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sunflowersteves · 1 year

Text

crazy || j.m.

chapter two of ain't no sunshine

pairing || joel miller x f!sunshine!reader

summary || you get injured during a patrol and Joel is too occupied to assist your wound. what happens when someone else has to take over?

author's note || i hope you all enjoy chapter two! since the second to last episode, all i could think about was that smirk joel gave. oop. i promise next chapter will be fluffy. now that it's spring beak, i'm hoping to write much more for this series. can be read as a stand alone but follows a series! 5.8k!

warnings || jealousy, injury, hurt/comfort, canon-typical violence, murder, blood, possessiveness, brad has his own warning (ifkyk), unrealistic recovery time, delirium, joel is self deprecating and self sabotaging, arguments, SMUT, rough sex, fingering, praise kink, taunting, degradation, dom joel, joel is a little mean, but don't worry because soft joel makes an appearance, soft sex, creampie, [18+ only!!]

series masterlist || part one || masterlist

Crazy for thinking that my love could hold you I'm crazy for trying and crazy for crying And I'm crazy for loving you

You weren’t sure when it happened—when the blade twisted into your gut, cutting your flesh and piercing your intestines. You could feel the pain. It was dull and throbbing as wet crimson seeped into your t-shirt.

You heard a cried-out yell, and turning toward your side, you saw it. You saw the knife that was once in your stomach was now in your hand—lodged into your attacker’s skull. Your body had acted on instinct and perpetrated that familiar gut feeling of violence and revenge.

You pause, just for a moment. You could feel the adrenaline kick into your system, and a numbing pain flushed out your senses. The blood felt warm and sticky—prompting the sleepiness to feel calming, and it urged you forward into its safe surroundings.

But then you felt it. Panic. Panic rose in your neck as you looked around for someone. Your hand darted out to try and find them, but your mind was starting to become blank from the fuzzy warmth of pain.

Joel.

You needed Joel.

But all you knew was that Joel wasn’t by your side. Joel wasn’t here. He wasn’t holding your hand. He wasn’t whispering into your ear about how everything was going to be okay.

You didn’t know where he was. Then, you collapsed to the snowy ground, white dots fluttering around you. It was almost comforting the way the snow danced around you like soft wet pillows. You opened your mouth. You wanted to say something—you wanted Joel, but nothing could leave your lips.

It all happened too fast—too soon after just leaving the commune for a patrol. You and Joel had spotted someone walking too close to the river, but you and the rest of your party hadn’t seen the tracks behind you. You never noticed four men creeping their way to surround you.

It almost felt astonishing, really. You, Joel, Tommy, Maria, and Brad were not new to the dangers of survival, especially you and Joel.

The two of you and Ellie have had your fair share of raiders and non-friendly people alike. You and Joel protected Ellie in every way possible, punching your way through cheekbones and splattering scarlet liquid.

You and Joel weren’t new to picking out tracks and finding the smallest detail of other life. So how could you miss this?

“I’ve got you.”

Your brow crinkles. That doesn’t sound like Joel. You peek open one of your eyes to see a man—what was his name? Oh, yeah. Brad.

You didn’t want Brad. You wanted Joel. You wanted the scruff of gray hair poking out loudly against the soft brunette ones. You wanted those honeyed brown eyes staring at you in concern and anguish. You wanted Joel to hold your hand as he gently took you into his arms and carried you all the way back.

Finally, you speak. “Joel. N-Need Jo—”

“I know, but he’s not here.” He placed his hand on your abdomen and applied a great deal of pressure. Your breath hitches, but then your lips fall into a frown.

“Joel isn’t here?” Tears start to water your lash line, but none of them fall. If you weren’t preoccupied with the open wound on your side, you would have noticed the twitch of a smirk on Brad’s lips. He was purposely attempting to make you feel alone like you've been abandoned by your partner.

Your eyes start to sting, a fresh tear falling down the side of your face, right below your temple. Something was wrong. Something felt very wrong. You knew Joel would never ever abandon you, so why did Brad say that?

You could feel yourself become dizzy, and the white specs that fluttered around you started to become hazy. You opened your mouth, and your eyes felt so heavy. You could hear someone telling you to stay awake, and it didn’t feel like Brad this time. Maria? Tommy?

You weren’t sure, but it was no use. You let the sweet lullaby of sleep take over you, and your eyes fluttered closed.

You whispered Joel's name over and over.

═ ∘◦❦◦∘ ═

Tommy hadn’t seen Joel act like this in quite some time. Everyone saw their fair share of grumpy glares and pissed off, snarling Joel, but never this—not since the very beginning of the outbreak.

Joel had just been so irate. He was so entirely impassioned with rage—furious and calculating as his fist connected with the raider's face, over and over. But there was something else, too. Fear and hurt swirled and ignited between his brown eyes at the sight of the blood that seeped into your clothing.

He watched it all happen. He watched the knife lodge into your stomach. He saw your blood that almost became fluorescent in the white snow. He felt his chest seize as his eyes followed your fist that was puncturing the knife into the raider’s skull.

He saw the way Brad flew to your side, the way that he yelled at you to stay awake. He watched as your eyes fluttered close, and desperation rose in his throat. He tried calling out your name, but he couldn’t get to you.

One of the raiders wrapped his arm around his neck and choked him—no doubt the raider using Joel’s vulnerability of pure agony to his advantage.

He couldn’t get to you.

He repeated it over and over in his head. He grabbed the raider’s arm and used the weight of his body to fling the guy forward. Joel didn’t waste a single second. He grasped the gun that was flung out of his hands earlier to the raider’s face.

The clock was ticking. He couldn’t get to you.

“Wait, wait, wait, I can help—”

Joel pulled the trigger, releasing the bullet and popping loudly against the barrel—shoving the nine millimeters of metal into the man’s head. He fell limp to the ground, and the hands that were clenching around Joel’s forearms slowly dropped.

He looked over in an instant to see that Tommy had knocked out the last of the men that had surrounded all of you. His head snapped back over to you, feet crunching against the snow with each step.

You weren’t moving—not even your eyes were fluttering—and Joel felt the whole world swallowing him whole. His heart thumped loudly against his chest as his knees hit the ground, no doubt bruising them in the process.

Brad was on the other side of you, applying pressure to the wound still. “About time, old man.”

Joel ignored him—honestly, he was not even sure he really registered his presence at all. All Joel could do was hold your face, not caring about any of the blood that smeared onto your cheek. “Baby?”

His eyes skated across your face to see a sign—a twitch of your brow, a pull at your lips, anything. He could see the tears that started to gloss over his vision. “Sunshine, please.”

He paused, desperately searching. “Please.”

Tommy says Joel’s name softly as if he were going to snap at any moment. He flinched a little when Joel moved. The dark depths of memories from before rushed through his brain. His mind almost became blank—so did Joel’s. Was this going to be the same?

Maria was the one that snapped them out of it, holding her broken wrist to her chest. “We need to leave. We have to get her to the clinic.”

Joel's arm loops itself under your neck, and Tommy pulls your legs up to make it easier to lift you. He scoops you up into his arms, pressing a watery kiss to your forehead. He needed to get you home, and he needed to do it now.

You murmur just barely under your breath and so quietly that he almost misses it. He wasn’t quite sure if you were even conscious.

“Joel.”

═ ∘◦❦◦∘ ═

Worry, why do I let myself worry?

Wondering what in the world did I do?

Crazy for thinking that my love could hold you

The crackling, sultry voice of Patsy Cline flooded into your ears. Your eyes blinked open to see familiar plain white walls. You breathed in to smell fresh pine and some reminiscence of Joel’s cooking.

Home. You were home.

You could feel yourself groan as a dull pain spread from your abdomen to your chest. Your head felt a little fuzzy, and you tried to get your bearings, pushing yourself up from what felt like fluffy pillows.

“Easy. Woah, slow down.” You smiled at the high-pitched voice. Ellie.

She grabbed your hand, the other guiding the small of your back to sit up. While your wound had mostly healed by this point, there was still going to be a lot of internal discomfort.

“How long was I out?” You rasped out, your vocal cords rubbing like sandpaper against your throat. You coughed out, and Ellie was quick to bring a glass of water to your lips.

You gulped down heavily, the relief of the cold liquid soothing your aching throat. You cleared your throat and handed the water back to her. “How long?”

Ellie bit her lip, an uneasy expression lifting onto her face. “Six weeks.”

Your mouth gaped open. “Six weeks? Oh my god—”

She tried to quickly play it off as if she, Joel, Tommy, and Maria weren’t shitting their pants every day at the thought of you never waking up. “But Patsy Cline woke you up! I played all your favorites, especially the ones that you and Joel like to sing all the time, and I knew for sure that she was going to do the trick and—”

“Where’s Joel? Is he okay? Did they hurt him?”

Ellie winced at the mention of his name, but her heart also thumped against her chest. You were literally stabbed in the stomach and almost died multiple times, yet you still thought of someone else. You still thought about the safety and well-being of Joel.

His typical sunshine. Her typical mother.

She gently squeezed your hand. “Joel is fine. He only had a couple of bruises.” She paused before answering your first question. “He’s, um, at Tommy’s.”

You just blinked, feeling the disappointment crash against your chest. “Oh.”

Oh. That was okay. He didn’t need to be constantly by your side. Maybe he just needed some rest or comfort from his younger brother. That was okay, right?

Right?

“Is he sleeping?” You could tell by the way she avoided your eyes that something was wrong. What that was, you weren’t exactly sure. He wasn’t injured, so what else could it be? You gulped—suddenly feeling parched again.

“No…He’s awake. I think so, anyway.” She winced again and knew that she wasn’t helping his case at all. “He hasn’t exactly left Tommy’s to come here.”

When Joel carried you all that way to the clinic in Jackson, he collapsed on the hard ground and cradled you in his arms. You felt cold. You felt unmoving. The entire walk back, he felt helpless—breaths of hopelessness crowded his brain, and all he could think about was that he lost you.

When they tried to take you into the operating room, Joel almost wouldn’t let them. He was clouded by fear and burning with uncleansed rage.

He lost you, and he did nothing about it. He lost you, and he did nothing about it. It repeated through his head until he could no longer think, hear, see—anything at all—but those words. He couldn’t let them take you—he wouldn’t let them take you from him.

Finally, after realizing that he was wasting the precious time of your beating heart, he let them carry you into a back operating room. He never left the clinic that night, even after the ten-hour surgery.

After that, though, Joel wasn’t the same. At least, he didn’t feel like it.

While Tommy knew that and Maria knew that, you and Ellie didn’t. Ellie hadn’t seen Joel in six weeks—just Tommy checking in and bringing her the basics of food and water and helping you. Maria would come too, to bathe you and give you medicine. At first, Ellie thought that Joel had just been hurt or he was forced to go on another patrol.

But no. She realized Joel just hadn’t visited you at all. She was angry at first, stomping over to him and giving him a piece of her mind. As she calmed down, though, she knew Joel cared about you. Deeply.

He was just…Joel.

He was unemotional and brash. He was jarring and inanely grumpy all the time. He has violent tendencies and a very distant, dark past. He pushed everyone away from him—only gave affection within a ten-foot pole radius. God, he really, really pushes the people he loves away.

She knew that she could handle that. She was stubborn and hardheaded like him, so it was a bit easier. She just was worried you wouldn’t be able to handle that.

Ellie and Joel were your worlds. You even told the two of them that when star-gazing one night on the roof of your cabin. You were sweet and doting. You were so calculating and headstrong when you needed to be. But if Joel wasn’t careful about this, she knew he could break your heart.

You go to stand, suddenly feeling a burst of anger rush through you. Ellie could tell by the way your eyebrow twitched and the hard thumps of your socked feet sauntered across the floor that you were very mad.

“Look, please just—”

You hear a crashing noise outside of the guest bedroom door. Both of your heads whipped over to the loud sound. You would have almost let fear take hold of your chest if it weren’t for Joel bursting through the door not a second later.

His chest heaved up and down, rapidly, and eyes wide at the sight of you standing. You were in some sweatpants and one of his flannel button-ups. Your hair was a little damp. He had no doubt it was from Ellie washing it earlier this morning.

“Joel.”

His eyes don’t even acknowledge Ellie’s presence. They’re just scanning your body over and over. You seem okay. You seem good. You seem alive.

His body carried itself forward before he was even thinking. His arm stretched out, and the pads of his fingers stroked your cheek. He takes a minute to look at the ways your eyes shone from the light of the window.

He then retraced his hand so fast, as if your skin was a hot stove—sizzling and burning to the touch. He even took a few paces back. He could feel his eyes watering with each deep, dismal thought pulling him under.

“You’re awake.”

He said it so softly that you weren’t even sure you heard him right. You just stood there, mouth opening in shock at his reaction. You weren’t really sure what to make of any of this. Shit, you weren’t even awake twenty minutes ago.

Ellie cleared her throat at the awkwardness. “I’m gonna…go do things.” With that, she left the room, and a small ‘yikes’ escaped her lips.

There was a long beat of silence before either of you spoke. Joel still looked at you, though. He couldn’t help himself. He still couldn’t believe that you were awake. You were the one to break it, your mind was wandering too aimlessly at all of the unknowns.

“You didn’t visit me.” He opened his mouth, but you didn’t let him talk. “Ellie said I was in a coma for six weeks and you didn’t visit me.”

The cracking of your voice and the tears on your waterline broke his heart into two. It was split wide open and ached against his chest. “I-I couldn’t. I saw you layin’ there, darlin’, and I just couldn’t.”

You lightly scoffed. “Couldn’t or wouldn’t? I mean seriously Joel, who the fuck doesn’t visit their partner after they almost die and—”

“What do you want me to say, huh? That I wasn’t fuckin’ there for you? Is that what you want me to say?”

You purse your lips, your hands flying in the air. “No! I–I wanna know why, Joel. I wanna know why you couldn’t even see me.”

His nostrils flare at your tone—crackled and gloomy as it echoed across the room. “Why would you want to see someone like me? Huh? Brad was all over you, and—”

You couldn’t believe him right now. You almost didn’t, but the swirl of green that rested in between his eyes said otherwise. Joel didn’t visit you in your own shared home after being seriously injured because he was jealous?

“Oh, my god.” You wanted to laugh, and you did. Laughter, the kind that was dark and fluid, bubbled through you. “You can’t be serious.”

You could tell there was something he wasn’t telling you. His hands were tight around the doorframe, and his eyes were glued to the ground. You wanted to pry a bit more, but as Joel always says, “You’re an absolute sunshine until that fire ignites inside of you.”

“Maybe I should go to him, then.”

Yeah, that got his attention. His eyes flickered up towards yours, mouth opening slightly. “What?”

You crossed your arms over your chest. “You heard me. Maybe I should go see Brad. I should tell him to take me out to dinner at the bar. He seemed super interested a couple of weeks ago when he—”

“You shut your fuckin’ mouth.” Your mouth snapped closed as Joel towered over you. His nostrils flared, chest pulling up and down at a rate that was too calm—too calm while the red between his eyes burned a hole in your own chest. “You think Brad can please you? hmm?”

His fingers grip your jaw so that you’re forced to maintain eye contact. Not that you would give the satisfaction to Joel from the throb of your core anyway. “Yeah, Joel, I think he can.”

His eyes squinted, his face leaning even closer than before. “So if I shoved my hand down, your pussy wouldn’t be drippin’ for me?”

Yeah, okay. He’s got you there. “Huh? Gonna say anything, darlin’?” You defiantly squint your eyes back up into his. His tone was anything but sweet—it was snarling and patronizing as his brows furrowed even further.

Before you could even open your mouth to give a snarky comment back, Joel aggressively shoves the sweatpants you had on down to your ankles. “You’re a fuckin’ brat, you know that?”

He gets on his knees, fingers pushing between your folds. Sure enough, you’re wet. As if on cue, Joel smirks as his finger swirls to grab your sweet nectar. “F-Fuck you, Joel.”

“Yeah?” He groaned into your ear. His thumb presses deep into your clit, sparking your hips to jolt at the pressure. “I don’t think so, darlin’. I don’t think you deserve my cock.”

You gasped, “J-Joel–”

He slipped his index finger, pushing through your tight walls. His cock twitches at the whimper that left your lips. “All I’m doin' is fuckin’ you good with my fingers.”

His torrid voice breaks you whole, sweet accent slurring his words together. “Can Brad do that? Could he make you dumb from just his fingers?”

He wants you to answer him, but he knows the pleasure is starting to blossom in your lower abdomen. His fingers always made you cum so fast and so hard. They always stretched your aching pussy so wide and scissored the perfect angle into you.

So, he was going to take his sweet time.

He chuckled. “C’mon, you weren’t this shy earlier. I want you to answer me, sunshine.” Your head tilts back in a gasp, the nickname rolled off of his tongue, and it was so blissful. “Can Brad do this?”

You shake your head, mouth opening, but nothing comes out. You were sensitive—really sensitive. “You can do it, pretty girl.” God, he was enjoying this a bit too much, it was starting to drive you insane. “Answer me.”

The demanding tone struck through your chest, and you almost didn’t give in. All anger practically washed out of you when he inserted another finger—curling them with each thrust. “No! H-He can’t. B-Brad can’t fuck me like you do.”

A devilish smile sprouts from his lips at your affirmation. “That’s all you had to say, sunshine. I fuck you better, hmm?” The squelch of your juices running down his fingers sounded almost ethereal to his ears. “Look at you,” he coos, and you almost believed that it was sweet. “Fuckin’ dumb from just my hand.”

He pauses, almost taunting like. “Do you want my cock?”

Your fingernails dug deep into his shoulders, his name clouding over your mind, and it was all you seemed to think about. “Yes! Please, Joel! I-I want your cock. N-Need it, please.”

“Well, you can’t fuckin’ have it.” His fingers shove even deeper through your walls—finding that spongy spot that makes you mewl. “You don’t deserve it, sunshine.”

You weren’t sure how much more you could handle as the pressure builds, making your head feel a bit fuzzy. “Joel, please. I’m—”

Oh.

Oh, you see it now. You almost say it. The apology almost rings through your ears. He wanted you to apologize for what you said to him, and it almost worked. Almost.

You may be happy and considerate the majority of the time, but you were angry. Irritation still bubbled up between your chest, and you weren’t about to let Joel get away with something so easily.

As if he knew, his eyes flared in anger. “Fuckin’ cum.”

“I–I won’t—” You say defiantly, trying to make him more frustrated. He knew you better than that, though. He could feel the clench of your walls and the grip on his shoulders became increasingly tight.

“Fuckin’ cum right now, sunshine, or—” Your mouth hangs open as your orgasm breaks you whole. It flutters through you as he works you through it, thighs shaking and Joel’s name chanting from your lucid tongue.

“Doing so good for me, yeah?” His hand thrusts into you, thumb still stroking your puffy clit. He groans at the gush of your juices dripping down to his wrist, and he leaned down, tongue swirling to just grab a little taste of you. “Y’taste so good, darlin’.”

Your head rolled over to nod. Your eyelids were heavy from the pure pleasure that rushed through your head and down to your toes. His fingers slip out of you easily, and plops them into his mouth, sucking every drop of your orgasm.

He takes his fingers out of his mouth and pulls himself up from the ground. Something sinks in between his stomach, though. He can feel the dread of confrontation unfolding in his eyes.

The way you look up at him, Joel knows he doesn’t deserve this. You don’t deserve this. Your hand fluffs through the back of his hair, and he thought that your touch would bring him the comfort he needed. But it doesn’t.

He feels like he is going to be sick. He was mean to you. He degraded you. He acted like he didn’t trust you. You could see that he was pulling himself away from you with the way that his eyes snapped shut and his head shook back and forth.

You tried to reel him back in, wanting him to know that you were just as angry as he was. You were just as turned on by his rage as he was by yours. But it was no use. Joel Miller had made up his mind already.

“I’m going for a walk.”

Your face fell as he bolted from the room. Pain swirled in your stomach, and a sob escaped your lips. You suddenly felt sick to your stomach, and everything just felt so wrong. There was a sunken feeling in your chest—a feeling of a hole burning through your heart.

He left you.

Again.

═ ∘◦❦◦∘ ═

Tap, tap. Maria opened the door to your bedroom just a little, peeking her head in. “So the rumors are true. You are awake.”

You turned the pages of your favorite book, not even looking up at her just yet. “Awake as anyone can be.”

She smiled up at you before fully pushing the door open and entering the room. She had a glass of water and a handful of pill bottles—probably expired, but they have been probably keeping you alive.

“Any pain?”

You shook your head, but that was far from the truth. You just didn’t have any pain from the area you got stabbed. You just had lots of heart and head pain.

“Good. Since you were out for quite some time, your body was able to mostly heal.” You noticed the small bag in her arm and figured it was most likely some more medical supplies.

You gave her a faint smile and turned another page—eyes skimming the small words. “Thank god. You know I can’t stay still for long.”

She chuckled, nodding in agreement. She gave you the pills you needed. You swallowed them down, gulping the fresh water. After handing the water back to her, you looked down at your book again.

She looked over at you, and a smile widened on her lips. “He read that to you every night, you know.”

You blinked, confused. “What?” You dog-eared the book and placed it on the bed next to you. You had somewhat of an idea, but the shock was still evident. “Who?”

Maria smiled and set down a couple of more pills on your bedside table. “It’s some pain medication if you need it.” After you nodded in acknowledgment, she sat down next to you on the bed. “Joel.”

Your eyes widened slightly. She continued, “After Ellie would go to sleep, he would sneak into the house. I told him he didn’t have to do that, but well, you know him.” She knocked her elbow with yours. “He just sat there all night reading that book to you, over and over. He’d come back to our place at around seven in the morning before Ellie woke up.”

She paused, looking right at you. “I know how he is. I know you know more than any of us, but that day? I hadn’t ever seen him like that. He was broken. He muttered under his breath the whole way back that you were gone, and it was his fault. I kept trying to tell him that you still had a steady heartbeat, but he was just—just fully convinced.”

She gave you a watery smile, noticing the tears streaming down your cheeks. You wiped them with the back of your palm and sniffled from a runny nose.

