave JJ’s company after going so long without it. So you allowed time to spill through your fingers and words to flow from your mouth. It didn't sting or hurt when it was time to part ways. You didn’t yearn for anything more. It was nice: being content with the mediocre. 

The following week, you hoped for more of the same. Finally, you were happy to settle for normal, but the week presented nothing of the sort. First, the box of chocolates came, waiting for you outside your apartment on Monday evening. Innocent enough. Then came the bouquet of flowers the following Tuesday that you discovered within the walls of your apartment, sitting idly and beautifully on your kitchen counter. You pondered on the time JJ must have set aside to hand deliver the array of thalictrums, tulips and gardenias, wanting so badly to place meaning to the gift that was left to coerce you into agreeing to accompany JJ next weekend. 

Buds took root in the soil of your heart, and ever-present weeds of affection sprouted. Thwacking away at the blooms, knowing the conditions were no longer suitable for sustaining a garden of pathetic hope, you placed the second gift JJ bestowed upon you in a cream vase you found locked away under your sink. 

Placed by the window, the sun bled colour through petals like stained glass the following Wednesday morning, a bright sight to gape at whilst mindlessly stirring milk into coffee. 

That evening, as you swept through the doors of your apartment, you fiddled with a parcel left in your mailbox. It was no bigger than your palm, neatly wrapped in Kraft paper. Attached was a note written for Saturday. The handwriting gave away who had sent the gift but did nothing to alleviate the boding curiosity running rampant in your belly. 

Under the brown coverings was a black box, its contents half unmasked from the lid taking the brunt end of your less than gentle treatment. It was a bracelet. A dainty thing comprised of thin gold chains looped together and delicately placed opposite the clasp was a single tiny diamond. It was perfect. It was too much. 

Pulling your phone out, clicking JJ’s contact highlighted under favourites, you listened to the rings chime by your ear. You reached her voicemail, and having been unprepared to leave a strongly worded message, you hung up, navigating your way to your text chain, only to be greeted by three dots. 

17:30 (JJ) - On a case. But no, I’m not returning it. I’m not taking it back. You’re keeping it, and if you choose to come with me on Saturday (which you should), you’ll wear it. 

17:31 - It’s too much, JJ. 

17:31 (JJ) - No, it’s not. If anything, it’s not enough. 

17:32 - I’m hiding it in your bag next time I see you. 

17:33 (JJ) - Can you accept the gift like a normal person and say thank you?

17:34 - No. 

17:35 (JJ) - The bracelet stays with you. You deserve to be spoiled. So, suck it up cause I’ve got to go. 

And just like that, you were alone. A sappy smile in place, standing in your kitchen gazing at your pretty flowers and your pretty bracelet. It was right about then that you realised how utterly fucked you were. There wasn’t a force on earth strong enough to hold you back from attending Saturday’s luncheon as JJ’s honorary date. 

Questions of motives and intentions sprouted fast in your mind like pockets of unruly weeds. Doubt reared its head, peeking through the cracks of cheap blinders fabricated on broken dreams. Once upon a time, you may have tricked yourself into believing your own delusions. JJ felt the same way you did. That’s why she called you at ungodly hours for pleasure and only that. JJ searched for opportunity after opportunity to be in your company, and that’s why she ignored you for a whole week. You really had been blinded by love.  

You greeted the petulant childlike dreams with the fortification of your guard. There would be no more longing, pining, or losing yourself in a make-believe future you thought you could see through the rose-tinted lenses of JJ’s unreadable gaze. There would be no mistake about it, when Saturday arrived, you would play your part, and you would do no more than that. 

By Thursday evening, you were convinced the gifts had stopped. Sluggishly trailing upstairs after a tiresome day and unlocking your apartment, nothing awaited you. It was both a relief and a hard-to-admit disappointment. Surely, through some type of psychic link, JJ must have known she’d swayed your better judgment and swindled you into agreeing to her terms. 

Of course, no such thing existed, and the blonde was very much still on the train of buying her way back into your heart. You discovered this when sitting down, scrolling through the endless list of restaurants on delivery apps. The options were vast, and your indecisive mind was too worn out to take on the challenge of picking which cuisine spoke most to your palette, let alone what you wanted off the menu if you ever managed to dwindle the options down to one. 

Your fridge was barren, and the contents of your cupboards were mainly noodles and dried foods that didn’t sound all that appetising, given that you’d have to find the energy to move to the kitchen and engage in making something. So, after thirty minutes of idle scrolling and scornful glances at your kitchen, you gave up, choosing to sit in the glum of adulthood and responsibility. 

At that precise moment of defeat, a buzzing rang from beside your door. You weren’t expecting anyone and most friends knew the code to let themselves in so they wouldn’t ring up. Maybe they had the wrong apartment? 

Another buzz. 

Huffing, you stood and walked over to the intercom. The quality on the screen was grainy, but you saw the delivery driver clear enough, hands filled with bags of food as a motorcycle sat idly behind him. 

“I think you might have the wrong apartment,” you said, ignoring the pang of hunger that shot through your belly. “I can buzz you in, though.” 

He held a receipt up to his face, scanning it momentarily. “Second floor. Apartment five?”

“Yes.” 

“Well then, this stuff is for you,” he declared, motioning to the bags he had in hand. 

“Come on up,” you sighed, admitting defeat. 

When the food arrived, you apologised to the delivery driver, realising he was carrying not one, not two, but three bags filled with containers of food. The waiting time, plus the journey up flights of stairs, can’t have been enjoyable, and you felt bad for only being able to offer a sympathetic smile as consolation. The guilt reduced once your eyes landed on the receipt and you discovered two things. One: JJ was indeed the one to send the surplus of food. And two: she’d left a hefty tip that more than made up for the inconvenience. 

Aware the blonde may still be busy on a case you didn’t bother calling. 

18:40- You know I can’t eat all of this, right?

18:46 (JJ) - Is that an invitation to come and help? 

18:47- Are you going to make me ask, or would you rather I not fit into the dress I’ve picked for this Saturday? 

18:47 (JJ)- On my way! 

18:56 (JJ)- Wait… WAS THAT A YES TO COMING? 

19:00- Yes, Jennifer Jareau, I’ll be your date for your family BBQ. 

19:04 (JJ)- You know I only like it when you use my full name when your mid orgasm ): 

19:05- If you crash whilst texting and driving, then you’ll be lucky if you ever get to see me again, let alone touch me. 

19:09 (JJ)- Texting + driving = no sex. Noted. 

19:10- I’m eating all the spring rolls. You don’t deserve any. 

Not even ten minutes later, JJ barged in, reaffirming your theories regarding texting and driving. Additionally, it led you to believe she’d picked up speeding as a habit outside of work. You were about ready to scold her when you turned to the door to see the blonde in a bit of a state. Her eyes were bulging, scouring around the kitchen, paying no mind to her hands as she yanked the keys out the door and came scurrying towards you, panicked. 

“Please tell me you didn’t.” 

You dropped the breath you had been holding, rolling your eyes. “The spring rolls, as well as everything else, are untouched,” you said, hiding your smile with the turn of your head. “Stop being dramatic and help me plate all this food.” 

Satisfied, JJ made her way to the counter, eyeing its contents like a hawk ready to strike. To her credit, she followed the orders, picking noodles up with chopsticks and plopping a healthy amount on each plate, divvying curried meats and sides between you. There was a reprimand on the tip of your tongue, watching rolls of crispy filo pastry piled one after the other, the distribution system far from fair. Any feelings of injustice died at the sight of JJ’s smile. 

“Happy?” you asked, sidling up to her, wanting so badly to kiss the corner of her lips, where her cheery smile sank ever so slightly into her cheek. 

“Yup,” she answered, popping the p at the end of her sentence as she grinned, handing you your plate. “Couch?”

“Sure.” You took your food and padded over to the living room, settling comfortably into plush pillows. 

There were nearly twenty shows you could list that had safely made it into the category of ‘background noise’, and you settled for throwing one of them on, happy to chat with JJ rather than get sucked into a fantasy world. 

It was the right choice because as soon as the blonde came to join you, her mouth would not close, safe from when she politely cut her sentences short to shovel food into her mouth. She was animated like this—talking about her work, friends, family, and anything really. Warmth pooled in your stomach, seeping into your bloodstream and circulating your body till all you knew was comfort. This was home. The couch, noodles, light conversation and JJ. It was all the epitome of belonging. 

The light from the TV abruptly dimmed. An ‘Are you still watching?’ message appeared on the screen, bathing empty glasses, plates and take-out boxes that had migrated from the kitchen to your coffee table in a tinted red glow. 

At the exact same moment, your and JJ’s eyes landed on the screen and then shot back to one another. Laughter rumbled through your chests at the sore sight of guilty lopsided smiles. It seemed you both had lost track of time, too focused on idle chatter. 

Once the excitement had died down, JJ moved to stand. “I don’t think we ever were watching,” she muttered, shooting you a mischievous smirk as she walked towards the door. 

“You know,” you drawled, eyeing JJ speculatively. “I hear it’s usually good manners to say goodbye to the host before you leave.” 

She glanced back, mouth set in a firm line, giving you a specific look that translated directly to ‘Are you serious?’ and you couldn’t help but chuckle. 

“I’m getting something from my bag if you must know.” And she did just that. Reaching into her bag, she pulled out a black box similar to the one you received on Wednesday, only this one was slightly bigger and flatter. 

“I’ve already agreed to Saturday JJ. I don't need any more bribes.” 

“That’s not-” she cut herself off, shaking her head and returning to the couch. “Just open it already,” she ordered, plopping beside you. Despite her carefree persona, there was no mistaking the nervousness to JJ as she bit at the side of her mouth, waiting for you to take the proffered gift. 

“Alright, alright.” You raised both hands with a grin, surrendering and taking the box from her hand, hoping to dispel some of her anxieties. “No need to get feisty.” 

She continued to fidget, your teasing going right over her head as you drew your eyes away from her ringing fingers to the lid of the black box. It bore the same mark as the one you’d previously received, a local jeweller by the looks of it, but not one you recognised. 

The lid came off with a pop of trapped air, and underneath lay a familiar sight. You recognised the gold chain, simple and elegant, but where a single gem was placed on your bracelet, on this necklace, lay a cluster of small diamonds, all circling a polished ruby. 

“JJ, it’s-” you gasped. 

“I swear if you say too much again,” she rushed to say. 

“Actually,” you went on, straightening your neck to face the blonde. “I was going to say beautiful.” 

Her face lit up. A bright smile pulled at the contours of her cheeks as her eyes fixed solely on you. 

“Yes, it is.” 

A shy smile blossomed over your lips, and your cheeks flushed with the distinct impression she wasn’t talking about the necklace anymore. Tension grew heated in the silence, leaving you breathless as you darted your attention back to the little box in your hand, thumbing over the golden chain. 

“Let me?” JJ asked, and you watched as her fingers slithered into view beside your own. 

Cautiously looking up at her, seeing hope beam so openly over her features, you nodded. 

She took care in taking the necklace from its home, running the chain through her fingers as she pulled it through two divots puncturing velvet. She let the chain hang between her fingers, holding it up and waiting patiently for you to turn. 

“Oh, right,” you muttered, shifting your position so you had one leg tucked under the other, your back facing JJ. 

There was some shuffling behind you before you felt the warm press of JJ’s chest against your shoulder blades, her fingers tickling your neck as she swept your hair aside. Fighting to keep composure, you swallowed down the beginnings of a whimper. 

Appearing to be in no rush, JJ brought both hands around your head and rested her palms over your collarbones. You shivered as the cold metal fell against your heated skin, failing to ignore the way JJ had paused to let the small gem dangle between your breasts. 

Her warm breath grazed your neck, and you could feel the tip of her nose press against the underside of your ear. Arousal bubbled low in your stomach, fizzling beneath the fluttering butterflies that had claimed your body as their play place, and a week without JJ’s touch suddenly started feeling a lot more like years. You craved her kisses, her hands, her tongue keeping you vocal from between your legs. The memories were coming waves, pulling you backwards both physically and metaphorically to JJ. 

Finally, the necklace was dragged along your chest, and JJ leaned back to clasp it shut. The brief reprieve from the mounting traction you felt towards the woman behind you was, unfortunately, short-lived, and it wasn't long before the soft pad of fingers grazed the line of your jaw. The touch was light and easy to dissuade if you so chose. You could push against the angling of your head and remain an unwilling participant in this nefarious scheme JJ was conjuring up. 

Instead, you closed your eyes and allowed JJ to guide your face to hers. 

The air was thick, and silence rang through the room, disrupted only by your bated breath and hastening heartbeat. A kiss ghosted over your parted lips. All it would take to bridge the gap between you was one minute move forward. 

She smelt like beef and bean sprouts and burning desire, but you knew the taste of lips only promised regret. 

With one long exhale, you pulled away. 

“I should put the food away,” you announced, leaning forward to grab the plates and cutlery off the coffee table. Standing and moving to the kitchen, you didn't look back, too focused on berating yourself between stilled breaths. 

You’d been in your apartment long enough to know the water always ran cold for a few seconds before eventually shifting to a temperature sufficient to clean your dishes. However, this didn’t stop you from plunging your hands under the icy waters. It was a needed relief, and the pull back to reality was instant, allowing you to see the mistake you’d almost made. Still, the feel of JJ’s lips haunted you. 

Her presence was felt more than ever as she appeared behind you, and you hoped, for the umpteenth time, that your better judgment would emerge victorious in the fight against clouded lust. But your restraint was pulled taut and on the brink of snapping. You knew if JJ pushed, you’d break. 

For someone consumed by thoughts of another, you paid little mind to the person in question, leaving yourself vulnerable and ripe for the taking. 

The tap spluttered, and a messy display of steaming water burst through the faucet. The shock pulled you from your anxieties, though another surprise awaited you when JJ crept up closer behind you, sliding her hands around your waist and resting them over your belly. 

“I can help,” she whispered hotly into your ear.

Your full-bodied shiver left JJ feeling emboldened. Her fingers toyed with the hem of your shirt. Her wicked smirk pressed against your neck. And her chest pressed firm against your back, locking you in place with the edge of the sink cutting into your hips. 

The trail of her fingers against your stomach was scorching, never settling on one spot long before moving to another. Too lost in the sensations coaxing your body into a state of relaxation, you scarcely reacted to JJ flipping you around and settling your thighs over the soft curve of the sink. 

Her tongue slid into your mouth with a sense of urgency as she savoured the taste of you with languid strokes, moans vibrating from her chest and tunnelling down into your throat. 

You held both hands to JJ’s chest, applying enough pressure to push her away, maintaining it to prevent her from getting close again. You couldn’t do this. Not again. “It’s late, and we’ve both got to get up early for work tomorrow.” 

Even if this was for the best, it was hard not to leave caution to the wind, take JJ’s hand and guide her straight to her bedroom, especially when she looked so much like a kicked puppy with the pout she was sporting. 

“I’ll see you Saturday,” you said with a sorrowful smile, jumping down and ushering her towards the door. “And JJ?”

She turned instantly, looking half-ready to run back into your apartment before her smile faltered, “Yes?” 

“Thank you for tonight.” You dug your chin into your chest, peering down at your newly acquired necklace. “And this, and the food, and the flowers,” you tried hard not to choke on your own words, “and well, everything.” 

“I’d do anything for you.” 

There was so much sincerity in the way JJ had said it. It left no space for doubt. The only problem was that she seemed pained by the admission, so much so her eyes looked glassy and far off. 

You wanted to ask her what she meant, why she seemed so saddened by her own words, but by the time you found your voice, she was gone. 

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[tinydefector]

Marine Centre 2- merformers Au

Word count: 1.7k

Warnings: mention of wounds.

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PHYSICAL EXAM / TREATMENT RECORD: Big Blue

Species: Oceanides. Sex: Hermaphrodite/ Pod Bull

Age: 50+yrs

Recent illness/injury: lacerations to back/ dorsal/ shoulder. Injuries received from altercations with The Meg ( Aggressor), believed to be due to feeding. (Wounds are healing, no sign of infection)

Behaviour: Gentle, Social.

PHYSICAL EXAM Examined by: Dr Bayley Quin

time:12:42pm

Date: 23/05/XXXX

Wt 253.592 Kg. Temp 21.8°c

GA:

Blue and red Oceanide with swirling patterns across the body, fins and gills are red fading into blue. Larger than any of His Pod. Eyes: blue

INTEG: covered in many scars from, Fighting, feeding and Mating.

External Parasites: lamprey

RAVS Animal Condition Score: Good

Reason for RAC Score assigned: For Release out of Pool 4

Addtl Comments: big blue has recovered remarkable from his injuries and is ready to be set back out to the Lagoons with his pod.

________________________________________________________________

PHYSICAL EXAM / TREATMENT RECORD: The Meg

Species: Oceanides. Sex: Hermaphrodite/ Pod Bull

Age: 50+yrs

Recent illness/injury: lacerations to head and stomach/ bite wounds to arm. Injuries received from altercations with Big blue ( The Meg was the Aggressor), believed to be due to feeding. Wounds still have not headled due to scratching.

Behaviour: aggressive, Terratioral, temperamental.

PHYSICAL EXAM Examined by: Dr Bayley Quin

time:2:54pm

Date: 21/05/XXXX

Wt 269.52 Kg. Temp 24.8°c

GA:

Dark grey, light grey with red markings, fins and gills are red . Larger than any of the Oceanides in the centre. Eyes: red

INTEG: covered in many scars from territory fighting, feeding, and mating.

External Parasites: none

RAVS Animal Condition Score: bad

Reason for RAC Score assigned: request to keep Meg in Pool 3

Addtl Comments: the Meg still hasn't fully healed due to scratching and grinding against the pool floor.

_______________________________________________________________

PHYSICAL EXAM / TREATMENT RECORD: Cherry

Species: Oceanides. Sex: Hermaphrodite

Age: 30+yrs

Recent illness/injury: scale Rot on running up tail and fins

Behaviour: (normally) hyper, Social. (Recently): withdrawn, Depressed.

