#wish i were more exhaustive but i have not the mental strength

[celestemona]

WHEN THEY’RE DADS

and how they deal with their children and domestic life. part ii.

pairing: dad & husband! cyno, kaveh, alhaitham x fem! reader

cw: original characters, slightly ooc to fit the plot, domesticity, fluff. pregnancy is mentioned to introductions but not too elaborated. not beta read. a bit longer than the previous ones.

kazuha’s part | part. i

reblogs and comments are appreciated ♡

 Cyno

If there was something that the General Mahamatra valued beyond justice and absolute truth, it’d be the loyalty of those around him without asking for anything in return. Cyno could count on both hands the number of people he’d risk his life to or who’d have his back, and to be honest, there weren't many of them. Thus, the passing of the years only solidified this philosophy, confirming that trust wasn’t something to be given, but earned — it being the reason why he only kept a certain number of people close to him.

However, this belief had also shown Cyno that some priorities were greater than others, and ensuring your happiness and safety became the main one of them all. Especially when you were also the one carrying his babies.

Your pregnancy announcement was unexpected, but the change in your husband's personality wasn’t. As your belly grew, you could notice that Cyno became a little more clingy with you, enjoying being by your side or placing his warm hands on it to feel his children's kicks. Though, the mahamatra also couldn't help but be more overprotective or bossy towards you, traits that seemed to have intensified over the months. 

Cyno liked to think that his overprotectiveness was justified since not only had he become a first-time father but of twins. His bossy acts weren’t for nothing either. It was just because your husband knew you and your impulsiveness very well, so the slightest thought of the risks that you could put yourself out there of your own free will stressed him out already.

And this last one you seemed to do on purpose to test him since you had put yourself in critical situations more times than he wished to count.

So, to ease his worries and keep an eye on you, the decision to temporarily settle in Vila Aaru was mutually agreed, providing Cyno with a momentary sense of peace knowing that his very pregnant wife would be surrounded by competent and trustworthy people. And then, his children could be born in a comfortable and safe environment.

The decision couldn't have been the best because a few months later and just a few minutes apart, Aryan and Isaar were born on a cold night.

The leader of the Matras still can remember that it was when he was returning to the village from a patrol when he was greeted first by your painful screams and then by the sight of your sweaty and tearful figure. Your husband didn't think twice before taking Candace's place behind your back to give you the support you needed, sharing his strength with you and whispering comforting words in your ear.

Internally, Cyno felt more than terrified for this new stage in his life despite all the previous months of mental preparation. But as he watched in amazement Aryan in his arms and Isaar in yours, the mahamatra concluded that there were no books or scrolls in the world that could describe the feelings that coursed through his veins at that moment. There wasn't enough knowledge that could teach him how to be a father, and even so, he knew he’d learn along the way to be the best he could.

The first few weeks of adaptation were exhausting for both of you. Cyno was on leave from his position, being at yours and his babies disposal and dealing with most of the household tasks, which relieved you a lot. But if he ever thought that nothing would overcome the hardness of his work at Akademiya, the sleepless nights with his newborn twins proved him wrong. 

It wasn't something he complained about or refused to take on, though. He preferred you to rest as much as you could after spending the whole day with the children — it was more his lack of confidence in dealing with the little ones in your absence that tormented him.

As time went on, however, what he thought were difficult tasks became routine, so he could say with some confidence that he had adapted to fatherhood quite well. The bond between father and sons was also something that developed beautifully as the days went by, and some mornings, you’d be greeted with the sweet sight of the General Mahamatra sleeping on the armchair in the twins' room while holding both of them in his muscular arms.

Speaking of the twins, Aryan and Isaar couldn’t be as physically similar to Cyno more than they were already. The babies, just a few months old, have already demonstrated that they share the same personality with each other, which they also take after their father — the stoic and slightly indifferent expression frighteningly similar to Cyno. Aryan was a little more sullen, refusing to acknowledge others' attempts to make him smile while Isaar willingly raised his arms to familiar faces with the intention of getting something in return. 

While you watched them in disbelief, your husband smiled proudly. It seems his children were already good judges of character.

Strange in its own way, but a home full of love. That would be the phrase to define your family. Although both you had divergent methods of raising your children, the twins still had complete freedom of decision about what they judged to be right or wrong. Cyno would never punish his sons for their choices; instead, he’d wisely correct them. Even though outwardly he shows rigidity and authority, Cyno is quite soft when it comes to his family so he can't stay mad at you for long.

It was honestly a strange sight for many, mainly his subordinates and the scholars who knew the man's unorthodox methods of discipline very well.

Even so, they couldn’t help but admit that fatherhood suited him well. Strangely, but still.

They only feared the possibility that in the future the boys would develop a sense of humor as horrible as their father.

Kaveh

If they asked Kaveh what his greatest achievements are, he’d readily answer that there are three of them, although two had the greatest highlights.

Even if the architect was proud of the effort and dedication that led him to give life to the Palace of Alcazarzaray, the importance of the project seemed to be irrelevant compared to the fact that he managed to win you heart. After all, maybe there was nothing so disputed between men and women all around of Teyvat but to capture the attention of the Gem of Liyue. And in a way as ironic and simple as it seemed to be, Kaveh was the only one to be able to accomplish such a feat.

As the younger sister of the Tianquan of the Qixing, it wasn’t surprising that you were also known for your intelligence, elegance and beauty, so it was expected of your people that you’d marry someone with all these qualities and wealth that could satisfy your desires. 

However, they didn't know you as well as Ningguang and how Kaveh came to know you, and so, it was unexpected news that resonated for weeks when you announced your marriage.

At that time, so much uproar from the press and liyuean citizens had made Kaveh doubt himself because, well… did he even have all the means necessary to provide you with a comfortable life? He was slowly recovering from his debts and had barely started building his own house. Compared to you who literally lived in a mansion and ate from a golden platter he had nothing.

Nevertheless, you assured him that no gold or mora in the whole world could equal the love you had for him, only his reciprocal affection was what you were looking for.

And because your husband cares and loves you so deeply, Kaveh couldn't feel anything but thankfulness when you granted him with the greatest pride of his life. His daughter, Zahra.

The baby hadn't even been born and was already very adored by her father. During your pregnancy, Kaveh had been nothing but a passionate and devoted husband, helpful and attentive to both you and her. His passion for art led him to challenge himself and bring only the best when it comes to projecting Zahra's room, as well as designing the crib and its decorations. You couldn't help but watch with a smile on your face as he worked hard to provide only the best for his child.

When Zahra decided to come into the world, your husband's tearful, fascinated face only confirmed what you already knew: Kaveh would be an extraordinary father.

“I swear that I’ll protect you from all the cruelty of this world. And even if the day comes that I don't have the strength to do so, I’ll still keep you safe”, he promised as he placed a kiss on the baby's forehead.

You just smiled with equally teary eyes at the sweet scene.

Kaveh didn't know the meaning of the word tired when it came to his daughter. The blonde man loved having the baby in his arms, and when it came to her basic needs, he was a great help by proudly taking on the tasks. In fact, in the first weeks of Zahra's life, he had refused to let her sleep alone in her new room, and when you insisted on putting her in her crib, Kaveh would spend the entire night by her side. He’d never forgive himself if something happened to his little princess in his absence.

You could just roll your eyes.

As Zahra grew up, she became an increasingly beautiful girl and was much loved by her parents. Her naturally rosy cheeks and golden hair decorated with barrettes or bows made people compare her to a doll. The girl has a beauty and features similar to her father, though her sweet and laughing personality is her own traits. Kaveh feared that one day the evil of the world would take away the melodious sounds of her laughter, but there was a slight mischievous gleam in her golden eyes that betrayed that she was quite clever too.

In addition to her parents' unconditional love, Zahra also has a close relationship with her mother's sister, who has a weak spot for her niece, and with her paternal grandmother. 

Shortly before marrying you, the older woman had tried to invest more in her son's life, now making sure of participating in dinners, commemorative dates or holidays.

For a long time Kaveh believed that he wasn’t worthy of such happiness. After his father's death and his mother's estrangement, the architect had a single objective: trying to survive one day at a time, fighting his own demons and relying on what little was left of his savings. He had never considered himself a man of honor, someone who was worthy of having his own family and a home to return to. In fact, he didn't consider himself a lucky man at all.

And yet, he couldn't feel as fortunate as he did because through all the paths he took and decisions he made, one of them led him to you and gave him the greatest achievements of his life.

Alhaitham

Hardly anyone would admit it out loud, but your presence in the halls of Akademiya was as fresh as a breath of spring air.

As the new Darshan teacher of Haravatat, your intelligence and passion for knowledge were characteristics that not only your students came to admire, but even the sages themselves gushed praise about, which eventually earned you a reputation that spread throughout the dendro nation. Furthermore, your beauty and charisma only complemented your charm, so there were many hearts that you had caught along the way — and consequently also have broken, as the slight bulge beneath your clothes and the golden ring shining on your left ring finger made it very clear who yours already belonged to.

To say that the beginning of your relationship with the Akademiya’s Scribe was even the subject of an academic thesis would be an understatement given that Alhaitham wasn’t someone who was known for his friendliness much less cordiality. In fact, his disinterested expression and acid humor worked precisely as a mechanism to purposefully keep people away from him, and even his friends weren’t immune to his unpleasant comments.

But even though the question remained, the students quickly learned that this attitude would never apply to you.

Like a moth drawn to the light, Alhaitham was equally drawn to you, they concluded. There was something about you that just your presence was enough to generate a small and not so noticeable change in Alhaitham's aura, even if to others he remained as rigid as he was. Besides, the progress of your pregnancy had also shown them that the scribe was as human as they were, he just had a less flashy way of showing his concern and care for his wife.

What the scholars and citizens of Sumeru saw, however, was just the tip of the iceberg compared to the affection you received from your husband when the doors to your home closed. Although Alhaitham hadn't shown his excitement as openly as you, the scribe was internally happy to begin a new stage of life by your side. And you could see this in the number of maternity books and notebooks with notes organized in his office, in the meals he had prepared meticulously thinking about nutritional values ​​or in the care he took to suggest and choose a simple and meaningful name for your baby.

His actions were small and discreet, but enough to prove to you that he already loved the child as much as you did.

Hakim's arrival into the world also showed you the efforts your husband would make for his son. With a smile gracing his lips and slightly teary eyes, Alhaitham allowed himself to express himself a little more in the face of such a beautiful moment. It wasn't something that even you saw frequently and, therefore, you’d certainly make sure to eternalizing the picture forever in your memory.

“Thank you”, was the only thing he could say to you while looking at you with enormous tenderness.

Despite the overwhelming happiness that coursed within him, the scribe also couldn't help but feel a little empty at his grandmother's absence. Even though the longing was something he had managed for a long time now, it was in moments like these that the lady's absence came back. He was sure she’d love meeting you and her great-grandson, but wherever she was, he also knew she was taking care of his family in her own way.

Furthermore, looking at you and the child that slept so peacefully in his arms, Alhaitham knew that there was nothing to fear and that his son would grow up in a home filled with as much love as he was.

Therefore, fatherhood wasn't something that scared Alhaitham nor did it make him doubt his ability to take care of his son. If someone asked him what his biggest challenges were, he wouldn't be able to think of any because every day he was faced with something new and learned from it. Plus, Hakim was a sweet and quiet baby, a mix of both parents' personalities. Understanding his child's needs was as easy as if they were his own.

Still so small, Hakim would be surrounded by reading and multiple knowledge, often being found in the arms of one of his parents while you were working or simply reading for pleasure. You discovered that the baby liked to listen to you or Alhaitham reading aloud, so it wasn't strange to find you or your husband somewhere in the house reciting some academic article with the little one within reach.

When the boy was old enough to sit up, that’d be the time when you’d return to teaching at Akademiya, and even if your baby's presence during classes had already been discussed and authorized, Alhaitham wouldn’t hesitate to take over his care — whether taking him to his own office or to the Sanctuary of Surasthana where he would spend hours enjoying the attention of Lesser Lord Kusanali.

You could say that Alhaitham is a simplistic man. He recognizes his flaws and knows that he came with many of them, which is why he distances himself from so many people. But it was in the moments when he returned home, returning to you and your son who were waiting for him with great enthusiasm that the man thought that there was nothing as perfect as his own home.

.

.

you guys will have to forgive me again but i did not beta-read this part (clearly) nor i'll have the patience to do so because i'm currently traveling at my granny's home and it's so hot here that i couldn't even write this whole headcanon without stop everytime to take a breath of fresh air. therefore, i won't have the patience to look for mistakes now. i'll let it with you tho.

also, i remember i've said in the last part that if perhaps i start to write a genshin dad series i'd write only for the first four man i came up the idea to. however, i'm hypocrital and slut for the sumeru men too so i couldn't stop myself but draft their children biography.

i really hope you've like it so far because, for real, alhaitham's part was the hardest one and somehow i feel like this isn’t good enough to be posted. nevertheless, thank you for your reading :)

#genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #genshin #genshin x reader #alhaitham #alhaitham x reader #kaveh #kaveh x reader #cyno #cyno x reader #genshin dads au

[qingxin-dream]

Scara relaxing on the couch with you<3 if u do NSFW having him cockwarm you so he can relax

“𝐖𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐈𝐭 𝐑𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬, 𝐈𝐭 𝐏𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬”

summary | today was one of those days where nothing could go right. well, maybe, it’s been like that for awhile. and you know damn well that your loving husband was not about to watch you fall into despair. (art credits: unknown)

warnings | not proofread, reader has a mental breakdown, comfort, profanity, smut [18+, MDNI], female-bodied reader, cockwarming, edging/teasing, orgasm denial, slightly possessive/dominant, marking, breeding kink, creampie

genre | modern au, comfort, smut

word count | 3k

pairing | husband! scaramouche x reader

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

The sky had been overcast all day, only putting a damper on your mood. Work has somehow become extra stressful lately with more and more responsibilities piling up. You felt the crushing weight on your shoulders with each passing hour and you couldn’t wait for the clock to hit 5pm.

The last place you wanted to be was at work, away from home, and without your husband, Scaramouche. Even then, your relationship was getting to a point where it was nothing more than bitter roommates. He had missions to complete while you were obligated to work every day. Someone had to be the breadwinner, after all.

Sweet freedom washes over your exhausted body when it’s finally time to go home. You rush outside only to find that the clouds had turned a nasty gray color and wet droplets of rain dotted your suit jacket.

Great, you forgot an umbrella.

The rain was really picking up now, your clothes soaked and your hair flattening into drenched clumps. Running through the downpour, you had to make it another block to your car until you got stopped at an intersection—narrowly avoiding the wave of water a speeding car almost splashed onto you.

Once you practically leaped into your car for safety, the sense of stillness that suddenly permeated the air brought you back down to earth. You were more than overworked. You were burned out, with hot tears freely streaming down your face in a choked sob. Gripping the steering wheel, you slumped your forehead onto your knuckles, shoulders shaking as you cried out all the pressure you had bottled up inside. The rain beat against the windshield, drowning out your agony.

Once you managed to compose yourself with a few sad sniffles here and there, you turned the key in the ignition. Tonight you decided to forget about everything. No stress. No work. Not even a single load of laundry. You couldn’t muster the strength for anything other than some sort of self-care or self-indulgence.

When you walked through the door with an expression bordering on despair, Scaramouche knew you had a rough day. He frowned to himself. Frankly, the distance between you two was a sore spot for him as of late and he was expecting you to lock yourself in the bedroom.

At first, he had been stubborn about the tangible separation pushing you further and further away from him. Foolishly, Scaramouche had tried to drown himself in his busy work and missions, simply trying to ignore it. But after a while, he realized that this damned feeling of alienation and being constantly on edge like some old married couple was ridiculous.

That’s not who he married or the life he signed up for, and Scaramouche found himself determined to finally act like you both loved each other for once.

“Hey, babe,” he greeted you from the couch. Looking down at his casual sweatpants and shirt, you wished you could’ve stripped down and lazed around on the couch this afternoon. Sleep was something you desperately needed. He offers a small olive branch with his softened tone of voice. “Why don’t you get changed and come sit with me? I missed you.”

You drew in a hesitant breath. Perhaps it was your way of attempting to decompress before answering your husband or you were unsure of his intentions. The couch was definitely calling to you, and the prospect of your lover’s comforting arms enveloping you was even more tempting. In a haste, you kicked off your shoes and dropped your bag, nodding with a bit of a pitiful pout on your lips as you went into the bedroom.

Scaramouche perked up slightly upon hearing your return, making room for you on the couch so that he could spoon you just right. As you sat down, his hand immediately went to your hip and he found himself gravitating toward the comforting crevice of your neck. Your skin was colder than he expected from the rain but he was more than willing to share his warmth with you, his fingers venturing up the contour of your waist under your baggy shirt.

“There’s goosebumps on your skin,” he noted with an obvious smile in his voice. “Why don’t you take this off and let me warm you up, hm?”

You gaze at him over your shoulder, catching the subtle seductive intonation of his offer. Despite his pads of his fingers gently caressing and massaging your hip in encouragement, you weren’t entirely sure if you had it in you for too much physical affection. Most of all, you just felt tired.

Yet, Scaramouche always got his way. Maybe it was how the words rolled off his tongue that sparked your imagination in the back of your mind, or that mischievous gleam of excitement in his violet eyes. He had no problem catering to your needs, helping you slowly lift that baggy shirt over your shoulders and tossing it aside. He quickly did the same.

Suddenly, he ensnared you in his arms, burying his nose in your neck and sighing. The feeling of your back pressed against his bare, muscular chest was like a balm soothing his soul. You couldn’t help but chuckle lightly, surprised by his enthusiasm, and pull a heavy blanket over you both.

“Better get rid of these too,” Scaramouche suggested softly into the shell of your ear, tugging at the elastic waistband of your shorts. He generously nuzzled your neck, peppering a few kisses across your sensitive skin to distract you as he easily slipped you out of your bottoms.

Your whimpers were buried in your throat. You purposely tried to stifle it, but the little shiver of your neck and body against his ministrations couldn’t hide your true feelings forever. The slow drag of his hand up your plush thighs, over the round of your hip, and dangerously close to your breasts was merely a confirmation of your suspicions.

“Scara… please,” you murmur, sounding more like a faint plea for peace and relaxation. “My feet hurt so much. I don’t think I can move anymore, let alone do—”

“Shhh, love, you really think I’m going to make you do anything?” he asks rhetorically, the timbre of his sweet words deepening to a level bordering on husky. His hand travels back down the curves of your body with silent reverence, hoping to ease your worries. “I don’t think you realize how hard you’ve been working until it breaks you.”

With a click of his tongue, your husband continues to let his hand journey over every inch of your lovely form. Your breasts, your stomach, your pelvis, hips, thighs… If he was being honest, Scaramouche would never have thought he’d discover someone as perfectly imperfect as you. To not remind you of how much he secretly worships your whole being would be a grave sin in his eyes.

“I feel like I never see you anymore. We never talk anymore,” he mumbles into your shoulder blade, taking his time to kiss and nibble as much of your upper back as he could. You involuntarily arched your back, the sensation of his mouth along your spine sending pulses of electric desire through you. His voice shifts into a possessive growl. “And I miss my wife.”

“I know, I’m sorry,” you weep dryly, rolling your head back to relax on him fully. Your thoughts instantly short-circuited at the revelation of his thick bulge pressing into the plush of your ass, tactically held in place by his fingertips digging into your love handle. You were so ready to just melt into him completely, to give in and let him take care of you.

