#keeping his silence and having a moment alone in the hall with his grief and knowing that just behind him

[wandamaximoffsbadgirl]

My Missing Piece

616!Wanda x 199999!Fem!Reader

Summary: You've lost your wife Wanda. Leaving you alone with your twin boys to try and pick up the pieces. What happens when the Scarlet Witch comes looking for her boys?

Word Count: 10.4K

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, R calls W Mommy, W uses pet names, enchanted strap use, Dom!Wanda, sub!reader, overstimulation, magic restraints, depressive thoughts/episodes.

A/N: Made this forever ago and forgot about it until like two days ago lol. I really liked the idea of this so I hope you guys enjoy~ Also I decided that world 199999 (which was the original MCU world number before MoM turned it to 616) is just a parallel world where no one died :)

Every night after tucking my boys, Billy and Tommy in to bed, I have a bit of me time. Sometimes I watch TV, sometimes I'll scroll through social media on my phone, sometimes I'll write because I was told that was supposed to help with grief, it hasn't so far, what helps the most is when I talk to her before bed, "I miss you Wands...our boys miss you too...of course they love their Mama, but you're their Mommy. You carried them for nine months, you were in labor for just over a day." Tommy was born first 12 minutes ahead of his brother Billy. "You gave so much for our boys and our life here and I wish you had never said yes to that mission after all these years..." I break down, quiet sobs wrack me as I curl up on her side of the bed. It still smells like her.

I let sleep take me as I have the same dream I do every night. Wanda, but not Wanda...some twisted version of her with black fingers, and she just seems off, but she's searching, as if she can see me? She's looking for our boys. Every morning just as she finds me, us, I wake up. Dried tears on my cheeks and my eyes red. The bags under my eyes have never been darker, but I cover them up as I get out of bed to start yet another day without my wife.

The alarm blares through the quiet of the room, jolting me awake from my restless slumber. With a heavy sigh, I reach over to silence it, rubbing the sleep from my eyes. Another day begins, much like every other since she left us.

I stumble out of bed, the weight of grief still heavy on my shoulders as I move through the motions of the morning routine. It's a struggle to keep it together, but I have to be strong for Billy and Tommy. They need me, even though every fiber of my being aches for her presence.

As I make my way downstairs, the memories flood back, hitting me like a tidal wave. Wanda was always the light in our lives, her laughter echoing through the halls, her warmth enveloping us like a comforting embrace. But now, there's only emptiness.

I try to push the thoughts aside as I prepare breakfast for the boys, forcing a smile as they bound into the kitchen, their youthful energy a stark contrast to my own weariness. They chatter excitedly about school and friends, oblivious to the pain that lingers beneath the surface.

After they've eaten and headed off to catch the bus, I sink into the solitude of the empty house once more. It's in these quiet moments that the ache is most palpable, the absence of her presence a constant reminder of all that we've lost.

I find myself drawn to her belongings, unable to resist the pull of her memory. Running my fingers over the familiar objects, I'm transported back to happier times, when our love felt invincible, untouchable by the darkness that now threatens to consume me.

But amidst the despair, there's a flicker of something else. A determination, a resolve to keep going, if not for myself then for her. She wouldn't want me to wallow in sorrow, to let the grief consume me. She'd want me to live, to cherish the memories we shared and find solace in the love that still remains.

With a deep breath, I push myself to my feet, wiping away the tears that threaten to fall. Today may be another struggle, another battle against the pain, but I refuse to let it defeat me. For Wanda, for our boys, I'll find the strength to carry on, one day at a time.

The day went by quickly and soon enough the boys were home filling up our home with noise once more,

"Boys homework first or no ice cream!" I call from the kitchen when I hear them start to fight over player one controller.

"Awww but Mama!" They whined.

"So you boys don't want ice cream tomorrow night either I see." I hear them grumble and then the TV go off, the sound of the dining room chairs scraping as I look over my shoulder to see they're working. "There are my good boys." I turn back smiling as I carry on with prepping dinner. Suddenly something feels off. A pit in my stomach starts forming and I feel eyes on me, not the boys though these feel predatory.

I look up and through the window I don't see my own reflection, I see Wanda, the same one I see in my dreams.

My heart leaps into my throat as I freeze, the knife in my hand forgotten as I stare wide-eyed at the impossible sight before me. It's her, but it's not. The twisted version from my nightmares, black fingers reaching out like tendrils of darkness, eyes filled with a hunger I can't comprehend.

I feel a chill run down my spine as her gaze locks onto mine, a shiver of fear coursing through my veins. Instinctively, I reach for the pendant hanging around my neck, fingers brushing against the smooth surface of the purple power stone embedded within. It's a comforting weight, a reminder of the power that pulses through me, but even it feels insignificant in the face of this apparition.

"What do you want?" I manage to choke out, my voice barely above a whisper. But she doesn't answer, only continues to stare, her presence suffocating in its intensity.

Desperation claws at the edges of my mind as I struggle to make sense of the situation. Is this some kind of illusion, a trick of the mind brought on by grief and exhaustion? Or is she truly here, some twisted echo of the woman I loved?

Before I can gather my thoughts, a sudden crash from the dining room snaps me back to reality. The boys, my precious boys, oblivious to the danger that lurks just beyond our walls. With a surge of adrenaline, I lunge forward, grabbing the nearest weapon within reach.

But as I turn back to face the window, she's gone, vanished into thin air like a wisp of smoke. The only evidence of her presence is the lingering sense of unease that hangs heavy in the air.

I rush to the dining room, relief flooding through me as I find the boys unharmed, their laughter filling the room once more. But even as I hold them close, a sense of dread lingers, a silent reminder that darkness still lurks just beyond the edges of our reality.

"Mama is everything okay?" Billy asks as I hold them, kissing the top of their heads.

"I just thought one of you got hurt. I'm happy you boys aren't." I lie to them as to not worry them, but Billy looks at me trying to search my thoughts. "Hey no mind reading little man." I ruffle his hair. "Everything is fine. If you boys are finished you can play one game, dinner will be ready in 15 minutes." The minutes tick by slowly as I finish preparing dinner, the aroma of comfort food filling the air. I glance at the clock, realizing that my boys are engrossed in their game, blissfully unaware of the turmoil swirling within me.

With a heavy sigh, I take a moment to compose myself before calling them to the table. As we gather for the meal, laughter and chatter resuming, I try to push the unsettling encounter out of my mind. But deep down, I know it's not over.

As we eat, the boys share stories from their day, their infectious joy momentarily easing the ache in my heart. I force a smile, savoring these small moments of normalcy in our fractured world.

After dinner, as the boys retreat to their rooms for the night, I find myself once again standing by the window, staring into the darkness beyond. The pit in my stomach returns, the unease settling in as I feel a presence lingering just out of sight.

The room is silent, save for the hum of the refrigerator and the distant sounds of the night. I close my eyes, summoning the courage to speak the words that linger on the tip of my tongue.

"Wanda, if you're out there, if you can hear me, please... don't hide. I don't know what's happening, but I can't face it alone. I need you, now more than ever." My voice trembles with a mix of desperation and longing.

The air remains still, the response elusive. I wait in silence, hoping for some sign, some reassurance that I'm not losing my mind. But the universe remains silent, withholding its secrets.

"Gods I feel like I'm going crazy Wands...how am I supposed to do this without you?" I feel the hot tears in my eyes, streak down my cheeks then suddenly a loud bang from the living room, the sound of a portal. "Stephan? Is that you?" It wasn't uncommon for Stephan Strange to pop in and check on me and the boys. Stephan had lost his love many years ago. Before I reach the living room, I hear the familiar sound of heels clicking on my hard wood flooring. Suddenly I'm standing face to face with the Wanda I've seen in my dreams...."W-Wands?" I questioned,

"A version. I've lost something precious to me and I've come to get it back." I look her over. It's Wanda, but not mine. As I get closer, Her hair is a different shade, her eyes are a little less of an emerald green and more of a sea green, this Wanda has a scar on her forehead, just above her left eyebrow.

"Oh...what has your universe done to you Detka?" I ask softly reaching out and she grabs my wrist with a force.

"It took everything from me." She seethed. "I want my boys back. I'm taking them." She tosses me aside like I'm nothing. Luckily with the power stone embedded in my chest. I push back, barreling back into her. Tackling her to the ground until I'm on top of her and it's then that she notices my stone, "You have the power stone...how? That's impossible. I've seen it kill people that touch it.

"I'm tough that's why my Wanda loved me." I had her pinned and used my own magic to subdue her. "I've been called the Violet Witch here for years. It became my code name."

"That can't be..." I give her a questioning look. "I'm the Scarlet Witch." She tells me, the scarlet witch? Wanda never said anything...? I stumble back off of her, reeling, "The Scarlet Witch." I let out a dry chuckle, "It makes sense, but I can't let you take my boys. If I loose them then That means I've lost my Wanda and them. I might as well die." I tell her,

"Wait so your Wanda is gone?" She asks. I nod,

"She was needed for a mission. I begged her not to go, we had retired from being Avengers 10 years ago when we found out she was pregnant. She told me everything would be fine. She promised me...and then suddenly I have Strange and Parker on my doorstep with Bucky and Sam behind them carry the casket." I feel my eyes blur as I walk over to the scarlet witch, "If you are another her then," I take her hands putting them up to my temples and ease my forehead onto her, letting my memories over the past ten years flood through her mind.

As our minds intertwine, I feel a rush of memories flooding into her consciousness. The love, the loss, the moments of joy and heartache that have shaped my existence since Wanda's departure. It's a whirlwind of emotions, a bittersweet symphony of love and grief that binds us together in ways I never thought possible.

For a moment, there's a flicker of recognition in her eyes, a glimmer of understanding amidst the chaos of her own turmoil. She sees the depth of my pain, the desperation to hold onto the fragments of a life that's slipping through my fingers.

But as quickly as it came, the moment passes, and she pulls away, her expression hardening once more. "I'm sorry for your loss," she says, her voice tinged with a hint of sympathy. "But my pain is just as real. I've lost everything too, and I'll do whatever it takes to reclaim what's mine."

I feel a pang of empathy for her, a shared sense of anguish that transcends the boundaries of our separate worlds. But beneath it all, there's a primal instinct, a fierce determination to protect my boys at all costs.

"I understand your pain," I reply, my voice steady despite the turmoil raging within. "But my boys are not yours to take. They belong here, with me, with their family."

She narrows her eyes, her resolve unwavering. "Then we're at an impasse," she says, her tone final. "I won't leave without them."

I take a step forward, meeting her gaze with steely determination. "Then I guess we'll just have to see who's stronger," I say, my voice echoing with a newfound resolve.

With that, the battle lines are drawn, two versions of Wanda Maximoff facing off against each other in a clash of wills and power. But amidst the chaos and uncertainty, one thing remains clear: no matter the outcome, I'll do whatever it takes to protect my boys and honor the memory of the woman I loved.

Her eyes meet mine, a mixture of pain and longing mirrored in their depths. The tear I wiped away lingers on her cheek, a testament to the shared sorrow we both carry. The silence stretches between us, heavy with unspoken emotions, and for a moment, time seems to hang suspended.

"I... I don't know if I can stay," she whispers, her voice choked with emotion. "But the offer, it means more than you can imagine. In my world, everything has crumbled, and I'm left with nothing but ashes and echoes of what once was."

I can feel the weight of her words, the burden of her grief, and I tighten my grip on her cheek, desperate to convey the sincerity of my plea. "Wanda, you don't have to face this alone. You're not just a version of her; you're your own person, with your own pain. But here, in this universe, you have a chance to rebuild, to find a new kind of family."

She opens her eyes, the sea-green gaze locking onto mine. There's a vulnerability in her expression, a crack in the stoic facade she wears. "I'm so tired," she admits, a raw honesty in her voice. "Tired of loss, tired of fighting. Maybe... maybe it's time for a different path."

A tentative smile plays on her lips, and my heart skips a beat. I wipe away another tear, this time a tear of relief. "You don't have to decide now," I say softly. "Take the time you need. But know that here, you have people who care, people who understand loss and are willing to help you carry the burden."

The room seems to brighten, as if the weight of the universe has lifted, if only for a moment. And in that moment, I see a glimmer of hope, a possibility for healing and connection that transcends the boundaries of our fractured worlds.

"I need to know one thing." She speaks, "Is Vision alive?" my brows furrow together.

"Vision? Who is that?" I ask genuinely confused.

"Wait...how did we meet here?" She asks.

"Oh well we met in Sokovia. We were protesting Stark together at a rally. Your brother flirted with me first and I never let him live that down especially when I married you and he was my best man." I smile at the memory. "Anyways, we were approached by Hydra and experimented on. They had the mind stone and the power stone. You and Pietro were exposed to the mind stone and I was too, but nothing happened unlike you two so they put me in a room with the power stone. It decided my chest was it's forever home. I ended up breaking us out from the Hydra base with the help of the Avengers who had caught word of the base. The three of us joined the Avengers and the rest is history." I tell her.

"So no Ultron? Sokovia didn't fly in the air? What about the Sokovia accords?" She throws question after question.

"No idea what you're talking about love. We carried on doing small missions, taking down hydra and radicals, but the three of us spent a long time training before they let us out doing field work." I tell her.

"Three? Is...is Pietro..?" Her voice breaks.

"Alive? Yeah of course." She falls to her knees and starts sobbing.

"Mommy?" Billy is at the middle of the stairs and the look in Wanda's eyes.

"Yeah baby it's Mommy." Wanda opened her arms and the little speedster found his way into her arms." Her eyes spilling over tears.

"Mama said you weren't coming back." Billy whispered.

"Mama didn't think I was, but Mommy always finds a way back to her boys." Wanda pulls back and looks up at me. "I'm staying...how could I say no when this is just about the most perfect version I could ask for?" I smile and start crying again as Tommy joins us before I can even blink. "Our little quick silver." Wanda smiles hugging the boys, her boys.

Tears of relief blur my vision as I watch Wanda embrace our boys, her boys, with a tenderness that speaks volumes. Billy and Tommy cling to her, their small arms wrapping around her tightly as if afraid she'll disappear again if they let go. And in that moment, I realize that this is where she belongs, with us, her family.

I join them on the floor, wrapping my arms around them all, unable to contain the overwhelming flood of emotions that threatens to consume me. "Welcome home, Wanda," I whisper, my voice choked with tears.

She looks up at me, her eyes shining with gratitude and love. "Thank you," she says softly, her voice trembling with emotion. "For everything."

Together, we sit in the warmth of our embrace, a makeshift family forged from the ashes of our shared past. And as the night stretches on, I can't help but feel a glimmer of hope amidst the darkness, a belief that no matter what trials may come, as long as we have each other, we can weather any storm.

========================

The days blurred together in a haze of longing and uncertainty, each moment tinged with the ache of what could have been. Wanda's presence in our home was both a blessing and a curse, a constant reminder of the love I had lost and the impossibility of reclaiming what was once mine.

I watched her interact with the boys, her smile forced but genuine, her laughter a melody that echoed through the halls. And yet, beneath the surface, I could sense the weight of her own grief, the burden of a past that refused to let her go.

I tried to be strong, to be there for her and the boys, but every smile felt like a lie, every laugh a hollow echo of the joy we once shared. And in the darkness of the night, when sleep eluded me and the silence pressed in like a vice, I found myself haunted by memories of another Wanda, a version of her that existed only in my dreams.

She was so close, yet so far away, a phantom presence that taunted me with what could have been. I longed to reach out to her, to hold her close and whisper words of love and comfort. But she was gone, lost to me in a reality that no longer existed.

And so I forced myself out of bed each morning, steeling myself against the pain that threatened to consume me. I buried myself in the routines of daily life, seeking solace in the mundane tasks that kept me tethered to reality.

But no matter how hard I tried to push her memory away, she lingered in the shadows of my mind, a ghostly specter that refused to be forgotten. And as the days turned into weeks, I began to wonder if I would ever find peace, if I would ever be able to let go of the love that still bound me to her, even across the vast expanse of the multiverse.

My Wanda and I had always had a policy of no mind reading since we could both do it, but this Wanda pokes at my thoughts constantly. Reminds me to smile through telepathy. One morning after a really good dream with another Wanda I can't get myself out of bed. Everything is too much. I know I had told her I'd be fine, but I'm not.

"Come on Y/N. Time to get up." I turn away from her, curling up into a ball further. "Y/N? What's wrong?" She asks.

"Nothing just tired. Just tell the boys I don't feel good. I need a Mama's day. So they can have a Mommy day. Take them out, get them ice cream. Do whatever you want." I grumble.

"Okay..." I close my eyes, letting myself drift back off just needed to see her again.

I don't know how much time has past when I'm being woken up, "Detka...come on wake up." My eyes blink into focus as I look at Wanda sitting above me and smile, forgetting my reality for a moment before my smile drops.

"What?" I ask.

"I dropped the boys off with their uncle for the weekend." I sit up straight,

"You did what!?" I screech.

"I left them with Pietro for the weekend. He was more than happy to have a boys weekend. Something about taking them to the lake?" Wanda mentions.

"He takes them every summer, usually it's a family thing and we all go." I tell Wanda.

"Well I figured you needed a Mommy and me weekend. I want to take you out. I want to get to know you. I already know my boys, but you. You're different, new, you aren't like Vision. You're human." She cups my cheek, smiling and I know it's a genuine smile. "I'm sure you've been feeling neglected and I wanted to try and do this sooner, but the boys were too excited to have me back." She says as I lean into her touch, Gods how I missed her touch. Though her fingers were no longer black her nails seemed to permanently stay black which made me laugh as I compared it to her emo phase which apparently this Wanda had one too.

"Thank you," I whisper, my voice catching in my throat. "For understanding."

She smiles, a warmth in her eyes that belies the weight of her own pain. "We're in this together. You don't have to carry the burden alone."

With her words echoing in my mind, I find the strength to push myself out of bed, to face the day with renewed determination. Wanda's offer of a Mommy and me weekend is a lifeline, a chance to rediscover myself amidst the chaos of grief and longing.

As we spend the day together, exploring the city and sharing stories of our pasts, I feel a sense of peace settle over me, a reassurance that maybe, just maybe, there's still hope for a future filled with love and laughter.

And as the sun sets on our day together, I realize that while Wanda may not be my Wanda, she's still a beacon of light in the darkness, a reminder that even in our darkest moments, there's always someone willing to stand by our side, to offer a hand to hold and a shoulder to lean on.

With her by my side, I know that no matter what the future may hold, I'll never have to face it alone. And as we head home, the weight of grief feels a little lighter, the shadows a little less daunting, as we embrace the possibility of a new beginning, together.

When we got back home, I pulled her to the couch, "Time to watch sitcoms." I tell her and her face lights up.

"Dick Van Dyke?" She asks.

"No Detka. I want to show you my favorite this time. It's a more modern one. It's an animated sitcom though is that okay?" I ask, realizing this Wanda maybe never experienced animated and only enjoyed live action ones.

"Of course dorogoya." Her accent popping out sent a wave through me that landed between my legs.

"O-okay good." I say and get 'Bob's Burgers' playing. As the show starts I settle in with a slight distance between us, but she pulls me in against her side.

"Is this okay dorogoya?" She asks looking down at me.

"Y-yeah...of course." I move slight, readjusting to get comfortable as we fit together like two missing puzzle pieces and I let out a sigh of relief, that feels like so much weight is taken off my shoulders.

As the episodes of "Bob's Burgers" played on, I found myself relaxing into Wanda's embrace, the tension that had been coiled tight within me slowly unraveling with each passing moment. Her warmth seeped into my bones, a comforting presence that chased away the lingering shadows of doubt and fear.

With her by my side, the laughter that bubbled up from the screen felt genuine, a reflection of the newfound camaraderie we shared. And as I stole glances at her profile, illuminated by the soft glow of the television, I couldn't help but marvel at the beauty of the moment, the simplicity of just being together.

Her laughter mingled with mine, the sound music to my ears, a symphony of joy that filled the room with warmth and light. And as the credits rolled on the final episode, I turned to her, a smile playing at the corners of my lips.

"Thank you," I said softly, my voice barely above a whisper. "For today. For everything."

She returned my smile, her eyes shimmering with affection. "Anytime. I'm here for you, always."

I sat there staring at her, getting lost in her eyes so much that I don't even realize that she's leaning in until she's inches from my lips, she stops and I can feel her breath on me, my own hitching,

"Is this okay dorogoya?" She whispers in a husk against my lips.

"Y-yes." I manage out as she kisses me softly at first, testing the waters, but soon enough she's kissing hungrily, like she's starving for my taste now that's she's had a nibble. My fingers find their way into her hair, getting tangled in her auburn locks. One of her hands is on the back of my neck and the other is on my hip, gripping tightly, I can feel her nails digging in.

The world falls away as our lips meet in a fiery embrace, a collision of passion and longing that ignites every nerve ending in my body. Her kiss is intoxicating, a whirlwind of desire and need that sweeps me away in a tide of sensation.

I lose myself in the taste of her, the feel of her lips moving against mine with a hunger that mirrors my own. Our breath mingles in the space between us, hot and heavy with unspoken desire, as the intensity of our embrace grows with each passing moment.

Her hands are everywhere at once, trailing fire along my skin as she pulls me closer, her touch igniting a wildfire of sensation within me. I cling to her desperately, losing myself in the dizzying whirl of pleasure that consumes us both.

Time loses all meaning as we surrender to the passion that binds us together, lost in a world of our own making where nothing else matters but the fiery connection that burns between us.

And as we finally break apart, breathless and trembling, I find myself drowning in the depths of her gaze, a silent promise of more to come lingering in the air between us.

In that moment, I know that this is just the beginning of our journey together, a journey filled with love, passion, and endless possibility. And as we cling to each other in the aftermath of our shared passion, I can't help but feel a sense of gratitude for the unexpected twist of fate that brought us together.

User

"Bed. Now." Her eyes lit up red for a moment. My Wanda had never been dominate, but this Wanda before me exuded dominance. I didn't waste any time getting up the stairs with her hot on my tail as we crashed into the bedroom, stumbling to the bed in a heat of kisses as she took the leading role.

The air crackled with electricity as we stumbled into the bedroom, our lips locked in a frenzy of passion and desire. Wanda's presence was intoxicating, her aura radiating power and dominance in a way I had never experienced before. And as she took the lead, pushing me onto the bed with a hunger that sent shivers down my spine, I felt myself surrendering to the raw intensity of the moment.

Her kisses were demanding, igniting a fire within me that burned hotter with each passing second. I moaned against her lips, my fingers tangling in her hair as I lost myself in the heat of the moment. Her touch was electric, sending shockwaves of pleasure coursing through my body as she explored every inch of my skin with a hunger that left me breathless.

With each caress, each whispered word of desire, I felt myself falling deeper under her spell, my body responding eagerly to her every touch. And as she claimed me as her own, I surrendered to the overwhelming tide of sensation, losing myself in the ecstasy of our shared passion.

In that moment, there was only her, only us, lost in a world of pleasure and desire where nothing else mattered but the intoxicating connection that bound us together. And as we moved as one, bodies entwined in a symphony of passion, I knew that this was just the beginning of our journey together, a journey filled with love, lust, and endless possibility.

The sensation of relinquishing control, of surrendering completely to someone else's will, was both exhilarating and liberating. As I basked in the warmth of Wanda's dominance, I found myself embracing a side of myself that I had long suppressed, a side that craved the thrill of submission and surrender.

With each touch, each whispered command, I felt myself sinking deeper into the abyss of pleasure, my mind consumed by a haze of ecstasy that left me breathless and yearning for more. And as Wanda took the lead, guiding me with a firm yet gentle hand, I found myself surrendering to the overwhelming tide of sensation, losing myself in the intoxicating dance of pleasure and desire.

In her arms, I felt safe, cherished, and utterly alive, my body responding eagerly to her every touch and caress. And as we moved together in a symphony of passion and desire, I embraced the freedom that came with letting go, allowing myself to be swept away by the currents of our shared passion.

For in that moment, there was only her, only us, lost in a world of blissful surrender where nothing else mattered but the exquisite pleasure of our connection. And as we surrendered to the ecstasy of our shared desire, I knew that this was just the beginning of our journey together, a journey filled with exploration, discovery, and boundless pleasure.

"Ah...Wands..." A smack hit my thigh making me jolt and yelp.

"That's not my name Detka." I feel my stomach flip. I call her this all the time. I have for years now, but never in this setting. Another smack and then her teeth find my skin, biting and sucking harshly, marking me.

"Mommy!" I can feel the smirk against my thigh.

"Good girl. Go on. Show me how needy you are baby girl." Her fingers find themselves between my folds as I move my hips against them.

The sensation of her touch sent shivers of pleasure coursing through me, igniting a fire that burned hotter with each passing moment. I arched my back, pressing against her fingers as they explored the depths of my desire, teasing and tantalizing with a skill that left me trembling with need.

"Please," I whimpered, the word spilling from my lips in a desperate plea for more. Her touch was electric, sending shockwaves of pleasure coursing through my body as she pushed me to the brink of ecstasy.

With each caress, each stroke, I felt myself teetering on the edge of oblivion, my senses overwhelmed by the intensity of our shared passion. And as she whispered words of encouragement, urging me to let go and surrender to the pleasure that awaited, I felt myself surrendering completely to the overwhelming tide of sensation.

In that moment, there was only her, only us, lost in a world of blissful abandon where nothing else mattered but the exquisite pleasure of our connection. And as I succumbed to the ecstasy of our shared desire, I knew that this was just the beginning of our journey together, a journey filled with passion, intensity, and boundless pleasure.

The sensation of Wanda's magic enveloping my wrists sent a thrill of anticipation coursing through me, a tangible reminder of her power and dominance. I tested the restraints, feeling the firm hold of her magic as it kept me securely in place, my heart pounding with a mixture of excitement and arousal.

"Safe word. Green, yellow, red. Green is keep going, yellow slow down, red is stop." Wanda husked.

"Green, yellow, red," I echoed, committing the safe words to memory as a reassurance of our mutual trust and consent. With each breath, each whispered command, I felt myself sinking deeper into the heady haze of pleasure, surrendering completely to the overwhelming tide of sensation.

As Wanda continued to explore my body with a skillful touch that left me trembling with need, I surrendered myself to the ecstasy of our shared desire, knowing that in her arms, I was safe, cherished, and utterly alive.

And as the intensity of our passion grew with each passing moment, I found myself teetering on the edge of oblivion, my senses overwhelmed by the sheer intensity of our connection. In that moment, there was only her, only us, lost in a world of blissful abandon where nothing else mattered but the exquisite pleasure of our shared desire.

I don't think there is a place she hasn't marked on me in some way and after hours of edging until I couldn't form sentences she finally let me release. A string of moans ripping through me as the most intense waves roll over me as I drown in them, covered in sweat and her marks.

As the waves of pleasure washed over me, leaving me trembling and spent, I basked in the afterglow of our shared passion, my body still tingling with the echoes of our ecstasy. But just when I thought the intensity had peaked, I felt something pressing against my entrance, a sensation that sent a jolt of anticipation coursing through me.