PHYSICAL EXAM Examined by: Dr Bayley Quin

time:1:08m

Date: 26/05/XXXX

Wt 221.32 Kg. Temp 24.2°c

GA:

Red, black and Grey Oceanide. Eyes: blue

INTEG: scales have been showing severe signs of Scale rot,

RAVS Animal Condition Score: bad

Reason for RAC Score assigned: to be kept in Pool 2 until medicine Takes effect.

Addtl Comments from (-----l : Cherry has fallen really badly into Depression, request for Shimmer to be allowed to visit and stay with until recovered.

____________________________________________________________________

Addtl comment from (Dr Bayley Quin): Permission granted, I'd ask that Strom, Screech And Whistler be let out of Pool 7.

______________________________________________________________________

The centre is rather quiet in the afternoon with only a few people being there this late. "Afternoon Nola, how are you handling the flyers?" They call out to the older woman.

Nola sighs wearily as her younger co-worker approaches. "Those rusalka give me more trouble than all the others combined, I swear," she grumbles accent coming out thick.

Gesturing out toward the large pool the three currently rest in, she continues, "They hardly stay put long enough for a proper check! Always zooming about." She huffs.

"Whistler is a right negodyay," Nola remarks with a shake of her head. "I'll keep an eye on them tonight, but going to go check Big man and make sure he eats today, then I'll feed the demons before letting them out, Quins gave me the go ahead to let them back out to the pods" they state with a chuckle.

Nola nods sagely at the caretaker's plan. "You do that, dear - wouldn't do to have the big lug go hungry. Just take it slow and watch Him. one wrong move and..." She mimes a massive set of dentae snapping shut for emphasis.

“I will Nola, he's not that bad, he's just a grumpy big lug, ain't the first time I've fed him, think it's the reason Quin has me feeding most of them.” They remark while scooping fish into the buckets and barriers on the cart out of the fish pools.

"Hey there Big Man" they say softly walking to the edge of the water standing there to see what mood the large grey Oceanide is in. "Are you going to try and eat me again?" They call out. Within the pool's cool depths, a massive form begins slowly stirring their approach. After all, the Oceanides could feel the vibrations of their steps. The Meg glances toward them with a rumble, crimson eyes glinting with annoyance.

His fins and gills flare briefly as if to try and scare them off but after it doesn't work a grumbling noise comes from him. They slowly sat at the edge waiting for him to come closer, even if he didn't let them touch it at least gave them the opportunity to check his wounds to make sure they were healing.

They bring the bucket of fish to sit beside them almost like bribery. "Don't you growl at me" they call out with a glare while grabbing a fish and holding it up to see what they had for him. With immense leisure he slowly prowls closer through the water.

He circles the tiny creature slowly, letting the churning wake of his bulk send ripples lapping at the pool's edge in a rumbling wave of threat. But as they make no move borne of fear, merely proffering bribes of fuel and medical care, a grudging respect glints within those warped features.

They put on a brave face while lowering the squirming fish into the water, holding it by the mouth. "Come on Big man, just want to see how you're healing" they say softly while waiting for him to approach.

His maw parts, releasing a snarl that vibrates the waters ominously - yet he doesn't charge or attack. He swims close, browling again before taking the Fish from their hand.

The fish vanishes into his mouth followed by crunches, a deep rumble leaves his chest and he glares at them waiting for another.

His form seems to ripple and swirl the water as his tail flicks slowly. They are gentle while reaching out very slowly to touch his face checking the fresh scars. Their other hand grabs another fish, holding it out for him to eat. "Gentle big guy, I'll get you more, no ones stealing your fish" they hum.

A disgruntled rumble resonates from his massive frame as their hands trace the recent wounds. The fish vanishes as quickly as the first before a low whistle leaves him as he lets his head rest on their lap as they feed him more fish.

"You need to stop getting into fights with Big blue, gonna get yourself hurt even more. You two bulls are a nightmare sometimes he's not trying to take your pod or fish" they state softly bring the bucket closer so Megatron could pick out the fish he wanted to eat.

His dentae snap down on another before he grabs for the squid and clams, the crunching of the shells echoes in the quiet night. A low, primal snarl rumbles up from the depths of his chest which has them tensing up. His gills flexes and flare, as he sniffs the air.

"Easy big man, easy" they coo, tracing the flared fins of his face. "That angry at him huh?" They nearly whisper. "The more you two fight the more you both end up back in here till your wounds heal, no ocean swimming till you heal"

he hisses, tail lashing hard enough to send waves crashing against the pool's rim. growls leave him and he quickly flicks around away from them. They sigh as he darts back into the water, sitting there for a while before tipping the rest of the bucket into the water so he still had fish, kelp and clams to eat. He submerges himself in the pool's cool concealment once more. They give the large mer one last look before grabbing their cart and leaving him.

Making their way to the next lagoon. The three sea skipping Oceanides head immediately snap towards the newly-arrived scent of food. The trine observers with fierce scarlet eyes, powerful frames arching and twisting through the water with the grace.

Screech breaks the surface first, fins flared with a Shrill. circling nearer the waters edge.

Whistler calls out in a little song of delight to see them wildly, breaking the surface with a splash. "Hello you three, giving Nola trouble again?" They ask rather disapprovingly.

The trine draws near as one, awaiting food eagerly. They sigh as the three mers hiss, thrill and rumble at them. "Yea, yea, I know dinner time." They hum while moving to the cart. "Don't you drag me in!" They warn before tipping the barrel of fish into the water. No sooner do the fish spill into the water than a trill rings out. powerful arms snake about their waist - and with a mighty splash, Whistler drags them into the water!

The seeker coos and thrills madly, spiralling through the depths with his prize clasped close against slick violet and black scales. Bubbles stream from his grinning maw. A deep snarl leaves the Blue Oceanides, only for Whistler to let out a soft whine and he tries nuzzling against them. They cough and spit water, trying to swim to the side not wanting to get caught in the feeding frenzy.

Storm appears quickly snagging them from the purple Mer pulling them safe against his body. It's a deep rumble from Storm, screech subsides with a sulky snarl but quickly swims off to catch fish. They cling onto the blue Oceanides as he slowly helps them back onto the land. "Thank you Storm" water drips from their now drenched uniform. They glare at the other two mers.

The other two continue to cavort and squabble over fish. Storm calls out softly to them which earns him a quick glance. They move back over to another bucket grabbing it grumpily, moving to sit in front of the Blue mer. "Well since those two want to be demons I guess you get the treats" they mutter while pulling out a handful of clams and sea weed for him.

Screech slinks nearer across the waters with a loud purr. Whistler chitters excitedly, zipping through the shallows to plaster himself against his pool mates flank, whining pleadingly.

What really makes the other two mers whine is when they pull out the Squid. Letting Storm eat it smugly. Screech shrill warbling of outrage pierces the quiet air the moment the squid is given to the blue mer. shrieks, and gills flared along with his wings which twitched in barely restrained fury. Whistler writhes and chitters jealousy. He eyes the succulent mollusk. "No you two want to be demons, no treats." They huff out not falling for the thrills and chritters.

A little after they finish feeding they move to open the canal that leads back into the cove. All three shoot up in excitement, jetting out the moment the gate is open. Excited thrills and calls leave them which others echo back at them.

_________

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[veritasangel]

Golden Sanctity

Ft. John 'Soap' MacTavish

sum: if you asked anyone from 141 MC where their road captain so often disappeared to, they'd never guess the church.

warnings: sfw, fempov, mentions of church

a/n: this has not been proofread yet wc: 1.4k

Soap, Road Captain of 141 MC. The name carried weight from bar fights to street races and the infamously brutal manner in which the club's rules were enforced. Anyone who knew his name made it a point to get out of the way when he was around. It was as if there was a perpetual amount of danger etched within him.

The leather vest with the 141 patch an ever-present reminder of who he was and the world he survived in. Still, for weeks now, Soap had found himself chasing after something-or rather, someone-he had no business even looking at.

You.

The pretty church girl from the local town, a world separate from the chaos and violence that Soap was used to. You were the one thing he couldn't have, couldn't even think about having. Pure, untouched by the mess of the life he led. He had first seen you that Sunday morning, walking out of the church with a group of friends, laughing in that carefree way people who hadn't seen the darker side of life did.

Soap had been leaning against his bike, watching from across the street with a cigarette hanging loosely from his lips. His usual bravado faltered for a second as he took you in-all innocence and light, the kind of person he didn't deserve to be near. He had no right to look, let alone want anything more, but something about you tugged at him-an impossible temptation.

Now, every time he rode into town, his eyes strayed to that place outside the church, his heart hoping to catch a glimpse of you. It was reckless, and he knew it.

You were the kind of girl whose family would despise everything he represented. They'd hate the ink crawling up his arms, the rough edges of his life, the bike roaring down the quiet streets.

And the 141? They'd never take it seriously, either. His brothers lived for the rush, the freedom of the club—they wouldn't understand his obsession with a girl so far removed from their world.

Yet, he couldn’t stay away.

He had no business being outside the church late at night, waiting for you like he often did. He was a man of danger, living a life full of chaos and recklessness that clashed sharply with everything you stood for. Yet, despite the rules, the lines, and the stark differences between your worlds, there he was-again.

That first night you spoke, where he found you in quiet repose on the church steps, lost in thought. You hadn't screamed or ran, even when you knew who he was. Instead, you'd stayed. He'd started talking and you listened.

He used to call it "confessing," his face a mock-serious mask, and the things he said to you were anything but sacred. Soap didn't talk about prayers and salvation; he talked about his life-fights and rides, the messes he'd gotten himself into. It was as if he tried at times to freak you out, telling stories of the darkness he lived in, testing to see if you'll finally tell him to leave.

But you never did, and so Soap kept coming back.

Tonight, he was waiting by a bench near the church, the moonlight casting a silver glow over the empty streets. His bike was parked a little ways down, the low hum of the engine long gone as he watched the flicker of light from inside the church.

His eyes scanned the surroundings-a place that represented peace and purity, everything he was not. And yet, this place had bound itself to you, and that alone was enough for him to continue appearing.

You emerged from the side door, the soft creak of the wood in the still night air. He saw you there in that soft, flowing dress, looking as innocent as ever, and Soap's heart thumped in a way he didn't want to admit.

You looked at him with a half-smile, something warm but cautious-like you still didn't quite know what to make of him. And maybe you didn't. Maybe you shouldn't.

"Johnny," you said softly, your words a cool balm to the riot in his mind.

"Lass," he returned, that smirk so damn familiar tugging at his lips. "You've been waitin' on me?"

"I was finishing up some work for the church. Didn't expect to see you again this week."

He let out a low chuckle, scratching the back of his neck, "Cannae stay away, can I? Thought I'd drop by and confess my sins again," he teased, his eyes softening as they caught yours.

You rolled your eyes, though a slight tugging at the corner of your lips insisted on a small smile. "And what sins are you bringing to the table tonight?"

Soap grinned, pretending to ponder, "Ah, the usual. Too many fights, too many bad decisions, and of course… thinking 'bout you more than I should.".

That caught you off guard, making you pause, your eyes widening, but you didn't back away. You never did. It was one of those things that had kept him coming back, the way that you didn't flinch from him, didn't see him as a monster, even when that's how he felt most of the time.

“Johnny, we've talked about this,” you said calmly, your tone firm. “We are different, too different. You know this.”

Soap exhaled slowly, his smirk faltering for a moment. He got up, moved closer, but kept a respectful distance, knowing just how innocent you were-how untouched by the world he was so deeply entrenched in.

"I know, lass. Believe me, I know. But that doesnae stop me from wantin' ya. Or from thinkin' about how much I'd give to be close to you."

Your gaze softened. You cared about him; he knew that. You were scared, though-scared of what it could mean for you, for your family, for anything that was important to you to give yourself to someone like him.

"You don't belong in my world," you whispered, almost as though trying to convince yourself as much as him. "My family. they'd hate you. The things that you're involved in-they'd never understand."

He nodded, the weight of your words hanging heavy between you. "Aye, I know they would. And I don't blame 'em. Hell, sometimes I hate the things I do, too. But you… " His voice trailed off, falling into something softer, something almost fragile. "You make me want to be better.

You had looked at him then, really looked at him, as if seeing past the rough exterior, past the leather and tattoos. Just a moment, you and him alone, in the silent darkness, worlds apart yet somehow held together.

“I don't know if I can be what you need, Johnny," you said in the tiniest voice. Again, you doubted that your words could be meant, "I'm not from your world, and you need someone who is able to handle that lifestyle.”

Soap exhaled sharply and moved in closer, his hand grazing lightly against your arm. "Maybe what I need isn't anyone who can handle my world; maybe it's someone like you to pull me out of it."

Your heart fluttered at his words, but even then, such a decision weighed heavily upon your mind. This man-this dangerous, wild man-wanted you in a way that thrilled and terrified you. He was everything your family had warned you about, everything you'd always been told to stay away from. But he was more than that, too. There was a softness in him that no one else ever saw, a side of him that he only showed when it was just the two of you.

Soap watched the fight in your eyes diminish a little, his face softening. "I won't push, lass. Not for more than you're ready to give. But I'll stick around, as long as you'll let me.".

You looked down, your fingers tentatively grazing his, before glancing back up at him with a small tentative smile. "Just talking?" you whispered, your voice barely above a breath.

"Just talking," Soap agreed, his smile relaxing as he settled back against the wall, happy to stand beside you in the night's quiet. And for that moment, it was enough.

༄ MC 141 m.list // general m.list

© veritasangel ↣ do not copy or translate any of my works.

[livelaughlovesubs]

for your aniversary can u do aventurine w/ Forcing them to divulge past tramaus or secrets and calling them a mocking name or title?

Oh- being sadistic much aren’t we? (Edit: I went overboard)

Mean!reader x Aventurine (?) - reader is gon

Warning: no smut lul, reader’s real egotistic, bringing up past trauma, dark content (?)

Anniversary event

Loud and obnoxious, with flashing lights all over the establishment. The quiet lobby music fading in and out of the conversations, with the sound of dice and cards taking the front stage. Occasionally, a cry for help or laughter would break out, or a scream of despair. Indeed, so was the never changing atmosphere of the casino. You sat by the bar counter, clicking the metal rod that came with your drink against the glass. Then, you took a sip of it.

Long have you gotten bored of these simple stimulations, the feeling of life and death being at stake was no where to be found. That’s because you overdid it, you found out all the tricks to success, and now you were waiting for someone else to notice as well, to have a fair and unpredictable game with them. One of the reasons of why you didn’t stop coming to the gamblers house, the other one being it has become a part of your routine.

And, as if your prayers have been heard by the aeons, the day where you’d met such a person really came. It came in the form of a surprising defeat. You stared at the cards of your opponent, glistening sweat rolling down the side of your forehead, hieratic heart beat pounding in your head. “I lost.” A small whisper among all the other noises in the background, then the corners of your mouth twitched upwards.

“Fuck- haha, I really lost huh?” Your tone was a little irritated but all in all amused. Then you turned your gaze to your opponent, eyeing him up and down. A handsome young man with blond hair and fancy clothing, a soft smile plastered on his face. “Sorry, pal, but that’s what it means to gamble.” You shook your head, grinning, “no need to apologise, I should thank you.. erm?” “Aventurine.” “Ahh~ aventurine, from the IPC huh? A big shot, thanks for doing me the honours of playing with you. Seems like the rumours aren’t just rumours this time.”

It was the truth, you weren’t mad in the slightest, no, you were glad you found a new challenge to overcome. Though, this was a difficulty you didn’t expect, because the next time and the time after you did nothing but lose. This was more than skill, there was something else about him that causes him to win. You were sure of it after playing against him so often. That’s why you decided to play dirty.

By the next time you two played, you’ve done some background check on him. Well, not just some, you knew everything about him afterwards. From the smallest things to some high peaks and lows of his life. Once again, you entered the casino, an unusual confidence in your steps as you headed straight for the table where Aven was playing. “Hey Aven! Still on your winning streak aren’t ya?” Due to your many encounters, you’ve grown accustomed to calling each other by a nickname.

“Oh, hey palm still haven’t given up?” The boy asked you, turning his head around to give you a small greeting. He was still in the middle of a game, though he looked unfocused now that you came. “You bet, I won’t stop until I’ve won.” Suddenly, he laughed, pushing his bangs back. “That’s the spirit! Fine, let me finish this one first.” It didn’t take long until he was done, and without doubt, he won. Afterward he pointed at the chair next to him, hinting at you to sit down.

“No, I have something special planned for this match. I booked us a vip room.” You moved your head in the direction of the single rooms, smiling brightly. “Ah? My, you are making me excited, lead the way my friend.” He said, voice rid of any suspicion. After all, even in the worst case scenario, he could still take you in a fight. Your grin widened as you walked over to the rooms, opening a door and making a hand gesture at him, “after you.”

He nodded, as a way of saying thanks, then sat down all comfortable onto the couch. “This room sure is fancier than the rest, even the couch is softer.” You popped onto the armchair opposite of him, taking out the cards, and mixing them. “The atmosphere is so different, it’s so quiet.” Aven stared at your hands, wondering if he should trust you with the task of dealing, “hey, pal, we gon’ switch who’s dealing every turn?” You answered, “of course.”

After you were done with the mixing, you asked him, “what do you want to play?” The Blondie chirped, “your choice, you wanted to challenge me after all.” You hummed in acknowledgment, cooing delighted, “how about hold ‘em?” In return he responded, “bring it on.” While you were busy laying out the cards, he opened a suitcase and took out come chips, commenting, “say, how much do you want to bet?” You glanced at him for a split second, then said, “how about we start with 88 million?” Aven smirked, “sounds good to me.”

A few drinks and quite a few poker games later, the game was finally spiralling towards the end. Playing something like this in a one on one situation was way different than in a big group, it depended a tad more on luck than probability. Even so, his luck seems to be as unfair as ever, with how he was holding almost all of the chips now. “You really don’t disappoint, IPC big shot.” You chuckled, slumping back to carefully think it through.