“Don’t ask for my forgiveness,” he quickly interjected to correct you. You could feel the smirk spreading on his face as he leans into you as much as possible. The back of his hand ghosts your inner thigh, nudging it to the side. “Show me how much you want my mercy.”

You were hanging on every syllable that left his lips in a hushed whisper. A featherlight touch grazed near your outer labia, enough to capture your attention like a moth to a flame. That was all it took for him to push your mind over the edge. It was pathetic, really, how you were desperately trying to mentally fill in the blanks and imagine the pleasure of his slender fingers massaging your needy clit.

Scaramouche knew exactly what he was doing. He loved getting a rise out of you. Admiring the subtle contortion of your features in pleasure may be his favorite pastime. Tickling the insides of your thighs and skirting skillfully around the one place you wanted him most, he scoffed in amusement every time you sighed softly in frustration.

“I thought you were going to be nice,” you groaned impatiently, beginning to lazily roll your hips in rhythm with the intermittent brush of his fingers just shy of your cunt.

“I am,” he snickered into your collarbone, his hot breath pouring down your chest and thrilling your skin. “You can’t lie to me. I know you like when I tease you until you’re begging for me to stuff you to the brim.”

Taking your lower lip between your teeth, you managed to defiantly buck your hips forward and finally feel the tantalizing glide of his index and middle fingers between your slick folds. The sweet victory ripped a lewd moan of your lover’s name from your pretty throat. To say you were utterly addicted to the sound of him parting the lips of your glistening pussy might be an understatement.

“Tsk, tsk, good things come to those who wait. Isn’t that what you humans say?” Scaramouche mocks you lightheartedly, though his fingers don’t leave your clit. Rather, he circles the sensitive nub at a tantalizingly slow pace to earn another cock-twitching moan from your angelic mouth. “I could touch you like this all night… unless you’d rather serve your punishment on my cock instead?”

You were too preoccupied with the intoxicating pleasure concentrated on your aching clit, eyelashes resting on your cheeks and jaw slightly agape. Scaramouche chuckled deeply into your ear with satisfaction, returning his lips to your neck but this time with a little more force. His teeth sunk into you, intent on leaving a good bruise.

It would be a clear reminder in the morning of who you belong to.

He sucked a little harder, causing you to yelp in a mixture of both pain and pleasure. His words were muffled against your skin with a gentle scolding. “I asked you a question.”

“C-cock, please,” you nearly choke, starting to grind sloppily onto his hand for some sense of relief. His other arm underneath you tightened, essentially pinning you to the heat radiating from his body from behind.

“Whose cock?” Scaramouche grumbled jealously at your vague plea. He needed to know that you didn’t just want anyone’s cock to fill up your drenched, gummy hole. The intensity of his violet irises demanded an answer, glued to your blissed out and desperate expression. His fingers were hastily stimulating your clit as he intently watched you parse love and lust on the brink of an orgasm.

“Y-your cock! Please! I need it so bad,” you cried out loudly, the threat of tears lingering behind your eyes. He abruptly slapped a hand over your mouth to quiet your moans, and then shoved his hot, veiny cock pulsating with desire across your soaking wet entrance.

Scaramouche couldn’t stop the salacious groans under his breath, wanting you to hear all the ways you make him unravel. He was eager to drag the mushroomed, pink tip of his cock over your clit over and over, occasionally teasing your hole with the pressure of his length trying to nestle itself within you. But he never pushed it all in. Instead, he continued to gather your essence on his cock—the mere thought of cumming in your rosy folds like this and fucking it messily drove him wild.

“Don’t tell me… hnnnghh… that this is all you want, (Y/N),” he grunted with honeyed pleasure, grinding at a little faster rhythm. You were already nearing your climax again, whispering prayers and praises under your breath for Scaramouche to plunge into you and fuck you senseless.

His hand was still tightly covering your mouth, so you simply shake your head and moan breathily to ask for more.

“Mm, good girl,” he mumbles intimately, kissing your ear and nuzzling you affectionately again. “I know my baby is tired and needy, so I’ll let you be my little cocksleeve tonight, okay?”

You nod and hum against his hand enthusiastically.

He takes the opportunity to shower you with a few more kisses, lining the tip of his cock with your entrance once more. Your walls were already squeezing eagerly on the small inch of his tip inside you and he didn’t dare delay any longer. Scaramouche grabs you by the hip and buries the entirety of his thick cock in your slick tightness, his eyebrows crinkling at the feeling of your pussy clenching around him like a vice.

“F-fuck!” Scaramouche curses sharply, bottoming out completely in your aroused cunt. “So good. S-so fucking good, yeah…”

“A-ah, yes! Mm…” you sighed raggedly with ecstasy, pure pleasure and relief washing over you. His huge cock was stretching you perfectly, the lips of your pussy sucking him in at every possible chance. Despite your exhaustion, your husband had wound you up so much that you begged for tiniest semblance of a thrust into your sopping hole. “Oh my god, p-please, fuck me.”

Without warning, you decided to selfishly fuck yourself on his throbbing cock, but Scaramouche instantly snatched your throat. He held you tightly against his pecs and craned your neck with a forceful grip so that you were facing the ceiling, your oxygen partially cut off. The submissive position had your spongy walls dilating in excitement.

“No, no, wait,” he chastised you, his voice cracking slightly at the end as he struggled to adjust to your greedy cunt. “N-Need I remind you, love? Good things come to those who wait; and if you’re lucky, I’ll cum in you.”

He couldn’t believe your pussy was still quaking around his girth, releasing your neck as you nodded obediently. Once he pulled you into him tightly with his strong arms around your stomach, Scaramouche nudged your legs closed so that you could completely envelope his cock. It was incredibly hot every time he shifted to get more comfortable and your walls only swallowed him further. His breathing calmed slightly, wanting to relax with you for the rest of the night deep within your cunt.

“I-It feels too good, Scara,” you whined, cuddling into the pillow on the couch and clutching the warm blanket to your chest.

For the love of Celestia, your body was so exhausted from work but at the same time you wished you had the strength to fuck him like crazy. You made a mental note to wake him up tomorrow morning with the feeling of your folds lubricating his hardened cock, sinking completely onto his impressive length when his pretty indigo eyes sleepily opened for the first time. You’d make sure to hush him and keep his sleeping mask on snugly, fucking him to your heart’s content.

But for now, your husband returned to worshipping the expanse of your soft curves, coaxing you to relax despite the occasional twitch of his cock inside you. Scaramouche’s voice was smooth as silk when he whispered into the crook of your neck, “See? That wasn’t so bad now. Why don’t you turn on your show and I’ll keep this pretty pussy of yours company for as long as you need, hm?”

You both melted into each other’s embrace, connected in every way imaginable for the first time in a long time. The sensation of your lover’s cock nestling into your folds slowly nudged your sweet spot, drawing breathy moans out of you. He thrusted slowly but deeply, marveling at the lust clouding your eyes pushing you just a little bit closer to the edge.

Though Scaramouche was enraptured by the heavenly sound of your pussy slurping his cock, the need burning in his core was beginning to overtake him. “Mm, turn around for me, babe.”

He was gentle and attentive to you as he helped you face him, holding you firmly against his chest and quickly ensuring his cock didn’t leave your cunt for too long. As he stuffed you full, his mouth captured yours in a passionate kiss. His fingers dug into your hair, keeping your lips planted on his as you lazily swirled your tongue on his own and moaned his name.

“Nnghh, can’t take it anymore,” Scaramouche growled hungrily into your mouth, lifting your leg slightly to support you so he could delve his cock deeper. His tone trailed off in a quiet beg, “Lemme breed you, (Y/N). Please…”

“Mhmm,” you agreed without hesitation, cupping your lover’s cheek and kissing him with growing reckless abandon.

He was unequivocally smitten by your ardent claim to his lips, groaning lewdly into the kiss as he began to fuck your desperately pulsating pussy. His grip on you tightened, focusing solely on ravaging your walls until you were on the verge of screaming his praise.

“Hah, that’s it. Goddamn it, I’m gonna fucking ruin you,” he takes your lower lip between his teeth roughly, plunging ruthlessly and chasing his impending orgasm. “You can take it, you can take it, yeah… you better fucking cum all over me or else, I swear…”

You reeled him in with a firm tug of his dark purple locks, nearly crying in pleasure onto his tongue intermingling with yours. Moaning and whimpering like a whore, you clutched onto your lover like your life depended on it. “O-Oh my god, Scara, shit, I’m cumming! I’m… mmph, f-fucking c-cumming…!”

Scaramouche pounded his cock into your sopping release, a guttural groan escaping him as he generously coated your spasming walls with loads of his hot seed. He kept himself buried in your cum-laden folds, your erotic juices mixing around the base of his cock while he kissed you softly.

“God… you have no idea how much I missed you.”

thanks for reading! reblogs are appreciated. my masterlist.

#thank you for the request anon! :) #i could really use a night like this omg i got a little carried away hehe😩 #[opulent dreams].✿ #[dreams of delusion].✿ #genshin impact #genshin #genshin impact imagines #genshin imagines #genshin x reader #genshin smut #genshin fatui #genshin scaramouche #scaramouche x reader #scaramouche smut #genshin wanderer #wanderer x reader #wanderer smut

[god-of-fandoms]

Jay is so, so tired.

He’s only vaguely aware of his surroundings, but he can hear a lot of raised voices. It’s different from the usual jeers and laughter of the pirates, their mocking cries cutting into him almost as effectively as their blades. No, this feels more… more urgent, he supposes. People are calling out orders, their voices commanding and loud. Blearily, he wonders what they’re talking about.

“...Vitals are weak but stable for now…”

“...Needs an IV, stat!”

“...Several open wounds, possible concussion…”

He slowly realizes that he’s moving. Well, not him. He’s lying on something (a bed maybe? No, it’s hard and painful) that is seemingly being wheeled along at a very quick pace. A strange mask is covering his nose and mouth, air gently pushing its way into his lungs. He knows what this is, knows he’s used one before, but his mind is so foggy he can’t recall where or when or why. 

“... Going into shock?”

“...n’t tell, conscious but unresponsive…”

“...Fuck.”

Well, that at least he could understand.

Jay tries to move his head, but a bright flash of pain stops him. Everything fucking hurts, but that fact is barely news at this point. After all, since the beginning of his imprisonment on the Misfortune’s Keep there hasn’t been a day that’s gone by without gaining a new injury or two. (Or ten, when Nadakhan’s really mad.)

He does his best to mentally shake off the fog, trying to figure out what’s going on. He… doesn’t think he’s on the Misfortune anymore - if he was still there, there would be absolutely no lying down like he’s doing now. He’d probably be back in the Scrap N’ Tap arena or cleaning the deck or (FSM forbid) in Nadakhan’s quarters. The djinn is scarily determined to deny him any rest until he physically can’t function without it - no doubt part of his plan to make Jay give up and wish.

“... Bones healed incorrectly…”

“... Emergency surgery…”

“...ay! Jay! Is he ok?”

Now that he’s thinking, the events before his unconsciousness begin to trickle in. He remembers, with a minute jolt, the rescue attempt. How his heart had filled with relief and joy knowing that his friends did care, that they wanted to rescue him despite his lies. How that hope had faded into despair when they were recaptured, and how Cole had nearly been forced to walk the plank.

He remembers the fight, remembers the pure euphoria of his powers singing once again, without the vengestone cuffs made to suppress them. He remembers, with a wince, his friends’ decision to use their wishes to give the fight an edge, and how Nadakhan had twisted their commands into something unhelpful or dangerous. 

He remembers losing Kai and Cole to the djinnblade, the fear and sorrow as Lloyd used his last wish to help him get away. To escape, alongside…

NYA!

Jay thrashes suddenly, a reaction that seems to surprise the strangers wheeling him around. Their voices rise as they stop and try to restrain him, but that only increases his determination to move. 

“... wrong with him?”

“... hold him down…”

“...ould we use anesthesia?”

He feels hands pinning his arms and legs to the metal slab, and his panic only grows. No, he has to leave, has to find Nya, has to know that she’s ok-

He’s sobbing, he thinks, if the sudden dampness on his face has anything to say. He hears gasps as he thrashes harder, because he has to tell them, make them understand-

He manages to free one of his arms and rips off the mask. He has to tell them so they’ll let him go.

“Nya,” He cries out, his voice giving way at the end from dehydration and exhaustion. “H-have to find- find Nya, please, please…”

The voices are only getting louder as he pleads with them. His hand is once again pinned down and he screams, because he doesn’t have time for this when Nya is gone.

“Please! I need her, w-where is she, where where where-”

No one is listening to him, no one is letting him leave, and he’s quickly losing his strength. An IV slips under his skin, and whatever is in it makes his vision double. They’re drugging him, he realizes, so that he’ll calm down. 

The thought just makes him panic more.

“Nya!” He sobs, as he stops fighting the many hands holding him down because he’s so tired, so very tired, “Nya, where are you? Please...”

“Jay!”

The familiar voice calms him down before he even realizes. He sucks in a breath, tears running down his face long forgotten as he stops and listens, hoping, praying he wasn’t imagining it-

And then a figure is shoving past the strangers and leaning over his resting space. Her eyes are the first thing he recognizes, familiarity flooding him despite his exhaustion. He knows these eyes - the amount of times he’s caught himself staring into them out of the blue is honestly embarrassing. The rest of her details come pouring in immediately after, trickling into his mind like the tide. A mole just above her top lip. The small scar across her cheek from a throwing star. Cropped black hair, falling into her face amid her disarray. He knows these details. He knows this face. He knows this person.

Nya stares down at him, her eyes shining with tears. “Jay, I’m here. I’m here, you have to calm down for me, please.”

And Jay calms down. Maybe it’s the drugs entering his system, or the pain and fear and exhaustion that have been following him for months, or maybe it’s just because it’s Nya telling him to, but it’s suddenly so easy to stop thrashing and crying. He has no reason to do so anymore, after all - Nya is here and she’s alright.

“... doctors are here to help, I promise. They won’t hurt you but you need to be sedated so they can administer emergency surgery.”

Her eyes are so pretty, Jay notices drowsily. Looking into them gives him the same feeling as staring into the ocean from the Destiny’s Bounty. Like her element, Nya’s eyes have been a deep cyan ever since she mastered her abilities. His eyes are blue as well, but they’re nothing special. Nya’s are blue like the rolling waves, blue like the sea during a storm. 

“...gave me permission to be with you during surgery, you don’t have to worry about me leaving- Jay? Are you ok?”

He’s crying again, not like earlier. Before Nya arrived, he had been sobbing violently. Now, though, tears just trickle down his face as he looks into her eyes.

“Missed you,” He chokes out, and Nya’s face collapses. Her expression is a mix of sorrow and concern and, to his horror, guilt.

“I’m so sorry,” and FSM she sounds close to tears. “Jay, I’m so sorry I let this happen. We should have gone after you, but I convinced the others you’d be fine, and it’s all my fault-”

Shit, shit, shit, how could she say that? He’s the one who should be sorry, he should be begging for her forgiveness. She’s so wrong, so very very wrong, and he has to let her know.

Despite the drowsiness now pushing him down, he shakily reaches out. Nya takes his hand, squeezing gently.

“Don’t blame you,” He murmurs, “Never did, please don’t cry…”

She sniffs gently before wiping her eyes with her free hand. “I’ll try not to,” she whispers. And it’s true, she doesn’t seem like she’s about to break down anymore, but she still looks sad and guilty and Jay would rather die right now than let that look be the last thing he sees before going under. The overhead lamps of the building they’re in (a hospital, he’s now fairly sure) form a crown of light around her head. Nya might be obviously exhausted, dirty, and injured from their fight on the Misfortune, but with the way her eyes shine and the halo surrounding her, she looks breathtaking. Almost like…

“Y’r like an angel,” he mumbles, stifling a yawn. He doesn’t know why out of everything he chose to tell her that - after all, she’s made it clear by now that she doesn’t feel the same way as him anymore. But it’s true, and he’d honestly say anything to make her less sad at this point.

Through his blurring vision, he’s able to make out the slightly bemused expression Nya gets. 

“...An angel? Why?”

“Saved me,” Jay slurs. He’s getting more and more exhausted by the minute but he shakes it off as much as he can to squeeze her hand and offer her a grin. (FSM, he hopes she’s not too put out by those missing teeth.) “Came back and rescued me. Y’r my guardian angel now.”

Nya sucks in a breath. “All of us wanted to save you, Jay. I’m not special.”

“Y’ are, though. N’dakhan wanted you, but y’ still came. Brave.”

His eyes are closing again, so he can’t see Nya’s expression anymore, but she squeezes his hand back. 

“‘M sorry for ev’rything. Y’re an amazing ninja. Fans… fans are stupid. I was stupid. S’rry.”

A wet chuckle from above him.

“Thank you, Jay. That… that means a lot.”

He wants to say more, but Nya’s talking again before he can.

“I think this conversation should wait until you’re not about to fall asleep,” she says, and Jay’s relieved to hear the tone of voice that she only gets when smiling, “but for now, you need to relax. You’re about to go into surgery.”

Now that she mentions it, the stretcher (it’s a stretcher, he remembers now) had stopped moving a little while ago. The strangers - no, doctors - are bustling around the room, preparing for an operation. The thought makes him a little queasy (he’s never liked surgery, and knowing how fucked up his body is right now this one’s definitely gonna be invasive) but he doesn’t feel as scared as he would usually. Not with Nya here.

His eyes are glued shut, and fighting off the sweet tug of sleep is no longer working. He whines and holds Nya’s hand tighter. 

“Don’t leave…” he whispers.

“I’m not going anywhere, Sparky.”

He sighs contentedly at that, releasing his death grip on her hand. A doctor comes up to the stretcher and talks lowly to Nya. He’s so tired that he can barely make out what’s being said, but the meaning is clear.

It’s time.

Nya leans down to put their heads close together. Wisps of her hair gently tickle at his face.

“Sleep, Jay. I’ll be here with you until you wake up again.”

It’s with the sedative running through his veins and the soft whisper in his ear that Jay finally succumbs to his exhaustion. 

He slips into unconsciousness thinking only of ocean blue eyes.

---

Yall this is unedited and not beta read but I'm so tired.

I'll probably try and fix any mistakes tomorrow but for now I have to sleep - gotta wake up early for even more exams :(

Nevertheless I hope you like this :D tell me what you guys think, I'd love to hear your thoughts

Have a lovely day!

-Lee :)

#lee’s fics #ninjago #lego ninjago #jay walker #ninjago jay #ninjago skybound #ninjago nya #nya smith #nya jiang #my fanfiction #bro I'm 10 times more tired than Jay rn #someone save me #exams are a total bitch

[dewedup]

scars inside you (swiss ghoul)

His body would feel exhausted, unable to manage the strength to make it out of bed. He would feign an illness, though ghouls rarely get sick, let alone to the extent of being immobile.

It was a process with an unknown duration. There were times when he was down for a week, and other times he would bounce back within a day. It didn’t matter what anyone did, though he appreciated each and every single one of his ghouls with his entire being for trying.

or

I am having a rough day and I headcanon Swiss as being slightly bipolar, he gives off such high energy I just picture the lows being extremely rough. This is one of those times.

words: 1,089

under the cut but can also be read on AO3 HERE

everyone gets low sometimes, but it gets better

if you're struggling, this might not be the thing for you, mentions of feeling unwanted, like a burden or inconvenience and a depressive episode

TW: DEPRESSION

It wasn't often that Swiss felt off, like a black cloud of doubt was hovering over him. He usually overcompensated for those nagging feelings by being more boisterous than usual, grinning hard enough it hurt, blurting out the most ridiculous things he could off the top of his head to make his pack laugh. Faking his way through the day, he would wake up feeling normal.

