#Invisible Chapter 12 | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

midastouch013 · 15 days

Text

"Find Me Attractive Again"

Based on this request

Summary: You had a wonderful girlfriend, and so what happens when you discover she has an eating disorder

Warnings: Eating disorder, Hurt Nat, Sad Nat, Neglecting Y/n. Panic Attacks. Purging, throwing up. Major hurt/comfort, from both sides.

P.S I wasn't really satisfied with the ending, so I apologise. I also took my own spin on it since it was kind vague, so I hope you like it'.

P.S.S And also, after such heavy fics, I'd really like for someone to drop me a fluffy one, Not just Nat, any Marvel woman please.

-----------

It was a typical summer day in New York City when your paths first crossed. You, wrapped up in the chaos of your medical residency, were rushing through the streets, white coat flapping behind you like a superhero’s cape, while Natasha Romanoff, the infamous Black Widow, was navigating the crowds with the ease of someone who had seen it all.

It was at a street corner where fate decided to intervene, in the form of an iced coffee and a collision. Natasha, in her sleek elegance, accidentally bumped into you, sending her cold drink cascading down your front.

“Shit, I’m so sorry!” Her voice was a mix of genuine contrition and a hint of amusement.

You blinked, the cold seeping through your shirt, but you couldn’t help but chuckle at the situation. “Well, at least it’s a hot day,” you replied, trying to brush off the mess.

Natasha quickly handed you some napkins, her green eyes twinkling with amusement. "You're a humour one I see"

"That I am" you grinned "I've also cost you your coffee"

Natasha went to open her mouth, but you spoke instead.

“Let me make it up to you. Can I buy you another drink?”

"But I'm the one who spilt mine on you?" her eyebrow raised as she questioned.

"And?"

"I should be the one buying for you?"

You're smile didn't falter " Where's the chivalry in that?"

And that was the start of it all. What began as a clumsy encounter turned into a friendship neither of you expected. Natasha’s charm, mixed with her trademark snark, drew you in like a moth to a flame. Soon, the two of you were spending your precious free time together, swapping stories over drinks or taking long walks through the city.

Despite her guarded nature, Natasha opened up to you in ways she hadn’t with anyone else. You became her confidante, her sanctuary in a world filled with chaos and danger. And in turn, you found solace in her presence, a respite from the relentless demands of your residency.

As your friendship deepened, so did your feelings for her. You found yourself falling for the enigmatic Avenger, captivated by her strength, her wit, and the vulnerability she only showed to you. And one day, gathering every ounce of courage you had, you asked her out on a date.

To your delight, Natasha said yes, her smile lighting up the room in a way you had never seen before. And just like that, your friendship blossomed into something more, a new chapter in both of your lives.

Now, as you walked hand in hand through the bustling streets of New York, you couldn’t help but feel a sense of contentment wash over you. With Natasha by your side, you felt invincible, ready to take on whatever challenges life threw your way.

Little did you know, however, that behind the redhead’s confident facade lay a secret she was desperate to keep hidden. An invisible battle she fought every day, one that threatened to consume her from within.

And so, all it would take for you to find out, as a plate of untouched food, and certain other stuff

---

The elevator door opened with a ding, admitting you into the familiar warmth of your shared home (Floor in the compound that Tony had so happily given) with Natasha. The faint scent of breakfast lingered in the air, a reminder of the meal you had meticulously prepared before your short 12-hour shift at the hospital.

But as you stepped further into the living space, your brow furrowed in confusion. The plate of food you had set out for Natasha sat untouched on the dining table, a solitary fork resting against the edge.

"Nat?" you called out, your voice echoing in the quiet apartment. There was no response, just the eerie stillness of an empty room.

Concern gnawed at the edges of your mind as you ventured further into the living space, scanning every corner for any sign of your elusive girlfriend. But Natasha was nowhere to be found.

However, before you could think what to do next, the sound of retching echoed through the apartment, sending a shiver of dread down your spine. Without a moment's hesitation, you bolted towards the bathroom, your heart pounding in your chest.

As you flung open the door, the sight that greeted you was enough to make your stomach churn. There stood Natasha, hunched over the toilet, her face contorted in agony as she forced herself to purge.

Instinct took over as you rushed to her side, your hands reaching out to grasp hers and pull them away from her mouth. "Nat, stop," you urged, your voice laced with urgency and concern.

For a moment, she resisted, the muscles in her arm tense with the effort of her struggle. But slowly, reluctantly, she relented, allowing you to pry her fingers away from their self-destructive task.

The sight of her trembling form, tears glistening in her eyes, tore at your heartstrings like nothing else. You wanted to wrap her in your arms, to shield her from the demons that haunted her, but you knew that this was a battle she had to fight on her own terms.

Gently, you guided her away from the toilet, leading her to the sink where you wet a washcloth and pressed it against her clammy forehead. "It's okay, Nat," you murmured, your voice a soothing balm against the turmoil raging within her.

As you helped Natasha up from the cold tiles of the bathroom floor, her silence weighed heavily in the air, a palpable barrier between you. You guided her to the bed, her movements sluggish and unsteady, and gently urged her to sit down while you prepared a bath.

With practiced efficiency, you filled the tub with warm water, adding a few drops of lavender oil to help soothe her frazzled nerves. But as you turned to help Natasha undress, you noticed the way she recoiled from your touch, her body tensing at the slightest contact.

Your heart ached at the sight, a pang of sadness settling in the pit of your stomach. You had always prided yourself on being there for Natasha, on offering her the unwavering support and love she so desperately needed. But now, faced with her silent withdrawal, you felt utterly helpless, like a bystander watching helplessly as a storm raged on the horizon.

With a heavy sigh, you stepped back, giving Natasha the space she seemed to need. You watched in silence as she rose from the bed, her movements slow and deliberate, before making her way to the bathroom.

It was only then that you noticed the small click of the lock as she closed the door behind her, a barrier sealing her off from the outside world. The realization hit you like a punch to the gut, a stark reminder of the walls Natasha had built around herself, walls that even you, with all your love and devotion, could not penetrate.

For a moment, you stood there in the empty room, the weight of Natasha's silence bearing down on you like a leaden cloak. But then, with a resolute shake of your head, you pushed aside your own doubts and fears, determined to stand by her side no matter what.

Taking a deep breath, you squared your shoulders and made your way to the bathroom door, your hand poised to knock. But at the last moment, you hesitated, the sound of running water and Natasha's soft sobs echoing through the wood.

But when the sound of retching pierced through the closed bathroom door, a surge of panic shot through you like a bolt of lightning. Without a second thought, you abandoned your plans to change and rushed back to the bathroom, your heart pounding in your chest.

With a swift motion, you twisted the doorknob, but to your dismay, it refused to budge. Locked. The realization sent a fresh wave of fear coursing through your veins, igniting a primal instinct to protect Natasha at all costs.

"Nat, open the door!" you called out, your voice tinged with desperation. But there was no response, just the sickening sound of her struggle echoing through the small space.

With a burst of adrenaline-fueled determination, you threw your weight against the door, the wood groaning in protest as it gave way beneath your force. For a moment, everything seemed to blur together in a haze of motion and sound, until finally, the door swung open with a resounding crash.

And there she was, hunched over the toilet once more, her body wracked with violent spasms as she forced herself to purge. Without hesitation, you rushed to her side, your hands reaching out to grasp hers and pull them away from their self-destructive task.

"Nat, please stop," you pleaded, your voice cracking with emotion. But this time, there was no resistance, no struggle against your touch. Instead, Natasha collapsed against you, her tears mingling with the cool touch of your skin.

With a sense of resolve, you refused to leave Natasha alone in the bathroom this time. Instead, you stayed by her side, offering silent support as she struggled with the demons that haunted her.

As the water continued to run, filling the tub with warm, comforting steam, you gently guided Natasha towards it. She hesitated for a moment, her eyes cast downwards, before finally sinking into the water with a heavy sigh.

You stood by the tub, your presence a silent reassurance as Natasha submerged herself beneath the surface, her shoulders tense with the weight of her burdens. With a soft exhale, you reached for the shampoo, pouring a small amount into your palm before lathering it into her hair with gentle, soothing strokes.

"I won't look," you murmured softly, your voice barely above a whisper. "I promise."

Natasha remained silent, her gaze fixed on some distant point beyond the confines of the bathroom. But you could sense the tension in her body, the invisible barriers she had erected to keep you at arm's length.

Undeterred, you continued to wash her hair, your fingers working through the tangles with practiced precision. With each stroke, you hoped to chip away at the walls she had built around herself, to offer her a glimpse of the love and acceptance that lay waiting on the other side.

But despite your best efforts, Natasha remained distant, her silence a heavy weight in the air between you. It was as if she had retreated into herself, lost in the labyrinth of her own thoughts and fears.

With a heavy heart, you finished washing her hair, rinsing away the suds with gentle care. Then, reaching for the washcloth, you began to bathe her body, moving with slow, deliberate motions as you washed away the stains of the outside world.

Gently, you lifted Natasha from the bathtub, her body feeling almost weightless in your arms. The sight of her frail form, bones protruding beneath the thin veil of her skin, sent a shiver of concern down your spine. It was a stark reminder of the toll her eating disorder had taken on her body, a silent battle she fought day in and day out.

With tender care, you carried her back to the bed, laying her down with the utmost gentleness. You tucked the blankets around her, the soft fabric a comforting cocoon against the cold reality of her struggles.

As Natasha lay there, her eyes distant and unfocused, you made your way to the kitchen, your mind racing with thoughts of how to help her. You knew that she needed nourishment, both for her body and her soul, but convincing her to eat was a battle in itself.

With a determined resolve, you rummaged through the pantry, searching for something light and easy to stomach. Finally, you settled on a plate of sliced fruit, the vibrant colors a stark contrast to the darkness that threatened to consume Natasha from within.

Returning to the bedroom, you found Natasha still lying there, her gaze fixed on some invisible point in the distance. Carefully, you placed the plate of fruit on the bedside table, hoping that the sight of it would stir something within her.

"Nat," you said softly, your voice a gentle reminder of your presence. "I brought you a snack. It's just some fruit. Would you like some?"

For a moment, there was no response, just the steady rise and fall of Natasha's chest as she breathed in and out. But then, slowly, almost imperceptibly, she reached out a trembling hand, fingers curling around a slice of apple.

You held your breath, watching intently as Natasha brought the fruit to her lips, her movements hesitant and uncertain. But then, with a small nod of encouragement from you, she took a tentative bite, the sweetness of the apple filling the air between you.

A sense of relief washed over you as you watched Natasha eat, each bite a small victory in the battle against her eating disorder.

As Natasha slowly nibbled on the fruit, you settled beside her on the bed, the familiar weight of her body a comforting anchor in the storm of uncertainty. With a soft click of the remote, you turned on the television, the familiar theme song of F.R.I.E.N.D.S filling the room with its nostalgic melody.

You glanced over at Natasha, her gaze fixed on the screen, her lips curved ever so slightly in the beginnings of a smile. It was a small victory, a glimmer of light in the darkness that threatened to consume her.

With a tender smile of your own, you wrapped an arm around her shoulders, pulling her close against your side. The warmth of her body pressed against yours, the steady rhythm of her breath a soothing lullaby in the quiet of the night.

Together, you watched as the familiar antics of Ross, Rachel, Monica, Chandler, Joey, and Phoebe unfolded on the screen before you. The laughter of the characters, the camaraderie of their friendships, served as a reminder of the bonds that held you and Natasha together, even in the darkest of times.

And as the episode came to an end, you turned to Natasha, the ghost of a smile still lingering on her lips. "Feeling a little better?" you asked softly, your voice a gentle caress against the silence of the room.

Natasha hesitated for a moment, her eyes flickering with uncertainty. But then, with a small nod of her head, she leaned into your embrace, her body relaxing against yours.

It was a small victory, a flicker of hope in the midst of despair. But for now, in this moment of quiet intimacy, it was enough. Together, you would face whatever challenges lay ahead, knowing that as long as you had each other, you could weather any storm that came your way. As you snuggled into Natasha, the fragile contours of her body pressed against yours, you couldn't help but feel a surge of emotion welling up inside you. With each delicate curve of her form, you could feel the sharp edges of her bones, a painful reminder of the toll her eating disorder had taken on her.

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes as you held her close, the weight of her fragility pressing down on you like a leaden weight. "Why, Nat?" you whispered, your voice thick with emotion. "Why do you do this to yourself?"

For a moment, there was only silence, the weight of Natasha's unspoken pain hanging heavy in the air between you. But then, as your grip tightened around her, almost as if you were clinging to her for dear life, she spoke, her voice barely above a whisper.

"I..." she began, her words faltering as if caught in the tangled web of her thoughts. But then, with a small shake of her head, she fell silent once more, the words hanging between you like an unspoken promise.

As you thought Natasha had drifted off to sleep, you reached for your phone, the glow of the screen illuminating the dimly lit room. With a deep breath, you dialed the number for the hospital, your heart pounding in your chest as you prepared to make a decision that would change everything.

"Hello, this is Dr. Y/l/n," you began, your voice steady despite the nerves that churned in the pit of your stomach. "I need to take the next month off."

There was a brief pause on the other end of the line, followed by the sound of a hesitant voice. "Dr. Y/l/n, are you sure? We're short-staffed as it is, and your patients—"

"I'm sure," you interrupted, your tone firm and unwavering. "I've already made up my mind."

The person on the other end of the line hesitated, clearly taken aback by your sudden decision. "But Dr. Y/l/n you're one of our top surgeons. We can't afford to lose you—"

"I understand that," you replied, your voice tinged with frustration. "But right now, I need to take care of someone who needs me more than anyone else."

There was a moment of silence as the gravity of your words hung heavy in the air between you. And then, with a resigned sigh, the person on the other end of the line relented, agreeing to grant you the time off on the condition that you'd go unpaid for the month.

As you ended the call, you couldn't help but feel a sense of relief wash over you. You knew that taking time off from the hospital was a risk, but in that moment, the only thing that mattered was being there for Natasha when she needed you most.

But as you turned to check on her, you realized that she had been awake the whole time, her eyes glistening with unshed tears.

Natasha's voice cut through the silence of the room, her words heavy with emotion. "Why did you do that?" she asked, her eyes searching yours for answers.

You met her gaze, the weight of her question hanging heavy in the air between you. Taking a deep breath, you reached out to brush a stray strand of hair from her face, your fingers lingering against her cheek.

"Because you needed me," you replied softly, your voice barely above a whisper. "Because I love you, Natasha, and I would do anything for you."

Tears welled in Natasha's eyes as she listened to your words, her expression a mix of gratitude and disbelief. "Thank you," she whispered, her voice barely audible above the steady rhythm of your heartbeat. "For everything."

As Natasha's words hung in the air, a heavy silence settled between you, punctuated only by the soft hum of the room's ventilation system. You could see the turmoil swirling behind her eyes, the weight of her burdens threatening to crush her beneath their weight.

"Why did you do that, Natasha?" you asked gently, your voice laced with concern. "Why do you hurt yourself like this?"

Natasha hesitated for a moment, her gaze drifting away from yours as she searched for the words to explain the unexplainable. "It's… it's complicated," she began, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Try me," you urged, your tone soft and understanding. "I want to understand, Natasha. I want to help you."

With a heavy sigh, Natasha began to speak, her words halting and uncertain at first, but gaining strength with each passing moment. "It's not just me," she confessed, her voice trembling with emotion. "It's… it's the comments, the stares, the whispers behind my back."

Your heart ached as you listened to her words, the pain and anguish etched into every syllable. You knew all too well the harsh realities of the world Natasha inhabited, the constant scrutiny and judgment that followed her wherever she went.

"It's like… like I'm never good enough," Natasha continued, her voice cracking with emotion. "No matter how hard I try, no matter how much I achieve, it's never enough. And the news, they… they only make it worse."

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes as you watched Natasha unravel before you, the weight of her suffering a burden too heavy for her to bear alone. In that moment, you felt a surge of anger rise up within you, a burning indignation at the injustices Natasha had endured.

"And..." She trailed off

"And?" You pulled her into your arms, holding her close as if to show that you were there for her. You could feel the ache in her voice, the raw vulnerability laid bare before you.

"I just... You," Natasha began, her voice trembling with uncertainty. "You used to look at me with such... such longing. You'd initiate everything, your touch, your kisses... But lately, it's like you don't even see me anymore."

Your heart clenched at her words, unsure of what to do or say.

"I thought... I thought maybe it was because of how I looked," Natasha continued, her voice barely above a whisper. "I thought if I worked out more, if I stopped eating, if I... if I purged, maybe you'd find me attractive again."