I gasped, my body instinctively tensing as Wanda's touch ignited a new wave of desire within me. Her fingers teased and tantalized, exploring the depths of my desire with a skill that left me breathless and eager for more.

With each gentle thrust, I felt myself opening up to her, surrendering completely to the overwhelming tide of sensation. The pleasure was exquisite, a symphony of ecstasy that echoed through every fiber of my being as I lost myself in the blissful abandon of our shared desire.

And as Wanda continued to guide me with a firm yet gentle hand, I surrendered myself to the pleasure of our connection, knowing that in her arms, I was safe, cherished, and utterly alive. In that moment, there was only her, only us, lost in a world of blissful abandon where nothing else mattered but the exquisite pleasure of our shared desire.

Wanda soon enough needed more and so did I, "Faster...ha-ah...harder..." My breath hot against her, panting like a dog and that gave her the perfect opportunity to place her fingers in my mouth, gaging me with them, but I loved every second as I sucked on them, moaning against them as I tasted myself on them from earlier.

The sensation of Wanda's fingers in my mouth sent a thrill of arousal coursing through me, a heady mixture of pleasure and desire that left me panting and eager for more. With each thrust, each gasp of pleasure, I eagerly sucked on her fingers, tasting myself on them from earlier.

The taste was intoxicating, a symphony of desire that heightened the intensity of our connection as we moved together in perfect harmony. And as Wanda responded to my pleas with a fervor that mirrored my own, I surrendered myself to the pleasure of our shared desire, knowing that in her arms, I was safe, cherished, and utterly alive.

With each thrust, I felt myself teetering on the edge of oblivion, my senses overwhelmed by the sheer intensity of our passion. And as we reached the peak of ecstasy together, I knew that this was just the beginning of our journey, a journey filled with passion, intensity, and boundless pleasure.

In that moment, there was only her, only us, lost in a world of blissful abandon where nothing else mattered but the exquisite pleasure of our shared desire. And as we surrendered ourselves to the ecstasy of our connection, I knew that this was just the beginning of our journey together, a journey filled with love, lust, and endless possibility.

As I slowly regained my senses, the cool towel on the back of my neck and Wanda's comforting presence helped anchor me in reality. Her magic gently caressed my mind, offering reassurance and care as I took in the aftermath of our intense encounter.

"Easy, Detka. You're okay," she murmured, and I found solace in the warmth of her embrace. I took the offered water bottle, sipping slowly as she continued to tend to my well-being. The realization that I had passed out from pleasure left me both surprised and amused.

"Never happened before," I admitted with a chuckle. "The other Wanda was more of a sub, so I was usually the one in control. Not that I didn't enjoy it, but being on the receiving end is a whole different experience."

Wanda's magic fetched a baggy shirt, and as I recognized it, a wave of nostalgia washed over me. It was a shirt from a concert we attended when we were sixteen, a tangible link to our shared past.

"It's good to know not everything is different," I remarked, smiling as she kissed my temple.

In the warmth of our makeshift cocoon, surrounded by blankets and pillows, Wanda's magic weaving a protective barrier around us, we continued to watch 'Bob's Burgers.' However, my focus was no longer on the show; instead, I found myself captivated by the woman holding me close.

A sudden wave of fear and doubt crashed over me as I wondered if this intimate encounter was just a one-time gesture to alleviate my grief. The fear of being tossed aside after a momentary respite haunted my thoughts, threatening to overshadow the joy we had just shared.

Wanda, sensing my internal struggle, gently addressed my concerns. "Hey, woah, Detka. Those thoughts of yours are the farthest thing from the truth. Do not listen to them. I would never do that to my soulmate," she reassured me, her forehead finding mine in a tender gesture of connection.

"I love you, Y/N," she confessed, her words washing away my fears and opening the floodgates to a cascade of happy tears. "I love you, Wands! I didn't think I'd ever get to hear you say those words to me again," I admitted, clinging to her shirt as I sobbed into her.

Wanda's promises echoed in my heart, a vow to cherish and reaffirm our love every day. She kissed away my tears, each tender touch a testament to the depth of her commitment. "I promise I'm going to say it every chance I get. I'm never going to stop. I'm going to remind you every day how beautiful you are and how much I love you, and I promise I'm never going to leave. No missions. Nothing like that. I'll always be by your side," she declared, her own tears mingling with mine.

In that moment, as we drowned in each other's love, I knew that this second chance at happiness was a gift we would both cherish. And as Wanda whispered, "I love you," over and over, I felt the weight of my grief lifting, replaced by the warmth of a love that transcended time and space.

========

In the midst of my peaceful dream, I found myself enveloped in a sense of tranquility unlike any I had experienced in well over a year. Waking up with a smile on my face I turn my head, looking over I gazed upon the sleeping form of Wanda, her features softened by the gentle embrace of slumber, I felt a rush of overwhelming love and affection welling up within me.

With a playful smile tugging at the corners of my lips, I leaned in closer, pressing gentle kisses along the curve of her neck. Each tender touch elicited a soft moan from her lips, a melody of pleasure that echoed through the stillness of the night.

Lost in the intoxicating embrace of our shared intimacy, I continued to shower her with affection, reveling in the warmth of her presence and the depth of our connection. And as I whispered her name, a soft murmur of adoration, I knew that this moment, this fleeting glimpse of happiness, was a treasure to be cherished for all eternity.

As Wanda began to stir awake, her voice still heavy with sleep, I couldn't help but feel a surge of affection for her. Her words, though tinged with a hint of warning, only served to deepen the bond between us.

"You're playing a dangerous game, kotenok," she murmured, her voice laced with sleepiness.

"Shchenok," I corrected gently, a small smile playing on my lips.

Her eyes snapped open at the correction, surprise evident in her expression. "When did you learn that?" she asked, her curiosity piqued.

I shrugged, the memories of our shared past flooding back to me. "I was with her for like 20 years of our lives. I learned most Russian. Also Natasha, she..." My voice trailed off as Wanda's expression shifted, a wave of sadness washing over her.

"Oh my god, I forgot about Natasha. Is... is she alive here?" she asked, tears welling up in her eyes.

I nodded solemnly, feeling a pang of empathy for the pain she must be feeling. Crawling into her lap, I wrapped my arms around her, offering what comfort I could. "You really lost a lot there, dorogoya," I whispered, my voice soft with compassion. "But don't worry, everyone here is safe. We've apparently had it relatively easy here, it seems."

I pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead, my heart overflowing with love and gratitude for this woman who had endured so much. "Now you have your loved ones back. You aren't alone anymore, and you won't ever be again. I promise."

==============

As the weekend unfolded, Wanda and I remained entwined in each other's arms, our connection deepening with each passing moment. When the boys returned home with their uncle Pietro, the atmosphere was filled with warmth and affection, a tangible sense of family that enveloped us all.

Pietro's hug was tight, filled with an unspoken understanding that transcended words. In his whispered question, "Did you guys finally connect?" I detected a mixture of curiosity and genuine concern.

With a small nod and a soft "Mmhmm," I confirmed what he already knew. This Wanda wasn't his real sister, just as she wasn't the Wanda I had known and loved for decades. But she was here, she was special, and in her embrace, I found a sense of solace and belonging that I had thought lost forever.

==============

As the following Friday arrived, Wanda and I made the decision to gather our friends and family together to share the details of our new lives. It was a momentous occasion, filled with a mix of anticipation and apprehension as we prepared to unveil the truth about our extraordinary circumstances.

Gathering our loved ones in a familiar setting, we began to recount the events that had led us to this moment, explaining the complexities of our intertwined destinies and the newfound connections we had forged. With each word, we sought to convey the depth of our emotions, the challenges we had overcome, and the hope that now burned bright within our hearts.

As our gathering unfolded, the emotions in the room were palpable, each hug and embrace a testament to the depth of our shared experiences and the bonds that bound us together.

Wanda's first instinct was to embrace Natasha tightly, their bodies trembling with sobs as they clung to each other. For both of them, it was a moment of overwhelming relief and joy, the realization that they had been given a second chance to be reunited with someone they had feared lost forever.

Next was Clint, the stalwart friend and ally who had saved Wanda countless times in her timeline, offering comfort and support when she needed it most. As they embraced, the weight of their shared history hung heavy in the air, a reminder of the trials they had faced and the strength they had found in each other's presence.

In that moment, surrounded by friends and family who had become like kin, Wanda and I felt a profound sense of gratitude for the bonds that had been forged through adversity. And as we shared stories and memories, laughter mingling with tears, we knew that no matter what challenges lay ahead, we would face them together, drawing strength from the love and support that surrounded us.

As our friends and family listened intently, their expressions shifting from surprise to understanding, we felt a sense of relief wash over us. To have our loved ones by our side, supporting us through this journey, was a gift beyond measure.

And as we concluded our explanation, surrounded by the warmth and love of those closest to us, we knew that no matter what the future held, we would face it together, united in our shared bond and unwavering commitment to one another.

As the night wore on and the festivities continued, Stephen pulled me aside, his expression grave with concern. "You know what she's done in her universe, right?" he asked, his voice tinged with urgency.

I bristled at his question, feeling a surge of defensiveness rise within me. "Do not start this, Strange," I warned, jabbing a finger in his direction. "If I had gone through what she had, this universe wouldn't even exist. What she did, in my eyes, is child's play compared to the horrors she endured."

My words carried a weight of conviction, a steadfast belief in Wanda's resilience and the sacrifices she had made to protect those she loved. And as I met Stephen's gaze, I saw a flicker of understanding in his eyes, a silent acknowledgment of the depth of Wanda's strength and the magnitude of her courage.

"She threw a tantrum essentially. Took over a town for a bit and then went on a killing spree to get here. I saw it through her eyes. I know if it had been me, you'd be lucky if America had still been standing," I asserted, a hint of steel in my voice as I tapped the power stone embedded in my chest.

The reminder of the immense power at my disposal served as both a warning and a declaration. Wanda's actions in her universe were a testament to the depths of her grief and the consequences of unchecked power. In contrast, I recognized the responsibility that came with wielding such force, a responsibility I vowed to use wisely to protect those I loved.

As the weight of our conversation lingered, Stephen nodded in acknowledgment, a silent understanding passing between us. The night continued, but the specter of the past and the potential for the future hung in the air, a reminder that even in moments of celebration, the shadows of our pasts were never truly far behind.

"I don't think you understand, my strength isn't superhuman, it's otherworldly. The precision it requires to ensure I don't break everything around me at any given moment is a delicate balance. With one punch, I wouldn't just put a crater in the earth, I'd break it in half," I emphasized, underscoring the magnitude of the power I possessed.

The distinction between superhuman strength and the cosmic force I wielded was crucial to grasp. While others might possess extraordinary abilities, mine was on a different scale altogether, capable of reshaping the very fabric of reality itself. It was a responsibility that weighed heavily on me, requiring a level of control and restraint beyond what most could comprehend.

As I spoke, I could sense the gravity of my words sinking in, the realization dawning on Stephen of the immense power at my command. It was a sobering reminder of the delicate balance between strength and responsibility, a balance that I vowed to uphold no matter the cost.

"I'm sorry, Y/N, I just wanted to remind you-" Stephen began, but I swiftly cut him off, my tone firm yet understanding. "Don't, Stephen. I know you're just trying to help. I don't need the reminder though," I assured him, acknowledging his concern while asserting my own understanding of the situation.

With a nod of acceptance, Stephen backed off, respecting my boundaries and allowing me to return to the comforting embrace of Wanda, who had been engaged in conversation with Natasha and Clint. As I settled back into her arms, the warmth of her presence enveloped me, a reassuring reminder of the love and support that surrounded me.

In that moment, surrounded by friends and family, I felt a sense of peace wash over me, a quiet reassurance that no matter the challenges we faced, we would face them together, united in our shared bonds and unwavering commitment to one another.

As Wanda continued her conversation with Natasha and Clint, her fingers traced delicate patterns on my hip, their touch a gentle caress that spoke volumes of the journey she had undertaken. Once stained with blood, those same hands now exuded a tenderness and compassion that belied the darkness of the past.

Feeling the soothing rhythm of her touch, I couldn't help but marvel at the transformation Wanda had undergone, the evolution from a place of pain and turmoil to one of healing and redemption. It was a testament to her resilience and strength, a reminder that even in the face of adversity, it was possible to find light amidst the shadows.

In that moment, as her touch danced across my skin, I felt a profound sense of gratitude for the woman before me, for the love and forgiveness she had extended, and for the hope that now blossomed within our hearts. And as our conversation continued, I knew that no matter what trials lay ahead, we would face them together, bound by the unbreakable bond of love and understanding that had brought us to this moment.

As the room suddenly filled with the energetic presence of our children, along with Clint's youngest and Kate close behind, my boys bounded into mine and Wanda's arms with cries for help. "Moms! Save us from the monster!" they pleaded, their laughter filling the air.

I chuckled as I gathered them close, feeling their warmth and energy envelop me in a comforting embrace. Glancing over, I caught sight of Kate playfully tickling Nathaniel, the mischievous grin on her face confirming my suspicions.

With a smile, I joined Wanda in rescuing our boys from the clutches of the imaginary monster, enveloping them in hugs and laughter as we reveled in the joy of family and friendship. In that moment, surrounded by the ones we loved most, I couldn't help but feel an overwhelming sense of gratitude for the blessings that filled our lives, each smile and laugh a reminder of the happiness that awaited us in the days to come.

As the boys began to drift off to sleep in my arms, I couldn't help but smile at the sight. "I think it's time to go, my love," I murmured to Wanda, gesturing towards our sleeping sons. Despite their ten years, I scooped them up effortlessly, their weight feeling light in my arms.

A momentary look of surprise flickered across Wanda's face, her gaze lingering on me as she seemed to momentarily forget about my strength. At just 4'11, I was indeed petite for someone with such power, a fact that often caught others off guard.

With a soft chuckle, I gently adjusted the boys in my arms, their peaceful expressions a testament to the love and security they felt in our embrace. As we prepared to leave, I felt a surge of gratitude for the family we had become, bound together by love and the unbreakable bond of kinship. With Wanda by my side, I knew that no matter what challenges lay ahead, we would face them together, united in our shared love and determination to protect those we held dear.

As I glanced over at Wanda, watching the tender expression on her face as she looked upon our sleeping sons, my heart swelled with love and gratitude. The depth of emotion reflected in her eyes filled me with a sense of warmth and contentment, knowing that our family was complete and our bond unbreakable.

In that moment, as we stood together, surrounded by the quiet stillness of the night, I felt a profound sense of peace wash over me. The love that radiated between us and enveloped our children was a testament to the strength of our connection, a bond forged in the fires of adversity and tempered by the trials we had faced together.

As we prepared to depart, I reached out to take Wanda's hand, intertwining our fingers in a silent gesture of unity and love. With a shared smile, we turned and made our way home, our hearts full and our spirits lifted by the knowledge that no matter what challenges lay ahead, we would face them together, as a family.

===========

Wanda and I are on the couch when she asks, "Do you have photo albums of the boys?" I look at her, peeling my eyes from the TV as I pause it.

"Of course." I get up grabbing several albums of almost everything of their lives. "After we left the Avengers I took solace in capturing moments so we have a lot." I tell her as she starts through her pregnancy photos one of every month. Then the hospital photos of her giving birth. The look of pure happiness and bliss on both our faces as we held the boys. Both of us having skin to skin contact with them. As Wanda goes through the albums she starts crying.

"I missed out on so much because of my magic..." she whispered solemnly. "They went from babies, to 5, to 10 all because of words I said...Y/N...I missed everything." Knowing that Wanda had used her magic to create our boys in her universe and not anything like how we had here made her incredibly sad. I hate seeing her like this.

"How about I show you. Their first words, their first steps, everything." With a gentle touch, I leaned in closer to her, resting my forehead against hers as I offered her a silent gesture of comfort and solidarity. Feeling her fingers against my temples, I closed my eyes and allowed the memories to flow, every precious moment from the joyous announcement of her pregnancy to the bittersweet final days we shared together playing out before her.

As the memories unfolded like a vivid tapestry, I watched as Wanda's tears began to subside, replaced by a sense of wonder and awe. Through the magic of our shared recollections, she was able to witness the milestones she had missed, the laughter and love that had filled our home in her absence.

In that moment, as we shared in the memories of our past, I felt a renewed sense of hope blossom within me. Though Wanda may have missed out on so much, I was determined to make every moment from this point forward count, to cherish the time we had together and to create new memories that would fill the void left by the past.

With a gentle smile, I wrapped my arms around her, holding her close as we basked in the warmth of our shared love. And as the echoes of our memories faded into the night, I knew that no matter what trials lay ahead, we would face them together, united in our unwavering commitment to one another and to our family.

As I looked into Wanda's eyes, feeling the weight of her sadness and longing, I knew that I had to do everything in my power to ease her pain and make up for the lost time. With a gentle touch, I cupped her cheek in my hand, my thumb brushing away the tears that lingered there.

"Everything with them feels too quick and also a lifetime," I whispered softly, my heart swelling with love and determination. "But now that you're here with us, you'll get to experience it all with me. Together."

In that moment, as we shared in our shared resolve to embrace the present and forge ahead as a family, I felt a sense of peace wash over me. No matter what challenges lay ahead, we would face them together, united in our love and commitment to one another.

With a tender smile, I leaned in to press a gentle kiss against Wanda's forehead, silently promising to cherish every moment we shared and to make up for the lost time in any way I could. Together, we would build a future filled with love, laughter, and endless memories, united in our bond as a family.

Once we put the albums away, shut the TV off for the night we headed upstairs. Stopping to look in at the boys sleeping peacefully before heading to our own room, getting ourselves ready for bed. As I climb in, stretching out, Wanda climbs on top of me. I bite my bottom lip, looking up at her. I can see the look she has. I wrap my arms around her neck, gently trying to pull her down. She doesn't budge.

"Did you want something, shchenok?" Between the look in her eyes, the sound of her voice, and her in just a tank top of sleep shorts I'm weak to her completely under her not just physically.

"Want you. Need you." I tell her trying again to pull and when she still doesn't budge. I pout and whine. "Wands...please.."

As Wanda's hands worked their magic, binding mine above my head with a delicate yet firm touch, I felt a rush of excitement and anticipation coursing through me. With each tug of her magic, I was rendered powerless, completely at her mercy as she explored my body with a hunger that ignited a fire within me.

"Behave and we'll see where it goes," she husked, her words sending shivers down my spine as she pushed up my shirt, her lips finding purchase on my chest with an intensity that left me breathless. The sensation of her teeth grazing my skin, her tongue tracing patterns across my flesh, sent waves of pleasure radiating through me, making me squirm and writhe beneath her touch.

As I felt myself slipping deeper into subspace, surrendering to the heady mix of pleasure and vulnerability, I couldn't help but lose myself in the moment, giving in completely to the sensations that engulfed me. With each kiss, each caress, I felt myself unraveling, consumed by the overwhelming desire that burned between us.

In that moment, as I surrendered myself to Wanda's tender ministrations, I felt a profound sense of connection and intimacy that transcended the physical realm. With her by my side, I knew that I was safe, cherished, and loved beyond measure, and as I surrendered to the ecstasy of the moment, I knew that our bond would only grow stronger with each passing day.

Wanda plays with me and teases me for hours and I can't even remember how many times she's pushed me over the edge of ecstasy. As she brought me to another one as she slammed into me with a magic strap-on she'd conjured up, my mind already drowning in subspace, barely able to form words, but one slips out and then a few more,

"Mommy...gonna...ah-ha...ah..." After my words she sped up leaning down to whisper in my ear,

"That's right cum for Mommy like a good girl. Mommy's gonna cum with you. Gonna fill you up and breed you baby girl." As she whispered those final words in my ear, her voice a husky growl of lust and desire, I felt myself shattering into a million pieces, my entire being consumed by the ecstasy of release. With a cry of pure ecstasy, I let myself fall over the edge, my body trembling with the force of my climax as I surrendered myself entirely to the pleasure that engulfed me. Feeling her fill me up completely made my eyes roll back and the only word I could comprehend was, “Mommy.”

In that moment, as I basked in the afterglow of our shared ecstasy, I knew that I was exactly where I belonged, wrapped in the arms of the woman I loved more than anything in the world.

Taglist: @dorabledewdroop

#ley writes #wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda x reader #wanda maximoff smut #wanda x you #wanda x y/n #wanda maxmoff x y/n #wanda maximommy #wanda maximoff x fem!reader #wanda maximoff x female reader #the scarlet witch x fem!reader #the scarlet witch #scarlet witch x you #scarlet witch x reader #scarlet witch

[achaoticeternal]

bewitched - ending 1.

check out bewitched pt. 1 here!

ending 2. — ending 3. — ending 4.

summary: after you present Aemond with the ultimatum of your marriage, he must choose between you and Alys.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

He chose you…

The days passed by silently… slowly… There was an eagerness in your bones that craved the touch of your husband. Part of you despised loving him while the other part longed for him once more. No matter how greatly the grief clinged to you, you refused to allow yourself to simply let him in. Aemond had the ultimatum… You allowed him the privilege to choose and so you waited.

Life passed by with the Red Keep continuing business as usual. Though everything seemed plain, a tension hung in the air that caused waves of anxiety to rush through the halls. The staff of the Keep were far more hushed than usual, gossiping with baited breaths when they could.

They took notice of the strange silence between you and the Prince. You only allowed yourself to be seen with Aemond at suppers or when it was greatly expected of you, so not to slack on your duty to the realm. The only other time you allowed yourself to see him was in the quick glances at him when he came to bed. Encounters at night were always silent, moving separately from each other so not to disturb what remained unspoken.

Most of your time was spent either in the gardens or the library, using your solitude as time for further entertainment. Currently, you were perched on a seat of one of the garden patios among bushes and a vineyard with your children accompanying you. You would not allow for the coldness you currently felt toward Aemond to manifest toward them as well, they were innocents. When they asked why their father was no longer frequently joining their mother in her activities, you swayed them away from the questions, wishing not to go into detail with them yet about Aemond’s infidelity.

Your son, Aemon, was pretending to joust with his wooden sword and shield on the greenery. He looked just like Aemond, even going as far as to antagonize his imaginary opponent before striking them. Maerys, your sweet daughter, sat at the steps to the patio reading a book. She was just as studious as her father. And though both children had traits of their father and the fine silver hair of a Targaryen, they had your eyes and your spirit.

It was the shift in the attendants that alerted you to another presence. You lifted your gaze to see Aemond, face stoic and arms held behind his back. With a sigh, you rose from your seat and soothed out the skirt of your dress. You waved at the attendants as to instruct them.

“Please see the children back to their rooms. Their lessons with the septas will resume shortly,” You nodded to the nurse who escorted Aemon and Maerys back into the Keep.

Both Aemond and yourself watched as the silver-haired twins disappeared indoors, leaving you both alone together. Instead of looking to your husband, you gaze rested on one of the shrubs with freshly sprouted rose buds. Words had escaped you and your mind was too foggy to think properly.

Suddenly, calloused fingers began to settle in your hand, attempting to intertwine themselves with your own soft digits. The feeling caused a wave of worry to crash through you as you quickly pulled your hand away. Aemond sighed, but his hand remained where yours was a moment before.

“It rids me with guilt that the smile that once graced your face has been replaced with tears and anger at my doing,” your husband finally broke the silence between you.

“Do you love her?” You responded, paying no mind to his previous statement.

His reply was quick to follow, a slight surprise to you, “No.”

Words were lost on you, so instead you simply nodded your head. Your gaze was still elsewhere, concerned that if you looked him in the eye your walls would crumble.

“I know that I have caused you unspeakable pain, but you will not have to worry about temptations anymore…” Aemond tried to keep a stoic tone, but the wavering of his voice revealed how much he regretted his previous actions.

Though you accepted his kind words, he needed to be explicit about what they meant, “And what of Alys… and the bastard?”

“I expect that they have sailed off the coast of Dorne by now. The witch is seeking asylum abroad in Essos where she shall be no concern of ours,” Aemond explained, “But the fault has been mine, my love. You have been a loyal wife and companion, blessing us with two beautiful children. I allowed the spoils of war to corrupt me and tempt me and I… I apologize, deeply, and this will be something I regret for the rest of my days…”

“But I love you, my sweet wife, I truly do. And if you would allow me, I would do… I would do anything to amend the bonds I’ve broken,” He looked at you, grief shining through his one good eye.

There was a quiet moment between both of you. Then, you silently outstretched your hand, taking his pale hand into your own.

#mattie writes #bewitched #aemond targaryen #house of the dragon #aemond targaryen x reader #hotd x reader #alys rivers #aemond targaryen imagine #aemond targaryen headcanons #dark!aemond targaryen x reader #dark!aemond x reader #prince aemond targaryen #house targaryen #series

[itsabouttimex2]

Hello there! could we see a prequel of when platonic yandere Erasermic first saw Cloud quirk reader! I feel like the reader wouldn't exactily look like oboro, but then seeing that quirk and having that energetic personality would send the memories of oboro back into there mind

These two mourn Oboro to this day. It’s a major part of both of their characters, woven into their beings. They won’t move on. They can’t forget. So when they see you, something kind of cracks inside them.

Aizawa pauses, and just… stares. His chest tightens painfully, as a deluge of long-buried memories gnaw at his mind. It’s easy to that he’d be the strong one, the stoic one. But he isn’t. He’s a broken man long burdened by grief. It’s clear he hasn’t managed to move on from losing Oboro in the slightest.

However, Hizashi was able to healthily move on to some degree and become a teacher, a DJ, a radio host, a hero. Sure, it’s possible that he uses his exuberance to cope with grief or to draw Aizawa out of his worst moments, but he stills manages to be sunny and bright. All the same, he possesses a well-hidden ruthlessness and an extremely powerful Quirk that he’s not afraid to use. The moment he stops smiling, it’s probably time to run and hide, because something is terribly wrong.

And when he sees you, he stops smiling. There’s a moment where his larger than life personality and cheery disposition both slip, leaving him in a rare state of shocked silence. Hizashi just stands and watches, eyes going wide behind his concealing sunglasses. His gangly arms drop to his sides, his every bit of attention focused on staring you down.

Maybe it’s some kind of cruel joke. Maybe he’s been hit by a Quirk, creating a tailored distraction to keep him from noticing an approaching foe. Maybe he’s just seeing things. But no, he isn’t. You’re real, with his personality and Quirk.

———————————————————————

“Oboro…,” Aizawa mumbles to himself, caught in a similar state to his loudmouth friend. His bloodshot eyes catch on your smile, watching as you chat with a friend. The two of you walk side by side, trails of vapor and fog drifting from your fingertips as you show off your Quirk. Your friend laughs in amazement, watching in awe as the clouds shift into different shapes and figures, bending perfectly to your will.

Once, Oboro had done the same for him. Whenever Aizawa seemed down, he’d whip up a cloud and shape it into the cutest kitten he could manage, often ending up with a horrifically disfigured mess that had his friend stifling a smile.

Words catch in his throat. He can barely think straight. It feels like he can’t even stand.