Some days, though, it was hard to even do that.

His body would feel exhausted, unable to manage the strength to make it out of bed. He would feign an illness, though ghouls rarely get sick, let alone to the extent of being immobile. His pack would check on him, popping in throughout the day, seeing if he needed anything or just wanted someone around. He’d deny it all, wanting desperately to take the worry out of their expressions, but couldn’t even try to hold himself together enough to be in the presence of another person.

Sometimes he’d cry, full-body sobs into his pillow, or just tears streaming down his face as he silently stared at the ceiling.

His mind would fall into a spiral, a highlight reel of every moment he’d ever felt sad, worthless, unwanted or like a burden. He’d relive every terrible moment, punishing himself for being so weak. His room would fill with a rotten smell, like milk gone bad, sour, a foul scent clogging his nostrils.

He’d finally exhaust himself of feelings, mentally, physically, and emotionally drained, falling into a restless slumber.

He’d wake up feeling exponentially worse. Like he was stuck in a time loop that just got progressively more depressed. Days he’d wallow, stuck in the same clothes, his skin starting to stink with sweat and sadness. The concern of the pack would get almost tangible. He could taste it in the air, it only served to make him feel like more of an inconvenience.

He wishes he knew what he needed to break the cycle, when Dew would kneel beside his bed and beg him for a solution. He’d stare blankly in return, seeing the expression crumble from Dew’s face and his entire body slump like he was the one disappointing him.

Cumulus would knock lightly on his door, quietly announcing her presence without waiting for an invitation. She’d leave the door open for a minute, using her air magick to pull some fresh air into the dark room. She’d even bring in a candle of his favourite scent from her secret stash, placing it on the dresser and lighting it. She’d stop by his bed, sit beside his head and pet his hair for a while, softly running her fingers through the greasy strands. She’d whisper words of affirmation, that he was good, he was loved, and to take all the time he needed. She would then place a soft kiss between his horns and leave him to his thoughts.

What felt like hours of watching the flame from the candle flicker, Mountain would come to visit, a plant from his greenhouse in hand. He’d make it a nice home on his bedside table, replacing the one from the last episode without scolding Swiss for its poor condition. He’d crack the blinds slightly, just enough to shine a tiny bit of sunlight on the new life. He’d crouch near Swiss and relay some of the drama he’d been privy to. For such a tall ghoul, people seemed to overlook his presence frequently, making Mountain the best source of news within the abbey. He wishes he had the strength to laugh at the mishap of a new sibling of sin, involving some inappropriate usage of the confessional, but Mountain doesn’t take offence to the lack of reaction. He’d finish his story and grab Swiss by the hand, placing a kiss along his knuckles and letting him know he’d fill him in on any updates before taking his leave.

It was only a matter of time before the sun Mountain let in went down, leaving the room in its darkened state. Rain and Dew would enter together, Dew relighting the candle Mount had extinguished on his way out of the room. Dew had the hardest time of them all when Swiss got like this, feeling helpless against his friend’s own head. Nevertheless, he still came over, lifting the blanket to blow some hot air into Swiss' cocoon, running his fingers over Swiss' grown-out stubble, before resolutely walking out of the room. Rain would stay longer, depositing some easy-to-eat food on his bedside table and curling up beside him. He’d hum softly in Ghoulish as he held him close, dusting kisses over his cheeks and forehead as he was just there. And if Swiss let out a tear or two, he’d say nothing, kissing them away and humming a little louder so that his chest would send vibrations through the multi ghoul.

Swiss would wake up to an empty bed, the water ghoul’s warmth still lingering along with his scent. If he looked over, he would see the plant beside his bed freshly watered.

Phantom would come in the early morning hours, sleep still heavy in his face as he dropped into the bed beside Swiss. He’d worm his way under the covers and attach himself to Swiss’ back, letting off soft waves of quintessence magick until he was fast asleep, soft snores falling against Swiss’ neck.

It was a process with an unknown duration. There were times when he was down for a week, and other times he would bounce back within a day. It didn’t matter what anyone did, though he appreciated each and every single one of his ghouls with his entire being for trying.

He’d wake up one morning, the feeling of dread still lingering slightly but he could breathe.

A shower would have him feeling cleaner, like he was washing off the depressive episode with water and soap, watching it all swirl down the drain. Everyone would look up from their breakfast, eyes shining happily as he took a seat at the table.

No words needed to be said. 

Aurora would place a bowl of his favourite cereal before him with a kind smile, her hand squeezing his shoulder reassuringly. Cirrus would inhale her breakfast like a wild animal, quickly taking her leave and flying down the hallway to the dorms. She’d disappear for quite some time, but when Swiss retired for the night his entire room would be clean, curtains pulled wide open and fresh sheets for him to fall into.

#tw depression #tw depressive episode #swiss ghoul #the band ghost fanfic #the band ghost ficlet #swiss #gloom writes

[redheadspark]

It's so hard to choose just one prompt for May!!! But can you please write 23 for Druig?

A/N - I love this for Druig, so sweet! Thanks for requesting this, anon!

I'm Here

Summary - You and Druig leaned on one another

Warnings - Angst and fluff mixed in together

“Lean on me,”

“I don’t need….”

“Shut up and lean on me,”

A pause was hanging in the air, you perched on top of the ground with the tall grass dancing around you and the wind whipping through to make your hair dance.  But you were watching the farmhouse in front of you, the chattering heard inside along with some of the dinner plates being served and placed on the table near the kitchen.  You could hear a lone howl from a wolf not too far away, and the small sounds of the tall grass swaying were almost like a lullaby while you were sitting Indian Style, waiting for the person behind you to lean back against your own back.

Finally, perhaps with much hesitance, Druig leaned his back against yours.

You could feel how he was placing his weight against yours, how heavy it was, and how defeated he felt: Druig was exhausted.  You simply sat there, almost like you were on watch with him as Druig was silent and looking out at the prairie that was sprawled out in front of him.  You wanted to say plenty of things to ease or bring him peace.  

But nothing came, and the comfortable silence was enough for him to know you were there.

For as long as you were together as a couple, and even longer as friends and comrades, you and Druig leaned on each other in dire times.  For Druig, wishing for the human race to be in harmony seemed like a fevered dream with all the pain humans inflicted on one another.  He never wanted war or agony, famine or genocide, none of it.  It pained him to stand on the side and watch the world inflict pain itself over and over again, on repeat with no sign of change.  

As for you, the ever-increasing pressure and second-guessing you had on yourself would get to your head from time to time.  You knew you were powerful, beyond powerful as an Eternal, but comparing yourself to the others was never a new thing for you.  You hated doing that to yourself, even with Ajak and Sersi telling you of your worth and strength you would feel yourself lower than you should.  

It was your friendship with Druig that saved you in more ways than one.  

The first time you did this, it felt like a new sensation to have Druig lean his back against your own, to share the weight both physically and mentally, it almost was therapeutic for each of you.  So many times you two found solace with each other, either covered in blood and grime from a Deviant attack or in tears from something feeling so heavy inside.  Maybe it was the fact that you both wanted to have another person there or have a way to unload all the burdens that you two locked inwardly, but this simple gesture between the pair of you was sacred and special.  

“You hungry?” You asked softly, your voice floating in the wind as you heard some laughter in the farmhouse, a flicker of warmth was in your belly from the sound that you hadn’t heard in almost 500 years.

“Not yet,” He mumbled, his voice sounding so heavy and almost filled with exhaustion as he took in a long breath.  Even the way he breathed sounded like he was sinking as you hummed.

“I asked Makkari to save you a plate when you do get hungry,” you explained, planting your hands on the dirt below you and feeling the loose earth under your palms and fingertips.  It was a way to be an anchor since your own mind was reeling from what happened on the beach.  Tiamat almost emerged and destroyed the planet, Ikaris betrayed your family and nearly died by his beams.

Worst of all, almost loosing your best friend and husband.

The last time you did this together was right when you two left the others in the Amazon, after witnessing a genocide high in front of your eyes and Druig feeling helpless and having rage fester inside of him.  He chose to leave, no longer stomaching what was happening and how no one was able to stop the pain.  Of course, you went with him, you both have been together for centuries and you could not picture your life without him.  He was your center, a sense of happiness and love that you never thought you would ever have.  Druig thought of you as the pure definition of good in his life, your kind heart and patience made him feel beyond loved and adored.  

So that night, deep in the jungle with nowhere else to go, Druig leaned his back against yours and cried, wailed, for the pain that he felt and the flames he saw engulf the innocent beings.  

“You okay?” Druig asked tentatively as the sun descended and lowered in the sky.  You drew in a deep breath.  It was a simple question with two words, but it was more than that.  So many things inflicted your mind, feeling both energetic and yet tired, happy you were alive and sad from the cost of that happiness.  All you could do was close your eyes and let the wind dance across your face.  

“I don’t know,” You replied, being truthful with him.  You weren’t thinking about yourself in that moment when you saw Druig sitting alone out in the open field, you were thinking about him and all he went through the past several hours: leaving his village behind to save the world, hearing about the passing of Ajak whom he admired and adored, nearly dying by Ikaris.  All you were thinking about was your husband, the other half of your soul, and now he was wondering how you were.

You felt his fingers face across your palm that was still on the dot floor, lacing your fingers tentatively together and nudging your back with his slightly. It made your head touch his, another deep inhale as you were watching the others in the farmhouse talking and reconnecting together.  They seemed so far away since you were having this moment with Druig, but you didn’t want to be there with them.  As much as you missed them and wanted to hear all of their stories about what they’ve done since you all separated, you needed this alone time with Druig.  

“I’m here,” You heard him murmur to you, and it felt like he unlocked something deep inside of you that wished to stay hidden.  But it was exposed, now free to float out of your as tears were now flowing down your cheeks. You weren’t crying over a simple thing or a simple fact, it was serval things that needed to come out of it in such a way that you would feel free.  Druig was always an actor with you when it came to needing someone in your corner, even before you two fell in love and were married.  He gave you peace, he gave you the feeling of contentment, and he made you feel loved. 

Even now, holding your fingers and sitting in the middle of a grassy plain, he made you feel beyond loved.

The moon was creeping over the sky with the lights of the farmhouse finally turning on, and you and Druig sat there back to back for a few more minutes.  The peace and quiet of the earth was a balm for you two as you held each other’s hands and gave each other strength.  

As the stars started to twinkle in the night sky, Druig started to hum an old lullaby, on he heard centuries ago back in Ancient Babylonia that brought the pair of you peace.  The same lullaby that he hummed to you after he kissed you for the first time, and for night and nights on end when he would hold you in his arms.  You felt the tears fall and listened to the familiar song, finding that peace again as the earth kept turning. 

You were going to keep turning with Druig at your side, keeping you grounded and safe.

The End

May Prompt Session

#druig x reader #druig x y/n #druig x female reader #druig x oc #druig x eternal female reader #eternals #fanfiction #writing #barry keoghan #druig #marvel #marvel cinematic universe #mcu fanfiction

[bangtaninborderland]

Risk It All (30)- Choose Life pt.1

Genre: Chishiya x f!Reader| angst | eventual smut

Warning: mentions of injuries/blood/violence

A/N:lmao this is nearly the end of the first season yet I've been writing this story for YEARS???

Prev | MasterList | Next

Neither of you stopped, weaving in and out of burnings, over and under rubble as your feet carried you as far away as possible. Ignoring the chance you were dragging yourself into more danger, you let Chishiya guide you.

“In here!”

It was a small hardware store, the windows were already broken and the shelves raided, no doubt for weapons but luckily hidden behind the counter was a set of stairs. You tripped up them still holding each other's hand. As much as you desperately wanted to slump against the floor and let your lungs replenish the mass amounts of oxygen that you had depleted due to your impromptu sprint you knew that safety wasn’t guaranteed.

“Help me get this across the door.” You gesture to a solid filing cabinet. Mustering up the last of your shared strength you locked yourselves in. Bullets wouldn’t get through metal that thick.

The windows thankfully hadn’t been smashed but there was no heat.

This wasn’t like the home Chishiya had made.

“Did you get hit?” Chishiya asked through a pant. “How is your arm?”

“Fine.” You check to make sure. “What about you?”

He lifts his shirt before nodding. “It didn’t reopen, it’s okay.”

“What the fuck was that.” You drop your head against the wall. “How did he find us.”

Chishiya pulled off his backpack, handing you a bottle of water. “I think he knew people would be heading there to join the game.”

You stilled, the bottle clutched in your hand. “The game Kuina and An left to join?”

“Yeah probably.” He takes another swig of the water before recapping it and putting it back in his bag. “Why?”

“What if they got shot?”

He shakes his head. “Trust me Kuina is like a leech, she won’t die.”

“But what if-“

“Stop worrying about them.” He cuts you off. “They weren’t the ones that just nearly got shot to death, it’s okay to care about them but you have to prioritise yourself. Stop being irrational.”

“I’m not being irrational, I'm worrying about a friend.” You explain through gritted teeth.

He stares at you blankly. “Do you think Kuina would want you to worry in this way?”

You hate how he makes a good point.

Kuina would be angered at the thought you were worrying about her when your own life had been in danger. “No, she wouldn’t.”

“Then forget about her for a while. It’s okay to do that. It’s okay to care for yourself.” He assures you. “We need to figure out where we are.”

You peek out of the window, dropping back into your previous position when you see nothing. “I didn’t see any signs as we ran, it’s too dark.”

He agreed. “We will have to wait until the sun comes up but whatever is going on, I think this is coming to an end.”

“You think the games are nearly complete?”

He sounds sure. “I think that we have nearly won every card we need.”

“I hope so.” You wish. “I don’t think either of us will fare well against another game.”

“We should rest.” He manages to find a blanket and a cushion, laying them down on the floor. “You sleep first we can take it in turns, I’ll wake you up in a little so we can switch.”

“Are you sure?” You eye the makeshift bed. “You’ve just come out of a game one that was no doubt exhausting, mentally if not physically. I’m okay you want to sleep first.”

“No, it’s okay.” He declines the offer. “You get some sleep, I'm going to try and see if there is anything useful here, just let me know if I make too much noise.”

“Okay.” You agree, laying atop the blanket. “Goodnight.”

“Mhm.”

Despite his warning about making noise you don’t hear anything, it was hard to drift off at first. Your mind ran a world of its own as it had you picturing the masked gunman shooting down the door any second but eventually, the adrenaline you’d worked up burned out and you were left depleted and exhausted.

This time there were no dreams, just a void.

“Hey.” You felt yourself being sat up.

“What?” You grumbled, still disoriented from your nap. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s been a few hours.” Ah, it was time to switch.

You sit up, huffing as you brush the stray hairs out of your face. “Okay you sleep, I’ll take watch.”

“Okay.” He agrees, slipping onto the mat you’d just moved from. “I found a spare wrench, it’s against the wall.”

“Oh that’s good.” You yawn, leaning against the wall opposite Chishiya. “Sleep.”

“Goodnight.” He mumbles.

It didn’t take him long to fall asleep, it made sense though. He hadn’t exactly had time to rest after his game and it was unlikely he had managed to eat anything.

That was another pressing matter - food.

You quietly looked around, sifting through drawers and cupboards. Most of it was no good, perishable foods that were so rotten they looked as if they had been there for a millennia.

At this point they probably could have been.

It was hard not to wonder what was happening in the real world, if time passed different here then how long had you been gone? Years? Months? Days? It felt as though you’d been here for at least a year but it was probably something more like a few months.

The sun was already rising, it seemed as though some days night lasted forever, an unending darkness accompanied by a few hours of dull sunshine but some days it was the opposite, a hot sun with little reprieve found in the minimal hours of darkness that coats the city.

Today seemed like the latter.

You peered over the windowsill, the city as always was dead but you took that as a positive rather than a negative, you dropped back to the floor with a thud.

It was probably weird to watch Chishiya sleep but it wasn’t as though you had a variety of things to keep you entertained, you missed the small house and all of its perks. You forgot, even for a few days, what it was like to have absolutely nothing in a world where there was no permanency.

Your life in the real world - if it could be called that - had grown dull. There wasn’t much variety in the things you’d do, you were lonely and had grown accustomed to living alone but you missed how permanent things were. You had a home you could return to, you had a job, you had people you’d interact with, the sun rose and set at a normal time, you could go to stores and not worry about the shelves being empty.

Nothing here was permanent, not even the people, that’s what hurt you the most.

From the corner of your eye you saw an object stutter in the sky, you scrambled up, your heart racing in preparation to run.

Only to see something that, for once, provided you comfort.

“Chishiya wake up!” You slap his chest.

He jolts up, body rigid. “What?!”

“Look!” You point out the window at the mass ball of flames falling upon the city.

“Is that the blimp?” He squints. “It’s the king of spades. If I’ve worked it out correctly and I’m sure I have, that means after Kuina and Ans game finishes there’s just one game left.”

“What one?” You ask, a part of you relaxing at the blimp crashing into the ground.

“The queen of hearts.”

“We should go.” He stands, brushing his clothes off.

You quickly pack up, both taking a few sips of water and halving an oat bar before setting off.

The journey to the final blimp was thankfully a short one, the game stationed relatively close to the hardware store you'd hidden in the day prior. It made sense, you were practically in the heart of the city.

“Is that-“ You were shocked to see so many familiar faces. “Arisu? Usagi?” You called out.

They both turned to you at the same time, eyeing Chishiya cautiously before approaching you. “You’re alive?”

“Clearly.” Chishiya scoffs under his breath before turning to you. “I’ll be over here.”

You nod as he walks away. “How are you both?”

Arisu smiles although it’s strained. “As well as can be, are you going to play?”

“No.” You shook your head. “I have enough days on my visa.”

Usagi shrugs. “We played a few, I think we all just want this to be over.”

“You can say that again.” Arisu laughs. “Heart games are never good.”

“They aren’t.” You agree, the memories of your own horrifying experience with the card were always on your mind. “Have you seen anyone else?”

“Like who?”

“ An? Kuina?” You ask.

“Not for a while.” Usagi answers. “I saw them both after we split up at the train station they were doing okay.”

“We were staying together.” You explains. “Only for a few days but they both had to leave to join a game.”

“The Queen of Clubs?” Arisu questions.

You make a noise of affirmation. “How did you know?”

“I saw the blimp pass over, I also saw it crash.”

If the game was over and they weren’t here that could mean….

“Didn’t you say you were staying together?” Usagi seems to notice your train of thought and intervenes. “Did they know you were coming here?”

“No.” You purse your lips. “We were hiding out at a small house type hut but the king of spades turned up and quite literally blew it up.”

“I’m sure they are fine.” Usagi rubs your arm. “They probably went back there first.”

You truly hoped that was the case.

“Thanks.” You smile at her. “Is there anyone else here?”

The atmosphere around you turned into something solemn.“Tata…he passed away during a game.”

“How?” You weren’t close with him but he wasn’t a bad person.

Arisu looks at you with unbridled guilt. “He died helping us win.”

“I’m sure he wouldn’t regret that choice.” You reassure him, it was never easy when you were the reason for someone’s death even when you weren’t directly involved in it. “I’m glad you’re both okay.”

“Likewise.” He doesn’t make an attempt to smile, you can understand why. “I think the game is starting.”