“Hehe, it’s all a coincidence.” Aventurine said, while raising the stakes by 15 million. “Ah? Why the rush, peacock boy?” He was trying to make you fold or go all in, though were your cards really good enough? “Well it’s getting late. So, what’ll it be, my friend?” You smiled, but it wasn’t just a simple smile, it had something sinister and ugly behind it. “You are really dying to get back to the lion’s den, huh?”

A frown appeared on his pretty face, it was gone as fast as it popped up, and he tried to ignore it, “haha, you didn’t brush me as someone opposed to the IPC.” You shook your head, “no, i’m not, not necessarily so. Rather, I’m wondering what you think about it, former slave Aven?” He clenched his fists, a drop of sweat rolling down the side of his face, his usual cheekiness was gone, instead replaced with a sense of dread, “Y/n, you know what I could do to you when you call me with such a detestable title.”

“Oh? Did I hit a nerve there? Please pardon me then, I was simply joking.” You shrugged, then continued with, “or rather, I was intrigued to know if the rumours are true.” Out of nowhere, he leaned over the table and grabbed you by the collar, chips and cards long discarded on the floor. “What rumours?” Your irritating smirk didn’t dissipate, instead you kept your composure and told him, “how you came from an eradicated planet, and was passed around like an object.”

Something shattered inside him, his hand that was grabbing you felt weak. His stomach curled as he remembered all these ancient— long forgotten times he had eradicated from his storybook, his script. Yet somehow, you still found out, and if he could take you by your word, you weren’t the only one who knew. The overwhelming pounding of his hearts beats were almost hurting, he starred at you, are your lips that were moving, but he couldn’t focus.

Your voice rang in his ears, uncomfortably so, loud, obnoxious yet unclear, a high pitched beep was all that reached him before suddenly— all sounds vanished, leaving him alone with his own thoughts. It was quiet, as if he was stuck battling his own consciousness, plagued by memories he tried to seal away. Did you stop talking? Is that why he couldn’t hear a thing? Though your voice made him furious before, now he was in desperate need to hear you, to block out his terrible, horrible thoughts, to overshadow them.

In the midst of it all, you reached a hand out to him, rubbing the tattoo on his neck. “This is proof for your previous life, ain’t it, slave?” Then you stared right into his hypnotising eyes, a bright shade of magenta paired with a piercing royal blue, the most recognisable feature of him. “I guess everyone wanted a piece of those mesmerising eyes of yours.” His back was soaked in cold sweat now, chills ran down his spine while he dreaded your touch. It was awful, it creeped him out, it make his skin crawl, so much that he wished to scratch and rid his skin to shreds.

“Y-y/n, stop this at once, it’s not funny anymore.” He stumbled over his voice, the confidence he once had was long gone, leaving behind this broken and lazily fixed up man who was still showing signs of being worn out. The often times he was used, sold, and played with, you knew all about it, didn’t you? And instead of feeling a shred of pity —something you seemingly didn’t have— you taunted him.

A giggled erupted from you, then two and more to come. “What a lucky dog you are, since you are still standing as of today. Not as sane as before, but we can overlook that.” He clenched his teeth, forcing himself to speak up, uttering quieter than he wanted, “what do you want, y/n?” There wasn’t a hint of conviction in the way he talked, you had caught him on your hook. “Oh no, nothing, really. Just, isn’t it funny? How a slave like you managed to increase your worth by selling yourself? Like that deal you made with-” “shut up. Just- shut up y/n, stop.. please.”

“…oh?”

“Did I go too far? I’m sorry. Though, you did as well, didn’t you? You dirtied your hands and killed your owner.” He laughed in your face, “I don’t have an owner, I’m not a slave anymore.” Suddenly you have a face as if you’ve been waiting for this moment, grinning from ear to ear as you spoke, “Aha! So you aren’t denying my accusations. Then it must be true that the hands of all these filthy men touched and soiled you, no?”

To your surprise, or as you expected, he slammed his fist onto the table and shouted, “y/n, stop it right now with your ridiculous imagination. I don’t know what it is that you want from me, but leave me the fuck alone.” His face was red, with anger probably, but he trembled, he was scared, disgusted, repulsed even.

You sighed disappointed, before saying, “then, let’s finish this game of poker first. Alright slav—ehem— Aven?” He glared at you, he wanted nothing else but to leave, though he couldn’t when there were still money at stake. “Damn it, you played me, you never wanted to win the poker game- you wanted something else.” In response to his statement, you shrugged with your shoulders again, scoffing, “I’m no big, evil mastermind like that. In fact, it’s much more simple. I am chasing the thrill of it, and the high of a win. Though…”

You trailed off, leaned down to the floor to pick up the cards from the boy, then looking up at him, “I want it to feel like life-and-death for the both of us.” After you collected the two cards from him, he was still standing next to the desk, unmoving. But you ignored it, instead explaining, “since you threw them on the ground, I take it you folded? So, my win this time.” Normally he’s argue, obviously, but this time he was still in tumour, his inner conflicts haven’t been solved yet, he could only watch in despicable silence.

“Don’t look at me like that, wasnt I your old pal? Ah, that reminds me, 88 million— is a pretty number, no? It’s said to be a lucky number, and the price of your body during your first auction.”

At this point, his knees gave out, he felt back onto the couch, eyes blank as he stared at you, cursing underneath his breath. This game has been going on for too long, and it was only going to be worse from here on.

[doctorbitchcrxft]

The Magnificent Seven | Supernatural Series Rewrite | Dean Winchester x Fem!Reader

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Fem!Reader

Warnings: recovering from a sexual assault (please heed this warning), angst, canon violence, canon gore,

Word Count: 3382

A/N: SEASON THREEEEEEEEEEEE thank you guys so much for all the support i love you so much i give each of you a little kiss on the face :)))

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Dean hadn’t called you since you left. Honestly, you didn’t expect him to. However, there was a feeling clawing at you that you wanted him to. You wanted him to beg you to come back and tell you he missed you and loved you, too. Although, seventy-eight hours after leaving the Winchesters, you were unsure that phone call would ever come.

Over the previous three days, you’d scoured every library book on demonology you could get your hands on and prodded every community college professor that could possibly know any information helpful to you in breaking Dean’s deal. However, all you came up with were crossed eyes from staring at books for too long and several aging professors looking at you like you had three heads.

To your surprise, the phone on the center console next to you rang, the light from the small screen on the front of the flip phone illuminating a portion of the dark car. Hopeful, you picked it up. 

‘Oh,’ you thought. ‘Just Sam.’

“Hello?” you said into the phone.

“(Y/N), hey, it’s good to hear your voice,” Sam replied.

“Good to hear yours, too,” you said, a little sadness in your tone. “Is— Is Dean around?”

“Nah. He’s, uh…” Sam trailed off, sighing.

“Polling the electorate?” you questioned, hoping Sam would understand your reference. 

“Yeah,” Sam laughed sadly. “I’m sorry, (Y/N).”

You sighed, ready to change the subject. “It’s okay. What’s goin’ on? Why’d you call?”

“What, I couldn’t’ve just wanted to talk to you?”

“You would’ve called before if that was the case,” you replied a little flippantly. 

“Fine, you got me,” Sam chuckled. “Was wondering if you’d found anything.”

“Besides an unreal level of frustration? No.”

“Yeah. Same here.” 

You clicked on your turning signal and sighed. “Honestly, dude? I don’t think we’re gonna find the answer in any book.”

“You’re probably right,” Sam acknowledged. “Doesn’t hurt to look, though.”

“I have looked, Sam. And there’s nothing,” you responded, getting a little snippy with him. “I’m sorry. I’m just—” you quickly apologized.

“I get it. Me, too.”

“I’ll call you later, okay?”

“Okay,” Sam replied quietly. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

You understood the warning in his tone and knew he somehow figured out your next stop would be summoning every crossroads demon you could possibly find and hunting others down for answers. “Can’t make any promises, Sammy. Love you, bye.”

You snapped the phone shut and huffed. As badly as you wanted to continue your pursuit of these sons of bitches, you knew you’d be getting nowhere on the hour and a half of sleep you’d cumulatively been getting over the past five days. 

***

The next morning, only feeling slightly refreshed from the three hours of sleep you’d gotten, you headed out into the early morning sun to find yourself a demon. 

The previous evening, you’d found a bizarre story in the newspaper about a man who’d died under mysterious circumstances after picking up a hooker on the day after those demons were released from Hell in your fight with the yellow-eyed demon. There had also been a cicada swarm around the motel the man had died in; a traditional demonic omen.

The coroner’s report indicated the man had been tied to the bed and found without his genitals, blood soaking every inch of the room. They concluded the man had bled to death. What made the case more disturbing and interesting was the fact that there was a deep bruise around his neck in the shape of two small, delicate hands. 

Curious, you headed to Lincoln, Nebraska to interview the wife of the man who’d passed.

“Hi, I’m with the FBI—” you flashed your fake badge at the woman as you spoke— “and I just have a few questions for you regarding your husband’s death?”

“I don’t understand,” she said, beginning to tear up. “I already answered these questions for the police.”

“Yes, ma’am, I just have to do a follow-up of my own. A cross-examination of sorts.”

She nodded and stepped back from the door, allowing you into her home. She gestured for you to sit on the couch across from the chair she settled into. 

“So, what would you like to know?” she asked. 

“What was your husband like?”

She laughed humorlessly. “Why is that important? I mean, I’m not even sure I really knew him. Married to that cheating bastard for fifteen years, and he does this to me.”

“What do you mean by ‘you’re not sure you knew him’?” you pressed.

“I mean,” she sniffed, “I just never would’ve thought he’d cheat on me. With a whore, no less.”

You cringed at the implication of sex workers being “whores” but kept your mouth shut anyway. 

“I mean, in all the time we were together, I was the only girl he ever looked at,” she explained. “He never drank, never went out— hell, he felt guilty about watching porn! I just… I can’t understand why he’d do this to me.” Her sobs wracked her body, and she put her face in her hands. 

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Grishop. I just have one more question for you.”

She looked back up at you expectantly, still hiccuping from her cries.

“Did he have any enemies? Anyone who may possibly want to hurt him?”

She shook her head. “No. Before… all this… he really was the nicest man I ever knew.”

***

Following leaving the woman’s house, you decided to head out to lunch to gather your thoughts. In the midst of writing them all down in your journal and munching on a fry, a story on the news caught your attention. 

“Second Victim of Possible Serial Killer Found,” read the headline at the bottom of the screen.

“Walter Morrisson, age forty-nine, was found dead in a Super 8 motel just off I-6 around eleven A.M. this morning. Authorities were called to the scene when the housekeeper found the body after assuming the man had already checked out."

‘Oh, fuck,’ you thought. You tuned the rest of the broadcast out as your mind raced; whatever this thing was, it was just getting started.

You left a twenty dollar bill on the table to cover your meal and tip and quickly left the diner. You sped down to the Super 8 to begin investigating. 

Upon entering the lobby, you noticed a scraggly young man sitting behind the desk. The room was completely empty aside from him.

“Hi,” you grinned. “My name’s Christine McVie; I’m with the FBI.” You flashed your badge. “You mind letting me have a look at your security tapes?”

He nodded nervously, eyes flickering from your chest and back up to your face. He allowed you behind the desk to examine the security tapes from the previous night, and you clicked over to the camera just outside of the victim’s motel room. A gorgeous blonde woman escorted the man into the room, and she looked at the camera for just a split second. Had you not been paying close attention, you would’ve missed it completely: her eyes were black.

Immediately, you had the man working the front desk make you a copy of the tape and brought it back to your motel room. You then uploaded it to your laptop and began scanning FBI and police databases you’d hacked into to find the woman’s identity. After about thirty minutes, you found a match.

“Jennifer Lane, 28, Missing from Miami, Florida,” the information on your screen read. 

‘Holy shit,’ you thought. ‘She went missing the same night I killed Yellow Eyes.’ Looking at the picture of Jennifer linked to the article you found confirmed the fact that this was your mystery demon. You felt awful for that poor girl trapped underneath and had no doubt she was going through a world of pain; a slave to her own mind.

“Housekeeping,” a sultry voice suddenly called from outside your door.

Unsettled, you drew your gun and pressed it to the door and looked through the peephole. You were met with the smiling face of the girl you had just been reading about, and the door abruptly slammed open and threw you back into your room. Two men with black eyes came into the room as well and grabbed under each of your arms before you even had a second to adjust. 

You fought them as best you could which quickly proved futile. 

“Don’t worry, angel,” the beautiful blonde cooed, “we’re not gonna hurt you.” She grinned wickedly and pulled your bottom lip down with her thumb. “Yet.”

The men holding you laughed as you continued to struggle, frantically flailing your limbs to shake them off. 

“What’s the rush?” the demon asked you, roughly grabbing the sides of your face. “Y’know, you give a girl all kinds of nasty ideas.” Her lips ghosted over yours, and you suddenly found yourself unable to resist leaning forward slightly to kiss her. She kissed you deeply and furiously, causing you to stop fighting the two demons holding either side of you. You could feel them pulling your arms behind your back and tying them together, as well as your legs, but you could do nothing to fight off the woman before you. 

When you’d been bound, the demons dragged you out to a car and threw you in the trunk of it. Trying not to panic, you tried to keep track of how long they were driving for and how many rights and lefts they’d been taking. However, after the second hour of driving, it was all becoming a bit much to keep track of. 

Suddenly, the car came to a stop. You tried to prepare for whatever was ahead of you mentally and cried out when a demon roughly grabbed your hair. He hauled you out of the trunk and unceremoniously tossed you over his shoulder. You kicked and fought as best as you could, screaming, “Let me go!” You kicked the man’s stomach with all your might. “Let me go, you son of a bitch!”

“(Y/N)!” you heard an all-too familiar voice yell. Your stomach dropped at the sound of Dean’s voice, unwilling to face him after your confession and having not spoken for a week. 

“Let go of me, you fucking asshole!” You wriggled even harder now and were suddenly aware that the man carrying you stopped moving. He roughly tore you off his shoulder and stood you on your shaky legs in front of the steps up to a house. You came face to face with Dean being held back from crossing the line of salt blocking the doorway by Bobby and Sam. 

Afraid your voice would fail if you spoke, you said nothing but held Dean’s gaze.

“We come with a peace offering,” the gorgeous blonde who’d kidnapped you purred, dragging her nail harshly down your jawline and breaking the skin along it. You hissed in pain and could see Dean fight against Bobby out of the corner of your eye. “You give him back to us, and we’ll give her to you.”

“Nice try,” Sam replied. “How do we even know that’s (Y/N)? How do we know she’s not possessed?”

“You don’t." The woman gripped your chin. “But trust me, you don’t wanna see what happens if you leave me with her for much longer.”

And then, all hell broke loose. Someone— you were pretty sure you knew who— charged the demons holding you hostage and you heard Bobby yell, “Salt’s broken!” as the demon holding you up dropped you to the floor. About ten demons ran past you into the house, and you were left trying to get out of the binds you were held in. You were growing more and more frustrated by the second until someone came up from behind you.

“Need a little help?” a gorgeous blonde asked, smirking down at you. 

“Who the hell are you?” you asked. “Get away from me!”

“Baby, if I wanted to kill you, I would’ve already.” The woman pushed you upright into a sitting position and cut through the ropes binding your hands. 

Confused and startled, you watched the woman walk up to the house. “You’re welcome,” she remarked over her shoulder. 

“Thank you,” you replied, still confused. You shook your head to snap yourself alert and stood. You were completely unsure of what to do now; you desperately wanted to help your friends, but you were scared of facing Dean and had no weapons. Alone outside of a house you didn’t recognize deep in the woods, you decided to hotwire the car the demons brought you there in. 

By some miracle, you managed to find the interstate and, eventually, your motel. When you’d showered, changed, and dressed the deep bruises and brush burns on your wrists from the rope the demons had used on you, you wrapped your arms around your stomach and laid on your side in bed.

You didn’t get much sleep that night, though; you were too busy stifling tears while your mind ran wild with possible scenarios that could’ve happened after you abandoned the boys. You felt horribly guilty already.

Your guilt was made even worse when Bobby called you around five in the morning.

“What the hell was that?” he scolded through the phone.

You grimaced. “Bobby—”

“No, (Y/N). You don’t abandon family like that,” he raged.

“I didn’t have any weapons! And since when do I have a family?!”

“Since the day I found you in the woods holding your guts in your goddamn hands!” he roared, and your guilt immediately sank deeper. 

“Bobby, I’m sorry—”

“You don’t have to apologize to me, kid. It’s Sam and Dean I’d worry about,” he replied, voice softening slightly— or, as much as Bobby’s voice could, anyway.

“What? Why?”

“You left again. Without saying goodbye. Or making sure that they were okay. Dean’s pissed; Sam’s just hurt.”

‘Ouch,’ you thought. “I’m sorry. I just didn’t wanna be in the way, and I didn’t have any weapons, and when I saw that girl going to help you, I figured it was better if I just left—”

“So you saw her, too?” Bobby questioned.

“Of course, I saw her. Why wouldn’t I have seen her?” you replied.

“ ‘Cause Sam said she disappeared. And the knife she had killed three demons,” Bobby explained.

“What?! What the hell kind of knife can kill demons?” you exclaimed.

“Ask me yesterday, and I would’ve said there’s no such thing,” he said. “I thought Sam mighta been losin’ his mind, but since you saw her, too...” Bobby trailed off. “Look, I think you should give ‘em a call. Just let ‘em know you’re all right. And apologize.” The last part of Bobby’s statement sounded more like an order.

“I’ll call Sam,” you replied after a moment.

“No, (Y/N), Dean, too. You two need to sort out whatever the hell’s wrong with you,” Bobby asserted. 

You went quiet for a moment. 

“And call me when you get wherever you’re goin’,” he finished, “so I know you’re okay.”

The line cut out, and you smiled sadly. You felt absolutely horrible for leaving the way that you did, and you knew the right thing to do would be to call Sam and Dean; separately. You knew you had to face up to Dean at some point, but it just didn’t seem like the right time. But, Christ, did you miss him. You wanted him to apologize for not calling, you wanted to apologize for leaving— there were so many things you’d say to him. And yet, you couldn’t bring yourself to pick up the phone. 