Your breath caught in your throat at her confession, the pain of her self-inflicted suffering tearing at your heartstrings. How could she think such a thing? How could she believe that her worth was tied to her appearance?

But you remained silent, allowing Natasha to speak, to purge the demons that haunted her soul. For in that moment, you realized that the only way to help her heal was to listen, to truly listen, without judgment or condemnation.

"I just wanted to be enough for you," Natasha whispered, her voice breaking with emotion. "But I was so wrong, wasn't I? I was so wrong."

And as she buried her face in her hands, her words seemed to sink in, making you feel like the ground beneath you is crumbling away, leaving you adrift in a sea of guilt and self-loathing.

Your hands trembled as you pushed yourself away from Natasha, the weight of her words crashing down on you like a tidal wave. You stumbled backward, your eyes wide with shock as you realized the role you had played in her pain.

"Oh my god," you whispered, your voice barely audible above the sound of your own ragged breaths. " I did that"

Natasha's eyes widened in concern as she watched you retreat, her voice tinged with fear. "Y/n? Are you okay?"

But you couldn't answer, couldn't bring yourself to face her, not when the guilt threatened to suffocate you. You hated yourself in that moment, hated the way you had let work consume you, the way you had neglected the person you loved most in the world.

And then it hit you, a wave of overwhelming emotion crashing over you like a tsunami. You sank to the floor, your body racked with sobs as the weight of your own self-loathing bore down on you like a heavy burden.

Natasha's voice was a distant echo in the darkness, her words lost amidst the chaos of your own thoughts. But you could feel her presence beside you, her hand reaching out to touch your shoulder in a silent gesture of comfort and support.

But you couldn't bear it, couldn't bear the thought of her touching you, not when you were the reason she was in pain. So you pushed her away, stumbling to your feet and retreating further into the shadows.

"I'm sorry," you choked out, your voice barely audible above the storm of your own despair. "I'm so sorry, Natasha. I didn't mean to… I didn't know…"

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry," the words tumbled from your lips in a frantic mantra, each repetition a desperate plea for forgiveness. But the only one you blamed was yourself, your own self-loathing swallowing you whole.

Natasha's voice was a distant echo in the chaos of your mind, her words lost in the tumult of your own despair. But you could feel her presence beside you, a steady anchor in the storm.

But even as she reached out to comfort you, you recoiled from her touch, the weight of your guilt too heavy to bear. You felt betrayed by yourself, , the person who had allowed this to happen.

"I'm sorry," you choked out once more, your voice hoarse with emotion. "I'm so sorry, Natasha. I didn't mean to hurt you. I didn't mean to…"

But the words fell flat, empty and hollow in the face of your own self-condemnation. And as you sank further into the darkness, the weight of your own despair threatening to consume you, you knew that there was no escape from the demons that haunted you.

"Y/n, listen to me," Natasha's voice was firm, cutting through the haze of panic that clouded your mind. "You need to breathe. Deep breaths, okay?"

You nodded, your chest heaving as you struggled to regain control of your racing heart.

"That's it," she encouraged, her voice a soothing balm against the storm raging within you. "Inhale... and exhale. You're okay, I've got you."

You focused on her words, on the steady rhythm of her breathing, allowing them to anchor you in the present moment.

"I'm not going anywhere, Y/n," Natasha continued, her grip on your hand reassuringly firm. "I'm right here with you, and I'm not letting you go."

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes as you clung to her, the weight of your own self-loathing threatening to crush you beneath its suffocating embrace.

"I'm so sorry, Natasha," you whispered, your voice thick with emotion. "I didn't-"

Natasha silenced you with a gentle finger against your lips, her eyes soft with understanding. "Shh, it's okay," she murmured.

With trembling hands, you grasped Natasha's palms in yours, feeling the warmth of her touch seeping into your skin like sunlight breaking through storm clouds. Without a word, you pulled her into a tight embrace, needing to feel the steady rhythm of her heartbeat against your chest.

"I love you, Tasha," you whispered, your voice cracking with emotion. "I love you more than anything in this world."

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes as you pressed kisses against her forehead, her cheeks, her neck, each touch a silent testament to the depth of your love for her.

"I'm sorry for everything," you murmured between kisses, your voice barely above a whisper. "I'm sorry for making you feel unloved, for neglecting you when you needed me most. I promise, I'll do better. I'll be better for you, for us."

Natasha's arms tightened around you, her own tears mingling with yours as she buried her face against your chest. "I love you too, Y/n," she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. "And I forgive you. We'll get through this together, I promise."

---

Over the next few days, you devoted yourself wholeheartedly to supporting Natasha, determined to make amends for your past neglect. You woke up early to prepare nutritious meals for her, ensuring that she had the sustenance she needed to fuel her body and soul.

You gently guided her through each day, offering words of encouragement and reassurance whenever she needed them. You deleted all the news apps from her phone, shielding her from the harsh judgments and scrutiny of the outside world.

And when you learned of the agents who had dared to badmouth Natasha, you wasted no time in tracking them down and giving them a piece of your mind. With a fiery determination burning in your eyes, you confronted them head-on, refusing to let them tarnish Natasha's reputation any further.

"You have no idea what she's been through," you spat, your voice laced with righteous anger. "She's one of the strongest, most resilient people I know, and she deserves nothing but respect."

The agents cowered before you, their faces pale with guilt and shame. And as you walked away, leaving them to ponder the consequences of their actions, you felt a sense of satisfaction wash over you.

Every time you sensed Natasha spiraling, you were there, a steady anchor in her stormy sea. You showered her with kisses, peppering her face with affectionate gestures, a silent reminder of the love that enveloped her. Your touch was a constant presence, your fingers entwined with hers or softly tracing patterns on her skin, a tangible reassurance that you were there for her, always.

You made sure she had everything she needed, anticipating her wants before she even voiced them. Whether it was a warm meal or a comforting hug, you were always one step ahead, ready to offer her solace in her moments of need.

But even as you tended to her, Natasha noticed the turmoil brewing beneath your surface. Despite your smiles and jokes, she saw the shadows lurking in your eyes, the weight of your own struggles weighing heavily on your shoulders. And though you tried to hide it, she knew that your sleepless nights were spent wrestling with demons of your own.

---

As the time came for you to return to work after a month of devoted care for Natasha, a sense of dread settled in the pit of your stomach. The thought of leaving her alone, vulnerable to the demons that had haunted her in the past, filled you with a gnawing anxiety.

You found yourself making up excuses, delaying your departure in a futile attempt to hold onto the precious moments you had shared together. But Natasha saw through your facade, her eyes searching yours for the truth that you were desperate to hide.

"Y/n, what's going on?" she asked, her voice gentle but firm. "You've been acting strange lately, avoiding going back to work, making excuses to stay. Is something wrong?"

Your heart constricted at the concern in her voice, the weight of your own fears threatening to suffocate you. But you couldn't bring yourself to voice the truth, to admit to the depths of your own insecurities.

"I… I just don't want to leave you," you confessed, your voice barely above a whisper. "I'm afraid that if I go back to work, things will go back to how they were before. I'm afraid of losing you Tasha."

Tears welled in your eyes as you spoke, the vulnerability of your confession laying bare the depths of your fear. But Natasha's response was immediate, her arms wrapping around you in a tight embrace, her warmth a comforting balm against the storm raging within you.

"Y/n, listen to me," she said, her voice steady and unwavering. "I'm not going anywhere. We've been through hell and back together, and I'm not about to let anything tear us apart."

With a heavy heart and a sense of resolve, you made the difficult decision to resign from your position, knowing that your place was by Natasha's side. As you prepared to leave, a fierce determination burned within you to make the most of the time you had left together.

With a hunger born of love and longing, you pulled Natasha into your arms, your lips seeking hers in a passionate kiss.

An so as you hold Natasha close, your heart overflowing with love and devotion, you feel the need to express the depths of your feelings to her.

"Nat," you begin, your voice soft and tender, "I need you to understand something. I love you more than words can express, more than I ever thought possible."

You press a gentle kiss to her forehead, savoring the warmth of her skin against your lips before continuing.

"I love you for who you are, not for your past or your appearance. Every part of you, every scar, every imperfection, it's all part of what makes you so incredibly beautiful to me."

Your fingers trace the contours of her face, your touch reverent and adoring.

"And I want you to know that my love for you will never waver. No matter what challenges we face, no matter what obstacles come our way, I will always be by your side, loving you with every beat of my heart."

Tears shimmer in Natasha's eyes as she listens to your words, her own heart swelling with emotion.

"I love you too, Y/n," she whispers, her voice choked with tears. "More than you'll ever know."

---------

#avengers #black widow #natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanov #natasha x reader #natasha x you #anon ask #anonymous #natalia alianovna romanova #natasha marvel #natasha romanoff hurt/comfort #natasha x y/n #natalia romanova #eating disoder recovery

303 notes · View notes

cdragons · 3 months

Text

Fuck Everything, But Mostly Fuck You - Part 3

Previous Part

Summary: You have never, EVER, in a million years hated anyone the way you hated Felix fucking Catton. But goddamn, Oliver Quick was a fucking close runner-up.

Warnings- MDNI 18+, slight mention of blood, sexual harassment, Felix is delulu and kind of a pig, Reader just wants some fucking peace, Michael is Michael and the best, Oliver is Oliver (the worst)

Author's Note: Thank you so much to everyone who commented and reblogged! I didn't expect this story to gain so many readers, and this was a challenging chapter to write - but only because there were some scenes I couldn't add because it would have gotten too long otherwise.

If there was a God out there, you prayed for the coming term to be as wonderful as this holiday had been for you.

You really wanted to kick yourself in the pants for making such a fucking cheesy wish at night watching the stars with Michael.

Right now, you were leaning to rest your head against a bookshelf in a slant position. You had a splitting migraine that began from the moment you woke up and worsened with nausea from your tutorial. And you couldn’t even go back to your dorm for the rest of the day because your lab course for your gen-ed didn’t allow for absences.

“What’d she do now?” came a voice on your right.

You looked to the right and were blinded by a white and blue-striped button-down shirt with short sleeves tucked into a pair of tan khaki pants.

Your knight-in-silver-framed glasses, Michael Gavey, everyone.

All the guy was missing was a pocket protector with pens and tape wrapped around the bridge, and he would have matched every bullied kid in every high school movie set in the 80s.

You turned around to lean your back against the bookshelves and slowly lowered yourself until your butt was parallel to your feet. Blowing the stray hairs out of your face, you remembered to take deep breaths to prevent you from blowing up at your only friend.

“No,” you sighed, “well – yes, but nothing I can’t handle.”

Do you love your classes? Yes. Was Daria Martin still your art teacher, and did she still like you? Yes. Are the rest of your teachers mostly assholes that think all Americans are Appalachian hill-billies? Also, yes. But were you still not excelling and scoring in the top ten after every exam? Naturally, no doubt about it.

But were you as invisible and unnoticed as you were before the break came? No. Did anyone with a pulse give you side-eyed glances after your stunt with the 24/7 shit-faced He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named? Pretty much, yes. Did most of your problems come from one mythic bitch in a 5’3” flesh suit that had the ‘Juicy’ logo plastered on her ass? Namely, one in particular, Annabel – who was your assigned student partner in your tutorial.

Was your new name among the student body now “Psycho Bitch”? …Unfortunately, yes.

…Okay, so this term has not been going as well as you had hoped during the break.

Annabel hated you – like hated-HATED you. And you had no idea why.

You were pretty sure you were less than blank air to her last term, but now she was determined to make your life a living hell. Last term, she skipped every other session to do whatever Annabel did. But now, it felt like she came to every tutorial for the opportunity to tear apart your work.

You’re pretty confident she was the one who started your new “name” about a few weeks ago when the weather began to warm up.

It’s not as if you were a stranger to being picked and prodded by the people born with silver spoons on their tongues and blessed with golden-tipped wings. You were a public-school kid from grades K-12 who went to Townsend Harris for those last four years. Townsend Harris High School was a public school, but make no mistake – it was just as full of the same bullshit hierarchy that made up every private school in Manhattan.

"Open the doors to all. Let the children of the rich and the poor take their seats together and know of no distinction save that of industry, good conduct, and intellect."

What crock. You only survived those years because every kid knew that your dad was an NYU professor who knew the Dean of Admissions of Columbia. You couldn’t recall how often you wished you had joined your friends at Flushing High or even Bayside.

However, regardless of the snide snarks and bullshit snickers pointed at you, you were left alone for the most part.

Sure – it sucked; that goes without saying. It was naïve of you to assume that people would grow out of the need for drama once they walked through the ivory doors and marble floors of higher education. It was stupid of you to think that everyone would forget about your outburst at Bodleian while they were getting drunk on the New Year.

And while Annabel was one migraine-inducing problem, she wasn’t the worst part of returning. No, that title belonged to her boyfriend, a whole other can of monkeys.

The worst part – the worst part of EVERYTHING – was how Felix fucking Catton was incapable of just leaving you the hell alone. It was like he had a little antenna sticking out of his head specifically for you whenever the two of you were within a ten-foot radius of him. Everywhere you went, it was as if you had a giant blinking arrow above you screaming, “Felix Catton’s New Toy”!

No, you were less than a toy – you were a joke, a gimmick.

God, you should have just stuck to your original plan and applied to any SUNY school that would have accepted you without even looking at your application.

But no, your good-Samaritan-obsessed college counselor called your parents and complained that you weren’t “putting yourself out there” enough. And now you were over thirty-four hundred miles away from home, stuck with the worst people ever. It was like a thousand tiny prickles were running on your skin as your mind filled with static.

Whenever Felix called out to you, it was to invite you to a party or get wasted. One time, he walked up to you insanely plastered and invited you for a quickie in the men’s bathroom. You were in an empty lecture hall since your usual spot in the library was taken, and Michael was still in class, so you didn’t see the point in trying to find an open spot.

Somehow – without you noticing – the guy plopped himself next to you and asked if there were any rooms in the building where he could smoke a joint in.

“Pretty sure you could open the window in the bathroom to smoke in there,” you replied absentmindedly.

And then he put his hand ON YOUR THIGH, leaned to your ear to whisper, “Wanna get out of here to join me? We don’t have only to get high.”

You grabbed all your shit and booked it – out of the building and all the way to your dorm to take a shower that lasted for around twenty minutes. You wanted to get rid of the smell of nicotine and overpriced aftershave. The scent of him on your skin made you wish you could tear it off.

And in your panic, you left your bike at the building’s entrance.

When you returned to retrieve it, it was after dark, and you recruited Michael as your tall and bony human shield.

“Do not ever walk home alone at night,” your mom told you every morning you left for school.

You tried not to think about the haunted look in her eyes each time she told you.

“Wanna skip the dining hall tonight? We can walk to Crowley Street and order take-out at that Pakistani place you like so much.”

Oh, that perked you right up. Jannahs Express was a broke college student’s paradise. The food was cheap, and the owners took pity on the international students. It was slightly more expensive in the UK, but it was the closest you could find with food on par to Kababish on Broadway in Queens. You stifled a laugh remembering the sight of Michael drinking the entire pitcher of water after you dared him to try a dish at ‘regular.’

“Seriously? Do you think you could take more than ‘English-mild’?” you asked as you stood up. “How did you survive your mom’s cooking for so long? She made us Indian food on our last night.”

“Mum grew up in London, and she had neighbors teach her how to make it the traditional way. You’re the only person who could take that level. Lilypad and I got Dad’s taste buds.”

Choking on your spit from laughing at the image of Gregory Gavey’s face turning firetruck red, you felt the migraine slowly disappear.

“Yeah, I’ll bet. God, I can’t imagine the look on his face when –”

A familiar voice that left a bitter taste in your mouth after hearing interrupted your conversation.

“Hey, (Y/N). Can we talk?”

You and Michael turned your heads to find Oliver Quick – Michael’s former friend, your former acquaintance – and the sight of him soured the mood instantaneously. You narrowed your eyes to dangerous slits to show your displeasure seeing him as one corner of your lip curled to show a sneer. You never liked the guy. There was just something about how he acted and presented himself. He had a profound desperation to impress everyone around him.

So much so that he immediately dropped Michael after becoming Felix Catton’s new pet. As evidenced by the oversized gray zip-up hoodie blanketing him. Felix’s, no doubt.

Fuck, you hated him.

“Ugh, what do you want?” you snapped, taking a bit of pleasure in seeing how your voice made him flinch.

“Look, can we –” his eyes hastily darted to Michael, then you, then behind him to make sure no one was watching him “– can we talk in private?”

Seriously? That’s how he wants to play this?

In the corner of your eye, you saw how tightly Michael clenched his fists. He was obviously still hurt from the time his ex-friend treated him like shit.

Oh, this will not do.