“Oh, Joel.” You sighed, feeling slightly guilty, but you knew he would hate that. You didn’t know. He specifically chose not to tell you or Ellie anything because that was what he does. He pushes you away because he thinks he doesn’t deserve you or this life you have. Your silly, precious Joel.

“I’ll leave you to it. Get better, okay? I need my movie-watching friend back.” She pats you lightly on the back before standing up from the bed.

You laughed, nodding in agreement. “Oh, I’m sure it was hell trying to watch Little Women with Tommy.”

She huffed, a hand on the doorknob. “You have no idea.” And with that, she left the room. You stayed there on the bed and tried to dry your tears.

You felt an ache burst through you. You knew Joel wasn’t telling you everything. You knew it.

There was a part of you that still felt guilty, even though you know you shouldn’t. You just didn’t know what those six weeks felt like as he waited for you. He pleaded every night for you to wake up. Every ten hours after finishing the book, he would ask you all the same.

You finally had enough of this. It was all his decision to wallow in his own darkness and sorrows—and you were going to put an end to it.

You took the duvet off of your lap and sauntered across the room. Your hand twisted the doorknob, and just as you whipped the door open, you were met with a hard chest. Joel’s hand was fisted, hanging in the middle of the air.

Your eyes widened as you looked up into his deep eyes. “Joel.” You whispered. Tears already started to water against your lash line from the sight of his creased brow and worried gleam in his eyes.

“Darlin’.” He grunted. His hands clasp gently against your cheeks, and it pulls you forward. His eyes flickered across your face, and his thumb moved to wipe your tears. “I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have said any of that, okay? I-I just didn’t want to tell you the truth, and I just–I used Brad as an excuse—”

“Joel.” You bit your lip, trying to shake your head, but his hands stopped you. His other thumb moved back and forth in adoration on your cheek.

“I just–I know I failed you. I know I failed Ellie too. I made you a promise that I would never do that again, and I broke it.” His voice cracked, and he let out a huff of air.

“Joel, you didn’t.” Your hand moved up to his chest, stroking back and forth, and he closed his eyes. “You didn’t fail anyone.”

He shook his head. “I did. I did fail you. When I saw the b-blood that—” He paused at the gut-wrenching memory, “I couldn’t get to you. I-I couldn’t help you, darlin’.”

Your breath hitched. Joel was worried about trying to help you. Not saved—like you were some damsel in distress. Not saved, as in pushing you aside and using his ego like others would. Not rescue you. Not recovering you. He wanted to help you.

“Oh, Joel.” Your hand goes to cup his cheek, “Look at me. Joel—” His eyes snapped open, and he stared at your breath-takingingly beautiful, teary face. “You did help me.”

He opened his mouth to disagree, but you beat him to it. “You carried me all that way, and no one else could do that. Maria had a broken wrist, Tommy has noodle arms,” Joel lets out a snort, “And we can’t rely on a complete stranger to carry me back home. You did. You helped me more than anyone else in this damn world.”

A sob escaped his lips at your sweet affirmation. Tears cascaded down his cheeks, and he surged your cheeks forward to his, lips desperately pressing against your own.

They swallow you—burning a fire inside of you and your hands gripping his chest so tight that you were afraid he would vanish if you hadn’t. He licks into you, moaning.

“Sunshine.” He said, a smile turning up on his lips. He pressed his own back onto yours, so chaste and tender that it makes your knees buckle. “I’m sorry. I love you.”

His lips moved to your neck, and he whispered that against your skin.“I’m sorry. I love you.” His hands flittered down to your hips and gradually started to move you toward the bed.

You whispered right back at him. “I’m sorry. I love you.” You could feel his lips curl into a smile on your skin, lips still pressing against the base of your neck and your collarbone. “I’m sorry. I love you.”

He gently laid you down on top of the bouncy mattress, hovering over you. He started to take off his jeans, and you do the same with your sweatpants. He gently unbuttoned his shirt, but his eyes never left yours. In fact, they were boring into you. They were glittering under the dimmed light. They were bursting full of love and worship for everything and everything you.

He leans over on top of you, and one of his hands gently massages your breast. You wantonly sighed, pressing kisses onto his scruffy gray beard. A hand gently rests on your hip, sparking a hot sensation on your skin. His thumb swipes back and forth, and it takes everything in you not to let tears roll down your face once more.

“I love you, sunshine.” He said it with such adoration and love that your heart seizes in your chest. His cock slipped into you easily, the arousal from earlier and the dripping now mixed and connected.

“Joel, I love you—I love you.” He moaned at the clench of your walls. His lips lowered to press soft kisses to your chest. He thrust deep, the head of his cock piercing through you. The sweet contrast of Joel was making you feel dizzy.

He pulled back just a little. He wanted to look at you—he wanted to see you. Your mouth hangs wide open for him, whines and whimpers escaping your throat. “J-Joel! Feels so good, Joel.”

He smiled, “Yeah, Darlin’? Love my cock, don’t you?”

You gasped, preening into him. “Yes! Joel—” He thrusted into hard and his deep, hips brushed up against yours. “F-Fuck, baby—”

“Y’Pussy feels so fuckin’ tight, sunshine.” His lips pressed so gently against your skin, tasting the salt that seeped through. He groaned, hips slapping up and puncturing through you.

“Joel, I love—love you.” You whined. His hand moved to swirl circles on your clit. You could feel the pressure build and burst through you.

“Gonna cum, sunshine? Yeah, that’s it. Cum for me. Cum all over my cock.”

You mewled, and he pushed into you a couple of times before you scream his name. “Joel! Joel, I—I love you, I love you.”

“Fuck, my sweet sunshine—” He grunts, coil snapping on his own and clashing against his abdomen. His cock twitched inside your walls, and he spilled inside of you.

He pumps you full, while muttering under his breath. “I love you, sunshine. I—fuck—oh—I love you.” You whined his name over and again while he did the same.

You clutched onto one another, desperate to be as close as possible. His lips pressed against your cheeks, leaving soft and gentle kisses in his path. He moaned as he felt your walls clench once more around him.

You opened your eyes, flickering over his wrinkled lines and strong nose. You wanted to hold him forever, and he no doubt felt the same.

After six weeks of pure agony, Joel finally felt whole again. He had you by his side, and he felt so loved by your presence.

You were glad to be finally awake. The toll of being under for so long definitely affected you and your body. But, you couldn’t be happier than to share a little moment with Joel. Your Joel.

Finally, after quite a while of enjoying each other's company—pressing soft kisses and caressing each other's skin—you break the silence. “We should probably go tell Ellie we’re okay.”

He nods in agreement, but he makes no sudden movements. “Jus’ five more minutes, darlin’?”

You gave him a big smile. “Yeah. Five more minutes, handsome.”

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x y/n #joel miller x you #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller smut #the last of us #the last of us smut #the last of us fanfiction #the last of us hbo #tlou #tlou fanfiction #smut

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guessm0del · 10 months

Text

Little Red Riding Hood

Chapter One - Kill Or Be Killed

Summary: Living a life of caution for as long as she can remember, Y/N has never stayed too long in one place, always moving from town to town in hopes to hide her identity. With the Hunters Moon coming, she knows she must be extra careful, as the local culture resides heavily in the hunting of her kind. One night, when a cloaked figure unveils her secret and narrowly escapes, Y/N finds herself in a desperate situation: kill or be killed. With no face to go by, she must now search through the townsfolk before the stranger can spread the truth about her. But the task proves more than difficult when she realises her only lead is a long, crimson cloak.

Genre: horror, fantasy, little red riding hood retelling

Warnings: cursing, stalking, death, heavy smut (later included)

Pairing: redridinghood!Jungwon x femwolf! reader

next chapter

A branch snaps. Something is wrong.

I whirl around, casting quick glances to every corner of the forest. A rehearsal, like I’d done every Hunters Moon as a girl.

A confirmation.

A silence.

A knowing.

Someone is watching.

My eyes scan the turret of green abyss before me, checking every leaf, every branch with eager uniformity.

I scrutinise each passing spec, scanning the forest for something out of place, something that doesn’t belong. But even in the dead of night the forest remains regal with grace, beckoning me to try and find its flaw.

When I finally conclude that my hiding acquaintance must be some stumbling stag, I go to turn back to the river and notice a flicker of motion to my left.

I stop dead in my tracks.

Something that doesn’t belong.

Got you.

I race across the clearing, diving head first into the forest without hesitation, but this stranger is smart, and from what I can gather, eager to hide his identity as I watch his red cloak shift fervently through the trees, concealing any hint of skin as he swiftly dodges all obstacles in his path. Suddenly, he trips over a fallen branch and lands face first on the ground. He groans in pain and I slow in my pace, preparing to make haste of my short advantage.

But before I can do anything of the sort, he’s hoisting himself up, grabbing at his foot that’s stuck firm in the mud.

Thank the heavens for yesterdays rain.

I go to resume in my advances, but he’s gone before I can pounce, yanking his foot from the ground and making another run for it.

No.

The voice in my head rings clear, precise with its set instruction.

He mustn’t get away.

In one last eager attempt to catch him, I grab a rock nearby and aim it towards his leg, praying that the gods will spare me this one small decency, at least for today.

The figure doesn’t bother brushing the filth off his cloak, making a priority of his escape as he runs off. A smart one. I find myself admiring his resolve to live, and almost feel bad as I watch the heavy stone smash into his left leg, causing him to stumble down the hill at an awkward position. I follow, but at a slower pace this time.

He could be armed.

And yes, just as I had hoped, the stranger awaits at the bottom of the hill, rocking side to side as he groans in agony and clutches at his knee. He makes no attempt to get up, although as I inch closer, I realise my throw was so strong he mightn’t be able to. He stops groaning as I approach. He’s getting ready.

My hand slowly grabs at the small dagger tucked into my side, drawing it out in one sly motion. I feel him stiffen as I straddle his lap, much too clouded in pain to react as I grab his hands and prepare to tie them above his head. “Sneaky thing, aren’t you?” I remark, breathing hard between laughs as I lower my dagger just above his adams apple. “Maybe next time you’ll think twice before following me into the woods, boy.” His face remains covered by his crimson cloak, but I feel him breathing hard beneath it. I go to push it aside, but he abruptly pushes forward, banging his head against mine with fever.

I stumble backwards, moaning in pain. “You insolent little-” But it’s too late, the figure is already sprinting away into the dark forest. My hands find their way to my forehead, cradling what I know will be bruised tomorrow. Scrambling to my feet, I watch from afar as he pushes on, occasionally stopping to quickly relieve some pressure off his leg. I curse, kicking a nearby clump of dirt and sending it soaring through the trees. Brushing the dirt off my hair, I feel a surge of rage boil beneath my skin as I watch him cautiously cast quick glances behind him. The darkness makes it impossible for me to see his features clearly from this distance.

Dammit, I’m screwed.

I pace back and forth, considering running after him, but it’s too late, he’s too far gone now. He’s morphed into a small crimson spec now, limping as he makes a b-line for town.

Dammit.

Helena is going to be livid. But it doesn’t matter, because deep down I know she’s not the one I’m worried about.

The townspeople are.

Not to mention Mary, Jiwon and.…Heeseung. They’ll never speak to me again.

No, worse. They’ll push for my execution.

Wait. A tinge of cold air licks at my arm as I stop dead in my tracks. Red drops paint the dirt beneath me. My gaze follows the winding trail down the path.

Blood.

The fool has left me a trail.

I kneel to the ground, coating a finger in the red liquid and bringing it to my nose. His scent fills my senses, and I feel myself letting go. The blood smells sweet, like warm sugar and cinnamon. I bet it would it taste even better. My breath catches in my throat as I struggle to repress the small voice gnawing at my sanity. Go on. With shaky hands, I bring the blood to my lips, letting my mouth stop just short of contact. Let go. A howl echoes from across the forest. I snap out of my trance and shake my head, regaining my thoughts. I don’t have time for this. Deep breaths, in and out.

I am in control.

I turn back to the small village in the distance, the same town I have called home for the last 8 months. Avion. A quaint little village hustled in the centre of a frozen paradise, home to over 200 people…

and tonight, one of them is going to die.

_____________________________________________

Authors Note:

lmao can I just say thank you to all of yous that picked Jungwon in my previous poll cause gawd dayum I couldn’t stop picturing him as red riding hood and i suddenly regretted putting up a poll for ppl to choose LMAO 🤣

anyway ik this chapter was short but dw it was only short cause it was more like a prologue than an actual chapter lol

anyway peace out, me has got 2 go and start working on chapter two💀 bye bye

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stormhearty · 3 months

Text

Pairings: Former Azriel x Reader

Word Count: 3.3k

Triggers: nightmares, mentions of blood, death, depression

Summary: It has been several years since your death and your tenth death anniversary is coming up once more. It had, and always will be, a difficult time for the Inner Circle — the regret and remorse evident in the River House. Even though it had been a decade, the evidence of the loss of your light still echoed heavily throughout Pyrthian. Here are how the Inner Circle copes and mourns during the death anniversary.

Note: From this request! Thank you for sending this request and for loving Pushed to the Edge! I do hope this is a bit of extra angst for the ending. It's mostly in Azriel and a bit of Rhysand's POV. We all know that Feyre mourns often the reader's death (since she goes to Day Court during the burial), so I thought it would be good just to mostly focus on Azriel's and a bit of Rhysand's. Also, the meanings of the flowers I placed in the description for Helion’s ceremony for the reader’s death:

Calla - beauty Cattail - peace White Heather - protection Purple Hyacinths - sorrow Ivy - affection White Poppies - Consolation, eternal sleep Tea and dark crimson roses - Mourning and I’ll always remember Sweetpea & Cyclamen - Goodbye, departure Amaryllis - Pride Pink Carnations - I’ll never forget you Iris - Your friendship means so much to me

I hope you all enjoy!

<Pushed to the Edge> Masterlist

His hands shook as they dripped in blood, warm and sticky. Hazel hues followed the trail of blood to a familiar body.

A cry of grief escaped his lips as he crawled over to your body, Truth-Teller piercing through your chest. Your body was unmoving from its prone position. Azriel gently cradled your body in his arms, tears blurring his vision as he looked at your features — one that was etched with so much pain that his heart ached at the sight of it.

“I’m so sorry, my love… I… I’m sorry that I abandoned you, I’m sorry for my infidelity towards you… I’m sorry that I killed you. I’m just… so sorry…” He was sorry for many things. There were too many things he could apologize for but none of them he could whisper to you to bring you back to him. He would have to pay for his transgressions for the rest of his immortal life — the Gods would never give him another chance with her; the Gods would never gift him with another mate as amazing as her.

He was about to press another kiss against your forehead only to watch shadows, his shadows, rise from the ground and slowly start to wrap around your body.

Azriel growled at them, “Leave us alone, leave her with me.. that's all I ask. Don't you fucking dare take her…!”

They didn't listen to him as tendrils of darkness fully wrapped your body before taking your body in whips of shadow. He tried to grab your body before it disappeared but failed.

“No…!!!”

Azriel woke up with a start, chest heaving as he painted, his hand stretched out as if to grab something — your body — from the shadows. His body wracked with a strong shiver, before he slumped against the headboard, a groan escaping his chest as he ran his hand over his face.

Another nightmare.

Every night, for the last decade, he would dream of you — in all different scenarios — ones he would have you in his arms, in bed, sweet and gentle moments; others ( and most of the time ) it was your death, feeling the echo of the mating bond resonate in his chest, watching your body die in his arms, or even watching himself stab you through your heart.

Ever since that fateful day, he has not gotten a decent night’s sleep. Dark circles stained underneath his hazel eyes and those hazel eyes, that used to shine for you, have dullened. Very little things had made him brighten up nowadays — probably the only thing was the birth of his nephew, Nyx. And Nyx has been the only thing that has kept him surviving all these years — along with living with the guilt and pain of your death.

Azriel let out a muffled sob, pressing a hand against his lips as he allowed the nightmare to pass wracks of shivers through his body. Hazel hues shifting from his sweat-stained bed to the large floor-to-ceiling windows, the glow of the full moon beaming down into his room.

He knew he wasn't going to get another wink of sleep tonight. Slipping out of bed, bare feet pressing against the cool wooden floors, he slipped on a simple black tee and sweatpants before stepping out of his room, and down the spiral staircase to the massive garden of the River House.

Azriel usually avoided the gardens, knowing that Elain would be there tending to them.

Their relationship was non-existent at this point. After your death, he cut off all contact and interactions with her, feeling disgusted with himself with even just the sight of her.

For the first couple of months, Elain tried to rebuild her relationship with the Inner Circle; however, after her lies were exposed, it had been a tough road. Rhysand, Cassian, and Azriel had ignored her, to the point that Rhysand had ordered Elain to live in the old Townhouse to give comfort to the rest of the family. She would only come to the River House when Feyre would ask her to help tend the gardens. Otherwise, even the Archeron sisters had little contact with the middle sister.

Azriel’s feet led him to a familiar part of the gardens, the only place he would go to that would calm the echo of the empty mating bond in his chest.

After your burial, Feyre sent the image of the statue that Helion had created in your making to the Inner Circle. And in honor of you, Rhysand made one as well — a statue of you, but in Night Court fashion — the opposite of your image in Day Court. Wearing a dark blue dress, one covered with stars, with a moon circlet on your head.

Azriel basked in the statue’s liking to you, seeing the moon’s light radiate behind the statue like a halo made him smile — just a tiny bit. He shifted, sitting down on the bench that was in front of the statue. He leaned forward, pressing his elbows onto his thighs.

“…Hi my love…” he whispered as he looked up at the statue, “Another nightmare… brings me to you.”

A sigh escaped his lips as he felt tears prick the edge of his eyes, and he blinked to fight them away. He has fought so many tears every night, that Azriel felt like his whole body had dried up with how many tears he had shed since your death. He knows he shouldn’t complain, that his grief was evidence that he deserved all the things he had done to you. We all will continue to live with our betrayal. Live and regret, as Rhysand and Cassian told him that day.

Staring back up at the statue, his eyes glanced up at the twinkling stars above Valeris and muttered the singular wish, a wish he had wished for every year, “I hope that at Starfall I will see your light twinkling in the skies above, where you will streak across that beautiful night sky, finding your peace…”

After sitting in front of that statue for several hours, he decided to fly up to the House of Wind to the training balcony and train there. He forgone his black shirt and focused on his training, using every ounce of pain and grieving to train. He stayed up there, time passing quickly until he felt the claws of his brother scrape down his mental shields. Azriel sighed and looked up at the bright blue sky, not even noticing how the day had become midday, the hot sun beating down against his sweaty skin.

“…Azriel…” a light, airy voice called his name.

He let out an animalistic growl before he grabbed his shirt from the chair he had flung it onto, slipping it on his form before spreading his wings to fly. He heard the quickened steps, seeing Elain in his peripherals, the middle Archeron’s sister’s eyes begging at him to look at her.

“…Stay away from me, Elain… I swear to the Gods, if you try to look for me again, I’ll have my High Lord and High Lady dump you on the borders of the human realm to leave you to their discretion…”

Elain frowned at him, stepping into his view, “You cannot put all the blame on me. I have tried to win you and my family’s graces back… I don’t know what I can do to get on your good graces again…”

Azriel glared at the Made-Fae, “… No, I cannot put all the blame on you, I blame mostly myself on falling for you. I never realized why I had after being mated to (Y/N) for nearly fifty years… I could have had my forever with her… And yet, my blind infatuation with you cost us that. I don’t want to do anything with you, as my way to repent… my way to live and regret for the rest of my immortal life without her…”

With one last glare, and without letting the Made-Fae say anything else, Azriel shot off into the mid-day sky, waving through the cool air of Valeris and back to the River House. He landed on the balcony and entered, walking into the large dining room where his family was situated. He noticed the solemn air that coated the room as he sat down in his usual spot, next to Mor and across from Cassian. Hazel eyes wandered the table and noticed the absence of his High Lady.

Rhysand noticed the look from his Spymaster and answered the unasked question, “Feyre went to Day Court this morning…”

That was all it took for realization to hit Azriel — it was your tenth death anniversary this week. A shaky sigh escaped his lips as he leaned back against his chair — ten years without your light. No wonder he felt horrible that day, no wonder why his nightmares seemed to be worse than ever before.

It was as if his subconscious knew.

Azriel knew that after this breakfast, he would be able to crawl back into bed and cry there — he didn’t have to do anything for the rest of that week. He would be able to wallow in his depression in the comfort of his room.

Rhysand, after the first year of your death, had declared that week a period of silence — a mourning period that allowed Valeris and most of Night Court to grieve over your death. To repent and live. It was a week where he didn’t send anyone on missions, and stores throughout Valeris were closed over the week.

The Inner Circle ate in silence, the clattering of silverware was the only thing that echoed in the grand space. No one said a word, though Azriel could feel the shifting gazes towards his way. His fingers gripped the silverware in his hands, feeling the metal bend in his strength. A frown tugged on his features, suddenly losing his appetite. He placed the utensils down, the evidence of his slight anger on the bent pieces of metal, before standing up.

He could see Mor, in his peripheral shift slightly. Azriel huffed slightly, unaware of the looming energy he was radiating until he felt a tap against his mental shields. Hazel eyes looked over to his High Lord who had given him a raised brow.

“Reign in your anger, brother… We are just worried, as usual,” Rhysand had whispered into his head.

They know how hard it has been for him over the past decade. The Inner Circle had been present through every nightmare, every depressive episode, every self-loathing that Azriel had gone through — and is still going through to this day. All of them had tried to help him lessen the burden of regret; however, they knew that the Spymaster would never let anyone shoulder his pain — not when he was the cause of it.

Azriel felt his tears line his reddened eyes, “…I know, and I thank you for that, brother… May I just grieve on my own… May I be excused?”

Hazel and violet eyes stared at each other for a moment before Rhysand nodded his head, “I will tap on your shields again when Feyre is at the ceremony…”

His head nodded before the Spymaster stalked out of the dining room, feeling all eyes on him. He climbed up those spiral staircases again before entering his bedroom with a slam of his door. A shiver wracked through his body, eyes shutting close as he tried to prevent another breakdown. He shuffled his feet, towards the bed and lay there.