You got up from your bed and crossed in front of the blackened television, jumping at the sight of your reflection. It was your guard uniform once more, scrapes up the left side of your arm and face, hair a complete mess, and buttons on your shirt buttoned haphazardly. You tried to steady yourself and take a breath. 

You hated trying to deal with this alone. Your body didn’t feel like your own anymore. You felt you couldn’t control the world around you like you used to feel before the prison case. It felt like things would never be okay, and you were never going to feel at home in yourself again. You didn’t like feeling helpless or like you needed anyone, but you truly needed your friends. Your pride fought your rational mind valiantly, telling you that you shouldn’t call because you can handle this alone. You shouldn’t call because you’ve never needed anyone before; why would you now? And yet, there was another part of you saying that you’ve always needed someone, this was just the first time you actually had someone. 

***

The day after leaving Lincoln, Nebraska, you began driving aimlessly again. You almost cried when you turned on the engine and rock music didn’t immediately start blaring from the speakers. The seats of the car felt uncomfortable and made you miss the polished leather of the Impala’s. You loved driving, but it didn’t feel right without Dean and Sam in the front seat ahead of you. 

Sam would often joke that he and his brother were your babysitters due to your designated seating positions in the car, and Dean would often say he wished he had “that sliding window thing—” “partition,” “thank you, Sam,” so he didn’t have to hear you chirping from the backseat. 

 None of the radio stations could rival the comforting background noise that was Dean’s cassette tape collection. You felt cramped without your seat to spread out across. The thing that made you call Sam, though, was the moment you slammed on the brakes and the book Sam read to you about Egypt while you had your concussion flew out of your duffel bag on the seat next to you. Tears swam in your eyes at the sight, and you finally gave in. 

“What, (Y/N)?” Sam annoyedly answered the phone. 

‘Jesus. Harsh,’ you thought. “I, uh. I just wanted to call and say that I’m sorry,” you began. “For leaving. Both times. And… just wanted to tell you that I hope you’re okay.”

You could practically hear the aggravation leaving Sam’s body as you spoke. One of your favorite things about your friend was how forgiving of a person he was. 

“I appreciate that,” Sam replied. He paused for a minute. “Why’d you do it, man?”

“I didn’t have any weapons. I saw the blonde chick go in to help you after she cut me loose, so I figured, I’d be doing more harm than good by staying—”

“No. The first time,” Sam cut you off.

“Dean didn’t tell you?” you asked, genuinely surprised. “I thought you knew this whole time.”

“(Y/N), since when does Dean tell me anything. I mean, it literally took me nearly beating it out of him for him to tell me that if the deal’s broken, I die—”

“What?!” you exclaimed, furious. “Since when? Why the fuck would he make that deal?!” 

“I said the same thing,” Sam replied calmly. 

“He’s so fucking selfish!”

“I completely agree.”

“He doesn’t get to be mad at me for leaving when I literally told him I love him, and he’s gonna fucking leave me in a year because of some stupid demon deal!” you continued to yell, not realizing what you’d admitted to Sam.

He was taken aback. “Whoa, you what?” 

You suddenly processed what you’d said. “Yeah. I did.”

“Jesus,” Sam sighed. “I’m so sorry, (Y/N/N).”

“It’s fine,” you replied, suddenly feeling like you were too vulnerable. “I’m just pissed.”

The younger brother paused for a moment. “Will you at least talk to him? Try to work things out?”

“Not a chance in hell,” you scoffed. “I don’t want things to work out. I don’t wanna watch him die in a year, Sammy.” Your voice quivered.

He paused again. “I get it. I wouldn’t want to either if I were you.”

“I’m sorry,” you said softly.

“Me, too,” he replied. “Will you at least call every once in a while?”

Your chest ached at the realization that you may not be hunting with the brothers again for quite some time. “Absolutely.”

You could’ve sworn you heard him sniffle on the other end of the line. “Bye, (Y/N).”

“Till next time, Sammy.”

Series Rewrite Taglist: @polireader @brightlilith @atcamillanorrman @jrizzelle @insomnia-bookworm @procrastination20 @mrs-liebgott @djs8891 @tiggytaylor @staple-your-mouth @jesstherebel @rach5ive @strawberrykiwisdogog @bruhidkjustwannaread @mxltifxnd0m @sunshine-on-marz @big-ol-boat @mgchaser @capncrankle @chervbs @simpingdeadcharacters @nesnejwritings @stillhere197 @tearsforhan @take-it-on-the-run @iloveyou2mia @maxinehufflepuffprincess @ohgeehowdigethere @seninjakitey @berarenado @s0urw00lf @princessleahorgana @quarterhorse19 @isla-finke-blog @silverdoragon @karacaroldanvers @gayandfairycore @examishbookwyrm @star-yawnznn @real-sharena-h @fandomloverrr @metalmonki @onlyangel-444 @yu-winchester @benniwiththefanni @daisychaingirl @immagods @missmieux @yoongi-holland @littledebbieinabigworld

[thisgirlnamedblusy]

Hey there! Hope you’re having a wonderful day!

Could I request a classic Grumpy and Sunshine duo? lol

Just picture Donna being her usual grumpy and mean self while reader tries to lighten her mood.

Maybe Donna acts like she doesn’t appreciate the reader being clingy, but deep down, she secretly loves it.

But One day, reader decides to playfully distance themselves to tease Donna, only to realize it makes Donna really upset. Even though Donna is reluctant to admit it, she ends up begging the reader to stop ignoring her.

Thanks a bunch!

Yesss!!!! Thank you for your request!!!! I hope you like it and sorry about the language mistakes!!! :)))))

You were the Sun, she was the Moon

Pairing: Donna Beneviento x Fem! Reader

Warnings: Fluff, maybe a bit of angst

Word count: 8,787

Summary: She's like darkness, you're like light...

N/A: Sorry about the language mistakes!!! Requests are open!!! I'm waiting yours!!! I love you all!!! :))

“Good morning…” you hummed as you turned on the light, the only thing you could do to enlighten that dark bedroom. “Donna, Donna…”

A grumpy growl came from the brunette as she tried to fight your always effusive morning kisses.

“No…” she sighed, turning around in a childish way, moving away from you.

You rolled your eyes but you weren't going to give up so easily. A new day for you was always a reason for joy and… Well, everything for you was a reason to be happy, to adorn your face with an eternal smile.

“No? Come on honey, it's time to get up,” you hummed again, pushing the lady with more effusivity, making her growls more intense. “It's a new day.”

“I see,” Donna hissed, slowly getting up, unable to resist your insistence. “(Y/N)…”

“Mm, you look so pretty when you have that grumpy face,” you joked, stealing a kiss on her lips that caught her by surprise.

The lady looked at you with a frown while you, teasingly pinching her cheek, pulled back the sheets.

“Hey, wait…” she whispered, trying to cover herself again, with a sleepy voice. “Are you in a hurry?”

“Yes, a new day is waiting for us, and we have to take advantage of it,” you said with that same smile, stretching in an exaggerated way.

Lady Beneviento shook her head, with the seriousness not wanting to leave her face. With a tired sigh, she stretched her hand towards the small clock on the bedside table, squinting her sleepy eye.

“Gods, (Y/N), it's seven in the morning,” she said with a tired, defeated tone. “Why?”

“Mm, well, the earlier we get up, the earlier we have breakfast, the earlier you get to work on your dolls and the earlier you finish. That way we can spend more time together, isn't that great?” you said, searching through the closet for the appropriate clothes for that day and throwing the lady's black dress on the bed.

“Great… It's not exactly the word I was thinking of, tesoro…” she whispered, shaking her head and getting up from the bed listlessly.

“Come on, don't be grumpy,” you said in a petulant tone, approaching the lady and hanging on her neck while tilting your head. “You're quite a Lord…” you joked near her lips, kissing them slowly while she sighed again, reluctantly returning the kiss.

“I'm not grumpy,” she said with a tone and expression that obviously agreed with you, as always.

With an amused laugh you winked at her, moving away, something you certainly didn't want to do.

“Hey, you look gorgeous with your hair down, have I ever told you that?” you commented with flushed cheeks, while you slightly adjusted the sheets.

The woman rolled her eye, sighing unpleasantly.

“I think about forty times…” she murmured, finally sketching a brief smile, helping you to place the pillows. “Do we really need to get up?”

“I'm sure Angie is already up,” you said, smoothing the bed, removing even the smallest wrinkle.

“Angie doesn't sleep,” Donna said, looking at you with her always inquisitive and almost distrustful face.

You shrugged, shaking your hands. You never lost your smile.

“Can you imagine what life would be like if we didn't sleep?” you asked, looking at the ceiling so the inventive part of your head would start working. “We could do more things during the day.”

“How funny…” the brunette sighed, looking away from you and grabbing her dress.

“Isn't it?” you said, nodding enthusiastically.

The answer was another sigh accompanied by a gesture of denial. The lady turned around, walking towards the door.

“I'm going to take a shower,” she murmured, an opportunity that you took to grab your clothes and run to her side.

“I'm going with you,” you said with a radiant smile, getting the corners of her mouth to bend slightly upwards with your tender words and your insistence, a sweet smile was gracing her face.

“Va bene…”

Given the place where you lived, that sinister village, surely what was expected of a young girl like you was that bitterness was always present on your face.

Of course, it wasn’t like that.

Unlike most villagers, you had been born with the gift of optimism, of joy. You were always smiling, always seeing the good side of things. You were incapable of getting angry, of feeling sorrow, rage, regret... Your life was a gift and you knew it.

It was as if you had stolen all the happiness from the place, as if the happiness of all its inhabitants had passed to you by a spell or a whim of the Black Gods.

That different, irreverent and cheerful attitude never gave you the opportunity to improve your life. You were never special for being that way.

One day, in the middle of one of your walks, you stumbled across the waterfall mansion, the Beneviento House.

You were happy, cheerful and optimistic, but you weren't stupid. You knew who lived there, what happened to the poor wretches who dared to walk there. Fortunately, your natural gift helped you not to end your life among hallucinations and screams of pain.

The owner of that mansion, the Lord, servant of Mother Miranda, the lady in black, Donna Beneviento, was a dangerous, sick, disturbed woman...

Nothing you had heard about her was good but, luckily, that day she didn't seem to be in a bad mood. Maybe she was or maybe it was due your bright smile and your funny excuses about how you got there, how your hand slipped on the elevator button.

She saw something in you, something that caught her attention. Maybe it was your smile, your joy for life, you weren't sure, but you knew that your hand would slip on that button more times, and that you wanted to do it.

Love was something almost impossible in a place like that, with a woman like her. But, as your philosophy said: impossible is nothing.

Of course, you also decided to give yourself a chance, to give yourself the chance to discover what it was like to really love, to love her. Kisses, caresses, words... Everything led, over time, to your hand to no longer rest on the elevator button and starting to touch her body every night.

Donna was... Strange. She definitely had problems that you tried to mitigate with some success. She was a... Well, dark, gloomy woman.

Her terrible childhood, her years of loneliness had overshadowed the character of a fairly healthy person when it came to socialization.

Always serious, whispering, with a cold look, with a hoarse but soft voice at the same time, that was Donna Beneviento. Not even Angie's different attitude was an excuse for the lady to put a smile on her beautiful face from time to time.

You two just did honor to the symbol of her family: the moon, and the sun.

Maybe you exaggerated. Yes, you saw her smile, yes, she kissed you, she told you that she loved you, that she couldn't live without you, she cried when she thought she was losing you.

She was emotional and affectionate but... She didn't show it very often, as if something inside her stopped that impulse to feel comfortable with another person, as if something in her mind forced her to appear serious so you wouldn't dare to break her heart.

Maybe it wasn't that big of a deal. It could simply be the contrast between your attitude and hers. Maybe Donna wasn't the grumpy and unspoken woman. Maybe the odd one of that curious couple was you.

If so, you would be the odd one, and she would be just a normal person. You didn't want to fool yourself. You knew that wasn't the case at all.

Still, hanging on her neck, sitting on her lap while she made dolls, bathing her skin in kisses, her ears in sweet words... Well, that was your way of being and you didn't think it would change, no matter how much Donna complained about "how clingy you were."

She loved you. She loved you more than life itself. It was just circumstances, or her natural way of being that forced her to behave as if those kisses didn't matter to her, to pretend to look upset when you didn't leave her alone.

You didn't have to think about it too much, since, very often, her protests were accompanied by a tender smile, one that you didn't know if she wanted to hide. Of course, she didn't manage it.

There were times, like the shower that morning, when her mood allowed her certain liberties, like hugging you affectionately under the hot water. Without speaking, but saying it all with her caresses, with her kisses on your hair.

“Mm,” you murmured, moving in place, with a natural smile on your face due to her silent displays of affection, to that tacit promise of always being with you, of you always being with her. “Donna…”

She laughed briefly, and, as if the mere fact of hearing you speak was a kind of spark that reactivated her normal behavior, she moved away from you, leaving the shower after a quick kiss on your shoulder.

“Hey… Come back here,” you protested, pretending to pout, gesturing with your hand. She looked at you and shook her head, covering herself with a towel.

“Weren't you in such a hurry?” she joked with her eyebrow raised, in a petulant tone.

You snorted amused, turning off the shower tap and doing the same, pretending to shiver.

-Yes, well… - you whispered, a little confused by her intelligent response, by that grumpy tone again. She certainly didn't like getting up early. -What would you like for breakfast, honey?

“Mm? Coffee,” she said dryly, combing her hair while looking at herself in the mirror, sighing sadly as she did every time she saw her reflection, the defect in her face that tormented her so much.

You, realizing that detail, approached slowly, hugging her from behind with a tender smile. She moved her hand towards yours, but didn't look away from her reflection, shaking her head.

“You're beautiful, Donna,” you whispered in a sweet voice, looking at your own refection. “Look, I suit you,” you joked.

Her face relaxed and that smile you adored accompanied yours in the mirror. Well, at least that time it had been simple.

“Could you leave me alone for a moment?” the lady asked in a kind but somewhat broken tone. Surely if you saw the tear forming in her eye, you would stay until Donna calmed down, but that overwhelmed her, even if you managed to cheer her up.

“Okay,” you said with a tired sigh, kissing her back and slowly moving away. “I'm going to make you a breakfast that will blow your mind, my love.”

She simply nodded, without looking at you, lowering her face to the sink, breathing deeply to try to calm herself down. As much as it hurt you to see her like that, you couldn't do anything. The problems in her mind weren't fixed with smiles, unfortunately.

Preparing breakfast, setting the table, making sure everything was perfect... That was a routine you loved. You always made great efforts to make everything shine in the same way as your smile, so those dry words from the lady in black would be sweetened with the love you always showed.

A silent breakfast, a few unimportant phrases about the weather, about Angie, about your friends… It was always you who spoke. Donna always just listened to you, or pretended to. She wasn't very good at pretending tough.

Your joy always remained strong, your desire to live, to be happy, was not intimidated by the grumpy behavior of the lady, by her always cold and stoic expression.

No, nothing, nor anyone could ever change you but… Could she change? Sometimes you wished it with all your soul, sometimes you dreamed of the lady in black telling you that she really loved how you were, that she love an attitude so different from hers.

But that day never came, that full smile never reached your gaze. Sometimes you seemed nothing but a nuisance to her, but it didn't make sense for that to be the case. Why would someone like her, a powerful Lord, put up with someone she couldn't stand? Why live with a nuisance?

There were two possible answers: It could be loneliness, it could be that fear of the woman in black of not being left alone again, settling for the first stupid woman who didn't run away when she saw her face without the veil.

Maybe she just wanted company, even if she couldn't stand you.

Another option, the one you told yourself was the right one, would be that Donna truly loved you, that she cared for you, that your senseless encouragement lifted her spirit, that your joy made her see things in color, and not with a black and white filter.

Once again, it was impossible to know, to read the doll maker's mind and finally find that longed-for answer so your mind, with the passage of time, wouldn't start making painful assumptions.

“I got you!” you said triumphantly, finding the Angie doll under a sofa.

The afternoons could be many ways, but normally, because your power of persuasion to take a walk with Donna was at its weakest point, they were fun times with the living doll.

Okay, maybe not even Angie could match your level of cheerfulness and optimism, but at least she wasn't the grumpy mess her owner was. Angie was irreverent, shameless, not afraid to speak her mind at any given moment. You wondered if she was real part of Donna’s mind, or a lost virtue that the lady could never get back.

“You're fast, silly,” Angie whispered, crawling comically under the couch. “I think this is a tie.”

“Tie?” you asked, hands on hips. “As far as I know I've found you seven times this week.”

“Oh, yeah, but... Do you remember when you got here?” the doll joked, pointing at you. “I went two months without losing.”

“That was cheating, I didn't know the house that well,” you said, pushing the puppet playfully, making her grunt in a way suspiciously similar to her owner, something that made you look at the clock and sigh. “Oh, it's tea time.”

“What tea?” Angie asked, tilting her head.

“Donna's tea,” you said, with an anxious smile, walking towards the elevator.

“Hey, leave Donna alone! You know she doesn't like you disturbing her when she's making my friends,” the doll said, following you down the hall.

You nodded amused, rolling your eyes.

“Yes, but she always finishes the tea I make for her,” you said in your defense, moving the elevator bars.

“I guess that way she can stop hearing your voice…” the doll mocked, making you frown, but, when you wanted to protest, the elevator was already going down to the basement.

Ignoring the doll's potentially-hurtful words, you prepared the tea while humming, wanting, as always, to give the brunette an awkward cuddle session. You wondered how she would react that day…

“Donna,” you sang, entering the workshop without knocking on the door, startling the lady, who groaned like every time you woke her up at early hours.

“Tesoro, I've told you a thousand times that you must…” she whispered in a hoarse voice, with labored breathing.