“Oliver,” you snarled as you crossed your arms over your chest, “whatever the hell you have to say to me, you can say in front of Michael.”

“Can you please not do this now?” he begged with pathetic eyes. How very in-character of him.

“Tick tock, Quick. Are you going to talk, or do I have to throw a drink in your face again? But this time, I’ll smash the glass on your face, too.”

Seeing the look on his face gave you almost a perverse sense of joy. Maybe this is why bullies exist.

“Do you think you’ll be at the pub sometime this week?”

What the fuck? Was he serious? His question caught you completely off-guard. You expected him to ask for notes or even help with homework, as his grades have slipped since becoming an official Felix Catton fanboy.

“At the pub – Oliver, when have I drunk alcohol in the entire time we’ve known each other?”

“You’ll turn nineteen this year, right? It’s only illegal if you’re under 18,” he tried to put out convincingly.

“Yeah, no shit, Sherlock. But you’re forgetting the part where I’m still an American citizen. Just because it’s legal for me to vote doesn’t mean it’s okay for me to drink yet.”

“No one cares about that here!” he almost shouted. “Just come with me to the pub at King’s Arms for the next few nights.”

“No fucking way,” you scoffed. “My parents would kill me if they found out I drank on a school night. Also, in case you forgot, we still have our test tomorrow in History. And I, for one, don’t need to get sloshed every night to feel important.”

Michael tugged on your sleeve and nodded at the small crowd forming around you three. You sighed in silence, agreeing that it wasn’t worth it. You both tried to walk away, but you were grabbed and stumbled back, which caused you to drop your books.

“Ow! Are you kidding–” but a wince broke your complaint as Oliver’s hold on your arm tightened to a painful grip. Your eyes traveled to his face, and you were shocked to see the anger shining in his eyes.

“Why do you have to make everything so fucking difficult?” he grit out. “Are you trying to ruin my life?”

The way his nails dug into your skin made you curse under your breath. Seeing you in pain broke Michael out of his shock at how someone as meek as Oliver Quick could show so much aggression. He rushed to get him off you.

“Are you fucking mental?” he hissed at Oliver once he managed to separate to two of you.

But Oliver’s nail left red scratch marks down to your wrist, even breaking the skin enough to cause little beads of blood to escape. This enraged Michael like you have never seen. Staring at the evidence of his former friend’s clawing, he walked forward and pushed him to the bookshelf before grabbing his shirt with both hands.

“What’s wrong with you?” Michael yelled. “She already said no!”

You wiped the blood off your arm with an old travel tissue pack you stole from the plane you took from JFK to London last summer. God, everyone was staring at you guys now. You needed to find a way to contain the situation. If any staff catches you, all three of you may risk trouble. Trouble that would jeopardize your scholarships. You grabbed Michael’s hands to get him to loosen his grip.

“Look, I’ll hear you out–” you looked around and cringed at everyone’s stares, “–just not here.”

This calmed Oliver’s rage enough to get Michael to let go.

“Okay,” he whispered, “okay – yeah. Let’s go outside.”

The three of you grabbed your shit and quickly exited the library. You went to the same area behind the building with no windows – ergo, no bystanders to gawk at you.

“Okay, we’re outside. Look, I’m sorry about your arm. But can you please just –”

You lifted your hand to stop him.

“Okay, look. I only said I would hear you out to make you and Michael stop fighting,” you stated matter-of-factly. “None of us could afford to get in trouble with the faculty and staff, and it was getting too out-of-hand. Oliver, I am not going to King Arm’s tonight or any night you ask me. I have my own life, so don’t drag me into yours.”

Oliver gaped like a fish for a few seconds before speaking.

“But you have to! Please! If you do, then maybe he’ll –”

“WHO?” you interrupted, shouting. “Who will be there? Who is so important that you act so fucking psycho for five minutes ago?”

This was too much for you to deal with everything on your plate already.

“Cut the vague bullshit already! Why are you desperate for me to be there? It’s so –” You froze as an epiphany struck down you.

Oh, hell fucking no…

“Are you hoping that Felix will be there?” you asked through clenched teeth.

You felt like a volcano ready to blow with his slight nod. And like a volcano – you blew.

“You mean to tell me that you risked all our asses, attacked, and humiliated me for fucking FELIX CATTON?!”

You couldn’t believe it – you couldn’t fucking believe it. Felix Catton took up so much of your life already; once again, he felt it necessary to take more of it for himself.

How much more could one man take? How much more did he want until it was enough?

He had taken so much – more than any person other than yourself had any right to own. Your education, your peace, and what was next? Your body? Your life? Did he intend to bleed you dry of everything like a parasitic vampire he and his kind pretended not to be?

You were going crazy, insane, and running yourself tired all at once. The absurdity of it all made you laugh. You laughed and laughed and laughed until you were gasping for air. You laughed so hard that tears spilled from your eyes as you doubled over.

“Oh my god,” you gasped, “oh my god! That’s it. Of course, it is. What else could it be?”

Standing straight, you kept laughing, but you were staring at Oliver with an answer clear in your eyes.

“He got bored of you,” you accused him, “didn’t he? So quickly?”

God, how you relished how red his face turned. If you were smart, you would have stopped taunting there – but you were too tired of everything to care.

“It’s been what? A month? Maybe two?” you further pressed. “He really just loves to go through all his toys, huh?”

“(Y/N),” Michael whispered in your ear, “let’s just go.”

He looked at Oliver with disdainful eyes before softening them to look back at you.

“He isn’t worth it. Come on, let’s get your cut cleaned up before we leave.”

You let Michael gently drag you away from the hurricane mess that was Oliver Quick, leaving him to stew in anger and wallow in self-pity on the chilly spring night.

A few days later, you and Michael were walking back to his dorm after watching one of the most notable movie franchises starring one of Hollywood’s best actors.

“How could you not love Pirates of the Caribbean?” you cried. “Johnny Depp is beyond brilliant!”

“Oh, so acting drunk in front of an expensive camera is now considered brilliant?” he quipped back. “Shit, I should have just gone into acting instead.”

“I’m sorry, do you not remember his jar of dirt? That scene was completely improvised, by the way – including his fall.”

“Oh – not the stupid jar of dirt! Lil’ kept buggering me all summer doing that scene after I took her to see it!”

“Oh, I meant to ask. What did Lily think of the books I got for her birthday? Were they weird?”

“Are you kidding? She loved them. She keeps going on about how she wants to be Annabeth for Halloween. Oh, by the way, she’s making me dress up as Luke and wants you to go as Thalia.”

Your jaw dropped in shock. “Seriously?! Yes, let’s do it. I am so in.”

“She is aware that Luke’s the villain, right?”

“Don’t worry about it so much. She wants to share these memories with you. And you are such a good brother, Mikey.”

“I am never going to escape that name with you,” he groaned, “am I?”

“Nope!” you happily confirmed. “Never! When I write my speech at your wedding, I will mention it at least fifteen times.”

“I’ll allow six.”

“Twelve.”

“Ten, take it or leave it.”

“Ten it is. Pinky-swear.”

You held out your pinky to show sincerity. And like someone raised correctly, Michael respected the sanctity of the swear by reciprocating.

“Perfect! Now that that’s settled, is it okay if I crash at your place for the night? It’s so late, and we don’t have classes tomorrow morning.”

“Yeah, sure,” he replied. “Just make sure you – Annabel.”

Wait, what? You stopped walking and turned to look at your friend in confusion.

“Annabel?”

He pointed it out in front of him with a slight nod.

“Annabel,” he confirmed.

Indeed, it was Annabel. But she was sitting slumped against the hallway’s walls with vomit all over her blue dress.

Felix had been going mad for the past few months since his and Farleigh’s return to Oxford. It was already almost May, and he hadn’t come any closer to getting (Y/N)’s attention.

What could he possibly be doing that was so wrong?

He invites you to parties or a drink with you every time he sees you. He had hoped that being friends with Ollie would have given him an “in” with you, but there was no such luck. Did you really have no idea how he felt about you? How much more obvious could he be?

He remembered how happy he was when he realized that Oliver knew you. It was that night at the pub at Kings’ Arms. He recalled it so vividly.

Felix was silent throughout the entire transaction. The sight of you coming over entirely transfixed him. Your hair had two small braids on the side that were attached with small yellow butterfly clips. You were wearing black denim overalls with vintage-looking patches sewn onto the fabric. Your shirt was a light blue-dyed shirt-sleeved t-shirt with splotches of navy blue. It must have been something you made when you were little. The fabric looked soft and worn down. But the size was small enough to hug the curves of your upper torso perfectly. The way the fabric stretched across your tits made him salivate.

After he introduced himself to you, you only responded with a grimace and a slight nod of acknowledgment. He invited you to join him and his friends for a drink, but you only ignored him. His words were meaningless breezes to you – white noise in the background that added to the clang and chatter in the room. He wasn’t even paying attention to Oliver until you threw that drink at him.

“Fucking cunt-rag!” you called Ollie after throwing Farleigh’s drink in his face. You shoved a middle finger for added effect. “Don’t ever show your face in front of me again.”

Grabbing your coat, you stomped away from the table.

Absentmindedly handing his friend some tissues, Felix had to know what your deal was with Oliver. Were you two dating or just friends? He didn’t know how he felt about his new friend being romantically involved with his angel.

“Wait, do you two know each other?” he asked.

“What?” asked Oliver – not understanding his idol’s question before his mind finally registered it. “Oh, yeah. Yeah, she’s a friend of a friend.”

“Were you two ever, like ‘together’?” Felix had to know.

Oliver’s eyes widened a bit before shaking his head and panickedly answering.

“No, no, no. We have a few classes together – that’s it.”

Felix couldn’t believe his luck. Ollie must really be his hero.

“Do you think you could introduce us?” he asked excitedly – his molten chocolate eyes were shining ablaze with hope.

“Uh, yeah, sure.” Oliver quickly agreed – anything to keep his attention on him.

Felix felt like leaping to the sky. He could run a marathon with how much energy was flooding throughout him. He clapped his hands before grabbing Ollie’s face with both hands and smacking a wet kiss on both cheeks.

“Oh, thank you! Thank you!” Felix went up to get him another pint. “You’re my hero, Ollie. You really are.”

As he lay on his bed, he tried to remember every interaction with you. His last one with you was something he could admit went horribly wrong.

He wandered on the grounds when he stumbled on a building with your bike on the rack. Figuring that you were just in a lecture, Felix figured he could try to catch up with you when it was done. It wasn’t like he had anything important later. He would stay near the entrance and try to catch your attention when you walked out.

Simple.

And because he was God’s favorite, he found you sitting in the middle of an empty classroom. You were taking notes while reading a massive textbook while lightly bobbing your head to whatever was blasting through your earbuds.

Sliding to the seat next to you, he smoothly asked you if there was any room where he could smoke. You didn’t even bother to look at him while answering him – too fixated with your studies to pay attention to him.

Knowing that he had to get you to look at him through more direct actions, Felix impulsively put his hand on your thigh before asking you if you wanted to join him. He even joked, saying that you didn’t only have to get high.

But seeing the terror in your eyes threw him off. He quickly wanted to tell you that he was only joking. If you knew that he wasn’t being serious, maybe you would ease up around him. But before he could apologize, you frantically stood from your seat to gather your books in your bag before running out of the room.

Felix groaned into his hands as he recalled how fast you ran out of the room and away from him.

“Felix, you’re a fucking idiot,” he softly insulted himself.

God, what the hell was wrong with him? Why did he think that someone as studious as you would ever consider getting high with some bloke in the bathroom of an academic building?

Every step he tried to take forward with you felt like he was going ten steps back. He needed to find a way to get on your good side.

Maybe Ollie could – no, that was a dead end. Fuck, he needed a drink.

Lying on his bed, Oliver stared at the ceiling of his room. Annabel had just left with the bottle of vodka they had been drinking out of for the past half hour. He wanted to cry.

Why was everything going wrong?

But he knew the reason. It was you.

He was so naïve to think you wouldn’t be an obstacle. You had practically ruined everything from the beginning. It wasn’t just when you refused to help him the other day but also that night at the pub at Kings’ Arms.

While Felix was ordering him a drink, Oliver sat bewildered at the sequence of events that had transpired in the past five minutes. First, Felix invited him over to sit with him and his friends. And when things had been so well, you interrupted his excellent time by asking where Michael was. When you realize he has left your friend alone, you ask for Farleigh Start’s drink before throwing it in his face. You then called him a “cunt-rag” before storming off like a goddamn child.

Luckily, Felix hadn’t listened to you speak. But that was only because he stared at you – stared at you like he was born to worship you. Even worse, Felix asked him if he could introduce the two of you at some point. The way Felix’s eyes widened in glee when Oliver agreed enraged him – even more than when you insulted and almost humiliated him in front of Felix.

Staring at his back, Oliver figured Felix’s attention on you wasn’t something to worry about. He was only interested in you because you were pretty. As much as you infuriated him, Oliver admitted that you had a rare and genuine beauty to you. He didn��t know whether it was your indifference for Oxford’s gods and kings or your dedication to keeping in touch with your American roots – but it was enough to enrapture Felix Catton temporarily.

No, Oliver Quick had no reason to worry. He would be enough for Felix. And then you would be an afterthought, and he’d be Felix Catton’s everything.

Oliver had to find a way to ensure you wouldn't be a problem anymore. You'd comply - there would come a time when you won't have a choice.

Let me know if you want me to write the full scene of Reader throwing the drink at Oliver!

Tagging: @ethereal-athalia, @arcielee, @valeskafics, @asa-do-your-thing, @aphroditesmoon, @axelsagewrites, @the1999kid, @poolnoodlerescuer, @aemondsbabe, @winterblu2, @abaker74, @whereismymindnow, @agustdeeyaa, @iamavailablesstuff, @bonnieblue0606, @st-eve-barnes, @nyxthoughtss, @immyowndefender, @ilovemydinoboi, @ahristata, @cxp1d, @jinsoulorbitzen12, @temptation-waits, @bollzinurmouth, @jcngw0ns, @seababehh, @destinydestnation, @lankyboi4, @mindless-rock, @cassavacakes

Please comment and/or reblog your thoughts and if you want to be added to the taglist!

#saltburn x reader #saltburn #saltburn crack #saltburn au #michael gavey x reader #felix catton x reader #farleigh catton #farleigh start #venetia catton #oliver quick #michael gavey #saltburn 2023 #saltburn movie

415 notes · View notes

bamsara · 4 months

Note

I tried to calculate when you would update TROD, I got the day for chapter 10 spot on and chapter 11 a day off, I will not tell you my method because that might cause an invisible deadline for you but I just found that interesting

I will update you if my prediction for chapter 12 is correct, and I feel like it will be

I am. now curious about this. You have caught me on the fishline, this is so funny to me like am I a predictable critter. Are you a seer my friend

411 notes · View notes

azukiel · 5 months

Text

Nightfall Heir Chapter 1

🔞 MDNI 🔞 NSFW

Warnings (as a whole): Explicit sexual content, Graphic descriptions of violence, PTSD, Angst, Blood kink, Kidnapping, Pregnancy and Childbirth

⭐Here is the story on Archive of Our Own ⭐

Summary: Two years have passed since the events surrounding the destruction of the Absolute. Baldur's Gate is slowly rebuilding itself from the rubble, and you and your companions have established yourselves within the city to help in its restoration.

You and your vampiric lover, Astarion, had been nigh inseparable since coming back together. Yet a certain turn of events saw to your kidnapping and then... to your unexpected pregnancy.

🔥Comments and reblogs are much appreciated! 🔥

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

As you lay in Astarion’s arms, you relished in the bliss that coddled your heart.

Alas, your mind wandered. It had not always been like this.

Blissful.

Your memories vividly recalled the time you had first laid with him, the time where the soft glow of fireflies had danced in the air, casting shadows that whispered secrets into the grass beneath you. The subsequent times thereafter had also been a symphony of sensations - feverish rustling of bedsheets, and the intoxicating scents of his cologne mingled with the musky aromas of passion. Back then, Astarion had always assured you that your very essence would be enveloped in a euphoric blend of pleasure and ecstasy. However, beneath the surface of those passionate encounters lay a web of deception. Your trysts had been nothing more than a meticulously crafted facade, a mask to conceal the collective traumas that haunted you both. Astarion had sought protection and trust from you, while you had yearned for a semblance of true companionship and belonging from him.

Still, the scars you both carried were etched into your souls, impossible to conceal. They were etched into the very fabric of your beings, leaving invisible wounds that refused to heal.