You look back to find the gates surrounding the large building open, something they hadn’t been when you arrived. “I’m gonna go get Chishiya.”

He seems to have the same idea as he walks towards you. “Happy?”

“Just peachy.” You retort sarcastically. “Let’s go.”

“Without us?” You could scream as you turn back to see Kuina and An walking towards you, both worse for wear with various cuts and bruises littering their pale bodies.

“Fuck.” You curse as you run towards them, your arms wrapping around their waist as you help them stay upright. “Chishiya!”

He understands and wraps Ans arm around his shoulder. “You owe me, both of you owe me.”

“Stop complaining.” You hiss at him. “What happened to you two?”

“We won our game but it was hard.” Kuina says tiredly. “I need to sit.”

“Here.” You help them both slump down against the set of stairs beside the building. “You’ll be okay, you will. Chishiya do you have anything to help?”

He looks at the pair before grabbing your hand and pulling you aside. “I’ll be honest. I don’t think they are going to make it.”

“Don’t say that.” You felt the colour drain from your face. “You can help them.”

“There’s too much blood.” He shakes his head. “It will be pointless.”

“Chishiya please.” You bat away your tears. “I can’t lose them.”

He groans but pulls the bag off his back. “What one first?”

“Her.” An nudges Kuina. “She has it worse.”

“Take this.” Chishiya shoved a small bottle of cleaning alcohol into your hands. “Clean as much as you can. I’ll deal with Kuina.”

“What happened?” You glance at Arisu before tuning back to An.

“They were in a game.” Your voice wavers as you carefully dab at the large gash on Ans leg. “We need to finish this and get out of here, they need a hospital.”

“Usagi and I have decided to play.” He informs you. “I’ll do my best.”

You hear him turn away. “Arisu?”

He turns back to you. “Yeah?”

“I know you can win this.”

You watch as he and Usagi disappear inside the building, both of them limping as they go, clearly sustaining their own injuries.

“Hey?” An croaks.

You turn your attention back to her. “Yeah?”

“It’s okay.” It takes her far more effort than it should to brush the tears away from your cheeks. “It’s okay.”

Arisu needed to win.

You needed to get out.

They needed to live.

You needed them to live.

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[honey-on-your-tongue]

Everything I Never Told You

(Part four)

Series masterlist

Warnings: Angst (which has become pretty much the default.) Uh, idk, angst. Angst. I don't wanna spoil anything, so Imma cut the warnings short. Enjoy!

You fall into a pattern. Every day, you wake up with dawn, have breakfast, train all day, and go to bed exhausted. Jake takes care of teaching you, of ensuring you become one of the people, that you are aware of the customs, that you follow them. He teaches you to ride a banshee, to use a bow and arrow, to walk, to jump, to hunt. He helps you with the Na'vi language, aids you with the rituals. Basically, he's with you all day, teaching you, helping you...

Days, weeks, months pass. You don't know how many; if you're honest, you don't care. It's not like you have a deadline, it's not like you have anywhere to be. But you're aware that time is going by and that your memory hasn't changed.

If anything, it's blurrier than in the beginning.

The only moment you felt like you remembered something was when Jake touched you in the tent, when he kissed your neck, when he kept leaning toward you on the top of a Hallelujah Mountain as eclipse fell around you. But now, with this new routine, you simply feel far away from him, as if you can't see eye to eye. As if something between you has cracked, fallen away and left barren, impenetrable terrain where that odd...beforeness used to be.

“Elbow up,” Jake corrects, softly pushing your elbow higher as you pull the string of your bow taut, your arrow aimed directly towards a tree with a target painted on it. “Back straight.” He pushes you to square your shoulders. “And focus.”

You want to scoff at yourself. Focus. Focus when he's standing behind you, so close you can feel his breath on the nape of your neck? Focus when you can't stop thinking about what he said that late afternoon: I've missed you so much...? Focus when you feel, deep within your soul, that the only way for you to remember anything is if he shows you whatever connection the both of you had before you died?

Focus.

You release the arrow. It whooshes through the air, whistling gently, and lands on the outer edge of the target. You sigh at yourself.

“It's alright,” Jake reassures you as he grabs another arrow from a leather case on the ground. “You're learning. All you need is practice.”

You can feel frustration bubbling within you.

Practice. Focus. Elbow up. Mind clear. Deep breaths. Step quietly. Walk swiftly.

So many orders, so many little details to follow, so many things that only anger you and make your memory more of a grim, messy fog than it already is.

Jake hands you the other arrow. “Again,” he instructs. “This time, feel the arrow. Feel where it's going, where it has to land. Focus on the arrow, on your body. Control your movements, your strength, your aim.”

You try again.

And again, and again, and again. By the time you're done, the tree is littered in arrows, and not a single one has landed in the center.

You slump to the ground, mentally and physically exhausted, pissed, frustrated, and on the verge of tears.

Jake sits beside you. As you rub at your eyes with vexation, he softly says your name.

“What?” you snap. “What do you want to tell me now? That I just need to keep trying? That I'll get it eventually? That I belong here?” You sneer. “It's been days, Jake. Entire weeks of training, of trying, of sweating and crying and bleeding just to get it to work, but nothing does. The more I do this, the more I feel my memory slip away. I don't know who I am, or why I'm here, and this isn't helping me at all.”

He remains silent. You can feel his gaze on you. “Do you want to leave?” he questions, his voice soft and quiet, gentle and broken.

You feel tears sting at the corners of your eyes. You don't know what you want. You just want to understand who you were—who you are—and you wish it wasn't this complicated.

Maybe I should've just stayed dead.

The thought sends terror through you, enough for you to start sobbing harshly.

You sense Jake reach for you, his arms ready to wrap around you, but you pull away from his touch.

“I—Yes, I want to leave,” you reply with a whisper. “I just...I need to leave.”

You don't risk glancing at Jake. You can already imagine the look of hurt he has drawn in his eyes.

-

Crack.

Jake is convinced it was audible—it must've been, he's sure he heard it. The final break to his heart.

This is it. This is what's going to kill me.

Worse than a knife to the chest, worse than breathing water into his lungs, worse than any injury he's every had.

You leaving, voluntarily, because you don't feel any hope here.

Because you can't find the home you once did.

Jake wants to cry. He wants to throw himself at your feet and beg you to stay, beg you not to leave him, beg you to keep bringing meaning to his life.

But it's your decision, and he will respect that.

He keeps his composure, takes deep breaths to try and relax his shattering heart. His ears droop, his tail falling to the ground, hopeless. “Okay,” he says, hoping his voice isn't wobbly from how thick the knot in his throat has grown. “I'll take you back.”

You both hop onto his ikran. You've learned to do it on your own, refusing to let him pick you up and place you on the animal. You grab onto him lightly, a barely-there touch remains where you once hugged around his waist and rested your head to his shoulder.

As the ikran flies over the thick foliage, cool wind rushes past the two of you, breezing in the gap between your bodies, making the distance that much more noticeable. It's as if your bodies are a mere demonstration of that canyon between your souls, that unfixable bridge, that torn connection...

Jake's heart keeps tearing itself into pieces, rolling into itself like a wounded creature, baring its weak, useless teeth to the world in hopes of scaring all threats off.

His heart has tried so hard to keep itself safe, and then you showed up and you hurt him. Twice, you've left him. Twice, he's lost you. Twice, you've abandoned his heart to the unbearable pain of loss and grief. And yet, he finds himself loving you more with each passing day.

Jake leads the ikran to the small clearing in the forest where your tomb lies. The creature lands on the soft ground, clicking its beak softly.

Clouds are carrying over the sky, darkening the day even more, threatening to burst tears over your loss as if Eywa herself were mourning your departure.

You jump off the ikran, your face sad and tear-stained, your ears folded against your head.

Jake wants to hop off his animal, hug you one last time, take the chance to finally tell you how much he loves you. But he doesn't. He knows he can't say goodbye to you again, he can't hug you one more time, can't touch you anymore—otherwise, he'll never be able to let you go.

Your eyes rise to meet his. “I'm sorry your plan didn't work,” you murmur. “I...I wish it would've.”

His heart tears itself even more.

“Me too,” he replies silently.

What's the difference, he wonders, between waking up without you and watching you walk away from him in real life? They both feel like death.

You sigh softly. Without another word, you turn away from him, walking into the foliage, disappearing amongst the bushes and trees where he'd first seen you appear.

Jake remains where he is for a long time, simply sitting atop his ikran, staring at the place you'd been standing in moments ago.

Eventually, he has to leave.

Eventually, he has to wake up.

His ikran takes off, dashes through the air. Once he's safely up in the sky, away from curious ears and peering eyes, he cries. He cries for you, allowing the wind to push his tears off his cheeks. He sobs as his soul breaks into pieces, cutting into his skin, making his heart feel raw and bruised.

The rain comes not long after. It mixes with his tears, adds to the pain. The cold rain makes his body even colder, the ghost feeling of you against his back unable to bring him any comfort.

He flies through the rain until he can feel his ikran become exhausted. Only then does he decide to return to the camp.

What's the difference between waking up without her and watching her walk away from me in real life?

There is no difference, he decides. I lose her either way.

-

The rain is falling down hard, the sky pouring as you finally reach headquarters. At first, the soldiers posted to the first watch raise their rifles at you, shouting at each other, but when you lift your hands in surrender and state your name, they let you in.

A check-up later, a warm bath, some clean clothes, and a small individual room in the infirmary, and you still feel...empty.

“They took me,” you'd lied. “Held me for days, captive. I found some clothes of theirs, stole them, ran off before they could realize it.”

But how untrue that was. You'd given yourself to the people, willingly joined their lives, their clan, their reality. And still, you felt nothing. You'd gotten nowhere. You were right where you started, an empty shell of a person that once existed.

That other you...she'd blossomed, like the gorgeous flowers in the jungle, bright and colorful, peaceful and adored by all. And who were you now? Blackened petals, dry from too much sun or soggy from too much rain. Dead either way. Empty. All color lost, all charm disappeared, all adoration only a shadow of what it once was.

You lay in your cot, staring up at the plain ceiling.

You were the best.

And who am I now? You wonder. If I was the best, how can I pretend to outdo myself? Or to even go back to what I was?

You force yourself to sleep. You have nightmares, mixes of your reality and your fears. Jake's touch ghosts over your skin, people are shooting all around you, you're falling off an ikran...

And suddenly, a blinding flash of light. You blink and you're standing elsewhere, away from the chaos and destruction and death of whatever was happening.

It's nighttime. The sky a dark black, stars everywhere, the moons visible. Plants glow all around you, little creatures chitter softly. For a moment, you're confused, lost. But then you realize where you are.

You're standing in that clearing in the forest, the same one where you saw Jake for the first time.

As you slowly walk toward your tomb, you find yourself staring at Jake's back as he sits in front of your headstone, murmuring unintelligibly.

You watch form a distance, eye the way his back is hunched, the way his ears are folded backward, his droopy tail resting beside him.

You can't make out what he's saying, can't understand him, but you can hear his tone. Melancholy, broken, soft sobs interrupting every other word. His shoulders shake and he covers his face with his hands, crying.

You want to walk over to him, to comfort him, to do something to push his pain away. But you dare not. You chose to left. Why are you playing with his emotions? You can't go back only to leave again. Wasn't dying and leaving him once enough? Did you truly have to do it again?

Guilt rushes over you, feeling like a river is flowing into your lungs, making you feel like you're drowning.

You startle awake, body shaking, tears on your cheeks.

It's fine, you tell yourself, it was just a dream. Nothing more. Just a nightmare.

-

Jake is sitting in front of your headstone again. He couldn't sleep, and he didn't know where else to go. So he's here, talking to you...trying to, at least. Talking to the person you used to be.

Branches and leaves rustle not far from where he sits, and someone walks out from between the foliage.

Neytiri. Her eyes are focused on Jake as she approaches, and he hastily pushes his tears away when he sees her.

“She left,” she states, sitting beside him.

He sighs softly. “Yes,” he replies, voice shaky.

“What happened?” she asks.

“She...she felt like this wasn't helping her find herself, so she decided she wanted to return to the Sky People,” Jake answers, clearing his throat to steady his voice.

Neytiri sighs. “And you let her go?”

Jake glances at her, confused. “She-she wanted to leave. Of course I had to let her...Who am I to force her to stay?”

Neytiri whacks him on the head. “Skxawng,” she accuses. “Why are you giving up with so much ease? You mourned her for years, Jakesully. And now that the Great Mother has returned her, you let her slip from your fingers.”

“She wanted to leave,” Jake insists, confused. “It wasn't helping her remember anything.”

Neytiri whacks him on the head again. “The problem is not that she wasn't remembering. The problem is that you two haven't looked for what can help her memory. You've been training and and teaching her, and that is good, it is part of her becoming one of the people; but you haven't sought out things that make her remember. Have you taken her to the places you two used to visit often? Have you told her stories of who she was? Have you tried introducing her to her past life? Or have you simply tried to drag her through this new life, hoping, by some miracle from Eywa, she remembers everything?”

Jake folds his ears back, ashamed. “No,” he mumbles. And right there, it's like he realizes how stupid he's been.

Skxawng, he snaps at himself. How could he not think of that? In your tent, and then on the top of that mountain, when he'd touched you, pulled you close...he'd felt something and he'd known you'd felt it, too. He could see recognition flashing in your eyes, could sense you allowing your walls to crumble for him. And he'd ignored it. He'd been so afraid of scaring you off, of pushing you away, that he'd kept himself at a distance and, by doing so, stumped your memory.

The first time you two had gone through this—through his entire time in the Avatar program and his process of becoming one of the Omaticaya—you'd been there. You'd been by his side every single step of the way. That was what you needed. That's why this wasn't working. You needed him by your side, and not only teaching you, but also behaving the same way he always had. By helping you with everything, flirting with you, treating you as kindly and friendly as he could. By showing you he loves you, and never letting you forget it.

But it's too late now. You're gone, probably already back at headquarters, far away from him. And he doubts you'll ever return.

“What do I do?” he asks Neytiri, desperate, broken eyes rising up to hers.

“You pray to Eywa, asking the Great Mother for one more chance to right your wrongs,” she responds with ease. “And this time, Jakesully, do not give up on your girl.”

------

Days pass.

Another check-up, breakfast, orders for you to rest. You don't care about anything, you're just glad they don't have you training or being interrogated about what happened.

You don't feel a thing. You lay on your cot, staring at the ceiling, knowing there's a part of you missing and hating that you can't get it back.

No one visits you except the nurse who occasionally shows to check your vitals and see if you need anything. No one else cares about you, no one else has even worried for you in this time that you've been gone.

But the Omaticaya people...

They'd mourned you. They'd been overjoyed when they saw you again. They'd been kind and patient, and they'd been constantly checking in on you, worrying for you, showing you they cared.

Why had you come back?

So what if I wasn't remembering anything? You scoff at yourself. I'd rather not know who I am and be surrounded by people who care, than to find myself and be surrounded by jackasses who barely even recognize me.

But to go back...to put yourself through that again, through all that training and all those custom practices and rituals, to think there's hope only to sink into desperation and frustration...It's too much. You don't think you can handle that amount of stress ever again. You can't be faced with the fact that you will never be able to remember who you were. It's too much pain, leaves you feeling emptier than you had in the beginning.

What about Jake?

Your heart soars at the thought. Jake. Jake with his ridiculous smile, his bashful little ears, his nervous tail. Jake with his stupid grin, his smooth laughs, his kind personality. Jake with the little touches he places on you while teaching you to use a bow, or when he helps you jump from tree to tree. Jake in your tent, when he'd hugged you, kissed you, whispered in your ear. Jake on top of the mountain, inching closer, pupils so dilated, you could only see a strip of amber on the outside. Jake. Jake and that feeling of before, like he's the only answer to everything, like only he can help you.

But can he? If it didn't work all these months, why would it work now?

I gotta take a chance, you decide. I have to risk it. What am I going to do here, rotting away in a cot, unloved, ignored, forgotten? I can at least try to find a family in the Omaticaya.

------

Night falls. Your nurse says goodnight, tells you she'll show at midnight to check up on you.

You nod, smile, thank her with empty words.

You count to a hundred after she leaves, and then you get up. You're dressed in a comfortable t-shirt and a pair of khakis, big black combat boots waiting under your bed.

You grab a knife you'd retrieved from your shared dorm earlier that day, and you hide it in the waistband of your pants. You pick the boots up, walking out of the nurse's ward, into the dark hall. You move as swiftly and quietly as you can, trying to remember all the stealth Jake has been teaching you.

You reach the exit, push the door open and quietly step out into the fresh Pandora night.

You keep to the shadows, ensuring to stay out of the line of sight of those who are on watch. You slide under helicopters, behind cargo boxes, past ATVs and entire shipments of weapons—the few that have made it to the base without being intercepted by the Omaticaya.

You can see the chain-linked fence not far from you, only a few feet and a quick climb and you'll be on the other side, free.

Your heavy boots are still in your hand, your ears attentive to the slightest sound. So you hear it. Light footsteps, following yours, getting closer and closer.

A soldier, trying to stop you? Someone about to drag you back to the nurse's ward?

When you hear the other person is close enough, you abruptly turn around, swinging your boots at them, hissing and baring your teeth.

The other person ducks away from your boots, rendering their hands up. “Whoa, whoa, it's okay. It's okay. It's just me.”

Jake.

He stands in front of you, eyes scanning over you, his ears folded back.

“Jake,” you exhale softly, relieved to see him. “What are you doing here?”

“Looking for you,” he replies, glancing over his shoulder back at the base, ensuring you two are alone. His eyes return to yours. “I was going to break in to get you out, but, uh, you kinda made this easier for me.”

You smile gently. “I was going to go back,” you tell him. You shake your head. “This place is horrible. It doesn't agree with me at all. And, even if around the Omaticaya I don't remember who I was, it's better than being here all on my own.” You pause, consider saying it, are about to confess, and at least I'll be with you, when the lights to the runway flash on.

An alarm starts blaring, people are yelling, and suddenly Jake is pulling you by the hand, to the fence. He drags you behind a few abandoned containers, rusted and rotting from the humidity, and you find a small opening in the fence.

He helps you through it before sliding out himself, and then you two are running through the forest, branches scratching at your arms and legs and face. You didn't get the chance to put your boots on, and you really don't need them, so you drop them on the floor, leaving them there.

Jake runs beside you, occasionally grabbing you by the wrist and tugging you in a different direction. You suppose he knows where he's going, he seems like he does, so you trust him.

It's a long while before the two of you slow to a stop. Far away from headquarters, finally free.

You lean against a tree, breathing heavily, adrenaline still coursing through your veins.

Jake glances over at you, his chest rising and falling with his thick breaths. Your eyes lock onto each other, refusing to look away.

You don't know if it's the adrenaline or the relief or the fact that you're finally with Jake again, but your entire body is surging with this ridiculous feeling of before.

Your skin tingles, your tail swishes from side to side, excited, and your heart speeds up in your ribcage.

The tension stretches in the air, feeling like a palpable entity that urges you toward Jake.

Already, you know you can't stop it from happening.

-

Jake's heart is in his ears, but not because of your escape.

You're looking at him with those big, sharp eyes, you pupils wide, your ears folded against your head.

He can feel something inside of him pulling him to you, as if you were an irresistible force, a natural phenomenon he cannot seem to stay away from, nor would he ever want to.