He stumbles through the halls, making the short trip to his classroom, still empty. He snatches his phone from his pocket, fumbling with it until he has his loud-mouthed on the other end.

“You saw them. I know you did. Why didn’t you… why didn’t you warn me?”

A loud sigh from the other end. “Sorry, Sho. The kid’s in class 1-B, so I figured I’d get the chance to tell you in person. Didn’t think you’d run into them so soon.”

He desperately racks his brain for something to say, some way to respond. Hizashi beats him to it.

“Actually, Nemuri learned before me, and didn’t say a word either. I think she’s a little broken up too, honestly. Least we’re not alone, right?”

At least they’re not alone. Aizawa would agree, but can’t manage to swallow the lump in his throat. He just holds the phone to his ear, wondering if it was a blessing or curse that you didn’t get put in his class.

“They seem like a good kid, Sho. I’m gonna keep an eye out for them.”

“So they don’t end up like Oboro” is the unspoken second half of that last sentence. Voicing it out loud makes it a legitimate fear. Leaving it vague means the image stays vague, the fear stays vague. Just an uncanny feeling of potential danger, rather than outright fear for a child’s mortality.

“You know what, Mic? I think I’ll keep an eye out for the kid too.”

Because he can’t bring himself to relive that scene ever again a child shouldn’t have to worry about getting hurt at UA.

So they’ll look out for you. Nothing strange about it. Nothing serious, no cause for alarm.

Not yet.

#Platonic Yandere #yandere mha #yandere erasermic #yandere shota aizawa #shota aizawa #yandere hizashi yamada #hizashi yamada

[purple-ant]

Poison

The beam of light from the funeral pyre thins, and Jedi slowly leave the hall. Everyone is silent. Only Rael asks to be left alone with the cooling ashes. Dooku closes the doors as quietly as possible, not taking his eyes off the hunched shoulders of his old Padawan until the last moment. The shell of Nim's lightsaber burned down along with her, but the heart of the blade - the kyber - is held tightly by Rael in his hands.

The narrow corridor is not filled with Jedi for long. It is late, the Padawans are already dozing in the arms of their Masters, exhausted beyond their years with grief for their friend. Dooku does not move far from the door, he stops near the stained glass window, his hood pulled up mourning. The funeral floor is too low for sunlight, so soft lanterns behind colored glass are the only thing that disperses the darkness.

The initial disbelief and shock have passed, and Dooku feels empty. Death is never fair, it does not choose, and there are no other reasons for it other than human greed... But still, Dooku wants to helplessly ask. Why Nim? Why, of all the lights of the Galaxy, was this one, young and untouched, extinguished?

Dooku feels old.

“I didn’t expect you to come,” Qui-Gon’s voice sounds in the solemn silence, Dooku does not take his devastated gaze from the stained glass window. There is no image, a simple familiar pattern of circles and straight lines.

“I barely made it,” he admits. The flight to the Temple seems short, wild and at the same time a blurry moment to him: one second he ends negotiations and receives a ragged, stumbling message from Rael, and the next he is breaking through Coruscant traffic. “She was my grandpadawan.”

Was.

Qui-Gon gives a low chuckle and Dooku blinks, finally turning his head to look at his old Padawan. The young man's gaze is gloomy, and the dim light does not smooth out the heavy wrinkles that have appeared on his face in recent months.

“Is there something wrong?”

All wrong. Nim is dead. The child is dead, killed, and his first Padawan is broken with grief and guilt.

“I didn’t know you cared about your grandpadawans,” Qui-Gon answers defiantly. “It’s not like you care about Xanatos.”

For a second, Dooku is sure that he heard wrong. An auditory hallucination caused by nervous exhaustion is not something he experiences often, but... The silence rings.

“What?” he asks anyway, giving Qui-Gon a chance to think carefully about his next words.

“You weren't so concerned when Xanatos left,” Qui-Gon repeats, and the emptiness inside Dooku flares with cold anger. He can feel the flashes trailing behind the billowing flaps of his cloak as he whirls around to face his second Padawan.

“Do you dare,” he mutters through clenched teeth, “to compare this boy’s selfish flight with Nim’s death?”

“The Council should not have sent him on that mission!” Qui-Gon puts forward the usual argument. “At least this time they listened to common sense,” his gaze slides to the locked doors.

The Council is going to investigate this mission in a special manner, considering that Rael's actions lead to Nim's death. They were given time for the funeral and mourning, but nothing more.

“Do you... agree with them?” Dooku can hardly believe it. Rael has supported Qui-Gon since he became Dooku's Padawan, the boys were like brothers, and yet Qui-Gon looks into his eyes without doubt.

“Yes. You yourself noted that Rael loves battles more than a Jedi should. Apparently Padawan Pianna was the one who paid for this…”

“Silence!”

The word, the order, echoes down the corridor like a clap of thunder, and Qui-Gon falls silent. His eyes widen in shock for a second, and then narrow, as if he has confirmed something. Dooku had hoped never to feel this way about his Padawans, his lineage, but his fingertips tingle with cold, furious energy, and he presses his hand closer to his body, clenching his fists.

“It’s time for you to let this go, Qui-Gon,” Dooku bites every word. “And if you cannot do this, then keep your poison to yourself, and do not turn it against Rael. He doesn't need it now.”

“This is not poison, Dooku, this is the truth that you do not want to see because of your attachment! Why is it that when I lose a padawan everyone turns away, but when Rael kills-”

The blow is short and not very good, it reverberates with pain in Dooku’s tightly clenched hand, his nails digging into his palm. For a moment he thinks he has done more damage to himself than to the Master in front of him, but Qui-Gon stumbles back, clutching his nose.

Two ragged breaths drown in the ensuing silence. Slowly, Qui-Gon moves his hands away from his face and looks at the blood staining his fingers, black in the twilight, then the disbelieving gaze of his blue eyes turns to Dooku.

“I knew it.”

“Get out of my sight.”

“The Force will judge,” Qui-Gon leaves the last word and departs. Slowly Dooku unclenches his fists. The emptiness returns even heavier than before.

He returns to the entrance to the hall, unable to stand still any longer. He would never have thought that Qui-Gon would say something like that. Where did Dooku go wrong?

The faded presence of his first Padawan is closer than Dooku expects, and as he opens the heavy doors he is instantly confronted with an ashen, dark gaze.

“Rael...” Dooku isn’t sure what he’s going to say.

“No need,” the prematurely aged Jedi shakes his head too quickly, “...in the end, he’s right.”

#okay okay i LOVE qui-gon #hes an interesting character #but also LET THE MAN BE THE PROBLEM #thanks charm for beta reading #qui gon jinn #count dooku #rael averross #nim pianna #qui-gon critical #im not sure how CRITICAL this is but just to be sure #its very dark time for this lineage #disaster lineage

[the-hole-in-terzos-shoe]

When a Paradise is Lost

Papa Emeritus IV x Fem!Reader, mentions of Papa Emeritus III x Fem!Reader (18+ ONLY, MDNI)

TW: this thing is angsty, death, pregnancy, pregnancy loss, grief, and of course smut.

Word Count: 13.4k

Hey Ghesties... It's finally here ❤️ I was hoping to have this out about 2 days ago, but life has inevitably happened. It's been a great escape working on this though. I hope you all enjoy it as much as I did writing it! I've written in the past for other fandoms but this is my first big boy story for Ghost, so please feel free to drop constructive criticism if there's any way I can make future stories more immersive. Okay, I leave you alone now, love you, bye! Enjoy 😉

Silence fell over the chapel as the head of the church apathetically entered through the heavy wooden doors. Even Sister Imperator froze mid sentence upon seeing him.

No one, save for a few of his closest ghouls, had seen Copia since that tragic night. The whole abbey felt very melancholy in the days following, and with no Emeritus progeny left, Sister Imperator had no choice but to take over some of Papa's duties, including leading mass, like she was now.

Paint clearly brushed on haphazardly and not doing a great job of hiding the red puffiness around his eyes, he stalked up the main aisle between pews, only stopping when Sister called to him by his nickname, "𝘊?"

Keeping his chin down but moving his eyes to look at her, he replies, "Please continue, Sister," before turning his eyes back towards the floor and moving to his intended destination: the open spot next to you.

Sister Imperator, who rarely ever hesitates, calmly tries to keep going with her lecture on the fight against corruption. A subject that frankly felt out of touch in this moment in the ministry, but it was probably in an attempt to take everyone's mind off of what had happened.

Not wanting to make a spectacle of your Papa seated next to you, you quickly peek at him out of the corner of your eye. He simply stared blankly straight ahead. Perhaps he thought it would look like he was listening, but he was clearly a million miles away. 𝘞𝘩𝘺 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘴𝘪𝘵 𝘯𝘦𝘹𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘮𝘦? You had only encountered Copia typically in formal settings or on the days that you hung on Terzo's arm while strolling the grand halls of the abbey. Perhaps it was the only open seat he saw, but it seemed more directed than that, to you at least. 𝘋𝘪𝘥 𝘪𝘵 𝘴𝘦𝘦𝘮 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘺 𝘵𝘰 𝘢𝘯𝘺𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘦𝘭𝘴𝘦?

Lost in your thoughts, you almost don't hear the whisper that squeaks from his sore vocal chords. You turn your attention to him, eyebrows upturned with worry, "yes, Papa?"

"How-" his lip quivers, "h-how did you deal with it? How did you handle... this pain?" Still staring blankly ahead, a tear falls down his cheek.

Instantly searching your pocket for a handkerchief, you now understand what he's come to you for. You've had to admit to yourself that Copia's loss reminded you of your own, bringing up a flood of memories of the days, weeks, months after Terzo was killed. You're unfortunately all too familiar with what the antipope must be feeling after losing his own Prime Mover.

Just days prior, the ministry bubbled with excitement over the prospect of the newest member of the Emeritus bloodline arriving soon. Copia's Prime Mover could be seen wandering the halls, hand on her swollen belly, surrounded by ghouls and handmaidens who had been tasked with protecting her and keeping her as comfortable as possible, respectively. She really was a brilliant woman. Everyone liked her, as it was hard not to find her charming, and she brought out the best in her Papa. It made everyone immensely happy.

Naturally, it hit everyone very hard when news travelled that her labors had turned fatal for both her and the baby.

Now here you are, faced with a grieving man, asking you an unanswerable question. Gently, you bring the handkerchief you'd finally found to his cheek. For a moment, he furrows his brows as if he's angry and doesn't like you so close to him, so you make quick work of touching him up before giving him the only honest answer that comes to your mind: "There's no right way to deal with it. It's just important that you do deal with it; don't push the feelings down, but face them straight on."

He stares blankly again for a long time, before moving his eyes to look at you. His face softens, eyebrows quirking up, as he meets your gaze. "Grazie, Sorella," barely came as a whisper, before he turns his eyes back to the stained glass window at the front of the room.

He sits right there, unmoving, as mass ends and Siblings and ghouls quietly shuffle out, not wanting to disturb their Papa. As the room empties, you're unsure whether you should stay or go; clearly he had been seeking you out and you don't want to abandon him in his time of need. Even though he sits in silence, you can see the storm raging behind his eyes, the hurt in his heart from losing his love.

"Would you like company, Papa?" you gingerly ask.

"Sì. I would like that very much."

And so you sit with him in the chapel in silence as his mind races. It isn't much, but you know how lonely that feeling is, and how sometimes just having someone nearby can help ease that, if only a little.

• • •

There was no feeling in the world like being loved by Terzo.

He could make anyone feel important, as if they were the only one that ever mattered to him, just by talking with him. You reflect on just how important you felt when he lifted that veil from your visage and closed the space between your lips, making you 𝘩𝘪𝘴, forever, in the eyes of Satan, and before the eyes of all members of the ministry piled into the chapel that had started to feel like home. But not as much as 𝘩𝘦 felt like home.

As he twirled you on the dance floor at the reception of your Prime Mover ritual, you'd never felt so safe as you did in his arms. The promise of forever on his lips whispered softly into your ear. But that forever was cut short, sooner than you ever could've imagined.

• • •

A couple days later, as you're messily shuffling through papers that Sister Imperator was breathing down your neck about, a Ghoul sneaks up on you to request your presence in the papal suite. You aren't as familiar with Copia's group of Ghouls as you had been with Terzo's, but you can tell through the dark goggles of his mask that he seems a little nervous. Something must be wrong.

You quickly grab the arm of the Ghoul, muscle memory taking over as you walk hurriedly towards the space that once was so familiar to you. You haven't seen it in years...

You're quickly met with a "Sorella-" after a frantic knock on the door, "are you alright? It was not my intention to worry you." He grabs your hand, kissing your knuckles gently. He looks a lot better than he had in the chapel, but still not fully pieced back together; frankly, he never would be, and you knew this from experience.

He turns to the Ghoul, "Thank you for guiding the Stellina here safely."

"Uhhh..." he mumbles and tenses up, scratching the back of his neck with his finger tips, "It was more like she guided me," he chuckles nervously.

A small smile of realization crosses Copia's face, "Of course she did." It hadn't previously crossed his mind that you once lived here.

The Ghoul turns to leave, as Copia invites you inside. It looks very different than it had all those years ago. It hasn't lost it's elegance since you and Terzo resided here, but all the decor is much more elaborate now.

You chuckle at the memory of Terzo essentially just wanting to throw black silk on everything and calling it a day. "𝘐𝘵 𝘸𝘰𝘯'𝘵 𝘮𝘢𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘰𝘰𝘮 𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘬𝘴 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦... 𝘐'𝘭𝘭 𝘰𝘯𝘭𝘺 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘦𝘺𝘦𝘴 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘪𝘭 𝘮𝘪𝘰 𝘢𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘪𝘯 𝘤𝘢𝘮𝘦𝘳𝘢 𝘥𝘦 𝘭𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘰." Satanas, even the memory of him could make you blush.

"Everything okie dokie?" Copia snaps you out of your thoughts; you must've been just staring blankly and smiling like an idiot.

"Oh- yes, it just all looks so different. Everything's all moved around." You surely look like a deer caught in headlights.

"Is it to your disliking?" Copia is such a considerate man, almost to a fault; naturally he would be concerned if a guest didn't like his quarters.

"No! No, not at all. It's just..." you look up at the ceiling trying to find the right word so as not to cause him more concern.

"Unfamiliar, sì?"

"Yes, unfamiliar," your eyes drop from the ceiling to finally meet his, full of kindness, but still red and puffy.

"Please, sit," he motions to the sofa that faces the marble fireplace; at least that still looks the same, although you suppose it would be a lot of work to replace all that marble.

Taking a seat beside you, Copia startes to fiddle with the tea glasses on the coffee table in front of you, "Would you like some, topolino?"

You let out a giggle at the nickname, appropriate considering his obsession with his pet rats. "Please, Papa."

"Oh, please, no need to call me Papa; I remember the days when I was just a cardinal to you... but that's enough reminiscing for now; I have a few things I wanted to discuss with you- or uhhh, just say to you really." He hands you a little cup of tea, having added a swirl of honey to it; you aren't sure what kind it was, but it's good. "Let me start by apologizing for pulling you away from your duties in the main offices," he gently squeezes your hand, "I know Seestor already has so much on her plate with everyone in mourning, especially having to see to my tasks, and now I've taken one of her best workers away for a little while. I'm sure she'll be frustrated," he sighs, seemingly in regret; he doesn't want to get you in trouble.

Now it's your turn to squeeze his hand, reassuring him, "It's 𝘰𝘬𝘪𝘦 𝘥𝘰𝘬𝘪𝘦," you start, imitating him, "I can handle her."

He sips his tea and makes eye contact with you. For a moment it looks like tears threaten to build up in his mismatched eyes, the pain of loss clearly still fresh on him. You know how quickly it could bubble up, seemingly out of nowhere, while talking about things somewhat unrelated. But that was the thing about death hitting so close to home: it made everything related to it; every thought was about them, every little thing would remind you of them.

"Thank you..." It comes out as a whisper as he closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, clearly trying to maintain composure. "I'm just so tired of crying. Sometimes I think I've run out of tears, but then somehow, more come." You sit with him patiently until he's ready to talk again.

In the silence your eyes drift back to the room, scanning over the beaded black lace of the bed canopy, the lush deep blue rug on the floor with metallic gold trim, the collection of art glass vases-

"Sorella." It comes out bluntly. Maybe you hadn't heard him the first time he tried to speak.

"Hm? I'm sorry- um, yes Papa?" you fumble over your words.

The tiniest smile tugs at the corners of his painted lips, "Sorella, I also wanted to thank you."

The deer-caught-in-headlights look is back, "What for?"

He puts his tea cup down and fidgets with his hands, looking down at them. "Throughout the last weeks, you're the only one that's been honest with me. Everyone else-" he chokes up for a moment, but pulls it back together, "everyone else just looks at me with pity, horror in their eyes because they can't imagine it happening to them." He grabs your tea cup, setting it down, and turns to face you, taking both of your hands in his. "That's why I knew I had to seek out someone who would understand, someone who wouldn't cry just because I was, someone who wasn't trying to sympathise with this... unimaginable feeling. It had to be real. It had to be you, Stellina."

You're taken aback. You had no idea how much your words would have affected him when you spoke them in the chapel. Of course, you had no one to turn to when you had been in Copia's shoes. At the time that the Emeritus brothers were killed, Primo's Prime Mover had long since passed, and Secondo's, stubborn as he was, ran off out of anger. You were the only connection left to their bloodline, and you hadn't even had the chance to provide Terzo with an hier. In that way, Copia's experience differs from yours; at least he has someone to talk to who understands the grief.

He continues, "I know we never had any deep conversation before they took Terzo away from you, and I've done horribly at keeping touch with you since becoming Papa; that wasn't fair to you, cara, I'm sure it only made you feel more isolated; that's why I appreciate your, ahhh... willingness to accept me. And my grief. I know it must be a lot-"

"Copia," you whisper, stopping him from rambling, "it's okay." You cup his cheek in your hand. "Or 𝘰𝘬𝘪𝘦 𝘥𝘰𝘬𝘪𝘦, rather," you give him a warm smile, and get a laugh in return. "Now, was that all you brought me down here for?"

"Um, sì," he replies with a cringe, realizing maybe he shouldn't have pulled you away from work just to talk.

"Ahhh, using your Papa power just to get what you want, huh? Some things never change," you laugh as well.

For the first time in a long time, Copia calls you by your name, grabbing your hand again, "Please stay."

• • •

Although it was now late in the afternoon, you're back in the office to at least sort out some papers, getting your things in order to work hard tomorrow. You'll have a lot to catch up on since you'd practically taken the whole day off.

You don't regret it though. You knew Copia needed to get some things off his chest, so you simply sat with him again, but this time you talked--a lot. Everything from reflecting on old times, listening as you shared little secrets about Terzo that no one knew, laughing about goofy memories or things you never knew you had in common, all the way to literally being a shoulder to cry on. Papa still has a lot of feelings to feel and you're just trying to be there for him; based on his little speech earlier, he needs it.

"And where have you been sneaking off to?"

Imperator. It comes across cold and unforgiving.

"I'm sorry, Sister Imperator, it won't happen again."

"Hm. You say that now, but I remember how you are when you start seeing somebody. You'll be my best worker, until you find a distraction."

"Sister, please. You know I apologized for that." She was referring to the times when you started seeing Terzo, and again when you briefly were seeing someone to try to get over losing him. "You know how grateful I am that you let me have this job back." After you were no longer a Prime Mover, the clergy didn't know what to do with you. They weren't sure if you would get angry like Secondo's lady, and they needed Copia's transition to power to be as smooth as possible.

"Well perhaps if you kept your head in your paperwork, we wouldn't be struggling as much as we are to keep up the pace of things around here."

"Sister. You know very well why we're struggling. Papa losing his Prime Mover hasn't been easy on anyone in the ministry, least of all him. He's broken! At least I'm trying to help put the pieces back together!" You may have kind of yelled that last part, but damn is this woman hard to put up with.

"What was that? How would you know how he feels?" Her voice is softer than before with a touch of concern.

"Now you know where I was all day. He summoned me to his chambers."

"Oh. Well. I suppose if Cardi- I mean, Papa wants to see you, then I suppose I can't argue with our figure head." The only thing in the world she has a soft spot for is Copia; she'll protect him however she can.

As you dismiss yourself from the offices, Imperator stands there, frozen to the spot. That same part of her that wants to protect him from the feelings he's having also wants to protect him from you. She worries what you could do to usurp the power she has not only over the ministry, but over her Copia as well. (It's called enmeshment babes 💅✨)

• • •

Your meetings with Copia continue on for several weeks, often with the rollercoaster of emotions that he feels each time you met: release of sadness, laughter, comfortable silence, caring. You really start to care for him not only as the Papa of this ministry but as a person. It kind of makes you feel silly for not getting to know him better before, maybe then you would've had a friend after Terzo left you.

The thought made your eyes wander over to the bed, again. It often caught your attention; it was only of the only things that was still in the same place you and your beloved had yours.

"𝘈𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦..."

"𝘠𝘦𝘴?" 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘢𝘴𝘬𝘦𝘥, 𝘨𝘪𝘨𝘨𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘵 𝘛𝘦𝘳𝘻𝘰'𝘴 𝘴𝘶𝘥𝘥𝘦𝘯 𝘴𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘰𝘶𝘴𝘯𝘦𝘴𝘴.

𝘚𝘦𝘯𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘯𝘦𝘳𝘷𝘦𝘴, 𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘤𝘦𝘥 𝘩𝘪𝘮𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧 𝘢𝘣𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘭𝘶𝘴𝘩 𝘣𝘦𝘥, 𝘱𝘶𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘧𝘶𝘳𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘰𝘧𝘵 𝘣𝘭𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘴𝘪𝘭𝘬 𝘴𝘩𝘦𝘦𝘵𝘴. 𝘖𝘯𝘦 𝘦𝘭𝘣𝘰𝘸 𝘯𝘦𝘹𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘥 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘢 𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘱𝘱𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘶𝘱 𝘰𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘴𝘪𝘥𝘦, 𝘩𝘦 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘯𝘦𝘥 𝘥𝘰𝘸𝘯, 𝘨𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘭𝘺 𝘨𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘪𝘱 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘯𝘰𝘴𝘦 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴.

"𝘐𝘭 𝘮𝘪𝘰 𝘢𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦... 𝘐 𝘤𝘢𝘯 𝘵𝘦𝘭𝘭 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘶𝘯 𝘴𝘦𝘨𝘳𝘦𝘵𝘰, 𝘴𝘪?"

"𝘖𝘧 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴𝘦," 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘳𝘦𝘱𝘭𝘪𝘦𝘥 𝘥𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘮𝘪𝘭𝘺 𝘢𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘨𝘳𝘢𝘻𝘦𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘰𝘱𝘦𝘯 𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘴 𝘢𝘤𝘳𝘰𝘴𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘴𝘬𝘪𝘯 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘣𝘭𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘴, 𝘢𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘦 𝘤𝘭𝘰𝘴𝘦𝘳, 𝘢𝘭𝘸𝘢𝘺𝘴 𝘢𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨.

"Non ti lascerò mai. Nemmeno lo stesso Lucifero potrebbe tenermi lontano da te." 𝘐'𝘭𝘭 𝘯𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶. 𝘕𝘰𝘵 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯 𝘓𝘶𝘤𝘪𝘧𝘦𝘳 𝘩𝘪𝘮𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘬𝘦𝘦𝘱 𝘮𝘦 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘺𝘰𝘶.

It was a promise he couldn't keep.

"Cara?"

Once again, Copia pulls you from your thoughts. You were unaware tears had welled up in your eyes as you stared at the bed, lost in a different time. As you turn to face him, your tearducts betray you and tears spill down your cheeks.

"Oh, no no no no no.... Stellina, you're always the strong one," he says pulling you to him, your forehead cradling against his neck and hands finding his chest. "What's gotten to you, piccolina?"

His endless stream of pet names did attempt to soothe you, but in the end your feelings won. In that moment, you realize it had been a long time since you'd let it all out, which is exactly what you'd been encouraging him to do. Funny how you didn't take your own advice. You harshly sob into his chest for a few minutes, hands balling his shirt up into fists. He feels solid like a brick wall for you, supporting you, letting you beat your fists against him in frustration until you calm down, although it's more that you tired out honestly.

One arm around your waist and the other hand cradling the back of your head, he holds you tightly to him. He wants to offer you the same comfort and support you offer him, he's just perhaps more 𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘴 𝘰𝘯 about it.

"Hey Copia?" you prompt, drying the last of your tears and sniffling lightly.

"Yes?" he counters by using your name as well.

"Let's go see Primo's garden."

"Okie dokie, Sorella."

Sun on your face is just what you need, and to get out of that room. The gardens haven't been the same since Primo himself no longer tended to them, but they are still beautiful nonetheless, and everyone still calls it Primo's garden; it feels wrong to call it anything else.

Walking right into the greenery, running your fingers gently along the flowers, Copia starts after you, "You know Primo wouldn't want you walking among the plants..."

"Hmmm... Little do you know," you smile over your shoulder at the man, "I used to work in the gardens, and Primo taught me all the best hiding spots." You wink, before running off quickly.

"Hey! Sorella!!!" Papa hollers after you, picking up his pace, but it's nothing to match your knowledge of the twists and turns of the foliage. He probably never would've found you if it wasn't for your uncontrollable laughter. By the time he turns the corner to the little clearing in the tall bushes, you're already laid back on the soft grass, habit pulled off, and shoes kicked aside. You reach your hand up for his, pulling him down roughly. "You're stronger than you look, Sorella," he chuckles as he settles on his back in the grass next to you.

You lie back in silence for a while, just enjoying the sun, the breeze, the sounds of nature. But it can't last forever.

"Mia cara, you never answered my question."

"Hm? What question?" you play dumb.

"Cara... What have you been teaching me about talking about our feelings, facing them head on? Do those rules not apply to you?" Copia turns on his side to face you, "What was bothering il mio topolino back there, huh?"

"It was, uhhh..." you search for the right words; you don't find them, "It was stupid. I'm okay now, Papa."

"If stupidity made you cry like that, I'm afraid you'd be crying all the time around me. Now," he places his fingers on your chin, making you look him in the eyes, "what was it, tesoro?"

"You're not stupid, Papa."

He addresses you bluntly by your name, letting you know he's serious, "Stop avoiding the question. And I know you're only calling me Papa to distract me from getting my answer." He keeps a straight face for a long moment, then sticks out his tongue at you, breaking his stern look. It's his way of letting you know that you aren't really in trouble, but he does expect you to be honest with him.

"It was the bed."

"Hm?

"The bed."

"Che cosa? Do you not like it?"

"No, it's, uh," you knit your eyebrows together in frustration, "it's a lovely bed, but it's where Terzo and I had ours. It's one of the only things in your chambers that's in the same spot as it was before."

"That is all, mia cara?"

"Well it reminds me of him."

"Do you not want to be reminded of him?"

"Not in that way, no. Those memories are so... intimate, and they're the hardest ones to take." You feel vulnerable telling Copia this, but it had been bugging you for weeks.

"Well then... We move the bed, sì? Problem solved."