You flinched at the painful recollections as you looked up again at his peaceful, sleeping face. Closing your eyes for a moment, you took in a deep breath. His scents of bergamot, rosemary and aged brandy eloped you with a warmth like a midsummer’s kiss. His enchanting perfume restored a sense of peace. Yet, the darkness that still lingered in the back of your mind clawed its way into your consciousness once more.

Shuddering, you pressed yourself harder against his body to shield yourself, and though, in his sleep, he tightened his arms around you, you felt your walls again crumble. As the salt of your tears stung at the corners of your eyes, your unscrupulous mind continued to ravish your heart…

You were flung back to your childhood, vividly recalling the relentless barrage of blows, the sound of bones cracking, the scathing verbal assaults, and the relentless condemnations. The overpowering stench of sweat and blood used to fill your nostrils as you were forced to confront opponents far stronger than yourself, all for the perverse amusement of the masses... enduring unspeakable torment that had assaulted your body and mind alike. Such was the brutal reality of the Drow society that had shaped your upbringing. And yet, your tortures were not so different to that of which your lover had suffered at the hands of his old tormentor, Cazador.

The torment you had both endured had left deep scars, which had resulted in your eventual separation. The memory of it lingered, triggering a silent sob from you. In the past, you and Astarion had made the mutual decision to remain ‘just companions,’ driven by guilt over having used each other as shields for your sufferings. It had seemed like the ideal solution, a way to aid in healing. But unbeknownst to either of you, it had only exacerbated the anguish, a truth you both refused to acknowledge, even to yourselves.

At least, not until the events in Cazador's gloomy prison had unfolded.

Your mind, shrouded in darkness, conjured up a vivid and haunting replay of the events...

Your heart had been torn asunder as you had watched Astarion confront his old, wicked master. The anguish inflicted upon Astarion had been unbearable, a raw wound visible in your eyes. Alas, the hunger for power had consumed him, a voracious appetite for ascension that had wrapped around him like a suffocating web. In a mere breath, the Astarion you had known and loved had vanished. The vibrant essence of the witty, sassy, and flamboyant Elven vampire you cherished had been replaced by a feral beast. The sight of his former slaver, now succumbed, bloodied and kneeling, blurred the line between captor and captive.

You recall having exerted every ounce of your strength, having plead with Astarion to resist the seductive pull of power, to spare the lives of the countless thralls and spawn. The weight of this decision had threatened to consume his true self, which would have rendered him unrecognizable. Unimaginable sorrow had consumed you as you had contemplated the magnitude of such a loss.

The anguished cries that had escaped him as he struck down Cazador had reverberated through your being, threatening to shatter your very core. Even though Astarion had eventually yielded to your pleas, a deep resentment had grown within him towards you.

Your mind then shifted to when you and your companions had returned to the Elvensong Tavern nigh your vampiric companion. Your body had trembled uncontrollably, with tears streaming down your face, your sobs wracking your entire being. The weight of your despair had felt like an unbearable burden, threatening to consume you entirely. You remember the painful pounding of your heart in your chest, the rhythm deafening in your ears, and your breath coming in ragged gasps as you struggled to regain control. Halsin’s sudden powerful embrace had provided a sense of stability, and his firm hold had offered a sense of security that you had desperately needed in that moment. He was, in fact, the only companion strong enough to hold your arms to prevent you from burning down the place in your despair. You recalled the surrounding room blurring as your vision had become clouded by tears; the world reduced to a haze of pain and anguish.

The others, your companions, had surrounded you, and eventually their presence had become a comfort amidst the chaos. Their words of reassurance and support had washed over you, their soothing voices attempting to ease the torment that had consumed your mind. Though their words had been barely audible through the fog of your despair, their presence alone provided a sense of unity and shared strength.

Sighing inwardly as you nestled yourself in the crook of Astarion’s shoulder, you remembered that back in that tavern on that night, time had seemed to lose all meaning to you. You had continued to tightly cling to Halsin as he cradled you, and your body had gradually succumbed to exhaustion.

After what had felt like an endless stretch of time, Astarion had finally returned. You recall that the room had been dimly lit by then, and the dancing candle light had cast long shadows on the worn wooden floor. You had heard the faint echoes of his fervent apologies, his voice trembling with remorse. The weight of his rage, which had been directed solely at you, had torn through your heart like a sharp knife. Truly, you hadn’t blamed him. It had been a battle within himself, a struggle to maintain control. Nevertheless, it had still shattered your already delicate heart and mind.

And then you recollected, amidst the heaviness of the situation, he having expressed his gratitude. The words had hung in the air as he had thanked you for rescuing him from the brink of losing his very self. You had saved him from becoming a reflection of the one he despised most in the world. Cazador Szarr.

Late that same night, under the glowing moonlight, he had guided you through the calm silence of the local cemetery. After having reached a secluded plot, he had unveiled a tombstone that had been crafted for him upon his ‘death’ as a mortal elf. The tombstone had stood there, adorned with weathered vines, a testament to the passaging of two long centuries. The air surrounding you both had carried a hint of mustiness and an earthy scent, mingling with the faint aroma of decaying leaves. A chilling breeze had whispered through the graveyard, causing a shiver to run down your spine. Astarion’s voice had broken the silence then, and he described how this tombstone represented not only the end of his previous life in Cazador’s clutches, but also the death of the creature he could have become had he ascended. In that moment, he had realised he was no longer a mere spawn, but finally, truly free.

And as he often reminded you, even now, it had all been because of your unwavering perseverance, infinite patience, and resolute devotion. Your enduring devotion to him. For that, he had fallen profoundly for you and had not hesitated to confess his adoration right in front of his grave. He had not hesitated to guide you down onto the mound of earth, where your bodies soon intertwined with an intense fervour, either.

You remembered the fierce emotions that had flooded your body. Every touch and every caress from Astarion had sent shivers down your spine, electrifying your skin and loins with an unbearable ecstasy. The air around you had seemed to crackle with an intoxicating energy, as if the gods themselves had acknowledged the depth of your connection.

Your breath had hitched with each movement, the anticipation coursing through your veins. The taste of passion had lingered on your lips as a mix of desire and a hint of rebellion. The gritty texture of the earth beneath you had only heightened the rawness of the moment, grounding you in the physicality of your love.

You bit your bottom lip with the memories which now overwhelmed your senses. You felt it all again. With each feverish thrust, the passion had intensified. The heat between your bodies had grown to burning new heights and had wrapped you both in a cocoon of shared desire. Astarion’s touch had ignited a fire within you as his hands had explored every inch of your body with a frenzied hunger. The world around you then had faded into a blur, leaving only the two of you entangled in a dance of unbridled passion.

In that moment, the boundaries of time and place had ceased to exist. Moans and gasps had mingled in the air, a symphony of pleasure and longing as you had moved together with an unspoken understanding.

It had been just you and him in that graveyard, your souls entwined as one. The world could have crumbled around you once again, yet you would have remained oblivious, lost in the sheer intensity of your love.

You trembled at the memory of the last echoes of ecstasy fading away, and the intense heat between your thighs after he had filled you. You had found solace in the knowledge that your devotion had been reciprocated with equal fervor.

As your mind floated back to your present time, you shivered again at the sudden delicious tingle at your junction, a soft moan escaping your lips. You froze, glancing up at your sleeping lover, hoping you had not been loud enough to stir him, but he was as still as the tombstone that adorned his grave. Which brought your salacious thoughts back to that night. That night had cemented your relationship once and for all. He was now yours and you were now his and the both of you had been inseparable since that night two years ago.

#astarion #astarion x tav #astarion x reader #astarion x you #baldur's gate 3 #baldur's gate fanfiction #astarion daddy #Astarion as a daddy #Astarion and Tav have a child #Nightfall heir #bg3 #dadstarion #astarion x halsin x tav #astarion x dark urge #baldur's gate 3 fanfiction

313 notes · View notes

mariasont · 22 days

Text

Our Minds Entwined-----------------------

ch 1, ch 2, ch 3, ch 4, ch 5, ch 6, ch 7, ch 8, ch 9, ch 10, ch 11, ch 12

MDNI-----------------------------------------------------------------

pairings: aaron hotchner x oc x spencer reid

summary: in which jason gideon's daughter joins the fbi as the newest, youngest member

warnings: mentions of wet dream, fantasying of 2 guys, oral f receiving, praise, probably more im not sure

A/N: hope you beautiful humans enjoy this as much as i enjoyed writing it <3

also requests are still open for aaron hotchner and spencer reid & i would love love to write more so shoot me something :)

haappppy readingggg!

chapter eleven:

With a weary slump of her shoulders, Evelyn followed in Hotch's wake, her feet dragging the ground as though shacked by invisible weights. Her eyelids were heavy, drooping in a slow cadence, fighting the lull of sleep that beckoned with each laboring blink. Her lips parted in a slow, drawn-out motion that mirrored the sluggishness of her body. The latte sat in her hand, a supposed ally against the drowsiness, but her yawns betrayed its ineffectiveness as her eyes grew heavier still. The trip had been a marathon of activity--packing, the airport, the plane--all leading to a touchdown in Somerville just as the sun began to rise.

On the way over, Hotch had briefed her on the details of the case. A couple weeks ago, a polyamorous couple--two older men, and their shared partner, a younger woman--were found dead. Then, two days ago another household with the same victimology were killed. The coincidence wasn't lost on Evelyn as her mind wandered to that god forsaken dream that had haunted her since.

And on top of that, throughout the trip, Hotch's silence was a wall between them, broken only by the case details. Despite herself, Evelyn tried to profile him knowing it was wrong. Evelyn replayed the hot tub scene in her mind, a pang of guilt twisting in her gut. She couldn't shake the feeling that she'd crossed a line, even if it was unintentional... right? Her head was a battlefield of jumbled thoughts and creeping doubts, all clamoring for attention. She blamed the fog in her brain on the lack of sleep.

Evelyn, under the weight of Hotch's intent gaze, gave way to a yawn so extravagantly drawn out it seemed less a sign of fatigue and more a playful challenge to his enduring patience.

"Stop staring; it's too early for judgment," Evelyn murmured, her eyes slits of defiance as she ambled after him towards the station. "This is just my face before the caffeine kicks in. It gets better, I promise."

Hotch offered no reply, merely casting a glance over his shoulder at her. The warmth of their close encounter in the hot tub enveloped his thoughts, an unwelcome yet intoxicating recollection. He wrestled with the memory, a guilty pleasure, even as he held the door open for her. Yet, he steeled himself, shoving those dangerous reflections to the back of his mind, all too conscious of the professional boundaries that he dared not to cross.

"Okay, Hotch, I get it, we can't all be as chatty as me with zero sleep. But come on, give me a smile, or at least a grunt," Evelyn coaxed, her laughter not quite reaching her eyes. "Anything to show you're still with us."

There was a pause, a look from Hotch that cut through her words, heavy with unvoiced thoughts, before he turned and walked away, his back a silent command to keep up. Evelyn's expression dimmed, her lips curving into a faint frown as she trailed behind him. The team's warm welcomes echoed around them as they entered the conference room. Evelyn's smile spread across her face, skillfully painted on to mask the twinge of disappointment that Hotch had left.

The moment Spencer's eyes found Evelyn, a soft blush bloomed across her face, and she offered him a smile tinged with complicity, which he mirrored back, a small but significant lift to her mood. The brief contact of Spencer's hand grazing her shoulder as she passed was enough to deepen the shade on her cheeks as she fought to maintain composure.

"How was Miami hot stuff?" Morgan questioned, as his arm sling around her shoulder with a teasing squeeze.

"Hot," Evelyn declared, her hand theatrically waving in front of her face in a mock fan, while her elbow lightly collided with Morgan's side. "Nearly had me seeing stars. Poor Hotch was this close to performing CPR," she said, her words a deliberate prod as her eyes sought out Hotch's, hoping for any form of reaction.

"I'd say it was less about the heat and more about you neglecting to eat properly," Hotch commented dryly, his words carrying a hint of reprimand, but hey at least he was talking.

"Well, we really shouldn't dwell on the past," Evelyn said with a dismissive wave of her hand.

"Speaking of meals," JJ added, sliding a blueberry muffin towards her with a knowing smile.

"You're a saint, JJ," Evelyn said, her eyes lighting up at the sight of the food. "I'm this close to giving you a thank-you kiss."

"As tempting as that sounds, you can actually thank Hotch for this one," JJ laughed as she nudged her. "He made it clear--no breakfast for you means a mountain of paperwork duties for us."

Evelyn's tension eased a fraction as she shot Hotch a teasing smile, her heart fluttering at the gesture. "Well, sir, rest assured, I strictly adhere to the 'no kissing the boss' clause. It's somewhere in the fine print, right?"

Evelyn's cheeks took a shade of pink at her own words, hanging in the air, laden with the what-ifs she couldn't quite push aside. Hotch's eyes, sharp and discerning, momentarily betrayed him, darting to her lips before he caught himself.

"Agent," he cautioned, his voice low but clear. Evelyn quickly raised her hands, a silent truce, as Hotch redirected his attention to the team. "What do we have?"

"At this rate, they'll be naming the next HR workshop after you," Morgan murmured, barely containing his amusement.

"What if the unsub is part of a group like this themselves and feels wronged by it?" Rossi muses out loud, his fingers tracing thoughtful patterns against the stubble of his chin as he stands, back pressed against the brick wall.

Reid paced slowly around the table, his fingertips grazing a file as he passed. "It's possible," he began, his voice a soft murmur, eyes narrowing slightly. "The specific targeting and overkill suggest a perceived slight or trauma associated with such relationships."

Prentiss gave a firm nod. "Let's not rule out the possibility of the unsub viewing these groups as a threat to their moral or social beliefs."

"The female-centric dynamic could be important too," Evelyn tossed out, her steps halting beside the pictures of the victims.

As she pondered aloud Spencer found himself focuses intently on her face, her nose scrunching ever so slightly in thought--a gesture that drew a fleeting smile from him as he cast his gaze downwards in hopes no one else noticed how he looked at her.

"Maybe the unsub feels wronged by the idea of a woman being the main focus? Or it could be jealously. Someone who wanted into a group like this but was rejected," Evelyn continued.

"Or the opposite," Hotch contemplates, his brow furrowed in thought. "Someone who was in a group and cast out." He pauses, hands clasped as he leaned forward. "Let's dig into the background of the victims and see if there's a common thread."

The conference room was steeped in the day's fatigue, the air heavy with the tang of frustration and the stale scent of coffee. The team had returned from their respective tasks--interviews, crime scenes, and calls--all roads leading to dead ends.

The room's stillness is shattered by Garcia's voice emanating from the screen. "I've got something," she declares, the pixelated glow casting an ethereal light in the dim room. "Both triads belonged to an ultra-elite society known as 'The Labyrinth.' It's like Fort Knox meets Fight club--no one talks about it, and no one gets in without an invite. I mean, you don't even want to know the lengths I went to find this in the first place."

"I mean, if the society is as exclusive as P says," Evelyn begins, her hand sweeping through her hair in a fluid motion. "Then the unsub is likely also part of it or they have resources that could get them information on it."

Garcia's voice bursts through the speaker. "Prepare to be dazzled," she trills, the clatter of her keystrokes punctuating her excitement. "The Labyrinth is rolling out the red carpet for a gala tomorrow night at the old Whitmore Estate. And you, my darlings, are virtually invited to the ball."

Morgan hunches over the table. "So, we need a cover," he states, "We can't just show up at the doorstep and demand to look around; it'll spook the unsub."

"Evelyn and Reid could blend in," Prentiss nods. "They fit the profile of two of the victims. Maybe they can draw the unsub out." Evelyn's eyes widen as she glances towards Spencer.

JJ chimes in, "And maybe Morgan could--"

But Rossi interrupts, shaking his head. "No, the second male victim's profile is different--older, more experienced. It's more Hotch's profile."

A crease forms between Hotch's eyes, a shadow of concern etching his features as his protective instincts surge to the forefront, coupling with a deep-seated unease about the unfolding plan. A delicate warmth crept up Evelyn's cheeks, her pulse quickening at the thought. The idea of going undercover with Hotch and Reid, a scenario plucked straight from her wet dream, sends a shiver down her spine and her thoughts into a tailspin. She opens her mouth, to joke it off, but it dissolves into a muddled string of half-formed words, leaving her with a bashful silence.

Hotch's words falter, a rare hesitation flickering across his usually impassive features. "I'm not sure if this is the best course of action--,"

Emily interjected swiftly, her words slicing through Hotch's protest. "Hotch, we may not get another shot at this. Using you three as bait isn't ideal, but it might be the only way to corner our unsub."

Hotch's eyes settle on Spencer, who gives a firm nod. His gaze than shifts to Evelyn, and though he resists the urge to analyze, the rosy flush of her skin and the accelerated pace of her breath betray her feelings. It's a jarring contrast to the professional distance he's been striving for. Hotch's nod was there, almost imperceptible, but the frown that follows is deeply etched, a clear sign of his disapproval despite his acceptable.