He steps toward you as you lean against the tree, slowly, carefully, gauging your reaction. He cups your face with a hand, places his other hand on your waist. You invite him in. Your arms wrap around his neck, your eyes falling to his lips, and he swears whatever measly ounce of self-control he had evaporates.

He leans in slowly, afraid you'll dissipate into thin air, and ghosts his lips over yours. You let out a little gasp, a small breath that sends shivers down his body. His grip on you tightens and he gently places his lips on yours.

Your kiss is quaint, careful, sweet and intoxicating and, fuck, Jake could die a happy man with knowing what your lips feel like.

Your arms pull him closer, pressing his chest against yours. You open your mouth, letting his tongue in, allowing it to trace over your gentle lips.

You shudder against him, your skin pricking with goosebumps at his touch. He tries to pull you closer, to hold you tight, hoping, begging, praying this isn't another one of those dreams of his, that he won't wake up to realize you're not real.

His lips leave yours, kissing your jaw, moving to your neck, right over your pulse, licking the skin there.

You let him. You let him kiss and lick and bite his way down to your collarbone, until his mouth finds the edge of your shirt and he glances at your face. His hands sneak under your shirt, caressing the skin of your torso, and he whispers, “Can I take it off?”

You sigh softly and nod. “Please.”

He is careful with the way he peels your shirt off, raising it over your head, helping you out of it. He tosses it to the ground, forgotten.

He couldn't care less about the shirt right now.

You stand before him, bare, beautiful, perfect.

He leans towards your chest, placing a soft kiss on your collarbone before moving his mouth to your breast. He kisses the soft swell of it, traces his tongue over your nipple before taking it into his mouth and sucking on it.

You let out a shaky exhale, your hands moving to his head, tangling your hands in his hair as he moves to your other breast and pays it the same attention.

You are perfect. Beautiful. Your body almost as breathtaking as your mind, as your heart, as your soul.

You are his end. His undoing. Everything that breaks him, everything that holds him together. You are his moons and his sun, the blood in his veins, the thoughts in his mind. You are everything to him, and he's glad your life intertwined with his; where would he be otherwise?

He kisses the valley between your breasts, lowering himself as his mouth trails down the center of your stomach. He kneels before you, his goddess divine, and gently nips at the edges of your pants.

You help him pull them down. You step out of them and kick them away.

Jake's heart stops beating in his chest as he looks up at you, naked. His hands hold onto your hips, his lips kiss your thighs, your lower stomach, admiring every inch of you.

Your breathing grows ragged, he can hear it, as he softly pulls one of your thighs over his shoulder.

Keeping his eyes on yours, he licks up your slit and then traces soft circles around your clit. You gasp gently, hips softly bucking against his tongue.

Your taste is sweet, addictive. He knows he'll never get enough of this—of you. He'll never grow tired of you, never have too much, never be satiated with what you give him. He will always need you, always want you, never take you for granted.

He slides one of his hands up your thighs, gently pushing his long, thick middle finger into you. You moan gently, urging him on, as he adds his ring finger, stretching you open.

His tongue focuses on your clit, sucking on it, flicking his tongue against it, making your body jerk and tremble.

He eats you out slowly, adoringly, savoring every single drop of you. He's almost afraid he'll never get to do this again, to love you, touch you, hold you, and he wants to commit every single detail to memory.

He curls his fingers, hitting that spot within you that makes you gasp and jerk, and he doesn't let up until you're shaking.

His tongue traces your clit, circling it, his eyes watching your face for your reactions. One of his hands massages your thigh as it rests on his shoulder, his fingers digging into the plump skin there.

Your hands fall to his head, fingers tangling in his hair, tugging at the thick locks. He groans, the sound making you whimper against him.

Your juices drip down his chin, coating him in your scent, and he can feel his cock—already hardened—start to leak precum from the sensitive tip.

He pulls his fingers out of you, licking them clean of your arousal, before he lowers his mouth so that his tongue can sneak into your sopping entrance.

You groan, grinding your hips on his face as he nuzzles his nose into your clit, his tongue maneuvering in and out of your warm entrance.

“There,” you gasp, fingers tugging at his hair. “There. Right there.”

He chuckles against you, making your hips buck, your legs jerk. He keeps your thighs spread open, his calloused hands kneading into the soft flesh.

He looks up at you through his eyelashes, his amber gaze famished, needy, wholly lustful.

He can feel the tremors that start washing through you, shaking you, as you moan and whine, begging Jake to let you reach your orgasm.

“A while longer, baby,” he says against your pussy, his words spilling right onto your skin. “Hold a while longer for me, okay?”

You try to hum your agreement between your gasps and moans as your body writhes beneath his touch and swift licks.

You keep your orgasm at bay, holding it back for as long as possible, trying to stay away from the burning ache that ripples through you.

Your body is quaking, your legs limp and boneless, your breathing constantly cut off by your loud, desperate moans.

“Fuck,” you cry. “Jake, I can't—Too much—!”

“Alright,” he says into you, “it's alright, baby. Go on, come for me.”

You gasp, your orgasm crashing through you, making your breath get caught in your throat. You cry Jake's name, your hips jerking, trying to pull away from his mouth as he continues to eat you out through your orgasm.

“That's my girl,” he praises softly, finally pulling his face away from your cunt, placing a few kisses on your thighs, softly bitting the skin there. “Such a good girl for me. There you go.”

You're breathing heavily, your body falling limp.

Softly, Jake pulls you down to him, leading you to straddle him. You kiss him, breathless, making his heart skip and his cock twitch against you. Your arms wrap loosely around his neck, your tongue traces over his bottom lip, your hips starting to grind down on his.

He groans into your mouth, his hands gripping onto your hips with so much force, he's afraid he'll bruise you.

One of your hands slithers down his chest, caressing the muscles there, before they dip lower, lower, lower, until you can push his loincloth to the side and wrap your fingers around his long, throbbing cock.

He gasps softly, the sound drowning into your kiss.

“We don't have to do this,” he tells you, pulling away from the kiss. “If you don't want to, we don't have to do this.”

“I want to do this,” you tell him as you kiss his neck, licking over his adam's apple, making him shudder under you. “Do you?”

He chuckles, but it's a thick, husky sound, a groan of pleasure and want. “Fuck, you've no idea,” he replies. You bite his neck, and he can feel your smile against his skin. His ears fold back and he exhales softly as you lick the spot over.

You guide his cock to your cunt, running the tip over your clit. He can feel how wet and warm you are, how you drip down his length.

Then, you lead his cock to your entrance and slowly lower yourself onto him, all the way until the tip touches your cervix.

You moan gently, fingers digging into his shoulders, and he groans, his hands moving to your ass and massaging the flesh.

For a moment, he considers making tsaheylu, offering you his queue and explaining what it means, but he hesitates for a second too long, and you start gyrating your hips, moaning softly. The pleasure overcomes him, and the idea dissipates, leaving behind a sense that he's swallowing down yet another thing he wants to say to you.

Jake kisses you, his hands guiding you up and down, your cunt tight around him. He cannot get enough of the sensation of your warm pussy, of your arousal as it drips down to his lower stomach and across his thighs.

You slide one of your hands down to your clit as you ride him, and he glances down, watching as you touch yourself.

He groans, a guttural sound that makes you shudder against him.

He moves one of his hands from your hip to your pussy, and grabs your hand in his, lifting it to his lips and placing a few kisses on your knuckles before wrapping your arm around his neck. Then, he returns his hand down between your bodies and uses his thick, rough thumb to draw tight circles around your clit, adding pressure until you're whining and jerking against the sensation.

Jake sighs against your neck before chuckling lowly, a sliver of his cockiness shining through. “Come on, baby, let me make you come again, hm? You gonna come on my cock for me, babygirl?”

“Yeah,” you mewl in response. “Fuck—Yes.”

He keeps his pace, thrusting up into you and circling your clit, both movements making you tighten around him with each passing moment.

He can tell you're close by the sounds you make, by how you clench his cock, by your nails digging into his shoulders.

“Don't stop,” you beg, breathless, closing your eyes and throwing your head back. “Please-please, don't stop.”

“I won't, baby,” he promises. “I'll give you everything you want, girl. I'll fuck you for as long as you want, however you need me.”

Your legs go limp, your grinds growing sloppy and weak, but Jake keeps up the pace, ensuring to push you to your edge.

You gasp as your orgasm washes over you, your body going taut for a second before the pleasure hits you and your release overcomes you. You exhale as you start climbing down from your high, but Jake keeps rutting into you, making the pleasure spark within you again.

“Jake-Jake—”

“I know, baby,” he says through clenched teeth. “I know it's too much. But can I come inside you? Can I fill this pretty pussy, girl?”

You whine, overstimulated, overly sensitive, but you nod. “Please, please, please,” you reply, each word accentuated with Jake's thrusts and rubs on your clit.

Jake can feel his release creeping up on him, like hot water rushing over his body, threatening to make him faint from the intensity.

Your fingers tangle in the hair at the back of his head, tugging softly, as you moan his name.

Jake groans. Fuck, he didn't know he liked his hair pulled until you did it.

He's close, so close. He can feel the incrementing sensations, the pleasure becoming almost too much. He can feel your hot pussy around his aching cock, one of your hands digging its nails into his shoulder, your other hand tugging his hair, your ass bouncing on his thighs.

And then your lips—your plump, soft, wet lips land on his neck, kissing him, licking him. Your tongue traces a path down to his collarbone and you bite him, hard, making him let out a low moan.

His orgasm is too close. He thrusts harder, faster, the fingers rubbing your clit grow uncoordinated, clumsy. Your cunt tightens around him, knocking the breath from his lungs.

“Jake, please,” you moan, desperately trying to match the movements of your hips to his desperate thrusts. “Please, I need you to fill me up. Fuck—please!”

You come again. For a third time. Whining and thrashing, body spasming against Jake. And he feels your juices, thick and sticky, gush over his cock. And it's the last straw for him.

“Fuck,” Jake growls, his orgasm finally rippling through him. He closes his eyes, folds his ears back, exposing his canines as he hisses softly, the pleasure so intense, it's almost painful. Almost.

His cum spurts inside of you, filling you, and slowly begins to drip out of you, down his length, mixed with your own arousal.

You're both breathing heavily, bodies growing limp, exhausted from the pleasure. He helps you up, allowing his softening cock to slip out of you. His cum pools out of you, and he gathers it with his fingers before lifting them to his mouth and sucking his digits clean.

You lie on the soft grass beside him, your chest heaving, your skin slick with sweat.

Jake lies beside you, brushing a few strands of hair off your face. “Y'alright, baby?” he asks softly, placing a gentle kiss to your temple.

“Yes,” you reply, voice a little hoarse from the sex. “Just worn out.”

He pulls you toward him, cradling your naked body against his.

I love you.

The words echo in his mind, surging from his heart up his throat, dancing on the tip of his tongue—

“Thank you for helping me out of headquarters,” you say quietly, a little drowsy. “You didn't have to come looking for me, and you did. So...thank you. It-it meant a lot to me, Jake.”

“It was no biggie,” he replies, trying to dismiss your flattery even though your words make his heart race, his breath quicken. “I...I had to get you back.”

There's a small pause before you question, “Why?”

Because I love you.

“I, uh...” He licks his lips nervously, summoning the courage to say those words. “I...I just couldn't...leave you there. I woulda missed you too much,” he half-jokes.

Fucking idiot. Just tell her.

“I really appreciate it, Jake,” you say again. “Thank you.”

Jake can feel you dozing off in his embrace, your breathing growing slow and steady. He glances at your beautiful face, at the little luminescent freckles across your skin, at your long eyelashes, your sweet lips...

You're so fucking perfect...

I love you.

He falls asleep without saying it. He figures, I've kept it quiet for years, what's one more day without telling her?

@spicycloudsalad @arminsgfloll @mashiromochi

#avatar jake sully #avatar #avatar fanfiction #fanfic #jake sully #jake sully x reader #reader insert #avatar smut #jake sully smut #jake sully fluff #jake sully angst #avatar angst #angst with a happy ending #babygirl only sounds right from jake’s mouth

[my-precious-treasure]

At Day’s End

BNHA Masterlist

In which the hero you favor has had a looong day. I’m pretty sure I initially wrote this thinking about Bakugou, but it’s been a while, so who knows  ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ Named by @alakai-a because I couldn’t think of anything 

He was tired and everything hurt. All he wanted at this point was to make it home and sleep for an eternity. He was so tired, he hadn’t even bothered changing out of his hero costume before leaving his agency. It wasn’t smart, but honestly, right now, he couldn’t care less. Not only was he tired as hell, but he was pissed, too. So, let a villain try to follow him home, see what would happen.

He thought back on his day as his legs led him up the many flights of stairs. It had started well enough, quiet even. Sure, there were a few attempted robberies and one idiot who actually tried to take one of his interns hostage, but that was easy as pie to deal with. The issue arose when an entire city block went up in flames towards the end of his shift. The amount of destruction was completely uncalled for. And the sheer number of casualties? It’s no wonder he was pissed.

As his feet finally reached his apartment door, he wrestled his key from his bag and shoved it into the lock. Twisting the knob, he stepped into the dark foyer and dropped his bag. Resisting his temper and urge to throw something was even more difficult than usual since he was so exhausted. His mental strength was really slipping.

The quiet hum of the TV caught his ear as he finally noticed the dim light seeping out of the living area. He huffed. You should be in bed now. He knows you have an early morning and it’s already past midnight. Had you waited up for him? If so, why did you not come out to see him? He hadn’t exactly been quiet upon entering your shared home.

Quietly, he rounded the corner and felt his heart soften. All his anger escaped him as he watched your smaller form asleep on the sofa. A smile crossed his face and he moved closer, gently brushing the hair from your face. You didn’t even shift as he pressed a kiss to your forehead and whispered, “I’m home.”

What had he done to deserve you? How had someone as precious and kind and perfect as you ended up with him, a total mess of a human? For one reason or another, you had stayed with him through all of the good and all of the bad and he couldn’t be more thankful. He just wished he could do more for you, but right now the most he could do is scoop you into his arms and carefully carry you into your shared room.

He glanced down as you curled into his warmth and he pressed another kiss on top of your head. Setting you gently onto your bed he tucked you in. Almost immediately, you rolled over and snuggled against your pillow. A small chuckle left his lips as he left to turn off the TV and get a shower; maybe eat something, too.

When he finally slipped into bed beside you, he noticed you hadn’t moved. You really must be tired, you almost always roll around. Gently wrapping his arms around your figure, he pulled you close, tucking you under his chin. Inhaling your soft scent, he kissed you once more before muttering an “I love you” into your hair as he let sleep overtake him. 

#bnha #bnha x reader #boku no hero academia #mha #mha x reader #my hero academia #gender neutral reader #bakugo x reader #bakugou x reader #kirshima x reader #deku x reader #izuku x reader #izuku midoria x reader #denki x reader #kaminari x reader #shinsou x reader #shinso x reader #hitoshi x reader #aizawa x reader #shoto x reader #todoroki x reader #hawks x reader #keigo x reader #mirio x reader #tokoyami x reader #monoma x reader #present mic x reader #hizashi yamada x reader #shoji x reader #ojiro x reader

[divinemare]

𝐋𝐞𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐨𝐟 𝐚 𝐌𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐚𝐥 𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞

┊ ➶ rhys x oc

┊ part three

part two

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

Each day turned into a bigger burden. Waking up was getting harder and harder as time went on, but today especially, Ariadne felt that the emotional and mental strength it had taken to get up and start that horrible day was getting so drained that it could very easily break at any moment.

Tara had no complaints to give her that morning, not a word, really, just sad, sympathetic smiles. In truth, that was much worse, even if Tara's intentions were good, to give her space.

The emptiness she carried constantly in her heart, today, spread throughout her body as she mindlessly went about her day doing everything more mechanically than humanly. It had been three years since her father was executed in front of her eyes when he had refused to rise from her mother's grave and return to work. His eyes, like hers right now, had been so empty that she had barely recognised her father in those last moments of his life. He had lost the love of his life. Her mother had died of terrible illness and neglect, and probably also of exhaustion and sadness. And her father, the man who had raised her to be a dreamer in a place of nightmares, had not wanted to live another day in a world without his beloved. So he abandoned it, confronted the guards who tried to drag him away and punished him by hanging his body, then burning his corpse.

Burned him, they had burned him, there was nothing left of him but faded memories and ashes long lost in the wind.

So Ariadne kept dreaming, day and night, she kept dreaming, because it was the only thing she could do to honour his memory, because if she didn't, she felt she would be failing him.

Still, she couldn't shake the feeling of grief during the day, so hard to bear that at the end of the day she deliberately lingered longer by one of the huge windows of the East Wing, avoiding going back to the slave quarters for her food ration because she felt physically unable to eat anything without vomiting at the memory of the flames consuming her father's corpse.

So she sat there, on the edge of the window, staring at the stars and wishing. She closed her eyes and wished. She prayed to the Mother, prayed to the Cauldron to let her talk to her father, or at least for him to listen to her. Not knowing if it was of any worth, since the Mother and the Cauldron had long ago abandoned the humans and stoped hearing their prayers.

"I'm trying, I swear..." Her voice sounded raw and hoarse, as her eyes burned with anticipated tears.

"Sometimes, I'm afraid, trying isn't enough," that male voice stopped had startling her, though it still sent shivers down her spine and ruffled the hair on her arms.

She didn't bother to turn around, just opened her eyes and continued to stare at the sky.

"And would you know?"

"I think I would," then she stared at him, into his dark, beautiful eyes.

"Then what could possibly be enough?"

Rhysand stared at her, hands behind his back. He looked the same as she remembered from the last time they had seen each other, two months ago. It had been two months since Rhysand had laid out what she'd done, what she'd wanted to to do. He'd been away, in the Illyrian Camps, where he spent most of his time.

"You have to want it."

Ariadne snored and turned her head away from him again. How his eyes seemed to read her so easily; always disturbed her.

"And you think I don't want it?" She could no longer honestly say what she wanted, but that didn't make it any easier to agree with him.

"No, you don't."

"Stop using your daementi powers on me," she turned her head back to him, fury dancing in her eyes.

"I didn’t need to to know that you haven't really wanted to try for a long time."

That scared her, and a lot, more than his deadly power, his deadly presence, his deadly gaze, the fact that he always just knew.

"You don't know anything about me," she blurted out, feeling rather brave today, perhaps because she didn't really feel anything at all, apart from absolute rage and grief.

"No, I don't. But you don't know anything about me either."

"I know enough."

"Yeah, and what do you know, then?"

She considered her options: lie to him and find a way to escape right now, or tell him the unvarnished truth, and risk severe punishment for it.

She didn't feel that brave. Not yet. Nor could she ever feel that brave. So she lowered her head, responding in the only way she knew how: utterly silent.

Rhysand waited a long time for her answer, but once he realised it wouldn't come, Ariadne was surprised to hear that he simply sighed instead of using his daementi powers. For he could have easily used them in her unprotected, weak human mind, and yet he chose not to.

"Someday you'll feel comfortable enough to tell me," he sounded so sure of his words that she looked at him with furrowed brows.

"It's not about feeling comfortable," she admitted, and regretted it when he started to move closer.

"Then what is it about?"

Again she was speechless and had to swallow to keep from flinching under his scrutinising gaze.

"I could never be brave enough," she didn't regret telling the truth this time, when his eyes softened and he lowered his head for just a moment.

"You are brave, you just haven't found how to let it out yet."

"And you would teach me how to do that?" She raised an eyebrow, speaking with sardonic sarcasm, earning one of those sideways smiles of confidence from him.