“Yes… I must knock on the door, I know,” you said, dragging out the words and hugging your lady from behind, leaving the tea on the table and leaning on her shoulder. “Mm, I love when you're focused…”

“(Y/N), is there any moment of my life that you don't like?” she asked with a serious face, not looking at you, working on a sinister porcelain doll.

“Let me think… No,” you said amused, kissing her cheek repeatedly, passing by her nose, briefly by her mouth…

At first the lady didn't protest against that rain of kisses but, after a moment in which it seemed that you didn't want to stop, she coughed, moving her face away from your lips.

“Ugh, lasciami…” she whispered annoyed, gesturing with her hand as if she were pushing away an insect that was flying around her.

You laughed, shaking your head and sighing, planting a kiss on her cheek, well, one that contained several more, making the sound in an exaggerated way, preventing her from running away from you by holding her by the shoulders.

“Mmmm, gorgeous…” you said, with a last loud kiss, an unpleasantly cheesy one.

Donna growled, passing a hand over her wet cheek and lips and shaking her head.

“Why are you that clingy?” she protested, her gaze fixed on the porcelain, with an annoyed expression.

You, ignoring her complaints as always, shrugged, sighing and settling yourself on her lap, so she groaned again, leaving the brush in a glass, knowing that, otherwise, her work would be ruined because of you.

“I made you some tea,” you said amused, moving one of your legs, swinging it as you made yourself comfortable in that position grabbing the lady by her shoulders to support yourself.

“I see that,” she whispered, taking the cup. “I didn't ask you for it.”

“No, but you never do it,” you said amused, turning to play with her black hair, making her protest again. “After all, you drink it, so I guess you want it.”

Donna shook her head, letting out the air slowly, surrendering to your excessive affection.

“Okay, whatever,” she said nervously, with a darker look.

“Have you seen how perfectly I've made that slice of lemon?” you said amused, pointing to the inside of the cup. Donna looked at the same place with a frown and then at you.

“What's wrong with the lemon?” she asked impatiently, moving due to the apparent discomfort of your body on her lap. “Get down…”

“No,” you said, ignoring that abrupt request. “I mean it's a perfect circumference, don't you think?” you joked, with an expectant look.

“(Y/N), don't you have anything better to do than distract me?” Donna asked, fed up with your comments, gently pushing you off her lap.

You snorted and your smile relaxed for the first time in months

“I, I really don't…” you sighed with a slightly different tone, which led the lady in black, now with the brush in her hand again, to look at you slowly.

“Weren't you playing with Angie?” she said, dipping the brush in paint and picking up the porcelain head.

For a moment you thought that your boredom would be a concern for her, but it wasn't. Maybe that's why you felt less like smiling.

“Yes, but…” you murmured, scratching the back of your neck.

“Why don't you go for a walk with your friends?” she suggested, without looking at you again, giving more importance to that doll than to you.

“Mm, yes, perhaps, perhaps I will,” you said, her smile returning little by little. “I'm sorry if I disturbed you, Donna.”

With a soft kiss on her lips, one she accepted along with a brief caress, you turned around, walking towards the workshop door.

“(Y/N),” the lady interrupted, making you turn around slowly. She looked at you and sighed, with a tender and tired smile. “Thank you for the tea.”

“You're welcome, my love,” you said with an affectionate tone, smiling back at her as you closed the doors.

Well, maybe some time with your village friends would clear your mind about those thoughts that were beginning to harass you, about those questions your subconscious was asking you, ones you didn't want to answer.

“Are you sick or something?” your best friend asked as you sat by the lake. You looked at her with a frown.

“Why do you say so?” you wanted to know, swinging your legs over a rock.

“You're not smiling,” she joked, giving you nudge. “Is everything okay?”

“Oh, yes, yes, of course,” you said nodding, looking into the distance. Maybe she could help you with those strange thoughts… “Well…”

The girl looked at you, blinking in confusion.

“What's wrong, (Y/N)?” she asked kindly, with a slightly shaky voice. “Lady Beneviento isn't treating you well? Has she hurt you?” she whispered, looking around.

You groaned at that insinuation, at having everyone worried about your well-being when it wasn't necessary.

“What? Of course she hasn’t. Donna would never hurt me, Olivia,” you said with a slightly brusque tone.

“Oh, okay, okay, I'm just asking,” your friend excused herself, making a reassuring gesture with her hands. “But something's worrying you…”

“Yes, well, it's just that…” you said, with a slightly shy tone, not knowing if you should really tell her your worries or if they were worries at all. “We are, we are so different…”

“Of course you are, she's a Lord,” Olivia said, with an amused laugh. “What a novelty.”

“No, I don't mean that, it's just…” you said, nervous, also looking everywhere. “Donna is always… She's always complaining about everything, it seems that my presence is annoying  to her.”

“I don't think it annoys her, (Y/N), I, I'm afraid that if it did, you wouldn't… You wouldn't be here,” the girl said, with a slightly scared tone.

“Okay, you're not helping me,” you protested, crossing your arms.

“You'll have to be a bit more specific, I don't know that woman and the little I know about her... It's not very... Flattering, let's say.”

“You're wrong, Donna is such a sweetheart, I'm sick of saying it,” you said in a serious, sincere tone. “Her problem is that... She, she doesn't seem to really like me. She always says that I'm annoying her, that I'm very clingy...”

“Oh...” your friend sighed, with a confused look.

“And I don't know if she really thinks that way or... If on the contrary, maybe, maybe she's just like that, you know? I don't know. I'm starting to think that she just loves me so she won't be alone.”

“Mm,” Olivia murmured thoughtfully. “I guess the best you can do is to clear up your doubts.”

“Oh, what a brilliant deduction,” you said with irony, spreading your arms in a comical way. “Yeah, thanks, but I don't know how.”

“Well… Maybe if you stop being so… You, you can check it out,” she murmured, making you turn your head quickly.

“What do you mean?”

“You know what they say: you don't realize what you have, until it's gone,” the young woman commented, looking at the sky. You nodded for her to continue. “Try leaving your affectionate and clingy side behind for a while, so you can see how she reacts.”

“Interesting,” you murmured, narrowing your eyes. “You mean to ignore Donna?”

“Yes, well… I'm sure that if she really loves you, she'll end up asking you to go back to the way you were, and if not… Well… If not…”

“No, don't say it, Donna loves me, I'm sure,” you said nervously, thinking about the risk of that test, the risk of it not going well.

“Then she'll have to prove it to you,” your friend said, with a haughty tone.

At least that conversation was useful to you.

At first that idea seemed silly, it went against your way of being, against the love you felt for the lady in black. Ignoring her could be dangerous, but it was true that you had never tried it either. You weren't capable, you just weren't capable.

As you walked back to the mansion, the idea was spinning around in your head, sounding better and better, even considering it funny. You trusted in the love that Donna said she felt for you but… The truth is, you were very anxious to check her reaction.

“Mm, Donna…” you purred in her ear as she read in bed, kissing her lips, her cheek, her neck…

She frowned, moving to get you to move away.

“I'm reading, tesoro, leave me alone,” she whispered in a voice that wasn't harsh, but somewhat stern.

“Well, you'll read tomorrow,” you whispered, insisting on your desire for nightly cuddles. Donna shook her head, letting you kiss her on the lips before placing a hand on your chest to stop you.

“(Y/N), I'm tired,” she growled, looking at you briefly and returning to her book.

You sighed, finally pulling away and shaking your head. Normally you would insist a little more, just enough to bring down the brunette's defenses and enjoy a night of passion but… The words, the advice of your friend echoed in your mind. It would be a good time to put your plan into action.

“Okay, good night,” you said quickly, covering yourself with the sheets, turning your back to her.

You could notice how the brunette put down her book. She was probably looking at you with a frown. You didn't know, but you hoped she was.

“Are you okay?” Donna asked, putting a hand on your shoulder.

You, with your eyes closed and a mischievous smile, nodded.

“Yes, I'm fine,” you said with your best dry and cold voice. “I just realized that I'm sleepy.”

“Oh, um, well, in that case…” she said, apparently confused, leaving the book on the bedside table and turning off the light. “We'd better sleep.”

“Yes,” you answered with the same coldness.

You noticed how the lady moved suddenly, surely alerted by that tone, but she didn't say anything, she just sighed, lying down next to you.

“Buonanotte”

Well, apparently your behavior unsettled the doll maker a little, but that strangeness and confusion weren't enough, besides, you didn't know if it was for better or worse, but... The truth is that it had been terribly funny for you.

The next day started like any other, or almost.

When you caressed the hand that grabbed your body from behind, you had to make an effort not to turn around and devour the lady with kisses like every morning, so as not to provoke those grunts of protest that you found adorable.

Biting your lip out of anger at not being able to act like always, you took her soft hand, slowly moving it away from your belly as you subtly got out of bed. Donna didn't wake up, so your plan could continue its course.

You showered, dressed, and walked to the kitchen. There was no sign of the brunette, she hadn't woken up.

Time passed and you whistled quietly in the kitchen as you ground the coffee beans. Yes, ignoring her was one thing, but neglecting her was something quite different, and after all, you loved making her breakfast, the only meal she allowed you to make.

“(Y/N)…” a hoarse voice interrupted your cheerful whistles. A comical figure, still dressed in her nightgown appeared at the door, Donna.

The lady, still sleepy, rubbed her eye, looking at you in confusion. You smiled wickedly to yourself as she yawned loudly, smiling tenderly, as usual.

“Good morning, sweetheart,” you said in a soft voice as she approached with a frown, fixing her messy hair from just waking up.

You quickly gave her a kiss on the lips, one that she didn't return. She seemed confused, good…

“You… You didn't wake me up,” the sleepy lady said with a voice broken by tiredness, trying to focus her vision on you.

“Of course I didn’t,” you said casually. “You told me you didn't like it so…”

“I don't like it,” she said quickly, frowning more. “I just, I just thought it was… Strange.”

“I didn't want to wake you up you, my love,” you said affectionately, running a hand over her face. “Look, I made some orange juice, do you fancy it?”

“Mm, yes, yes, I…” Donna stammered, blinking several times, as if something didn't fit, as if she suspected that your behavior had a reason. You hoped it wasn't like that. “Oh, you, you took a shower…”

You looked at yourself and nodded amused, putting the ground coffee in the old coffee maker and turning on the stove.

“Yeah, I take showers every day, honey,” you joked, shaking your head, pretending she was talking nonsense.

“You didn't wait for me, I thought you liked showering with me,” she commented, putting a hand on your shoulder, watching you toast some slices of bread.

“I couldn't wait for you to get up, Donna,” you said with a soft tone, but a mischievous look. “Did you want me to take a shower with you, my love?” you said with a fake pout, with a condescending voice that she, luckily, didn't know how to interpret. “I thought you liked to do it alone.”

“I like doing it alone,” she said, frowning again, stepping back proudly. “I just found it strange.”

“Mm,” you murmured with disinterest, looking away from her. “Go to take a shower, my love, I'll set the table.”

Donna looked at you strangely again, but nodded slowly, scratching her head and walking towards the door, giving you one last disoriented look.

“Um… Okay…” she whispered, finally disappearing from your presence.

You sighed in relief. Yes, it was funny to see Lady Beneviento confused, but your inner self screamed for you to throw yourself into her arms to don’t stop kissing her like every morning, telling her how much you loved her.

You would have to be strong if you wanted the strategy to work.

Donna went up to the dining room, where you were already waiting for her, having breakfast. Her black dress was already on her body and her silky hair was up in its usual updo, but her gaze was a little more serious than usual.

Without saying a word, well, as always, she sat down in front of you, moving her chair closer to the table and lifting her gaze briefly, as if she were analyzing yours.

You smiled innocently, taking a sip of your coffee.

Time passed slowly, and the lady didn't move, she didn't do anything, she didn't pour herself coffee, she didn't spread toast in oil, she simply looked at you nervously, you knew perfectly well why.

“Are you okay, my love? Aren't you hungry?” you asked, pretending a worried face.

She blinked, snapping out of her thoughts and shaking her head.

“Yes, I... I was, I was waiting,” she stammered, without taking her eye off you.

“Waiting?” you asked amused, pouring some sugar on you cup. “What are you waiting for, darling?”

“Um, well… Aren’t..? Aren't you going to do the usual?” she asked in a rougher tone, with an unpleasant gesture, crossing her arms.

“Mm? What do you mean?” you asked, holding back your laughter, keeping your composure.

 She groaned, looking away again.

“You know, that nonsense of ‘preparing my morning coffee with love and lots of kisses so I can have a good day’,” Donna said in a mocking, almost unpleasant tone.

You opened your eyes wide, pretending to realize it and shook your head soon after.

“Oh, but that's just cheesy to you, isn't it?” you asked in a calm tone, picking up another piece of toast. “I thought you hated it.”

“I, I…” the doll maker stammered, changing her confused face to a proud one, which indicated to you that your strategy was paying off from the first moment. “I hate it, tesoro.”

“Really? I can do it for you if you want,” you joked, taking her cup of coffee, which she suddenly snatched from you, shaking her head effusively.

“No, no, I've already told you that I hate it,” she said without looking at you, serving herself the coffee.

“Sure, sure,” you sighed, biting your lip at her nervous attitude. “Do you want some juice?”

You didn't know if she was really disoriented, if she really missed your sentimentality, but it was still too early to tell. Deciphering her behavior was always a task worthy of research.

The rest of the day didn't give you many more opportunities to test her patience and your feelings, until the afternoon came.

The afternoon was the moment when you always went down to the workshop with a cup of tea in your hand, ready to cuddle your girlfriend as much as you could, to hug her, sit on her lap and caress and kiss her while she worked.

It was tempting, Donna was tempting. Her stoic pose, her shy caresses, her annoyed sighs that betrayed a certain comfort… Of course, that was the hardest part for you. Not even a day had passed and you were already crazy for her kisses, for showing her your love. Again, you would have to be stronger.

“Ha, you lost!” Angie mocked, pointing at you while you clumsily hid behind a piece of furniture.

You didn't really feel like playing hide and seek that day, but if you didn't, you knew Angie would destroy your ears with her protests.

“You found me, again,” you said, dusting yourself off and looking at the clock, sighing. It was time, time for your way to the basement, for a well-deserved ration of annoying kisses and hugs to the brunette.

That day you wouldn't go down.

“Loser, silly loser…” Angie mocked, humming childishly and walking towards the sofa. “I plan to beat you every time.”

“Really?” you said amused, arching an eyebrow. “We'll have to see about that…” you whispered with a challenging look. “Come on, it's your turn.”

“What?” the doll asked confused, also looking at the clock. “Do you want to keep playing?”

“Yeah, sure, why not?” you said nodding, with a fake smile.

Angie approached you with a slow step, looking you up and down.

“Aren't you going to go see my Donna?” she asked with a different tone, as if the puppet herself was confused.

“No,” you said, letting yourself fall on the sofa, picking up a book that was on the table. “I don't want to disturb her. I know she doesn't like it.”

“Um… Of course, she doesn't like it…” Angie murmured, making you frown. “You're very strange, silly, silly…”

“No, I’m not. I just want to be nice for once and let her work in peace, I know I'm very annoying,” you murmured, checking to your dismay that the book wasn't in your language. Great, you couldn't be distracted by it.

“Yes, you're a sticky pain, but…” Angie said, with a nervous voice and pose, lowering the book so she could look at your face.

You looked back at her, studying her gestures, and her words.

“But?” you asked curiously, with a more serious tone.

“Oh, nothing, nothing,” the doll said, getting off the couch and waving her hand, moving away from you.

“Okay…” you murmured with an amused smile. “Come, help me find a book I can read,” you said, clapping your hands and getting up.

So you had a fun time, reading that adventure book with Angie. You had almost forgotten that in the basement there was someone who hadn't had her tea…

A sudden sound alerted you. The elevator door suddenly opened and nervous heels quickly approached where you were. Donna appeared in the living room, breathing heavily, looking for something everywhere. That nervousness ended when her eye made contact with yours.

“Cazzo…” she hissed, sighing in relief. “(Y/N)…”

“Oh, hi, honey, are you okay?” you said, putting the book aside and walking towards the lady in black, who was rubbing her eye while shaking her head. “What's wrong, my love? Is it a crisis?”

“No, no,” she denied, sighing again and looking at you strangely. “You’ve scared me.”

“Have I scared you?” you asked amused, with your hands on your hips. “I haven't done anything, Donna.”

“Yes, that's it, I…” Donna said, interrupting your performance. “You, you haven't gone down to the workshop,” she said in a small voice, looking at you out of the corner of her eye.

“I didn't want to disturb you,” you said simply, with a tender smile.

“Oh, okay, I…” the lady in black stammered, with an exaggerated look of disinterest, nodding slowly.

“What's wrong, honey? Did you miss me?” you said with an amused look, pouting. Donna stood proudly, with a serious expression, shaking her head.

“No, of course I didn’t. It's been a while since I was this calm,” she said looking at her nails, her worried expression changing radically.

“I'm glad to know it,” you said, pretending that those words hadn't cruelly pierced your heart.

Hold on, (Y/N), hold on…

“Mm, I just found it strange… You didn't come to disturb me, I thought maybe… Maybe…” The pride in her words diminished little by little, closing her eye before finishing. “I thought you had left.”

“Where? You know that if I go somewhere I have the courtesy to let you know, Donna,” you said with a calm, soft and tender tone.

Again, you had to suppress the desire of your hands to cup her face, to caress her soft skin. It was much harder than you thought.

“Yes, that's why I thought, that, that maybe…” she stammered, darkening her gaze, avoiding yours. “Nevermind, it's, it's nonsense.”

“Okay,” you said, calmly. “Don't worry, my love, I'm not going anywhere, I was just reading.”

“What…? What were you reading?” the lady asked, with a strange expression, playing with her hands, as if she was terribly nervous about something.

You ignored those gestures, ones that only confirmed your small victories, and walked towards the sofa.

“Mm, this one,” you said, showing her the book. “It's quite entertaining.”

“I see,” Donna said with a slightly uncomfortable smile, coming a little closer, slowly, as if something had scared her. “Maybe, maybe you'd like me to… Read with you.”