The room hums with a focused energy as the team pores over digital and paper archives alike, each article detailed events like this and of the couples who frequent. Garcia curates a comprehensive collection of profiles detailing the Labyrinth and its attendees, while JJ and Morgan sift through social media for the gala's guest list. In a corner, Spencer and Rossi huddled over a cluttered desk examining the blueprint of the Whitmore Estate.

Meanwhile, in a makeshift office provided by the local police chief, Hotch and Evelyn are deep in study. The walls, now a gallery of whiteboards, are dense with the scribbled complexities of polyamorous relationships and the backgrounds of the victims.

"I've come across open relationships in case studies, but an entire society? That's a statistical outlier if I ever heard one--Spence would have a field day with those odds." Evelyn says with a soft shake of her head.

A faint arch forms in Hotch's brow, a muted signal of surprise to the informal reference of Reid. Catching the lift of Hotch's brow, Evelyn quickly adds, "You know, Hotch, the silent treatment isn't going to work when we're undercover," she started with a tilt of her head. "You've going to have to convince everyone we're together soon, remember? So, you might want to start practicing liking me now."

"I'm not giving you the silent treatment, Evelyn." Hotch remarks, his countenance flat, eyes reflecting any readability.

"Sure, if you say so," Evelyn replied, her eyes thin slits of skepticism. "But if you're not up for this, Rossi could step in. We need to be believable, or people could get hurt."

"That's not going to happen," Hotch assets, his gaze unwavering, the firm set of his jaw sending a flutter to Evelyn's core. "I've played the part before; I can do it again."

"Then what are you so worried about?"

"I just want you to remember boundaries, Evelyn." Hotch reminds. "The seriousness of this cannot be understated, and I need to know your focus will be on the right aspects of the plan."

Hotch could see the subtle crumble of her face, the faint twitch of hurt that flickered across her features. She masked it swiftly, her voice laced with feigned indifference. "Understood. I'll try to keep my inevitable swooning over your pretend affections to a minimum, sir." The lightness of her words contrasted sharply with the hurt in her eyes, and Hotch felt an immediate ache in his stomach for causing it.

"Evelyn, that's not--" Hotch's voice trailed off, the hardness in his eyes giving way to a rare vulnerability. His fingers twitched with the need to reach out, to smooth away the creases of pain from her expression, but the opportunity slipped away as Rossi emerged at the door.

"Hotch, can I see you for a second?" he asked, gesturing subtly with his head.

Hotch offered a silent nod, his gaze holding Evelyn's for a moment longer than necessary, his eyes etching a mental image of her--the tilt of her head, the unresolved tension in her shoulders, before he reluctantly turned to follow Rossi. Spencer, shadowing Rossi's steps, pauses at the threshold, his gaze fixed on the departing figures. With a soft click of the door closing, he turns, the hush of the room settling around him as he turns to Evelyn.

He steps behind her, his hands coming to rest gently upon her shoulders. Evelyn tips her head back, her eyes lifting to meet his. "You okay?" he asks, his voice low and soothing.

Evelyn's laughter bubbled up, slicing through the heavy air. "Had a moment with Hotch. Pretty sure he was subtly hinting that I keep my feelings in check as if I'm incapable of that."

Spencer's lips curled into a half-smile, amusement flickering in his eyes. "Hotch tends to get a bit tense with these high-stakes operations," he reasoned, his thumbs tracing soothing circles on her shoulders, easing the knots.

Evelyn melts into the warmth of his hands. "That feels good," she sighs, her head gently reclining in contentment. "And tell me about. I'm the one who's going to be all up on my boss and coworker. Talk about awkward."

The thought of sharing Evelyn with Hotch sent an unbidden rush of blood straight to his cock, a visceral response that caught him off caught. He clears his throat, a subtle cover for the fleeting thought that, perhaps, the idea isn't as disconcerting as it should be.

"At least with you I don't have to pretend."

"I don't know, I think additional practice might be beneficial." Reid says, his fingers edging closer to the delicate skin of Evelyn's neck, prompting an involuntary hitch in her breath. "My room tonight? Purely for preparation purposes, of course."

"Dr. Reid, w-what are you suggesting?" Evelyn managed to tease out, despite the gentle pressure of his hand on her pulse point making her senses swim and her focus waver.

He leaned in, his head tilting to plant a gentle kiss in the hollow of her neck. "You're smart enough to deduce it," he murmured softly against her skin, the words almost a sigh, "missed you."

A giggle escaped Evelyn, and she nimbly evaded his grasp. "Spencer, we're practically inviting an audience at this rate."

"Which is precisely why I'm saving it for later, just wanted you to give you a preview, sweetheart."

The remainder of the day unfolded without incident, with Evelyn buried under a towering pile of research papers, its weight causing a dull throb behind her eyes. Every detail was meticulously arranged for tomorrow--the tickets secured, the outfits chose, the escape routes mapped. However, no degree of preparation could quell the fluttering feeling in the pit of her stomach. This is precisely what led Evelyn to Spencer's hotel door, perched anxiously, her knocks rapid and insistent, her gaze sweeping the corridor for onlookers.

The door finally creaked open, and Evelyn breezed inside, her voice a soft tease, "Took you long enough." Spencer, with a quick glance over his shoulder, closed the door with a silent snap.

Spencer's laughter echoed through the room, a carefree sound that made Evelyn pause. "Sorry, I was in the shower," he said, a sheepish grin on his face.

It was then that Evelyn really looked at him--his hair damp and tousled, clinging to his forehead, chest bare, skin dotted with water beads that caught the light, the soft material of his pajama pants hanging from his hips. Her eyes lingered, almost hypnotized by the sight, and rendered mute.

Evelyn's lips parted, ready to unleash a clever comeback, yet only a soft, airy giggle escaped. Without thinking, her arms encircled him, her heart thudding erratically from the sheer nearness of him.

His fingers tenderly framed her face, his laughter a comforting hum. "Evelyn, you're going to get all wet," he teased, thumb softly grazing her cheek.

"That's what I'm counting on," Evelyn replies, a coy smile on her lips as she lets her hands wander down his chest, her fingers flirting with the edge of his pants. "I believe I was promise there would be a rehearsal on the agenda this evening."

"Mmm, is that what you want baby?" He questioned teasingly, his hand guiding her gaze to his with a soft tug at her locks. "Be the good girl I know you are, get undressed, and get on the bed."

Evelyn's eyes sparkled with anticipation, her feet barely touching the ground as she hurried to the bed. Her gaze locked with his and with deliberate care, she pinched the hem of her shirt, swiftly gathering the fabric and sending is flying across the room in a fluid motion before she attended to her pants. His eyes followed her every move as he inhaled a sharp breath, his thumb brushing against his bottom lip. Her gaze followed down to his pajama pants and the tent that was growing within them, excitement growing in her chest.

She carefully turned her back towards him as she hooked her thumbs around her pants and underwear letting them drop to the floor. She crawled on to the bed, arching her back in an exaggerated motion, giving Spencer a full glance at her glistening pussy. She turned quickly, resting on her elbows as she smiled sweetly at Spence who was all but drooling at the sight.

"You're so good sweetheart," Spencer exhaled, each step towards the bed measured, the corners of his mouth lifting at her eagerness, "so pretty."

Evelyn's legs instinctively clasped together in a silent plea for relief as a wave of warmth surged through her cheeks and pussy.

"Take this off, baby," Spencer commanded, the sound of his tongue clicking in disapproval as his fingers drummed a soft rhythm against the material of her bra, "Wanna see all of my beautiful girl."

She quickly complied, sitting up just enough to unclasp the pesky thing. His large hands splayed over the expanse of her thighs, coaxing them open as he settled between them, his gaze penetrating as her tits bounced out of the cups of the bra. "God, you're so pretty sweetheart."

A soft moan escaped Evelyn's lips as she squirmed on the mattress, "Spencer, need you."

Spencer let out a soft chuckle, his hand moving closer to her heat, fingers tracing back and forth in a tantalizing motion. "Gonna take such good care of you baby."

His thumb began to rub slow circles on her swollen clit, Evelyn's breath hitched, her hands frantically searching for something to grasp on to, landing on his wet curls. He teased her slowly, his fingers moving across her soaked folds. Evelyn felt as though she could see stars as she watched Spencer begin to plant soft kisses up her thighs, getting closer and closer to where she wanted him.

She jutted her hips off the mattress, her fingers curling around his hair as if to move him towards her throbbing cunt. "Evelyn, patience teaches us to regulate our emotions. Neurologically speaking, it's linked to serotonin levels in the brain, did you know that pretty girl?"

"Spencer, please, baby put that good mouth to use."

Spencer let out a soft laugh before placing his mouth to her clit, sucking as if it were his full-time job. The moan that released from her was loud and unrestrained, her body thrusting against his mouth. His tongue curled into her, eating her out like it was his last meal on earth.

"Need you to be quiet, baby. Hotch is on the other side of this wall, don't want him hearing you, do you?" Spencer asked, his voice muffled. "Or maybe you do? Is that what you want? You want Hotch to know how I treat this pussy?"

Evelyn's body trembled with pleasure, her hands grasping against the cool sheets as if to steady herself. His hands wrapped around her thighs, pulling her closer as if to suffocate himself between them. "I-I,"

His tongue lapped greedily through Evelyn's folds, her cunt trembling against the pressure as broken moans escaped her lips. He met her eyes, peering up from his position devouring her aching pussy.

"Spencer I-oh, fuck, I'm so close," Evelyn moaned out, her eyes rolling to the back of her head as she humped against his face, his nose brushing against her clit every so often. "I can't, I'm gonna-"

A knock at the door caused Spencer's motion to freeze, a panicked gasp releasing from Evelyn's lips as her orgasm dissipated into thin air.

"Reid, are you up?" Hotch's voice, firm and unexpected, pierced the silence. Evelyn's mind was a whirlwind of foggy thoughts, her body reacting before her brain could catch up. Beside her, Spencer's limbs flailed in a hasty attempt to feign alertness, both like deer caught in headlights.

"Oh my god," Evelyn hissed, her hands flying to shield herself. She leaped from the bed, her eyes darting desperately around the room for her scattered clothes.

"Just a second!" Spencer called to Hotch. Meanwhile, Evelyn snatched the nearest shirt, one of Spencer's and yanked it over her head. It was a clumsy dance, one that nearly ended with her sprawled on the floor, tripping over the bulky obstacle of his go-bag. "Get under the bed."

"Under the bed?" Evelyn's voice was a hushed blend of disbelief and urgency. Spencer returned her gaze with an unwavering stare. "God, you're lucky you're so good with that scholarly mouth of yours."

"Radio waves... they're the longest wavelengths in the electromagnetic spectrum," Spencer began, his voice a low hum as he paced the confines of the room. "First predicted by Maxwell in 1864," he continued, more to himself than to Evelyn. Her brow furrowed in confusion. "And they--"

He was cut off as Evelyn interjected. "Spencer, why are you giving me a physics lesson right now?"

"I'm trying to, uh... calm down."

Evelyn's gaze traced the path of Spencer's, her eyes light up at the sight of the tent still evident in his pants. A soft giggle escaped her lips, a delicate sound in the quiet room. Their eyes met once more, and she exhaled a prolonged, "Oh," the syllable stretching out as brought a hand to her mouth.

"Just get under the bed."

Evelyn's laughter was a soft echo, quickly muffled as she deftly maneuvered herself under the bed. Her breath caught in her throat, the only sound the creak of the door swinging open.

Spencer was met by Hotch, his figure framed by the hallway's dim light. "Reid, can I come in?"

With a subtle clearing of his throat, Spencer managed a casual tone, "Uh, yeah, sure, of course."

He swung the door fully open, his expression carefully schooled into one of practiced composure. Hotch stepped over the threshold, his eyes sweeping over the room. Spencer's gaze flitted after his, a silent prayer of gratitude that the room bore no trace of Evelyn's clothes.

"I just wanted to talk to you about tomorrow," Hotch stated, his voice betraying none of the scrutiny his eyes had just performed.

"Sure, what's up?" Spencer asked, the words slightly pinched at the edges, his voice climbing a register.

Hotch's arms locked across his chest like a barrier. "This undercover operation is delicate, and we can't afford any... complications."

Spencer swallows hard, his eyes darting to the bed for a fleeting second. "Of course, I understand."

With a casual lean against the desk, Hotch's features relaxed just perceptibly. "I know you understand, but it's not just about the operation. It's about perception too. Evelyn's already under a bit of scrutiny."

An awkward cough escaped Spencer, a clumsy veil over the tension he felt, knowing well that Evelyn hung on every word. "Right," he responded, an unspoken understanding that they were discussing her father.

"Gideon set a high bar, and it's clear Evelyn is rising to meet it," Hotch begins, his voice steady, a tinge of pride in his tone. "She's carved out her own space on this team, a fact we all recognize. But rumors don't always favor the truth, and any suggestion of her involvement with another agent could be damaging..."

"There's nothing unprofessional going on, Hotch," Spencer quickly countered, his voice a swift defense.

Hotch raised a hand, a gesture of pause and consideration. "I'm not accusing you of anything," he clarified, his voice firm yet fair. "I'm just asking you to exercise caution," he articulated. "For her sake. She has a bright future, and it shouldn't be jeopardized by baseless chatter."

Under the bed, Evelyn's brain was in overdrive, dissecting every word, her mouth suddenly dry.

"I understand."

"Good," Hotch affirmed with a supportive squeeze on Spencer's shoulder. "Goodnight, Reid."

"Yeah, you too."

taglist: @aceofspades190 @nonamevenus @lukesaprince @doigettokeepyou @tequilya @carley12041 @satellitelh @greatdinosaursalad @malewife-cas

#spencer reid smut #spencer reid #spencer reid x oc #spencer reid x oc x aaron hotchner #reverse harem #aaron hotchner x oc #aaron hotchner smut #aaron hotchner x oc x spencer reid #criminal minds smut #criminal minds fanfic #spencer reid fic #aaron hotchner fic #Spotify #spencerreidfanfic #spencer reid x original character #aaron hotchner x original character #aaron hotchner #criminal minds #hotch

151 notes · View notes

flowerandblood · 4 months

Text

The Man with the Fiery Gaze

[ Amor • Aemond x Psyche • female ]

[ warnings: sex content, oral sex, smut, angst, overstimulation, uncertainty related to physical wounds, trauma ]

[ description: After she is attacked in a fair by a strange man and narrowly avoids death, her father the king decides that from now on she will be watched over by one of his ‘ghosts’, a assassin acting on his orders, wearing a black mask. The man follows her like a shadow, accompanied by their past, which keeps her awake at night. Gothic horror love story, angst, sexual tension, very dark Aemond. ]

This story is several requests combined into one: sworn protector x female; Amor x Psyche; Phantom of the Opera! Aemond x female. I took the liberty of creating a completely new story from this, having only elements of each of these requests.

Series & Characters Moodboard Lady Walford Moodboard Gothic & Horror Sensual Moodboard

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Next chapters: Masterlist

_____

Her husband terrified everyone but her. His cold, mocking gaze, his lips clenched into a thin line, his pallor, his black eye patch made it seem to her that his lordships saw him as a phantom rather than a man. She found it hard to believe how much he could change as he crossed the door of his chamber, as he joined her in bed, asking in a whisper if his little wife missed her husband.

She had always missed him.

When he was not beside her she felt incomplete.

To the fury of some lords, he expected her presence at councils, consulting her often, relying on her advice. She did not interfere in the affairs of the kingdom when he did not ask her to or when he did not want to hear her opinion, having no intention of undermining his authority or challenging his opinion in front of other lords.

She wanted him to know that he could always count on her support, and only spoke to him of her doubts behind the closed doors of their chamber.

They were bound together by deep darkness, grief and death, tying them together by an invisible thread of understanding.

She had the feeling when she looked at him, when he gripped her in his hands, that he was devouring her, with every thrust of his hips taking something of her for himself − when she embraced him tightly, joining with his lips in a sudden, passionate kiss she had the feeling that he was filling her whole, that they were one person.

There was something in his coldness, in his distance, in his enviousness that attracted her, in his almost frantic, menacing gaze as he looked at her with his mouth wide open, hissing for her to beg him for his seed, which she did devotedly, making him come inside her a moment later with a loud, low groan of pleasure.

"− we are one −" He whispered when it was all over, lying on top of her, staying deep inside her, looking straight into her eyes, his large hand stroking her cheek. "− you and me − you see me as I truly am −"

She smiled at his words, feeling gratitude, peace and heat rippling across her chest − the sight of such a reaction on her face always embarrassed him and moved him in a way, so he tried to distract her with a sticky, hot kiss which he placed on her lips, her fingers then sinking into his hair, reciprocating his caress with devotion.