"Yes, I think I'd like to teach you how to do it," she hadn’t said it seriously, but when she saw the truth of his words in his eyes, she was a little startled.

"Well, I doubt that's ever possible, considering you're always away," she tried to shrug it off, but of course Rhysand wasn't going to let it go that easily, and once again, he turned her words into his personal weapons to make her blush.

"Is that your way of telling me that you've missed me?" He raised an eyebrow, grinning mischievously.

Her heart skipped a beat. Nervous, she began to feel nervous.

"Of course not," she snorted, rolling her eyes anywhere else but at him.

"Because I've missed you too, Ariadne," now, that didn't make her heart flinch, that made her heart do a complete 360 and catch in her throat. "Your insolence from time to time, I mean, there are very few people in this world who dare so much, and Cassian really doesn't have that intense hatred in his eyes to give me an extra challenge like you do," he laughed, shaking his head, as if thinking about the insolence of the aforementioned male, and her own insolence, was pure amusement to him.

"Who’s Cassian?" She dared to ask.

But Rhysand didn't react as she would have feared, instead, to her surprise, his eyes began to sparkle at the thought, a sparkle she had never seen before, not in his eyes, at least, but much like the one she saw the day she met Rhiannon. Joyful, appreciative.

"He's a friend, one I suspect you'd like very much, which is why I hope you never meet him, because I don't think I could carry you both around biting at my neck at every chance."

That caught her so off guard that she nearly laughed, she wanted to laugh, but quickly caught herself before she could get any further from her thoughts.

"You want to laugh," but of course, Rhysand saw it too.

"No, I don't."

Then he was the one to laugh. What was it about her that he always found so amusing? She didn't want to stick around to find out. So she jumped back down to the floor from the window seat and fixed her dress as best she could before bowing to the Prince.

"I'd better go, or I'm afraid I'll go hungry until tomorrow," she didn't wait for a reply before she started to walk away.

She was finally walking, no longer limping, her leg had healed since the last time she saw him, which was of great benefit to her as she could now walk away as quickly as possible.

"Goodnight, Ariadne," she didn't dare turn around or answer him, she just kept walking and walking until she could no longer feel his eyes on the back of her neck.

༺ ♡ ༻

"I'm tired of Illyrian males, I'm really done with them, I never want to see one again," Rhiannon complained, popping a candy into her mouth and chewing it with a frown as Ariadne washed the dishes.

The human burst out laughing, as she had started to do when Rhiannon started showing up in the kitchen every Wednesday and Sunday, the days she was on kitchen duty.

"Your brother is half Illyrian."

"Yes, exactly," that stole another smile.

Princess Rhiannon of the Night Court was probably the most versatile female she'd ever met, in the best sense of the word. She could be regal, imposing, princess-like, or she could be fearless, careless, carefree, or cheerful, fun-loving, playful. That was probably why she had found it so easy to win Ariadne over, though at first it had been mostly Rhiannon talking and Ariadne nodding nervously, gradually it started to become something more, something Ariadne felt comfortable to talk, laughing and sharing opinions.

"What's wrong with the Illyrians now?" She asked as she turned back to the pile of plates around her.

"Apart from everything? Well, everything! Azriel didn't even look at me," Rhiannon had recently paid a visit to the Illyrian camp where Rhysand and his friends lived, and the female, as she had shared with her, had always had a huge crush on one of her brother's best friends.

"Well, when was the last time you visited him?"

"Two years ago," it was hardly surprising, considering how much Rhiannon and her mother hated the Illyrian Camps. A horrible place for females, a horrible place in general, the princess had once told her.

"Well, then maybe he was just a little nervous, you've grown up a lot since then."

There was silence for a few minutes, with only the sound of Ariadne washing the dishes and an occasional sigh from Rhiannon.

"Maybe you could help me find out," the tone of the female voice sent a shiver down her spine and she slowly turned around. A devilish grin, which Ariadne had only seen on the female’s brother's face before, made her swallow and brace herself for whatever was about to come.

"And how... how would I do that?" She wasn't sure she wanted to know.

"You'll come with me, not to the Illyrian Camps, of course. I could never take you to such a horrible place. But to Velaris. Oh, yes, you'll love it! The Winter Solstice is coming and Rhys is going to take Cassian and Azriel with him, why couldn't I take you with me?" In her beautiful dreamy eyes shone a glint that made Ariadne's heart begin to race with anxiety.

"They're Illyrians, at least. Fae. I'm human," she said as the most obvious argument as to why she couldn't go to whatever place Rhiannon was talking about.

"Nonsense, I'll tell mum I want you as my servant there," she knew Rhiannon didn't really mean to take her as such, but still, it wasn't like she was a real servant after all.

"But I'm not a servant, I'm a slave," she didn't mean to sound so harsh, but there was no gentle way to pronounce that word.

A flash of disgust at the word passed over the princess's face, and Ariadne wondered at that moment what Rhiannon thought of her position. She had not yet found the courage to ask her.

"I'll take care of everything, okay? Just trust me."

Trust. That was such a difficult concept for humans, she hadn't trusted anyone in her life besides her parents, even Tara, the only friend she considered having. But Rhiannon's pleading look made her reevaluate everything she'd thought before, and after giving it a very, very long time, she finally relented with a sigh.

"Alright, fine. If that helps you with Azriel."

Rhiannon's smile grew wider and her eyes sparkled with startle as she rose from the table and walked over to her to pull her into an embrace. Ariadne's soapy hands dared not touch her perfect, expensive dress.

"You won't regret it, I promise. You'll love Velaris. You'll never want to leave."

As she hugged the princess, allowing herself to be overcome by her happiness and excitement, she thought that, perhaps, she didn't just have one friend in this world.

#legend of a mortal love #acotar fanfiction #acotar fanfic #acotar #a court of thorns and roses #acotar oc #acomaf #acosf #acowar #night court #rhysand #rhys acotar #rhysand sister #rhysand acotar #rhysand x reader #rhysand x oc #ariadne x rhys #ariadne oc #rhiannon

[shylilbunny15]

Prompt #2 pt 2

Writing Prompts

.

.

.

    ・┆✦ʚStormed By Odssɞ✦ ┆・

Bang

Villain jolted awake, sitting up to glance where the sound had came from. An exhausted sigh escaped Villain's lips as to no surprise, the sound had been another log hitting the door. Villian took a mental note of the storm's progress. Probably not stopping yet. No matter, still had a plan to come up with.

Feeling much better, Villian ran a hand over his forehead, noticing his fever was practically gone. 'I don't remember taking anything..'. Biting his lip in discomfort, Villain beared mind to his messy clothes. Noticing Hero asleep against the couch beside him. Her state, no better. Both were sweaty, covered in nature's own debris, as well as completely soaked from the rain.

Villain, placed a hand on Hero's forehead, noticing the red blush on her face. She was fiery. 'Did she not treat herself'?  Villain knelt beside Hero, lightly shaking her. "Hero...Hero, wake up"!

Hero's eyes fluttered open, looking up at Villain through half lidded eyes. "Mm...good...you're awake". Hero gave a weak smile.

Villian looked away, feeling blood rush to his cheeks. "D-Did you not treat yourself, Idiot"?..

"Mm...I suppose I f..forgot." Hero's words started to slur.

Villain took in her current state. "Come on..get up, we need to get cleaned. That's the reason we're suffering from fever".

Villain pulled Hero up, holding her up, leaning the smaller being against himself.

"Haa... let's go..you can shower then rest."

"C-Couldn't....I couldn't..m' sorry." Hero wailed. Villain looked at Hero, surprise exhibit on his face.

"W-what are you spouting about"?!

"Can't lose you, too. S' my fault, but not losing this time." Hero let out a shaky breath as Villain led her to his bedroom and into the bathroom, sitting her on the counter.

.

.

.

"Just clean up and I'll be ba-" Villain turned to leave, only to have Hero grab the cuff of his sleeve. Villian looked back, before turning himself to face her. Surprised was an understatement. Yet, Villian couldn't exactly tell himself what he was feeling. Perhaps concern?

Hero's head hung low, face as red as beets. Her cheeks were stained with tears, glistening as more flowed from her eyes and off her lashes. Hero seemed to be fighting back the urge to say something, but what put her in such a mood? Did calling her an idiot hurt her feelings? That was only meant to put the mood at easy.

"D-Don't go" Hero's voice cracked. "Please" Hero looked up at Villain, before slumping off of the counter, right into Villain's arms. Hero buried her head into Villain's lower chest, gripping his shirt. "M' sorry okie?...M' sorry"

Villain felt himself tense up at the sudden outburst. He'd never seen Hero in such a state. Not that she was always sunshine and rainbows. No, Villain knew Hero was human. He'd seen her get upset from time to time. This however, was a side he'd never seen. Hero was often playful, and bratty. It's how they were with one another. It made the days easier to pass. Villain and Hero, both nemesis. They knew they were enemy, however, their relationship was less than that. Rivals...frenemies? Of course, they knew that they disliked one another, but nothing to the point of having a vendetta against one another. Just a simple dislike that had sprouted from their first fight, and over the years.

"What's gotten into you Her-"

"I know m' messed up....but I couldn't lose you, too... couldn't just sit...let you die...need you here.. n-not alone." Hero slurred, shaking, and trembling against Villian.

"Hero... it's fine... I forgive you, okie?.." Villain cupped Hero's face, making her look up at him. "I forgive you..I'm not sure what this is, but don't beat yourself up about it"

Hero gave a slight nod, before crumbling into Villain, leaving him to hold her up again.

"I wish I could help you, but I don't think it would be very appropriate" Villian sighed.

"Hero.. you'll have to muster up some strength, and at least clean yourself in the shower a bit, I think it's best you take a bath."

Hero only gave an exhausted "mm".

Villain, reached for a large white towel, before throwing it over Hero, watching as it draped down to her legs. "Sigh...forgive me..."

Hero looked up at Villain like a ghost in a sheet.

"Strip" Villain ordered.

Hero obeyed, relieving her body of the dirty clothing, until all that was left was the towel engulfing her from her head to legs.

"Alright, just hold on to me" Villain murmured. 

Hero leaned her head again his shoulder, grabbing Villain's wrist, as he guided her into the shower, turning it on before closing the glass door behind himself, back turned from the view. Villain ran a hand through his wet hair..."Definitely a lot of history she's hiding..".

Moments later, Hero turned the water off, before knocking on the glass door, Villain leaned against. Villain moved to the side, allowing hero to emerge from the shower, with the towel once again engulfing her from her head to her legs. Hero leaned against Villain, wobbling in the process.

.

.

.

"Gosh...you're not getting any better.." Villain led Hero over to a fairly large undermount tub. Turning his back once more, as Hero slipped herself into the steaming hot water, completely engulfed to her shoulders.

"Alright...I'll leave you here for a while...when you're ready, just knock again. I'll go find something for you to wear" Villain  left the bathroom, hearing Hero respond with an "okie".

The fever was definitely taking one hell of a toll on her. Villian knew there was no way Hero would be acting so calmly. Hopefully she would not remember this. Resting against the wardrobe, Villian ran a hand through his jet black hair, attempting to release bad nerves through a sigh. "Idiot... should have taken the medicine first instead of worrying about me..". 

Facing the wardrobe, Villain started his search for Hero's clothing. Realizing that it would prove to be a bit of a task, given that it was Hero who was staying here. "Shit, just my luck". Villain pulled garb after garb out of the wardrobe. The clothing was either too exposing or too big which Villain was sure would fall right off of Hero's frame.

Finally settling for a dress, Villain quickly grabbed a fresh towel and spare undergarments, before knocking on the door, and entering the bathroom. "Your clothes are here on the counter".

"I nee..mm" Hero whined, slurring as she looked out of the window.

"I'm not helping you". Villain snapped. "You'll have to manage on your own".

Quickly leaving the bathroom, Villain sat himself on the foot of the king sized bed. "What kind of Hero gets themselves caught in a Shadow Storm..pathetic". Villain found himself growing flustered, as he continued to think of the given conflict. Covering his mouth, Villian distracted himself with thoughts on their next move for the mission at hand. The mission was starting to prove more problematic than he'd assumed it would be.

Hearing a bit of shuffling, before the sound of a door opening, Villain looked up to see Hero leaning against the door, face flushed with fever. Hero's breathing had definitely grown to wheezing. Her movements were rather uncoordinated, as she tried to stand straight.  She looked completely vulnerable.  Villain wondered if he flicked her would she simply crumble.

However, Villain's attention was quickly drawing from Hero's state, to her attire.

It definitely was a good pick.

The dress was almost a perfect fit, if not a little short. It snugged Hero's form quite well. Falling loose in all the perfect places, stopping at Hero's mid-thigh. Truly a sight for Villain. How unlucky his rival be so tempting. Hero's wet hair, framing her face. Water droplets traveling from her roots, down lush locks, dropping onto Hero's chest, and attire.

Villain fell back onto the bed, arm resting over his eyes, as he tried to divert both his eyes and mind away from the sight before him.  Villain blamed his thoughts on his feverish state. However, Villain knew the truth. Hero, in sooth, was ravishing. How troublesome that they turned out to be enemies. Villain would definitely have trouble keeping himself from thinking about their issue at hand once this was all over.

"Feel weird.." Hero mumbled, through half lidded eyes.

Villain sat up abruptly, supporting Hero, as he guided her to the large bed, laying her down, under the blankets. "One moment". Villian rushed to the bathroom, cleaning up Hero's clothing, before grabbing a fever reducer, and returning to Hero's side. "I'll give you two tabs" Villain opened the pill bottle, before slipping two between Hero's lips, handing her a glass of water. Villain's eyes didn't leave Hero's form until he was sure she swallowed the medicine.

"Alright" Villian averted his gaze, setting the pill bottle on the bedside table. " Rest, I'll check on you in a bit".

Hero gave a small groan of protest, before giving in to sleep. "I want 4 times the payment for this trouble" Villain stood, grabbing his own change of clothes and towel, before going into the bathroom, closing the door. Villain allowed his thoughts to wander as he stripped himself, and went into the shower.

"Seems like there's a lot Hero isn't saying".

Villian recalled Hero's behavior and small breakdown. Maybe Hero was holding in a lot more than she showed. If so, it definitely taxed her mentality. Hero seemed broken, almost regretful in the moment of her outburst. "Hiding from secrets are we?.." Villain vacated himself from the shower, before sinking himself into the undermount bath.

Villain felt a smirk exhibit on his face. "Well Hero, let's see just how long you can hide, before I find every inch of  enigma"~

           ・┆✦ʚ♡ɞ✦ ┆・

Villain sat himself on the lounge couch positioned near the corner of the bedroom. Notebook in hand, Villian looked over the ideas in which Hero wrote down before falling unconscious. "Going in with just the two of us could work... however there are a few flaws". Villain took a sip of his hot tea, relishing in the warmth it brought to his chest. "No backup, we'll both be at a higher risk of getting caught...maybe we'll meet up with Task Force 114 and Faccina' Squad- if they stick to the mission." Villian listed as he wrote pros and cons.

Villain's eyes scanned over Hero's form, as she stirred in her sleep. 'perhaps with more rest she would be better by tomorrow '. Villain stood, stretching, before placing the notebook on the bedside table. Hero's hand reached out, grabbing Villain's sleeve, leaving to meet Hero's sleepy eyes...pleading.

"Jeez Hero... you're honestly rash when you're sick. Villian slipped himself into the other side of the bed.

"Can't fail the mission..do whatever it takes"

Hero mumbled.

"What if you need something I can't provide? I suppose this is fine, as I would like to keep an eye on your recovery as well as make sure you're not snooping around."

"M' okie...I'll tough it out ".

'I knew it. Hero's definitely got a lot of history'.

"You're lucky I managed to pull some strength together, otherwise you'd probably be spiraling into the highest fever you've ever had. What kind of idiot doesn't take medicine for a Shadow Storm?"

"Sh... Shadow Storm"? Hero turned on her side, facing Villain.

"Yes..please tell me you know that's what's out there.."

Hero only shook her head.

"Hero! What the heck! You do know what it is, no?"

"..."

"Of course. I should have noticed. A Shadow Storm isn't just any regular storm. It's often formed by the negative emotions of a person depending on the severity it can be fatal to anyone in its path. Many people have negative emotions, yes. However, not always to the extent that it forms a Shadow Storm. It tends to take quite a lot, also the reason many people like to be alone when they're" upset" . 

Hero gave a soft nod, blinking lazily.

"It can also be done manually, many steely castors tend to do so when trying to catch someone or fight on a large mass of land. I believe that's how we got split up from our teams. I'm not sure if it was a castor however I have reason to believe so do it the Strom following us. Had it been aimlessly roaming, I'd have assumed someone nearby was in a rather sour mood.  Anyway, like any storm you could get sick by it, however it's much more severe and often disorients the affected person. The fever tends to sneak up on you, and the storm itself tends to follow, and eventually fade away. You may or may not experience the castor's mood, or dramatically changing your mood which is where it gets it's name "Shadow Storm".

"Right"..

"Rest up, Hero". Villian laid on his back, closing his eyes.

Hero gave a quiet "Kay" before swiftly falling into slumber.

.

.

.

Honestly, the worst fever I ever had, I couldn't move, I was delirious, and I was stressed so bad.

Aside from that...part 3 may be soon. Until then Sweet Dreams ~ 🖤🐇🖤

#writing prompts #writing snippet #writing things #fic prompt #writing challenges and prompts #writing prompt #hero and villain prompts #hero x villain #hero x villain community #heroes and villains community #creative writers #villain and hero #enemies to lovers #enemies to lovers prompts #oblivious enemies to lovers

[wh0refornikolailantsov]

omfg I loved "Almosts" for Tolya - could we see a part 2? like more of the aftermath? also Zoya is a queen and I adore her

Zoya is a Queen and we all bow to Queen Zoya in this house my WIFE. But also, thank you and I aim to please so

Almosts (Part 2) - Tolya Yul Bataar

Grisha Reader, Order Unspecified.

Trigger Warning On This One Pals.

Content Warnings: Discussions Of Self Sacrifice And Prisoner Mentality. Discussions Of Torture, Severe Harm And Death. Canon Complaint Death And Violence. Kidnapping. Explicit Language. Not Beta/Proof Read.

Part 1

Nina gives you just as much as a talking to, but she understands it, more vibrantly than Zoya, having been more close to what you have, it is easier to understand your position. It's Tolya that you know will get you.

You know that he knows why you... but it didn't matter. Not right now. Right now, those soft eyes look like they could cut right through you. You know you will break under the weight of his concern.

So when you are finally alone with him, having had every healer from here to the coastline check you over and say you're physically okay, you aren't sure where to start.

"Tolya," you say, softer than you thought it would come out, still not able to knock the pleaing feeling from using his name. The thoughts of how many times you said it to yourself, in the quiet, like it might be the last thing you heard. Him. His name. The thought of him coming for you. That was all that stood between the torture and your breaking point.

You kept his name to your chest like a prayer, like saying it could save you, and part of you believes it did. He would've come for you in silence, he would've come for you if you hadn't wished for it, he would've come for you if you'd given up, given in. It would've have mattered to him. But you didn't, you couldn't, you would have rather died than given him up and that knowledge is ringing out like bells in the silence.

"You knew I would come for you, right?" he asks again, as if he doubted your answer the first time, like it was possible it was in the haze.

"I never doubted you Tolya, not for a moment, it was never if, only when," you assure him.