He will never be okay — no matter how many decades, how many centuries have passed, he will always feel that emptiness of the bond in his chest. He would never feel you tug on that golden string that connected the two of you, nor he won’t hear your laugh whenever Cassian or Mor would tell you a joke. He won’t feel your fingers trace along his scars or place ointment on his hands whenever they were cramped and strained after a mission.

There were days — which were the worse of them — when he would hallucinate you were still alive. In that very bedroom, he would feel, smell, and see your very figure walking through that room. He could see your light, he could hear your voice… but whenever he would reach out to try to hold you, touch you, you would be gone in a whisp of light.

Azriel hated those days. He would find himself in a heap on the ground, crying. His brothers or even Mor would find him in that state at the end of the day and would plead for him to go to bed and rest. And with their help, he would lay in that large bed, bigger than his wings would span out to, to just stare at the expanses of that ceiling. Rest would never come to him easily anymore, not without a tonic from Madja or if Rhysand would slip into his mind and coax him to sleep.

He would continue to live on as an empty shell — one that would continue life without feeling your light.

Rhysand let out a shaky breath after Azriel had left the dining room, a hand running through his dark locks as he slumped against his chair.

It had been difficult, the last decade was like walking on broken glass around Azriel. The High Lord knew that his brother was suffering, but Rhysand also knew it was the consequences of his actions — of all of their actions against (Y/N). All of them, especially himself and Azriel, would continue to suffer for it.

Rhysand was thankful to the Mother that Feyre had been there throughout the past decade to help shoulder the pain, to shoulder the regret. And he had tried to do the same with Azriel; however, the former Shadowsinger wouldn’t let anyone touch him, wouldn’t let anyone help him through his emotions. And he watched as Azriel broke himself apart because of his pain. The High Lord watched every single day, every year, for the past decade, his brother becoming a shell. Even when he had sent Azriel on missions, the Fae would come back, finishing his assignment quickly and swiftly, though Rhysand could see blood and bruises that contrasted against leather.

Every time, every single time, Azriel had returned from those missions, Rhysand had seen the increased amount of wounds against immortal skin. And when confronted, Azriel had whispered in truth, “It’s the only time I feel pain… To feel the echo of the pain against my skin… Any other time, I can’t feel anything…”

That had broken the High Lord.

He had banned, much to his dismay and Azriel’s anger, the former Spymaster to go on said missions. He had changed Azriel’s title, and became an emissary, along with Mor to the Continent. Azriel hated him — and probably still hated him to this day. But it was the only way to keep his brother from hurting himself, from being hurt, and to keep his family together — as much as possible.

The High Lord stood up from his chair, giving a small smile to his family as he left the dining room and walked his way to his office, allowing the silence to seep into his body. Rhysand busied himself with work, the only thing that would occupy his time and mind during the week of mourning. If he didn’t, he would, like his brother, be stuck in his mind — in his nightmares — of failing you as your High Lord.

He felt a tap of his mental shields, his mate scraping and sending down a wave of love towards his end.

"Are you okay?” Feyre asked him and Rhysand leaned against his chair and allowed his mate to send visions of her time at Day Court.

“I think so… Just, trying to keep myself occupied you know. How is it at Day? How is Helion?”

“He’s probably the same as you and Azriel.. all of us, mourning. But he’s keeping up appearances, he is ensuring this year’s ceremony will be grand. It is her tenth year being gone from this world…”

Rhysand wouldn’t hold it against Helion if this ceremony would be a grand, beautiful one to celebrate your life… to mourn for your death. You had, after all, deserved it. You had risked your life, your light, to protect all of Prythian… you had to be celebrated one way or another.

He watched the vision of the grand Day Court halls, lined with Calla, Cattail, White Heather, Purple Hyacinths, Ivy, White Poppies, and Tea and dark crimson roses — all flowers that echoed the sentiments of all of Prythian. It was a gorgeous sight, one that Rhysand wished to see in person. Tears pricked his eyes as he wiped them away with a finger, as he felt another wave of support from his mate.

"Be safe, darling Feyre… If you need me to take Nyx, do just call me… I can take him from your hands…"

A small laugh echoed, and in his head he could see the image of Nyx standing next to his mother, looking up at the golden statue of you.

"I think he deserves to know who she is, Rhys… He will be fine…"

With one last tug on that bond, Rhysand closed the connection between the two of them.

A book, he had thought, a book would be good to immortalize your story. With ink and paper, he started to write… determined to ensure your story would be known for centuries to come.

A tap against his shields started Azriel from his stupor. He straightened in the armchair he had occupied in his bedroom, eyes darting to the window to see what time of day it was. He hadn’t slept for the past few days, his nightmares plaguing him even while awake. He would mindlessly walk around that room, keeping himself occupied to keep the nightmares at bay. He didn’t sleep, he hadn’t showered — he wallowed in his sadness.

And so when that scrape of darkness against his mind startled him out of his sadness, he lowered it slightly to allow his High Lord to send him the vision that his High Lady was sending him.

Tears pricked at the edge of his eyes as he saw that magnificent statue of you at your grave.

Oh, how he wished and begged for the Mother to allow him, even for a brief moment, to bask in that golden statue — to feel Day Court’s sun mimic the warmth that you had always radiated.

He watched from that armchair the ceremony, hearing Helion speak so fondly of you. Azriel could hear the High Lord’s voice crack and break at every mention of your name. He could see the pain in his features as he talked about how it had been ten years since your death. He watched as Helion looked at that statue with so much fondness — a father, mourning the loss of his child.

The ceremony lasted a couple of hours, allowing people to walk up to the statue to place all types of flowers on top of that gravesite. He watched as the familiar hands of his High lady held up a bouquet — a mixture of Sweetpea, Amaryllis, Pink Carnations, Cyclamen, and Iris — to the statue before placing it down on the grave as well.

He heard her whisper words of fondness, love, and regret before stepping away and back to her spot in the crowd.

The last thing he heard, was from his nephew, who whispered to his mother, “I wish to have known her… She is well loved, even after she has died…”

That had choked not only Azriel up, but he could feel the pain in Feyre’s voice as she looked down at the boy who was merely ten years into his immortal life.

“…I wish you could have known her as well, Nyx… She was a light in everyone’s life. She had made your uncle’s life the best it had been when she was still with us. We wish we could have done so much better to her…”

Azriel watched as Feyre caressed the black locks of his nephew before the vision passed. And all Azriel could do was cry — cry his love, his sorrow, his regret.

#acotar fanfiction #acotar x reader #a court of thorns and roses #acotar fic #acotar angst #azriel x reader #azriel angst #( .inbox request : death anniversary )#( .one shot : pushed to the edge )

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whirlybirbs · 6 months

Text

— THE FALL ; SUGURU GETO ; 夏油傑

summary: it's loud. geto can silence it. pairing: suguru geto / f!reader ; set post-hidden inventory wc: 3.6k tags: mentions of drug reliance, sleep deprivation, darker themes, wholesome crushes, jujutsu high more like jujutsu university, texting as a plot device, hot n heavy make-out sesh included between the angst a/n: (johnny cash voice) i hhurt.... myselff... todaay....

YOU MISS NOTHING more than you miss sleep.

you crave the welcoming, black, empty bliss; the slip of the other-world passing like a fog behind your eyelids. an embrace as heavy as an anchor in a pitch colored sea. endless — rest.

the veil is thinner now, in the silence of night.

it's when the voices are loudest.

your ears ring with nonsensical chatter condensed into whispered pleading. the spirits reach out to you, hands grasping for purchase in your energy. they clamor and cling, desperate to be heard.

they talk. and talk. and talk and TALK.

... you could take the zolpidem.

the bottle on your nightstand stares at you in the bleeding red light of your clock. the sedative, crimson and etched, nearly begs to be swallowed down just as you've done every night since you were young.

but it's different now.

since the hallucinations, since the forgetting. since... since a month ago, now. since yu. since you started to wonder if all this, if jujutsu sorcery, was worth it.

the pill promises sleep. it promises unmoving silence. it may promise a ball and chain, but with it's driven stake it promises a dampened sense of awareness to the second world around you — of spirit and curse. peace.

they also promise emptiness. drifting confusion. sadness. dreams where you're all smiling again.

you roll over.

and then you watch the stars fade, and the sun rise.

suguru geto.

you find it hard to sit in his presence.

you wonder if he knows the curses he carry chatter away in your ears. you wonder if he hears them too; if their words have ever struck their mark.

he is a talented exorcist.

you are a talented investigator.

you two would work well together.

but, now — in this world — you two are hardly anything more than stars passing in the night sky.

that will change.

"you haven't been sleeping."

his voice is deep — the cadence is calming. if you focus hard, you can tune out the river of whispers that follow him like a shadow.

you turn, casting a look over your shoulder.

your eyes feel heavy. your lashes are weighed down by the hours and hours and hours of the passing days. suguru looks no better. he stalks down the hallway towards you.

you and suguru are hardly friends. more like passing acquaintances. you much preferred solitude, and you found gojo to be unsteady — and where one was, the other was close behind. gojo is capable, yes, but far too explosive for you.

after all, you listen.

what you hadn't realized is — in this moment — that suguru has been doing the same.

in your nook, nestled away in the morning sun, you're gripping your journal. in this part of the dorms, it's quieter. far from everyone, you find the energy has settled into a low hum. you can write here.

but recently, the pen scratches have become more desperate.

WHO AM I? WHO AM I? WHO AM I? W̶H̸O̴ ̴A̴M̶ ̵I̸? W̶H̸O̴ ̴A̴M̶ ̵I̸? W̶H̸O̴ ̴A̴M̶ ̵I̸? W̵̙̦̤͌̓͝H̵͎̓O̴̟̓́͘ ̸̧̺̫̿́Ả̶̘͖͜M̵̯̪͔̀̕ ̵̺͂͜I̴̹͑?̴̮̻͔̉̀ W̵̙̦̤͌̓͝H̵͎̓O̴̟̓́͘ ̸̧̺̫̿́Ả̶̘͖͜M̵̯̪͔̀̕ ̵̺͂͜I̴̹͑?̴̮̻͔̉̀ W̵̙̦̤͌̓͝H̵͎̓O̴̟̓́͘ ̸̧̺̫̿́Ả̶̘͖͜M̵̯̪͔̀̕ ̵̺͂͜I̴̹͑?̴̮̻͔̉̀

over and over again. over and over. over and over and over—

"the admins are worried," he says with a painful sort of casualness that make you wonder what his goal here is.

you nearly scoff.

you pull your knees closer and close your notebook. shame bites at your ink covered fingertips. you swallow as he sits down on the ledge beside you. his dark eyes level with the ground.

"is that so."

less of a question. more a disregard.

suguru looks up. you look away.

"you sound," he begins slowly, "like you aren't surprised."

you sit in that for a moment. you squirm under his thoughtful gaze. it's nearly painful to be watched so closely by him. suguru geto is handsome; but he is cursed. they bleed into his energy, all of the absorbed curses. they chitter and chat and bite at your senses.

"between you and i," you mutter, "maybe they should be."

he hums. you wonder why you told him that.

he claps his hands before him and leans forward onto his knees.

you wince.

"between you and i," he says slowly, "maybe they should worry about both of us."

geto stands, tucks his hands into his pockets, and watches you for a moment longer. then, without a word, he continues on down the hall towards the dim, lonely exit.

for the first time, you really watch him.

gojo is on a solo assignment.

geto arrives in masamichi's office to find you there already. there is a steaming cup of green tea in your hands. you cradle it close to your chest; this momentary pleasure is enough to make your eyes heavy.

when the sliding door rattles open, you turn your eyes towards him. you cross your legs. your skin itches. the rush of whispers that accompanies him crawls up your face.

suguru notices the wince. he settles down in the seat beside you. his hair is down, spilling over his shoulders. he smells like sandalwood.

you sip your tea.

"i'm sending you both to sawara."

sawara.

chiba prefecture is quiet.

there's the old katori shrine outside of town.

it's dedicated to futsunushi no mikoto; the kami is revered for swordsmanship. a warrior.

the shrine —or whatever has nested in its sacred walls — has been talking for a while now.

you can hear it the moment you step off the train.

geto suguru isn't far behind. your bag, slung over his shoulder, swings as he takes a long stride onto the platform. after all, he insisted.

geto nearly runs into your back; he stops short as people flow out around you. you're rooted there, your boots cemented to the yellowing tile of the station platform.

it's late now. the station's warm, honeyed lights fade into the darkness beyond. suguru can hear frogs chirping in the late summer air. somewhere, a cricket's song crescendos.

geto's eyes momentarily narrow.

"do you feel it?" he asks slowly as the doors close behind him and the train pulls away. your hair whips in the breeze. then, a breathe passes, and everything settles into quiet again.

you stare ahead, through the station.

"i hear it."

with that, you begin moving. suguru inhales, and watches you for a moment longer.

you've always been a hard read.

you're the same year as him, satoru and shoko. but you're cold. tired. you seem to thrive in isolation — no, no. no, you've forced the isolation. suguru sees that.

he's impressed you can sense the curse this far out from the location.

even for him, with his intrinsic ability to commune with them, he feels nothing but the base pulse of cursed energy. no seismic differences.

geto is pulled from his thoughts when you turn and catch his gaze over your shoulder.

his chest tightens for a moment.

the feeling is strange.

like you.

your driver drops you off at a hotel around midnight.

the pink vacant sign hums outside your window.

the sheets are stiff. the closet is musty. your bed is small. at the very least, the water had been hot.

but... suguru.

it's all you can hear.

his curses — not him. the things intwined with his spirit are gossiping in tongues ancient and unknown. they chitter and chirp and giggle and scoff and chatter and talk and talk and talk AND TALK.

you slam your pillow down over your head.

across the hall, suguru is awake.

his head is in his hands.

assignment after assignment. exorcise. absorb. again and again.

how much longer of this can he take?

again and again AND AGAIN—

by his bedside, his phone hums.

he tries to ignore it. but, another ping riles him out of his headspace. heaving a long sigh, the dark haired sorcerer leans to swipe the nokia from its charger.

satoru's name pops up on the screen, and his inbox blinks at him.

[ GOJO: ] a lil birdie told me that ur hanging with the local hot freak this wknd [ GOJO: ] how is she? freaky? ;)

geto scoffs. he's quick to type back. the charm on his phone — a gift from shoko for his birthday last year — sways. the ceramic, worn frog tinkers against the back of his phone.

[ GETO: ] don't b mean. [ GOJO: ] hey i love freaks. ask shoko. she knows. [ GOJO: ] you love freaks 2. u 2 wud b cute 2gthr [ GOJO: ] ... [ GOJO: ] ur ignoring me [ GOJO: ] HELLO!!!!!!11!! [ GETO: ] she is rlly nice. just quiet. talk 2 u tmrw :-) gnight [ GOJO: ] go get ur goodnight kiss buddy ilysm

he flips the phone shut and tosses it down to the sheets.

just in time for a series of quiet knocks to garner his attention.

heaving himself upwards, the sorcerer opens the door with a quirked expression.

on the other side of the door, you're standing there.

your face is contorted into pain.

before he can even open his mouth, you're gritting out a pained snarl.

"can you keep it down?"

geto blinks. "...i'm sorry?"

"you're loud. too loud."

his dark eyes widen.

oh.

and suddenly, as if someone has slipped cotton in your ears, there's near silence. not complete. but muffled. it's enough — and suddenly you realize that suguru understood.

he listened.

somehow, he's banished any curses from his radius. a minor exorcism, maybe? a domain? it's... fuck, it's quiet.

his eyes are soft. "i hadn't realized."

you feel as if someone has suddenly shoved a dozen roses down your throat. they threaten to spill from your mouth.

your voice is quiet.

"...no one ever does."

you're stunned into a breathless awe.

and then he smiles. "i am sorry — i hadn't realized how sensitive your technique was. it was rude of me to not consider how my own may impact you."

you're gobsmacked. you stare up at him in the dim light of the hotel doorway. you swallow. "don't apologize."

"you're not sleeping," he says as he tucks his hands into his pockets, "because of me. so, apology earned."

you shake your head. slow at first. then, you screw your eyes shut tight.

"it's not you."

"no?"

"no."

suguru crosses his arms. "you haven't slept in a while."

subconsciously you mimic him, closing off your body as you roll your head around and shrug. "you said it yourself — admin is worried."

he hums. "and nothing helps?"

normally, you'd pull away — leave the conversation. too much talking. too much noise. but it's quiet, and suguru smells like sandalwood. it must be his shampoo. something. you're rooted here under his dark gaze.

"i have sleeping pills," you mutter as your lashes flutter. his gaze is still and solid.

"do they help?"

"i see things. i... i dream," you don't know why you're telling him this, "and i feel wrong. and i forget."

his chest aches again.

"how...? how did you...?" you gesture tiredly about; you're referencing the silence. the stillness, "it's... peaceful."

geto toes the carpet with his black socks. "you listen to curses. i talk to them. at the root of it, it's that simple."

you exhale.

your shoulders relax.

you close your eyes.

"thank you, suguru."

"any time," he says.

and he means it.

the shrine has been talking for a while now.

that night, the talking becomes yelling and the yelling becomes shrieking.

you head out to the shrine at sunrise.

the dew is still fresh on the grass. the torii, a deep red, bleeds into your vision as you step through the archway and into the sacred space. ahead, the shrine stands tall.

the shrieks are louder now.

clinging to the doorway of the haiden, the prayer hall, is a curse.

beneath it lays the body of a woman. her shōzoku is splayed about her like a puddle of snow. her chest has been ripped open. pitch black hair spills down the steps, and feet away lays her kanmuri.

behind you, geto frowns.

"there's something in the shrine," you say as you hold the curses gaze.

suguru nods. this shrine's cursed energy is all wrong. there's more here than this simple manifestation.

"i'm going in," you say as you step forward, "i trust you won't take too long out here, geto."

his brow quirks. he nearly smiles. "well, well. someone's feeling rested."

you throw him a slow smile over your shoulder.

it's the first time he's ever seen it.

his chest ignites.

you disappear into the shrine, stepping over the woman's body. the curse above the doorway — with it's snapping jaws and bulbous eyes — has disregarded you in favor for geto's surge of energy.

"be careful," geto calls.

you throw him a thumbs up and melt away into the dark.

it was a ceremonial dagger.

masamichi has it locked away upon return to the tokyo campus.

upon touching it back at the shrine, it poured out centuries worth of horror. whispered depictions of death rushed up to the surface; it nearly burned to hold. the voices that accompanied it were tortured and pained. the rattle of a hundred last breaths were a choir in your ears.

suguru geto carried the exorcised parcel all the way back to tokyo in his pack.

masamichi commends you both on a job well done.

as you're leaving his office, geto nudges your arm gently with his.

you look up.

he has his phone extended.

"i meant it, y'know, about the whole 'any time' thing."

your eyes brighten.

you hold his gaze as a smile pulls at your cheeks. you take the cellphone, eyeing the new contact screen momentarily before beginning to thumb in your information.

"heyo! look who's back!"

geto turns, spotting satoru and shoko down the hall.

immediately, satoru spots you. and geto's phone in your hands.

gasp—!

A CONTACT SCREEN? a PHONE NUMBER?

... HIS BEST FRIEND REALLY IS GROWING UP...

you nudge geto. you hand him his cell back.

"here."

suguru blinks. "i'll... i'll text you."

"sure," you nod as a bit of nerves creep in as his two best friends approach closer, "definitely."

"okay," suguru is staring at you.

you're smiling.

"okay," you confirm, nodding.

you turn, offer him a slight wave. suguru swallows as you shuffle a bit, watching him a moment longer. he offers up his own sheepish wave.

he feels like himself.

it's the next day, right before noon, when you receive a text from an unknown number.

[ TXT: ] picking up lunch. want anything?

you're in the library, nested in the stacks as you pour over some readings on sorcerers throughout history and notable curse users. frankly, you'd lost interest an hour ago. but, essays are essays.

somehow, you know it's geto.

[ YOU: ] i'll owe you. [ GETO: ] don't worry abt it :-) where r u? [ YOU: ] floor 3 of the library. working on an essay [ GETO: ] coming :-)

... cute.

he brings you and onigiri and a soda. he eats with you, and you don't even realize the gentle quiet that's enveloped you both until the warmth of exhaustion creeps in and nothing is there to fight it.

suguru can see your eyes get heavier.

"take a nap. i'll keep watch."

so you do after you smile at him the way he loves.

[ GETO: ] u in the library again? [ YOU: ] u stalking me? :p [ GETO: ] bringing u lunch [ GETO: ] be up soon [ YOU: ] ur 2 sweet :,)

it's a new routine that quickly evolves.

in the library, during your study period, suguru brings lunch and you slip asleep in peaceful quiet after eating while he works. both of you, on full stomachs, settle into comfort.

suguru silences it all, and finally you can sleep.

an hour of shut eye.

it's been a week of this.

suguru rouses you gently. "rise and shine."

his hand is big and warm along your back.

you inhale sharply. daylight bombards your vision, and you pull your gaze up to see geto hovering over you. his hair is pulled back, and his lips are pulled into a soft smile.

you feel like your world stops for a second.

fuck.

"sorry," you groggily mumble, "i, uh... i guess i'm tired."

"don't be," he says — he moves to gather his papers, "you know, if you need sleep..."

his words trail off.

you rub your face and sit up straight. your back aches from the library's wooden chairs. you roll your neck and try to wring loose the crick in the muscle there.

then, you catch the meaning of his words.

there's that feeling again.

[ YOU: ] good luck on ur assignment [ GETO: ] gonna b gone about week or 2 [ GETO: ] i'm sorry. try 2 sleep 4 me pls [ YOU: ] don't b sorry [ YOU: ] just b safe :) [ YOU: ] see u when ur back :)

three weeks.

it takes three weeks.

you don't sleep.