She was horrified by how connected she felt to him.

She was horrified by how much affection he evoked in her.

She was the only person he really confided in about his dark thoughts. He spoke to her about the lords he doubted, took advice from her on the things that kept him awake, looking at her intently, knowing that he would recognise immediately if she lied to him.

She had no intention of doing so.

She was faithful to him in body, heart and mind.

He knew that, and that was what was driving him mad, pushing him to root into her at night until she begged him to finally let them both rest.

"− I need to make sure I've filled my wife well −" He panted between desperate, sloppy thrusts of his hips, their bodies all welted up from the exertion − he sank inside her with a loud click of her juices and his spend, looking at the sight of him taking her from behind, unable to deny himself watching his fat cock stretch her insides with his every thrust.

"− fuck − so good −" He mumbled, coming again with a sigh of wonderful relief, falling on top of her at last, his sweat-wet hands finding hers and entwining with them, his cheek nestled against hers, his lips surrounding her skin with his hot, raptured breath.

"− you smell wonderful − I could do this to you all night −" He muttered, lazily pushing his half-soft manhood deeper into her with soft rocking of his hips.

"− I know, my King − but have mercy on your poor wife who won't be able to sit up tomorrow −" She whispered half dreaming; it was late and all she wished was that he would let her lie like that with him and fall asleep.

She heard him murmur, felt his pride beating at the thought of him bringing her to such a state, feeling fulfilled as a man, a lover and a husband as a result.

"− your husband is merciful − sleep −" He hummed softly, leaning down, placing a kiss on her naked shoulder, turning with her to his side so that he was no longer crushing her with his body, embracing her tightly, her hands tightening on his arms, delightfully hiding in his embrace.

Very often they both had nightmares, each seeing the same thing in them − soldiers with swords who burst into their chamber screaming, killing them in their beds.

Her husband kept two daggers under their pillows, just in case, and every night he checked with an involuntary flick of his hand that they were in place before he fell asleep.

When she woke with a scream she could feel him shuddering beside her, terrified, clasping his arms around her, a quiet, helpless quiver escaping her lips.

"− shhh − it's me − you're safe − breathe −" He whispered softly, again and again kissing her hot, soft skin, stroking her bare body with his hands until her heart slowed again and her breathing calmed.

"− I dreamt that they came for us − that they slit your throat and then raped me in front of your eyes − you were still alive and they made you watch −" She mumbled out in a trembling voice feeling a tear run down her cheek onto the pillow under her head.

She heard him swallow loudly at her words, embracing her tighter from behind, nuzzling his face into her hair, his fingers stroking her bare shoulder.

"− no one will touch you − you're mine and you're safe − your husband will protect you −" He whispered quietly and she nodded, closing her eyes, allowing herself to focus only on the warmth of his body, on the tenderness with which his hand stroked her bare flesh, trying to give her any source of comfort.

When her moon bleeding began to delay she waited a long time before going to the medic to examine her, wanting to make sure she was not wrong in her assumptions. He, however, had no doubts.

"You are carrying a child in your womb, my Queen."

She decided that she must inform her husband immediately, personally, disregarding the fact that a council of his closest advisors was currently taking place, during which he insisted that no one should disturb them.

"My Queen, you cannot walk inside now." Said one of the guards.

Over the months after their marriage, her husband's followers slowly began to trust her and no longer referred to her with such coldness, however, her husband's will was paramount to them, and they feared nothing more than his wrath.

"Open the door. I must convey a message to the King that cannot wait." She said gravely, looking at them with her hands folded in front of her.

The men looked at each other uncertainly; the one she spoke to sighed heavily and with a clack of armour walked to the door, opening it. Her king-husband fell silent in mid-sentence, looking at her angrily as she stepped inside and bowed, his lips pressed into a thin line. He looked at his guard with exasperation.

"I ordered that no one should disturb us."

"I must convey something important to you in private, my King. It is a matter of urgency." She said in a calm, confident tone, looking straight into her husband's face.

She saw him roll his eyes as he let out an impatient breath; he bited his lower lip and dismissed the men seated around the table with a gesture of his hand. They began to get up in silence, tense, leaving one by one until they were left alone.

"Speak." He said in an impatient, sharp tone, looking somewhere off to the side, tapping his pointing finger against the table top.

She approached him unhurriedly, saw him lift his gaze to her in which lurked a threat, telling her that if it turned out to be nothing important, he would lose his temper.

"I carry your inheritance in my womb, my King." She said softly, unable to hold back a shy smile, heat spreading through her heart as she saw his shocked look fall from her face to her lower abdomen where she held her hands, his lips parted in disbelief as if he had run out of words.

"… are you sure? Has you been examined by…"

"I've just been to the medic. I had suspected it for weeks, but I preferred to wait and be absolutely sure."

She heard him swallow loudly, saw his chest rise and fall in deeper breaths, his gaze fixed on her stomach. Wanting to embolden him, she gently grasped his wrist lying on the armrest of his chair and placed his hand where her womb was, stroking his skin with her thumb.

He sighed quietly, massaging her skin hidden beneath the material of her gown with his fingers, his gaze softened, the rage evaporating from him, replaced by shy disbelief.

He finally lifted his gaze to her and drew her to him − she fell into his lap, letting his wet, warm lips press against hers in a loud, sticky kiss. She sighed quietly in satisfaction and reciprocated his caress, pulling away from him, taking his cheeks in her hands.

"Does my King resent my interfering with his council?" She asked quietly, his hand from her waist involuntarily wandering to her womb again, as if he couldn't believe that at last the gods had blessed them with something they wanted so badly.

"No. You have pleased me with your words, wife." He hummed softly, his voice calm and warm, the way it usually was when they lay in the night snuggled into each other, tired and raspy from exertion and fulfilment.

She leaned into him and kissed his forehead, heard him purr contentedly.

"That is all I had to share with you, my King. With your permission." She said slipping out of his arms, wanting to get up, but she felt his shoulders clench tighter around her instead of letting her go, his cock throbbing beneath her with impatience.

"We cannot, my King. Your advisors are waiting." She whispered, looking at him calmly, her lips parted slightly when she noticed his pupil dilated, his irises almost black.

He answered nothing, his hands lifting her gown higher with an eager, sharp movement, forcing her to sit on top of him again − she sighed quietly unable to hide a smile of satisfaction.

When he saw this he clamped his hand painfully tight on her hair and forced her lips to cling to his again in an aggressive, roguish kiss − she grasped his cheeks in her fingers, stroking them with her thumbs.

He murmured contentedly and, wasting no time, undid the buckles of his tunic, then reached down to untie his breeches, sliding them down just enough to release his throbbing, swollen erection.

A low, surprised moan of delight erupted from his throat as she immediately grasped his length in her hand and directed it between her thighs, lowering herself onto it with a quiet sigh of pleasure. He leaned his head back resting it on the backrest, closing his healthy eye for a moment, a quiet, throaty fuck erupted from his lips.

They both began to pant as she began to slowly rise and fall on top of him, his large hands slipped under her gown and squeezed her bare buttocks impatiently, forcing her to speed up, the thrusts of his hips stretching her tight, fleshy walls with his hard, throbbing manhood.

She stroked his cheek and entwined her fingers in his soft white hair leaning over him, placing tender kisses full of devotion, desire and passion on his lips, her mouth wet and hot, a low, wonderful moan of delight escaping from his throat, his cock twitching with pleasure inside her.

"− don't stop − don't fucking stop − your King wants to fill you −" He hissed out between thirsty, deep, loud kisses, stifling their loud panting and moans as they did so, his chair creaking loudly each time she sank down on top of him, rubbing herself with it so that the fat head of his cock teased a wonderful spot deep inside her.

"− who am I to defy my King's command − my King can come inside me as many times as he wants −" She muttered sweetly, softly, feeling a shudder run through him, a sigh escaped his from his parted lips pressed against hers − she felt him throbbing inside her like crazy, her fleshy, hot walls clenched around him and sucked him in.

"− I − yes, fuck, oh godsss −" He gasped apparently struggling to restrain himself not to come, wanting to prolong this moment, but he gave in at last with a sigh of relief, pressing his face against hers, her fingers stroking his cheeks as she felt his seed fill her.

She felt his hand from her hip rise to her face and run through her hair, sliding down her neck, a pleasant shiver passed through her. They kissed lazily a few more times, calming their breathing and he finally pulled away from her with an expression of satisfaction, holding her chin between his fingers.

"You may leave, my wife." He hummed lowly. She smiled at his words and rose, feeling strangely empty as his manhood slid out from her with a loud splat. She adjusted her gown hearing him quickly tie his breeches, reaching for the buckles of his tunic and bowed humbly, no longer looking at him.

"My King."

She turned and walked out, opening the door and stepping out into the corridor where men stood waiting for them to finish their conversation, looking at her with furrowed brows. She suspected they knew exactly what they were doing.

She could feel his spend running down her thighs.

She knew they were jealous that he had allowed her to be so close, where every one of them dreamed of being his most trusted advisor.

She figured she wouldn't give them any reason to gossip and spread the opinion that she had become a queen by sneaking into his bed.

"Rejoice, my good lords. There is an heir to the throne in my womb." She said softly with a sincere smile of satisfaction, the men looked at her in disbelief and then at her abdomen.

Some seemed very pleased by this news, others only nodded, others seemed worried.

Until she bore the King an heir they believed that he would change his mind and divorce her, taking one of some lord's daughters as his wife.

However, they each offered her congratulations before entering the chamber, which they also repeated towards the King, who only nodded at their words, looking straight at her from across the table.

A living fire burning in his eye.

If it had seemed to her until now that her husband was obsessed with her, this impression was intensified further after passing on to him the joyful news that she was expecting his heir.

That night he took her gently and tenderly, first showering her with adoringly soft, wet kisses all over her naked body only to slide then between her thighs, sinking his tongue deep inside her, allowing her to reach her peak on his face.

He spent a long hour this way, licking her, teasing and sucking her pearl, tearing out of her fulfillment after fulfillment, watching with a smirk full of satisfaction as she wriggled beneath him in despair, babbling that she could take no more, that it was too much.

It seemed to her that what she was saying was having the opposite effect, the tip of his nose ran over her leaking womanhood again making her shiver.

"− you have made your husband happy today, sweet wife − I only wish to express my gratitude −"

From now on she could bother him at any time, of course, if the need was urgent or concerned their child.

He ordered the fruits she so adored to be brought to the fortress from the farthest reaches of the kingdom, and although she told him it was an unnecessary expense, he did not listen to her, recognising that it was his duty as her husband to provide her with everything he felt she needed in her blessed condition.

In the evenings, even when he was reading he longed to be close to her, so instead of sitting in his chair by the fireplace as usual, he would sit on the chaise longue, leaning back comfortably.

She would then come to him with a thick cloth in which she enveloped herself, not wanting to get cold in her nightgown alone, and lay down beside him, hugging the top of her head to his hip. His hand immediately moved to her shoulder, which he stroked in a steady, tender motion, flipping the page of the book lying on his thighs with a loud rustle.

Her pregnancy had been a huge trial for them, her belly swollen from his child had made her suffer, her back aching unmercifully, vexed by hot, dry nights during which she squirmed and could not sleep.

Although the medic had announced that he should not take her into his bed during the course of her pregnancy, she could not imagine having to wait so many months without touching him.

He did not seem enthused by the idea either, so they met in his chamber like parted lovers.

He was gentler towards her, the thrusts of his hips softer and more tender − he didn't want to hurt her or their child, his hand clenched on her womb as he root into her from behind, panting loudly, saying that he would stop soon, that just a moment more.

One time she was so hot that she couldn't sleep and she decided to sneak out of his chamber, not wanting to wake him up again, knowing that he couldn't sleep because of her. He never complained about it, however, she knew that he had trouble concentrating, the thought of her impending labour putting him in a constant state of anxiety and worry.

He was afraid.

She breathed heavily in relief as she stepped into her chamber, stroking her abdomen, feeling her child wriggling in her womb, thinking about the fact that only a few more months and it would be over.

She lay down in her bed, which had previously been her mother's chamber, and before that, Queen Alicent's. She thought of the underground shelter beneath her, of her husband having spent several days there.

He had told her about it one night when they lay tired, the healed wound in his eye socket sometimes causing him pain and the medic then had to pull out the sapphire that was placed there to apply ointment.

It turned out that the polished stone rubbed him and created small wounds that oozed and then caused him great discomfort.

"My Queen, the King should not wear this stone in his eye socket nor his eye patch for the next few weeks. He, however, insists on only taking a break for a few days until the ointment takes effect. I beg you to speak his mind, he will listen to you." Said a man in a simple brown robe, as she understood, one of the monks who had once saved her husband's life.

She nodded and walkend into his chamber − he sat in a chair leaning to one side, his black eye patch on his head, his hand massaging his temple, his face expressing discomfort and fatigue.

He looked at her sleepily and she thought immediately that the medic had given him poppy milk, which meant that his pain was so severe that he had decided to stupefy his senses, though he always kept his mind as sharp and focused as possible.

She approached him, sighing quietly, with a face expressing genuine concern − she took his hand in hers and stroked it with her thumb, but said nothing.

She knew that the last thing he wanted from her was pity and he would have preferred them to pretend that there was no subject, however, this time the matter was too serious for her to leave it out without a word.

"I was told by the medic that in order for your wounds to heal properly, you should not wear your eye patch at night so that your skin can rest and regenerate on its own." She said in a soft whisper, stroking his hand with her fingers. She felt him tense up all over; he turned his head away in impatience, showing her that he had no intention of discussing it with her.

"We'll cover the windows with curtains if you wish." She added, wanting to convince him if he wanted so badly for her not to see him without his sapphire, that there was a way.

"No." He replied roughly, even though his head was facing her sideways his eye was looking in her direction.

She swallowed loudly at the thought that ever since they had been married he had always left a single candle lit next to their bed when they went to sleep, his proof that his days of being locked away in endless darkness were over.

"I carry your heir under my heart, the medics think I need to get enough sleep and avoid worry. How can I manage this when I see my king-husband suffering through no fault of his own and making his condition worse for me? Let us draw the curtains."

"You will not keep your word. Just as you did then." He said coldly, turning his face towards the burning fireplace.

She felt a squeeze in her throat, her heart pounding harder in her chest as she realised he was speaking about when, while he was still her guardian, she had opened her eyes before he left even though she had promised him she would not do such thing.

"You knew everything about me then and I knew nothing about you. Now you are my husband and as always I will respect your will. I swear it on our child." She said calmly and slowly, wanting him to know that her words were sincere and serious.

She saw his jaw clench as he swallowed loudly and squeezed his eye shut, she knew that a wave of pain was running through his head again. He covered his face with his hand in a gesture of surrender.

"I won't forgive you if you don't keep your word." He said lowly; she knelt beside him, laying her head on his thigh, reaching with her palm to his hand extended on the armrest of his chair.

"I will keep my word, my love. Let's go to sleep."

As promised, this time it was she who drew the curtains, one by one, making the entire chamber fall into complete darkness. Walking back to their bed she had to walk slowly with her hands stretched out in front of her, not wanting to hit anything − she hissed when she bumped her knee on the small table, she heard him rise on the bed.

"Did you hurt yourself? Come here." He said impatiently − she felt his hand grab her arm and lead her straight to the bed. She landed in his arms and kissed him, however instead of a sigh of delight she heard his muffled sound of discomfort and pain.

She reached in the dark for his eye patch and pulled it gently off his head − she could hear him breathing loudly, his hand clenched tightly on the material of her nightgown.

"You see me." He said reproachfully, pained, his voice breaking as he spoke the words in such a way that she felt a sting in her heart.

"I can't see anything, my love. I swear, it's too dark." She whispered softly and ran her fingers over his healthy cheek, a powerful shudder went through her when she felt it was wet, after a moment she felt another tear run down between them.

He was crying.

This realisation shocked her so much that for a moment she didn't know what to say, her throat squeezed so tightly it made her ache.

"− my beloved husband − please, don't despair −" She mumbled in a trembling voice, stroking his hair as if he were a small child. She felt his strong arms tighten around her and pull her closer − she snuggled her face into his neck, her hand placed on his bare chest just above his heart.

He closed her in a tight embrace, stroking her back and hands − she heard him sigh heavily, as if he was trying to get something out of himself but was unable to.

"Since you have been my wife, there has always been at least one candle lit in my chamber." He uttered without strength; she lift her hand again and stroked his cheek, hushing him, pressing her forehead against his jaw, his fingers tightening on her hair.