You don't want to think about if he had been much later, even moments later. What you would have left him to find, and what that would've meant. How you could never have explained your choice to him, how you would have never gotten the chance to tell him you held out the time you did, for him, to protect him. To protect your family here.

"And I didn't know if it would be in time," you admit.

"They wouldn't have killed you," Zoya says eavesdropping from the doorway.

"You know that's not what I mean," you eye her, "not in time to stop me saying something I can't take back."

Zoya looks fit to start a whirlwind in the room but Tolya gives her a glance, "can you be anywhere else right now?" he asks her, the tiredness not unfamiliar but lacking his usual wit and charm at getting on Zoya's nerves.

Zoya seems reluctant to leave you alone for any long period of time, it feels strange, you hadn't ever considered her being particularly protective over you, but maybe in hindsight she always has been, like with Nina, or maybe recent events has brought it out in here. But she leaves with an iciness around her, entrusting your safety to Tolya, in truth no one has ever made you feel safer than he does.

You don't say anything for a while, until you lean into him, letting the exhaustion move through you until his strength is all that is keeping you up, he becomes the pillar you lean on. He rests his arm around you, his spare hand moving to hold yours, running his thumb over your palm in small circles.

"I didn't mean to scare you," you tell him.

"I understand the position you were in," he whispers softly against your hair as he rests his head atop of yours, "but I meant what I said."

You don't ask him what, you don't need some clarification on what he means, because you know. You could not forgot those words and there are no other things he could possibly mean in this moment.

"Then betray me," he had, and if your heart had made a sound you doubted either of you could've heard it over the ringing of his words, "if it keeps you safe, it keeps you from harm, betray me, always betray me. I can forgive betrayal, but I cannot forgive the loss of you. I could overcome betrayal, but I can not overcome the loss of you."

"Tolya, I couldn't live with betraying you," you say, wishing you had a better answer, a softer resolve, but you have nothing to offer him except the truth.

"Losing you would've been the betrayal," he says, "and I do not say that to put guilt on your conscience but just for you to know that there is no way that you could betray me, no thing you could say, no secrets you could offer up, that would be worse than knowing you are in harms way because you think that better than telling things that are not yours to tell." You held out as well because the knowledge you had was keeping you safe as you were getting, and that was a tactic for survival as much as for loyalty, but the pull of protecting your friends, of protecting Tolya, that had been the strength that kept answers from your lips and you all know that well enough.

"You want me to promise you that I will betray you next time?" you ask. He shakes his head, a soft exhale leaving his lips.

"No, I want it to never happen, I want no next time," he tells you, "but that is not a thing I can have bound in a promise."

"I promise to try and not get kidnapped," you offer, trying to lighten the mood and sway the sadness out of his posture, "and if I do... Saints forbid, I'll do everything I can to give myself the time for you to reach me, I promise you that Tolya."

"I couldn't ask for more."

Tolya is asleep, and you are barely still awake, lain against his shoulder, you are slightly stirred by the sound of something touching the table to the side of you. You open one eye to see Zoya. You shuffle slightly and notice the blanket covering you both, that must've been Tamar, so you figure you dozed off listening to Tolya's heart at some point.

It's dark in the room, a slither of moonlight letting you make out Zoya's expression. "I had a durast make the adjustments," she tells you, "it's a promise, the same as before, but a different one."

You don't let Zoya get as far as the door before you grab the object from the table, it's the same metal she had taken off you when she rescued you, that slither of a blade meant as a promise to give up before you give in. But it's all different now, twisted and woven into a wrist cuff.

"Thank you Zoya," you tell her. Her back is turn to you, so you don't see that faint smile dance over her lips.

"Please, let's not get sentimental."

#shadow and bone #grishaverse #tolya yul bataar #tolya #tolya x reader #tolya my darling i adore you

[ateez-himari]

[PRAY - single by Agust D & Himari]

So that I may depend on something and live on

Featured Tracks - SNOOZE Lyrics: Agust D, Himari Arrangement: Agust D Length: 4:24 mins CONFESSIONS Lyrics: Agust D, Himari Arrangement: Agust D, Himari Length: 3:51 mins HIKIKOMORI Lyrics: August D, Himari Arrangement: Himari Length: 3:43 mins

BEHIND THE SCENES

[Suga: Road to D-Day Interview & Vogue Japan Interview]

Snooze

The song is a conversation between both artists where Agust D comforts Himari by saying that he will always stand by her whether she is to succeed or make mistakes and fall, using his own experience to guide her through the harshness of idol life. Meanwhile through her verses the younger idol starts off in a state of distress, reflecting on just how difficult this career path is before slowly diverging into a more experienced point of view where she starts using the advice given to her. The lyrics lightly fade into positivity to reflect them having found their strengths to stand against the negativity, this time affirming to each other that no matter what as long as they stand side by side everything will be okay.

Confessions

The song starts off with Himari's verse where she essentially speaks into a mirror, recalling the difficulties she faced or continues to face all the while trying to comfort the version of herself experiencing pain. The chorus is sung by both and is an illustration of them being desperate for help, for someone to help them live and feeling so helpless that they begin praying for a miracle to give them the strength they believe to be lacking. Agust D's verse is almost identical in meaning though instead of attempting to comfort the 'weakened' part of himself he simply reflects on the pain he felt all the while questioning why it is him that must experience it. Around the end the lyrics sounding like prayers are an admission of all the things that the two artists have ever been desperate for during their harsh times.

Hikikomori

The word used as the title stands for someone seeking an extreme degree of isolation, a phenomenon where people (mainly adolescents) withdraw from society for more than six months. Both artists stated that as idols they have to put on a mask in front of fans, not letting the public see that hate comments or rumors weigh heavy on their mental health, not letting them see the exhaustion, the image issues they develop, etc. The only moment they can truly let themselves feel everything they had been hiding deep down is when there are no cameras in sight, which is where the 'seeking isolation' comes in. Keeping their emotions hidden deep down for a long time becomes too painful to bear so there are times where they found themselves trying to be completely alone just to be able to let themselves cry and release all the pent up negativity.

Behind the collaboration

When Agust D was writing his D-Day album he wished to bring the younger idol into it as it was going to be his last release before leaving for mandatory military service and he wanted her to sing beside him at least once as she played a big role in his life. After putting some thought into the idea he decided that, if she was to agree with it, he would rather create a separate single where they would get a chance to express themselves as both individual and intertwined people since despite each having busy careers they had a big impact on one another. Even with this separate project she is still present in his album as backing vocals.

Snooze Music Video

They wanted the story to stay as authentic to themselves as possible so instead of filming the entire video from scratch a lot of scenes were real videos taken when they got the chance to hang out with each other and the text messages on the billboards were from real conversations they had.

#ateez 9th member #ateez au #ateez extra member #ateez female member #ateez imagines #kpop oc #bts imagines

[lightandheatao3]

The Bunker - Criminal Minds

Chapter 2: The Inevitable

Summary: Spencer Reid wakes up in a locked bunker to find half the current BAU and two of its departed members unconscious on the floor. The old team is back together but the reunion is not what any of them would have wished for. An Unsub from their past has decided it's time they all stop keeping secrets, even if it means exposing them by force.

Hotch and Derek have been pulled back into a world they tried to escape. Emily, Rossi, and JJ are doing their best to keep it together. Spencer is falling apart.

AKA a found family is reunited and forced to go through the most nightmarish version of family therapy imaginable.

Set months after the end of Criminal Minds: Evolution. Evolution referenced, but not necessary to understand the story.

Chapter Summary: Spencer knows what's about to happen. Unfortunately, that doesn't mean he's prepared to deal with it

Read chapter 2 on AO3 or under the cut. All comments and reblogs are so appreciated <3

Chapter 1 link

There was no sunlight. No clocks on the wall. They had been stripped of their watches and phones. They had no way of being certain how long they’d been trapped.

Spencer had a pretty good idea, though. Cool air flowed in from the small vent in the roof but sweat beaded on his brow.

They were all sat leaned against various sections of wall. The room was big enough that they had to raise their voices slightly to ensure they were heard from the opposite wall.

“Are you doing alright, Spence?” asked JJ, then rolled her eyes at herself for the asinine question, given their current situation. “I mean, relatively speaking, obviously. You look a little pale.”

“Just exhausted,” he said.

Please please please someone break the door down and let them out.

They had spent a long time analyzing the note and had come to the conclusion that whoever wrote and delivered the note was a woman. The hand size, the passive language, the fixation on teaching them a lesson. The apparent belief that she was helping them, justifying her cruelty with compassion. All of it added up to a female Unsub.

They had debated heavily if she might have an accomplice. It would have taken a significant degree of physical strength to subdue them all. Even intravenous drugs don’t knock someone out instantaneously. In addition, the site of injection was incredibly precise and nearly identical on each of them. This would only be possible by holding them very still, likely with a headlock from behind.

An accomplice certainly seemed possible, but at this stage they had no hard evidence to support it.

Everyone looked to Spencer to compile a mental list of all female Unsubs they dealt with while the team was in this particular configuration. Nobody quite fit the profile.

Antonia Slade was intelligent enough and had a history of taking her victims in to care for them before she killed them, but she wouldn’t hide behind a door. She would gloat. He wouldn’t put it past Lindsey Vaughn. She was resourceful. It’s not her MO, but she’d been known to be adaptable when a good opportunity to fuck with them presented itself. But that didn’t explain why she’d gone after them but not Luke and Tara, who she’d also dealt with.

Spencer pointed out to the team he kept tabs on Vaughn in prison, given everything that happened in Mexico. She could theoretically operate via proxy, but he was pretty confident she wasn’t their Unsub.

Truthfully, there were no good candidates. Whoever was doing this was going to need to give them something more to go off if they wanted a chance of piecing it together.

The fluorescent lights buzzed.

Once again he was living under the looming threat of violence and death but all he could think about was how terrified he was to be seen by the people he loved.

There were too many people in too small a space. He had his arms crossed tightly over his midriff to hide the fact his hands were shaking.

Everyone agreed there was no merit to speculating on what secrets she was referencing. For all they knew that was her plan. Get them to reveal information she could use against them, or get them fighting amongst themselves.

There was an invisible ticking clock. Spencer could hear it like it was real. Each second that ticked by was one closer to the moment where his most pressing secret revealed itself anyway thanks to his uncooperative body.

Nobody had spoken for a long time when Rossi piped up, “When do you think dinner is?”

They all stared at him. Hotch raised an eyebrow. “Feeling peckish?”

“If she wants to keep us imprisoned for the duration, surely she plans to feed us.” He looked up at the camera on the roof and raised his voice. “If you’re taking orders, I would love osso buco and a glass of the ’95 Chateaux Latour!”

JJ laughed. “Could you throw in a carbonara for me?”

“And a carbonara!” he demanded from the camera. “Real egg, none of that cream shit.” He looked around the room. “Any other orders? I hear the food here is excellent.”

“Ribeye on the bone, medium rare, a side of fries with a Bearnaise sauce,” said Derek, closing his eyes and giving a satisfied sigh.

“Oh, that’s a good one,” said JJ.

“Yeah, I’ll have what he’s having,” said Emily. “Throw in a pinot for me.”

“What vintage?” asked Rossi.

“Whatever one tastes best chugged straight from the bottle.”

Spencer smiled at them. Truthfully the thought of food was making his stomach turn violently, but he played anyway. “I’ll take a cheeseburger from Bernard's Burgers,” he said simply.

The others hummed in approval. They all cast their eyes to Hotch. He hesitated. Eventually, he said, “There’s a seafood restaurant a couple of blocks from where I live that has the best lobster you’ll ever try. You wouldn’t expect it from a landlocked state, but there’s nothing like it.”

Everyone nodded, satisfied with their imaginary feast.

“Not to keep bugging you, kid, but are you sure you’re alright?” asked Derek. “You’re not looking so hot.”

“I’m fine,” he said. “I’ve been kind of off the last couple of days. I might be coming down with something. Sorry if you all catch it,” he said with his best impression of sincerity.

Derek made an ‘oof’ noise. “How’s that for timing?” he asked lightheartedly, though his eyes lingered longer than was entirely comfortable.

After another moment Rossi spoke again. “How long do you think we’ve been in here?”

“14 hours since we woke up,” said Spencer without missing a beat.

They all stared at him. “How the hell do you do that?” said Rossi, impressed.

He shrugged. Truthfully, he didn’t have the best internal clock. It was very easy for him to get lost in thought and lose track of time. The piercing headache and rising nausea were making him acutely aware of every passing minute.

That was how it went with this sort of thing. You had to develop a routine, especially if you wanted to function. He knew exactly how long he could go before he started getting sick. He scheduled his entire life around it.

The Unsub had clearly figured out their routines. Even if she hadn’t, the evidence of Spencer’s habits were strew across the bedside table in the room he was taken from.

He dug his nails into his arms through his sleeves. Time was running out. It was all getting away from him.

As if the Unsub had been reading his mind, the chamber on the door opened.

Derek was faster this time, managing to get his face right up to the chamber while the external hatch was still wide open.

“Talk to us!” he yelled. “We know you’re trying to teach us a lesson,” he said, an empathetic lilt pasted onto his voice. “We just want to know more. We want you to help us understand.”

A gloved hand deposited an unmarked brown paper shopping bag. The external hatch closed. The internal one released. Derek bowed his head as their captor left with no response. “She must be positioning herself to the side of the door. I still couldn’t see anything more than a hand. She’s careful, but we knew that already.”

Derek took the bag out and they all crowded around it cautiously.

It was packed full of fruit. Emily picked up an apple, turning it over in her hand.

With all eyes focused on her, she carefully took a bite.

She chewed, then swallowed.

“It tastes normal,” she assured them. “Give it half an hour to an hour to see if it has any effects on me, but I don’t think poisoning the food fits this woman’s MO.”

“I agree,” said Hotch, taking a pear. He followed Emily’s lead and cautiously bit into it. He nodded at the others.

The first rule of being held captive was to always take your food and water where you could get it. You never knew when your supply could be cut off.

They all reached in and took a piece of fruit, including Spencer. He had no desire to eat, but he knew he had to keep his strength up and get what he could down while it was still possible.

As he took his orange, he uncovered a note at the bottom of the bag. JJ saw it too, reaching in and grabbing it before he could.

They all watched her expectantly.

“Your room must always be clean. After you eat, put the food scraps in the bag and the bag in the chamber. There are consequences for breaking rules. Now, as a reward for good behavior, I will take away the burden of lies that weighs one of you down. If Dr Reid-”

She paused, reading further down the note, furrowing her brow.

They all stared at him. He tugged at his sleeves nervously.

“Keep going,” said Emily to JJ, though her eyes were fixed firmly on him.

JJ looked at him apologetically. He looked at the floor. She continued, “If Dr Reid is sick, it is only because he is missing his medicine. I gave you all a taste of it to get you here. I hope you don’t catch his disease.”

She dropped the note like it was radioactive. She mouthed the word 'sorry' at him, knowing as well as he did the shit show that was about to errupt. Derek immediately picked the note up. He looked over it himself like he didn’t want to believe JJ had read it accurately.

He looked back at Spencer.

They were all staring at him.

Instinct told him to run, but there was nowhere for him to go. Instead he stood and waited for the concrete beneath his feet to turn to liquid and encase him.

They were waiting for him to talk first.

He couldn’t.

“What’s she talking about, pretty boy?” asked Derek, finally taking pity on him and breaking the silence.

He took a few steps back, suddenly acutely aware of how close they were after gathering around the bag of fruit. “I have no idea,” he said petulantly, cringing at himself for it.

“It’s alright, kid,” said Rossi sympathetically. “Nobody is upset, just talk to us.”

Spencer’s brain sprinted in circles. Why did the lights have to be so bright?

He tried desperately to think of some clever way to talk himself out of it even though he’d figured out hours ago that this was going to happen. This Unsub’s plan was technically impressive, but it wasn’t exactly psychologically sophisticated. She wanted to out their secrets. This one was going to out itself pretty soon anyway, so of course she'd want to get to it first.

“Spencer,” said Emily, “How sick are you going to get?”

No is it true? Or does this mean what I think it means? Straight to believing it. They didn’t even look surprised. They looked like this was only confirming what they already knew. They looked sad.

Horribly, infuriatingly sad.

He ran a hand through his hair.

“The others are going to find us,” he insisted. “It doesn’t matter.”

He wished he could believe it, but he wished they could believe it even more.

“This is why you woke up before the rest of us,” said JJ softly. “Why you weren’t as affected. It’s because your tolerance is up.”

“You guys can see what she’s doing. She’s trying to pit us against each other,” he accused, wrapping his arms tighter around himself and taking another step back. "We're just playing into her fantasy."

“Don’t think about her right now,” said Emily. “If you’re going into withdrawal then we need to know exactly what to expect. Mind games can’t take precedence over your physical safety.”

“I’ll be fine. Opioid withdrawal has a statistically low mortality rate, with only 2% of the-”

“So it is opioid withdrawal?” She tilted her head. “Look at you, Spencer. You’re shaking, your skin is clammy. You said yourself, we’ve only been in here 14 hours! If it’s this bad already, how much worse is it going to get?”

“I don’t know!” he snapped. “Yes, fine, I’m going to get sick! What do you want me to say?”

“Easy, pretty boy,” said Derek gently. “This isn't an attack. The fact is, we’re all locked in here together and this is happening whether we like it or not. We just need you to tell us exactly how bad this is going to get.”

“I don’t know,” he said shortly.

“Yes, you do,” countered Emily. “You cold give us a detailed breakdown of the symptoms, timeline, and risk factors of an opioid detox based on frequency and duration of usage. You just don’t want to admit how much and for how long you’ve been using because it’s bad, right?” she said. Typical Emily, so pragmatic. There would be plenty of time for sentiment once she had a plan, but no sooner. “This isn’t just a slip, is it? You’re shooting up again and have been for a while.”

Spencer flinched. So did everyone else.

All eyes were on him, but for some reason it was Hotch’s gaze he caught. The man hadn’t said anything the entire exchange. Just stood at the back of the group and watched carefully.

When their eyes met, Hotch gave him a tight, sympathetic smile.

Spencer looked at a spot just behind Emily’s head and spoke quietly. “I… I’ll be fine, Emily. I’ll get sick but I’ll get better. It’s not the first time. I don’t need your help.”

“Roll up your sleeves,” she demanded.

He sputtered, “What? No!”

“Emily,” said Rossi placatingly. “Take a beat.”

She ignored him. “If you won’t tell us what to expect then show us. Spencer, I know this is fucking awful and believe me this is not the way I would like to have this conversation,” she said, gesturing to the oppressive room. “I am so sorry for not seeing what was happening and helping you sooner,” she said sincerely. “The least I can do is make sure you get through this safely.”

Even as he said it, he could feel himself regretting it, but before he could stop himself, “Fuck off Emily,” had slipped out his mouth.

JJ gasped and Derek interjected with a stern “Hey! I know this sucks but do not speak to her that way.”

“It’s fine,” said Emily. “I’m not trying to be condescending, Spencer. I’m just scared. I want to help.”

She sounded excruciatingly sincere. It made his blood boil.

“No,” he snapped, stepping back again until he felt the wall hit him. “None of you were there the other times I had to do this, and now you want me to defer to your expertise? What the hell do you know? What do any of you actually know? If you wanted to do an intervention you should have done it after Tobias Hankle, but none of you said anything and I don’t need you like that anymore,” he spat.

Emily’s eyes were wide with shock.

Spencer's words surprised himself just as much as the rest of them.