“Do you want to read with me?” you asked with genuine confusion.

You certainly didn't expect her reaction to be that fast. It's true that you often read together, but Donna always ended up getting tired of your kisses and your nice words. It was very rare that she asked you to do it, you always did it first.

“Yes, well... It's been a long time since we did it,” the lady whispered with a smile that seemed almost pleading to you.

You shrugged, appealing to your strength. No, you couldn't fall yet.

“But Donna... You always complained that you couldn't read a paragraph with me by your side,” you said calmly.

The lady in black opened her mouth to say something, but she stopped at the last moment, nodding defeated.

“Besides, I'm sure you've read this book a thousand times. You're just going to get bored,” you commented, looking away and sighing listlessly, sitting back down on the couch.

“Certo, you’re, you’re right…” she murmured, sighing tiredly as you pretended to continue reading, watching the lady from the corner of your eye.

Donna shifted, sitting curiously beside you, as if she didn’t know what to do, what to say, or if she even wanted to do it either.

There was a tense moment of silence until, out of surprise, a soft hand placed your hair behind your ear, her hand.

“I got really scared,” Donna whispered, moving closer, taking your hand. You frowned, glancing at her briefly. “I thought you were gone, that you had abandoned me.”

“What nonsense, why would I want to leave?” you asked distractedly, without looking at her, something very complicated, but that you managed with less and less effort.

“I don't know but...” she whispered, taking the book away from your hands, so you pretended to grunt in protest.

“Donna, I was reading,” you said, subtly imitating her protests. You hoped it was subtle enough.

“I know, but... I... I want to love you so much...” she purred seductively, starting to kiss your neck, something that made you repress a pleasurable gasp. Of course, that attitude wasn’t very common in the doll maker. “…To thank you for being here, with me...”

“Mmm Donna,” you said, interrupting her increasingly ardent kisses just as she did, with a hand on her chest. “No, okay? I don't feel like it now.”

“Why? You always feel like it,” she protested, not in a cold tone, but in a melancholic, sad one. “Tesoro… Please… I want to make love to you…”

“I don’t feel like it, Donna, I’m tired,” you said, pleased by that sudden submission, amused, perhaps excessively, by the quick effect your strategy had.

Yes, seeing Donna begging for your company was pleasurable. It was too soon to give up, even though you were wishing for it.

“Ugh, get out…” you said abruptly, pushing the lady away, leaving her completely disoriented. “Don’t bother me, Donna.”

“What? Don’t bother you?” she asked, standing up abruptly, shaking her head, mouth agape. “Qual è il tuo problema?!”

“Excuse me? Donna, the language…” you scoffed, hiding your evil smile behind the book again. “Come on, don't be mad.”

“Don't be mad?” she asked, with a nervous laugh. “This is unbelievable…”

“Come on, what's wrong with you? Didn't you say you were sick of me being clingy?” you asked, pretending to be focused on the words that, obviously, you weren't reading.

“Yes, and I am, you're a pain, (Y/N),” Donna said with a hurtful tone that your heart quickly dodged, you knew she was just nervous.

“So what's wrong with you? Shouldn't you be relieved because I left you alone?” you asked with the same gloomy tone.

The lady laughed nervously again, running a hand through her hair, but relaxing immediately.

“Yes, I'm very happy to be able to breathe,” she said with a mocking tone, with a dark look.

“I see that,” you scoffed. “Shh, be quiet, I want to read.”

“Arrgh!” Donna growled, clenching her fists tightly on either side of her hips. “Have a good time!” she shrieked, walking quickly towards the hallway again.

“You too, my love!” you shouted in a tone devoid of annoyance, ignoring her shouts. “And don't be mad, you look very ugly when you are!”

“Vaffanculo!” she shrieked from the hallway with an angry growl.

“What does that mean?” you asked in a whisper to Angie, who looked at the scene in astonishment as if she were watching a tennis match.

“Do you really want to know?” the doll asked, in her usual mocking tone.

You laughed amused, turning a page and shaking your head.

“Mm, I don't think so,” you whispered, arching your eyebrows.

“Hey, silly girl, start talking,” Angie said, putting your book down again and climbing onto the couch.

“Mm?” you murmured, frowning.

“I know you're up to something, and I don't like it at all,” she hissed, pointing her finger at you, staring directly into your soul.

“Me? I'm not up to anything,” you said passively, looking at the hallway where Donna had gone, wondering if she had really gotten that angry and above all, why.

“Liar...” the puppet hissed. “Be very careful, silly girl, Angie is always watching.”

You smiled with an innocent look, returning to that book, or rather, to your thoughts.

Your strategy had been a complete success. The lady in black had been completely disoriented and confused by your change of attitude, and that was what you wanted. Her irrational rage only told you that you didn't have to worry, she loved you, but your incipient insecurities made you continue with that behavior for a few more days.

The lack of affection, hugs, caresses... Took its toll on you, but, determined to prove to yourself that she liked the clingy way you were, you wanted to pull the rope a bit further.

There were no romantic breakfasts or visits to the workshop, there were no cuddles, affection, kisses... There was nothing. The brunette's attitude was distant, as always, but with a touch of annoyance, anger.

Bearing that cold look was increasingly difficult. Not giving in to your impulses to go down and cuddle Donna was already unbearable. Reading no longer served as a distraction so, during one of those afternoons, you decided to leave the house for a walk in the woods.

While you walked, you meditated on your actions, you thought about Donna, about whether she was really suffering as much as she seemed.

You thought you were just being cruel, that you were torturing her, but when you thought about previous weeks, about her subtle contempt, about her apathy, your desire to continue with that reprimand didn’t diminish.

You were never vengeful, you never let yourself be carried away by that dark side and you began to discover why. It was addictive, dangerously addictive.

The sun shone less intensely as you threw stones off the cliff. The afternoon had passed quickly. Thinking, planning, meditating... That made you completely forget about the time. At least the temptation to run into her arms had gone unnoticed by you.

You opened the door of the mansion and walked slowly. The silence of that place was always disturbing but... What you heard was even more so.

An agonizing sob reached your ears, making you stop in your tracks. Your legs trembled when you recognized it.

“Donna, Donna…” Angie's voice sounded calm, too calm. “Donna, no…”

“She's gone! Porca puttana! She's gone!” Donna screamed, making you freeze in fear.

After that furious scream, loud noises accompanied by a furious panting ran through the old walls.

“Donna, stop breaking things!” Angie yelled after another noise which revealed that something fragile had broken into a thousand pieces.

You shook your head with a hand on your mouth in shock. It had been a long time since the lady lost her mind like that, a long time. You couldn't help but think it was your fault.

“Donna, you cut yourself, you silly, silly Donna!” Angie shrieked, surely trying to control her owner's rage.

You took a breath and began to walk slowly, with shaky legs.

Your little reading corner was a mess. The table was upside down on the floor, the cups and books that were always there were scattered on the floor, broken in a thousand pieces.

Donna was in a corner, her back against the wall and her head buried in her knees, crying inconsolably. You approached slowly, not wanting to draw her attention.

“È colpa mia…” the doll maker sobbed, with a muffled moan. “She left because of me.”

Angie shook her head as she hugged her tenderly, trying to get her to come back to her senses.

Suddenly, the puppet turned her head and looked at you, gasping in surprise.

“Oh, you silly, silly!” she shouted euphorically, pointing at you as she jumped up and down on the wood. “Look, Donna, look, it's the silly, silly girl,” she insisted, pulling the brunette's hand, who slowly looked up.

“Donna, my love…” you sighed, with a sad, regretful look.

“(Y/N)…” she whispered, looking at you, blinking quickly and breathing nervously. “(Y/N)!” she shrieked, crawling on the floor and grabbing your legs in a pathetic way, which made you step back. “Don't leave! Don't abandon me!”

“What? Oh, please, my love… Re-relax, I haven't gone anywhere, I was walking through the woods,” you said nervously, bending down to take her away from that pitiful hug, taking her hands and helping her sit on the couch “Donna, my love, react, come to your senses, my precious Donna…”

“You wanted to leave… You're gone,” she stammered, blinking erratically, shaking her head, unable to stop crying.

Your heart broke just like those tea cups, into a thousand pieces.

“Shhh, no, no darling, I'm not going to leave, I'm still, I'm still here with you…” you said, caressing her face, her hands, staining yourself with a red moisture that came from a wound, probably the cut Angie was talking about.

“Oh, wow, darling… you're bleeding,” you whispered worriedly, repressing your desire to cry. “Wait a minute, I'm going, I'm going to heal you. Angie, please, keep an eye on her.”

“Aye!” the doll shouted, taking your place on the couch.

There were no words. You simply healed that horrible wound in silence while the brunette sobbed more and more weakly, ashamed of her madness, unable to look at you.

“Donna, my love,” you whispered while you healed her, looking at her out of the corner of your eye. “How could you think that I had abandoned you? There's no place I'm better off than with you…”

“It doesn't seem like it,” she murmured, wiping away a tear, looking away, fighting back her sobs. “You don't want to be with me.”

“Oh, wow, so now you dedicate yourself to guessing people's feelings, huh?” you joked with a tender, amused smile. “Then change your job because you're not doing it well…”

“Stop with the stupid jokes, you know perfectly well why I'm saying this,” the lady snapped, removing her injured hand from yours.

You snorted, gripping it tighter again.

“Stay still, will you? I have to heal this,” you murmured, shaking your head. “Donna…” you growled when she struggled against your grip again.

“Leave me alone, stop pretending you love me,” she protested. “If you don't want to be here with me, tell me.”

“You're stubborn, huh?” you said, sighing, with a colder look. “Stop talking nonsense.”

“It's not nonsense!” Donna shrieked, making you back off. “You've shown me this last week. You you don't love me anymore, you don't kiss me. You’re, you're not with me when I work on my dolls. It seems as if I disgust you…”

“I'm not disgusted by you,” you said in a serious, almost brusque tone. “I love you with all my soul.”

“Do you? Then why don't you show it to me anymore?” she asked furiously again.

It was time to be honest.

“I could ask you the same thing, Donna,” you whispered, shaking your head, passing a bandage over her injured hand. “I've always, always tried to give you all my love but you… You seemed to reject it. You always complained about me being too clingy, you hated it, do you know how it made me feel?”

“I don't hate it,” she murmured, with a different tone, with a dark but tender look. “I don't hate it… I don't hate it!”

You nodded nervously.

“I love your kisses, your hugs! I love when you come to see me, when you sit on my lap and say nice things to me! I love your smile, your joy! I love that joy I don't have and can only see in you!” she shouted nervously, confessing the truth you wanted to hear, one you ignored, one for which you caused all that suffering in poor Donna.

“Do you…?” you asked a bit surprised, relaxing Donna with your caresses on her cheek while she shook her head. “Do you...? Do you really the way I am?”

“Yes, I love the way you are, I, I like you being clingy. I love when you don't let me breathe, when you remind me that you love me... you always try to cheer me up… I love you, I want that light that I'm unable to transmit, I want the light in your eyes, the love you give me, the love I can't live without…” she said not looking at you, pressing her lips together to suppress her shame at those words, words that moved you.

“Wow, that's very sweet, Donna,” you said, smiling, bringing her face closer to yours to kiss her lips softly, lovingly, like you had wanted to do for so long. “Forgive me, I was the one who acted that way because… Because I thought it really annoyed you and…”

“You've never annoyed me,” she said, interrupting you. “If I've behaved like an idiot it's because… Because… I'm, I'm scared.”

“You're scared…” you repeated in a soft whisper.

She nodded.

“I'm afraid of letting myself be carried away by your addictive love and that, that one day you won't... won't be by my side,” she said with a sad tone, taking your other hand. “I know, I know I don't... I don't know how to love the same way you do, I know I'm a grumpy fool but it's just that... I've never known what love is until... Until I met you.”

“I understand, darling,” you said with an understanding tone, kissing her again. “Relax, it's all over now... I'll give you all those overwhelming affections that I now know you love...”

Donna smiled at your mischievous caresses, laughing at last, nervous and shy, lighting you up with the joy on her face, one that soon vanished, when the lady grabbed your hands tightly with a pleading look.

“Per favore, (Y/N), I’m begging you. Don’t do this to me again... Don't ignore me ever again, please...”

[trashmouth-richie]

⛧「 ✦ 𝔞𝔩𝔩 𝔥𝔬𝔭𝔢 𝔦𝔰 𝔤𝔬𝔫𝔢 ✦ 」⛧

⛧tattoo artist! steve 💋 ⛧rising rockstar! eddie

⛧eddie x fem reader | previous steve x fem reader

⛧reader is nicknamed cherry 🍒

⛧summary: series of blurbs revolving around you, eddie and steve. after vecna: eddie sold his soul to remain alive— him and steve leave hawkins and indiana to go to college and leave what happened in the past. eddie is on the rise of fame while steve is still battling his demons. they both meet reader at school. reader has no idea what happened, and never finds out the truth. eddie progressively turns into a mentally abusive asshole throughout this story so keep that in mind. he’s not our lovable boyfriend.

⛧part one summary: a surprise for your boyfriend, you decide to get a tattoo of his name in a very private spot, from the only one he would trust to do it, his best friend… whom you have a past with. 

⛧warnings: implied smut, depression, anxiety, possession, selling soul to devil, post s4 where both eddie and steve leave hawkins. there will be a few blurbs in this au, (in other parts: smut, degrading, possessive mean! eddie)

It was your idea to surprise your boyfriend with a tattoo. After months of him joking around about branding you as his in a more permanent way, you decided to do it.

A tattoo would last forever, it wouldn’t heal like teeth marks did or fade away like his hickeys would. His dick kicked up at the thought of his name scratched into your delicate skin. The same night he had mentioned it he had you face down in the sheets, burying himself deep within your walls until you were both out of breath. Panting, aching for and from one another. 

The date was set, and you knew better than to go to anyone but Eddie’s best friend to get it done, and Steve agreed to do it for free, since you’re Munson’s girl. 

He agreed to keep it secret because you had wanted to surprise Eddie, but as the appointment creeped up, you became more and more nervous about trying to keep your present for him under wraps. 

The day of the appointment landed on a Friday, the same night Eddie’s band was set to play at The Bloody Dime, an up and coming bar that was known for fights breaking out and drinks being cheap. 

Per his demands, you weren’t allowed within 10 feet of such a place, already having to find out the hard way when he beat the bricks off a guy who wouldn’t stop staring at you. 

Pretty baby like you doesn’t belong there, kitten… understand?

Steve’s shop was downtown from your apartment, a cozy little space nestled into a black brick building—Inked Demo spelled out with neon blue lights. 

The walls were covered with paintings of strange creatures you couldn’t imagine in your worst nightmares, deep reds and violent shades of purple. Various plants hung from the ceiling and were potted in planters or tucked into ornate little terrariums. 

It smelled of rich cedar and hand rolled cigarettes. The bell on the door dinged announcing your arrival and Steve stepped from behind the back wall. His hair was how it always was, slicked back in a dark wave, and he merely nodded to acknowledge your presence. 

“Cherry,” he greeted, using the name Eddie had introduced you to his friends. He wrapped you in a bone crushing hug, kissing your cheek gently before he held you at arms length. 

Out of all of Eddie’s friends, Steve knew you just as well as your own boyfriend did. 

A smile creeps across his lips as he lets your arms go and walks to a small desk. His tall frame slinking like a shadow as he clicks on a slim lamp and begins flipping through a binder full of current work and past tattoos. He finds the heart shaped cherries with Eddie written in pretty cursive underneath. 

They were perfect— Steve was able to capture your ideas through horrible explanations and give his own little twist to them. A modern mockup of American traditionalism with the speckles of glitter you had seen on Pinterest.

His eyes sparkle through the shadow from the light as he proudly holds up the drawing, “so… where we puttin’ this sucker?”

Originally you had thought to put it on your chest, but decided against it when Robin had told you how much her tattoo had hurt there, even more so when she had to get Barb’s name covered by a butterfly. 

Crossing the tiger print carpet to the black tattoo chair, you sit down gently with your ankles crossed, “umm, would it be weird to put it on my thigh?” you asked meekly, “kinda high up so it’s a little more private?”

Raising your skirt, you show Steve the placement. A slivered peek of scarlet lacy panties are visible beneath the hiked up fabric in your fingers, and he nearly bites a hole in his cheek to not look. 

“You could put it there,” he ponders, moving a large veiny hand through the slick of his hair, only to land on his chin to really sell the act of him thinking, tapping his bottom lip, “but ass tats are really popular.”

Eddie would go berserk seeing his name anywhere on your body, but you had to admit— there was something a little bit sexy about his name being tattooed only somewhere he could see. 

“Will it hurt?” 

His eyes light up as he grabs supplies to sanitize his work area clearing his throat, “haven’t had anyone cry yet, so I’m gonna go ahead and say no.” 

Steve’s reputation for his artwork spread far and wide, he was booked solid for months on end, self taught, making tons of money for a college drop out— despite what his dad had said. 

He had done all of Eddie’s tattoos including the enormous stretch of bat wings that spread across his shoulders and down the expanse of his back. Sharp talons protruding onto the beginning of his hips, curved around to his wrists. Steve had freehanded most of it, as if it were from memory. 

Biting your lip contemplating the placement, you think of Eddie and the swelling size of is cock as it split you open once he laid eyes on his name branded into your skin. 

“Okay,” you smile, “let’s do it.” 

Steve smirked and rubbed his jaw, “cool, lay on your stomach for me.”

Flipping onto your front you lay with your hands under your chin, looking up at him through your lashes, “like this?” 

Steve sits on the stool facing away from you, straightening his table and tattoo gun, looking over his shoulder meeting your eye, “yeah… that’s perfect, Cherry.” 

You watch in amusement as he sterilizes his work station and sets up the ink, “Eddie playin’ at the Dime tonight?” 

“Yep,” you sigh, thinking of all the time you’d spent alone while he was gone, “last show of their College Daze Tour, then back to finals, and normal life.” 