"Copia... I don't want you to rearrange your room on account of me," you reach up, resting your hand on his arm, which was languidly lying across your waist.

"It'll probably be saving me the trouble of some of those memories in the future, no?" he gives you a bittersweet smile, "Come now, we have some work to do!" He sits up, grabbing your shoes before running off. Now it's your turn to chase him...

Back in his chambers, your shoes wait neatly by the door as Copia returns from the small kitchen with two glasses of ice water. He has a smug grin on his face as he practically makes you drink from the glass. "I believe you left your habit in the gardens, Sorella."

Damn it. "Ah, fuck it. Sister Imperator already wants to kill me for missing so much work. I'm sure the habit is only a minor infraction."

"Sì, and you look bellissima without it."

That comment makes you blush a little. He'd never commented on your appearance before, but luckily your cheeks were already flush from running after him.

Copia shrugs off his vest, rolling up the sleeves and unbuttoning the top few buttons of his shirt. You have to admit that it looks good on him. Now you're blushing about commenting on his appearance, albeit internally.

"What do you think of putting it here, hm?" He gestures to the nook in the wall that had a huge dresser and his art glass vases.

You sip your water, "Hmmm??"

"The bed. We move it here, sì?"

"You meant right now?"

"Of course, I meant right now. I don't want this to cause you another minute of worry, Stellina."

Next thing you know, you're gently wrapping art glass vases and placing them into a box. It is only when the sound of furniture scraping against the floor becomes obvious that several Ghouls come rushing to the door, worry written on their faces even behind their masks.

"Ah! Perfetto! Extra hands to help!" Copia invites the Ghouls in to help move the massive bed and dresser, which they handle in no time thanks to their otherworldly strength.

As you unwrap the last of the art glass to place back on top of the dresser, now in its new place, Copia remarks, "Sembra fantastico, dolcezza!"

"Someone's in a good mood," you turn to look over your shoulder at him.

"Sì, it felt good doing something other than sitting around here. Not that I don't like sitting with you," he takes your hand, thumbs rubbing your knuckles.

"No, you're right," you smile up at him, "it did feel good. Change of pace."

"Sì," is all he says before a wicked grin spreads across his lips. Suddenly, he wraps his arms around your waist, scooping you up, and throwing you over his shoulder.

"PAPA!!! Put me down!"

"I can't, not yet, Sorella! The floor would be too hard!"

"Too hard for what?!"

"For this!" He grabs your waist and pushes you high into the air, letting you come down hard on the bed.

"You-" you grumble at him, straightening out your skirt and fixing your hair

"Who, me?" he asks bewildered.

"Yes, you! You little shit!"

He tuts his tongue at you, "Now is that any way to speak to your Papa? Especially one who just moved half his room to make you comfortable?" He sheds the look of disapproval, and sits next to you, taking your hand, "Really, mia cara, is this better for you?"

His soft voice coaxes you to recline back on his pillows, observing the room only half seriously, "Yes, Copia, it's perfect... Thank you." And you really mean it, because you know that you don't have to sleep in here, he does, but it still means enough to him to move the bed so your thoughts won't haunt you anymore.

• • •

As the months went on, Copia started working again. It was good to see him leading mass again. At first the topics were perhaps more basic, helping him dip his toes in the water, so to speak; it was still so easy to strike a chord that would make him spiral. But he was happy to be back in his office working on translations with his cute little assistant. 𝘞𝘩𝘢𝘵?? 𝘚𝘩𝘦 𝘐𝘚 𝘤𝘶𝘵𝘦, 𝘢𝘭𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘐 𝘸𝘪𝘴𝘩 𝘐'𝘥 𝘴𝘵𝘶𝘥𝘪𝘦𝘥 𝘶𝘱 𝘰𝘯 𝘮𝘺 𝘓𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘯 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦...

He had even started working with the Ghouls making music again. You didn't know exactly what went into all that, but you have to imagine he has to take that slow as well. For now, you've heard they're just rehearsing old songs to get back into the swing of things. They even invited a few (which of course turned into more than a few) Siblings of Sin to a short performance, the Ghouls insisting it would help their Papa to be in front of a crowd again.

"What did you think of our little show, mia cara?" Copia shyly asks you, pulling you out of the crowd of Siblings; his small voice such a sharp contrast to what you'd just seen up on that stage.

"Papa, I think you know what everyone thinks of your performance, everyone is absolutely gushing seeing you reach your full potential again."

"Ah, sì, but my timing was a little late a few times, and I forgot a couple of the lyrics... Besides, I wasn't concerned with what everyone else thinks. I want to know what 𝘺𝘰𝘶 think, Stellina."

"Papa Emeritus?" a Sister nervously approaches the two of you.

"Yes, my child?" he turns to them, always charismatic after a performance.

"Um, uh," she holds out one of the CDs from the Ghost Project, "will you sign this?"

"Of course, dolcezza," he chuckled, delighted over the attention. You have a sneaking suspicion that the Ghouls told everyone to really play it up and act like adoring fans rather than people who get to see Papa regularly. The girl waves her friends over and a small group of Siblings and Ghouls all come over to shower their Papa with praises. As he's drawn further into conversation with them, he turns over his shoulder to look at you, almost as if asking for approval, as he did not want to disappoint you by leaving you alone.

"Go!" you mouth, shooing him away with your hands, "Go have fun! Go see your fans!" You had to yell the last part as he slowly got pulled away from you.

They don't mean any harm; they just want to let Papa know how much they adore him, but you did get a weird pang in your stomach when he called that other Sister "dolcezza," one of the many names he used for you. You quickly shake off the feeling and try to enjoy the atmosphere, it isn't every day you got to see Papa and the Ghouls perform.

After being dragged to a wild after party by the Ghouls, you quietly walk back to your quarters. You had left a little early, knowing the party would rage into the night, but you need to say least 𝘢𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘮𝘱𝘵 to work tomorrow. Plus you don't think you could take the sight of Papa with that girl anymore--the same one he called dolcezza--sitting in his lap. You knew it had been several months, and he would start to seek comfort in others eventually, but still, something about it felt wrong. Of course, you never mean to judge your Papa, it just feels too soon and you worry if he's ready, if his wounds are healed enough.

As you dig in your pocket for the key to your room, you feel hands grab at your waist from behind. Gasping, you drop your keys before being pinned to the door by the tall slender form behind you. "Going to bed so soon, dolcezza?" 𝘏𝘮𝘱𝘩. 𝘖𝘧 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴𝘦 𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘶𝘴𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘯𝘢𝘮𝘦.

"Yes, Papa. Some of us have work tomorrow," you threw him a small smile over your shoulder.

"Ahhh, but how often do we get to party like this, mia cara? Especially as of late." He reaches down to get your keys, and you turn, leaning your back against the door.

"You really came all the way down here, just to drag me back to the party?"

"No, Sorella. I came to party with you," he leaned his against the door, hand next to your head, trapping you to the spot.

"Papa, I think you're drunk."

"I might be, Sorella," he giggles, clearly still riding the high from performing again. Terzo used to act similar after a performance with the inflated ego, knowing everyone wanted him.

"Besides, I thought you would have other 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘱𝘢𝘯𝘺 this evening..."

"Che cosa? The sorella from the party? Don't tell me my little topolino is jealous..."

𝘑𝘦𝘢𝘭𝘰𝘶𝘴. 𝘕𝘰 𝘸𝘢𝘺. 𝘞𝘦𝘭𝘭... 𝘮𝘢𝘺𝘣𝘦? 𝘞𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘫𝘦𝘢𝘭𝘰𝘶𝘴? 𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥𝘯'𝘵 𝘤𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘪𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵, 𝘣𝘶𝘵... 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘦𝘭𝘴𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘤𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘪𝘵?

"Piccolina, your silence says more than you know," he coos, lifting your chin with his fingers.

"I'm not jealous, Copia," you squirm beneath him, looking down at the floor, "Our relationship isn't like that." Technically that is the truth. Yes, he was handsy with you, but he was handsy with all the Siblings. You'd never thought about him in that way, and now, as the thoughts crept up now, it felt wrong. You're supposed to be his friend, his confidant.

Copia seems to sober up for a minute, inhaling sharply before dryly stating, "I suppose you are right, Sorella."

"Goodnight, Papa."

"Goodnight, amore," he replied, kissing your knuckles before letting you retreat to your room, ever the gentleman.

All you could think before crashing hard into your pillow was 𝘈𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦? 𝘛𝘩𝘢𝘵'𝘴 𝘢 𝘯𝘦𝘸 𝘰𝘯𝘦.

• • •

A few days passed and you hadn't heard anything from Copia, you hadn't been called to his suite or anything. You were certain he likely had another Sibling warming his bed, the thought making you sick. You feel guilty. Guilty for feeling possessive of your Papa; he isn't yours, he could belong to anyone he wanted now. Not enough time had passed since he belonged to another, the most spectacular woman he could've asked for. You feel like you're trying to replace her, and it isn't your intention. She was amazing and always deserved to have a place in Copia's heart. And then there was Terzo... You feel like your were betraying him. Every memory you make with Copia pushes Terzo further and further from your mind. That also makes you feel guilty. You don't ever want to forget him. It feels like you're trying to replace him, too, and he deserves to live on in your heart, just as Copia's Prime Mover will for him.

Without even realizing, your feet wander quickly through the halls of the ministry; you hadn't even bothered to put shoes on. Your feet pad against the floor hard as you rushed in what direction you aren't even sure. Tears fill your eyes making everything blurry. You're sure someone probably could follow your trail by the amount of tears you left on the cold marble floor. Before you know it your feet stop, looking up through weary eyes, you make out the silhouette of Copia's chamber door. 𝘜𝘨𝘩, 𝘸𝘩𝘺 𝘥𝘪𝘥 𝘐 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦? 𝘞𝘩𝘺 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘐 𝘥𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘮𝘺𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧? 𝘞𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘪𝘧 𝘩𝘦'𝘴 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘰𝘯𝘦?

You knock before you can even stop yourself.

The whole door shifts slightly, it was cracked open, and you hadn't noticed. 𝘛𝘩𝘢𝘵'𝘴 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘊𝘰𝘱𝘪𝘢. 𝘏𝘦 𝘢𝘭𝘸𝘢𝘺𝘴 𝘩𝘢𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘰𝘰𝘳 𝘴𝘩𝘶𝘵 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘢 𝘎𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘭 𝘨𝘶𝘢𝘳𝘥 𝘯𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘣𝘺.

Worried, you pull the door open gently, not sure what you'll find behind the heavy oak.

And there he is... leaning against the doorway between the little kitchen and rest of the space, taking the breath right from your lungs.

You can barely say his name, "Terzo?"

His eyes gently lock with yours, and he moves towards you, suave as always.

"Teh... Terzo? Wh-what.. whatareyoudoinghere..."

It makes no sense. You're clearly in Copia's room, the bed in its new place and all.

"𝘈𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦..." his arm effortlessly gliding around your waist, and his other hand brushing your cheek. "What makes you cry like this? I'll put an end to it right this minute."

You're not even able to speak as you lean into his chest sobbing. His scent envelops you, bringing back a flood of memories.

"Bella, you must calm down, you'll worry yourself sick, mia cara. Try to breathe." He holds you tightly to him, white-gloved fingers laced in your hair. "Shhh, shhh..." he coos, humming to you like a mother would to her child.

After a while of trying to dry your sniffles and tears, Terzo leads you across the room to sit at the foot of the bed with you.

"Terzo," you whine, "what's going on?"

"You always were un uccellino curioso. Do not worry piccolina, you will get your answers in time," he reassures you, placing a kiss on top of your head.

"I just- I've missed you so much!" Tears threaten to spill once again. Immediately they're met with a white glove wiping them away.

"I know, mia cara, I've missed you too, così tanto. But I'm here now, and it breaks me to see il mio cuore hurt the way she does." He gently guides your chin towards him, softly kissing your lips. That familiar spark flies through you; electricity seemingly coursing through his veins, you can feel it on your skin with every little touch.

Absentmindedly you open your mouth, ready to receive anything he has to offer, and his tongue never did disappoint. Even after all these years your body still aches for him, made obvious as you hastily works on the buttons of his shirt. Terzo's hand, now bare, creeps under the hem of your skirt, "They put my Prime Mover back in her old habits, huh? This simply won't do..." He tugs your skirt up around your waist and quickly makes work of pulling the veil from your hair. Almost like muscle memory, you lift your arms for him to pull the simple black fabric from your form in one fluid motion. "Quello è meglio. Satana, quanto mi è mancato il tuo dolce corpo," he mumbles, lips immediately attaching to your collar bone.

This draws a sigh from you as you run your fingers through his hair. He throws his shirt off his shoulders, discarding it on the floor, and your fingertips greedily take in the feeling of his bare skin.

With a hand behind your head and a strong arm around your hips, he moves you further up the bed, then crashes his weight down on top of you. His hands roam your body, grabbing at your waist, your panties, your breasts, your hair, until one of his hands find yours, interlocking your fingers. His lips work on the sensitive skin at your neck, drawing his name accompanied with several moans and whines from you.

"Oh, please Terzo... Don't ever stop," you let out, nails scratching at his back and scalp.

"Forever and ever, sì? I'll make love to you 'til the end of time, amore." With one hand holding yours above your head, his other scoops up your thigh, hooking your leg on his hip. You feel his hardness grind down on your sex, layers of fabric trapped between you, and you both hiss with pleasure.

You want to yell at him so badly, demand he take you right then and there, but the words wouldn't come. What if you lost him again? Instead it's best to savor the time you have.

You reach your hand between your bellies, nails lightly dragging from the waistline of his pants up to his belly button, a move that drives him crazy every time. As he practically attacks your mouth with his, your hand finds his erection and starts to palm at it. Within seconds, your lover is becoming putty in your hands, and as you unzip the annoying fabric to take his hot girth in your hands, an indecipherable stream of Italian flows from his vocal chords, something about a sex goddess handcrafted by the Dark Lord himself.

His hands glide along your hips, fingers hooking into your panties as he rips them right off of you. "Please, cara," he begs, kicking his pants off into the floor, "mia cara dolce seduttrice, please let me take you."

You feel his cock, slick with precum, pressing against your folds; he looks up at you panting, eyes blown wide with lust, "Per favore." You have mercy on him, allowing him to enter you, the stretch drawing loud groans from both of you. It feels like two strong magnets had finally collided, and once he was seated comfortably inside you, he looks down at you, ever-so-gently pushing a strand of hair behind your ear before pressing a soft kiss to your lips. His hand rests on the side of your neck, thumb stroking your cheek, never breaking the kiss as he starts to roll his hips. You let out a light moan, threading your hands in that beautiful raven black hair.

He only broke this kiss when neither of you could hold your breath any longer, but he didn't stray far, as he nipped at your jaw. "Va bene per te piccola?"

Terzo continued to rock his hips at a deadly pace, making you want more and more of him, "Sì, Papa, molto bene." His heart absolutely beamed when you spoke Italian to him, only pushing him to snap his hips faster.

He always knew exactly how to please you, his throbbing member scraping against that sweet spot inside you over and over again. It doesn't take long after his fingers find that little bundle of nerves at your core that you fall over the edge; the only word on your lips is his name.

"Brava ragazza, una brava ragazza per tuo Papa," his praises making your heart swell for him.

"Ti amo, Papa," you mutter, bones turned to mush as he continues to careen against that soft spot inside you, "Ti amo, Terzo."

"Ti amo, il mio amore... Forever," he pants hotly, right in your ear, "Tesoro, I don't think I can hold on any longer." He groans loudly.

Without hesitation, you grant him permission, practically begging him to finish inside you. His hips halt for a moment before evenly rocking them back and forth, letting out a needy whine, riding out his orgasm.

He relaxes on top of you, laying his head on your chest and lacing his fingers with yours.

"Amore," Terzo starts, looking up at you through his lashes.

"Hm?" you ask, a silly grin on your face as you twirl a strand of his soft hair in your fingers.

"I know you won't forget me."

You knit your eyebrows together, confusion washing over you.

"You shouldn't be afraid to be with him, I know you'll never forget me. Remember, tesoro, I told you not even Lucifer himself could keep me from you. I live on in here," he says, putting his hand over your heart.

"Terzo- I-" you feel the lump forming in your throat, making it hard to speak.

"You need each other. Maybe more than two people have 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 needed one another. He teeters on the edge of madness, and I'm afraid without you, it would topple the scales. Take care of him, soothe his soul, just as you did with me." He leans up leaving kisses on your forehead and eyes.

When your eyes flutter open again, you're outside. You look around taking in Primo's garden.

"Come, bella," Terzo stands next you offering you hand to help you up, "let's play a game like we used to."

He gives you a shit eating grin before running off, into the maze of bushes and shrubs. Both laughing hysterically, you chase after him, following the well known paths. As he turns a corner, you lose sight of him, but you won't give up so easily as you press on to catch up with him. Trailing just behind him, you reach out only brushing his waist for a moment before he peels away from you again. He turns the corner to your old hiding spot with you hot on his trail.

As you reach the clearing, he's nowhere to be seen. You realize you're the only one still laughing. Just like that, he was gone.

You drop to your knees, that empty feeling creeping in all too quickly...

• • •

"Tesoro?" You hear Copia call your name, "mia cara, are you there?"

You crack your eyes open slowly, "Co- Copia?" you breathe out, voice raspy.

"Hi! Hey. There she is," he attempts to sound cheery but clearly he is worried out of his mind. He cups your cheeks and places a hand to your forehead, making sure you didn't have a fever.

"Wh-where am I?" you glance around at the all white everything. The bed you're on is cozy but certainly not homey.

"The infirmary, cara," he chuckles nervously, "You gave us quite the fright."

"What happened?"

He doesn't want to worry you with the details, but he knows you won't rest until you have answers. "Well the morning after the party, you didn't show up to breakfast, which isn't like you, Stellina, so a few Ghouls and I looked all over for you. You weren't in your room and it wasn't until someone-" he stopped suddenly, clearly choking up.

"Someone heard you screaming in the gardens," a cold voice supplied. You turn slowly to see Sister Imperator standing opposite Copia.

"I was in the gardens?" you ask, turning back to Copia.

"Sì... In that little clearing you took me to. You, uhhh, you were screaming for Terzo. Cara, I've never seen anything like it. It was like you were in a ritual trance, I didn't know you'd practiced communing with the Dark Lord before."

"I, uhhh, I haven't."

You and Copia both look equally shocked, but not wanting you to be stressed, he insists on you relaxing the rest of the afternoon. And of course, despite the nurses working in the care ward, Copia stays right by your side, sending various Ghouls to get whatever you need. It really is probably overkill, you are just a little dehydrated, after all.

Not needing to stay in the infirmary for more than a day, Copia has you moved back to your room, insisting you need bed rest and lots of fluids. "Take the day off, amore, the week if you need it, it's my turn to handle Seestor after all," he chuckles, helping you into bed. He looks around to make sure you have snack, water, medicine; you can tell he's getting ready to return to his duties.

"Papa," you reach out, grabbing a couple of his fingers.

"Sì, piccolina?"

"Stay with me? Just for a little while," your eyes practically beg him. You'd been craving some proper alone time with your Papa.

His face softens and he begins to sit down on the edge of the bed, but you pull him towards you, urging him to lie down with you. He obliges, facing you, draping an arm over your waist, and you do the same to him.

"Copia..." you whisper to him, not even really sure what you wanted to talk about.

"Yes, dolcezza?"

That triggered it, and before you could stop yourself you blurted out, "Did you sleep with that girl?"

"La ragazza from the party? No, Stellina," his lips pull slightly into a frown, accentuated by his face paint.

"Oh... I was hoping it went well," you lie.

"Topolino," his tone disappointed, "do not start being dishonest with me now, after all these months."

𝘋𝘢𝘮𝘯𝘪𝘵. 𝘏𝘦 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸𝘴 𝘮𝘦 𝘵𝘰𝘰 𝘸𝘦𝘭𝘭.

"I'm sorry, Papa, I just-" you look up at him, making him drop the stern look he had, "I don't want to hold you back."

"Amore, you could never hold me back, you do nothing but support me, lifting me up when I need it most." His free hand finds yours to draw shapes on the back of your hand with his thumb. You look down at his hand, then carefully move to lace your fingers with his. Feeling the warmth of his hand through his leather glove, the butterflies swarm in your stomach; a feeling you hadn't felt in a long time, but unmistakable nonetheless.

Copia lets out a small sigh, silence washing over you both as your minds race; thoughts ranging from "I like this, I want this, I want 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦" to "What if this ruins what we have?" to "What if I'm not ready to move on?"

Always knowing the exact right thing to do, Copia leans forward, placing a chaste kiss on your forehead, and it immediately quieted down the noisy chatter happening in there.

"Get some rest, mia dolce Sorella," he commands, sitting up next to you. "We still have much to discuss, but don't you worry your pretty little head over it." He accents his point by gently scratching at the crown of your head. You knew aside from your newly forming feelings, Copia still wanted to know what the hell happened to you the other night.

"Yes, Papa. Now, you should go back to your office before Imperator blows a fuse," you lean up too kiss his cheek then whisper, "or I may keep you here all to myself..."

If it weren't for his paint, you were fairly sure his cheeks beamed bright red.

• • •

Days go by before you see him again. Pulled in every possible direction, he simply has too much on his plate between rehearsals and the mountain of work that had backed up over months of not being in the office. Plus Sister Imperator fired his assistant and reassigned her to your office... Seems like a strange decision considering how much pressure Papa is under.

When your lunch break rolls around, you decide to order take out, ordering a little extra for Copia, knowing he often works through meals when he gets his mind set on something.

Lightly tapping on his door, food cartons in tow, your hear him grumble something before yelling, "Come in!" in a not so nice tone.

Pushing the door open, you let him know, "I'm sorry, Papa, if it's a bad time, I can just drop this off and leave."

"Cazzo, Satanas, Sorella. I'm sorry I thought you were- ...someone else." You could tell he meant Sister Imperator. "Please, make yourself comfortable wherever you can."

You scan the room to see piles of books and papers and files and folders everywhere on nearly every surface. Even one half of the couch had a few stacks of documents. "Goodness, Copia, are they trying to work you to death?!"

"I suppose so, Stellina," he sighs, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Well..." you start, needing a minute to think, "okay, here's the plan: you take a break, we sit down and eat, and after we get our bellies full, I'll stay here and help you sort through some of this."

"Mia cara, you don't have to do that." You could read the appreciation on his face though as he twirled a small strand of your hair between his fingers; he really needs the help.

"I don't have to, but I want to. You don't deserve to be stuck in this office burning the candle at both ends."

His hand moves to your cheek, "Grazie, cara, you always know exactly what I need."

Forcing him to sit back in his chair, you take a long pause to stand behind him and rub his shoulders, causing him to let out a nearly inappropriate groan. At the sound of your giggle, he questions you jokingly, "You think your Papa's tension and pain are funny, Sorella? Watch yourself... I may have to punish you." Then it's his turn to giggle as your cheeks heat up at that remark.

Out of the corner of your eye, something catches your attention swishing past his office door, but you don't let on to it, not wanting to worry him further. 𝘛𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘴𝘯𝘦𝘢𝘬𝘺 𝘰𝘭𝘥 𝘣𝘢𝘵, 𝘴𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘪𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘢𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘴𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘨𝘪𝘳𝘭 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘬𝘦𝘦𝘱 𝘢𝘯 𝘦𝘺𝘦 𝘰𝘯 𝘶𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘳𝘦𝘱𝘰𝘳𝘵 𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬.

You push the thought from your mind and instead move to distract yourself and Copia with food. And boy is it delicious! It's just what you both need.

As promised, after lunch, you hop right to work helping him organize ALLLLL the papers, which ends with you sitting on the floor, sorting things into neat piles.

"Sorella, I never would've thought to sort things out in this way, but it makes so much sense." He saunters over to you, placing a hand on top of your head, like a pet.

"Maybe now you'll be able to chip away at all this a little faster," you smile up at the man towering over you.

"Sister!" Imperator's voice boomed from Copia's office door. "Your lunch ended hours ago! We have a lot of work to get done before Yule next week!"

"She 𝘪𝘴 working, Seestor," Papa defends you.

"What? By playing in the floor like some toddler? C, don't let this girl distract you."

You can tell he wants to remark on the informality of her using his nickname.

"I'll have you know, Sister Imperator," his tone stiffer than normal as he used her whole name, "She's implementing the organizational system used in your offices. The one she came up with, and I think it will be a great help to me, especially seeing as I lack an assistant now. I believe it's in the ministry's best interest if their 𝘗𝘢𝘱𝘢 is able to work as efficiently as possible."

𝘖𝘰𝘰𝘩! 𝘏𝘦 𝘥𝘪𝘥 𝘮𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘢 𝘫𝘢𝘣 𝘢𝘵 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘶𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘯𝘪𝘤𝘬𝘯𝘢𝘮𝘦! You can't help but silently root him on.

"Unless, Seestor, there is some reason I'm being held up in every way possible?" his eyes lock on hers as he stands protectively in front of you, still in your spot on the floor.

"What are you implying, Copia?" she practically spits back at him; he's onto her, and it's making her nervous.

"I'm not implying anything. It's the hellsent truth. We have more work than ever after I was out for so long, and I am getting less and less help. It keeps me right where you want me: in this office, closed off from the ones I'm 𝘴𝘶𝘱𝘱𝘰𝘴𝘦𝘥 to be leading, offering guidance to."

You had never really heard him speak this way. He's suddenly almost... Cold? Confident in a different kind of way. You can't quite place your finger on it, you just hope you're never on the receiving end of it.

Imperator opened her mouth to speak but was quickly cut off. "Sorella in here will be my new assistant. She's supported me more than anyone since the passing of my Prime Mover, and I'll not have her disrespected anymore. Not by going back to that office, and certainly no longer by you."

Your eyes go wide at the last part, along with Sister Imperator's. "I understand, Papa. As you wish," was all she replied before leaving you both.

Closing the door and pressing his back to it, Copia chuckles nervously, "I can't believe I just spoke to her like that." His eyes lingered on the floor before tracing their way up your form. "But it needed to be said..."

"Papa... I," you let out a shaky breath; you are so proud of him and honored by the way he defended and complimented you, but also made nervous by the whole situation. "Papa, I hope you know I didn't start doing all this just to get a promotion."

Copia's face broke a smile with breathy laughter as he got on his knees in front of you, looking you straight in the eyes. "Of course you didn't, topolino," he presses a kiss to your cheek. "But you take care of me better than anyone I know. I'll be stronger with you by my side."

If your chest wasn't overflowing with emotions and your eyes weren't filled with tears, you would've taken him right there on the floor, dealing with damn papers later. But for now, you just let him hold you as your eyes wander over him, his torso, his shoulders, those wild mismatched eyes you could never get used to. Not with Terzo, not with him.

Delicately, like you would break him, your hand snakes up to his hair, combing back the gray locks on his temples. Gently, you close the small space between you, finally taking comfort in those lips over the course of several long, chaste-for-the-most-part kisses.