“I’m sorry,” she said, taken aback. “You’re right. I should have said something back then.”

Guilt twisted its way through the panic and rage, settling into his chest.

They were all trapped down there together and here he was punishing Emily for caring. He tried his best to hold onto the anger. To wrap himself in it. He could feel it slipping away.

Hotch stepped forward. Spencer had almost forgotten he was there.

“I was team leader at the time of the Hankle case. I’m the one who decided not to intervene,” he said firmly. “Emily brought her concerns to me and I shut them down because I was afraid if word got out you would lose your job, making your situation worse. I trusted that you were strong enough to recover. And you were. But you never should have done so without proper support. I regret that, Reid, and I always will.”

Maybe it was the stark inevitability catching up with him that there was simply no way to avoid going through withdrawal in front of them. Maybe it was the way his eyes kept searching for an exit he knew didn't exist. Maybe it was thinking about Tobias Hankle. All these years and all the other traumas, and a part of him was still stuck in that cabin in Georgia. A part of him always would be. Whatever it was, the fight left him.

He was still pressed up against the wall, and he slid down it until he was sitting on the cold concrete floor. The others sat too.

“I don’t know why I said that. I’m not angry about it anymore. Or, at least… I’m not angry at any of you,” he said, chancing an apologetic glance at Emily. “Maybe at Gideon, still. But what’s the point in that?”

“When someone who hurt you is gone it doesn’t take away the scars,” said Rossi. “I loved Gideon, but he made mistakes. It’s okay to be pissed about it.”

“Do you guys really want to hear all this?” asked Spencer skeptically.

They might say that’s what they want, but the subject of his addiction had never felt particularly welcome. They had always flinched away from it, just as they had only a minute ago when Emily referenced him shooting up.

He certainly didn’t want their pity or concern.

“Of course we do,” said Emily, with the others nodding emphatically.

He hesitated. They already knew, he reminded himself. They were asking because they care about him and because the secret was already out. He couldn't put it back.

“2 years. Or 1 year, 11 months, and 3 days, to be precise.”

Silence. He wanted to say stunned silence? But it could have as easily been disgust. He couldn’t tell.

“How is that possible?” asked Derek, deceptively calm.

“We couldn’t miss the signs for that long,” said JJ disbelievingly.

“It’s been on and off,” he clarified. “I was only using in between cases when I was last working with the BAU.” Then, sheepishly, “Mostly." There were some cases... well. He'd done his best. "You would be surprised how easy it is to miss substance abuse in people close to you. One study showed that up to 60% of heroin users are what we call ‘functional addicts,’ meaning they can hold down fulltime employment, social lives, and sometimes even have their addiction go unnoticed by intimate partners for months or years at a time,” he rattled off, before catching the look in his friends’ eyes and stopping. “It isn’t your fault,” he said simply. “I’ve been avoiding you on purpose. Not to mention you base your warning signs on how I behaved when I first became addicted, expecting me to be volatile and disorganized. But I’m not 25 and in the immediate aftermath of a traumatic event anymore. I have more control. It’s not a problem like it was back then,” he assured them.

“Feels like a pretty big problem right now,” said Rossi.

“Functional addicts don’t stay functional forever, pretty boy,” said Derek. “I’m sure you know the other side of those statistics.”

“I don’t have a large enough dataset to offer credible statistics on the amount of opioid addicts who get kidnapped and forced to detox in bunkers. In retrospect, I should have realized that I am an outlier who should have expected something like this to happen,” he deadpanned.

“Well, we’re all outliers vis a vis kidnappings,” replied Emily dryly. "I'm sure that makes you feel better."

“I hate doing this while we’re being watched,” he said. “It feels like we’re encouraging her. This is exactly the outcome she was hoping for. It’s why she dosed you all with opioids instead of using pure sedatives. Just to taunt me.”

“Don’t worry about that now,” said Hotch. “What matters is that we get you through withdrawal. We need accurate information to ensure we know what to do.”

“I know,” he admitted reluctantly. He took a long, slow breath. “Ask me whatever you need to,” he said, directing it to Emily.

He wished he was high right now. He’d give anything for a hit.

Emily nodded; sentiment once again pushed down the line to when the job was done. “Dilaudid?”

“It’s whatever is easiest to get.”

“So, heroin,” she clarified.

He looked at his lap. “It doesn't make a difference to the withdrawal process. It’s all derivatives of the same compound.”

“It makes a difference to your risk of overdose,” she clarified, “but you’re right, that’s not an immediate concern,” she agreed. “Needles?”

He nodded, not looking at them.

“It’s okay, kid,” said Rossi. “We’re not judging.”

He didn’t really believe that, so he didn’t respond to it.

“Every day? If so, how many times a day?” Emily asked.

“It was previously more intermittent, as I said, but for the past 8 months or so It has been twice a day at a minimum.” A beat. "Usually more."

“Okay. Thank you for telling us all that. I know this isn’t easy,” she said. “I just have one more question for now. Is there any risk that you have an infection?”

“All intravenously administered drugs come with a statistically significant risk of infection,” he said, ready to ramble about it before she threw up a hand to preemptively cut him off. “I always use sterile equipment and alcohol wipes. I’m fine.”

“You are anything but fine, pretty boy,” said Derek, shaking his head. “But we’ll get you through this.”

“That would be more comforting if we weren’t locked in a bunker by a serial killer.”

“Minor problem,” Derek joked. “Consider it a study on innovative approaches to running a rehabilitation facility.”

Spencer didn't laugh. Neither did anyone else. JJ placed her hand on his shoulder and squeezed.

He caught Hotch's eye again, briefly.

Had any of them ever really had a shot at escaping their pasts or was this all inevitable? He wasn't getting clean by choice. Hotch wasn't there in the bunker to reconnect with them. Spencer was struck by the reality that proximity did not always mean closeness.

He was already thinking about the moment he could get out of here and get high again. Was Hotch just counting the seconds until he could disappear from their lives forever?

Assuming they didn't all just die, of course.

Maybe that's what he should be focusing on now. Just don't die. Figure out the rest later.

He leaned into JJ, letting her put an arm around him. The red light from the camera blinked down at them.

#criminal minds fandom #criminal minds #criminal minds fic #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid #spencer reid angst #aaron hotchner #derek morgan #emily prentiss #jennifer jareau #david rossi #bau team #bau team as family #criminal minds evolution

[badnikbreaker]

AMY AND HER SUPER STATE! aaron inspired me, and since i've drawn amy's super state recently, i thought i'd talk about my magical girl's abilities as a super! this is gonna get long, so under the cut it goes —

i've chatted before about amy could go super at any time, at least physically — they're actually a natural match for chaos energy and innately skilled at handling and using it. the problem is that amy's self - esteem is in the metaphorical gutter; the chaos emeralds react to the heart, and amy believes, deep in their heart, that they're not all that capable. the emeralds just aren't going to react to that — or, worse, they're going to make it true.

that being said, if they were to go super, their power is off the charts. like, they'd be one of the most powerful superstates in the gang, and i don't just mean in the obvious ways. their physical strength is multiplied exponentially, and they're able to manifest new constructs; bigger, stronger hammers, sure. but also shields, armor, even weapons like missiles or a hail of bullets — the possibilities are limited solely by amy's imagination.

but that's not where the true trump card lies. amy's strongest, rarest power is her ability to wish and love so hard that those wishes become reality — this is how she initially wished her hammer into existence ( and, to a lesser extent, part of what makes her so adept as reaching 'unreachable' people ). when she's trying to create new objects when not empowered by the emeralds, she experiences reality as a wall she's pushing against, trying to break. my point is that amy, at a base level, can already warp reality in the form of creating objects from thing — it's just that it's exceptionally difficult so they haven't managed it since the hammer. chaos is power enriched by the heart, and there's no one who's heart is as strong as amy's. chaos energy is almost designed to make wishes real, and amy can already do that at a base level.

forget about creating new objects out of nothing. when tapped in and confident? amy can outright change reality! about to get hit by a missile? she wishes the missile wasn't there, and it isn't. injured? she wishes you were healed, and you are. losing the fight? not for long! reality is what she wishes it to be!

there are limits to this, obviously — the biggest one being that large - level rewrites of reality of that sort are exhausting. in the same way sonic isn't 'hurt' if he gets hit in his super state but does lose rings, reality warping aside from creating new constructs dramatically cuts into her time as a super. ( and, no, she can't simply wish she had more time. that sort of magic cancels itself out. ) it's in her best interest to stick to constructs as much as she can to extend her longevity.

it's harder to qualify, but — amy's love gets amplified, too. those around them can feel it. can understand their intentions and their sincerity perfectly, know without a shadow of a doubt that amy's resolve is unbreakable because it stems from their love. it's not an overwriting of wills, but a sharing — suddenly everyone in the vicinity is acutely aware of amy's loving feelings, and is experiencing those feelings along with them.

—— there are downsides, of course. because amy is so uniquely suited to chaos energy, actually going super takes a great deal out of her, especially if she made multiple 'wishes' in that sate. coming out of it, she's exhausted, both physically and mentally — and emotionally. having so much freedom in her ability to ignore reality and so much connection to others in her ability to literally share her feelings leads to her normal form feeling claustrophobic for a while; reality feels heavier, trapping her, and she feels more isolated and disconnected from others simply due to how stark the contrast is. after sharing her feelings freely, experiencing them with everyone, feeling only for herself feels terribly small and isolating. for these reasons, while amy's a BEAST in her super form, she needs more support after than most of the others do. she especially needs additional assurance that she's not alone — and that others can still understand and believe in her feelings. that connection isn't impossible.

#amy : headcanon.

[greypetrel]

WIP Wednesday

Thank you both for the tag, @melisusthewee and @scribbledquillz and @shivunin (check the irony, I was editing this post and you tagged me too, and it's... On theme with yours, LOL)! :D

Ok, so... Something I jolted and I sincerely don't know if I'll ever finish, so take it as you wish. It's... gloomy and she's not in a good mental space and I kinda don't know where to go from there, any input is welcomed.

Because you see, I saw this post and could see Aisling getting outraged and marching in to just... Correct him because not on her watch. And the angsty AU came back.

Tagging: @ndostairlyrium @daggerbean @oxygenforthewicked @whimsyswastry @zenstrike @idolsgf (feel free to ignore it of course!)

The Patron Saint of the Lost Causes. (.)

Nightmares still plagued her, and it didn’t matter if she was constantly surrounded by people. People who were kind to her, people who professed friendship. Aisling Lavellan had closed her heart many years ago, and the very idea of opening up and being thrown in the gutter yet again was just not appealing anymore.

Day after day, little changed. Wake up screaming from nightmares, calm yourself down, ask Cole to get down the bed and out of her room, remind him that it’s not polite to enter rooms uninvited. Fingers touching in a practiced rhythm, meditate until sunrise. Garden, stables, breakfast and War Council. Lunch with Cullen, library with Dorian, library with Solas and Radha. Tea with nobles, dinner in the Dining Hall, back to her room to read and wait for exhaustion to catch her. Rinse and repeat.

Nothing really mattered, nothing had really mattered in a long time, she hadn’t allowed it to matter not to get hurt again. It was comfortable enough living in lukewarm, still water, nothing bad can happen if you don’t give it the chance.

But now, walking past Bonny’s stall and coming to look at the paddock, something old stirred in her. She hated it. And felt the water starting to move, breath back with the tide.

Having Fenris in the Keep cause a wave. Having talked with him after Adamant caused more. Knowing she had his heart from the start and… Their life came in between. Knowing she still had him if she wanted. The water started to move with the tide.

There he was, lean and wiry with muscle, on top of a horse, in the centre of the paddock. Horse-riding practice was free for everyone, she had insisted that everyone travelling with her, inner circle, scouts and soldiers alike should be well-acquainted with horses but… She debated whether to run back and hide in her room, avoid him, keep the water still. It would be better. It would be kinder for the both of them, not dragging at old and new wounds. Cut the bridge for good, don’t linger.

And yet, he was there.

And his legs were straight on the sides of the saddle, unnoticed by Dennet concentrated on other riders. The stirrups were too long, forcing his legs to stay perfectly straight at the side of the horse.

He always had been a terrible rider, even in the clan. He never learnt in those years, that much was clear.

And that poor horse. She couldn't stand to look a poor horse dealing with unnecessary discomfort, could he?

Once, she mocked him constantly for his scarce ability, and he mocked her lack of physical strength or naivete. Ages ago, it felt like she was a different person.

And yet, the tide came in and she was still the same person. More guarded, more scared, but… But she was also the Inquisitor, and the Inquisitor didn’t hesitate. She moved almost out of her own will, bending her back and swaying inside the paddock with a purpose, back straight and coming right to his foot. He saw her coming, she didn’t need to look to know, and if he was surprised, he didn’t say anything of it. She pushed his foot out of the stirrup, and began to work on the belt that kept it connected to the saddle. A horrible wooden one, she noticed with a snort.

“If you’re standing on the stirrups, you’ll hurt the horse and you’ll fall in the first ten minutes at best.”

She explained, pushing his foot back in the stirrup by his ankle once to try if the length was good. Better than before, but it was too short now, she didn’t really remember how much taller than her he was.

“Yes, Inquisitor.”

Fenris replied, letting her work and following her movement. She tried not to notice how comfortable it was that they still knew how to move around the other so well, that she needn’t speak for him to understand what she wanted. Beside Radha, she had to speak with everyone, those days, and some silent company felt like a blessing. A very melancholic blessing. One leg done, she turned behind the horse to reach the other.

“Shouldn’t you avoid the horse’s back?” He asked.

“Yes, if you’re a newbie.”

Aisling found his right foot already out of the stirrup. Fixing the second was quicker, the measure already known. That she still pushed to move his foot into the metal, carefully, was absolutely nothing to worry about. A small indulgence out of professionality.

“And keep your back straight, you’re not a shrimp.”

“Takes one to know one.”

She peeked up just to see his lip cracks in a smile, as he looked down and met her eyes. She could touch the melancholy in his eyes, she shared it. She shouldn’t indulge she should run right back and keep away, give the both of them time. She helped him because it was kind, and she didn’t want him to fall from horseback, she would have done the same for anyone, it was nothing special. And yet, being there brought her back to years before, to back when she was just Aisling and carefree, and they bickered as if it was second nature. It was soothing in a way, it smelled of normality, and it was almost oxymoric. She never thought things could be normal with him again.

A step back, a grin, and she packed the horse’s bottom, enough to make the horse neigh and start to run.

“Always look forward, Broody.”

She smiled as he snapped forward, cursing in Tevene as he tried to stay on top of the horse and regain control. It felt good, even if it was sad. But sadness was her constant companion, and she walked beside it like an old friend.

Maybe she could do this. Maybe she could let go.

Maybe letting down a brick of two was ok, and they could return to being friends.

#wip wednesday #dragon age #fenris x lavellan #cuties coexisting #writing petrel

[virtie333]

20 fanfic questions

Thank you, so much @otterandterrier for the tag!!!!

How many works do you have on AO3?

97. Though I plan to start posting #98 on Monday!

2. What's your total AO3 words count?

813,847 (!!!!!!!!!)

3. What fandoms do you write for?

Star Wars (sequel trilogy mostly, but some original trilogy), The X-Files, and currently working on my first Moon Knight fic.

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

Kinetic (Damerey) - 245 Flight 814 (The X-Files) - 161 Eyes In the Night (The X-Files) - 160 My Best Friend's Weddings (Damerey) - 144 Let's Get This Show on the Road (The x-Files) - 127

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

Absolutely! I love kudos, but I live for comments. I don't always know what to say (other than 'thank you' and 'i wish i could hug you'), but I will always do my best to show them my gratitude.

6. What's the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

Well, I always write happy endings... unless I'm writing a series and I know I can drag it out a bit. Which means my angstiest ending was probably Let's Face the Music and Dance. I knew I was going to continue it, so I purposefully left it as a cliffhanger.

7. What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Almost all my fics have happy, sappy, fluffy endings.

8. Do you get hate on fics?

Not really. I have had one person complain about me calling my AUs 'Star Wars' because I could 'put any character in the story,' and I did get couple of complaints from Reylo fans because I tagged Rey/Ben (past relationship) on a Damerey story. This, of course, made me laugh. I can't even tell you how many times Reylo stories turn up in the Damerey tag. But, I've always been polite (if firm) in my responses.

9. Do you write smut. If so what kind?

I do. Back in my X-Files days, I had one reader call it 'classy smut.' I feel my style has changed a bit, but I hope it's still 'classy'! LOL It's mostly 'vanilla,' and will always be full of emotion, but I'm always willing to test my boundaries.

10. Do you write crossovers? What's the craziest one you've written?

Nope. I've never felt the urge.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

I was once told that one of my X-Files fics was stolen years ago, but I could never find any evidence.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

I have. I know I was asked for my permission on an X-File fic years ago, but I can't remember which fic or what language. Same with a Damerey fic more recently. I remember which fic, and I'm pretty sure I remember who asked, but I can't find it, so either it was deleted or my memory is faulty.

13. Have you ever cowritten a fic before?

Way back in the day, myself and a few other crazy X-File writers did a 'round robin' fic that got waaaaay out of control. We never finished it, and I have no clue if it's still hanging out on the Internet somewhere. BTW, I'm still friends with a couple of those writers; one of them was with my on my 50th birthday in Disneyland earlier this year!

14. What's your all-time favourite ship?

It's got to be Rey and Poe, the ship that never was. I still believe we were robbed. I adore them so much, however Mulder and Scully will always be special to me, too.

15. What's a WIP you want to finish, but doubt you ever will?

I will always finish my stories. If I don't, then you know something horrible happened to me.

16. What are your writing strengths?

I don't really know. I have been told that I am the 'queen of angst' and I've also been told that I write believable and realistic dialog.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

I can't stay on a consistent schedule. Part of this is due to my physical and mental health, I'm sure, but for every chapter I write, I've tried writing it ten times unsuccessfully first. Something (migraine, exhaustion, anxiety, stress, work) always gets in my way.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic?

I tend to make Poe Latino in my AUs, since Oscar Isaac is, but my Spanish sucks. I try to use as much as I can to give credit to him and his heritage, but not enough to embarrass myself. If I wasn't so busy trying to write these stories I might get down to actually learning the language!

19. First fandom you wrote for?

Wrote for? Star Wars. Han and Leia. I also wrote for Jack and Jennifer from Days of our Lives. Alas, none of these stories were ever read by anyone else (unless my mom snuck a peek). The X-Files was my first 'published' fandom.

20. Favourite fic you've ever written?

This is so hard! I actually really love them all. I don't understand writers who can write something and then try and forget about it. I think I put too much of myself in my stories. El Halcón will always have a special place, as it was my first Damerey AU. Kinetic is also pretty special, not only because it's my 'greatest hit,' but because it was the story that helped me through my suicidal era. My first X-File fic, The Letter, and my first Damerey fic, Rising, are both very close to my heart. Other faves include The Secret, Naboo, I See You, No Molestar (my first and still best drabble), The Back Corner (smut!), Tempest, Blind Faith, and She Makes Him Laugh. I'll stop there!

Tagging a few writer friends, if you want to do it! @randomfoggytiger, @my-secret-shame, @soft-girl-musings, @campingwiththecharmings, @the-little-ewok, @writefightandflightclub, @sperastella, and anyone else who sees this and wants to do it (it's after 1 in the morning, and I should be in bed!)

#tagged #writing #fanfiction #20 fanfic questions #the x files #mulder x scully #star wars #damerey #han x leia