W̵̙̦̤͌̓͝H̵͎̓O̴̟̓́͘ ̸̧̺̫̿́Ả̶̘͖͜M̵̯̪͔̀̕ ̵̺͂͜I̴̹͑?̴̮̻͔̉̀ W̵̙̦̤͌̓͝H̵͎̓O̴̟̓́͘ ̸̧̺̫̿́Ả̶̘͖͜M̵̯̪͔̀̕ ̵̺͂͜I̴̹͑?̴̮̻͔̉̀ W̵̙̦̤͌̓͝H̵͎̓O̴̟̓́͘ ̸̧̺̫̿́Ả̶̘͖͜M̵̯̪͔̀̕ ̵̺͂͜I̴̹͑?̴̮̻͔̉̀

Ḭ̷̚ ̴̲̮̺̺̥͙̠̖͉̓͜Ç̷͙̠͖̣͙̫̘̰̣̝̹̻̹͝Ȧ̴̧͖͉̙̙͖̥̥̩̼͜ͅṄ̷̜N̸̡̟̭̬͈̘̭̠̽̋̐̐͛̊͂̔́́̾̅̐͘͝ͅͅŐ̴͓͖̞͍͔͓̞̦̪́̌T̶̨̞͕̦͌͋͊̂̉̈́̆́̾̕ ̶̨̫̺̯͇̝̰̦͔̓̊̋̓̃̾̃͛̚͝͠͝K̶̘̼̫̯̀̀̾̅̋̈́̂͋̀͗́͐̀̾E̵̤̘͓̱̺̾̀͊͂͊̄E̷̢͖̝͓͍̭͚̹̘̘̣̊͊̃̋͐̋͆͂̎͛̾͘P̵̱̭̿̃̓̈͗͜͠ ̶̡̛̼̬̯̪͔͙͍͈̽͆̈́̈́̓D̴̜͉̮̠̩̫͎͒̄̐̀̎͛͂̔̒̓̈́͘̕͠͠Ơ̴͔̼͇̖͕̽̑͂̾̇͆́͆̋̈́̊̕̚͝I̵̢̙̘̠̊̏̂̔̈̒͒́͗̈́́́͘Ṉ̸̢̨̟̩̯̌̋͋̾͐̿́̋̏̀͋̄̏̈́̕G̷͎̟̬͕̤̓́͂͒ ̶̛̘͈̝̇̔̇́͑̀͂͋T̷̢̡̢̯̲̲̝̝͓̜̔̈́̄̏͊̾̃͝ͅḨ̷̢̛̺͈̣̭̲͕̙̰͓͉͎̾͛̓̓͐̎̚Į̵̻̥̯͕̙̩̙̦̘̰̲̺̦̞̆͊S̴̥͕̠̪̀̅̓̑͐̒͊̄͂͊̎͂͘̕͝ W̶H̸O̴ ̴A̴M̶ ̵I̸? ń̴͇̾ò̷̹̙ ̸̭͉̂̆ǵ̵̣ḙ̸̢͌t̷͚͓͝o̵͓̓͝ͅ ̶̩̅ḯ̴̫̝̅ ̸̹͚̆m̷̭̉̈́i̶̮̞̾s̷͈̜̕s̸̡̉͐ ̴͔̒͝g̷̰̦͌̅e̴̹͋͊t̵͖̩̑̐o̴͈̝̾ ̶̛͍ẉ̷̜̌̄ḧ̴̠̼́e̷̠̹̿͌r̴̻̫͆̚ë̵͈͎́̀ ̶͕͍̌į̴͎̽̽s̵̗̘̈͝ ̸̠̀̉g̸̤͛̋e̶͔͝t̷̰͒̈o̴͉͋̒

T̴̬͋H̶̰͚͖͕́̒͐̊E̷̠̽̔̈́Ỹ̶͔̈́̊ ̷͈̱͓̽K̵̨͉͓͋͒̅̾E̷̙͗͛͂E̷̻̦̮̊̋P̸̨̬͈̈́̈́͛͝ ̶̢͕̼̒̑͗̈́T̸̨͋̇̀A̵̧̙̹͒̓͘ͅL̷͈̮̇̿̐̾͜K̴̨̳̫̾̅͘ͅI̷̛̟̾͘Ņ̶̎̎Ģ̵̞͝ ̵̯͕͓̈̉́A̸̮̗̿̋̆̕Ņ̶̹̗̒́D̸͇͓̑̐̕ ̸̢̭͕͛͝͠T̶̻̄͝Ä̶͇̻̞́͌͌̈́Ļ̵̳̫̄K̵̤̻̓̓̈́͝Í̶̧̻N̷̹̜͛́G̷͇̤̈̍

you've been pacing in your dorm for the last thirty minutes.

it's 2:38 in the morning.

you cannot sleep.

your phone is in your hand. a text is sitting there, unsent. the cursor winks.

suguru and gojo and shoko returned earlier this evening. you hadn't had time to even say hello to geto before the three were pulled into a briefing with masamichi.

you decided to try and go to bed.

that wasn't happening.

across campus, geto suguru is staring at the ceiling.

he snatches his phone the split moment it goes off. he was waiting. he would never admit that to himself.

[ YOU: ] u awake?

it's not even a minute later that your phone glows alive with his reply.

[ GETO: ] coming

he swears he's never leapt into a pair of joggers faster. he yanks a hoodie on, and trips over himself as he muscles on his trainers. he tries to be quiet, knowing full well that if gojo heard him sneaking out from his room across the hall he would never hear the end of it.

gojo has already been up his ass about you.

at least shoko is sweet about it.

he makes it across campus in record time; and he's fixing his bun when you yank your door open.

something is different.

he's different.

"hi."

his breath catches.

"hey."

there's a moment where both of you just watch one another, lips parted and breaths bated.

then, geto crosses the threshold.

he steps forward, and you take one step back. enough that he's close now. suguru is in your orbit. your hand slips from the door, and he takes it upon himself to close it behind him without looking.

the tension in the air is electric.

it's darker now; your desk lamp illuminates the room and casts inky shadows.

his eyes are bouncing across your features — and you do the same. in the privacy of your room, you feel like your heart is going to burst. in his silence, you feel dizzy.

it's different this time.

near frantic.

the room swims as you let him take a step closer.

your mouth is dry. "i'm sorry it's late — i missed you. and, just, after what you said that time in the library..."

he's toe to toe with you now, towering above you as he leans closer.

"you haven't slept."

"can't... not... without you."

his chest presses to yours. you swallow thickly as he crowds your space. his energy mingles momentarily with yours in a flash of uncontrolled touch.

"this is a bad idea," he croaks.

"you and i," you confirm, nodding as your eyes slip to his mouth, "yea."

"yea," but his hands are slipping along your jaw. he's eyeing your lips, "real bad idea."

you swear it's like someone has run a searing hot knife along your heart — it feels... good. dangerous.

BETWEEN YOU AND I, MAYBE THEY SHOULD WORRY ABOUT BOTH OF US.

"tell me you want me to leave," he mutters; his nose brushes yours and you lift your jaw to chase the touch. his eyes are dark, "tell me to fuck off."

you shake your head. suguru's mouth hangs open. he wets his lips.

"please stay."

the waves crashes down; the kiss is harsh and rough. but it's perfect. it's silent and comforting and frantic and manic and it tells you enough that you shouldn't be shocked when suguru geto falls from grace in a week's time.

but that's not now.

now is hot and messy, mouths mingling as hands root themselves in clothing. it's desperate; desperate enough that you pull him through the room by his hood. it's everything to suguru. it's what he's wanted.

you're different.

you know what it's like to suffer in sorcery.

you make him feel fine. like he isn't splitting at the seams. like he isn't disgusted by every walking bag of flesh on the street. like he isn't falling apart.

you chase his mouth when he pulls away to take a gulp of air; his back finds your door. geto is fast to knot his hands in your shirt and swing you around.

he cages you against the wood.

"this is a bad idea."

you shouldn't be shocked when suguru geto falls from grace in a week's time.

but you're not far behind.

after all, he is the welcoming, black, empty bliss; the slip of the other-world passing like a fog behind your eyelids. an embrace as heavy as an anchor in a pitch colored sea.

he is endless — he is rest.

and they were right to worry about the both of you.

#geto suguru #jjk x reader #getou suguru x reader #suguru x you #suguru geto x you #suguru geto reader insert #suguru geto x y/n #suguru geto imagine #jjk imagine #jjk reader insert #geto x reader #geto x you

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thecuriousquest · 6 months

Text

Demon Siblings

Request: Yandere older brother Muzan with prompt D1? (love ur fics btw!!)

Tag List: @issamomma @repostingmyfavs @chickennugnugnug @palesweetscherryblossom

Prompt Request: “This hurts me more than it hurts you.”

Warnings: Yandere themes, delusions, slapping, Muzan uses his demon powers to punish you, reader tried to escape, blood, injured reader, Reader is a demon

Master List

Yandere Alphabet Prompt List

—————————————————————————

Even though he says it hurts him, he doesn’t quite show it. That expression on his face is constantly neutral unless he’s lashing out in anger. It’s unnerving, especially to be on the receiving end of it, to endure his wrath.

Being a demon is one thing. Being the little sister of Muzan Kibutsuji is a whole different story. His punishments are vile, extreme, cruel, and he always tells you the same thing every time he lights your blood of fire with flames so hot they feel white.

“This hurts me more than it hurts you.”

But his tone is ice cold and calm, deadly like the venom dripping from the fangs of a snake. He glares at you with crimson irises, watching you intently as you writhe on the floor in front of him, beneath him.

You reach out for him. “B-Brother!” It’s all you can scream on an exhale. You can barely manage a singular breath.

Gripping the hem of his pants right at his ankle, you clutch his limb like it’s a lifeline. Salty pearls invade your cheeks, clinging to your damp lashes, but you haven’t the ability to cry. The pain is too much to even be able to wail.

You don’t even recall how you were able to shout for him.

The pain stops suddenly. You curl up in a ball on your side, hugging your knees, shaking violently.

Muzan crouches down, placing a hand on your shoulder. “Does my little sister still think she can go outside the castle against my orders?”

Feeling a fresh wave of defiance wash over you, you turn to glare at him instead of revering him with timid eyes.

“You say it hurts you worse, but I don’t think that’s true. I think…I think you don’t care if you hurt me, and you’re only saying that to make me feel guilty.”

“It seems you haven’t learned your lesson yet. It also looks like you’ve forgotten your place.”

An echo sounds throughout the castle, a sharp crack against your cheek, turning your head to the side. Then, you feel that same pain again, focused on your back this time. It’s overwhelming, and you feel whip-like cuts embedded in your skin.

“Muzan, I won’t leave anymore! Stop it! Brother, please?! End this! I’m begging you!”

How you regret being bold enough to say those things to him. You know better, yet for a singular second, you let all of that go to speak to him with a sharp tongue. You wanted him to know how much pain he causes you, but he’ll never know, he’ll never truly understand no matter how hard you try to convey it.

“Brother!”

You cross your arms over your chest, hugging yourself as you curl even further into a ball. The sensation in your back is growing even worse. The power your brother wields is unfathomably special, and you know that he won’t stop until his anger is satisfied. That could be minutes, hours, days, weeks from now. You never know with him, as fickle as a cat, as unpredictable as his many disciples.

Lying in a pool of vermillion, your chest heaves with heavy breaths as your glassy eyes scan upwards. You study him, the twitch upon his lips as he considers your broken form, his narrowed orbs casting a look of scrutiny upon you.

You both can’t look away from one another until he finally holds you by your arms, helping you to your feet. You take in your blood-soaked kimono with a suffering sob and wipe your eyes free of the salty rivers welling up and cascading down your cheeks.

“Don’t ever tell me I don’t care about my younger sister.” He places a soft kiss on your forehead. “Otherwise, I’ll have to show you the lengths I’m willing to go to just to prove it. You wouldn’t want that, would you?”

Shaking your head quickly, you know exactly what he’s talking about. More discipline. Muzan equates discipline with love, keeping you in line shows how much he cares about you.

“No, Brother, I do not wish it.”

“Very well, then. Let me see your back.”

You turn to him, and he sees that your back hasn’t started healing yet. He has no worries, knowing that the cuts will be closed within the next few minutes. He traces one large gash through the back of your open kimono with a finger, eliciting a sharp hiss and vocal cry from you.

“You’ll be fine shortly. Go find something to do now, something that won’t anger me.”

“Yes, Brother.”

So you disappear to your room and hide away for the time being.

All of that pain in your body, and he barely even touched you. A slap across your face was the only physical torment from him. It was his true power which tortured you into submission.

You shake your head.

I’ll never be able to escape him.

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notthefirstfallenangel · 8 months

Text

Memories III

Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Fem!Reader

Warnings: angst, mention of injury, amnesia, blood, breakdown

Summary: You had your memory wiped after a messed-up mission. All that you remember is your childhood and fragmented glimpses of your teenage and adult years. Poor Simon, your would-be hubby, is left to pick up the pieces when you can't even recall his existence.

Words: 2.1k

A/N: You know what? I'm just not feeling this chapter. Something about it just doesn't sit right with me. : (

part 1 - part 2 - part 3 - part 4

The heart rate monitor’s colours were as bright and flashy as a carnival, flashing crimson and cyan across the sterile walls of the hospital room. Its beeping was a ticking clock that raced with each heartbeat. It echoed in your chest, making it hard to breathe. You could hear it far, far below, but it was there. Something waited behind all thoughts, ideas and emotions; something scratched to emerge from the surface.

You could feel its claws digging as it burrows closer. You could sense its presence and smell its hunger.

You could hear it far, far below, but it was there. The faint scratching came from a deep well inside you. Sometimes, it was soft; sometimes violent in its attempt to burst through the barriers that held it back, driven by an urgency and desire for freedom that you didn’t understand. You heard it while you slept or when attempting to wake up, as if waking up were a nightmare itself. It reminded you of something—a memory—but what? It lingered in the darkness behind your eyes, just beyond your ability to reach out and grab hold of it.

The sound drew closer until it sounded as if it was right next to your ear. Like a headache, the noise pressed against your forehead, making you clench your teeth in frustration.

It only made your mood worse. Guilt gnawed at your heart, a creature with big teeth and nasty breath that wouldn’t stop. Your eyes felt heavy and wet with unshed tears.

You had been so docile and cooperative a week ago, never talking back to the nurses or refusing them anything they asked for. Quietly, you let them take your vitals and listened patiently as they droned on about things that were none of your concern. But that was before the new nurse; she had kind eyes and good intentions. She said, “You’re improving every day; I’m sure you’ll be able to go home soon”. That’s when you snapped. You couldn’t help but feel angry and resentful towards her words. You didn’t want to go home soon; you didn’t want to go home at all. What kind of home could you go back to? A home where you couldn’t even remember the people you loved?

The thought tightened your chest, and you shifted slightly in the hospital bed. Suddenly, the scratching noise turned into a voice. It was faint at first, but it grew louder, more insistent. It sounded like a man’s voice, deep and full of desperation.

You couldn’t make out what he was saying but could feel the emotion behind the words. Fear, anger, and pain all swirled together in a maelstrom of emotions that left you dizzy and disorientated. You wanted to scream for the voice to stop, but it only grew louder and more persistent until it was all you could hear. You could feel rage and fear course through your veins like a tornado. You were thrashing in wild abandon, breaking free of the white linen sheets that bound you to the hospital bed. Your voice echoed throughout the room as you screamed wildly, and their grip felt like iron shackles as they tried to take your vitals against your will.

Your body shook with cold, the thin hospital gown a flimsy barrier against the chill that seemed to seep through your bones. Metal strained against the skin of your left arm, a biting reminder of the needle that had been inserted earlier that day. You could feel a sharp prick as you ripped it out with fury, causing fresh blood to spill down your arm like a crimson river.

As the nurse and her assistants struggled to subdue you, you felt a strange sense of detachment from yourself. It was as if you were watching from a distance, observing the chaos and destruction with cold, dispassionate eyes. You fought on, thrashing and flailing like a wild animal, determined to break free from the restraints that bound you to the bed. The nurse’s soothing words were like poison, fueling the fire of your anger and frustration.

For a moment, you caught a glimpse of your reflection in the mirror and were startled by what you saw. Your hair was a tangled mess, your eyes wild and bloodshot, and your face contorted with rage and fear. You were a stranger to yourself, a lost and broken soul trapped in a body that refused to obey.

The nurses struggled to hold you down, their voices rising in panic as you thrashed and kicked.

Hurried footsteps echoed down the hallway, growing louder and more frantic with each step. Suddenly, without warning, the door burst open and in rushed Simon. His breathing was jagged and ragged, and his eyes flickered around the room in terror as he took in the chaotic scene before him.

You could see the pain etched on his face, and you knew he was struggling with the same demons you were. The stress and exhaustion of the past few days showed in the heavy bags under his eyes.

The nurses were shouting orders to each other, trying to calm you down and administer medication to sedate you.

He watched as the nurses struggled to restrain you, their faces twisted in frustration. He knew that he had to find a way to help you, to break through the wall that you had built around yourself. Simon glared at them with a fierce determination, his voice low and menacing as he spoke. “Let her go. Now.”

The nurses faltered, looking at each other uncertainly. They knew that Simon was not a man to be trifled with, that he was fiercely protective of you. They noticed the strange glint in his eyes every time they entered your hospital room. They could see he was devoted, unwilling to leave your side even after visiting hours had ended. The air shimmered with unspoken tension whenever he was present, and everyone around him felt like they were walking on eggshells. They knew that he was a force to be reckoned with, and they were hesitant to cross him. His gaze seemed to pierce through walls, his presence radiating an eerie energy that no one could quite place. The hospital staff whispered about him behind closed doors, wary of what might happen if they didn’t tread lightly around him.

The head nurse spoke in a quiet voice but with a strength that conveyed confidence and benevolent control. Her eyes were steady and kind; she held tension like others wore perfume. “We’re just trying to calm her down. She’s been getting agitated and refusing treatment.”

“I said let her go!” A grunt of fury punctuated Simon’s words, his eyes blazing with anger.” She’s been through hell and back. Don’t you think she deserves more than just sedation?”

She hesitated, staring at Simon. She knew he was right, but there were protocols to follow, and she had a job to do.

“We’re doing all we can,” she said, voice softening.

Simon could see the exhaustion etched into every line on her face, and he felt a pang of guilt. He knew she was doing everything in her power to help you.

He took a deep breath, his eyes softening as he regarded you, still struggling and fighting against the constraints of the hospital bed.

“Let me try,” he said, his voice gentler now. “Just give us a moment.”

The head nurse hesitated for a moment, looking between Simon and you, before nodding her head and motioning for the others to back off.

He approached the bed slowly, his movements measured and cautious. He didn’t want to startle you, didn’t want to trigger another outburst. He wanted to help and be there for you in whatever way you needed. He knew that he couldn’t force you to remember, couldn’t push you beyond your limits, but he was determined to be a constant presence, a guiding light in the darkness of your memories.

He reached out tentatively, his fingers brushing against your cheek. You flinched at the touch, your eyes narrowing in anger and confusion.

“Shh,” he whispered, his voice low and soothing. “It’s okay, love. I’m here. You’re safe.”

He leaned in close, his breath hot against your ear as he whispered soothing words in a low, calming voice.

For a moment, you were frozen, unsure of what to do or say. But then you felt a spark of familiarity. You knew him, even if you couldn’t remember how or why. He was an anchor in the storm, a lifeline in the darkness.

He spoke in a soft, soothing tone, his words a balm for your shattered nerves. The door closed gently as they were alone in the room; he removed his balaclava, revealing a face that was at once familiar and yet unknown. You couldn’t remember who he was, but something about him made you feel safe and protected. You had seen him without his mask the first day you woke up from the coma. It was a sunny day, and he stood by your bed with it in his hands. He looked down at you with his dark eyes, waiting for you to recognise him, but you didn’t —a devastating realisation that filled him with sorrow. His hand moved from your cheek to your hair, stroking it gently as he whispered words of encouragement.

“You’re doing great, love” he murmured. “Just breathe, and try n’ relax. I’m here. I’m not goin’ anywhere.”

His eyes were gentle, his expression filled with concern and love.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, your voice hoarse from screaming. “I’m trying, but I still can’t remember you.”

He smiled. A small, sad smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“It’s okay,” he said softly. “You will. It’s gonna be okay. I know it’ll take its time, but I’m not going anywhere. I promise”

Your forearm was still bleeding from where you had ripped out the IV, but Simon paid it no mind. He focused solely on calming you down, his presence a soothing balm to your shattered psyche.

Tears streamed down your face as you clung to him, your body shaking with sobs. You forgot about the hospital room, the beeping heart monitor, and the cold lights. You were just two souls, lost and broken, finding solace in each other’s arms.

As the minutes passed, Simon’s soothing voice continued to wash over you, easing the tension and fear that had been plaguing you for weeks. You felt a strange sense of clarity as if the fog that had been clouding your mind was finally starting to clear. You still couldn’t remember, but you knew you were not alone.

“You don’t have to be strong all the time,” he said, his voice low and urgent. “It’s no sin to be scared. To be vulnerable. I’m here for you. No matter what, love.”

Simon’s fingers were warm and comforting as they smoothed your hair back.

His words struck a chord within you, resonating deep within your damaged soul. You knew you had been putting up a front, trying to be strong and brave even as your mind and body rebelled against you. You felt a sense of guilt, knowing that you had been pushing away the one person who had been trying to help you all along.

You clung to him, feeling his warmth and strength as he held you close. You inhaled his scent deeply, trying to commit it to memory, trying to make sense of the inexplicable surge of emotions coursing through your body. It was as if you had known him your whole life as if he was a part of you that had been missing for so long. And yet, you couldn’t remember his name or how you had met him.

“I don’t know how to thank you.”

“ No need for thanks, love. But promise one thing. Just one thing?”

You looked up at him, curious.

“Promise me that you won’t give up,” he said, his eyes serious. “Don’t you dare give up, love. No matter how hard it gets, don’t you dare ever fackin’ quit. Promise me you will keep fighting, no matter what.”

You nodded, feeling a sense of determination you hadn’t felt in weeks. “I promise.”

The heart monitor’s beeping and the hospital equipment’s soft hum was the only sound in the room. Simon’s fingers continued to work their magic, slowly and patiently, coaxing you to relax and breathe. He seemed to know exactly what to say, precisely what to do, and you were grateful for his presence.

After a while, your body slowly calmed down, the fear and anxiety ebbing away like the tide.