You both pull away before things can progress any further; at this point, you were used to waiting. Eyes still closed, you hear Copia call your name. "Seestor reminded me... Would you like to accompany me to the Yule Ball, amore?"

You can't help but laugh; after that whole heated thing, all he could think about was spending Yule with you. "I'd love to, tesoro."

Once again blushing under his paint at you finally using a pet name on him, in Italian no less, he wraps you in his arms, nuzzling his nose to yours, "Okie dokie."

• • •

Before the night of the big dance, you spent the evening pampering yourself. You drew a nice bath, did a face mask, styled your hair just the way you like, put on a little makeup.

You were just stepping into your gown as your hear rapping at your door. It's a beautiful deep purple gown made for you in your Prime Mover days, and boy did it make you and Terzo look like a pair! He adored purple; you weren't sure exactly the last time you'd worn it, but you were sure it ended up on the floor quickly after Terzo got you alone.

"Just a minute!" You quickly slide the gown up and into place at your waist then sliding your arms through the proper holes. Clutching the dress, hanging loose, against your chest, you scurry over to your door to see who was waiting.

"Buona sera, amore mio."

None other than Copia, of course, but he isn't Copia this evening; tonight, he is Papa Emeritus IV. He steps into your small quarters, looking far too regal to being here. Dressed in full papal regalia, the silky blue robes and bejeweled mitre making him look larger than life.

"Oh, Papa... You look so nice." You're practically breath-taken.

"Nonsense. I pale in comparison to you, Stellina," he steps towards you, noticing your hand still holding your gown in place. "May I?" A hand on your hip urges you to turn, other hand carefully sliding the gown's zipper up your spine. He stands behind you in your dusty little mirror, his ceremonial gloves, beautifully adorned with golden bones, rest on your hips with his fingertips tickling at the top curves of your thighs.

"Assolutamente sorprendente..." It comes as a whisper before he presses a kiss to your shoulder. You like the portrait painted on the looking glass in front of you. If there was one thing you could change, it would be that you wished you had a blue gown to match his vestments; though you suppose your violet fabric against his blue silk is a reminder that you've belonged to two great men.

"Copia... Do you think they'll ever let us be together?" The question falls out of you suddenly.

"Who?? Who wouldn't let us be together, mia cara?" He whips you around to face him as if you were in trouble for asking that question, but his face reads nothing but concern.

"Well, I guess Sister Imperator mainly... And then there's the clergy. Are they going to let you take a second Prime Mover, especially one who belonged to another Papa?? And then there's the ministry... your followers, your fans. What if they get jealous that someone took their Papa? What if they don't like me because I took someone else's shot at being the PM when I already had my turn? What if-"

Copia cuts you off, your name leaving his lips like he's just been knocked in the chest. "You've thought about being my Prime Mover?"

That's when you realize you said the quiet part out loud. 𝘖𝘧 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴𝘦 𝘐 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘗𝘳𝘪𝘮𝘦 𝘔𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳, 𝘥𝘶𝘮𝘮𝘺. 𝘞𝘩𝘰 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥𝘯'𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵? "I know this is all new for us, Cope, but I'd be lying if I said I didn't want more."

"Mia bella ragazza, it seems you want 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘰𝘴𝘵," he says, attempting to be suave, but it does pull a laugh from you regardless. He cups your cheek in his gloved hand "Dagli tempo, amore mio, avrai tutto quello che vuoi e anche di più." His hands thread through your hair, pulling you into a fiery kiss that simply wasn't long enough. "Speaking of time, I must be going, Sorella. The clergy will be expecting me. I'll leave Aether with you, sì? No one as bellissima as you should enter the Ball empty handed. I wouldn't want someone to think they could take you from me..."

He presses one more kiss to your lips before turning to exit, leaving you reeling at his words.

• • •

The Yule Ball is buzzing already. Siblings and Ghouls pour into the ballroom, already tipsy on eggnog and spiked hot chocolate, chatting and laughing, and a few even dancing to the light music that played as you all await Papa Emeritus IV. You were grateful to have Aether with you, giving you company in the flood of people. In fact he's oddly tame considering the amount of attention some of his fellow Ghouls are gathering; he must be on orders from Copia to be on his best behavior.

The energy is simply electric as everyone hardly pays attention to Sister Imperator's opening speech. It had been a rough year for everyone; they all need the release the Yule celebration can offer.

When Papa steps onto the stage in his ceremonial garb, the whole place erupts with applause, shouts, and a few lewd whistles. You see that familiar look of pride well up in him; not pride for himself, no, pride for the ministry, the church, everyone who worked so hard to spread the Olde One's message. "Good evening, my children. Multa Yule beneficia omnibus. How are we tonight, eh?"

He absolutely dazzles the crowd, everyone hanging on his words of praise for their devotion and support this year. He chokes up a bit mentioning the trials and tribulations he and everyone had faced this year, you knew he would, but a few Ghouls cheering their love for their Papa perked him back up and he made it through. Keeping his sermon brief, Copia just wants everyone to have a good time; they all deserve it.

As Papa moves onto the ballroom floor, he's swarmed by ministry members all wanting to dance with him, but he always handles a crowd well. Offering several of them a quick spin and kiss on the cheek, they swoon over him, and this time, it didn't make you the slightest bit jealous; you know who he has eyes for. A few couples even brought their kiddos over to meet Papa, watching him quickly bless a couple of babies then hold a young girl on his hip, "dancing" with her made your heart feel like it may burst. He doesn't realize how adorable he is with that sweet smile on his lips as he greets his congregation.

A tap on the shoulder catches your attention. Aether holds out his hand, clearly an offering to dance with him, perhaps trying to distract you from staring at Copia. You giggle at him before taking his hand. He wasn't the best dancer, but rocking back and forth, slowly spinning did allow you to get a chance to look the room over. The event committee did a great job with this one: handcrafted swags made from evergreen, holly leaves, and berries hung between each stained glass window, with golden bells cascading out from the base of each one; spreads of candles everywhere in black, dark green, and gold; they had even adorned the Renaissance-style painted ceiling with twinkling lights, a beautiful representation of the Winter solstice night sky.

"Ahem, Aether," Copia's voice lightly commands over your shoulder, "may I cut in?"

"Of course, boss," Aether quickly straightens up, releasing you from his grip as he wipes his palms against his vest.

Copia lets out a chuckle as his hands comes to rest on your waist. "Sorella," he whispers just behind your ear, as Aether disappears into the crowd, "I have a very important question for you."

"Yes, Papa?"

His hand glides around the small of your back as he dramatically walks around to meet your eyes, hand now gripping your other hip. He looks just as stunning as he had in your room an hour ago, but it's only enhanced by the ambient lighting, the gemstones and metals on his mitre and gloves absolutely sparkling.

He bows deeply, lowering his head until he's eye-level with your waist. This catches the attention of everyone nearby, as Papa bows for no one, especially in his formal wear. Looking up at you as if you're the only thing in the room that exists, he asks very simply, "May I have this dance?"

It's a very public display that lets everyone know his intentions. You could only imagine that Imperator must be fuming, but your attention is fully ensnared by the man in front of you. "Of course, Papa, it would be an honor."

He slowly moves back up, eyes clearly drinking in the curves of your body, "It is I who should be honored, principessa."

𝘐 𝘸𝘰𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘪𝘧 𝘩𝘦'𝘭𝘭 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘳𝘶𝘯 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘯𝘪𝘤𝘬𝘯𝘢𝘮𝘦𝘴 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘮𝘦. 𝘚𝘰 𝘧𝘢𝘳 𝘪𝘵 𝘴𝘦𝘦𝘮𝘴 𝘶𝘯𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦𝘭𝘺.

Suddenly, his arm snakes around your midsection and pulls you tight against him, a twinkle in his eyes as you start dancing together. This dance is much more energetic than it had been with Aether; Copia wastes no time in taking you out on the floor, twirling you in his arms, leading you gracefully. You remember being impressed with his moves back when he was a Cardinal in the way he would enthusiastically move against whomever he may have been courting at the time; no one had expected such a performance from the shy awkward man in his cassock and biretta, and you certainly never thought you'd get to experience it firsthand.

In one final move, he spins you away from him, arms outstretched between you, before he stops and cracks a grin at you before breaking into a few of his stage moves, "ass wobbling" as he calls it. It elicits a great deal of laughter from you, then he saunters back over to you, scooping you back into a kiss, like you were in a movie or something. You get a peek at the chandelier above his head, spotting the mistletoe hanging there. 𝘛𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘦𝘬𝘺 𝘣𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘳𝘥. You could almost roll your eyes at how corny he could be, 𝘢𝘭𝘮𝘰𝘴𝘵, but it's hard to think of anything when his lips are against yours.

It's only when a group of Copia's closest Ghouls start hooting and hollering that you recall that you are in fact surrounded by most of the ministry. As Papa stands you back up and turns to hush his Ghouls, your face colors bright red, realizing almost everyone was watching that little display. You notice a few envious eyes cutting daggers at you.

"Come, mia cara," the man offers his hand to you once again, this time for an escape. As you rush from the room, embarrassment is quickly replaced with excitement. You and Copia run hand in hand through the halls of the ministry, laughing at what you aren't really sure, but you don't stop until you get outside to the walkway overlooking the courtyard.

The cloister is always beautiful at night, the gargoyle

s casting shadows that looked like demons, and the tall arches allowing a perfect view of the stars, but keeping one dry if it happened to be raining. It also always had a nice breeze, which on a night like this, the longest night of the year, chilled you right to the bone.

"Here, principessa, take this," Copia says, unclipping the top layer of his vestments.

"Oh, no no no, I couldn't take that. It would be inappropriate," you argue.

"Stellina, it is only cloth, and I won't have you freezing your plump little ass off out here." His word is final as he drapes the beautifully embroidered chasuble over your shoulders.

𝘖𝘩, 𝘴𝘰 𝘩𝘦'𝘴 𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘪𝘤𝘦𝘥 𝘮𝘺 𝘢𝘴𝘴?

After clipping up the chasuble, Copia wraps his arms around you for an added layer of warmth and leans you against the waist-high wall behind you.

"Mia cara, you look beautiful against the stars like this." He brushes a piece of hair behind your ear, seemingly one of his favorite things to do to you.

"You look very handsome yourself, Papa," you admire him, running your hands over the blue silk that now runs up to his shoulders, no longer covered by the chasuble.

"You still call me Papa after all this time," he points out.

"Well, I didn't want anyone to think I was getting special treatment..." You practically stare a hole in his chest.

"Stellina," he lifts your chin to meet his gaze, "I don't think you were fooling anyone."

Your cheeks start to flush, whether from the cold or the intimacy of the moment you aren't sure.

"You know, Copia..." Tears start to well up in your eyes at that... dream? hallucination? memory? You weren't sure what to call it. "Terzo... He, uhhh..."

"Tesoro, if you don't want to do this because of him... Well, I'll know I've missed out, but I'll understand. I could never dream of replacing him; his shoes are much too big too fill."

"No, Copia!" you whine, tucking yourself into his chest, "That's not what I was going to say." You pause for a moment, collecting yourself. "Terzo came to me that night I went missing. I don't know how to explain it... It felt so real. But he told me that we needed each other, and that I should take care of you."

"I know, amore, I had a similar dream that night. It was perhaps 𝘭𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘴𝘦 than yours however. I saw my dear Prime Mover, holding our child in her arms, and she reassured me that they were being taken care of. They had all of the opulence and prosperity that Satan promises his followers. I just 𝘩𝘢𝘵𝘦 that I couldn't give it to them-" His eyes turn dark, and for the first time, you understand what Terzo may have meant about Copia going mad.

You gently reach up, gracing your fingertips over Copia's lips and chin, bringing him back to reality. Your face soft but concerned as you search for the soul behind those mismatched eyes.

As if you're some sort of grounding force, he stiffens up, inhaling sharply as he looks down at you; a tear rolls down his cheek as he chokes out your name followed by, "I do need you. I need you so much, cara." His lips hit you like a wave, crashing down on you wherever he can make contact: lips, cheeks, nose, jaw.

With both of yours and his emotions running high, it's easy for the sadness and grief to cradle itself away inside, while new feelings make their way to the surface. His tongue urgently finds it's way into your mouth, as your fingers card into his ashy brown locks, knocking the mitre to the ground. It's heady and desperate, but it's exactly what you both need.

As he nips at your neck, tongue tracing various shapes over the sensitive skin there, his strong arms lift you to sit on the cloister wall, drawing a gasp from you. As if your arms didn't have enough of a hold on him, your legs locked around his hips, pressing him close to you--but not close enough. It felt like you could fall over that wall with him and dive head-first into pleasure; it's exhilarating.

One hand roughly rips open the snaps on the chasuble that had been keeping you warm, leaving it cascading down the wall. Certainly preoccupied as his lips search yours again, you aren't even sure how he got the blue underlayer of his vestments off, but it left him in a stunning little combo: black jeans, black skirt with billowing sleeves, and a tight little vest. How that man wore so many clothes you didn't understand, but you didn't care, as long as they came off.

His gloved hands scratched up your thighs, pushing the hem of your gown up. With your arms already locked around his shoulders, he asks, "Ready, baby?" before sliding your weight off the wall and onto his waist before he quickly carries you in the direction of his chambers.

It's nothing short of miraculous that you make it back to the room without bumping into anything or knocking any expensive sculptures over, seeing how Copia was pretty much navigating blind; his lips hardly leaving yours for a second.

Inside the cozy suite you'd come to know so well, even growing to like it the way Copia had it decorated, he flops you both down on the little sofa you'd had so many chats on. Hands on his chest and legs on either side of him, you shift to get more comfortable when you find his sex with yours. You both groan against each other's mouths, desire growing to become unbearable. Your fingers work his shirt and his vest open as your hips gently grind down, searching for that sweet sensation again.

Papa's mouth leaves you with a pop as he gasps for air; his eyes are dark again, but this time for an entirely different reason: you. Having you is the only thought on his mind as his hands fumble for the zipper on your back. His lust-blown eyes devouring each new inch of skin exposed to him as your dress hits the floor.

"Satanas, mia bella, your Papa Terzo was a lucky man," he mumbles as he presses a string of kisses to the tops of your breasts. "You could make the Dark Lord himself blush in this little number."

You cradle him against your chest as his flattery pulls a giggle from you, "Keep talking like that and you'll get lucky too, Papa."

He groans happily at the sound of that, his hands cupping at your lacy bra.

"Oh, so now you like being called Papa?"

"When you are dressed like this, sì, call me whatever you like, mia principessa." He looks up at you, strands of hair falling out of place, chest exposed as his shirt falls off his shoulders, his lust evident against his jeans; he looks like debauchery personified.

"What if I call you mine, huh?" Your boldness surprises you, but you roll with it.

"Hmmm... Okie dokie. Papa is all yours... to do with as it pleases you, topolino." Now, that last part makes you blush, but you don't hesitate to start loosening the laces on his pants. With the laces undone, you untuck the tail of his shirt from the tight demin, allowing his erection to spring free.

Your fingers gently grace over the shaft, eliciting a shaky breath from Copia. You both look at each other like nervous teenagers for a moment; it has been a while for you both. He leans forward and delicately kisses you, and it was the push you needed to fall over the edge with him. Your hand grips him with more confidence, bobbing up and down, while his moans are muffled against your lips.

His nimble fingers drift under the edge of your panties, teasing at the lace on your hip before gliding to circle the damp cloth over your clit. You match his noises, a blissful harmony filling the room. The sensation is only heightened when his fingers push the lace aside to slide into your slick folds. 𝘞𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘥𝘪𝘥 𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘰𝘧𝘧 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘨𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘴? You pull away from his lips to let out a whine as he teases your entrance, and a hiss escapes Copia as you tighten your grip on his dripping member.

"Copia," you gasp, "Papa, I need you."

"Cara-"

"Right now, Papa, I need you right now," you demand, head thrown back as you grind against his fingers. "And please don't say 'Okie dokie.'"

"You took the words out of my mouth, bella," he gives a half-smug half-goofy smile while he pulls your hips closer to him.

Letting him pull your panties aside, hooking them on that plump ass he remarked on earlier, you line up over him, impatiently taking him. As the tip enters you with that delicious pop, you both attempt not to buck your hips. You both fail. His arm snakes around your waist, urging you down onto him. It really is a desperate sight; you hadn't even properly gotten either of your clothes off, yet you still seek to become one.

Slowly seating yourself fully on his length, Copia calls out your name, "Ti amo, tesoro, così tanto, da così tanto tempo... Ti amo tanto." It came like one of his chants during Mass, like it was well practiced, like he couldn't wait to recite it.

You cup his cheeks, holding the the last bit of resolve he has, "I love you, too, Copia." Your hands slide down to his shoulders which help stabilize your movements on top of him. Instantly his hips move up into yours, matching your rhythm in a delightful way.

The antipope's hands reach up, sliding your bra straps off your shoulders to free your breasts, and his mouth quickly starts to work on your budding nipples while one of his hands reunites with the bud between your thighs. "Voglio adorarti, mia dea. Ti farò piacere. Prendi il mio seme come offerta."

That stream of Italian has your head soaring through the clouds; the hand holding a death grip in his hair might be the only thing that keeps you from derailing. How he could manage to press every button you had all at the same time is beyond you, all you know is that it has you barreling towards your orgasm faster than anything you've ever experienced.

Suddenly, Copia pushes you off of him, your back landing on the sofa. He hungrily pulls your panties off and lines back up with you, filling you again in an instant. Instinctively, you want to wrap your legs on his hips, but Papa has other plans. He hooks his hands behind your knees, holding them straight up and squeezing your thighs together as he relentlessly pounds into you. This has you screaming his name within seconds as the head of his cock drags over that sweet spot inside you over and over and over again.

The feeling is so overwhelming, you can't stop the wave of your release from crashing over you, "Oh, Satanas, Copia, I'm coming!" Your eyebrows contort and your jaw relaxes while your thighs shake violently beneath him. The sensation causes his hips to stutter, and as he finds a shallow but steady movement, you know he's reached his end as well.

A warm sensation fills you as he gives you his offering, just as he'd promised moments ago.

His hips continue to buck, riding you both through your climaxes. He lets your legs go weak, gently letting them down to either side of him as his movements come to a halt. He finally shrugs his shirt and vest from his arms then carefully pulls out to lay next to you on the scant little couch, but he holds on tight so you don't fall off. Propped up on one arm, his eyes observe all of your details: the flush of your cheeks, the marks he left on your neck and collarbone, the way your chest rises and falls as you try to calm your breathing. Everything about you looks perfect in his opinion.

Copia grabs your bra, which has just fallen around your waist at this point, turning it so the fastening is in the front, and he makes quick work of discarding it. "We did this a little out of or order, sì?" he chuckles.

"I wouldn't have had it any other way, amore mio," you lean up to kiss his nose.

"No one has been blessed more than me this Yule, Stellina. I'm grateful for it, and for you." Before his blush becomes too evident, he leaves you, only for a moment to retire to the big bathroom connected to his bedroom. He returns wearing a big soft robe, with one just like it thrown over his shoulder for you, as well as a warm washcloth.

Soft as kisses, he smooths over all of your love bites, calming the red wounds; he then wipes away any proof of your love making before bundling you up for a long night of cuddles and sweet nothings. Maybe even another round... Or three.

#i hope you all liked it 🥹 #thank you if you made it this far ❤️ #happy yule #papa 3 #papa iii #papa emeritus 3 #papa 4 #popia #cardi c #terzo emeritus #papa iv #ghost band #the band ghost #fanfic #oneshot #Ghouls #aether ghoul #papa emeritus iv #papa emeritus iii #papa copia #papa emeritus 4 #papa terzo #papa emeritus

[tathrin]

A little moment that might take place between the pages of this Fellowship AU, featuring Celebrimbor's return to Moria after being re-embodied in the last years of the Third Age.

For the Whumptober prompt "Like crying out in empty rooms; with no one there except the moon."

The Fellowship slept around him, their breath echoing like drums off the empty stones of Khazad-dûm. Celebrimbor rose and crossed the room on noiseless feet, his heavy cloak clutched tight around his shoulders. He passed between his companions unnoticed by any save for Frodo, whose turn it was on guard; Frodo caught his eye quizzically as Celebrimbor paused on the threshold of the hall, but did not speak.

Celebrimbor was not sure how to explain, especially succinctly enough to avoid waking the others; and they needed their rest, after the swift pursuit of the wolves and the terrible thing in the water and the long, long march in the dark.

He hesitated, searching for the words by which he might answer Frodo's unspoken question; but before he could craft them, Frodo nodded in silent understanding and offered him a nod and a thin, sad smile.

Celebrimbor blinked, and managed somehow to force himself to smile back, although he knew it did not reach his eyes; then he turned his back on the Ring-bearer and stepped out into the darkness of the empty, echoing Mines.

It was so strange, to walk through Khazad-dûm in the dark. All the many times that Celebrimbor had come here before, the great underground caverns had been lit by clever mirrors that channeled sun- and moonlight down into the depths of the mountains; by great lamps of glass and crystal that hung from the tall stone ceilings and cast light of soft and marvelous color across the pale grey stones until one felt as though one walked within a geode or a rainbow.

Celebrimbor was not used to seeing these great halls dark, but he did not lose his footing; did not lose his way. Even lightless, he knew these rooms of stone too well to trip or stray within them.

He knew them well, and so he mourned them.

He mourned each crack that marred the walls, each chasm that broke the floors, each empty room where once light and life and noise had been. He mourned each dwarf that had ever walked here, every craft they had ever forged or might have forged in lost days that never came.

He mourned his friends.

He mourned his lover.

He walked into the dark, alone, and his broken heart screamed into the hollow silence.

On the far side of the lightless hall a doorway stood open, its wood long gone to rot or scavengers. Celebrimbor stepped across the threshold and stopped, staring, at the sight before him. A single shard of mirror remained somewhere in the walls above, tilting a sliver of cold moonlight out upon the floor, and by its feeble glow Celebrimbor could see the empty workshop that had once rung with laughter and with hammers and with song.

He moved forward as though in a dream, his feet carving a shallow path through the dust that carpeted the smooth stone floor but making no sound; he moved like a shadow, like the ghost of one already dead, and he left nothing but sorrow in his wake.

He had been dead for so long, now; dead, while all he loved was dying for his sins and for his folly and his love.

He had loved Ost-in-Edhil, and he had invited its murderer to come within its walls; had welcomed the Enemy to make himself a home there, in their city and in their hearts. He had loved Khazad-dûm, and he had not been here to help guard the Doors he had helped craft; the Doors that had not been enough to keep it safe. He had loved his smith-craft, and had allowed his pride and grief and folly to turn that skill to darkness and to evil; had forged things of beautiful destruction with his own two hands, like his grandfather before him.

He had loved Narvi, and been able to do nothing but watch and weep as mortality stole that one true and good bright love from him; he had loved Narvi, and yet his love had turned to grief so bitter that it could only be classed as a betrayal.

He had loved Annatar, and in so doing he had doomed them all.

Celebrimbor sank to his knees before the worn stone workbench where he had once annealed starlight into silver; where Narvi had once forged moon-silver into magic. He pressed his hands against the stone, feeling the chips and pockmarks left behind by all their tools; but he could not feel the warmth they had once conjured there. The forges here had long gone cold; and Narvi was longer dead.

Narvi was so long dead.

And Celebrimbor was, once again, alone.

He folded down low upon the floor and pressed his face into his hands and he wept and wept until his voice gave out, and still he was alone. The pale sliver of reflected moonlight swam before his eyes like a band of bright ithildin, but there was no one here to forge the metal; and no words that could ever do justice to the weight of grief upon his heart regardless. It mattered not what he might say: Narvi was dead, and could not hear him.

Narvi was dead, lost to whatever dreams Mahal kept for his dwarves; lost to Celebrimbor now and to the breaking of the world. Narvi was gone, and a sliver of Sauron's soul called to Celebrimbor now softly from within that terrible band of gold that Frodo bore. Narvi was gone, and Sauron was here, and Celebrimbor was alone with no comfort but the cold and careless eye of a distant moon. Tilion did not look down on him in mercy; Tilion did not look down on him at all. He was alone.

There was only the darkness of once-bright Khazad-dûm, and the aching sorrow of Celebrimbor's shattered heart as he wept into his empty, shaking hands.

"Celebrimbor?"

The voice was soft, little more than a whisper; for a moment, it sounded like Annatar, and Celebrimbor froze, his tears choking-off wetly in his throat. His tattered soul twisted, cold and sharp against his bones. His spirit reached out, yearning still for the remembered comfort so often offered that lovely voice; it recoiled, fearful and burning with hate, from the memory of its own destruction at the speaker's hands.

"Celebrimbor, are you there? Are you all right?"

Celebrimbor drew a shuddering breath and lowered his hands. It was not Annatar—Sauron—who spoke now, he realized; was not the architect of his destruction, but rather Frodo, the small Hobbit who had all the bravery that Celebrimbor lacked and who had volunteered to carry the Ring that Celebrimbor could not dare to touch. The Ring that had destroyed him, once; that Ring that now he must destroy.

"I am here, Frodo," he made himself say. His voice cracked on the words, brittle as overheated steel or ill-carved stone. He swallowed another sob and wiped at his streaming eyes.

Frodo padded forward across the dark room on his quiet, furry feet. Celebrimbor watched the small figure of the Hobbit cross the sliver of moonlight and settle to the floor in the shadows before him. He looked up at Celebrimbor, his little face drawn tight with worry and compassion.

"Are you all right?" Frodo asked again.

Celebrimbor opened his mouth to reassure the Ring-bearer, but what came out instead was: "No."

Frodo smiled at him. There was no joy in that smile, but a great deal of kindness. "I didn't think so," he said simply. "Would you like to tell me about it?"

"No," Celebrimbor said again.

Frodo's smile did not waver. "I didn't think so," he said again. "That's all right. Can I sit with you anyway, for a while?"

No, Celebrimbor meant to say for a third time, but instead: "Yes," he whispered. "Yes, Frodo, thank you. I would like that."

Frodo nodded, and reached out wordlessly to take his tear-damp hand, and Celebrimbor let him.

They sat there together, the Ring-bearer and the Ring-maker, in the black darkness of Khazad-dûm and watched in silence as the faint sliver of moonlight moved across the floor.

In the back of both their minds, the Ring was laughing.

#whumptober2023 #no.3 #lyric #lotr #fanfiction #admittedly we get away from the ''no one there except the moon'' concept at the end by having frodo come find him #but after how bleak my entry for day two was i couldn't make another hurt/no comfort sorry not sorry #celebrimbor #frodo baggins #celebrimbor x narvi #silvergifting #fellowship au #lotr au #the one ring #sauron #annatar #moria #hurt/comfort #my writing #lotr fanfiction

[alaynasansa]

The Loss of Lady

He saw his father pleading with the king, his face etched with grief. He saw Sansa crying to herself at night, and he saw Arya watching in silence and holding her secrets hard in her heart

Bran III — A Game of Thrones

He had only to look at Sansa's face to feel the rage twisting inside him once again. The last fortnight of their journey had been a misery. Sansa blamed Arya and told her that it should have been Nymeria who died. And Arya was lost after she heard what had happened to her butcher's boy. Sansa cried herself to sleep, Arya brooded silently all day long, and Eddard Stark dreamed of a frozen hell reserved for the Starks of Winterfell

Eddard IV — A Game of Thrones

He remembered Rhaegar's infant son, the red ruin of his skull, and the way the king had turned away, as he had turned away in Darry's audience hall not so long ago. He could still hear Sansa pleading, as Lyanna pleaded once

Eddard IV — A Game of Thrones

What was it that Jon had said when they found the pups in the snow ? Your children were meant to have these pups, my lord. And he had killed Sansa's, and for what ? Was it guilt he was feeling ? Or fear ? If the gods had sent these wolves, what folly had he done ?