A scoff rumbles from Steve’s throat as he wraps his gun, “what’s even considered normal? Everything is pretty shitty around here.” 

Propping up on an elbow you set to argue with him, “going to class is normal, hanging out with our friends, partying, sleeping in the same bed instead of him crashing in the back of someone’s van— that’s all routine for me, for us…” you sigh a little, picking at your thumbs. 

Steve looks over and sees the sadness in your face, grabbing the pink disposable razor, “last I heard from him, he was looking to leave Corroded and start up somethin’ with a few guys from here. Can’t say I blame him, anything to do with home is hard to deal with.” 

Eddie never talked about Hawkins. The only thing you knew about it was that he and Steve got the hell out of there the year he graduated, never looking back, never visiting. 

“That’s the plan for now at least… honestly, I wish he would take a break for a while, but you know him— he’s really driven to be the best he can be.” 

Steve knew all too well. Spending nights awake staring out of his large apartment windows, missing the way things used to be, regretting everything that happened in Hawkins. 

 “Eddie’s…passionate…about the things he cares about, he’s always been that way.” 

That part was always true, Eddie carried his feelings on his sleeve, never afraid to show his emotions, or make sacrifices for people he loved. Steve himself was a living breathing reminder of that. 

“…alright Cherry,” his voice dripped with smoothness as he got closer to you, “everything’s ready…I’ll need to lift your skirt so I can prep the skin, you cool with that?” 

You reply with a yes, and feel the goosebumps prick at your skin as the cool air hits your exposed cheek. The rubber of Steve’s glove drags across your skin as he rubs in the sanitation spray. “‘m gonna shave you now.” 

This being your first tattoo you didn’t know what to expect, heat flooding your cheeks immediately, “oh my God is it hairy?” 

Steve chuckles low, a fan of his breath blowing warm against your skin, “not at all honey, it’s just standard procedure for any tattoo.” 

He was delicate as he ran the blade across you in small motions away from him. One rubber gloved hand held your skin taut, the other on the razor. Your ass bounced back to him after the last drag of the razor leaves your skin, and you swore you heard him suck in a breath. 

Steve had always been handsome, ever since the first time you met during that freshman year mixer in the backyard of some random frat house it was that he was rushing for. 

He was different then, preppy clothes and expensive shoes, surviving during the week just to live for the weekends. A flask with his name claim permanently pressed to his palm. King Steve. 

But somewhere along the lines of college stresses and life back in Hawkins— he changed, dropped out of college completely and dove into his natural talent. Making a name for himself, carving his own path. 

That was why you had fallen for him to begin with. 

“E-Eddie said you have a date this weekend, are you excited?” 

Steve wipes your skin with a paper towel and spreads a thick ointment to lay the stencil, “I wish he’d stop trying to set me up.” 

His thumbs sweep across the stencil laying it firmly in place, “oh c’mon Steven…Lydia’s cute, she’s in one of my elective art classes, she reminds me of you.” 

Steven. Nobody ever called him by his full name.

“Of me?”

Looking over your shoulder you meet his deep mossy eyes, “in a weird way I guess, yeah.”  

He looks back into your eyes, watching as you slowly blinked and drifted your gaze downward to where his large hands were still splayed across your ass. 

The dusting of hair on his arms tickled your skin when he pulled back gently, pinching a corner of the transfer paper and peeling it from you. He purses his lips and blows on the stencil lightly. 

Steve often thought back to the way things were three years ago. The way your eyes gleamed under the string patio lights, the scent of your vanilla perfume and how it seemed to bake deeper with the sun's rays on your skin. 

He remembered how your lips tasted like melted ice cream against his, and how deeply he craved to be floating in the candy confectionery of sugar and sprinkles with you in the center of it, center of his world. 

Steve shakes his head, trying to erase that time in his life but always coming up short. “This won’t hurt too bad, I’ll stop whenever you need, okay? It’s best if you lay down.”

Your chest tightens with nerves as you nod your head, pressing your cheek into the vinyl of the black headrest. 

The gun starts and Steve tells you he’s going to do the outline of the cherries first. The needle vibrates into your skin and you wince at the first few lines made but eventually getting used to the way your skin buzzed and the pain that came from it. 

You whimpered out in a few spots and Steve’s velvet voice shushed you gently, telling you the worst was almost over. 

“Outlining is finished,” Steve murmurs, rubbing ink from your skin, “you’re doing really good, honey.” 

Your mind slips to him saying those words in a different setting, a miniature golf course with clubs that were too short and a go-kart track. He had said it when you finally sunk your ball after par ten thousand on hole eleven. 

Sarcasm spread across his face and you wiggled your tongue at him and threw a middle finger his way. Only for him to chase you around the tiny windmills and grassy hills, catching up and tickling you under your arms until you were near to tears. 

You thought he would have kissed you that night, but to your surprise and dismay— he had waited for the third official date.

“Thank you,” you smile weakly. 

He returns the smile and looks away, clearing his throat, “the shading will be a cake walk, we’ll be done here before you know it…might even catch the end of Eddie’s show.” 

“Really?” you say with a spring of hope in your voice. He couldn’t dismiss how his friend's name made his mouth taste like poison, but how it made you weak in the knees. “That would be great, Steve.”

“Sure thing princess,” he nearly whispered, “lay back now, I’ll be done soon.” 

Steve tried to blank it all out as his tattoo gun spelled  Eddie in a cursive calligraphy he knew was yours. Letter by letter he swallowed down the feelings he had been harboring from you, from him— from everyone. 

He wished he had never taken you to that concert. He loathed himself for the way Eddie slithered between the two of you, how Eddie could have had any girl at that after party but he chose you simply because you were with him. 

Steve tried to deny him of it, tried to steer him toward another girl, a girl who wasn’t you. One he hadn’t been in love with, one who didn’t appear in his dreams despite the nightmares clouding in. But one low growl and a flash of those sharp fangs and Steve knew he didn’t stand a chance. 

Letter by letter he branded his friend’s name into your skin, giving the girl he loved a silent goodbye with every curve and final dot of the ‘i’.

“All done,” he said with a shaky throat, cleaning you up, “wanna see it?”

You nod and reach for his outstretched hand,  swinging your legs and standing to follow him to the mirror. It was perfect. Equal parts colorful yet traditional with a spark of modern flare added to it. 

“Steve,” you gasp, mouth hung open in adoration, “it’s beautiful!”

He rubs his neck and watches your reflection in the mirror, the way your mouth ticks up on the ends into the sweetest smile he’d ever seen.

His heart was aching knowing it wasn’t for him

[librababe99]

Vigilante's Lullaby |Part Four|

cw: MDNI, 18+ ONLY, Jason Todd, GN!Reader, Descriptions of violence, physical assault, blood and injury, hurt no comfort Summary: Jason's world is one of violence and darkness, but you’ve always been his light—until a brutal attack leaves you broken, targeted by his enemies. Now, Jason spirals into a storm of rage and guilt. Word count: 3.4K

A/N: Hi loves!! I’m so sorry for the long wait in regard to this series---trust me I was getting antsy about not posting LOL---Also, life's gotten a bit hectic with grad school and to top it off some health concerns arose. Please send positive vibes my way <3 And finally, there will be ONE more part to Vigilante's Lullaby...right now I'm hoping to have that up by this weekend! As always...comments, likes and reblogs are highly appreciated <3

| (Part one) | (Part Two) | (Part Three) | (Masterlist) |

The night had settled in thick, suffocating the underground clinic with its heavy silence. You had grown accustomed to this darkness, to the underbelly of Gotham, where your makeshift clinic had become a sanctuary for those the world forgot. The hum of fluorescent lights flickered above, casting uneven shadows on the walls as you worked. Your patient tonight was fidgety, eyes darting nervously toward the door every few minutes, as though he expected something terrible to happen.

You noticed the way his hands trembled slightly, how his breath came in quick, shallow bursts. "Hold still," you murmured, pressing a piece of gauze to the wound on his shoulder. He winced, though his gaze never left the door.

Something was wrong.

Your heart began to race, an instinctive warning creeping up your spine. You tried to push the fear down, to focus on your work. But the clinic felt too quiet, the air too thick. The patient glanced at you, guilt etched across his face, as though he knew something you didn’t. And then, before you could speak, the door to the clinic was kicked in with a deafening crash.

Your heart lurched in your chest, adrenaline spiking in an instant as the room filled with harsh voices, boots stomping across the floor like an army storming the gates. Men—big, armed, and menacing—flooded into the room, and at the front of them, a man you had seen only in Jason’s descriptions. One of his worst enemies. His rival.

Panic surged through you, your mind racing to Jason. They weren’t here for you. They were here for him. But Jason wasn’t there, and you were.

The leader of the group, a tall, scarred man with cruel eyes, glanced around the clinic with casual indifference, as though the place was beneath him. His gaze flicked over the supplies, the blood-stained bed where you worked, before finally settling on you. His smile was slow, predatory.

“Look at what we have here,” he drawled, his voice thick with malice. “Jason’s little pet.”

You stood frozen, your heart pounding in your ears. “You don’t have to do this,” you said, your voice betraying the tremor of fear.

He chuckled, a dark, humorless sound. “Oh, sweetheart. We’re just sending a message. You know how it is. Jason’s been a little... problematic lately. Time for him to learn there are consequences.”

The men closed in around you, their presence suffocating, their intent clear. There was no escape. You didn’t even have time to brace yourself before the first blow landed.

The attack was brutal.

Fists collided with your body, knocking the air from your lungs, the force sending you crashing to the ground. A boot followed, connecting with your ribs with a sickening crack. Pain radiated through you, blinding and intense, but they didn’t stop. They wanted to break you—break you so completely that the message would be clear when Jason found you.

You tried to fight back, tried to crawl away, but they were relentless. One of them grabbed you by the hair, yanking you to your feet only to throw you against the wall. Your head hit the surface with a nauseating thud, your vision swimming as the world tilted dangerously. Blood filled your mouth, the metallic taste flooding your senses as you gasped for breath.

The leader crouched down in front of you, his face a mask of sadistic satisfaction. “Tell him,” he said softly, his voice almost gentle in its cruelty. “Tell Jason that this is only the beginning.”

And then he was gone, leading his men out of the clinic as quickly as they had come. The door slammed behind them, the sound echoing in the now-empty room. You lay there, broken, blood pooling around you, your breaths shallow and labored. The pain was unbearable, your body a mass of throbbing agony. You knew you were fading, consciousness slipping from your grasp like water through your fingers.

But you held on.

You held on for Jason.

---------------------------------------------------------

Jason arrived hours later. He had been gone on a mission, something he hadn’t told you much about, but you knew it was dangerous. He had promised you he’d be back, had kissed you hard before disappearing into the night like he always did.

But as he stepped through the door of the clinic, his heart stopped. The familiar scent of antiseptic and blood hit him first, but there was something more—something wrong. He froze, his breath catching in his throat as his eyes swept the room. And then he saw you.

You were crumpled on the floor, barely recognizable beneath the blood and bruises. The sight of you like that—broken, lifeless—was more than his mind could process. His world tilted, his stomach dropping as a scream tore from his throat, raw and primal. He ran to you, dropping to his knees beside your limp body, his hands trembling as he reached out to touch you, afraid you might shatter beneath his fingers.

“No...” His voice cracked, the word barely audible over the sound of his own frantic breathing. “No, no, no—”

He pressed his hands to your face, his fingers slick with your blood. Your eyes fluttered open, weak and barely there, but it was enough. You were alive. Barely, but alive. Jason’s heart twisted in his chest, the sight of your bloodied, broken form like a knife to his soul.

He couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. All he could do was hold you, trying to stop the bleeding, trying to fix this, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t fix this.

“Stay with me,” he pleaded, his voice desperate and hoarse. “Please, just stay with me. I’m so sorry. I’m so fucking sorry—this is my fault. This is all my fault.”

Tears burned his eyes, but he refused to let them fall. He couldn’t break. Not now. He had to save you. He had to save you.

But you were slipping away. He could see it in your eyes, in the way your breaths grew more shallow, more ragged. And it was killing him.

Jason felt something inside him snap. The guilt, the fear, the rage—it all surged through him like a wildfire, consuming everything in its path. His vision blurred with red as he pressed your body closer to his chest, his teeth gritted in a mixture of pain and fury.

“They’ll pay for this,” he whispered, his voice cold and dark, like the promise of death. “I’ll kill them. I’ll kill every last one of them.”

But even as the words left his lips, he knew it wouldn’t be enough. Nothing would be enough to undo this, to take away the pain they had caused you. The weight of his failure crushed him, his heart breaking in ways he hadn’t thought possible.

You had warned him. You had told him this would happen. And now, because of him, because of his darkness, you were paying the price.

Jason rocked you gently in his arms, his grip tightening as if he could keep you with him through sheer force of will. “Please don’t leave me,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. “Please don’t leave. I can’t do this without you. I need you.”

But he knew, deep down, that this wasn’t something you could come back from. Even if you survived, even if you made it through the night, the damage was done. And it was all because of him.

Jason’s hands clenched into fists, his nails digging into his palms until they bled. The rage inside him burned hotter than ever before, threatening to consume him entirely. He had been so close to losing you, and now all he could think about was revenge. He would find them. He would make them suffer for what they had done to you.

But no matter how much blood he spilled, it wouldn’t change the fact that he had failed to protect you. That his love had been the very thing that had put you in harm’s way.

And as the night stretched on, as you lay in his arms, barely clinging to life, Jason felt himself slipping further into the abyss. The darkness had claimed him long ago, but now, it was pulling him down into something deeper, something darker.

And he didn’t know if he’d ever find his way out.

---------------------------------------------------------------------

The night had bled into early morning, but for Jason, time had lost its meaning. It was all a blur now—a feverish haze of blood and vengeance. After carrying your battered body to the safest place he knew, ensuring the bare minimum of medical care, he had slipped back into the shadows, leaving you with nothing but the echo of his promise.

And that promise had been simple: he would make them pay.

Now, as he moved through Gotham’s underworld with a grim purpose, the memory of your broken form seared into his mind, fueling his every step. The streets were colder, darker, and crueler than they had ever been before. The city itself felt like it had turned against him, as if it, too, wanted to remind him of his failure.

The faces of those men swam before his vision, their laughter still ringing in his ears, mocking him. He saw the scarred leader’s face in the dark recesses of his mind—the sneer, the satisfaction in his eyes when he’d threatened you. Jason’s rage was a living thing, gnawing at his insides, screaming for release.

They would suffer. They would all suffer.

His first target was easy to find. A low-level thug, one of the cowards who had thrown the first punch, was holed up in a seedy bar on the outskirts of the city. Jason stalked him like a predator in the night, his body moving on instinct, driven by a singular, relentless purpose. When he finally cornered the man in the alley, there were no warnings, no preambles.

Jason moved like a ghost, silent and deadly, his fists connecting with the thug's face before he even had time to register his presence. The crack of bone echoed through the narrow alleyway as Jason’s knuckles met the man's jaw, sending him sprawling into the trash-strewn ground.

“Red Hood—no, no, wait—!”

The man’s plea was cut off as Jason dragged him up by the collar of his jacket, slamming him against the brick wall with enough force to make his skull bounce off the surface. Blood splattered across Jason’s armor, staining the emblem on his chest.

“Where are they?” Jason’s voice was low, deadly calm, but his eyes—his eyes burned with unrestrained fury.

The thug whimpered, clutching at Jason’s wrist with shaking hands. “I don’t know, man, I don’t know anything!”

Jason’s grip tightened, the leather of his gloves creaking under the pressure. His other hand shot forward, slamming into the man’s abdomen, driving the breath from his lungs in a strangled gasp. “Wrong answer.”

He pulled the thug closer, his lips curling into a snarl. “You attacked her. You’re gonna tell me where the others are, or I’ll make sure you never breathe again.”

There was no hesitation in his threat. Jason’s eyes glinted with something cold, something feral. The man was terrified—Jason could see it, feel it in the way the man’s pulse quickened under his fingertips. But there was no mercy left in him. He didn’t care about their fear. All that mattered was making them suffer, making them pay for what they had done to you.

“Okay, okay!” the thug rasped, panic making his words stumble over each other. “I’ll talk, I’ll talk! They’re at the docks—the old warehouse by Pier 47. That’s where they’ve been hiding.”

Jason let him drop, watching with disgust as the man crumpled to the ground, coughing and clutching his ribs. For a brief moment, he considered finishing it—ending the thug’s miserable life right there. But no. The real target was the leader. The one who had smiled at your pain.

Without another word, Jason disappeared into the night, leaving the man gasping for air as his blood stained the alley.

The warehouse was exactly where the thug had said it would be—a decrepit old building at the edge of the docks, the faint sound of waves crashing against the pier, the only noise breaking the silence. Jason approached from the shadows, his every sense heightened, his heart pounding with the promise of vengeance.

Inside, he could hear the low murmur of voices. Laughter. It grated on his nerves, fueling the fire in his chest. His hand clenched around the grip of his gun, the metal cool against his skin. He hadn’t planned to kill all of them—but now that he was here, surrounded by the stench of betrayal, it seemed inevitable.

With a swift motion, he kicked in the door, his guns drawn before the men inside could react. Chaos erupted in an instant. The thugs scattered, reaching for their weapons, but Jason was faster, more precise. He fired off shot after shot, the sound deafening in the enclosed space. Each bullet found its mark, dropping the men one by one before they had a chance to fight back.

But Jason wasn’t there for them. He was there for him.

The leader was in the back, smirking as though he’d expected this. His eyes gleamed with that same cruel satisfaction, as if Jason’s fury was all part of the game. “You came for them huh?” he said, his voice dripping with arrogance. “Too bad. they weren't worth much after we were done."

Jason’s blood turned to ice.

Before the man could react, Jason was on him. He tackled him to the ground with the force of a hurricane, his fists slamming into the man’s face with brutal, unrelenting precision. Blood splattered across the floor, staining Jason’s gloves, but he didn’t stop. He couldn’t stop. The rage inside him was too much, too consuming. Each punch felt like a release—a release of the guilt, the helplessness, the anguish that had been eating him alive since he found you.