Your hand felt small and fragile as it slipped into his. His grip was warm and soothing, as if he were trying to protect and keep you safe.

His breath tickled against your ear as he spoke - it was the warmest thing you had felt in days. He cupped his hand gently against the back of your head and planted a gentle yet firm kiss on your temple.

“Don’t let it go,” he whispered, “even if you don’t know who I am.”

Tags: @8sy-errah8 @yyiikes @spencerreidisbae123 @oranoyaora @sae1kie @originaldeerhottub @cr4shposts @caramlizedtomatoes

#cod mw2 #cod mwii #task force 141 #cod x reader #call of duty #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley #simon ghost x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley #simon riley x you #simon riley x reader #simon riley x f!reader #ghost x you #ghost x f!reader #simon riley x y/n #ghost x y/n

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marigoldenblooms · 1 month

Text

Unica Semper Avis - Chapter 2

Pairing: Cleric!Wanda x Fem!AvianShifter!Reader x MonsterHunter!Natasha

Prompt: Ever since you’ve come of age, you’ve never been able to stop yourself from transforming into a monster. Whenever the sky would dim with a New Moon, you’d ravage the world with a fury unknown by many. Such is the bane existence of your species. This time, however - something was different. Now, you need help. On the feeble doorstep of the so-called ‘Spirit Healer,’ you found yourself both at the mercy of a cleric, and of a monster hunter’s blade. Previous Chapter - Next Chapter

MINORS DNI - 18+

TW/General Tags: No mention of Y/N, slow burn, stranger to lovers (Wanda), enemies to lovers (Natasha), eventual smut (lord have mercy), Swearing, Fantasy violence, occasional descriptions of light body horror during transformation, slight self harm, slight restraint, angst, fluff, will add tags as they appear!

Chapter Warnings: Non-consensual touching (arms/shoulders), slight transformation description, threatening, mentions of pain (burning), intimidation tactics, arguments, manipulation, angst, canon-level violence, mentions of scarring/burnt skin, restraint, we're finally leaving Belmoor y'all

A/N: Holy crap y'all, thanks for the incredible responses on everything once again! We finally get some trio dialogue going in this chapter ^^ Natasha’s interrogation is based within Latin, while R’s occasional text is built primarily within greek. Russian is also here, as expected. I had nothing for Smut Saturday, so I hope lore will suffice ^^' We will see if the writing block ceases, lol

Equally, we’ve got a Unica tag list coming along! Let me know if you’d like to be added to it!

Word count: 3.9k - Read Length: 14 minutes, 29 seconds. ~~~

You’d never dreamt awake before.

You could feel your mind faintly, cognition ghostly as you’d blink within your own head. Your transformation’s destruction was never something you were aware of until you rose out of it, covered in viscera from your form’s hunt. Was it really your body, after that? As you’d drift hazily in a river of your own thoughts, you couldn’t separate feathers from skin. You and your monster were one in the same.

You’d try to shut your eyes again, fall back into the painless slumber your molt offered. A part of you knew the horror you’d awake to- perhaps your succession had slaughtered them all, friend and foe alike. You would grieve her as you had the others, the fiery healer with her crimson magic. The knight would become a cliff note to your psyche, a tack onto an endless tally-board. You were used to being hunted.

It’d be minutes before you realized you weren’t alone.

Gaze snapping upwards, you’d bare your teeth towards the intruder which marred your thoughts, only to find a translucent figure. You could feel her chill from here, Her feathered speckling like a shawl over her shoulders, the wings behind her blanketing into a beautiful frame. She reached a hand towards you, although her smile was too thin to be kind. She didn’t look much different than she’d appeared days prior within your dreams yet again. The Aegyptius creation deity. Why was she here?

You didn’t shy from her gaze, looking at her with both respect and provocation. She was in your mind, fragmented as it was while your body rampaged elsewhere. If there was anywhere you were dominion of, it was this. “I know who you are now, Matron,” you’d assure, your voice echoing in the dim expanse, rippling along the water of your thoughts. She seemed to catch your words, and her grin grew wider, eyes narrowing. She’d tut, and in a second you could feel her cold, mist-like hands on your shoulders, “I expect something more reverent from my martyr..but you will learn.”

“Martyr?” Your expression grew sour as she wouldn’t elaborate, toying with your frustration as she’d run her palms down your arms. An uncomfortable shiver would brace through your body, and you could feel your form stretch beneath as if her touch spurred your transformation all over again. She was cruel, a pained sigh leaving you as your teeth would clench.

Her grasp on you would tighten, feeling the brittleness of pin feathers beneath flesh, “Your mind may not remember, fledgeling…but all my creations know my whims. And yet you wish to rid yourself of me?” Her laugh would be musical, but the bite in her tone was awash with rage, thinly veiled as the Matron stalked circles around you.

The frustration that had flowed through you prior to your molt was flimsy now, embers against a cold snap. You felt your gut sink, fear bubbling thickly in your throat. You’d stopped looking at her by now, your gaze piercing down into nothingness. All you could manage was a pitiful nod, and you couldn’t tell if her snicker was anger from your lackluster response or joy from how compliant she’d rendered you. They were one in the same with your kind, you supposed.

“You cannot..although I’m certain you’ve already understood that.” She’d pause in front of your face, ghostly touch icy as she’d claw your chin to meet your gaze with hers. Her phrase would come quickly, as if she was excited to utter it, “And for penance…you must kill that witch.”

“What?” They weren’t dead already? Your molt would’ve torn her to shreds by now. What was happening in the waking world? Even within a dream, the thought of murdering another with your conscious mind churned your stomach, especially one that brought you food. Mercy. “Command my body to do it, then-”

“No. You must do this as human,” Her smile was dagger-thin now, and you swear sparks flashed from her maw when she spoke. “Not as bird. Your hunger will be your guide.” Her hands would cradle your face now, the chill of her spectral palms almost forgotten as your mind would rush and lurch. You could feel the knaw of famine in your gut, a terrible feeling, all too real.

“I reject this- she has been kind, I-” The Matron would’ve disappeared immediately, the thawing of your flesh the only reminder. Your plea would be met with silence, hyperventilation coaxing your heart into overdrive. Thudding in your skull, you could almost feel the weight of bone in your jaws, your throat suddenly parched. You’d rasp, drawing your hands close to cradle yourself as the world grew fuzzy and vague, “I don’t want to be a monster..”

“Oh, my martyr..” She’d murmur, her voice suddenly swirling along the shell of your ear, freezing your hunch in place.

“That’s what I made you for.”

Your mind would swim, lucidity and unconsciousness blending into tar which filled your brain. You’d blink, heavier than before..and just before you’d wake, you’d feel her touch on your shoulder again.

“Survivε, mυ μάρτυρας..”

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

You’d regain your mind halfway through it all. Your body ached and tore within you, the subtle itch of plumage molting from your skin a feeling you couldn’t soothe. You were in the barn.

Your arms were held back as you’d kneel on the floor, a searing heat plaguing your wrists as you’d fight against its hold- your chains. They’d manage to cage you. If you hadn’t been in so much pain, you would’ve wheezed relief at that. Your tongue was dry, the taste of blood and bone absent on your lips. You hadn’t eaten anyone during your transformation, and yet your body twinged with agony all the more for it. You had no fuel to offer you shifting body, and so it ate you from the inside to power your return to being humanoid. Panting a low whine, spasms would twitch your form as your bones would grow heavier within your flesh, solid all the way through. Even through your strain, a quiet shuffle would draw your eyes immediately- your heightened instincts were always the last things to go. In the recluses of the barn stood your prior attacker, although her attention was focused elsewhere, ghosting over something in the palm of her gloved hand. Thank fuck.

It was only now you could get a good look at her. Her hair was auburn, braided sharply in cascading strands which met the nape of her neck. It had been chilled near its ends, pale and almost wispy, as though something had leached the color from it. Sorcery? Stress? You couldn’t tell at first glance, but the perpetual scoff that seemed to mold into her face signaled the latter.

Blueish gray irises stared into what she held, and it was only when you growled a restrained snarl at the sight did her eyes lock to yours. She was holding one of your shorn feathers, the visage making your hackles raise. You wouldn’t shy from her gaze as you had with Wanda, even raising your chin higher so you looked down at her with pinprick pupils- you were an adversary. A challenger. You didn’t fear her. Your head throbbed, the heavy burn of your engraved chains a constant reminder.

She’d approach you with malice- unsurprising given your circumstances, but the prick of a metal blade against your neck was a little more shocking. This early? Damn. You’d grit your teeth but remain steadfast, even as she’d glower over you.

“Ossifraga, dic omnia quae scis.” She’d spit, her words foreign yet familiar in your ears. ‘omia’ was a word you gleamed in an instant - ‘everything’, yet the rest was butchered in her mouth. You’d bare your teeth at her, grin sickeningly raw even as she’d press her knife’s edge to your nape. “Dic mihi omnia Fraga, ne te interficiam sicut columbam-“

Her anger would shatter at the creaking barn door, flinching just as you did. At least one similarity between the two of you. A familiar soothing tone would echo to you, honeyed and thick, albeit strangled from…anger. Anger?

“I leave you for one second, you глупый козел-“ Wanda muttered harshly, her stomping footfalls sharply rattling in your skull. She’d pluck the knight’s hand away from you, grip harsh as she’d try to wrestle away their weapon- futile, as their shock to Wanda’s insult only lasted so long. From your attacker’s reaction, it seemed they shared a language. Interesting. “And here you are, nicking my patient-“

You’d struggle at Wanda’s words, trying to show her your discomfort. Your wrists continued to burn, and you swear their imprint would be branded on your skin if they weren’t taken off soon. And yet, it may be safer if you remain chained. The Matron’s words still throbbed in your ears, a blinding sight locking your gaze onto Wanda before you bit it back down. You’d breathe, ragged, before gasping a sound which seemed to catch her attention. Her nimble fingers would move to start unshackling you, before being caught by Natasha’s rough grip, pulling her immediately back, “What are you doing-!? It’ll kill you-“

“I won’t harm…her..-“ You’d hiss, finding your bearings as your larynx would thrum with your voice again. You’d glare at the hunter, voice steadfast even through your pain, “You’re- a different story, knight..let me go, and maybe I’ll consider.”

You saw her jaw flex at your tone, malice seeping from every beat of her heart. She’d release Wanda with a tight-lipped grumble, your wrists losing their binds seconds later. You’d rub at the tender flesh for a split second, gasping and hiding away as it’d still bubble with scorching heat. You were too late, and soon your wrists would scar over. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt as bad next time, perhaps.

You’d sit up, movements sluggish as you’d sync again with a heavier frame. Your glance would be wary, looking to Wanda as if the knight wasn’t there. You saw annoyance flash across the hunter’s expression, and satisfaction bloomed in yours. Let her be upset. “What happened..? You shackled me, I am thankful for it.”

“And yet your wrists don’t look happy..” Wanda would respond with muffled concern, although you’d retreat from her scarlet magic’s attempt to heal- scars proved you had lived, this one above all. This one showed you could trust the healer to protect you when you couldn’t protect her. The slow rumble of starvation proved you wouldn’t be able to protect her for a long time. She’d sigh, but wouldn’t press further. “You’ve been in the barn for three days, we put you here on the evening of the first-“

Your expression faltering would quiet her words, a shaky inhale slicing into the room’s air. Three days. “I’ve never been..” you’d grip your hair as you spoke, bending to pull more of you closer. You’d stare at your shorn feathers, brilliant white where they lay unheated, almost ghostly in the thin light of Wanda’s shed.

“I’ve never been transformed for that long.”

“And why should we believe you? You could feather again as we speak- kill us all.” The knight would glare at you, though there was a chance she never stopped, boring a hole into your skull which you gladly challenged. You’d bark a laugh, the sound uncomfortable in your raw chest and yet you reveled in how she flinched away. The air grew thick and still, “If you hunt my kind with that attitude, you obviously know nothing of the Aegyptius.”

“Then enlighten me, Fraga-”” She said that like an insult to you, and yet it didn’t register.

“And why the hell should I-?”

“Because we have a common goal, you dolts-“

At Wanda’s interjection, your voice would sliver and slip away, her face red and scrunched with frustration. It was almost adorable how her nostrils flared with her words, yet the rage in her eyes was something that stirred sorrow inside you. Something clicked in the back of your mind, memories from your brood when you were young, and yet nothing registered in the fog of retorting anger. There was curiosity on the hunter’s face, shoulders squared back at Wanda’s tone, and yet your mind still held what the knight had said before.

“What did you call me?” Your words stumbled as you’d shift to stand, legs frail under the weight of yourself. You wouldn’t see the knight’s bewildered expression until much later, too busy keeping your feet underneath you, “Fraga…do you not even know what you are?” “Enlighten me,” you’d taunt, clipped thin between your barred teeth. Wanda would scoff, shaking her head in your peripheral.

“You are Ossifraga. Bone-breaker, the unclean bird..” Your eyes would narrow, but not in the way the hunter wanted, it seems. These names meant nothing to you. “A mistake upon your feathered kind. A blight-'' Her words would build in strength, low as she’d stalk dangerous steps towards you. You looked towards Wanda, her hands slowly raising as scarlet magic grew to weave around her fingers.

“Others of your kind can be minstrels, songbirds or doves- even raptors can experience valor as warriors…but you, Fraga, are the mutated husk of your false god.” She spit her tone with vitriol, acidic. The receding down on the back of your neck rose as your blood ran cold- Your heartbeat thudded in your ears, a lump swelling in your throat, but it wasn’t all fear. There was something else, a chill unfamiliar to your waking form, coaxing your mouth open. You resisted, even your back reached the worn wood of the barn’s walls and the knight’s voice swarmed back into focus.

“A dangerous monster, consuming the bones of innocents and leaving plague in your wake,” A gleaming metal shone near her wrist, and your stomach dropped all too late. The knife was probably sacred, intricately carved with markings you could hardly make out in the blur of motion, her gloved hand grasping your shoulder while the other swung to pierce your stomach.

“You’re the infection I must quell-”

Your maw opened before you could think.

“Αμολάω-!” You’d shriek, your voice hissing with the inflection of many. You heard the clatter of metal on the ground as your tone echoed forth. The knight would barrel backwards, clutching her head as Wanda flinched behind her, the shockwave of your words hitting her fainter the further it went from your mouth.

You kicked away the knight’s dropped blade, another command echoing from you, your tone no longer your own, cold and bitter on your tongue, “Γονατίστε, παράσιτα- Θα σε καταβροχθίσω χωρίς δεύτερη σκέψη..”

The hunter sunk to her knees before your sentence had finished. You’d gasp a second later, your lungs filled with air as though they’d never have before. Blinking, you’d feel a tenseness in your body, arms trailing with thin plumage which quickly sunk beneath your skin. You’d watch it leave with a cold numbing shock, jaw slung open with a heavy breath. Your thoughts translated your foreign words after a few moments, ‘Let go. Kneel, vermin. I will devour you without a second thought.’

Your feathers had never grown beyond your molt, confined to the hellish day a month where you were no longer yourself. Your hands tremored, ghosting over the goosebumps that had been left behind. It’s like the feathers had never been there- and yet you could feel your body creak and crunch, as though impatient.

The hunter stood a few seconds later, gait slow as she’d physically wrench herself from your command’s thrall. She’d brush at her scuffed armor, plagued with the barn’s dirt which clung to the metal, “I know what you’re saying. Your pronunciation is weaker, and yet it is still-”

“The language of my kind,” You’d mutter without sympathy, scoffing as the knight seemed to take offense to your interruption. “You’ve stripped it of its history..it's what you spoke before.” You’d never learned your own tongue, and yet half your thoughts spoke in it now. A shiver rolled down your spine, a cascading chill that felt like an awaiting grasp.

“Ah, so it can listen..” She’d sneer, glance harsh as she’d eye her forlorn blade again. Wanda’s interjection would be seen before it was heard, scarlet magic weaving around the hilt before daintily grasping it, pawing it over to her awaiting palm. “And so must you, Romanova..” The way she curved the words had a sense of familiarity, drawing a frustrated huff from the other woman. You’d narrow your eyes, but it wasn’t your turn to speak anymore, “You both listen, or you leave my barn with nothing but a death wish. Am I clear?”

You’d nod slowly, and by Wanda’s sigh, you assumed the knight did the same. “Alright. Let’s go somewhere cozier, shall we?”

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

Wanda’s home would’ve been just as comfortable as it had been the prior evening, albeit more cramped. Between three people in the living room, a thin glow of red magic seeping through the slats of wood that boarded the kitchen up, and the deadly eye contact you and the knight shot at each other every second, the air was never thicker.

“And you tore through the kitchen wall,” Wanda’s words were analytical, the gnawing feeling of guilt settling heavy in your gut. You kept your distance from her, a pang of hunger grinding into your thoughts the second you grew closer to the witch. You chewed at the inside of your lip as her palm waved towards the construction her sorcery partook in. Her shrug was too easy, “Not afraid of remodeling, after Romanova mistook my window for a door-”

She’d almost bite towards the hunter, a simmering scoff laced between her accented tone. “Is that your name? ‘Romanova’?” The knight would leer at your question, slinging her arm against the heavy metal of her armor. From Wanda’s scoff, it seems she’d gotten the same reaction while you were out. “You butcher my family title, Fraga-”

“Give me your name and I won’t have to.” You’d raise a brow as her eyes locked to yours, your breath thin and still. You felt the cold in your throat again, creeping like a retch up your windpipe- yet you swallowed it with huskier words, “Since we’re all in the sharing mood. Aren’t we?”

Her sigh was almost palpable, hissing in a low breath, “I am Natasha Alianovna Romanova. Templar of Latrodectus, it’s esteemed widow.” That title meant nothing to you, although your unfitting reaction seemed to knock her down a few pegs. Her reply was less angry than curious, “Did you ever earn a name, Fraga?”

“Earn?” Your snort brought an angry heat to Natasha’s face, perplexed laughter ricocheting through your solid skeleton, “You really do know nothing of my kind. We do not remember names. Unimportant.”

You wouldn’t see Wanda’s furrowed look until she exhaled sharply, looking away from you with crossed arms. Your mind sunk and crackled whenever you looked in her direction, suddenly parched. The flutter in your stomach remained, bringing an uncomfortable nausea rather than burst of curiosity. You kept your eyes on Natasha, expression hollowed, “Why do either of you stay? This..is your house, Wanda, I know-”

“Because we want to help you-” “She does- mhph-” Wanda’s hand would outstretch towards Natasha, blocking her mouth with a wispy scarlet sheen. You looked at Wanda’s shadow, feeling her sigh as your gaze never met hers. Her voice was calmer yet thin, strained between forces, “Do you want to rid yourself of your feathers?”

“Yes,” Your quick response earned an unseen smile from the witch, although your skin grew clammy at the thought. Natasha shuffled, and when you met her eyes you saw hers were raised, almost in shock, her mouth still clasped closed. “Then we have a common interest. This one can find a method beyond violence- and if your transformation is progressing faster, then it is my role to bring you back to normalcy.”

You’d meet her glance now, her smile radiating a warmth into you that culled away some of the chill, satiated you. Your palms felt your own, awkwardly poised as you offered your hold to the witch, her touch filling you with an unfamiliar satisfaction. You shook her hand against yours, ignoring Natasha’s silent indignation burning into your skull. Perhaps you could control yourself- you could protect each other, “Thank you, Wanda.”

“Ah, none of that- you are a medicinal marvel..” She’d tease, your thanks rolling right off of her. You met her grin with your own, her words shushing as she’d lean to you, “Think of what it will do for my prices, to heal an Ossifraga-”

Your laugh was a startling welcome, filling you with mirth as it was returned. “I will pay you then. How many feathers-?” Her hand patted yours before receding, wiping her palm along her clothed side. “...I’ll keep a running tab for you, Птичка.”

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

The sun had risen into midday, and you basked in its sunlight. Your shoulders felt tense as you hauled supplies towards the wagon Wanda and Natasha had acquired an hour ago from Belmoor proper. You’d hung back, admiring the hazy scarlet tendrils which packed Wanda’s belongings. The two had found you handing random objects to the sorcerous helpers when they returned, although Natasha was pulled away by the witch before she could crow about the non-essentiality of bringing Wanda’s butter churn.

The mule that was attached to the wagon- Daisy, Doris, something like that- had been chewing on the turf as you’d settled another crate of rations along the wagon’s bed, pushing it into place with a heavy shove. It was a ten days road travel to Arkridge, the capital of this province, as you’d been told. Its libraries held what could be the first of many secrets. The forest never spoke of it, yet its grandeur was palpable even through Natasha’s gruff words. She hadn’t tried to stab you again, although her glare was seething whenever you met it.

You passed each other by as you’d return towards the house, huffing an unimpressed groan as her haul was much smaller than yours. She’d abandoned her armor for now, and you watched as the musculature of her back shifted as she’d set her barrel down. You could take her if you had to, even without your strength- though the scabbard along her back gave you pause, the longsword’s hilt gleaming in the light. It had been engraved, similar to the leather sheath that bound it, and you’d guess it was the same inscription. Runic and familiar, it brought your thought to your chains, their markings similar yet worn. Perhaps you’d find a way to ask about it, if you could have a conversation without insulting each other.

Your side met Wanda’s as you leaned in her vicinity, your gaze locked onto the knight a dozen meters away. The witch’s voice was smoothed and sweet, honey-like as she’d offer her palm to yours again, inspecting the scarring along your skin as you’d accept. “Your name isn’t Margo, is it?”

You shook your head, still in her embrace, “No. I just needed something to give to you. Satisfy..”

Your words petered out into silence, her squeeze of your hand gentle, shying away from the raw flesh of your wrists. “You don’t have to do that, Ласточка. I have countless things to call you that you won’t forget.” Her wink made your face flush, shying away from her gaze as her tone wrapped around your thoughts. Her giggle wasn’t lost on you, a fondness in her expression you couldn’t decipher. “Will you tell me what that means?”

She’d shake her head, just before you heard Natasha’s heavy footfalls towards you. The forested grove retreated behind as you three would set forth a few minutes later, silence thick. Bellmoor would be forgotten, in favor of new memories. Perhaps your first night at camp would be more riveting.