Eddard IV — A Game of Thrones

He was thinking back to the day Arya had been found, to the look on the queen's face when she said, We have a wolf, so soft and quiet

Eddard IV — A Game of Thrones

They'd let the queen kill Lady, that was horrible enough

Arya II — A Game of Thrones

Perhaps she had used up all her tears for Lady and Bran

Sansa II — A Game of Thrones

At first she thought she hated him for what they'd done to Lady, but after Sansa had wept her eyes dry, she told herself that it had not been Joffrey's doing, not truly

Sansa II — A Game of Thrones

"I am sorry for your girl, Ned. Truly. About the wolf, I mean"

Eddard VII — A Game of Thrones

"You're horrible !," she screamed at her sister. "They should have killed you instead of Lady !"

Sansa III — A Game of Thrones

Sansa sat up. "Lady," she whispered. For a moment it was as if the direwolf was there in the room, looking at her with those golden eyes, sad and knowing. She had been dreaming, she realized. Lady was with her, and they were running together, and... and... trying to remember was like trying to catch the rain with her fingers. The dream faded, and Lady was dead again

Sansa III — A Game of Thrones

The girls do not even have that much, he thought. Their wolves might have kept them safe, but Lady is dead and Nymeria's lost, they're all alone

Jon VII — A Game of Thrones

Bran felt all cold inside. "She lost her wolf," he said, weakly, remembering the day when four of his father's guardmen had returned from the south with Lady's bones. Summer and Grey Wind and Shaggydog had begun to howl before they crossed the drawbridge, in voices drawn and desolate. Beneath the shadow of the First Keep was an ancient lichyard, its headstones spotted with pale lichen, where the Old Kings of Winter had laid their faithful servants. It was there they buried Lady, while her brothers stalked between the graves like restless shadows. She had gone south, and only her bones had returned

Bran VI — A Game of Thrones

By the time she reached the godswood, the noises had faded to a faint rattle of steel and a distant shouting. Sansa pulled her cloak tighter. The air was rich with the smells of earth and leaf. Lady would have liked this place, she thought.

Sansa II — A Clash of Kings

And what will they do to me ? Sansa found herself thinking of Lady again. She could smell out falsehood, she could, but she was dead, Father had killed her, on account of Arya. She drew the knife and held it before her with both hands

Sansa II — A Clash of Kings

She hated Ser Amory Lorch for Yoren, and she hated Ser Meryn Trant for Syrio, the Hound for killing the butcher's boy Mycah, and Ser Illyn and Prince Joffrey and the queen for the sake of her father and Fat Tom and Desmond and the rest, and even for Lady, Sansa's wolf

Arya VI — A Clash of Kings

"That was Arya's wolf," she said. "Lady never hurt you, but you killed her anyway"

Sansa III — A Clash of Kings

She shouted for Ser Dontos, for her brothers, for her dead father and her dead wolf, for gallant Ser Loras who had given her a red rose once, but none of them came

Sansa IV — A Clash of Kings

"Lady," she whimpered softly, wondering if she would meet her wolf again when she was dead

Sansa VII — A Clash of Kings

Arya was glad to hear that the castle of the Darrys would be burned. That was where they'd brought her when she'd been caught after her fight with Joffrey, and where the queen had made her father kill Sansa's wolf. It deserves to burn

Arya X — A Clash of Kings

A shiver went through her. "A monster," she whispered, so tremulously she could scarcely hear her own voice. "Joffrey is a monster. He lied about the butcher's boy and made Father kill my wolf. When I displease him, he has the Kingsguard beat me. He's evil and cruel, my lady, it's so. And the queen as well"

Sansa I — A Storm of Swords

That was such a sweet dream, Sansa thought drowsily. She had been back in Winterfell, running through the godswood with her Lady. Her father had been there, and her brothers, all of them warm and safe. If only dreaming could make it so...

Sansa IV — A Storm of Swords

I must be brave. Her torments would soon be ended, one way or the other. If Lady was here, I would not be afraid. Lady was dead, though ; Robb, Bran, Rickon, Arya, her father, her mother, even Septa Mordane. All of them are dead but me. She was alone in the world now

Sansa IV — A Storm of Swords

The crypts were growing darker. A light has gone out somewhere. "Ygritte ?" he whispered. "Forgive me. Please." But it was only a direwolf, grey and ghastly, spotted with blood, his golden eyes shining sadly through the dark...

Jon VIII — A Storm of Swords

"I'll have a song for you," he rasped, and Sansa woke and found the old blind dog beside her once again. "I wish that you were Lady," she said

Sansa VI — A Storm of Swords

She saw Ned Stark, and beside him little Sansa with her auburn hair and a shaggy grey dog that might have been her wolf

Cersei II — A Dance with Dragons

#lady the direwolf #sansa stark #bran stark #eddard stark #arya stark #jon snow #cersei lannister #asoiaf #a game of thrones #agot #a clash of kings #acok #a storm of swords #asos #a dance with dragons #adwd #asoiaf quotes

[eddiernunson]

Trapped | Eddie Munson | Epilogue

Prev Part | Master List | Prequel

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader (reader grieves Eddie)

Word Count: 3.1k

Warnings: a lot of talk about grief.

Author's Note: I didn't think I'd get emotional while preparing this post, but boy did I. I had a lot of joy writing these characters. But, guess what? I'm not through with them! I have a prequel planned that takes place when she works at Scoops Ahoy and I have a long form sequel planned (that is very different from this but an intriguing concept nonetheless.)

I gave the story an ending that could either A) Lead you right into the sequel or B) let her story finish on a higher note.

If you enjoyed this story enough to keep reading thank you, I appreciate you.

As you close the door to your apartment behind you, tossing the keys onto the counter, the sound of the TV on in the living-room greets you. You weren’t expecting it, your roommate out of town for the week visiting family in Florida. When the bathroom door from down the hall opens and Steve Harrington walks into your line of sight everything clicks.

Steve greets you with an open smile on his face, opening his arms as you walk into them comfortably. “Don’t you have a home you don’t have to pay rent for?” You mumble, half joking.

Truth is, you weren’t looking forward to spending the night alone.

“Don’t you?” Steve shoots back as he always does.

You sigh, the polyester of the grocery store uniform shirt feeling gross against your skin. You make your way to your room, a downsized version of the one you had sitting at your parents’ house. You quickly get dressed into some pajamas as Steve waits for you on your couch. Having given him a key, you supposed you should be used to him coming and going as he pleased.

It still startled you every time, though.

You land onto the couch right next to him, watching an episode of The Golden Girls. “How was work?” He asked, and you notice one of your bags of chips right in front of him, nearly empty.

“Shitty.” You comment, snatching the bag from him. “You know, for someone with a full pantry at home you sure steal my chips a lot.” You glance into the reflective bag, only a few handfuls and some crumbs left.

“Good thing I brought more.” Steve says, gesturing to some of the grocery bags on the floor.

The same one you worked at. “When did you go to Kroger?”

“This morning before you worked.” Steve says dismissively. “Vickie asked me to pick up something for a surprise for Robin.”

Your stomach grumbles, and you get up to make some instant noodles, too tired to make anything else.

“Why was your day shitty?” He asks you tentatively. For the record, a shitty day sometimes meant your grief overwhelmed you out of nowhere while restocking shelves. Sometimes, it meant you had a panic attack in the bathroom. Sometimes a shitty day just meant shitty people. Luckily, it was the latter.

You gulp, filling the cup of noodles with water. “Uh, there some girls talking in the break room today and one of them said the uh…” you pause, you can say it, “Munson Murders.” You place it into the microwave, the beeps loud in the silence that follows.

“Are you okay?” Steve asks you, absentmindedly eating the rest of the chips.

“I’m used to them, by now.” Unfortunately, with this job came new coworkers. Some of whom believed the media when the ‘truth’ of the earthquake came out. You’ve gotten used to attempting to ignore them, but they had their moments when they got to you.

As you take the noodles out of the microwave, Steve says something, and the conversation is like clockwork. “You know a way to avoid that—” he starts.

“Don’t say it.”

“The way to avoid his name or reputation altogether—”

“Steve.” You plead with him, your mind tired.

“Is to move, yeah?”

He tells you to leave town at least once a week at this point.

“As soon as you’re able to tell me that you guys have successfully gotten rid of Vecna.” You answer him, a version of what you say to him every time.

“If—” Steve sighs, running his hand through his hair. “if you left town you wouldn’t have to be the girl with the dead boyfriend anymore. You could talk about him without any fear of someone asking his name.”

“And what, be okay with Eleven risking her life on a semi-regular basis? Nancy? Robin? You? Dustin? Mike? Lucas? Erica? Will? Jonathan? Hopper and Joyce, for Christ’s sake? You guys are out there, fighting the good fight and trying to prevent Vecna’s vision to Nancy from coming true, while I’m working at a cash register and restocking aisles every day. I’m on desk duty. Worse. You won’t even tell me what’s going on anymore.”

“Last time you convinced us you were ready you had a panic attack.” Steve emphasizes, his voice stern. “You’re clearly still affected by it.”

You look down to your right hand, the ring Dustin had managed to grab for you providing a great deal of comfort.

He relaxes into the couch, his heavy heartbeat calming down. “If the panic in your eyes when I say his name out loud has any indication, you need the distance if you want to be helpful.”

You roll your eyes to this, ignoring the gnawing feeling you’ve had for about a month that distance from Hawkins might’ve been exactly what you needed.

Problem was, it was already September of 1987 and colleges weren’t accepting any applications until the spring term. Another problem was that it’s October next month, and last October was so hard for you that you could barely recall it.

Memories of Robin, Nancy, and Steve finding you with a tear-streaked face surrounded by tissues and a tape inspired by his taste in music was playing on your stereo. You were fast asleep on your couch, polaroids you’ve been too scared to look at finally seeing daylight again.

You had cried yourself into a coma that night.

This upcoming October had you apprehensive about your tendencies to self-destruct that you’ve developed over the last seventeen months.

“Get out of Hawkins for a bit. When you can say his name, or better yet, tell a story about him without crying, you’re good to come back and help us out.” Steve tells you, rubbing your shoulder absentmindedly. “We want your help and trust me when I say I wish I could tell you about what we’ve learned but.” Steve stops suddenly, and it doesn’t need to be said.

You thank him for attempting to speak it into existence for another try but let him know you weren’t going anywhere. At least, that was the plan as you showered and made your way over to your bed that night.

The next day you had plans to go to your mom’s house to see her, a rare visit back home. You sat at the kitchen island, watching her cook as she continues to ask about your life. She really attempts to hide the fact that your life is killing her from the inside at the moment.

You weren’t going to school. You weren’t planning to, as far as she knew. No plans for the future, and she was sure if she wasn’t careful you would end up working at Kroger for over 30 years and become a shell of the girl you once were.

“Are you sure you want to stay in Hawkins?” she asks, her voice soft as she leans forward to you on her elbows against the island counter.

Usually, a resounding yes would’ve left your mouth. This time, however, you hesitate in your answer.

Something about what Steve had said finally started to get through. Truth is, you were tired of feeling like this.  All of your emotions, everyone’s voices, the weight still sitting on you, pulling you down and denying you energy to even muster the want to care felt like you were stuck under water. You weren’t sure if it was your body telling you the grief had become too much to carry or if Steve had finally gotten through to you but something about yourself felt different…like you…wanted to get better.

“Where would I go?”

-

You knew you shouldn’t have let her talk you into this. You sit at a restaurant from down the block to your dorm, twiddling your thumbs as you wait for the person your college dorm-mate set you up with to walk in. The pictures she’s shown you were…decent. He wasn’t a bad looking dude, but you found yourself comparing him to Eddie, anyway.

Getting into college and into normalcy felt like coming up for air after being stuck underwater for so long. It felt so nice you wondered why you didn’t want to in the first place.

Grief had a hold on you that you finally managed to wring yourself out of, and now it’s just a creature on your shoulder. Sometimes the creature is loud and obnoxious, but most of the time he just sits on your shoulder swinging his legs.

Finally, someone pulls out the chair, bringing you to the present. “Hi! You must be y/n.” He says sitting without so much as a handshake.

“Hi. Nice to meet you. Mark, right?” He nods his head politely, the brown curls reflecting a shine in the overhead light. “So how do you know Nadine?” you start the awkward small talk.

Mark gets into it, describing how he met Nadine on his first tour of campus, and they just seemed to be kindred spirits. He goes on to describe how Nadine showed a picture of you to him and he begged her to set up a date for the two of you.

As this was your first date in over two years, it took a lot of convincing to get you to even consider a date.

“So, what brings you all the way to Montana State?” he asks you, starting up the conversation with some small talk.

“I needed some space.” You answer, and you knew the only reason you haven’t gone to Washington was the rainy weather it was notoriously known for.

“Shitty break up?” He asks you, and you’re nearly surprised Nadine didn’t disclose it to him already.

You take a minute to consider how to respond. “Is it considered a shitty break up when one ends up six feet under?” You ask, your hand fiddling with the black ring that found home on your right hand.

“Oh, I’m so sorry.” He apologizes, and it’s nice that you can tell he genuinely feels bad.

You shrug. “Honest mistake.”

The small talk continues, Mark talking about growing up in New York and why he had chosen to be a teacher instead of a doctor like his dad had planned for him. You listen to him, slowly finding comfort in his expressive story telling.

Something catches your eye and you flicker to it and you suddenly wished you hadn’t, the little demon on your shoulder now shouting in your ear obnoxiously. You attempt to blink back the tears threatened to fall and Mark falters out his story, worry invading his features. “It-it’s ok” You breathe, wiping away the one tear that succeeded.

You exhale slowly, and close your eyes, allowing yourself to sink into the memory that was triggered by the happy couple in the faraway booth sitting a little too close to one another.

An image of Eddie flashed across your face, the vague reminder of the nervousness you felt just being so close to him, and the knowledge that he wanted you to be there with him and his dimpled smile.

It’s a quick memory, but you find the more you allow yourself to think them through than push them down, the less likely you end up in a full-on meltdown.

You open your eyes again, now relaxed, and the sight of the happy couple didn’t make you want to throttle them. Progress.

Mark is staring at you, and you can’t decipher the expression on his face. You smile closed mouthed. “Sorry. If I don’t process the emotion in the moment, it just gets worse.”

“Does it have to do with—”

“Yeah.” You interrupt him, wanting to move passed it.

“You want to tell me about it?” Mark asks, and you give him a bewildered look. The fuck?

He laughs, taking a sip of his water. “You’ve been letting me talk about myself this whole time, and I’ve come here to get to know you.” He starts fiddling with his napkin. “It seems this…loss you feel is something you’re still dealing with and therefore a part of you. I want to get to know you, so tell me about it.”

You squint, afraid to give in to his bizarre request. “Isn’t talking about an ex on the first date a bit of a red flag?” You ask, and it occurs to you this is the first time you’ve ever referred to Eddie as an ex.

“On the normal occasion, yes. But this doesn’t seem normal. Tell me about it.”

You sigh, and for the first time in over 2 years, you tell a story about Eddie Munson that doesn’t end in tears.

In fact, you were laughing at his antics with Mark, remembering his dimples as he laughed and the animated movements of leading his club in another night during Hellfire.

The date with Mark does end on a good note, him still asking questions about Eddie conversationally. As he walked you back, Mark insisted he didn’t mind talking about him. “I think you needed to talk about him more than you needed a date, if I’m gonna be honest.”

You smile gratefully to him, a relief hanging on your chest. It might’ve felt crazy, but the demon on your shoulder felt smaller. “I don’t think I’m ready for dating yet.” You admit, and Mark accepts it so gracefully, you felt bad for thinking he looked like he would’ve bullied Eddie earlier in the evening.

As you close the door to your dorm room Nadine pounces on you, asking how your date went. “I think it went pretty good. It established I’m not ready to date again, yet, but Mark was so sweet it was worth it.”

Her face breaks out in a smile, ignoring what you said about not ready to date yet. “That’s so amazing! Tell me how it went!” You open your mouth to tell her when the phone rings, a personal landline for your room. Nadine answers it, closest to the phone. “Oh, yeah she’s right here.”

Nadine’s eyebrows waggle as she passes you the phone, and you know who it is before she even tells you. “Hi, Harrington.” You answer, all love in your voice.

“Hi, there, y/n.” He responds, sound of laughter in your voice. “Hows it?”

“Actually,” you put the receiver away from your phone, asking Nadine to go for a quick walk so you can tell Steve something. She nods her head quickly, leaving the room with the door closing quietly. “Sorry, I just wanted to say I had a really good night. I just got back from…from a date.” You admit out loud.

You could hear his jaw hitting the floor. “Oh shit. How-how’d it go?” Steve was failing to hide how excited the prospect of you going on a date apparently made him feel.

“It was ok…at first. We talked about him for a good first part because the moment someone decides to ask about me I have not much to say except I’m dealing with a loss that has affected every day of my life until about three months ago.” You pause, pursing your lips. “Then I saw this couple, and they looked just like me and him back at the fucking Chef’s Table on our first date and I just…” you inhale, the same feelings bubbling up to surface. “I let myself feel it, think about it, then I was ok.”

“How did he react to that?”

“Better than you would think.”

“Oh? Explain?”

“He insisted if I didn’t talk about myself then what I had gone through must’ve been enough to be who I was for a bit. Which, granted, feels reductive to amount me to my grief but he was right.”

“Damn.”

“I’m not finished. I talked about Eddie, Steve. I told him probably about six stories I haven’t thought about in years and I didn’t shed a single tear.” You find yourself tearing up right now at the mere prospect of being able to remember Eddie happily. “Mark is a good guy because he said at the end of the date, I was clearly not ready to date again but I did need to talk about him. He was right. Steve, I want to talk about Eddie again.”

“Holy shit. If I knew sending you out on a date would’ve pulled that trigger, I would’ve taken you out years ago,” he jokes.

There’s a knock on your door, Nadine wanting to know if she could come back in. You call her in and turns out she had a package. “Hey, this just came in the mail for you.”

“I actually called to talk to you about that. I found something I’ve been looking for and I sent it to you the moment I got my hands on it. Take good care of it, will ya?”

“But Steve, you haven’t even told me what it is.” You protest, holding the package delicately, noting it was compact but had some weight to it.

“You’ll know.”

He hangs up, letting the mystery of the package settle in. “What did he say?” Nadine asked, already had checked the return address from Steve.

“Just that he’s been looking for it and I’ll know when I see it.”

“Then open it!”

You shrug, following her orders, using the tab at the top of the plastic to rip it open. As soon as you pull the light blue denim out, you’re hit with a wave of emotions.

Holy shit. His vest he lent to Steve. “For your modesty.”

You hold it out in front of you, and the brown tint to it tells you Steve didn’t even wash it. You breathe it in, and a smell you have long forgotten hits your nose, and you wondered how it stayed all this time. “Smells just like him.” You mutter, giving Nadine a teary smile. “I thought I’d never be able to smell him again.”

That night, you end up exchanging funny stories from high school. The relief cascaded you as you both laid on your beds staring at the ceiling because you were finally able to tell stories about it without feeling like the earth was being ripped open. Thank God.

-

Spring Break was right around the corner, and as you told everyone you were coming home, most were hesitant on your decision, wondering if his death anniversary was a good time.

For once, you knew it was the right call. In fact, if the situation still seemed dire enough, you had no plans on returning to school and planned on giving Vecna the hell he deserved for wringing you through the grief that he did.

The road trip is a long one, but you had wanted to take it regardless.

Maybe you could even stop by Eddie’s grave. Visit Wayne. Whatever the occasion, you were somehow finally ready for it.

Home.

-

Please reblog/leave comments on what you thought I love reading them and they help support me.

Taglist: @emturtles @yourthebrokengirl @steeldaisies @skrzydlak @thirddeadlysin @sammararaven @bebe07011 @prettylovley

#eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson

[prattery]

ao3 first lines

tagged by the brilliant @queerofthedagger—thank you!

rules: post the first lines of your 10 most recently published AO3 stories. if you have less than 10 fics posted, post the first lines of all your fics.

The door opens with a loud bang and Gaius jumps out of his skin, nearly dropping his brand new and very expensive vial. 

(Storm and Hellfire | wip | featuring: a kidnapped merlin, magic and scar reveal, and an awful lot of talking)

“They’ll go after you,” Arthur tells Merlin.

(The Heart of a Star | featuring: a losing battle, court sorcerer merlin, and arthur anchoring merlin to keep him from going full emrys™)

When Arthur was a boy, just on the cusp of adolescence, his nursemaid gifted him with a crystal vial.

(The Sword and His Shield | wip | au featuring: guardian!merlin, an accidental soul bond, and an arthur who knows of merlin’s magic from the very start)

Arthur is nine-and-twenty when he wakes by the lake alone. 

(A Line that Goes All the Way | featuring: a merlin who dies at camlann, a lifetime of love and grief, and a modern-day reunion)

When Merlin enters Arthur’s tent and says, breathlessly, “I found a way to end this”, Arthur can tell, just from Merlin’s expression alone, that he is about to say something stupid. 

(Baby We’ll Be Fine | featuring a self-sacrificing merlin and an arthur who is having none of it)

“Will you give yourself to the spirits to save your prince?” Merlin takes a good look around the ruins of the once-great hall, his gaze lingering on each one of his friends, strewn unconscious on the stone floor. 

(Flickering Embers | featuring a temporary death on merlin’s part, a camelot where magic is no longer banned, and arthur reminding emrys who he was)

They found Morgana’s remains in the woods. She’s not the only one they found.

(Stone Cold | featuring a magic reveal gone terribly wrong, merlin turned into a statue, and a grieving arthur)

Arthur spent what felt like centuries planning for this day, making sure that every single hour of his day would be occupied from the moment he steps away from that courtyard.

(Quiet Before the Dawn | wip | sequel to winning the battle and losing the war)

In a very typical fashion, they were on a hunt when they were ambushed.

(Live and Live Again | the one where arthur witnessed merlin dying and coming back to life)

Merlin is polishing Arthur’s armour in the corner of his chambers. It would be nothing unusual, except for the bit where Merlin is doing it in total silence instead of filling the room with his inane chatter.

(Quiet Light | what could happen post 407 if merlin stayed angry and arthur kept going after the traitor)

#merthur #merthur fics #bbc merlin #my fics #i post wips as i go to try and keep myself accountable #to varying degrees of success

[tamurilofrivendell]

Heart of Stone | Chapter 14

Chapters: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13 Read on AO3

pairing: Thranduil x Tamuril (oc) storyline: Tamuril was in love with Haldir but the battle at Helms Deep took  away all hope she had for the future. She struggles with her grief and tensions eventually run high when she shares a moment with Lord Elrond she feels she cannot  come back from and flees Rivendell, hiding herself away in the Elvenking Thranduil’s Halls. chapter summary: Tamuril spends the last rest stop of their journey to Mirkwood in Thranduil’s tent.

"Your Majesty, I... it is not necessary... I would not wish to impose-” Tamuril stammered out as she spun around to face him.

“If it were an imposition.” Thranduil cut her off smoothly, raising a hand slightly as he blinked dispassionately back at her. “Then I would not have bothered to open my mouth.” He said simply, gaze lingering on her for a moment before he turned his attention to the space behind her, where Feren still stood. “Assist the lady, please.”

Then he was gone and Tamuril turned back to Feren, doing her best to keep how stunned she was off her face, doubting that she managed it. She could already imagine just how awkward it would be, dancing around the way she had spoken to Thranduil the night before. She had forgotten her place, she already knew this. This was not like when he would visit Rivendell and bestow some off handed remark upon her that she might find herself returning. He was to be her King now, after all, since she had practically forced herself upon his realm... and she needed to begin acting like it.

“I’ll help!” Nessa chimed in, smiling brightly between Feren and Tamuril. Feren offered Tamuril a mildly confused smile and gestured for her to follow as he made after Nessa. With a sigh, Tamuril forced one foot in front of the other and trailed behind them. She really didn’t think that this was a job for three but she didn't linger on it.

Thranduil’s tent was huge. Tamuril thought that it was larger than necessary but she didn’t say it out loud. She reminded herself that she needed to do better about holding her tongue. She was irritable of late, yes, but that was hardly the fault of any of those around her.

“I believe that is you all set, my lady.” Feren said, after helping set her bedroll out in the empty corner, smiling at her as if this were a most normal occurrence. Tamuril felt otherwise but she managed a little smile back at him, watching him take his leave. She kind of wanted to flee again, feeling like a lecture could be on its way to her this night.

Nessa gave her a sympathetic look, reaching out to take her hand briefly. “I’m sure he won’t even want to talk that much.” She said, aware somehow that Tamuril was worrying about disrespecting the King the previous night. “But... you know... if he does. Just...” She paused, looking at Tamuril as Tamuril stared back at her for a beat. “...be nice.”

With those parting words of wisdom, Nessa was gone, leaving Tamuril blinking after her. She gritted her teeth and turned around, surveying the tent. It was much bigger than all the others and she supposed that made sense but she thought it was a little over the top. In the uncomfortable silence that fell over her as she stood there alone, Tamuril crept around the tent, exploring. She was just reaching out to inspect something on a little table when a sudden voice made her jump.

“You know, it is impolite to go looking through other people’s belongings.”

Thranduil.

How did he keep sneaking up on her like that?!

Tamuril spun around on the spot, an embarrassed heat rushing to her cheeks. “I...” She trailed off as she met his eyes and lowered her gaze, having the good grace to look sheepish.

He moved past her, round the other side of the table, and poured himself some wine from the carafe that was set up for him.

Tamuril shuffled away, moving awkwardly over to where she was to sleep for that night, wondering if she would be able to switch off at all with the King’s presence so immediate.

“Would you like some?” Thranduil’s deep voice followed her and when she turned he was watching her intently, one hand gesturing to the wine on the table.

She hesitated for a second, gaze flickering between Thranduil and the table and then she decided that some liquid courage might actually help so she nodded and trailed back over to him. She intended to fetch it herself but Thranduil had already reached out to pour some for her.

“Thank you.” She managed, taking the offered drink from him. She raised it to her lips and had a sip, the drink warming her quite quickly.

“I, uh.” Tamuril started to speak again, as Thranduil moved back around the table and over to a chair near to his own sleeping area, sitting down and lounging gracefully in the seat. He didn’t speak, drinking his wine as he watched her with those intense eyes.