The man beneath him choked on his own blood, his hands scrambling to defend himself, but it was futile. Jason was a storm of violence, every hit fueled by the image of you lying broken in his arms.

“You think this is a game?” Jason snarled, his voice a low, vicious growl. “You think you can touch them and walk away?”

His fists kept coming, each one landing with sickening force. The man’s face was unrecognizable now, a broken, bleeding mess, but still Jason didn’t stop. Not until the man was nothing more than a pile of blood and shattered bone beneath him.

But even as he stood, panting, blood dripping from his hands, there was no satisfaction. No sense of victory. Only emptiness.

Jason stared down at the corpse, his chest heaving with the weight of his rage. He had killed them. All of them. But it wasn’t enough. It would never be enough.

You were still lying in that hospital bed, broken because of him.

As he walked away from the carnage, the darkness around him felt deeper, colder. There was no light left to chase. Not without you.

----------------------------------------------------------------------

Jason stood at the edge of the docks, the wind whipping harshly against his bloodied face, cold and biting like the emptiness gnawing at his soul. The bodies of his enemies lay behind him, nothing more than a grim reminder of what he was capable of, of how deep his darkness ran. The waves crashed violently against the pier, matching the storm in his mind, but none of it mattered. Nothing mattered anymore.

He had avenged you. He had done what he set out to do, torn through Gotham’s underbelly like a hurricane, leaving nothing but blood and broken bones in his wake. But here he stood, staring out at the endless expanse of the night, and all he could feel was the weight of his own failure, his own curse.

This is who you are.

The thought slithered through his mind, dark and insidious, clinging to him like the stench of death that hung in the air. He was a weapon—a blade forged in violence, tempered by vengeance. He’d tried to be more, tried to find something good in this wretched existence. He’d tried to find you.

But Gotham wouldn’t let him have that. His life wouldn’t let him have that. No matter how many times you’d held him, how many times you’d tried to be his salvation, he had always known it would end like this. With blood, with pain, with you hurt because of him. It was inevitable.

He had warned you. He had tried to push you away. But you stayed. You had loved him, and that was your downfall. Now you were paying the price.

And for what? What had he gained? Revenge? Satisfaction? No. All that was left was the bitter taste of regret and the sickening realization that it didn’t change anything. It didn’t heal you. It didn’t fix what was broken inside him. Nothing could.

He stared down at his hands, still trembling with adrenaline, his knuckles raw and split from the beating he'd given that bastard. They were the same hands that had held you, that had clung to you like a lifeline in the darkness. Now they were stained with the blood of men who had hurt you—but it didn’t matter. Their deaths couldn’t undo the damage.

Jason’s breath hitched, his throat tight as the memories of you lying in his arms, barely breathing, surged forward. The way your blood had soaked into his clothes. The way your eyes, usually so full of warmth, flickered with pain and fear. All because of him.

He was cursed.

He could feel it in his bones, in the marrow of who he was. He wasn’t meant to have happiness. Not with you. Not with anyone. The darkness would always come for him, always tear apart anything good that came into his life. It had destroyed him once, and it would do so again—piece by piece.

And now… now he was standing on the precipice of his hardest decision yet.

Jason clenched his jaw, staring out at the water, his mind spinning with the weight of it. He could go back to you, watch over you as you recovered, try to piece together whatever shattered remnants of your life he hadn’t yet destroyed. Or he could let you go. He could walk away. He could vanish into the night, leave you to heal without the poison of his presence lingering in your life. Because this—what had happened to you—would only happen again. It would never stop.

His heart screamed at him to stay, to fight for the slim chance that you could somehow survive his curse. But deep down, he knew the truth. You would never be safe with him. And the worst part was, he didn’t know if he could live with the knowledge that he would destroy you again.

The decision loomed before him, dark and final, like the city itself—a grim reminder that no matter what choice he made, he had already lost.

Jason turned his back to the warehouse, to the blood-soaked night that had claimed his enemies. His eyes burned as he looked toward the horizon, but the emptiness inside him remained. He had never truly escaped the shadows. He never would.

And now, as the cold wind howled around him, he realized this was only the beginning of his end.

The city would continue to take from him. It always had. There was no peace for someone like him. No future where the people he cared for didn’t bleed in his name. No future where he wasn’t haunted by the bodies left in his wake.

But you—you still had a chance.

He would make his choice soon. The hardest one he’d ever made.

But in his gut, Jason knew. He knew that whatever he decided, happiness wasn’t meant for him. The darkness had already claimed his soul, and it wouldn’t rest until there was nothing left.

With one last look at the city, Jason disappeared into the night, his decision lingering on the horizon like a storm waiting to descend.

And when it did, the person Jason Todd used to be would be lost forever.

taglist: @arisa191 @leo-lvr @azrielwingspan

[loggiepj]

To Love A Lannister

chapter 13 | chapter 14

"We'll arrive at Sunspear in a week's time," Oberyn announced, approaching you leaning against the railing on the quarterdeck, facing the vast ocean ahead.

Darkness had started to loom around the ship, waves almost as black as a squid's ink. The sun was almost a quarter visible as it was being consumed by the horizon, obliterating any light. The only thing shining across the distance was the red patch of sky encircling the edges of the sun. If it weren't for the torches surrounding the deck, you wouldn't be able to see the Dornishman standing beside you. "How do you feel about that? A lot has changed since we left home."

"Indeed," you said. "I thought I'd look forward to my warm bed and the fresh air of Dorne back home. Now, it seems like I'm terrified setting foot on some land I thought was my birthplace."

"You don't have to be," he assured you. "You're not alone, you know. And your sister is the Queen—"

"She doesn't even know who I am, does she?" You turned to look at him.

Oberyn shrugged. "She will. In time."

You sighed, avoiding his gaze. The sky had turned blood orange. "And I . . . I don't think I'm worthy to be a Targaryen as much as I'm a Martell."

"Don't be so hard on yourself-"

"I'm a bastard, if any, I'm just good at being a bastard. That's all I'll ever be. You know, I think I probably prefer being a bastard, with no one expecting me of anything—"

"The blood of Rhaella Targaryen runs through your veins," Oberyn interjected. "You don't know yet of its importance but you will in time."

"I—" You immediately stopped talking upon seeing Cersei walk around the deck, with a handmaiden following behind her, her eyes on the horizon beyond, witnessing what little of the sun left before it was devoured by the ocean.

"Because of her, right? You've grown fond of her," Oberyn said, sighing. "You're even wearing her damn necklace."

As if she knew you were looking, Cersei turned towards the quarterdeck, her eyes meeting yours in a tensed gaze. Your hand grabbed against the wooden railing a bit too hard. Oberyn was far from wrong. It was because of the Lannister woman.

This was all too easy and perfect if you were just you — a bastard from the Martell house. You would serve Cersei, even if your family would despise you. But sometimes, people fall in love with someone they can't have.

You missed the Queen Mother terribly, her striking green eyes piercing right through yours, observing what you two could possibly be talking about for making you frown that bad.

All you wanted to do at that moment was hold her, and tell her that you still wish to marry her if she also felt the same about you.

"I . . . I do," you confessed softly, avoiding Cersei's eyes. "She's . . . She's my weakness."

"It will pass, Y/n."

You then turned to glare at Oberyn. "What's that supposed to mean? When you fell in love with Ellaria, did it pass too?"

"That's different, Y/n. You think Cersei will feel the same about you if she only knew?" Oberyn scoffed. "The Lannisters were one of the houses that ended the line of Targaryens. They even paid mercenaries to assassinate Queen Daenaerys herself and she's in another continent. If Cersei knew you were Daenaerys' sister, bastard or not, she'd kill you herself. Did you forget what they did to Robert's bastards?"

Cersei had now walked towards the stern, staring into the darkness ahead. Her golden hair billowing against the wind was the only brightest thing in that ship.

"All I'm saying is," Oberyn went on. "You ought to be careful. End it while it's still early. Cersei is a woman of ruthless nature. She wouldn't see you through."

Oberyn then placed a hand on your shoulder before he left.

You sighed, right hand curling into a fist on your side, mind fighting between leaving and heading towards the woman down below. Yet, the heart wanted what it wants as you began to climb down the stairs leading to the stern.

"You said you'd always want to have your own ship one day," you started, approaching Cersei, her perfume infiltrating your nostrils. The wind gently blew the Queen's hair against all directions, and it was such a wonderful sight.

Cersei raised a hand towards the handmaiden, making the latter bow before leaving you both alone.

"You remember," she replied, her eyes still on the dark horizon.

"Of course." You smiled, walking closer. "How could I not? Did it meet your expectations then, Your Grace?"

"It's not my first time riding a ship, although a lot has changed. The waves are somewhat smaller than I remember years ago. And the sunset has never been that red before."

You were now standing side by side with the Lioness, your hand on the railing, at least an inch away from where Cersei's hand was.

"It hasn't for a long time. People in Dorne believe that red skies are often associated with warnings or change. That whenever a sky is as red as blood, any decision you put forth on that day should be carefully done, unless you don't regard any bad omen coming your way."

She chuckled softly. "And what do you say to these beliefs?"

Cersei turned her head to look at you, expecting your reply, a glint in her eye.

Your eyes never left hers, travelling from her mouth back to her eyes. "I . . . I just think that it's such a beautiful occurrence to see. And I don't care about the consequences."

Cersei stopped smiling, understanding you weren't talking about any Dornish myths or beliefs anymore. Both of your fingers were barely brushing, distance diminishing each second. It would seem apparent that you two were leaning forward to each other.

Until Ellaria coughed behind you, stopping you both. "Supper is ready."

~~~

Being a Martell, you thought travelling by water would have made you immune against seasickness, but maybe it was the remnants of The Mountain's strength that had weaken you.

The trip to Dorne would take almost a week, and it only took three days before you started feeling nauseated. Going back and forth to the head just to eradicate the upset churning in your stomach had drained your energy. Ellaria had took mercy, bringing you a bucket to use beside you.

Cersei's presence was the only thing that made it bearable. You would join her at the dining cabin at night time, talking for hours that even Oberyn had almost fallen asleep on the table.

On the fifth night, you had excused yourself from dinner and surrendered to the confines of your cabin. Maybe it was the way the ship was swaying against the huge tides from the forecasted storm or the stale food you ate during breakfast. Either way, you had secluded yourself to recover.

The Queen Mother was having none of it though, knocking against your door some time later that night and bringing you a steaming hot bowl of soup.

"It's Venison," Cersei said, as she sat on the side of your bed. "I had our cook made it. Hot liquids can help calm an upset stomach. Tommen would always have them when he's sick."

"Thank you, Your Grace," you replied, straightening yourself as you leaned your back against the headboard of your bed. "You shouldn't have troubled yourself."

But instead of giving you the bowl, she insisted to feed you with a spoonful, leaning closer to you. With cheeks flushed from the act of endearment, you let the woman coddle you.

"You never come to me as someone who gets sick travelling by sea," she teased, a smile on her face.

"Well, I normally don't," you argued, making the Queen laugh.

"Quit being cocky and let yourself be taken care of."

One of the Dornish servants suddenly barged through the door, eyes wide upon seeing you not alone. There was a crate of supplies for your wound on her arms.

"Leave it," Cersei ordered, making the servant drop the crate unto a table nearby.

After you have finished the bowl, Cersei brought her hands to the hem of your tunic, attempting to pull it off you. Heart skipping a beat when you felt her fingers brush against your skin, you immediately stopped her, wrapping your hand around her wrist. "What are you doing?"

The Lannister woman smirked as she stood and walked away instead, taking the crate of supplies from the doorway. "I'm changing the dressing of your wound."

After a few moments of hesitation, you finally let Cersei get rid of your tunic. Her eyes softened upon the sight of her necklace's golden lion pendant on your chest and the bruised skin, now had gone purple close to healing.

She then began delicately cleaning the wound on your chest, her thumb purposefully brushing your nipple, every touch bringing you shivers. You swallowed, cheeks red as you attempted to move away from her.

"Stop moving," Cersei said, giggling.

"Stop teasing me then," you countered back.

After she had managed to change your dressing, you noticed a tent growing under your breeches. Everything seemed to freeze at that moment as you quickly took one of your pillows to hide it when Cersei was looking away.

Yet, there was nothing the Queen could miss as her curious eyes began wondering why there was a pillow on your lap. She sat back on the side of your bed, leaning forward and closer to your body.

Her sultry voice near your face made you harder than you were before, your cock straining painfully from the weight of the pillow. "Do you also need help with something else, My Lady?"

"Your Grace, I don't think—"

"Stop thinking," she whispered into your ear, her hand slipping inside your breeches and stroking your hardening cock. "Just breathe, Y/n. Let yourself go. Take pleasure in my hand."

Letting out an embarrassingly loud groan, you threw your head back against the headboard, eyes rolling deep into the back, hands clutching against the sheets on both sides.

Cersei's eyes darted towards your cock when she managed to pull it out from your breeches, twitching against her touch. It had never looked this painfully hard before, you thought you wouldn't last a second longer.

"You have a pretty cock, you know," she cooed, her lips nipping the skin on your jaw and neck. Her hand moved expertly, squeezing you tight as if milking you, and she did manage, her thumb tracing over the small cum leaking from your head then spreading it on your entire length.

"Cersei. . ."

The sound of your whimpers made Cersei turn to stare at you, observing your every reaction, with your eyes shut close and mouth agape. "You looked so prettier under my control."

"Cersei, I'm close. . ."

"Good," she said.

You opened your eyes to see what she meant, but what you saw only made you lose it. The Queen took the entire length of your cock into her mouth, bobbing her head up and down in a fast pace. The sight itself, the wetness and warmth from her mouth and the moan she let out when she took you made you explode right into her.

And she took it all, swallowing everything there was to milk. You cursed profanities into the silent night, grunting your release, releasing a lot more when she took you deeper.

It seemed like eternity when you had finally come down from your high, watching Cersei clean your shaft before licking the side of her lips from any residue. She then tucked your cock back into your breeches and leaned forward back to you.

"I would have hated wasting a single drop," she finished with a smug smile on her face.

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[sexypantsriorson]

VIOLET IS SCARED OF THE DARK! BUT WHY? WHAT DOES IT MEAN?

🚨 Spoilers for Fourth Wing and Iron Flame Below 🚨

When reading Fourth Wing one of the many times I've read it I noticed that Violet seemed scared of the dark on several occasions. However, the newest Xaden POV bonus chapter (Ch 27) solidified my crack theory that may mean nothing at all even further.

Fourth Wing:

⚡️Chapter 1: "The Captain nods and points to the open door into the turret. It looks ominously dark in there, and I fight the urge to run like hell."

-> This is the weakest evidence but I wanted to include it. Even though the majority of the fear probably stems from having to cross the parapet and going into the riders quadrant I can't help but notice how the darkness of the turret is pointed out in relation to her wanting to run away.

⚡️Chapter 19: "'Hope you're not afraid of the dark.' He pulls me inside, and suffocating darkness envelopes us as the door closes. This is fine. This is absolutely fine. 'But just incase you are,' Xaden says, his voice at full volume as he snaps. A mage light hovers above our head, Illuminating our surroundings. 'Thanks'"

-> side note: as Nicole from FFG would say ITALICS! Is this a Xaden intinsic moment or is this similar to Ch 27 where he senses her fear down their bond?

⚡️Chapter 27 from Violet's POV: "Xaden lifts a hand a few inches above the table, and shadows pour from underneath our seats, filling the room and turning it dark as midnight in a blink. My heart jumps as my sight goes black."

⚡️Chapter 27 from Xaden's POV: "I lift my palms just enough to clear the table and summon the cooling darkness of the shadows. They stream out from under the table and blanket the room in less than a heartbeat, devouring all traces of light. Panic skitters down the silver bond."

Iron Flame:

⚡️Chapter 36: "He steps forward, raises his arms, and shadows rush in from the wall at our backs, engulfing the formation - and us - in complete darkness. Theres a glimmer of a caress across my cheek, right where it's split to what feels like the bone, and more than one cadet screams."

-> The structure of the first sentence, the emphasis on 'and us' is what clued me into the fear in this chapter. And once again Xaden, who is also the source of the darkness, uses the shadows to comfort her. Based on Ch 19 and Ch 27 of Fourth Wing he likely knows she's scared of the dark at this point.

Noooowwwwww - What does all this mean? Well.... I have no idea!

As mentioned before it might mean nothing at all. Rebecca might have just thrown it in there as a quirky personality trait of Violet's. I personally just don't think that's the case.

According to a study done by John Mayer (the clinical psychologist, not the singer) only 11% of adults in the US are scared of the dark. So, its not that common of a fear. Also the amount of times it's brought up throughout the two books we've had so far makes me think it might be significant.

On July 8th Rebecca Yarros and Red Tower Books released a joint Instagram reel with a small video showing the cover of Onyx Storm for the first time. The caption has the tag line "Are you ready to BRAVE THE DARK?" written just like that with 'brave the dark' in all caps. 'Brave the Dark' is also written on the cover of the book in the same way 'Fly or Die' and 'Burn it Down' was used as a tag line of FW and IF respectively. This is another one of the most prominent reasons I think that these allusions to Violets fear of the dark are more than just a basic character trait. In each of the scenes mentioned (with the exception of chapter 1) Xaden comforts Violet in the darkness. Furthermore, if you search 'dark' in the FW ebook there are over 80 occurrences of the word and almost all of them are in relation to Xaden (I couldn't search IF because I don't have the ebook). We know that OS is going to focus on Violet trying to find a cure for Xaden. Is Xaden part of this darkness Violet is scared of?

The Empyrean Series is my current hyper fixation so I couldn't get this spiral out of my head since yesterday.

Please weigh in on what you think Violets fear of the dark means or where it comes from! I'd love to hear other peoples opinions. Also, if you know of any scenes I missed where Violet is scared of the dark please let me know.

Thank you for coming to my TedTalk TairnTalk. (I stole that from someone else but I can't remember who said it first but credit to them you are hilarious).