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huramuna · 4 months

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beware the sapphire peak - chapter 3, end.

aemond targaryen x wife reader x alys rivers a period piece, set in 1902.

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you're a young, american lady who is an aspiring author. you are wooed by a mysterious and charming savant from england. swept off your feet, you're whisked away to his family's ancient estate, Dragonstone Hall. but with all stories, secrets are hiding around every corner, and your suitor is no different.a crimson peak inspired mini series.

@huramuna-fics - follow & turn on notifications for just my fic postings!i don't do taglists right now, so sorry!

content: smut (specifics below cut), angst, gaslighting, unhealthy relationships, manipulation, alys in her girlboss gatekeep gaslight era, no use of y/n, afab reader, pre-established alysmond, this isn't going where you think it is (it might be), infidelity-ish, polyamory, mentions of infertility, murder, depictions of murder/violence, pregnancy

moonlight sonata - beethoven • nocturne in e-flat major, op. 9, no. 2 - chopin

warnings: p in v, face sitting, come eating i guess!, breeding kink

So sweet– she had tasted so sweet to you, like the most saccharine, tooth rotting, sugary treat you’d ever had. A taste that you could get lost in for eons, grasping at the surface that threatened to pull you under, deeper, deeper… until darkness consumed you– and you could only taste her.

Alys murmured something to you as your mind went fuzzy with panic. What would Aemond think? What would happen now? Would he divorce you? Would he fire Alys?

Your hands shook slightly, a tingling and eventual numbing feeling coming to your lips, spreading throughout your extremities. Everything was in slow motion, the vision of Alys blurred through tears. “A-Alys,” you croaked. “I-I don’t know what just happened— I-I’m sorry.”

“Oh, don’t cry, my sweet puppy,” she cooed, upon you again, her scent all consuming and overwhelming and you wanted to kiss her again. “It’s natural.”

“N-Natural?” you whimpered, eyes still misty.

“Yes,” Alys breathed, petting your head. “You know, male lions usually have a few lionesses in their pride— and the lionesses are known to take great affections with each other, too. ‘Tis only natural, to seek the comforts of ones who comfort you.”

You sniffed, not really understanding what she was saying. The numbness was spreading, your head spinning and feeling like a hive of bees had taken host in your cranium. “I-I don’t… I don’t feel well…” you managed to whisper, clinging to the older woman as you lost feeling in your limbs, an acute pins-and-needles type pain steepling into your flesh, tapering off into icy splinters.

Now, you saw nothing but darkness, only hearing the hushed whispers of someone faraway.

You were dreaming now, you were sure— as you walked through the halls, feeling light as a feather. Your hand dragged along the stair bannister, nails tapping to a rhythmic tune that you could hardly recollect. It felt as if you were outside of your body in a slightly pastel toned version of the real world, a skewed view of what was actually real. The shade of carpet was off hue, a lighter, rosy red than it actually was, the accompanying curtains a complimentary shade of pink, when in reality, they were deep crimson.

Your steps felt effortless, a spring in your step like a young fawn who’d figured out how to use its legs, jaunting through the corridors with ease. You enjoyed your lovely pastel dream world, until you turned and saw the very end of the foyer.

It was dark, the light sucked out of it like it’d been erased, consumed— a familiar sight of inky black tendrils beckoned from the end of the hall, your feet moving on their own accord now. Your brain, feeling very much like prey, screamed at you. Threat, threat— run, run, run! But you couldn’t, you couldn’t turn, nor abscond. Getting closer, there was an eerie hum, like many voices converging together into a cacophony— you recognized it, fear settling into your bones. It was a dirge.

Pleasepleaseplease, don’t make me, don’t make me. Save me, save me.

The siren song lured you closer, until you were swallowed by the darkness itself, falling, falling…

“We are you, Lady Targaryen.”

“You shan’t leave this place.”

“You will be trapped and rotted like us.”

“You’ve fallen for their ruse. A fatal mistake.”

The fall felt neverending, the breath stolen from your lungs until they felt like shriveled raisins. Hands grabbed at your body greedily, pulling you under the surface as water replaced oxygen in your body– you gasped out, screaming, but no sound came, your arms wouldn’t move, as if they were stuck in molasses.

Other voices permeated your being, familiar ones. They brought a little comfort, but you could only discern bits and pieces of what they were whispering, chattering around you.

“— used too much, Alys—,”

“— she is perfect—,”

“— needs to wake up before—,”

Your consciousness, your real life felt so far away now, as your hands reached out to buffet the impact of your fall into the void… you could almost feel the sickly crunch of your ligaments being broken as you kissed the loam, into a darling embrace of nothingness.

You crashed to the ground, body strewn and broken like a porcelain doll– broken, shattered, thrown away. Trapped.

Sitting up from the bed, your bed, you were drenched in sweat. Oxygen ballooned in your lungs with a sharp, audible inhale as you looked around, eyes wide like a newborn fawn, once again. You zeroed in on Aemond, who was sitting in the corner of the room in the reading chair, one leg crossed over another, bobbing with anxiety. Alys was there, too, off to the opposite side of the chamber, fiddling with something on the desk. Her hair, usually well mannered and groomed, was slightly strewn in a loose bun.

The sound of your gasp caused them to be at your side in an instant, one on either side of the bed. Aemond’s hand was entwined with yours instantly.

“Thank God, she’s finally awake,” he murmured, shooting Alys a quick glance, brow furrowed.

“Oh, darling,” Alys cooed, “You took quite a spill in the bathroom– Lord Targaryen found you with a nasty head wound.”

Fell? When did you fall? With a shaky hand, your fingers skimmed the outline of cloth pressed to your forehead– you winced, a sharp intake of breath hissing through your teeth, it was tender to the touch. “When… how long have I been… unconscious for?”

“Five days.” Aemond responded, his leg still shaking as he pulled up the chair, sitting back down in it promptly.

You felt bewildered by that– five days? Five days you’d been asleep– and your dreams felt like only a moment and an eternity. The distress must’ve clearly read on your face, as Aemond squeezed your hand. You glanced over to him, lines of worry etched into his brow and beyond. He had dark circles under his eyes, likely from lack of sleep. He was, overall, disheveled, a look you hadn’t quite seen on him. You swallowed, your mouth suddenly cloying and full of cotton.

Alys nudged you, a spoon in her hand. She had soup– when did she leave? – offering it, intent on feeding you like a mere babe. Curling into yourself inwardly, you shook your head. “... m’ fine, I can… I can do it,” you offered, suddenly feeling extremely aware of the heavy mood of the room. They had fretted over you for days, for an accident you likely caused yourself.

“Come, dear,” Alys urged. “‘Tis wild rice in a nice bone broth.”

Your indignant streak ended quickly as your stomach audibly growled at the sound of the food. Mustering down your shame, you sipped at the soup, allowing Alys to spoon feed you. Aemond had a faraway look in his eye as he stared at the pair of you.

–

Your recovery was slow and meticulous– you had fractured your leg from your fall, as well as having some nasty bruises on your hip, the purple red hue blooming under your skin like ink from a tipped over inkwell.

You were utterly dependent on Alys and Aemond as they nursed you back to health, hand feeding you, bathing you, carrying you down stairs– and you let them. You melded into their touch, becoming one with them and they handled you like extensions of themselves, gentle and loving, as not to hurt you any further.

Your head wasn’t completely clear, though– even a whole month and a half after your accident, you still felt like a teddy, stuffed full of wool and hardly sentient. Alys laid you down in the bathtub, the same one you’d knocked your head against apparently, the water warm. It washed over you in waves, heat sinking into your bones and quelling the urge you had to scream, to run– to do anything. The scent of lavender filled your nose as she poured floral oils into the water.

Aemond was behind her, watching carefully. He was always there, no matter the situation, looming. He was adjusting his shirt cuffs idly, over and over in an anxious habit. He had quite a lot of those, you had noted. Now that you were almost always by his side, you watched him constantly, taking in those little habits. Jaw clenching, eye twitching, rubbing his fingers together, bouncing his leg. Not only those, but he constantly looked to Alys, as if they were communicating with their eyes alone.

You wondered what they were saying, as they met gazes and then looked back to you in sync while you were in the bath, nude as the day you were born. You pulled your legs up to your chest, suddenly feeling self-conscious as they both bore into you, regarding you unabashedly, orbs roving over your figure. Pressing your chin to your knees, you looked past them, the glint of their scrutiny in your peripheral now. There was someone behind them.

Bloody and crooked, dripping water and essence of life, her body bloated and putrid. Her hair was blonde, at one point, at least– it was now a murky gray, stained pinkish with only the notion of its former color peeking through. Her eyes were dark, never ending holes– it was like looking straight into the void itself. Her throat was slashed, leaking the same black ichor that was in your dreams while you were incapacitated. Heavy breathing, jagged and errant, like a broken key on a piano, drowned out the chatter between Aemond and Alys. Her hand, spindly and wretched, squeezed on the frame of the bathroom door as she perched upon it, unable to stand upon the weight of broken, splintered legs.

“You. Won’t. Live.”

The person you were before your accident might have choked, sobbed– but you were good acquaintances now with the ghosts of the estate, and their never ending threats and prophecy. Your eyes glazed over, a peeved grunt coming from you. “Go away.” you muttered. You were sick of seeing their faces, hiding in plain sight, always leering at you from afar with their grotesque visages.

“What?” Alys asked, taking her hands out of the water and peering at you curiously.

“... may I bathe alone, please?” you sighed, wishing for one moment of peace and quiet and aloneness.

Alys looked back at Aemond and they shared that unspoken connection once again. He nodded slightly, minutely. He didn’t even say anything– he didn’t say much since your accident, leaning on Alys to be his voice. He clenched his jaw, as he does, and left the room.

Alys planted a kiss on your brow– the sweetness of her perfume felt familiar– and she departed, closing the door. As she left, you reflected on the state of your life. You felt like less than a person, moreso a doll. You didn’t remember falling, and you remembered… kissing Alys. Hardly, it was like a memory fluttering away on a breeze now, but the feeling of it was still there. It flooded back in your mind as you had drank in the scent of her when she got close, your stomach turning into a horde of butterflies. Was that even real? Or was it a figment of your damaged brain, painting a pretty picture for you while you were in a state of stupefaction.

It had to have been an illusion. Surely.

You supplanted your hand on the lip of the tub after soaking for at least three hours– the water was cold now, turning your slightly warmed stupor into ice. You had hardly walked on your own these past few weeks, and when attempting to, held up by Alys or Aemond. Pulling yourself up with the little strength you had, you stood up. Your legs shook, but eventually found their own as you tested your luck further. One foot on the floor, then the other, toes splayed and wiggling as they touched the cool floor. Something akin to elation came to your chest as you stomped, hiding a tiny giggle. How childish you felt now– but not as bad as you’ve felt during your recovery. You felt less than a child then, moreso a barely living organism, attached to the hip of Aly or Aemond, solely dependent on their care of you.

You grabbed the robe left on the privy lid, snugging it to your form– you considered keeping it untied, to rove around the estate free of inhibition, just because you could. But, you decided against it, tying it taut around your waist. You went to leave, hand hesitating as you went to touch the knob, remembering something… something like a shock touching your hand from before. Shock be damned, you turned the knob. No prick of electricity followed, and you were free.

Leaving wet footprints on the wood floors, you saw the halls in a new light. ‘Twas no pretty pastel painting, but it was familiar and real. You hummed along, hand tracing the bannister like you had when you dreamt. The estate was very quiet, not even a sound emitting besides the little pitter-patter of your feet– where had Aemond and Alys gone? Surely, with the length they’d kept you, they hadn’t gone far?

As you descended down one of the far halls you usually did not venture to, namely the Servant’s Quarters, where Alys resided, your ears pricked up to pick up a noise. Like the faraway call of an owl, deep and throaty, you could only hear, feel, the bass of it– it only got louder as you got closer to her room, the door ajar, cracked…

Peering in, your heart momentarily stopped, breath caught in your windpipe. Alys and Aemond were upon her bed, the top three buttons of her shirt undone. You could see the swell of her breast, heaving as she mouthed Aemond’s bare neck, his tie undone slightly from its spot on his collar, but done tighter just below his Adam’s apple in… a makeshift collar, almost. The older woman pulled on it with one hand, her other down… down… to Aemond’s weeping cock. She massaged it, her hand glistening with his arousal. His face was that of pure bliss and servitude, falling apart in her hand, with her lips against his skin, whispering.

A gasp fell from your lips and they peered up at you. Aemond’s face turned to that of horror– but Alys’ didn’t change. Her lips just perked into a further smile. “Come in, little one,” she hummed.

Against better judgment, or any judgment really, you opened the door further. Your still wet hair was stuck to your face slightly, peering up at them both through fettered lashes. You should be in hysterics, you should be crying, screaming, cursing, damning them both to hell for– for… this. But, you were doing none of that. You felt… placid, like calm water.

Alys beckoned you closer. “See, Aemond?” she practically purred, nosing his cheek while offering her hand to you. “I told you, she was perfect.”

“My love,” Aemond croaked. “Are… you well?”

That was the question of the year, wasn’t it? Were you well? You blinked slowly, mulling it over in your mind. “No. I’m not,” you responded, taking Alys’ hand in your own. “But, I am alright with that. We are all… unwell in our own ways.”

“So insightful, my little puppy,” Alys pulled you closer, pressing a kiss to your cheek. Your mind and soul were utterly enraptured by her. “She knows how to share, don’t you, sweet puppy?” she side-eyed Aemond. “The others didn’t know how to share, did they– so greedy, they were. Not like you,” she spoke of you so reverently, with a honeyed warmth in her voice you just wanted to melt into.

Your heart was thumping at the sheer taboo of the situation, but you were excited– Alys tugged at your robe slightly, exposing your breasts to the cold air, your nipples pebbling into pert little peaks instantly. She let go of Aemond’s shaft, her hand wetted still with his excitement, offering you two fingers. She didn’t even have to say anything, you just opened your mouth as she rested those digits on your tongue, and you sucked on them eagerly.

Aemond, all the while, was slightly aghast at it– and even more, aroused. His blood felt like it was on fire as his hand reached out to caress your nipple like he always had before, between his fore and middle finger. You whimpered around Alys’ fingers before she withdrew them, smearing your lips with your own saliva.

“I’m so happy, my love,” Alys seemed to be addressing both you and Aemond, as she pulled you onto the bed between them, her fingers drawing little circles upon your bare thighs as your robe rode up. “We’ve waited so long for you– but it was worth the wait, wasn’t it?” her lips skimmed one side of your neck, while Aemond nosed at the other.

You felt all encompassing, squeezed between the two of them– your brain was firing off on all cylinders, every cell of your body writhing in pleasure. “... w-waiting?” you managed to ask.

“Yes, puppy. We waited for you– all of the others were no good, defective– but you are perfect. You desire both of us, yes?” Alys asked, peering up at you.

You nodded without hesitation.

“You know how much I desire children, but unable to have any of my own,” she murmured. “Will you have a family with us? Like a pride of lions, hm?”

You swallowed, eyes peeling away from Alys, drifting to the door, which was now open. The ghastly figures of seven women hung in the hallway, dead by many different manners. Eyes of the damned stared back at you.

“Y-yes, I want to have a family with you,” you agreed softly. You truly did want it– as you’d become so dependent on the both of them, you would do anything to please them. And you loved them both. You blinked– the figures at the door were gone now.

Alys hummed in delight. “Oh, my sweet,” she nipped at your skin before pulling you to the side of the bed. “Aemond, I am surprised she isn’t taken with child yet– he is quite virile, isn’t he– like a stud stallion,” she giggled as Aemond came up behind you, continuing to kiss your neck. “I suppose you need to breed her more often, now that she’s agreed.”

You melted into your husband’s touch, you had missed it so sorely– he had been so quiet and solemn during your recovery, like he was mourning something. He laid back on the bed and pulled you atop him, his arousal already prodding at your folds. You ached for him, truly, sighing a little moan into his mouth as you kissed. His taste was so different from Alys’, his was heady and deep, lulling you into a sense of familiarity. Sliding you back, he slowly lowered you down onto his length, stretching you out. You mewled at the sensation, coupled with Alys palming your breasts and pinching your nipples, causing that delightful cocktail of pain and pleasure that you had chased so fervently months ago.

Cursing under your breath, you adjusted to his size, looking down at him as you rested with him to the hilt. His hand grasped your hip, eclipsing you and thumbing at your clit. You rocked back and forth on him, eyes closed for a moment in exhilaration. Once opening them, you didn’t feel Alys behind you, but now she was atop Aemond as well, her bottom half sat upon his face as he serviced her, too– ever dutiful. The sight was raunchy and erotic and made a tingle go through you as you continued your rocking motions, skin slapping upon skin as you chased your high.

Alys leaned forward, in turn, pulling you to her. Your lips met again and she tasted just as lovely as you remember, so sweet and comforting, like honey coating your lips. The entirety of the situation was catching up to you as your peak hit you like a train, whimpering sweet nothings into Alys’ mouth, your hand squeezing on Aemond’s hip.

Apparently your peak had started a crescendo, as Alys was next, spilling on Aemond’s tongue and rolling off of him, his face coated in the evidence of her orgasm. Something primal and feral came over you as you leaned down and connected lips with him again, tasting both him and her at the same time– you clenched on his cock that was nestled deep inside of you, and with a grunt, he spilled deep inside of you.

‘Twas round one of four upon that night.

–

You quite enjoyed the estate, as big and spacious as it was, you suppose it could be considered lonely. You imagined it in its heyday, full of diplomats, royalty, lords and ladies and children alike– but it seemed to be a ghost of its former self. Much like you felt you were– mayhaps not a ghost. You felt more akin to a moth, emerging from your silken cocoon and spreading your wings.

Sitting upon the terrace, it was a full three years since you and Aemond had married. You watched the lawn as your twins toddled on the greenery with an abundance of toys– a boy and a girl that were just a bit over a year and a half old.

Settling into the seat, you put a hand over your swollen belly– once again round with child. You and Alys were keen on running Aemond ragged until the estate was once again full of children, much to his chagrin– and pleasure.

“Lemonade, puppy?” Alys hummed, nosing your ear as she offered you a cool glass.

“Thank you, sweet,” you responded in kind, taking a sip. Your eyes followed Alys’ hand as she gently caressed your belly, pulling up a stool and sitting beside you, one ear to your stomach. She quite liked talking to the children, born or unborn– always chattering, reading stories and telling tall tales.

Aemond scooped up the twins from the greenery, walking over to the two of you. “Say hello to mummas,” he cooed softly.

The twins babbled little greetings to both Alys and you, who they both considered their mother. You feared for the conversation that would come in the future where you had to explain that every family was different, and not everyone had two mummas.

But for now, you’d enjoy blissful ignorance upon the secluded estate.

Tipping your head back, you surveyed the tall walls of the building.

Seven windows lined the eastern inner palisade– and with those seven windows, were seven figures, staring back at you.

#aemond fic #aemond fanfiction #aemond targaryen #hotd aemond #house of the dragon aemond #aemond x fem!reader #prince aemond #aemond one eye #hotd fanfic #aemond fanfic #aemond fandom #my writing #beware the sapphire peak #alysmond #alys rivers #alys rivers x aemond #alys rivers x reader #alys rivers x reader x aemond targaryen

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slvt4em1lyprenti2s · 2 months

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hii !! as i am a sucker for hurt/comfort could you maybe please write smth where emily prentiss x f!reader are already in a relationship and rewrite the episode with tobias hankel to be with the reader the one who gets kidnapped instead of spencer? thank you !

It’s not your fault

Summary: Rewrite of the Tobias Hankel storyline but reader gets kidnapped instead of Reid, Emily and reader are already in a relationship.

TW: kidnapping, torture, drug addiction, involuntary use of drugs, depression, hurt/comfort

Pairings: Emily Prentiss x fem!reader

A/N: I've never rewritten an epsiode before so tell me how I did!! Hope you like it anon 🫶🏻

Emily pov:

JJ's here, y/n's..... where's y/n? Oh god please. "JJ look at me." Morgan cut off her panicky rambling. "Look at me. Where's y/l/n?"

"We split up. She said she was going to go in the back."

I hear someone yell that the house was clear.

"So where the hell is she?"

My heart dropped into the my stomach.

I frantically start searching the property for some sign of her as I walk towards the corn field, it looks like someone was dragged through it jeez. Wait, it looks like someone was dragged through it.

"I think y/l/n followed him into the corn field! It looks like somebody got dragged."

Instantly the team is by my side, desperately searching for y/n/n. My girlfriend, the reason I wake up in the morning. Gone. My chest starts to tighten and tears prick my eyes, I swallow down the lump in my throat and keep looking. I can't break down right now, I need to find her.

—

Reader pov:

My eyes are blurring and my head is pounding. I try to move but my hands and feet are bound to a chair, painfully tight. My thoughts are all over the place, where am I? What happened out there? Did JJ get taken too? Just as I'm about to try get out of the binds a person slams open the door.

He's carrying fish. It stinks.

"They're burning fish hearts and liver to keep the devil away." I stare at him without saying anything, I don't want to.

"They believe you can see inside men's mind."

I hold back the urge to roll my eyes.

"It's not true. I study human behaviour."

"You know what this is? It's god's will." He says totally ignoring my response already set in his ways. "Time to confess, y/n y/l/n."

"I have nothing to confess."

He slapped me. Once, twice, three times.

"CONFESS!"

Tears slip from my eyes, I don't say a word. He pulls out a knife and starts to slice my skin. A crimson river flows out of my paling skin, pain coursing through my body. I still don't crack. His fist makes contact with my face.

I just want this to end. I finally give into the exhaustion slipping into a dreamless sleep.

—

Emily's pov:

"I'm talking tomorrow morning to some guy who knew Hankel from narcotics anonymous. You should come with me. Why don't you come with me, get out of the house?" I say to JJ as I enter the bathroom.

"Yeah." she says back, clearly shaken up and deflated from the recent events.

"Okay. Great." I walk out of the bathroom and into my room.