She did her best not to fidget as she continued, gripping the stem of the chalice in her hand like it was a lifeline. “I’m... I wanted to say sorry. About... last night. I...” She wanted to lower her gaze as his own was pinning her in place but she felt that would make her seem as if she didn’t actually mean the words she was speaking. “I should not have spoken to you like that.”

Another silence stretched between the both of them. Thranduil didn’t take his eyes from Tamuril’s, watching her squirm with an amusement that he kept well hidden. He made her suffer for a while more before he simply shrugged and set aside his goblet.

"It is forgiven.” He ignored Tamuril’s surprised expression as he waved a hand slightly, effectively ending the conversation.

His attention drifted elsewhere and Tamuril watched him for a second longer before she turned away, frowning softly, and padded over to where she was to sleep for the night. She couldn’t tell whether or not she felt better for it but at least she had said it. Yet another silence followed in which she gulped down the rest of the wine and set the empty cup to the side.

The two of them didn’t speak again and Tamuril eventually slipped into her bed and lay with her back to him, making herself as small and quiet as she could. She thought she felt eyes on her but she knew she was simply being paranoid so she did her best to just stay still and quiet, trying to drift off to sleep. She heard him move eventually, padding towards his own bed, where she heard some shuffling and then, once more, silence.

Tamuril was running through the grass surrounding Lórien, laughing wildly, fighting against her boots as they sunk beneath the proof of the previous nights blizzard. She could not walk atop the snow but the elf who was chasing her certainly could.

Haldir left barely a footprint behind him as he charged after her, his gentle laughter filling her with a happiness she couldn’t even describe.

Arms caught her round the waist and she squealed, both of their laughter mingling together as Haldir lifted her off the ground and swung her around.

Once he set her down again, she turned to look up at him.

He leaned in to kiss her.

Then the image twisted and changed.

Darkness had fallen and she felt like she was stuck in a swamp, she was moving her legs but she was getting nowhere. A light in the distance suddenly began to spread, lighting up snapshots of the battlefield ahead of her.

Haldir was falling.

There was blood everywhere.

She was screaming but she could not move.

He was too far away.

She could not reach him.

Haldir hit the ground.

He went stll.

“Tamuril...” His voice echoed around her, suffocating her, pulling her down into the depths of despair once more. His warm eyes, now dead and unseeing, swam across her vision.

A different voice suddenly cut through the chaos, trying to reach her. “Tamuril.”

She was still screaming.

“Tamuril.”

Blood. Snow.

“Tamuril!” The voice came again, louder and more demanding, pulling her back with a rush.

Her eyes flew open and she gasped for breath. Her dream bled away, melting back into reality. When she fully refocused, Tamuril found herself staring into intense blue eyes that were all too familiar by this point.

#thranduil x oc #lotr oc #lotr x oc #hobbit x oc #thranduil fanfic #thranduil fanfiction #thranduil x reader #hos

[bakuliwrites]

Silver Scars, Chapter 2: Sorrow

Rating: 18+ (for future chapters), Minors DNI!!!!!

Previous Chapter, Next Chapter

Fandom: Castlevania (Netflix)

Relationships: Alucard/Narrator, Alucard/OC

Tags: Angst, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Canon-Typical Violence, End of Season 3 Spoilers, POV First Person, Eventual Spice, Eventual Romance, Friends to Lovers, Trust Issues, Blood, Sumi and Taka, Adrian Tepes, Narrator OC, Depression, Grief

Chapter Summary: With Sumi and Taka gone, the palace feels emptier than ever. Adrian seems emptier than ever. Read here or on my AO3

Empty

In the weeks that follow, Adrian is distant. He slinks around the castle, pilfering bottles of wine from the cellar and creeping back to his room. At night, I watch him stumble down the palace steps and into the forest. He always comes back with a kill, some wretched night creature from somewhere nearby. When I’m able to join him, I witness how much his fighting style has suddenly changed. His motions, once calculated and agile, have become sloppy and reckless. He reminds me of an animal, trapped in a corner, swiping desperately at its captors. He seems so lost, so distant. 

Every time I pass our front entryway, I shiver. The corpses of monstrous beings just keep piling up, impaled as gruesome warnings to anyone who dares to stray too close. But the ones that disturb me the most are the two bodies, fragile and human, that stand to either side of the entryway. Withering, desiccated guards of a desolate castle. I don’t like that they’re there, but I know Adrian needs to grieve and process in whatever way he needs. Still, it seems unlike him to keep around these reminders of such a traumatic event. It seems so very much like his father. 

The castle feels emptier than ever before. Adrian feels emptier than ever. When I actually get a moment with him, it’s as if he’s not there. Like his soul is somewhere else and has left behind a vessel filled with sorrow and anger. He’s not ready to talk about it and that’s fine. I give him his space. But I wish I could do something. I wish there was some way I could show him that I’m here, other than acting as a silent presence that greets him in passing through the halls. He doesn’t want company, he says. He doesn’t need company. But I can see the emptiness, the loneliness, the devastation in his gilded eyes. 

I leave him be. I give him space. But it pains me to no end.

Dolls

I discover the little cloth dolls as I’m tidying up the kitchen one day. They’re tucked behind a jar of sugar, hidden high up where no one would really find them unless they were looking. They’re lovingly made, if not a bit crude. It’s Sypha, Trevor, and I. The sheen on their little button eyes reflect Adrian’s loneliness, the sorrow he exuded as he painstakingly sewed them on. I didn’t realize how deeply our absences affected him. It dawns on me now why he became so attached to Sumi and Taka so quickly. There’s a hollow in my chest where guilt and sadness well. Adrian wasn’t about to stop me from assisting my friend. He’s not clingy or possessive like that, and I know he doesn’t fault me or Trevor or Sypha for leaving him alone. But it pains me to know how isolated he was.

I hear footsteps in the hallway outside the kitchen. Swiftly, I wipe away the tears that have gathered in the corners of my eyes and tuck the dolls back into their hiding place. I start clearing down the table just as Adrian enters, looking for another bottle of wine.

Silence

I find Adrian sitting on the palace steps one night. The moon is a devilish sliver in the sky. Stars peek out from behind ashen storm clouds and the air is heavy with oncoming rain. 

“Come inside, Adrian,” I try softly, standing aways back. His gilded hair hangs disheveled and limp around his face. His hands are shaky as he gazes sorrowfully down at them. He looks a wreck and, from here, I can smell the waft of alcohol on him, a heady and unpleasant perfume. 

“Adrian?” I venture once again, a little louder this time. I know he can hear me, but he says nothing. My shoulders slump and a deep sigh escapes my lips. I take a seat beside him just as a crack of lightning floods the sky with a sickly purple. Thunder resounds through the heavens, cacophonous and foreboding. Adrian is staring down at his hands, a haunted look in his eyes. There are no tears in them, but I can tell that he’s been crying from the irritated blood vessels that bloom across his pale sclera. His hands are clean, but I know that all he can see on them is Sumi and Taka’s blood. His father’s blood. 

I place my hand on his arm, hoping to draw him out of his troubled thoughts. His skin is cold beneath my touch, colder than usual. I slip off my robe and drape it over his shoulders. He hums in thanks, still lost in his own mind. We sit in silence and watch as the storm rolls in, dark clouds weighty overhead. At some point, Adrian leans his head against my shoulder, eyes focused now on the pillars of bodies that surround the front entrance. I press a lingering kiss to the top of his head, lips brushing against the soft strands of his flaxen hair. My eyes fall shut as unwilling tears slip down my cheeks. Seeing Adrian this deeply hurt is more than I can bear. And I can’t even imagine what he’s going through. 

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there to help you,” I whisper, a notion I’ve been wanting to express for a while, one I haven’t been able to. It’s been so hard to talk to him. He hasn’t wanted me around. This is the first time we’ve had a moment together since everything happened. His voice sounds scratchy and distant when he responds.

“You have no reason to apologize. You were right.”

Maybe that’s true, but it doesn’t feel that way. I wasn’t that far away, right? Wouldn’t I have heard something? Adrian says it happened so fast, even if I had heard, I couldn’t have done anything. And obviously, he handled it himself. Still, to go through that alone… As for his sentiment about me being “right,” it’s hardly something I want to gloat about. It was just a feeling I had, nothing that was right or wrong. It just was.

There’s nothing more to say right now, so we fall into silence once again. The soft sighs of his breath are a comfort as the night goes on. Rain trickles gently at first before the sky breaks open and the world floods. 

The next thing I know, I’m in my bed, sunlight streaming through the curtains of my room. Dew glistens on the blades of grass far below my window and the sky holds a few lingering, wispy clouds. I groggily rub my eyes and rise from my bed, confused as to how I got here. It dawns on me when I see my robe, folded up neatly on a nearby ottoman. Atop it sits a purple bellflower. Its delicate petals are velvety beneath my fingertips and pass a brightness onto me that is familiar and warm. I feel Adrian’s softness in them. I’ll press and dry the flower to remind myself that, even if Adrian never returns to himself fully, he’s somewhere in there. His kindness and gentility are not gone, even if he seems to think they are.   

Sunlight

Adrian falls in step beside me, matching my pace. Raindrops cling to emerald leaves and the world feels refreshed after the storms that have rolled in from the north. Finally, we have a clear enough day to go foraging. Adrian is wordless beside me, but his eyes sparkle a bit clearer than they have these last few weeks. He seems more alert as he takes in the beautiful sunlight and twittering sound of chirping birds. 

“Hmm,” he hums when we pause in a small clearing. He closes his eyes, soaking in the breeze and the sweet scent of petrichor. 

“Hmm?” I return questioningly, glancing up at him. The muscles in his face relax for a moment and, for the first time in a long time, he looks at peace.

“The sun feels nice,” he mumbles, smiling softly. He looks to me, something searching in his gaze.

“Thank you for giving me space,” he goes on, pressing a small kiss to my temple before he turns to lead the way back home. It takes me a moment to get going again, but once I do, I trail along behind him. There’s a lighter step to his gait and it gives me hope. This moment is precious and I hold it close to my heart. So much more was conveyed to me in Adrian’s words, in his gaze, than one might realize. I am hopeful. I am grateful. He is healing, but I know it will take him a long time still. 

Are you frightened?

Another sleepless night; but, this time, it’s not night creatures or gut feelings that are keeping me awake. It’s Adrian. He’s been a bit chattier as of late, but he still lapses into days of deep depression and silence. I don’t see him on those days, except for when I creep past his room to make sure he’s alright. Usually, he’s in a troubled slumber, sheets tangled around his body, empty wine bottles scattering the floor. When he’s not holed up in his room, he might make some conversation, but it usually dwindles to nothing and he escapes my company as quickly as he can. I don’t want to keep bothering him, but I want him to know that I’m here if he needs me. Even just for quiet company.

Tonight, I feel a false sense of hope. He and I went for a small walk through the forest and he talked about maybe taking the corpses down. But when we returned to the castle, his mood darkened and he retreated to his room.  

I give up once again on trying to sleep. I glide through the palace hallways, the hem of my billowing robe fluttering out behind me as I make my way down flights of stairs and dimly lit corridors. I feel like a spectre, wispy and quiet as I try my very best to retreat to the library unnoticed. Maybe some light reading will distract me. 

As I descend the final set of stairs, I notice a warm strip of light pouring out from under the library doors. I let my fingertips graze the handle, hesitating for a moment, listening to see if I can hear sounds of life inside. It’s hard to make out anything other than the jovial crackle of a fire in the hearth, so I take a risk and push the heavy set of doors open. It takes more effort than I’d care to admit, but I quickly catch my breath when I see Adrian at the mahogany desk in the center of the room. The library echoes with each crinkle of the pages in his hands. He flips carefully through a weathered tome, onion-skin pages held delicately between elegant fingertips. I make note of his calculated and purposeful motions. It feels like a small return to the old Adrian. He doesn’t lift his gaze as I enter, my footsteps sounding softly as I pad across the cold floor. 

“You’re up rather late,” he mumbles, low voice startling me as I approach.

“I could say the same for you,” I return gently, pulling my robe closer about my chest. I suddenly feel shivery. Nervous, even. Not of Adrian, but of where conversation could lead. Or perhaps there will be no conversation, as usual, I think, moving towards one of the velvet loveseats and seating myself down on the soft cushions. The fire is warm against my skin, welcome on this cold night.  

Furtively, I glance towards the dhampir. The hollows under his eyes are dark and his face more gaunt than it’s ever looked. Shadows have nestled themselves under the angles of his cheekbones. I’ve seen the empty wine bottles still scattered about his room. I’ve witnessed the darkness that passes across his face when he storms past the gruesome warning he’s set out in front of the castle. I can feel his pain penetrate his soul and radiate out like a dark beacon. When he returns home each night, his hands are stained with the blood of night creatures; but the permanence of his father’s blood, of Sumi and Taka’s blood, far outweighs anything else. He still looks at his palms as if they are the Devil’s own. 

I’ve tried my best to give him his space, but I so desperately want to comfort him. To be a gentle presence in his tumultuous life. We used to spend hours chatting and laughing when we traveled with Sypha and Trevor, and before I left on my travels. When Adrian smiles, it brightens the whole world. But I feel as if I haven’t seen that smile in such a long time, and for good reason. I caught a glimpse of it again when we went foraging a couple weeks ago, but that was an eternity ago, it seems. So long ago, in fact, I wonder if I’ve forgotten what his smile looks like. And every time I try to tell him that I’m here for him, that he’s not alone, I’m met with a pitying look and unending silence. 

“Couldn’t sleep?” his voice suddenly sounds from across the room. I turn to face him, though he’s made no motion to stop whatever it is he’s doing. 

“No,” I return quietly, shifting awkwardly in my spot, “You?” 

He chuckles ruefully and I feel my heart flood with hope. That’s the first laugh I’ve heard in a while, even if it is somewhat sarcastic.

“The shrieking of night creatures isn’t exactly a pleasant lullaby,” he returns, impatiently flipping to another page in his book. He frowns at it before shutting the tome with a loud thud and sliding it across the table. 

“What were you reading?” I venture quietly, leaning my head against the seat back and watching as he sets his hands down on the table.

“I honestly don’t even know,” he sighs, gilded hair falling in front of his eyes, a curtain that blocks his face from me, “I’m just trying to distract myself, I suppose. I’ve not been sleeping well at all.”

His shoulders slump defeatedly, head hung in sorrow. I’m desperate to wrap my arms around him, hold him close and tell him that he’s safe. That he isn’t a monster. That he’s not going to turn into his father. But instead, I sit huddled on the couch, waiting for Adrian to make his next move. 

“Mind if I join you?” he questions, his voice so quiet, it takes me a moment to process what he’s asked. 

“N-No! I don’t mind at all,” I manage to sputter, burying myself further into my seat to make room for my companion. He doesn’t sit beside me, however, opting to plop down on the fur before the hearth. I notice that he makes sure to rest an arm on the cushion beside me, close but not too close. We sit in silence for a little while longer. My eyes trace the red, painful scars that run the length of his body like tendrils of ivy. The injury from his father in the center of his chest is paler than the more recent wounds, but no less prominent. 

“I- I need to ask you something,” Adrian’s voice falters, his piercing gaze meeting mine. The shimmering gold of his eyes is filled with fear and grief. I furrow my brows, my forehead crinkling with worry and heart skipping a beat. 

“Are you-” he tries, eyes searching, waiting for me to answer his unspoken question so he doesn’t have to ask it, “Are you afraid of me? Since- After what happened with- with-”

“Sumi and Taka?” I finish gently. I wait for him to nod, watching as he winces with the mere mention of their names. I can tell he’s replaying that memory over and over in his mind. 

“No,” I reassure, heart aching over the idea that I’d be scared of him or that I might think any less of him, “I know you did what you needed to do. They were going to kill you. I-”

I would have done the same, I want to say, but I can’t. Because I don’t know what I would’ve done and I won’t speculate on that. All I know is that I’m not scared of Adrian. I’m not upset with him. I know he did what he needed to do and not because he’s some kind of monster. 

“You’ve watched me kill people that are important to me. Or people I thought were important to me. How could you not be terrified?” he tries to reason, but his logic falls flat. 

“I don’t live in fear of you killing me because I’m close to you, Adrian,” I return, reaching my hand out and resting it gently on his arm, “I don’t live in fear of you at all. You’ve always been kind and gentle to me. Nothing has changed. I love you just as much as I did before. That won’t ever change.”

He whips his gaze up at me, bewilderment glittering in his gold eyes. I slide off the couch in order to sit beside him, taking his hand in mine and giving it a small squeeze. 

“You are gentler than you know. Kinder than you realize,” I begin with a small smile, meeting his astonished gaze, “What was done to you was wrong. But you are not a monster. And-”

I pause, searching Adrian’s exhausted face, watching as his mind tries to process my words. I know what he’s really worried about. I can see it written in his eyes.

“You’re not your father,” I finish, tucking a strand of his flaxen hair behind his ear, “You’re still out there, every night, fighting night creatures. Making sure the world is a safer place for everyone. Counteracting everything your father brought about.”

“I’m impaling bodies on stakes outside my castle. That seems pretty like my father, if you ask me,” he returns, smiling ruefully. 

“Well-” I pause, not quite sure at first how to rebuttal that, “It certainly keeps people away.” I trail off, frowning to myself. He flashes a small smile at me and gives a low chuckle.

“Like I said, you’re out there fighting night creatures. Not bringing more into the world,” I reason with a shrug, “You’re not committing genocide or seeking vengeance on humanity. Humanity is part of you.”

I press my hand over his heart and can feel its powerful, wild thrum. Its beat is strong and rhythmic.

“Your mother gave that to you,” I muse aloud, thinking about the power of Lisa’s love. Love so powerful it brought warmth to Dracula, himself. Love so immense it softened him.

“Your father did, too,” I go on, hand lingering above his heart, “His love for your mother gave you this. This strength, this vitality, this kindness. It gave you guilt and humility, loneliness and sorrow, happiness and trust. It gave you love.”

Our eyes meet, something voltaic hanging in the air. Time is frozen in this moment and the world stills to nothing. Adrian looks bewildered as I breathe my next sentence, “You are made of love.”

Something unspoken passes between our eyes, deep and powerful, cherished and loving. It’s another moment before we can breathe again; and when we finally do, I have to catch my breath. I can see the glimmer of tears in Adrian’s eyes. He squeezes my hand tight and holds it against his chest. 

“You trusted Sumi and Taka, because they didn’t give you any reason not to,” I smile, “Because they showed you kindness and joy. Your mother would have been proud of you for being so welcoming. And maybe part of you wanted to be like your father, welcoming Lisa into his castle. You were betrayed, and that’s not your fault. It’s not your fault they tried to kill you. And it’s not your fault you defended yourself.” 

Adrian hangs his head, tears beginning to stream down the sharp angles of his cheeks. I swiftly wipe them away with the pad of my thumb, cupping his face in my hands and pressing my forehead to his. 

“You can take as much time as you need to grieve and to process,” I go on with a small smile, letting my eyes flutter shut as he and I remain forehead-to-forehead, “I’ll still be here. I’m not going anywhere.” 

Adrian wraps his arms around me, shuddering breaths muffled by my body, tears soaking my nightclothes. I hold him close, running my fingers through his locks until he hushes into an undisturbed slumber. This is the most progress we’ve made over these weeks. This is the most he’s spoken to me. Has he been avoiding me this whole time because he’s worried I’m afraid of him? He needed his own time to grieve, but I need him to know that I’m here now. I’m not going anywhere. 

So we remain locked in an embrace. My eyes begin to droop, Adrian’s soft breathing lulling me to sleep. Here, in my arms, Adrian is safe and I try to convey this with every beat of my heart.

#castlevania #castlevania netflix #adrian fahrenheit tepes #alucard x oc #dani writes #alucard castlevania #adrian tepes

[shandaumath]

When the Spark has Faded, Part II

((Continuation from Part I - Honored to have written this piece with @prismspark))

Vynlorin didn't register it for a time. The sound of his own grief resounding in his skull throbbed so loudly and so uncontrollably that he had been trying with great desperation to keep strong for Kessanella. But when her silence and stillness fell for too long, he thought she might have fallen asleep; and then he looked at her, at Martinenche, and the weight of her stillness set in. And the weight of his grief began to burst. 

All at once his face twisted fully, and his hand consumed it while his shoulders rocked through the tears. He gripped her hand so desperately as if to keep the bishop here in this world beside him, as if he was misunderstanding and she might wake up soon; but she wouldn't, and the elf was left alone beside her.

Martinenche turned as she heard the sudden outburst...And worry filled her expression. She took a few steps over. "Baron Dreadmist, is..." A pause, a glance down. Her expression looked as if it were suddenly hit by a thunderbolt. A moment's silence, before it sounded - like a car backfiring as she choked out a wretched sob. "Mother..." She dropped to her knees, reaching for Kessa's other hand, joining Vynlorin in furious squeezing. But it was no good - and no use. Bishop Prismspark would not darken the halls of the House of Nobles again. 

Martinenche herself found herself unable to find her composure for a time, head resting against the Bishop's knee. Finally though she pulled her head up, she stared at Vynlorin, pleadingly. "I..." She couldn't find the words, but her gaze was...grateful. A final moment in peace - it was more than most could ask for. She gave up tryin to find words after a minute, and slowly rose to her feet. "I can...I can tend to thing---To her. I..." She gave up trying to speak then, still holding onto Kessa's hand, hoping her point made.

Vynlorin barely heard the words. His sobbing resounded in his skull, and it stirred a terrible grief that he hadn't felt for a very long time. It dragged him into a deep and terrible loneliness, and for a while he sat alone in that darkness while still clinging to the gnome beside him. 

He suffocated under the words that he had hoped to say to the bishop who had meant so much to him, more than perhaps even she knew, but he couldn't say them when she was alive and now they were a chain upon his neck that strangled him with grief and sorrow. 

He wanted to flee and he wanted to remain, and finally he knew he should answer Martinenche -- first with small but wild nods, and then with words that fluctuated and cracked. "If you need anything--" A sniff, eyes raw and fluttering. "Tell me. Anything.”

Martinenche's jaw was tightly bound by iron at this moment - for anything other would break and cause the flood of tears to begin. She simply nodded her head when he gave the same to her, happy to avoid words. But then, the question. It let loose then, a puff of air, a gasping exhale as she sobbed. "She's...I...What do I do now? How do I - how will I..." She was left there, trembling - about to fall once more. "I...I can't bring her to her bed. I..." She looked at him, imploringly. "...Please. I...."

Vynlorin shoved his palm again and again to his eyes, and it was in Martinenche's weakness that he found some strength -- the strength to be strong for another. Though it was only a brief, fleeting thing, it was enough, and he nodded until the tears slowed enough for him to see. "Where?" Yet his hand still remained, firm against Kessanella's which began to grow cold. He wouldn't release it until the very end, whenever he might be forced.

Martinenche took another few moments to compose herself, soon releasing Kessa's hand. "I...The second floor of the apartments. Her bed. You'll...There are dumplings there I...Last night she mentioned, and I was going...I was...They were..." She slumped down to the seat burying her face into the palms of her hands, and losing herself in sobs.

Rubbing his eyes, it was almost a calming remedy at this point. He rubbed at them again and again, eyes red and tender from the cloth scraping against them over and over. Then he nodded, sniffed, and slowly, slowly, carefully moved to his feet; and the fear of disrespecting Kessanella set in. The grief, the guilt. As if asking for her permission he looked at her, and then finally his hand released hers and moved to her back with an arm under her legs. 

He sought to lift her frail and fragile form, and the weight of it tugged again against his heart. He wasn't a strong man, but she was such a tiny thing that he had no issue with it, and it broke him.

Kessanella Prismspark was indeed easy to lift up. By now she was as light as a feather, frail - nearly broken. Upwards she was taken - a woman who had held such weight...Now in death had so very little of it. She was there, in his arms. And together they began their last journey.

It was always a curiosity, wondering what someone of stature would keep as their last words. Those final ones would practically ring out then with each step. "You're not broken...You just need a little bit of polish." 

And with that, the journey was complete.

#moonguard #moon guard #roleplay #alliance #world of warcraft #wow #wow rp

[favoniuscodex]

embrace. [zhongli x reader]

prompt: lifting someone up out of excitement + zhongli // in which you take a commission and disappear for a few months. all zhongli wants is to be able to hold you in his arms again -- is that too much to ask? pairing: zhongli x gn!reader warnings: disappearance, description of injuries. it’s angst to fluff, okay? word count: ~1.6k words a/n: the spirit of sad zhongli consumed me and i really wanted to write this angst piece i guess. happy ending tho, dw. this is the power of the forehead zhongli pics.

Despite the countless years Zhongli had lived, it felt as if it had been eons since he last saw you. Each morning, he would awake to the other side of the bed being empty, your side of the still neatly made while the former archon’s half of the sheets had been jostled to the high heavens from his restlessness due to your absence. He had become accustomed to your brief absences as you were an adventurer. Your commissions often forced you away from his side for days at a time.

However, there had never been an absence as worrisome as your current one. For the last month, you had gone completely off the grid. Nobody had heard from you, nobody even knew if you were alive. What should have been a simple mission led to your complete disappearance. Zhongli had even gone as far to recruit Childe in the search for you, but even his Fatui connections had turned up nothing.

All Zhongli had left was continuous use of his resources to seek out any lead that might bring you home, but in the cold nights spent alone, Zhongli couldn’t help but bitterly weep over the fact that if he was still an archon, he would have found you by now. Stuck in this mortal form with limited powers, Zhongli feels the sheer vulnerability that ingrains itself within human DNA as he dresses up for work every day. He feels the hollow fear that paints his insides and dries quickly whenever he looks in the mirror. It leaves a film that feels as if it will never go away.

For once in his life, the almighty Morax feels useless. He detests experiencing such mortal woes, but he can almost hear Guizhong’s amused laughter in his ear about how Rex Lapis had fallen so hard and felt so desperate over the company of a mere mortal human.

She would have loved you, he realizes one day as he eats his breakfast alone. Before Zhongli can stop himself, tears are falling onto his plate as unfamiliar emotions consume him once more.

One month turns into two. Two turn into four. Four turn into six and Zhongli only grows more bitter. Even with the limitations of this weakened form he took on when he gave up his archonhood, his memory is still as strong as ever. Zhongli cherishes the way he can tell others stories about you, but despises the way your smile shines in his mind every time he closes his eyes. He detests the way his hand feels bare without yours in it. Most of all, Zhongli hates the way he can’t hear the three little words he had come to adore fall from your lips once more, even if their memory echoes around in his head.

In the mortal-centric world that Zhongli now traverses, there is little time for grief. Life moves on and unfortunately, Zhongli realizes, everyone expects him to as well. Work continues on as usual at Wangsheng Funeral Parlor, but Hu Tao’s pranks are softer and his colleagues are kinder in their words. Eventually, people stop asking about you. No news means nothing has changed and Zhongli can see in their eyes that they have no hope of your return.

He wonders if the mortals pity him for his loss.

Zhongli wonders if they would still feel differently if they knew he was Rex Lapis.