"I will be your light this night and every night that follows, for as long as it takes, my love." She said softly. She heard him swallow loudly, letting the air out with a heavy sigh, desperate.

"Embrace me through the night, sweet wife. Don't let me out of your arms."

_____

I'm ending this series here because we've reached what I wanted, which is an openness and vulnerability that brings them completely closer together. I didn't want to suggest to the fans what would happen next, whether a girl or a boy would be born, or maybe a tragedy would happen to them? In my mind, they have six children, exactly the number Alys predicted, but all of them are born from his queen wife. They ruled bloodily, justly and indivisibly, trusting only themselves, their relationship on the verge of obsession caused general terror, and was a source of jealousy for others.

_____

Aemond Taglist:

(bold means I couldn't tag you)

@notnormalthings-blog @nikstrange @zenka69 @bellaisasleep @k-y-r-a-1 @g-cf2020 @melsunshine @opheliaas-stuff @chainsawsangel @iiamthehybrid @tinykryptonitewerewolf @namoreno @malfoytargaryen @qyburnsghost @aemondsdelight @persephonerinyes @fan-goddess @sweethoneyblossom1 @watercolorskyy @randomdragonfires @apollonshootafar @padfooteyes @darylandbethfanforever9 @fudge13 @snh96 @rwdkarla @echos-muses

218 notes · View notes

eddies-house · 8 months

Text

Ch. 1 | Ch. 2 | Ch. 3 | Ch. 4 | Ch. 5 | Ch. 6 | Ch. 7 | Ch. 8 | Ch. 9 | Ch. 10 | Ch. 11 | Ch. 12 | Ch. 13 |

Smoke Signals

Chapter One - Damn Mailbox

W/C: 5K

Eddie x Fem reader - Grumpy!Bartender!Eddie x Shy!Reader

Relocating to the small town of Knife’s Edge in hopes of leaving your old life behind and starting brand new solves all of your problems, right? Wrong. It only creates more and one of them may live right next door. Side effects may include blaring music at 3AM, a scowling neighbor, and one too many shots of tequila on several occasions. (That The Bourbon will not be comping.)

A/N: I'm super excited to start this lil series, I've had this idea for a little while and I can never resist writing total opposites, it's just so fun to explore their dynamic when they want to reject each other so bad. Also a lot of this fic is inspired by Smoke Signals by Phoebe Bridgers (hence the name). As always I would love your feedback and any comments y’all have 🙂 OH and finally...the hugest largest biggest thank you to @uglypastels for beta reading and proof reading and all that good stuff, it was SO appreciated and really helped smooth things out ILY Z YOU'RE SO GOOD AT WHAT YOU DO 💜

Masterlist

Morning dew was like an old friend, someone you hadn’t paid attention to since childhood but felt so familiar with, so…safe. Maybe it was a little too ridiculous to find security in a few dew drops but arriving in a new town with a population of less than five hundred would have that effect. Twists and turns of windy roads unknown, trees larger than any house, and barely any infrastructure would all frazzle anyone not accustomed to its elements. Normally you wouldn’t get car sick but these roads were a beast you’d never encountered before in your life, stomach threatening to send back your lunch of tuna on white bread and a bag of Doritos. You refused to let bile even trace your tongue so with just enough self control, you swallowed any sickness down and pushed forward. Now you were hunched over in the driver’s seat, the door open as you sucked in the fresh mountain air, perfect lengthy blades of grass grazing the bottom of the door. Just before you, up the driveway made up of damp dirt, was home. A home you were a stranger to at the moment but hoped to at least become acquaintances with. Lower expectations created less disappointment. If you dive in head first, you can only guarantee yourself vulnerability and pain, slow and steady was the only pace.

It’s not permanent; you are just figuring things out.

It’s what you kept preaching to yourself during the altitude change, where flatter land transformed into large mountains, the tallest peaks coated in white. Where your ears popped and your brain felt pressure. And then shortly after, you were submerged deep into the forests, far from home, where you knew there was no going back for quite some time. It was a trial run although it didn’t feel that way when the moving truck packed with your life pulled up just minutes after you, delivering every piece of your life to some cabin in a secluded town that was nearly invisible on any map. Temporary was starting to feel foreign when everything felt more set in stone.

You’d think a town called ‘Knife’s Edge’ would steer you away and maybe that was the intent when it was first named; to ward off newcomers who had no business being out in the woods. But it only intrigued you. From what you could find out in a few tourism magazines, Knife’s Edge was not somewhere you went for a getaway, not according to the locals who were a tight knit community where everyone knew everyone. The economy relied on the small businesses down in The Village, on Main Street which according to your calculations was about five miles down the road and around the lake then up. That was the extent of knowledge you’d had on your new home and yes, maybe you should have gathered more information before daring to even place a down payment on some random cabin in the woods but when a new start calls, you either answer the phone or stare at it until nothing happens. The cabin was either yours if you paid the down payment or it would’ve been torn down and sold to the neighbor for more land which would’ve sent you on your way again, on a wild goose chase for a new place that you could fit into. Not that you were too sure that you’d even fit in here. But it seemed too obvious that this was where you were meant to be when the realtor advised that it was yours at a low down payment, a steal. So you’d try to make it work.

The moving truck’s door startled you, slamming against the top as two men got to work, unloading all your belongings. You figured this was your cue to exit your beat-up sedan to unlock the front door–wide-paneled and made of a beautiful dark oak. The crunch of pebbles and dirt alerted the movers to your presence where you let them know you were going to open up so they could begin their tedious process, one of them grumbling something incoherent in response. As you approached even closer, there were knicks and dents decorating the surface of the door but it seemed to add to the essence. The wooden steps creaked underneath your weight and upon glancing around the porch, you found two well built rocking chairs that the previous owner must have left behind. Other than that, there were pine needles and other debris from the surrounding nature caked in the corners, some scattered along the rest of the floor that would need to be swept up but it wasn’t an urgent task in comparison to actually setting up your bed and other necessities.

The lock was stubborn as you twisted the key but with one more persistent shove and turn, it clicked and you were able to push your way in, the hinges painfully squeaking as you made a mental note to pick up some WD40. The air inside was stale, smelling of dust and maybe a half hearted spritz of air freshener. Or maybe it was drenched in air freshener but it did little to nothing to cover up the smell of an old abandoned cabin; you weren’t sure. It was a modest size, the kitchen off to the right, tucked into the corner with a small island in the center. The living room was the first room you walked into from the front, the floorplan more open than you’d expected. A little to the left was a narrow hallway with shutter doors lining both sides, you assumed one side had to be the laundry. The door at the end had to be the bedroom and the door just before you embark into the hall had to be the bathroom but you had no time to explore right now.

Morning light trickled in through the kitchen window just above the stove, creating a beautiful hue against the wood paneling of the walls which you only noticed as you came back in, setting a box that was labeled ‘kitchen’ on the counter before rushing back out to retrieve more of your belongings. It was too early to be doing such strenuous work but that's what you get for securing a slot with the moving company first thing in the morning. In hindsight, you didn’t realize you were signing yourself up to meet said moving truck at 6:00 AM but in your defense, you’d never done this before.

By 7:00 AM the truck was fully unloaded and on its way out and with it went the grumpy movers, more than likely unsatisfied with the fact that they’d have to trek back down the mountain. You graciously offered them an extra twenty bucks which they gladly took but still appeared crabby nonetheless. Now for the part you had been dreading the most: unpacking each box and putting everything in its respective place. But first, you wanted to take it all in. You were right; the laundry was on the left side of the hall behind the shutter door and on the other side was a closet. The bedroom was settled right where you had guessed, at the end of the hall and rather than being empty, it now held your bed and mattress, sheets still yet to be found among the boxes labeled ‘bedroom’ in thick sharpie. The wallpaper was something you could do without but maybe you’d find time to peel it off later and replace it with something more to your taste. Currently the bedroom walls were lined with floral designs and pale blue stripes and if you could be honest, the design was a bit too busy for your liking. But it was a roof over your head for a good price so complaining was out of the equation.

At the opposite end of the hall, just off the living room was the bathroom, sporting a less off putting wallpaper of faded yellow and white vertical stripes. You first ensured your hygiene essentials were in place, toothbrush and toothpaste in a glass on the sink, towels on the rack, and soaps set up in the shower including shampoo, conditioner, and bar of Dove. Having these accessible was a priority, cleanliness being one of the most important factors of your daily routine.

Clothes were next and you’d forgotten a box in your trunk of your most worn items of clothing that you could pick through until you were fully settled. Lazily carrying yourself back to the driveway where your maroon sedan sat on top of the copper-toned dirt, you do a double take when you realize your mailbox was taken out, wood splintering out of the ground as the poor box lays among the grass at the edge of the street. From what you could remember, it was fully intact when you first drove up so you’re forced to conclude that the movers you’d tipped generously must have run it over and not given it a second thought.

The half of the mailbox that rested on the ground was a lot heavier than it looked and you would’ve thought it was made of cement just by the weight. You felt pathetic dragging it up the driveway, creating a prominent line in the dirt along the way. A brief break in getting the damn thing up to your porch has you about half way up the driveway, glancing around at your surroundings, only to finally take into account that you had a neighbor relatively close by, a cabin similar to yours only a few hundred yards away except it was a darker wood and a red pickup sat idle in front of it.

You braced yourself, catching your breath to continue hauling the mailbox back until you can figure out how to repair it when your eyes catch on figure, a man making his way down the steps of the cabin you’d just been analyzing. And you’re quick to shy away until you realize he’d already been looking at you, a cocky grin on his face as he slowly, almost tauntingly stepped off his porch. The way he walked closer reminded you of a lion declaring its territory, especially with the mane of curls he had, shaggy and brunette. He wasn’t close enough to allow you to examine any further; however, you caught the click of his tongue before he spoke.

“Gonna get splinters draggin’ wood around like that.”

It’s all he says, a toothpick between his teeth before he turns on his heel, combat boot digging into the soil and it’s only then that you realize he wasn’t offering assistance, he was simply picking up the hose connected to his spigot to rinse off his windshield which now that he’d drawn attention to it, was filthy with mud and leaves. He wore a red and black flannel which reminded you of a lumberjack but this man just didn’t fit that description based on your short interaction with him. Or rather his interaction with you. Your first indication was that he had no facial hair; he was clean-shaven. And his tight jeans that had black rips at the knees didn’t seem very suitable for a job that required a larger range of motion.

Without any further acknowledgement of your existence, he hopped in his truck and sped off around the bend without a care in the world. He was a resident douchebag and you’d never even spoken a word to him. You quickly realized you were still stood in the middle of the driveway with half a mailbox, grunting in protest as you lugged it the rest of the way up to the porch, leaning it against the railing for future contemplation on how to repair it or if you’d have to fork up money for a brand new one. That was a problem for future you and though future you would be pissed at past you for putting the responsibility on her, you had other things to sort out such as unpacking the rest of the kitchen so you’d be able to actually use it to feed yourself. And then of course you’d have to make your way into town a ways down the road to actually get groceries because not a crumb of anything edible was packed. Aside from a bag of Chex Mix that sat in the passenger seat of your car that you’d picked up at a gas station.

–

Going overboard was an understatement when it came to how much you’d actually gotten done. By 12:00 PM you almost had each room unpacked and put away, moving boxes discarded next to the front door to be thrown out later. Your plan was to finish off the kitchen and then go into town. Instead you finished the kitchen and moved from room to room with more motivation than you’d ever experienced in your life. Maybe it was the adrenaline of living alone, no one else could tell you what to do or where to put things. It was all up to you and maybe you were a little drunk off that power. Regardless, you were now worn out and that energy didn’t last very long. At least you had a freshly made bed for when you came back, that’s what you would reward yourself with.

If you go grocery shopping then you can come back and nap.

There were still various projects to be done, items to be organized, and objects without a home but for the most part, you could sleep peacefully with the work you’d done today. The floors were yet to be cleaned and the fridge still needed a good scrub down but that could wait until tonight after you properly refueled.

Humming to some song you’d heard on the radio earlier, you make your way out the door, patting your pockets for your keys and wallet, both of which you had before locking up and heading for the car. You rolled your eyes passing the mutilated mailbox, settling into the driver’s seat with an ache in your back from the grueling labor in the early hours of the morning. Shifting into drive and then rapidly back to park, you remember that these roads are foreign to you and that you could easily get lost and possibly become a bear’s lunch with your luck. With a tug, the glove box opens and reveals the map you had set in it before embarking on our journey. The map that was mailed to you of the town didn’t seem very complicated. But if you happened to make a wrong turn it could land you amongst some rocky cliffs which you thought better to stay away from. So you carefully examined the route to town, what the people here seemed to call The Village Square. You took the liberty of drawing your house on the map, a cute little doodle in blue gel pen and then proceeding to draw the rest of the route in the same blue so you’d always have it.

This was it. A fresh start where no one knew your name. This would be good for you. At least that's what you kept trying to convince yourself.

Goodbye someone else’s daughter and hello new self-made woman.

–

You weren’t lost. You were just…exploring.

Okay, you were a little lost but the signs for The Village Square kept passing you by and yet you found yourself also passing the same exact pine trees–and you knew they were the same pine trees because every time you saw them you thought ‘hey that kinda looks like a dog’. At some point it started to feel as if you were spawning in and out of some dimension until you finally turned into a lot directly behind one of the signs, sick of this game of hide and seek. There were no signs for parking which is why you’d passed by so many times in the first place, and now it seemed like you were behind a restaurant of some kind. This couldn’t be where everyone parked, right? Anxiety was pooling in your stomach and before you could sike yourself out, you ultimately decided to park and walk from here. You would only be a few minutes and hopefully you’d be able to muster up the courage to ask someone where to park from now on, even if it did make you seem like an idiot.

Leaves crunched under your sneakers, an obvious indication of the Fall season trickling one leaf at a time. As if you were a wary animal, you cautiously walked around the building, finding that it was someplace called The Bourbon; the letters written out in neon red lights that weren’t yet illuminated, the open sign in the window dull signifying they were closed. You let your eyes roam up and down the street, small businesses lined up all the way through and a few patrons, clearly with an agenda making their way along the sidewalks. It was a cute place, nestled in a little valley. Instead of plain old cement the sidewalks were cobblestone and overall it seemed to be a pedestrian oriented community with several cross walks and barely any traffic.

From here you had no idea how to get to Marvin’s Grocery, which seemed to be one of the only produce stores around according to your map. The others were a little more out of the way, your house conveniently only around five miles away from The Village Square. The shops you passed as you attempted to gain a sense of direction were exquisite. Mom-and-pop shops that either smelled of delicious baked goods or hunger-inducing aromas that filled your nostrils with savory goodness. The smell would haunt you in the best way for days to come. A candle shop piqued your interest, as well as a flower shop that bloomed so beautifully among the muted tones of the brick buildings around it.

Everything was so unlike what you were used to, back home things were more commercialized, built for quantity not quality. Here it seemed to be the polar opposite which you could appreciate. Corporations were the root of all evil and you had yet to see one single corporation among the several businesses you passed so far. People seemed friendly but also confused by your presence, offering you a meaningful wave accompanied by a puzzled expression written on every face you encountered. You were a stranger and it was becoming more apparent the deeper you found yourself in the square. Some people whispered and you happened to snag onto a few words, mostly grasping ‘is she new?’. In return, you graced them with a polite smile. It wasn’t like you to initiate small talk or approach new friendships. If they happened, they happened per the other party’s account, not yours, never one to try and stand out in the crowd only making this infinitely more uncomfortable for you, which was no one’s fault other than your own insecurity.

Eventually you were able to come face to face with the giant ‘Marvin’s Grocery’ sign which looked to be handpainted in big white letters outlined in black with a few cartoony carrots, a tomato, and a head of lettuce. Wandering around for an extra ten minutes and refusing to ask for help certainly wasn’t ideal but it did familiarize you with the shops you would soon be buying from on the regular. And it did give you a soft introduction to the small population of Knife’s Edge which despite the name, the people seemed lovely enough.

The store wasn’t the slightest bit crowded and it wasn’t very large either. A mother and her two kids skimmed one of the aisles while an older man pondered over the produce, apples specifically. Grabbing a cart, you begin gathering the items you had sorted out on a list in your head. First bananas, grapes, and blueberries, you didn’t want to bother with too much produce as it went bad fast and you were only one person so those would do for now. Then you moved on to pantry essentials, canned goods that you could stock up on and always have on hand. Green beans, corn, peas, baked beans, even soups such as tomato, cream of mushroom, and the standard chicken noodle.