There it is again, that funny feeling, like I'm being sat on. Or like there's a weight in my chest. Climbing into my bed I can feel it constricting my breath. Tears are pouring out of my eyes at this point, my legs are tucked into my chest and my breaths are short and fast. A wave of pain comes over me as I think about what's happening to y/n. She's hurting and there's nothing I can do about it. I'm failing her.

—

Reader pov:

"What's your name?" I ask the same man who walked in before. He's got multiple personalities that I need to differentiate between, I need to play this right.

"Tobias."

"Tobias? Who was here before?"

"It was probably my father. I'm sorry if he hurt you."

I see him reach into his pocket and pull out a bottle and a syringe. Oh god, please no. Don't do it Tobias please.

"What are you doing? Don't. Please don't."

"It helps. Don't tell my father. He doesn't know they're here."

"Please I don't want it. I don't want it please."

I can feel the warmth pulsing through my body. My system being thrown into a high almost immediately. I hate every second of it. I start to slip in and out of consciousness. I need Emily. I need the warmth of her skin, the softness and comfort of her voice. I need her kisses on my skin. I fight to keep my eyes awake but fail.

—

Emily pov:

"So what was Tobias' drug of choice?"

"Dilaudid."

The man keeps talking about how Tobias' dad used to beat him and burnt a cross onto his forehead. That's one hell of a stressor.

My head is spinning as we get back to the local PD. The evidence was all adding up, we had a name, address, background, information about his personalities. Why can't we find her? We even have live footage of her door goodness sake! I try to control my anger and begin licking furiously at my fingers, biting my nails. I need to find her.

"She's in a cemetery."

We call Garcia and get her to find a cemetery near by and there's one right by the barn. I don't think I've run to an SUV faster to be honest, I need her, need to hold her. To know she's okay.

—

Reader pov:

Im digging my own grave. This is not the way I wanted to go out.

"I ought to bury you alive in there, give you time to think about what you done." He stares daggers into my back as I dig.

"Dig faster!" He yelled at me, I can't dig any faster.

"I'm not strong enough." I say, dejected. I can't do this anymore.

"Y/L/N!" I hear someone yell in the distance.

"Over there!" Another voice calls out, I'm too delirious to register who.

"You killed him." Tobias said to me.

"Tobias" I say, suddenly feeling remorse for him, I don't know what's happening.

I see his body fall limp and realise somebody had shot him, it was over.

“Are you okay?” I hear Hotch say.

“Yeah, uhm can I have a minute alone?” I slowly walk up to Tobias’ body and stealthily reach into his pocket and take the dilaudid. I’m not proud of it, but it’s the only way I can cope right now.

As I’m walking away, Emily is straight by my side, just like always. She’s the only person who knows me, like really knows me. She’s everything to me.

“How are you holding up?” Her gentle voice breaks through the mist of confusion that had descended over me.

“I’m okay. Or, I will be.”

“Yeah, you will. I promise.”

—

Time skip to around a month after

Emily pov:

I’m walking through the doors of the apartment me and y/n share and I hear- well, nothing. Which is strange because normally she’s watching tv, doing something in the kitchen or making some kind of racket.

She might’ve gone out.

I try to reassure myself but have a sinking feeling of dread in my stomach. She’s not been the same after what happened with Hankel. It’s like someone flipped a switch while she was there, like something happened and now she’ll never be the same again.

I’m sure she’s fine.

I try to distract myself and go to take a shower. I walk into our bedroom and see the bathroom door is ajar, I go to look inside and see who’s in there - I assume it’s y/n/n. The sight before me is an awful one. She’s sitting on the floor, needle in hand, taking dilaudid.

“Oh my sweet girl.”

The look of guilt on her face as she realises I’m there break my heart into a million pieces.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I tried to stop, I really did. I didn’t want it I promise, I’m so sorry em.” Her eyes never met mine.

“Honey, it’s not your fault. Let’s stop this okay?”

She reluctantly nods and hands me the drugs. I tip the rest down the toilet and flush it. I put the needle on the side, planning to dispose of it later.

I offer her my hands and help her off the floor. As I bring her into my embrace, she’s noticeably thinner. The more I found out the more my mind races. What do I do? What do I do?

—

Y/n pov:

Oh god, oh god. I didn’t want her to find out. I’m trying to get a handle on it, she’s gunna be so mad at me.

I can feel my hands shaking and tears pooling in the corners of my eyes. Her hands clutch mine and helps me to my feet and pulls me into her. That’s when I finally break down.

“I’m so sorry.”

“You don’t have to apologise. You didn’t do this. We’re going to get you help yeah sweetheart?”

I nod into her neck, where my head lays. My frail body feeling exhausted after this sudden intervention in my daily dose, the withdrawal settling in.

“Em..”

“I know, I know. And I’m going to be with you through it, okay?”

“Thank you. I love you so much emmy.”

“I love you too y/n/n.”

It’s going to be a long road, but, being with her is going to make it so much easier. I’m so grateful for having her in my life.

A/N if you ever struggle with addiction, please never hesitate to reach out and please seek help, you are never alone. You don’t have to suffer in silence.

#wlw #lesbian #lesbian pride #wlw fanfic #sapphic #criminal minds #emily prentiss #wlw pride #emily prentiss x reader #emily prentiss x you #emily prentiss x y/n #emily prentiss x female reader #hurt/comfort

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sugar-plum-writer · 3 months

Text

Dark Glamour

Paring: Sukuna x Fem!reader Tags: Slight! mention of violence; Fem!reader; Sukuna!imagines; will be 18+ as more chapters come; slow!burn, [I want to have a good build up!]; Modern AU; Mafia!AU

A chapter by chapter series, It will be a bit long maybe 10 chapters. So~ enjoy~

[If you all like it, please heart and reblog the post! to know you want to read more~ and follow for chapter updates! or leave a comment to tag you when I put out new chapters~ I will do my best to roll out UPDATES ASAP!]

CHAPTER - 1

The evaporated city from the map stood deary, with only its rubbles remaining, broken concrete foundation- cracks gracing it with iron rods threatening to crash underneath the pressure.

Shockwaves of the fight remained wherever your eyes could fall upon, swirling winds carrying fear and the scent of blood fluttering around you. Brains oozing out- crying to you about the injustice and pain inflicted on them, bones crushed to dust blowing past your face as a reminder of what you weren't able to stop

The grey sky looked down nihilistically as if used to death and destruction, not a ray of sun graced the Earth and covered itself with clouds as if not wanting to see this nightmarish Earth, crimson ink swirled beneath the watery rivers and lakes with the Earth trapping the dead forever in it's soil.

"Shit. Oh shit. things were not supposed to be like this" you muttered as your heels clacked against the ground, in a hurry all you wore was your bathrobe around you.

You left for just some minutes and the next thing you know your assistant slams the doors of your bathroom open screaming in horror as blood trickled down his face

"Miss Y/N! Boss has started a massacre!"

"What!? How!?-" Adrenaline coursed through your veins spilling into your guts

"I just left him for 2 minutes to take a shower!?"

"Miss-"

"Forget it-" Stepping out from the tub water droplets glistened on your skin dripping from your fingertips

"For now focus on saving as many civilians as possible! use all our resources!" screaming you wore the red stilettos you had removed- almost tripping in a hurry donning your bathrobe

"I will find him!"

"But-"

"Just do as I say if you don't-", glaring at him, "want to die"

Shit this was the biggest mess of your life

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

You had met Sukuna on one fine night as you walked home from work drunk. Feet bruised from walking in heels the whole day, it did not help your boss had to have a drinking party today making everyone drunk. Somehow you managed to escape halfway through and saved your sobbing liver.

"Malevolent Shrine" a deep voice echoed

Raising your head the next thing you knew- you were standing on ink-like black waters, blood red sky, and a shrine- no it could not even be called a shrine- skulls of dead adorned it

"WHAT THE FUCK!?"

"Bow"

Your eyes met his, and looking into those red eyes felt as if- you were looking into the eyes of a demon; a monster so terrifying your legs gave out

"Who-Who are you!? what do you want!"

"Me?", amused he looked at you "I am Ryomen Sukuna- The King Of Curses" smirking he gazed down upon you

"Be honored, your screams tonight will grace me" Stepping down in a flash he was in front of you

Fear. Horrible gut-wrenching Fear consumed your heart eating away through the valves.

"Please…don't kill me! Please! I beg you!" sobbing you kneeled on the ground as tears spilled from your eyes

"I have not even gotten married yet! I am too young!.." your mouth ran by itself like a Ferrari on a race track of Formula One, spilling out essay after essay

"I have not even-"

"Shut up brat, how long is your list of things you need to do? I will kill you if you don't shut up"

"No! No! No! I will shut up!" clasping your hands over your lips you looked at him but your mouth just had to continue, "But how can I not!? There are so many things to do in this world!"

"I said shut up" giving you a death glare he grabbed your jaw

"As for things to do, I doubt your modern world could amuse me"

"Wh-? How old are you?" eyes widening you looked at him

"1000+ years old, why?" confused he looked at you

"What….? And you still have that style?" raising an eyebrow you looked him up and down

"I don't mean to be offensive, but seriously…?"

"Why should I care how I look?" throwing you to the ground he rolled his eyes

"Ouch!", hissing in pain you looked at him, "Because, see for example if you want to recruit people into your group, shouldn't you look good? Looking hot while doing it?"

"What-? What psychology is this?"

"Yeah duh" Putting your arm around his shoulder you looked at him

"You are wasting that face plus knowing about modern technology will help will it not? For example with this phone-" Opening your phone you handed it to him, "You can text, call, etc, isn't it so much better?"

He scrolled a bit as you continued your explanation about modern technologies, the power of money, and so on. Showing him all kinds of things on your phone, all kinds of luxuries, working in the sales department sure came in handy today.

"Hmmm…", intrigued he listened and filtered through the bullshit that came from your mouth. Though he was 1000+ years old he sure was extremely terrifyingly intelligent, the way he filtered through the information grasping the core information shocked even you.

"Fine" tossing the phone to you, "You seem to know a lot of how things work around here" Looking into your soul chillingly, "Work for me, and let's do this so-called style change"

And like that soon you were out, alone on the streets, the realization hit you like a nuclear bomb

FUCK

Biting your lips you walked groaning, sure in a moment of panic your brain switched a circuit and bullshitted its way out. Somehow convincing The King of Curses to go shopping with you. You deserve a PR and Sales award for what you have just done. Sure you were good at what you did, turning thousands of yen product into millions but today, you saved your neck.

With a sharp sigh, you unlocked the door of your apartment.

"This is crazy AHHHHH!" screaming you buried your face in the pillow trying to convince yourself it was a dream

But it was not

Proof?

Right now you are standing in a short black sweetheart body con dress, high stilettos, red lipstick, hair all curled up scrolling through your phone, normally when you dress up many creeps give you stares but today nobody; why?

Sukuna stood beside you.

Link to masterlist!

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daisies-daydreams · 8 months

Note

Your Hobie fics are so good ahhh. I was wondering if I could request a gn reader who lives with abusive family getting comfort and reassurance from Hobie? Like telling you you aren't imagining the abuse and it IS as bad as you feel it is and it ISN'T normal and you DO deserve love and kindness and just sort of holding you and reaffirming reality and positive attributes like intelligence and letting you know your body is okay, etc. Sorry if this is long or too specific!! Thank you for the fics you've already written either way!

I’m Here (Hobie Brown x GN!Reader)

Pairing: Hobie Brown x GN!Reader

Category: Angst/Comfort

Warnings: Depictions of Physical/Verbal Abuse, Alcoholism, Blood, Bruises, Mentions of Suicidal Ideation, Swearing

Word Count: 2k+

A/N: Hello hello and thank you for your request! I’ve never really written a fic like this one before, but I hope I’m able to provide you with comfort with it…and I hope more than anything that you’re safe.

IF YOU OR SOMEONE YOU KNOW/LOVE IS IN DANGER, CALL 911 (USA/CANADA) OR 999 (UK) IMMEDIATELY.

(More resources for seeking help will be listed at the end)

It all happened so fast.

You came home from a long night out, making sure to gently close the back door as you crept towards your room. Your mother was passed out at the table. You sighed as you laid your jacket over her shoulders before creeping down the hallway. You gasped when you felt a large hand squeeze your shoulder before you were slammed against the wall.

“Where the fuck ‘ave you been?” your father slurred as he wobbled back and forth. You wrinkled your nose as the acerbic stench of booze filled your nostrils.

“I was out with friends,” you said in a monotone voice as you glanced down at your shoes. You yelped when he struck your nose, blood gushing down your face as you desperately held back tears.

“Don’t give me that tone, you stupid fuckin’ brat,” he hissed. You kept your head turned away, only to be met with a sharp sting against your cheek. Your head spun as you collapsed onto the floor, your father quickly picking you up by the collar of your shirt and shaking you.

“It’s just a bad dream,” you told yourself as his spit flew in your face, his furious tone fading to sound like a voice underwater. “It’ll all be over soon”.

“Look at me when I’m talking to you!” he roared. You reluctantly stared into his bloodshot eyes, your lips twitching ever so slightly as you heard your mother wailing in the other room. Your heart dropped as you felt him curl his fist inside your shirt.

“Now look at what you did! You made your mum upset!” he seethed. You frowned as a lump formed in your throat at the sound of your mother’s cries. You knew deep down it wasn’t true, but before you could even blink, your father tossed you down the hall. You yelped as you curled your arms around your head, your entire body jolting with a sharp pain as your old man stomped over.

“Get the fuck out of this house-now!” your father bellowed. You held your cheek before scrambling away, your entire body aching as you rushed out the back door. Your heart was pounding inside your ears as you stumbled through the gate, the smell of sewage and cigarettes causing you to gag. You wrapped your arms around yourself as you walked down the dimly lit street, your body now trembling as the adrenaline hit you.

You didn’t even realize you were crying until you let out a small sniff. Your cheeks burned as you looked down at your scraped up shoes, hugging yourself even tighter despite the pain that seeped into your muscles. You blinked away the sheet of tears as you approached River Thames, the dark water reflecting the lights of the city.

You sniffed and wiped your nose on your sleeve, your eyes not even widening as you saw a familiar crimson soak into the fabric of your shirt. You quickly turned your attention back to the river, debating on whether you should submerge yourself in the cold water as you stepped to the edge of the dock. You sucked in a sharp breath as you closed your eyes, the pain fading for a moment as you imagined it all ending in an instant…

“(Y/N)?” a familiar voice called. You opened your eyes as you nearly tripped forward. You gasped quietly when you saw your friend, Hobie, standing on the deck of his longboat. You flinched when he jumped over the railing and rushed towards you, the whites of his eyes growing larger when he saw your broken nose.

“Love…what happened to you?” he asked with furrowed brows as he kept his hands at his sides. You tilted your head down as your cheeks burned again. Hobie stood silently before gently nudging your hand with his. You jumped back as your shoulders tensed, mind racing at his simple touch. Hobie frowned as his brows knitted together.

“I’m sorry, didn’t mean to scare you,” he said softly. You lowered your head as you felt his gaze on you, ashamed of being around him in such a state. Hobie was always the one who knew what do to, always so put together. Falling apart in front of him terrified you…and yet, you couldn’t stop the tears that gushed down your face.

“I’m sorry,” you sobbed as you rubbed your hands over your tired eyes. Hobie was quickly at your side, his hands hovering around your waist as you shook like thin branches in the wind. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” you repeated as you hiccuped.

“Shhh, it’s alright,” your friend cooed. You released a shaky breath as your body burned and ached. Hobie cleared his throat before tilting his head towards his boat. “Why don’t you come inside, yeah?” he said.

You gulped and nodded, shivering as another gust of wind blasted down the docks. Hobie held his hand out, his expression soft as he spread out his fingers. You parted your lips as you slowly slid your hand into his. He gave you a gentle smile before leading you towards his home on the water. You sighed as a wave of warmth washed over you as you stepped inside. Hobie closed the door behind you before guiding you to his rugged sofa.

“Wait ‘ere a moment. There’s tissues on the coffee table for your nose,” he said. You nodded before sinking into his couch, your hands shaking as you pulled a few tissues up to your face. You winced as you pinched the bridge of your nose, the sting bleeding into your bones. You gazed down at your lap as Hobie brought over a pack of frozen peas, a bottle of water, and some ibuprofen. He sat down next to you as he handed you the items.

“Nothin’ feels broken, does it?” he asked. You shook your head as you opened the bottle of water and popped two pills into your mouth. You gulped it down before squeezing your eyes shut. You remained stiff for a bit before taking the cold peck and sinking into the couch cushions. The space heater hummed in the corner of the room as you felt the pain ebb and flow through your body.

“You want somethin’ to eat?” Hobie asked. You sniffed and shook your head, the blood flow thinning from your nose as you sighed. Hobie gave a slow nod before shifting in his seat. “(Y/N)…we both know this didn’t happen ‘cause you slipped,” he suddenly said. You felt your face grow cold as your throat tightened. You clenched the pack of peas as you gritted your teeth.

“It’s nothing,” you said.

“It’s not nothing, (Y/N). Your bleedin’ from your nose, got a mark across your cheek an’ bruises all over you,” he said, his normally calm tone wavering as his voice cracked. Your heart sank when you saw his eyes become glossy, his frown deep and sullen as he stared at your face.

“Look at what you did…”

“I-I’m sorry,” you swallowed. “I’m sorry I made you upset,” you breathed. Hobie shook his head.

“I’m not upset at you love-I’m fuckin’ pissed at whoever did this to you,” he said curtly. You blinked as your fingers dug into the pack, your body tensing at his words. Your shoulders sank as you gripped the edge of the couch cushion with your other hand.

“It’s not that big of a deal,” you said. You swallowed the lump in your throat before releasing a stuttering breath. “It’s my fault, anyway…” you muttered. The sofa creaked as Hobie inches a bit closer to you.

“No it’s not,” he said firmly. You shook your head as you whipped your head around.

“Yes it is!” you screamed. Hobie’s face tightened as you flared your nostrils. “It’s always my fault! It’s my fault that my dad drinks! It’s my fault that my mum’s a mess! It’s…it’s always my fault,” you shivered as tears rushed from your eyes. You shook your head as you ducked away, not wanting to see his look of disappointment at your sudden outburst. “If I wasn’t born, maybe she wouldn’t have stayed with him,” you thought aloud. “If I wasn’t born…maybe he would’ve been different,” you choked.

“Oi,” Hobie grunted. You didn’t look up, didn’t want to subject yourself to even more embarrassment than you’ve already endured. “You know none of that’s your fault, right?” he said. You slowly glanced up to see him giving you a gentle, sympathetic look. You blinked away a few more tears before resting your forehead on his shoulder. Hobie let you slowly inch towards him, pressing your body against his. He cooed as he wrapped his arms around your shivering frame as if he were shielding you.

“None of it’s your fault,” Hobie reassured you as he stroked your back. Your tears soaked into his t-shirt as he held you close. “Your dad drinkin’ and bein’ an arsehole is his choice, not yours,” your friend affirmed. You nodded, though the voice of your father still echoed inside of your head.

“I’m so stupid,” you blurted out. Hobie pulled back a little as he furrowed his brows.

“Why do you say that?” he asked. You sighed.

“My dad always says I’m stupid. Or clumsy. Or ugly…” your voice trailed off as you pushed your head against his arm.

“Well, he’s a fuckin’ twat,” Hobie seethed. Your jaw dropped as a small sound escaped from your tight throat. To say he looked downright furious would be an understatement: his nostrils flared, eyebrows scrunched together as he clenched his jaw. You took his hand into yours and smoothed your thumb across his knuckles.

“Please, Hobie…it’s not-“

“It is, (Y/N). It is that bad…and it will always be. He’s not going to change,” he said. You squeezed his hand.

��H-He can be nice sometimes-“ you stammered.

“That’s the thing: he’s nice sometimes,” Hobie replied. Your hand shook in his as your mind raced. “(Y/N), you deserve someone to be nice-no, to be kind to you all the time,” he explained. His words shattered your heart, your chest bursting into a million pieces as you sat there with wide eyes.

“B-But everyone’s parents get upset with them. It’s normal,” you rationalized. The look on his face told you all you needed to know. You collapsed your face into your hands. “Oh, God,” you murmured. Hobie held you as he hummed quietly.

“I’m here, love,” Hobie whispered. You sniffed as he patted your upper back. “We’re here,” he murmured. You nodded and swallowed thickly.

“And you know what? You’re not stupid. You’re far from it,” he said. You sniffed as he squeezed your hand this time. “You’re bloody brilliant,” he smiled brightly as he cupped your other cheek. You leaned into his touch as he rubbed his thumb against your cheek bone.

“And even if you’re a little clumsy, that’s okay. Everyone is,” he shrugged.

“You’re not,” you frowned. Hobie grinned.

“That’s ‘cause I’m perfect,” he shrugged with a smirk. You rolled your eyes and playfully slapped his arm, making him chuckle. “Kidding,” he said. Your breath hitched as he suddenly gazed into your eyes.

“And we both know for a fact that you’re not ugly,” he murmured. Heat filled to cheek as you hit your lip.

“Hobie,” you whispered. He smiled as he patted your cheek.

“You’re beautiful,” he whispered. You gripped his hand as you squeezed your eyes shut.

“B-But I’m too…broken,” you gasped out. “Too many bruises and broken bones and-“

“And you’re still beautiful,” Hobie said softly. Your eyes widened as warmth instantly flooded your chest. You sat speechless for what felt like an eternity before you suddenly pulled him close to you. Hobie ran his fingers through your hair as you buried your face into his chest, your arms wrapped tightly around his wiry frame.

“Thank you,” your voice cracked. “Thank you so much, Hobie,” you sniffed. Hobie nodded as he gently rocked you side to side.

“You’re welcome, love,” he murmured.