Rather than letting empty nights consume him as he sits in your shared home alone, Zhongli takes on more work. Hu Tao initially voices her concerns, but a sharp, yet desperate glance from Zhongli has her holding back her words and instead has her placing more paperwork upon Zhongli’s desk. If Zhongli can’t be efficient in searching for you, he might as well busy himself until you return. 

You will return, he reassures himself. You have to.

Zhongli lies in bed with a new lover: Grief. It wraps her seductive arms around him, pulling him into her misery, entrenching him in the bitter aftertaste of love that has long since reached its expiry date. He hates her, yet she refuses to leave the bed, resting on your side and holding him close. If he squints, the hollow void of Grief materializes itself in the shape of you.

Zhongli requests more paperwork to avoid her company.

However, eight months after your disappearance, Zhongli’s outlook on the world flips on its head once more. The desolation that rages inside him is briefly distracted as commotion occurs outside of Zhongli’s office. The funeral consultant’s door is closed, yet the sheer noise of shuffling and yelling that appears to be coming from the desk of the receptionist causes him to poke his head out the doorframe.

Down the hall, he sees a frantic head of ginger hair, which quickly matches Zhongli’s eyes with its own cerulean ones. Childe, Zhongli notes with confusion. The two of them were friends, certainly, but not close enough to make impromptu visits to the other’s place of work.

“Zhongli!” Childe bellows down the hall and Zhongli wonders what situation could possibly result in Childe feeling the need to disrupt the Wangsheng Funeral Parlor in such an uncouth manner. Zhongli’s bewilderment grinds to an abrupt halt as Childe utters his next three words.

“We found them.”

The next moments are agonizingly slow, despite the immediate rush Zhongli throws himself into, hastily getting his things together and heading out the door. A simple nod from Hu Tao gives him the permission he needs to leave, but Zhongli would have fought Celestia if it meant he could see you again. The paperwork that rests on his desk is long since forgotten as he follows Childe’s hurried pace, the two of them nearly breaking out into a sprint as Childe guides Zhongli to your location.

When Zhongli sets eyes on you, you’re resting in an infirmary bed in the back of Northland Bank, one typically used for fallen Fatui agents. Amidst the Tsaritsa’s décor, your innocence looks out of place, but Zhongli’s heart swells nonetheless. Your figure is exhausted as your chest softly moves up and down, eyes shut in an uncomfortable rest. Bruises and scars mottle your skin, along with bandages that encase your arms and legs. Even with all of your injuries and your battered state, Zhongli swears he’s never seen a more relieving, beautiful sight.

You’re alive. Quietly, Zhongli moves to sit next to you and reaches out for your hand, but hesitates before he can take it in yours. The two of you had been apart for so long. You were in front of him now, yet your sleeping status still left a divide between the two of you. It was clear to Zhongli that you had been through hell and back, so he withdraws his hand, not wanting to bother your rest, and instead elects to sit on a chair near your bed.

Childe wordlessly excuses himself before Zhongli can issue his thanks, but the archon knows that Childe is more than aware of how much Zhongli appreciates the gesture of the Fatui both rescuing you and allowing you to recuperate on their premises. No debt goes unpaid, but Zhongli would have paid any amount of Mora just to see you safe again.

As Zhongli shifts his weight, the wooden chair lets out a noisy creak and, much to Zhongli’s horror, your eyes flutter open groggily at the noise.

“Zhongli,” You croon, moving to step out of the bed. At that moment, Zhongli realizes you’re farther in the healing process than expected, likely due to the work of one of the Fatui’s Vision-wielding healers. You stumble over to him and Zhongli immediately stands, capturing you in his firm arms before you can fall.

“Darling, you should rest,” Zhongli chides, but the look of love in your eyes as you glance at him silences his complaints. Warmth floods through his chest as your body heat merges with his. You are here. You have returned.

Before he can stop himself, Zhongli lets out a relieved laugh before lifting you up and twirling you around in a hug. You let out a noise of surprise before giggling along with him. As he sets you down, you use the opportunity to plant a kiss on Zhongli’s cheek before wrapping your arms around his torso, hugging him tightly. Your firm yet gentle touch reminds him of his godhood. With you, Zhongli feels unstoppable.

“I missed you,” You murmured, leaning in to listen to his heartbeat. “I thought of you every day.”

Once again overwhelmed by the utterly unfamiliar, utterly human emotions, Zhongli’s eyes well up with tears as you begin to hum a soft Liyuean melody as you hold him close, his hands rubbing small circles on your back as he returns your gesture. For all the times he had wished to hear those three little words from you again, Zhongli realizes what he desired most of all those months you had been missing: the ability to say the words to you himself.

Rather than be his typical longwinded self, Zhongli realizes that for all of the complexities that entrench the current situation, only simple words are needed to convey all that he feels in this moment. Therefore, rather than reciting affirmations that would rival that of the most glorious of weddings, Zhongli smiles softly and presses a kiss to your hair as you continue to listen to his heartbeat.

“I love you,” He murmurs and, as you bury your face in his chest, he feels you smile in return as you trace a heart with one of your fingers onto his back.

For all the months you had been gone, he now has a plethora more to make memories with you and Zhongli is determined to keep you safe throughout all of them.

#writing endings is hard lol #might remove the primogem banner if this doesnt show up in tags eventually #zhongli #genshin impact #zhongli x reader #genshin impact x reader #//zhongli

[jasontoddiefor]

a story I will never write: in which Anakin Skywalker asks Obi-Wan to kill him (and he does)

So the plot of ROTS goes down more or less the same, but there’s no battle on Mustafar, and in the ensuing years, Darth Vader, the Emperor's attack dog, causes terror throughout the Empire. And he's angry and hurting, and it was all never supposed to be like this, they were all meant to be together and if Obi-Wan had just listened.

He rages and rages and rages until, like all fires, he slowly starts to diminish.

He's tired and exhausted and nothing really matters. He sees his "Master" on the throne and Sidious’s not even really interested in the Empire he built on Vader's pain and regret. He just wants to rule, the power, but not the responsibility that comes with it.

(Padmé would have been a great Empress. Obi-Wan would have ruled a glorious Empire.)

And maybe, one day, Vader just snaps. He's had enough of Sidious, enough of fighting for a hollow cause. So he runs, flees, chases after a connection that is barely there, Obi-Wan having shut him out. Still, there’s enough of their bond alive enough that Vader can track it with his mind a calmer than it has been in years.

And track it he does to Tatooine.

He finds Obi-Wan in the dunes and thinks I've come to end this, I've come to be ended, take this life from me, Master, so that my death is yours as my life should have been. Vader has no intention to leave this planet again. He will be buried with his mother if Obi-Wan is still kind enough, still Jedi enough, to do so.

And when Obi-Wan does spot him, he reacts with panic, with fear. And it isn't so much the anger or anything Vader expected because Obi-Wan doesn't hesitate to ignite his lightsaber, taking a protective stance as behind him hides a child with sunkissed skin, hair so light it seems golden and curious blue eyes that once belonged to Anakin Skywalker.

("It seems, in your anger, you killed her" rings as another lie.)

And suddenly Vader can't. Whatever kept him together, kept him standing upright for even this supposedly last duel just crashes.

"I'm sorry," he wants to say, probably says out loud because that child has to be his and of course Obi-Wan kept watched, raised him, protected him from the monster Anakin had become, the threat that Sidious is still.

And Obi-Wan, in turn, doesn't really know what to do because he didn't expect that. This confusion carries on for weeks as Vader doesn't leave, but sticks around in the shadows, never quite saying a word after the first "What is his name?" to which the child responded with "I'm Luke, who're you?"

Weeks of silence, of Vader- Anakin- him simply lingering. "I want to fix this," is the next thing he says, Luke half-asleep across his lap, unaware of who the stranger is, only knowing that he should not reach out with his mind because his own childish one is too fragile, too kind and gentle for the horrors lingering in Anakin's.

"There is no fixing this," Obi-Wan will reply, tired and exhausted because he buried his Master, his friends, his family, and somewhere, in an attempt to deal with his grief and keep himself going so Luke wouldn't be alone, he buried his apprentice too.

Anakin Skywalker had died and Vader had risen from his ashes and now his fragile peace breaks and crashes as Vader is swallowed up by Anakin once more.

"I will kill him," Anakin, eyes still gold like an insult, vows. "I will kill Sidious."

"And what will you do then?" Obi-Wan might reply. "You can't dismantle an Empire you helped built. You will end up just the same."

And Anakin Skywalker has been dead for years already, and he has nothing left to give to his Master or his child, nothing but his borrowed time. "So kill me," Anakin says after. "The galaxy hates and fears Darth Vader. And you will come and end my reign of terror, and there will be peace once more."

Which is the worst thing he could ever demand of Obi-Wan, who, even standing among the slain bodies of his family, vowed that he would not kill Anakin.

But what choice is there left, really? Remain on Tatooine, playing house for an innocent child that had deserved so much better until Sidious found them?

Anakin takes his leave against Luke's protests (and no, he doesn't know, doesn't quite understand it yet as he's too young, but he knows there's a connection and he knows Obi-Wan is happy when Anakin is around and that's enough for any child. They just want their parents to be happy.)

And so Anakin leaves, and Vader returns, more ruthless, more brutal than before, reminding the Empire why they feared him so much in the first place. And Sidious praises his dear apprentice right until he finds himself choking because Vader did as all Sith before him: he betrayed his Master.

Feeling hollow, Vader takes his throne, sends a message out to collect the Jedi traitor who stole his child.

Everything from here on his carefully planned. He rules and reigns, destroys and makes everyone hate him.

(Just not Obi-Wan. His Master can't hate him, loves him too much, still kisses away his tears.)

Obi-Wan and Luke live in the palace, continue their lessons on balance and hope and care and love until the Senate nearly breaks, until Vader has ruined everything and the time for change has come.

Perhaps, in the silence of their bedroom, the very same they'd always slept in because of course Sidious would claim their temple, their home, for his palace, Obi-Wan says once more I can't kill you. And they spent the rest of the night trying to make each other forget.

When, finally, the dawn breaks, the theatre continues. They'd planned it out entirely, know their steps by heart. Obi-Wan takes Anakin's lightsaber because Luke deserves better than to inherit a blade that has caused so much pain, that will kill his father. They make a show out of a duel that Luke will not see, locked away in his room, already having said his goodbyes, not knowing it will be for forever.

(This, perhaps, is the only thing he will ever lay at Obi-Wan’s feet in accusation: Not the fact that he murdered Anakin, but that the two of them denied Luke the chance to cling to his father a moment longer.)

And, in the end, there Anakin lies, eyes once more blue, Obi-Wan's kneeling form obscuring his last words and last smile from all onlookers as the tyrannical Emperor dies in his lover's arm.

The Empire celebrates, once more believing in a better future, caring for the Jedi they'd judged before as High General Obi-Wan Kenobi, Regent of His Majesty, stands next to a throne much too large for little Luke Skywalker, who inherits a peace his father once destroyed and rebuilt again.

There is no redemption for Darth Vader.

The Empire remembers a monster as it slowly returns to something kinder, fairer. But somewhere in the palace halls that become a Temple again, welcoming its children home, when the day turns into night, Luke listens to Obi-Wan tell him stories of Anakin, fondly remembers the months his father lived with them and they'd been happy

(And maybe, once he’s old enough to no longer need Obi-Wan to rule for him, teaching his own students and heirs, is tired of the crown on his head, he wonders what it might have been like in a different life.)

#star wars #obikin #anakin skywalker #obi wan kenobi #Luke Skywalker #fanfic #ish #aus and ideas

[fandom-imagines-stories]

Evermore

Simon Basset x Reader

Words: 2319

Summary: While residing in the same house, Simon and his wife could not be further apart. His resistance to love may cost him the only thing he holds dear while he can merely stand and watch it fade. 

Notes: I love Simon waaaaaaay too much. I have been dying to write for him, so please please let me know what you think! 

More period dramas: HERE

-

I never needed anybody in my life

I learned the truth too late

From this spot, he had a view of the entire garden. He watched as you strolled between the flowers, pausing occasionally to smell a particular bloom. You used to walk together, but now, he could hardly bear to even look at the gardens. Seeing you there sent a feeling through his heart that he could not rid himself of. It was better this way. The happiness that you had felt in your first few months of marriage was an illusion. Simon knew that he could never truly make you happy, no matter how badly he wanted to. Still, these days of silence ate at his soul. 

You felt his gaze upon you before you spotted him in a second-story window. Looking up from the rose in your hand, you held his stare with your own, as if daring him to come out from behind his closed doors. This was the first time you’d seen your husband in two days and even when you had seen each other, it was in passing, shrouded in bitter quiet. 

You looked away first, dropping your flower and storming back into the house with renewed frustration. From the corner of your eye, you could see him vanish from the window, probably to disappear into his office for yet another day of avoidance. Through your anger, your heart ached. He never explained his sudden hatred towards you. One night, he simply stopped speaking to you. When you confronted him, he’d shouted and shut himself away in his room. No word between you had been uttered since. 

To fill your lonely hours, you walked the length of the house. Clyvedon was a beautiful estate and offered at least some distraction from your empty heart. This time, however, your usual path was interrupted. 

“Your grace,” You greeted coolly. It was odd to see him in this part of the house, so far away from his usual fortress. He rarely left his office anymore. “I must say, I am surprised to see you away from your desk. You have been married to your work recently.” You put as much venom into your words as you could muster. For a moment, you thought you saw him flinch. 

“Y/N, I understand you are uncomfortable with our current situation-”

“Uncomfortable?” You exclaimed furiously. “You think that I am uncomfortable? This is not an ill fitting dress or-or a pebble in my shoe. I saw you in that window and I couldn’t breathe. Even now, it feels like my heart is trying to leap out of my chest and give itself to you, for maybe that will finally be enough for you.” His eyes shifted to the window, desperately trying to escape your hateful stare. 

“You are more than enough for me-”

“Then tell me, your Grace,” You spat, “why you can’t even bring yourself to look at me!” You had raised your voice beyond what was proper, but you didn’t care. You wanted him to see the anguish that this forced solitude was bringing you. “Explain to me how we can be making love one morning and by that afternoon, you can hardly utter a word to me. Look at me, Simon! For God’s sake just look at me.” 

Whatever his reasoning for coming to you was lost to him now. He could only hear the anger and frustration in your voice. The hatred you must hold for him. While his eyes finally found yours, it felt as though he was looking past you. 

“I presume you will be eating in your quarters again.” Was all he said. The return of his indifference was the final straw for you. Having had enough, you charged off to find the furthest place in the house away from him. Simon watched you go in quiet agony, cursing himself for being unable to shut out his affection for you. He told himself again that this was how it must be. If only that was enough. 

-

Wasting in my lonely tower

Waiting by an open door

He wasn’t sure how late it was, but his eyes were starting to burn from staring at documents all night. He could hardly keep them open. Setting his work aside, he ran a hand down his face, trying to rub the exhaustion from his eyes, and slowly dimmed his lamp until the light was gone. When he looked up, he found you standing in the doorway, shrouded in shadow. If he didn’t know better, he’d say you looked like a spirit in your white nightgown and tear stained face. 

“Why are you not in bed?” He questioned, only half awake himself. 

“I came to…” The words caught in your throat, making them sound garbled and broken. You stepped into the moonlight and composed yourself. “I came to say goodbye.” Simon froze. 

“What?”

“I have arranged for a carriage to take me back to London at dawn.” You stared blankly at him, your face sunken and despaired. He hadn’t realized the depths of the misery he had caused you until now. “My presence is clearly unwanted and I feel that we may live our lives more peacefully apart.” 

“I see you’ve already made up your mind on the matter.” Simon scoffed, the pain your words inflicted fueling anger. You didn’t reply. Instead, you turned and started back down the dark hallway to your quarters. He caught your arm before you got too far. “You cannot just leave.” 

“I see no reason to stay, your grace.” 

“You are my wife.” He growled. Finally, your sullen exterior broke away to reveal the anger burning inside of your chest, threatening to swallow you. 

“Am I?” You jerked your arm away, stumbling backwards in the dark. “Because these past few days I’ve felt like a stranger, wandering these beautiful halls, looking for something in them to keep me here. There is nothing but emptiness and grief and pain and I cannot-” 

He placed a hand on your cheek, your words halting on your tongue. You stepped closer into his touch, a touch that you had been aching to feel for days. Simon dipped his head down, bringing your lips slowly to his own. 

His movements were fast and urgent, his lips moving against yours like he depended on you for breath. You felt the familiar feeling rush over you. It was the intense feeling you’d felt so many times at the beginning of your marriage, one you had feared you’d never feel again. But it wasn’t enough. 

“Simon, wait.” You pushed back, trying to find anything in his eyes that could explain to you why he’d been acting so distant. “Talk to me, my love.” 

He tried. He wanted so desperately to be able to share with you his fears, but every time he opened his mouth he felt like that stuttering little boy again. Your gaze pleaded with him. 

“Please, say something.” Still no response. You pulled out of his grasp forcefully, that feeling fleeing just as quickly as it had come. “Tomorrow, I am leaving for London. At least there I will not be reminded how little I must mean to you.” 

You gave him no chance to reply, vanishing into the dark night while he furiously went back into his office, knocking almost every paper off his desk. Simon craved to follow you back to your quarters and show you what you really meant to him, but his feelings didn’t matter. You were miserable and it was his doing. 

Still, the idea of being away from you, the feeling of abandonment sunk into him like sharp claws. It was dark and grim and kept him awake, pacing back and forth in the confines of his office. That night, he did not get a moment’s rest. 

-

I let her steal into my melancholy heart

It’s more than I can bear

Days passed, each one quieter and darker than the last. You were gone. He had watched your carriage leave from his window, solemn and alone. Each day he waited. He waited to hear the rattling of the carriage, the pounding of the horse’s hooves. He left the door to his office open as if he expected you to walk in like nothing had happened. In fact, he hardly left his office at all in hopes that his waiting would conjure you somehow. 

It was the fifth day of your absences when he received the letter. Lady Danbury started by inquiring as to why his wife was in London unaccompanied, but it was the end of the letter that sent an icy fear through his blood. You had fallen ill and had doctors in and out of the house for the last two days. While she did not know the severity of your illness she had heard that you had been bed ridden and unable to take any visitors. She feared the worst. 

Simon didn’t waste a second readying his horse and taking off towards the city. It didn’t matter how many hours the ride took, he went on without stopping. His horse sped through the city, having little care for the foot traffic around him. Hastings house stretched ominously over him, adding to the dread filling his chest. He didn’t wait for a servant to open the door, he didn’t wait to be shown to your room. He ran through the halls like a mad man only to find your quarters empty. 

“Your Grace?” Your lady's maid gasped, nearly dropping the bundle of fabrics she was carrying. “I-I thought you were staying in-”

“Where is she?” He barked, making her jump. He didn’t mean to frighten the poor girl, but he did not have the patients for explanation. 

“S-she’s having tea with Lady Danbury in the drawing room.” The girl squeaked. His confusion was quickly replaced by rage and he stormed into the drawing room, Lady’s Danbury’s letter crumpled in his fist. Your eyes widened at the sight of your husband, sweating and disheveled. 

“Simon, what are you-”

“Your Grace, how wonderful for you to join us.” Lady Danbury smiled triumphantly. 

“Is this meant to be some kind of cruel joke to you?” He snapped viciously. You’d never seen him this way before and, frankly, it frightened you. Lady Danbury didn’t seem phased. “My life is not a game for you to meddle in!” 

“Someone had to show you how much you stand to lose, your Grace.” She said, keeping incredibly calm under the circumstances. 

“How dare you.” Simon was seething. “You wretched woman-”

“Simon!” You exclaimed, jumping up from your seat. “A word, your Grace.” You opened the door to the garden and waited outside for him to join you. 

“I think it’s time for you to leave.” Simon glared. Lady Danbury stood and walked past him with enviable elegance. 

“Don’t lose her, your Grace. Not when she’s finally made you believe in love.” She left without further comment. 

Simon finally walked out and you resisted the urge to slap him. Your fists were balled at your sides and you were walking furiously back and forth on the path. 

“How dare you come here and speak to my guest in such a manner.” You wanted to scream and cry and kiss him all at once. “What on earth are you doing here, anyway?” 

“Lady Danbury sent me a lie in order to get me to come here.” He finally let the exhaustion of his ride rush over him and he leaned against the wall. 

“And what lie could have been so great to get you to leave your office?” You scoffed. Simon’s face softened. 

“She said that you were ill.” He said quietly, his voice betraying the truth. For those few hours before he arrived were the most terrifying he’d ever experienced. “I thought that… I was afraid I would lose you.” 

“You haven’t seemed that concerned these past weeks.” You muttered in irritation. Simon’s face fell. 

“Do you really believe that?” He asked with such pain in his voice it nearly broke your heart. “That I am not concerned for your well being? That I do not care if you are hurt or-or sick?” 

“What else am I to believe, Simon?” You said, exasperated and exhausted with his constantly shifting moods towards you. “You avoid me at all costs when I am with you, you have suspended any affection towards me, and now you tell me that you came all this way because you thought I was ill? I don’t understand you, your grace, I truly don’t.” 

“Everything I have done has been for your benefit.” He stepped towards you. “My affection towards you runs deeper than I could possibly explain and that is why I cannot condemn you to a life cast into my darkness.” His eyes did not look through you now. Rather, they pierced down to your very soul. You stood in shock, trying to find the right words to convey your true feelings. 

“Simon…” You gasped, laying a hand on his chest to feel his racing heartbeat. “You are not a shadow. You are the moon. Yes, you have darkness. Yes there are parts of you that I do not yet understand, but that does not mean I do not wish to know you. You are the guiding light in my darkest nights. You are my husband and I love you.” 

You wrapped your arms around him and brought his lips to yours. It was like your first kiss, hesitant at first, but soon evolved with passion and need. Simon cupped your face in his hands and vowed. 

“I will not hide my love from you again. I will cherish you the way you are meant to be. And I will remind you how dear you are to me every moment I can.” He brushed a joyous tear from your cheek. “For evermore.” 

-

General Tag: @rae-gar-targaryen; @takemepedropascal; @childhood-imagination;  @mylovegoesto; @yellowbadgergirl; @itmejado; @suckmyapplejacks

#regé jean page #simon basset x reader #simon basset #Bridgerton #bridgerton imagines #period dramas #evermore

[ragingbookdragon]

See Grief It's Just Like Glitter

A Lanternfamily One-Shot

Word Count: 1K Warnings: Explicit Language

Author's Note: I LIVEEEEEEEEEE! More stories coming when I have the motivation to do them~ Enjoy! -Thorne

**********************************************************************

She pushed open the door and led him inside. “Come on in,” she murmured. “It’s a bit of a squeeze compared to the one we had back on the beach, but it should be big enough for the two of us.” Turning, she watched him almost stagger into the apartment, not wasting a moment to sit on the couch. He was so weak and exhausted and, she could barely look at her father. “I’ll see about setting up the storage closet into a makeshift bedroom this weekend, but for now you’ll have to settle for the couch. Okay?”

He looked haggard, unshaven and unkempt, dark circles and bags under his eyes; she chalked it up to partial grief and regret and the other to spending months in a personally subjected imprisonment of a seven by ten cell. “You don’t have to give me that. I don’t deserve it. Any of it.”

She resisted the urge to roll her eyes as she set her bag down and knelt in front of him, taking his hands in hers. “Dad, you’ve got a grip, okay? This self-induced, ‘I’m a horrible person, please condemn me forever,’ state is going to kill you—again.” She stared at him. “Look, what happened, happened and you can’t change it or go back and pull whatever parasitic thing was inside you, out.” Squeezing his hands, she comforted, “I know you’re hurting and I know that having to face this head-on, the responsibility of your actions, is hard. But you are not alone and trying to convince yourself that no one else cares about you is a goddamn lie and if you don’t get a grip, I’m going to drag your ass all the way to the Watchtower and force you to listen to your friends tell you that they still care. Uncle Barry cares. Uncle Oliver cares. Every one of them cares about you.”

She swallowed thickly, trying to keep her tears at bay as she admonished, “I am your child. I am not supposed to be your caretaker, and you need to find a way to get through this without my constant help. I’m going to do everything I can to help you. If that means driving you to a therapy class, I will, but I’m not going to stand by and let you wallow yourself to death in regret. You will get over this, you will get up, and you will live again, or so help me God, I don’t know what I’m going to do but it’s going to be something.”

They stared at one another, well, she stared at him, and he merely returned hers blankly, like he hadn’t heard a single word she’d said; she let out a heavy sigh and pulled her hands away, yanking her purse off the couch. “I have to go to work.” She tried not to sound so upset, so angry and took a deep breath, calming herself before she added, “There’s leftover teriyaki chicken and lo mein in the refrigerator. Heat it up and eat it if you can manage to keep it down. Drink some water too. I’ll be back around seven with something for dinner.” She was talking even as she was heading for the door, tugging on the sweater, and shoving her feet into the slip-ons, not looking at him as she left.

***

She balanced the pizza boxes in one hand, her purse and grocery bag in the other as she shoved her key into the lock and flipped it, pushing the door open with her hip. Greeted by silence, she frowned and looked around the corner wall to see her father curled up on the shitty couch, one of the throws resting over his body. Letting out a sigh of relief, she set the pizza boxes down along with her purse onto the counter and kicked off her shoes. She turned the corner and out of the corner of her eye, she saw the storage closet with the light on; her brows furrowed, and she walked towards it, pushing the door open all the way to see most of the boxes put away, everything nice and neat inside, the little cot set up with a pillow and blanket from the hall closet.

Her eyes widened and she turned the light off, walking quietly back towards her father who she saw more clearly now. He had one arm curled under his head, the other hand resting on his bicep; he still looked tired, but she noticed that he was clean shaven, and he smelled like the overpriced coffee-scrub soap she had in her shower. Her eyes drifted to the empty Tupperware container sitting on the coffee table, an empty glass of what she suspected was water beside it. Her lips wobbled and she couldn’t help but place her hand on his shoulder, squeezing it to keep herself from breaking down in tears; it woke him up though and he blinked blearily, looking at her.

“Huh? What's goin' on? Are you al—” he cut himself off with a yawn. “—right?”

She nodded her head and glanced down at him. “I’m fine, dad.” She smiled. “Are you hungry?”

He shook his head, laying it back down onto his arm. “Not really. I’m more tired than anything.”

No doubt. She thought and squeezed his arm again. “Well, I bought pizza for dinner, so whenever you get hungry, it’ll be in the microwave, okay?”

“Mhm,” he mumbled, starting to drift off again and she felt a pang of bitter-sweetness in her chest.

“I love you, dad,” she whispered, bending down to press a kiss to his temple, pulling the throw back to his chin.

She saw it, the corner of his lip pull up into a soft smile and he murmured, “Love you, Raptor.”

Her heart ached for her father, but it was healing too, and she gently smoothed his hair down before rising from the couch, making her way to the kitchen to eat her piece of dinner in the quiet, and leave the rest for him.

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