————

Thank you for reading! ❤️

Taglist: @maybethatfanfictionwriter @depressesoespressorat @yuhhtricki999 @mrswhitethornbelikov

Seek Help: Links/Phone Numbers

Emergency: 911 (USA/Canada), 999 (UK)

Refuge (National Domestic Abuse Helpline - UK): 0808-2000-247

National Domestic Abuse Hotline (USA): 800-799-7233

Child Help Hotline (Child Abuse Hotline - USA): 1-800-422-4453

NSPCC (Child Abuse Helpline - UK): 0808-800-5000

RAINN - Rape, Abuse, and Incest National Network (Sexual Assault Hotline - US): 800-656-4673

Rape Crisis England and Wales (Sexual Assault Support Line - UK): 0808-500-2222

Suicide & Crisis Lifeline (USA): 988

Samaritans (Suicide Helpline - UK): 116-123

National Alliance on Mental Illness (Mental Health Resource - USA): 1-800-950-6264

Mind (Mental Health Resource - UK): 0300-123-3393

Child Abuse Information (Neumors Article; includes steps on how to report abuse)

#astv hobie #hobie brown #hobie brown x reader #hobie brown x you #hobie brown x y/n #spider punk #spider punk x reader #spider punk x you #spider punk x y/n #across the spiderverse #spider man atsv #spider man angst #angst #spider man into the spider verse

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crackedpumpkin · 1 year

Note

Hey can you do a ninjago cole x reader?

maybe where the reader is a priestess and the ninja need something from her to help the city or something I dont know

(feel free to ignore just got this of the top of my head, also havent requested something in a while)

|| ʜᴏʟʏ ɢʀᴏᴜɴᴅ|| ᴄᴏʟᴇ ʙʀᴏᴏᴋᴇꜱᴛᴏɴᴇ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ ||

[ 𝐦𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ]

Hello love! I hope you enjoy this one, it's been a while since I wrote anything for Cole ahahah. Stay hydrated and safe everyone! More content is still on its way, I've just been very busy with graduation, work, and whatnot ^^ also @legogeek33 's reblog(?) (comment???) about the First Spinjitsu Master being the equivalent of God in Ninjago is so fucking valid :)

“Well, this is gonna hurt.”

Cole chuckles breathlessly, eyes fixed on the building that comes crashing down. Not even his superhuman strength could help him now. He can vaguely hear the cries of civilians a distance away, smiling to himself. Looks like Jay managed to get them out.

The sight of a huge concrete slab hurtling towards him after that is the last thing he sees.

— — — — —

“Priestess! We need your help!”

You turn instantly at the sound of someone calling you, almost dropping the candelabra in your hands, when you see the bloodied and ragged ninja, the familiar bright colours of their gi soaked in splattered crimson. You immediately place it down, rushing over to the temple entrance.

“Treat him first. Please.” The green ninja pleads. He and the Lightning ninja are the only things preventing the unconscious Earth ninja between them from collapsing to the ground. You can barely make out his face, spotting a deep gash the length of your arm running down his side.

You purse your lips, nodding. “This way,” You instruct, gesturing for some of the other temple staff on night duty to come forward and assist them. You guide them to the main room, where a giant statue of the First Spinjitsu Master stands at the front, moving to help place the Earth ninja down onto a soft mat your disciples lay down for you.

You place his arm on your shoulder, standing up with a sharp exhale once half his weight is transferred to you. Both you and the Lightning ninja gently lay him down, your white robes now stained with blood.

“Forgive me,” You murmur, hands gently gripping the bottom of his hood and pulling it up, exposing his face. His breathing is short and stuttered, beads of sweat on his brow as a river of red continues to trickle down his skin.

Clasping your hands together, you start to perform your ritual of healing. You close your eyes, placing your hands directly on his wound. Blood coats the skin, and you feel your palms warm.

Even with your eyes closed, you can still see the faint soft rays that emit from your palms. The strong scent of iron fills the air, practically coating your tongue. You struggle to hold back the nausea that overwhelms you, focusing purely on saving this man’s life. Eventually, you hear his pained grunts fade and the familiar trickle of the blood slowing its flow.

His wound is the first thing you check. It’s no longer bleeding, a thin layer of raw pink skin forming over it. Dried blood cakes the surrounding skin, but other than that, he would be alright. The rest of the ninjas receiving treatment behind you are staring in awe, still in disbelief that they have managed to witness your holy powers for the first time in their lives.

You nod at another of your disciples who steps forward, gently picking up the Earth ninja and bringing him to the med bay in the church. You turn to face the rest, a small smile on your lips. “He will be alright now.”

They all breathe out sighs of relief, thanking you profusely. “It’s alright. Please, stay and rest. We will take care of you, so feel free to ask for any assistance. My friend here will guide you to your rooms, while I will oversee your friend's recovery personally.” After a quick bow to the grateful ninja, you take your leave, reassuring them of any worries they previously held.

The next few days are relatively peaceful, with the ninja having more or less fully recovered from their injuries. Well, all save for one. The Earth ninja remained unconscious, and you were in the med bay day and night, healing him to the best of your ability.

You’d even helped change and bandage him. Sure, it was a little embarrassing at first, with your innocent eyes never having seen a man shirtless. You’d gotten used to it over time, though, and aren’t as affected as before. Cole was his name, you heard, with the ninja becoming more comfortable around you and revealing their identities. It’s a nice name. You like the way it rolls off your tongue.

You rinse the clean cloth in the pail on the table beside you, wringing it dry and gently dabbing at the scrapes and bruises on his body. The shallow cuts gradually healed, with most of them barely leaving scars. The deep gash from the night before is also healing rather nicely, most of the dried blood having been wiped away.

You brush aside his hair, taking a moment to admire his face. He’s rather handsome, you suppose, with long lashes brushing against the skin under his eyes, his pale upper lip curved with a perfect cupid’s bow. His toned arms lay on each side of him, the defined muscle more apparent without his gi covering them.

You gingerly brush the soft cloth against his cheek, cleaning it as per your usual ritual and leaving the more private areas alone. You move onto his arms, turning to rinse the cloth once more.

“Who…are you…?” You’re startled by the sudden voice, turning to see Cole’s lips tugged downwards in a confused frown. You approach him with a warm smile, gently shushing him and continuing to clean his body.

“Everything’s okay; get some proper rest now. You’re in a safe place.” You promise him. He can barely muster the strength to speak, trying to sit up. You place your hands on his shoulders, pushing him back down with a tut and sitting on his bed. He doesn’t protest, his eyes fixed on your face even as they slowly close.

He begins to snore. You stifle a giggle, finishing up your task before gathering the pail and cloth and leaving the room. You make your way to the kitchen, placing the pail down in its usual place, where someone would help to clean it.

The next few days are much more lively. Once the rest of the ninjas heard that their friend was alright, they visited the med bay every day. More often than not, you had to chase them out so that Cole could get enough rest. Okay, maybe you just wanted to spend time with him as well.

Over the weeks spent with him, the both of you had bonded over your mutual love of books, eagerly discussing trivial topics such as the thrilling adventures of Lillian McGonagall, a book series you both are fans of. However, as time passed and Cole recovered fully, you found yourself wishing more and more that he’d stay.

One night, however, you found yourself in his room, having subconsciously made an excuse to yourself to just check up on him one last time before he left with the rest of the ninjas. Strangely enough, your heart twisted at the thought of waking up to a temple devoid of his presence, already dreading the morning when you’d forget that he wasn’t here anymore.

You knock on the door, surprised when it opens on the second tap. Suddenly, you’re tugged into the room, the door closing behind you with a soft click. You find yourself with your back against it, looking up into warm obsidian eyes. “Hey,” You greet Cole breathlessly, your hands gripping the fabric of your white robe as your racing heart thrums happily in your chest.

“Hey,” He chuckles, his palm resting flat against the door beside your head. You can’t look away, eyes fixed on his playful yet kind gaze. “So, what’re you doing here?”

“I couldn’t sleep, so I just thought I’d check on you.” Your lousy excuse is obvious, even to him. He raises a brow at your words, lips tugging up into a smirk. Oh. You swallow thickly. To have those lips on yours would be such a blessing.

“I couldn’t sleep either.” You’re suddenly made aware of his free hand gently combing through your long locks, the silky strands on his fingers as he lifts his hand up. His gaze doesn’t falter, even as he kisses your hair.

You feel your cheeks warm, your head flooding with unholy thoughts you can’t seem to will away, no matter how much you try. It’d be a lie to say that having his lips on yours isn’t all that’s on your mind right now.

You forget how to breathe, especially when he smiles down at you. He takes a step closer, than another, until your bodies are flush against each other. His hand cups your chin, his thumb brushing over your plump bottom lip. His eyes flit from your eyes to your lips, then back up again.

You can’t think.

“May I?”

Cole’s husky whisper is all the temptation you need, managing a shaky nod as your tongue darts out to lick your lips. All at once, his lips are on yours. You close your eyes, moving your lips against his and chasing the sweet and addictive taste of euphoria he provides.

You pull him closer, and his hand grips your right thigh, gently squeezing it. You oblige, lifting your legs and wrapping them around his waist. The kiss grows more urgent. The promise of tomorrow’s departure spurs both of you forward to cross the line.

Except, the line isn’t crossed.

You pull back, panting heavily as dark pink coats your cheeks. His luscious red lips are all you can see, but you come to your senses through the haze. You can’t go any further than this. If you did, you’d fall for him harder than ever. You wouldn’t be able to handle his absence.

So you cup his cheek, pressing a gentle peck against it.

This seems to bring him back down to earth from his euphoric high, blinking a few times before he smiles softly at you. The both of you share another gentle yet chaste kiss, your hands tangling themselves in his shaggy, coal-black hair as the both of you continue to whisper tender words and affectionate promises to each other through the dizzying brush of his lips against yours.

The following day, he departs. But not before giving you one last kiss, hidden away in the med bay after you help him pack his belongings. Giving your goodbyes to the ninja, you watch them leave, eyes fixed on one in particular. A hushed promise of his is held close to your heart, one of him returning.

It’s been a year since they left, and you’ve busied yourself with the temple's upkeep and your duties as the Priestess of the temple. You’re occasionally given updates on the ninja, hearing about their adventures in the Kingdom of Shintaro. You hear about Cole and Vania, a shard of jealousy embedding itself in your heart.

After that, you explicitly ordered no one to mention his name around you. You didn’t want to know. So much for the promise he made to you. Were you nothing to him? Did that night become nothing more than mere memory to him?

Did he forget about you?

You weren’t sure whether you wanted answers.

One day, however, you returned from an outing to the village where you cured the sick and injured, as was your regular routine. The temple was in a commotion, with various staff rushing around as if they were preparing for the arrival of a royal.

“What’s going on?” You question one of them, stopping her as she rushes toward the kitchen.

“I-I think it’s best if you see it for yourself, priestess.” She stutters, glancing at the main room. You frown, letting her go and making your way there yourself. Who would be as bold as to intrude into your sanctuary?

You push the doors open, your rushed footsteps slowing to a stop when you register the familiar black gi. He turns, and it’s as if you’re seeing him for the first time again. The hair you’d so carelessly tangled your hands in, those stupid lips you’d so passionately kissed all those nights ago….

It can’t be.

You’re frozen in place as Cole strides over, the easygoing smile on his lips making your heart skip a beat even now. You can’t even muster the strength to push him away as he tucks a lock of hair behind your ear, lifting up a few strands and kissing them before looking up at you with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

“I told you I’d come back.”

#ninjago #ninjago x reader #ninjago cole x reader #cole x reader #ninjago cole x you #ninjago cole x y/n #x reader #music store au #cole brookestone #cole brookestone x reader #cole brookestone x you #cole brookestone x y/n #asks #requests #x reader requests

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starlightandsouls · 1 year

Text

Wildest Dreams

Warnings: Anxiety, mentions of death, burning, captivity

A/N: Hii everyone. I know I've been off the grid lately but I have been so swamped with work that the only free time I've been getting is used up for getting some sleep in. I managed to come up with a short one shot so I hope you guys like it

Reader POV...

The screaming did not stop. Even as the bodies around you fell, as the rivers of blood flowed until the ground below you was crimson... it did not stop. No one had any sense of when the battle had started or when it would end. Everyone fought to survive. Slashing whatever was in front of you and moving on. Cut. Dive. Stab. Repeat. The same mantra had been rushing through your mind since the battle had started. Well... that and one other thing. The Shadowsinger. Azriel.

Realistically, you knew that the Illyrian had much more battle experience than you and was more capable of holding his own than you would ever be. But still... deep down the anxiety over his safety had been gnawing away at your heart until it was a torn, ragged thing. You had tried keeping Azriel in your line of sight, always staying close to him despite how difficult it proved to be with him leading the aerial legions. However one of the enemy’s soldiers had slammed you to the ground, knocking the air from your limbs. You had eventually disposed of the bastard but when you rose, Azriel was nowhere to be seen. Instantly panic overtook your mind. Cassian and Azriel would probably both kick your ass if they knew you were this distracted on the battle field. But what could you do? The heart was a fickle, fickle thing.

Taking in your surroundings, you saw Nesta leading the Valkyries alongside Gwyn and Emerie. Any pride that you would have had for your sworn sisters was overtaken by your fear for your love. A love that was not yours. A love that you had sworn you would reveal to your beloved if the two of you survived this accursed battle. Although the chances of that were decreasing as each second passed.

You had just knocked out another soldier when a pain like no other overtook you. Grasping at your heart, you fell to your knees. Agony tore through you, overtaking your senses.

Azriel. Azriel. Azriel

Gazing up at the sky, the sight caused a piercing scream to escape you. Azriel, with his chest littered with arrows, fell from the sky. His wings resembled moth eaten cloth as they flapped weakly in the air. He was gone. Despite being on the other side of the field, despite the sky separating the two of you... you knew that he was gone. You could see it in the way he fell, so freely, his wings making no attempt to pull him up. You could see it in the way, for the first time in his life, he was wasn’t swathed in his shadows. You could see it in the way his glorious chest, laden with swirls of ink that told his tale, stilled and rose no more for breath.

Losing all sense of your surroundings, you screamed and screamed, at the unfairness of it all. What had you done to deserve this? The Mother couldn’t be this cruel, she couldn’t take away your love without ever giving you the chance to cherish it. The world fell away as you ran to him. Everything became blurry as you reached his broken body. You buried your face in his onyx hair his night chilled scent fading with each passing moment. The last thing you remembered was beating against his chest, begging him to come back to you, before darkness overtook you.

..............................................................................................

The scene shifted, from the stricken battle field to the cell of darkness. The air hung heavy with the wafting smell of blood and rot. There were no windows to let in any light or air. The absolute darkness of the cell was so suffocating that it felt like your lungs were constricting in on themselves. You reached out blindly, trying to grasp at anything to give you direction.

A low whimper broke the veil of silence in the dungeon. Turning towards the sound, you spotted a little boy, not older than ten. Alone he sat in the dark, knees pulled up with his tiny wrapped around his head as if shutting something out. Your heart broke at the thought of such an innocent child being left alone in a place like this. You tried to move towards him but found yourself stuck, your feet moulding themselves to the ground, freezing you in place.

The little boy looked up, looking past you at the locked door behind. A gasp escaped you at the despair on his face. Those eyes... those honey coloured whose sight always comforted you, the same eyes who looked at you with such pride and adoration whenever you bested him in a sparring match... Azriel.

Before you could do or say anything, the door behind you was slammed open. Two slightly older boys made their way in and locked the door behind them, moving towards Azriel. They were much taller than him and healthier too. So one of them easily grabbed Azriel and slammed him against the wall. Little Azriel tried to struggle as they tied his hands above his head.

“Stop moving, vermin. We’re just doing an experiment,” one of the boys spat out as he tied the rope tighter and tighter around Az’s little wrists.

Your heart rose to your throat as the scene before you began to resemble a horrific, horrific story that you had heard. The story of your beloved.

They procured a bottle from their pockets and poured a thick, slimy substance from it on Azriel’s hands. Oil. One of them lit a match against the wall and before you knew how to react, they lit Azriel’s hands on fire.

The screams that erupted from little Azriel would haunt you for the rest of your life. The agony that ripped him apart from the inside as the fire ate away at his hands... was not something you would ever be able to imagine. Still frozen in place, you were unable to help or stop what was happening. It was if you were stuck in a glass cage, banging against the walls, unable to break free, forced to watch as the world repeatedly tore your lover apart.

Azriel. Azriel. Azriel. No. No.

..........................................................................................

Azriel POV...

The trip to the Winter Court always exhausted him more than any other. Flying over the icy tundra left his wings sore for weeks afterwards. Now, as he landed back at the House of Wind, he wanted nothing more than to collapse in his bed. And maybe stay there for a day or two.

He had just reached his door when a scream sounded from down the hall. From your room. Instantly any exhaustion he might have been feeling fell away as his mind became alert. Running to your room, he took out Truth Teller, already planning all the ways he would torture whoever had dared to attack you in the dead of night, like a coward. While you were unaware of the love he held for you, it did not stop the protective instincts of his heart kicking in that irrationally told him to protect you like you were his.

Slamming the door open, he scanned the room for the intruder but shockingly found it empty. The windows, the door were all shut as they should be and his shadows reported that no one was in the immediate surroundings of the room also. However he soon found out the source of your distress as he turned to your bed and found you twisting and turning, writhing in your sheets as tears made their way down your face. A nightmare.

He put Truth Teller away as he made his way to your bed. He shook you by the shoulders, trying to force you awake. But whatever nightmare you were having, refused to let you out of its clutches as you continued to cry in your sleep. Finally, he yelled out your name and shook you with such force that you woke with a fright.

Your eyes were frantic as they took in your room, your body still wracked with sobs.

“Hey, you’re alright. You’re safe,” he whispered, not wanting to startle you too much now that you were awake.

It was as if hearing his voice broke you out of a trance. Your eyes cleared and a cry of anguish escaped you as you threw your arms around him.

“Az. Please don’t leave me. Please don’t go,” you cried against his neck.

He was frozen in place. Hesitantly he put his arm around your waist. Azriel knew that you were distressed at the moment. He knew that he had to think straight, that he couldn’t let himself cross any boundaries.

You, on the other hand, remained adamant on not letting him go. Your grip around his neck only tightened as you buried yourself closer and closer. Azriel’s breath caught in his chest at you being so close to him. He knew that it was wrong, that he should prioritise your well being... but he couldn’t remember the last time he had held someone like this.

Lost in his thoughts, Azriel didn’t realise the panic that overtook you as his chest stilled.

“No. No. Azriel. Please don’t go. I love you so much. I’ll do anything, just please don’t leave me.”

The flurry of emotions in Azriel’s mind stilled at your confession. In that moment, Azriel felt a bridge of pure light extend from his heart to yours, binding their souls together.

Mate.

The revelation would have been enough to bring him to his knees had he been standing. You were his mate. This amazing, brilliant angel of a woman was his mate.

The bond, now glowing ethereally between the two of you, allowed him raw, unfiltered access to your emotions right now. And that was what pulled him out of his reverie. There would be time for all this later. Right now, his mate was upset. And that just wouldn’t do.

“Hey, hey. Darling, look at me. I need you to take a breath alright?” he asked, putting your hand against his heart, “Do you feel that? Breathe with me darling. In and out. You can do it.”

You tried to mimic his breathing but every time you tried, a new spell of tears would overtake you. This wasn’t working. So Azriel got up and sat against the head board, laying you across his chest, and pulled his wings around the two of them.

As his shadows swirled through your hair and arms, he whispered sweet nothings in your ear, always making sure your head lay on his beating heart, trying to ease whatever terror was consuming you,

“You’re alright, darling. I’m here. Nothing is going to hurt you. I’m right here.”

You shook your head, sobs now reduced to slow tears and hiccups,

“It’s not me. You... they were hurting you. And I couldn’t save you. I love you so much Azriel. And I didn’t even tell you... and I... I can’t lose you,” you managed to get out in between hiccups. Only the Mother knows how Azriel was able to maintain his resolve, how he managed to blink away tears of his own,

“Well... I’m here now, little love. And I promise you that I’m not going anywhere. I’ll stay by your side for as long as you want.”

You managed to give him a whisper of a smile, before burying yourself in his chest, bundling his shirt in your arms as you took in his scent. Azriel glanced up at the ceiling as he tried to hold back tears of his own. You loved him. You loved him. Loved him enough to be terrified of losing him. Azriel had never known what it felt like to be wanted, really wanted. It was always the other way around. It was always Azriel being a fool, handing out his heart to people who would never return his feelings. And it always ended with Azriel, alone, in the dark, holding the pieces of his shattered heart. But now... it had all changed. You loved him. Him.

After a while, your tears stopped but you were still shaking. Despite everything, Azriel slowly moved forward and placed a small kiss against your head. He instantly moved away, cringing at his foolishness but you leaned further into his touch.

“Do you want to go back to sleep, love?” he asked, knowing you would be exhausted. But when you immediately shook your head, Azriel began to think of other ways to calm you. After a moment of silence he asked,

“Will you dance with me?”

The randomness of the question made you look up, a confused furrow on your brow,

“What?”

“Do you want to dance with me,” he repeated. A small smile lit up your face and when you nodded your yes, he picked you up bridal style before setting you down on the floor, in front of your window.

You put both your hands around his neck and leaned against his chest. He wrapped both his hands around your waist and the two of you swayed in the room, swathed in moonlight and shadows. Out of nowhere, he asked,

“Do you remember the first time we met?”

“It was at the Winter Solstice ball,” you replied.

“Mhmm. I saw you talking to Feyre, looking as beautiful as ever in your grey dress. And I knew then that I had to dance with you at least once.”

You laughed against him and he let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding.

“God, that night was so bad. I stepped on your toes all night,” you remarked, the heaviness of your voice slowly leaving.

“Oh definitely. My feet were sore for weeks afterwards. I couldn’t even train for a few days.”

Your cry of outrage was music to his ears as you elbowed him the gut,

“Asshole.”

To emphasise your point you stepped on both his feet, causing the two of you to laugh. Arms wrapped around each other, Azriel moved for the two of you as you continued to stand on his feet. The sight was comical. You standing on your Shadowsinger’s feet as he waddled around the room with the two of you. Soon, the room was filled with laughter and cries of joy as Azriel circled the two of you around the room.

“I love you, little love. And I’m never going to leave,” Azriel whispered to you as you and your lover continued to dance long into the night.

#azriel #azriel shadowsinger #azriel imagine #acotar hc #acotar headcanon #azriel headcanon #azriel headcanons #azriel x reader #azriel fluff #azriel fanfic

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