You’d built up a cart full in no time, and by then, no one else was around so you noted that this time would be perfect to get your shopping done in the future so as to avoid as many people as possible. The cashier was a woman, probably in her early sixties who seemed not all that intimidating which you were grateful for. She smiles warmly and you appreciate the sentiment, grinning back at her as you place each item at the register.

“You’re new. But I bet you’ve already had an earful of that, haven’t you?” She lightly teases.

You laugh softly, avoiding eye contact while still trying to remain well mannered, taking notice in small glances that the woman’s name tag reads Donnie in bold red letters as well as the ‘help wanted’ sign perched up against the window. She seems friendly, a little rough around the edges though in the sense that she had several tattoos that disappeared into the rolled up sleeve of her blue crewneck sweater as well as a fire in her icy blue eyes. You could already guess that she was quite the character.

“Don’t let them scare you off.” Donnie carefully bags the eggs with a few more light items, her confidence radiating, as if she doesn’t even need to try, as if it just comes to her so naturally. Something you could only wish for every once in a blue moon. “We don’t get many newbies. They’ll get it outta their system.” Her voice is a tad scratchy but smooth otherwise, bringing a strange sense of comfort.

“Thank you.” A mouse may as well have been louder than you but you tried and that’s what counts, right? New people were not your thing but they would have to become your thing, moving to a place where no one knew you existed and all. Or maybe you could fly under the radar? It couldn’t hurt to become the mysterious outsider that spoke to no one although it wasn’t a very realistic ambition.

This was fucked. You thought to yourself in the solitude of your brain. Of course the second thoughts were coming now and not before you bought the damn property that tied you to this place. Initially, the idea was a temporary situation far from home but the deeper you delved into this town, the more permanent it started to feel. Not just anyone up and moved here and that was clear by the reaction you pulled from several onlookers. And yet you moved here, bought that damn cabin with the money left to you from your father’s estate, and ultimately, left everything you knew in a manic state. A mid life crisis in your early twenties.

“Miss, your change.” The woman broke through your thoughts and you must have shifted into autopilot, not even remembering handing her any money in the first place.

“S-sorry.” You mutter, collecting the filthy coins in your palm, shoving them into the front pocket of your jeans which you knew would be a pain to dig out later but again, that was an issue for future you. She hated your guts.

“No prob–”

It was abrupt, your exit but despite your rude departure, she called out “I’m Donnie!” and you never felt like a shittier person. She was welcoming you to her home and you didn’t even have the decency to introduce yourself. That’s how it looked at least, on the inside you were panicking and needed to isolate yourself immediately.

You must have looked like a maniac carrying your groceries in a near sprint toward the direction of your car. Everyone else seemed to move at such a mellow pace, not a single vein close to popping out of stress whereas you looked like you’d crumble under the slightest inconvenience. Which you would if you didn’t get to the car fast enough. A small misstep causing you to trip? No chance, you wouldn’t show your face again for weeks. Your groceries spilling all over the pavement because of said possible misstep? You would consider moving all over again.

Thankfully the majority of the walk back to the little lot behind one of many businesses was blacked out, your heart practically pumping in your ear the whole time. What you couldn’t black out from was the man-the same man from this morning smoking a cigarette as he stared at your car. Fear drenched you; you couldn’t gauge his expression with his back to you but you could guess he wasn’t going to be smiling with the way he was lingering, shuffling his boots back and forth in contemplation.

Announcing yourself felt like the most daunting task in the world, humiliation melting into your skin like an uncomfortable burn. Maybe some higher power heard your pathetic struggle because the crunch of your sneaker on a perfectly placed leaf called his attention to you, his head snapping in your direction instantly.

The urge to just run was strong but you maintained whatever cool was left within you, fingers waving at him weakly.

His expression was blank, unreadable. He didn’t say a word as you slowly inched your way closer to the vehicle, only eyeing your every movement like a predator protecting his territory, much like he did that same morning. The closer view of his face showcased his stoic yet soft features, eyes almost puppy dog-like but something glazed over them, a facade of some kind. Something that overtook the puppy dog nature they were capable of and replaced them with a cruel glare. The shape of his nose was endearing at least, rounded at the tip and tinted pink from the cold.

“You just park anywhere you want where you’re from?” He asks, gesturing vaguely with a tip of his cigarette toward the car.

Your shaky breath has him furrowing his brows at you, seemingly offended. It’s not in your nature to offend people but you can’t seem to stop doing it, especially today whether you mean to or not. But you definitely don’t think you mean to.

“N-no, ‘m sorry.”

“Sorry?” He mocks, scoffing before inhaling a puff of smoke once more.

“I-I uh, I’m leaving. It won’t happen again.” You rush out, all the while forcing yourself not to cry. “I just–I couldn’t find parking–I was driving around and—there was no–I couldn’t–”

“Don’t let it happen again.” He warns, stern but easing up on his intense demeanor.

“Promise.” You whisper, a tear betraying you and rolling down your cheek to which you quickly gather your grocery bags in one hand to swat away at your cheek. It’s too late, he already saw.

No empathy is detected in his stare, not that you feel you deserve any. It was just an observation. “Now, get out of my lot.” It’s a demand, a non-negotiable demand that if you were brave enough to argue, would probably have him towing your shitty little sedan.

So you nod, blinking back the water works as best you could while tossing your groceries into the passenger seat, him watching the whole time. With your seatbelt suddenly feeling like the most complicated thing in the world, you expect to look up and meet pure rage but instead your ears perk up at a few knocks on the window. Rolling it down as fast as possible with the manual handle, the man stands towering over you, cigarette abandoned sometime in between you getting in the car and struggling to remember how a seatbelt works. Did he have more choice words for you for illegally parking on what he deemed ‘his lot’? You really didn’t want to stick around to find out but you had no choice.

“Left on Main. Then right on Cherry.” His dark eyes hinted at hues of warm honey but they were briskly dismissed by his cold attitude.

“What?”

“Next time. So you don’t turn into my damn lot again.”

You still didn’t know what he meant by ‘his lot’ and you didn’t have the backbone to ask. You did however fully get the message that you were to never park here again and were now aware of which streets to search for to avoid it at all costs. You’d memorize every detail of it if it meant you could steer clear of the apathetic man before you. With a nervous nod, you were off, not once looking back just as he did that morning except he had more grit in his actions, you just came off as a scared church mouse. You never even caught his name and you didn’t mind not knowing it at this rate seeing as he was all bite and bark for no good reason.

This place never felt so far from home. Nowhere was home. Your heart was in a sense homeless, lost and longing for the connections that these people had with each other that you couldn’t seem to tap into even if your life depended on it. In all fairness, it had only been a few hours and you couldn’t gauge your success based on that but it was tugging on your brain like a parasite, eating away at your final optimistic thoughts.

I don’t belong here.

I don’t fit in.

The drive ‘home’ was flooded with tears and muffled sobs into your now sticky sleeve, coated in snot and if anyone were to pass you along the way you would look psychotic with how your face scrunched up at every exhale, doing your best to keep yourself quiet despite being the only one in the car. You were always doing your best. Always to please others. And it never worked.

~end~

Masterlist

tags - @gravedigginbbydoll @ohauggieo @spicysix @lunatictardis @ali-r3n @batkin028 @mrsjellymunson @witchwolflea @emma77645

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson fic #eddie x reader #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x fem reader #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson angst #bartender!eddie #eddie munson au #bartender!eddie munson #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fanfiction

411 notes · View notes

inuhalfdemon · 2 months

Text

Dirty Dealings

Fanfiction Promotional Post

New Orleans; 1950: in a moment of desperation, a young woman makes a Faustian bargain to live forever and is cursed to be forgotten by everyone she meets. Addie LaRue is determined to find her life's purpose: despite Alastor's cleverly placed entrapments. The radio demon may just find that he can be bested by his own game...

A fictional Hazbin Hotel prequel work heavily inspired by "The Invisible Life of Addie LaRue" written by V.E. Schwab.

Status = COMPLETE

Mature; M/F

Tumblr: Chapter 1: Chapter 2: Chapter 3: Chapter 4: Chapter 5: Chapter 6: Chapter 7: Chapter 8: Chapter 9: Chapter 10: Chapter 11: Chapter 12: BONUS ONE-SHOT: Chapter 13: Chapter 14: Chapter 15: Chapter 16: Chapter 17: Chapter 18: Chapter 19: Chapter 20: Chapter 21: MUSIC PLAYLIST

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/54085216

#hazbin hotel #fanfiction #hazbin hotel fandom #alastor #hazbin alastor #hazbin hotel alastor #hazbin hotel fanfiction #hazbin hotel fanfic #addie larue #the invisible life of addie larue #comedy #horror #alastor x addie #dirty dealings #dirty dealings fanfic #my fanfic #demon alastor #human alastor #protective alastor

137 notes · View notes

jessicaloons · 10 months

Text

Masterlist - Invisible String

Charles Leclerc. Lizzie Doetterer. Childhood best friends. But maybe even more

New Chapters every Sunday (or rather I try to upload every Sunday 🙈)!

I’m starting a taglist. If you want to be added to it, drop a comment!

Meet the characters down below!

Chapters:

1. Just to learn that my dreams aren’t rare…

2. Hold on to the memories, they will hold on to you…

3. I have this thing where I get older, but just never wiser…

4. Saying goodbye is death by a thousand cuts…

5. Goodbye, Goodbye, Goodbye, you were bigger than the whole sky…

6. Because these things will change, can you feel it now?

7. All that bloodshed, crimson clover…

8. I can tell that it’s gonna be a long road…

9. And when we go crashing down we come back every time…

10. You been stressed out lately. Yeah, me too…

11. ‘Cause it’s all over, it’s not meant to be…

12. They think that it’s over but it’s just begun…

13. But I come back stronger than a ‘90s trend…

14. And it’s coming over you like it’s all a big mistake…

15. You can see it with the lights out: You are in love…

16. The devil’s in the details, but you got a friend in me…

17. But there was one prize I’d cheat to win…

18. You learn my secrets and you figure out why I’m guarded…

19. Kiss me on the sidewalk, take away the pain…

20.1 Ask me what I learned from all those years…

20.2 Ask me what I earned from all those tears…

21. I had the shiniest wheels, now they’re rusting…

22. ‘Cause baby, now we got bad blood, You know it used to be mad love…

23.1 Freedom felt like summer then, on the coast…

23.2 Freedom felt like summer then, on the coast…

24. Every time you call me crazy I get more crazy

25. The world moves on, another day another drama…

26. I swear I don’t love the drama, it loves me…

27. But the story of us might be ending soon…

28. I can't find a pulse, my heart won't start anymore…

29. 'Cause you kiss me and it stops time…

30. It was the end of a decade, but the start of an age…

31. I watched it begin again…

32. Don’t say I didn’t, say I didn’t warn ya…

33. The rumours are terrible and cruel…

34. My knuckles were bruised like violets…

35. I’m standing on a tightrope, alone…

36. I can do it with a broken heart…

37. I think I am finally clean…

38. You gotta step into the daylight and let it go…

39. Don’t blame me, love made me crazy…

40. And some things you just can’t speak about…

41. I like shiny things, but I’d marry with Paper Rings…

42.

43.

Meet the character’s of Invisible String:

#charles leclerc #charles leclerc 16 #formula 1 #f1 2023 #scuderia ferrari #ferrari #female driver #charles leclerc f1 #charles leclerc fic #f1 fanfic #cl16 #f1 x female driver

451 notes · View notes

fandom-chic · 5 months

Text

Please Please Please: Chapter 12

Summary: Y/N is only a child when she and Tommy Shelby meet. The two quickly become best friends as they grow up in Small Heath. As the years go by, Y/N and Tommy know there may be more to their friendship than they originally thought.

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x Y/N

A/N: One more chapter after this. Apologize for the grammar, will go through with a fine tooth comb later.

Previous chapter

Her words got caught in her throat, and even if she wanted to say something, she knew she couldn't. The man before her left her speechless. It all brought her back to the night she confessed her love to him. This must've been what it felt like to be on the other side of that door, seeing someone who took up all your heart being completely exposed.

These thoughts swirled through her mind, not allowing Y/N to bring herself to shut the door. Her limbs were stiff, and her bones felt like they were fused together. All she could do was stare at her old lover as his frame took up the doorway.

“Can I come in?” He was calm, acting as if the events of last night had not happened. As if he did not follow her into her husband’s office, trying to use warm words to make her turn away from her life. The one she built without him.

Her grip tightened on the doorknob, “I don’t think that’s a good idea.” Her eyes narrowed as she refused to avert her gaze.

“Well,” Tommy ran a hand up and down the pine exterior of the door, assessing the strength, “I can imagine this door wasn’t very expensive. It could come down with a kick or two.”

“You wouldn’t dare,” she said behind a clenched jaw.

“Try me,” his eyebrows rose, accepting her challenge. Y/N knew another expense was not something her family could afford right now. She cracked the door open far enough for Tommy to slither in. Tommy tried to maintain his suave exterior, but it was hard for him when he had to wiggle through the now minuscule entryway. Once he was finally in the house, he smoothed down his front coat, “Now that wasn’t too hard, was it?” he grumbled.

“I wouldn’t say that,” Y/N said, a haughty twinge to her voice. She shut the door with a light push, letting the sound of it closing reverberate throughout the house. She refused to take her eyes off of this man. She crossed her arms, taking him in more holistically now. Last night, all she caught was glimpses of him as she avoided him at all costs. Now, she can truly examine this new version of Tommy. There seemed to be an air of wealth that wasn’t originally there. His gloves appeared to be made of leather and his jacket seemed to be made of superior cotton.

Tommy noticed Y/N’s eyes scrutinizing every detail of his exterior and began to remove his cap. There was a sophistication to him that was not there back in 1914.

“I can take your jacket if you would like, Mr. Shelby,” she said, a coolness set in her tone. Tommy let out an exasperated sigh as he slipped off his coat. Y/N took it in her arms and walked to a spare chair, tossing it on top. It was a simple act of defiance that gave her the smallest sense of superiority.

“I could have done that myself,” he noted, motioning toward the chair.

“Well,” Y/N dusted an invisible piece of lint from her skirt, “We wouldn’t want Tommy Shelby to have to exert himself now, would we?” The poison in her words made the air darken.

“Y/N, can we just-”

“Tea?” She asked, not wanting this part of the conversation to happen quite yet. Maybe if she pushed it off long enough, it may never happen. Tommy leaned against the wall, crossing his arms.

“Do you have anything stronger?” She couldn’t help but snort.

“I can leave the tea bag in for an extra minute if that’s what you’re looking for.” Her hands went to her hips as if she was scolding Tommy.

“Then I guess I’ll have tea.” His voice finally gave a bite to her, as if not having the option to have some kind of liquor impeded him. Something that the old Tommy could have lived without but this new one seemed to lean on.

The two wandered into the kitchen as Y/N set the kettle on the stove. Tommy took a seat, letting his elbows rest on the wooden table. She could not shake the feeling that Tommy’s eyes were analyzing every aspect of her home, creating a hypothesis about the kind of life that Y/N was living.

As if on cue, Tommy noted, “Small kitchen.” Y/N gripped the side of the counter, putting her anger into the pine.

“It’s good enough for me,” she said between gritted teeth. She heard Tommy scoff as she tried to keep all her attention on the water coming to a boil.

“I’m just saying I never expected to see you in a place like this,” there was a nonchalance to his voice that made her want to chuck something, anything, at it. “I always expected something-”

“Something like what, Tommy?” She interrupted, spinning toward him, making eye contact with the reposed man.

He throws his hands up, feigning losing the battle, “Just making observations.”

“Well,” The kettle began to sing, and Y/N began to pour little streams of water into the waiting mugs, “maybe you should keep these observations to yourself.” She picked up the two mugs and placed Tommy’s in front of him with a thud.

“What good will that do, Y/N?” He says, blowing on the piping hot drink.

“It will make me not want to kick you out of my house.” He chuckles at her response.

“Feisty tonight, aren’t we?” He noted, taking a sip of his tea. At this, the clatter of a teacup echoes throughout the kitchen, and shards litter the floor. Y/N’s face is a blotchy red as the anger rises from her stomach, through her throat and out her mouth.

“Why are you acting like this?” She screeched.

“Like what?” His aloof demeanor is beginning to slip.

“Like a childish asshole,” Y/N spat, wanting her words to stick to his expensive shirt. She couldn’t bear to sit anymore, letting her legs lift her from her spot at the table.

“Look who’s talking, at least I’m not throwing shit around the kitchen,” He stands to her level now. She runs a hand through her hair, wondering how to respond.

The words slip out, “Tommy, you broke up with me,” they were a whisper but they felt like a yell, “Why can’t you just let me be happy?” He immediately softened as he took a step toward Y/N.

“It’s not that simple.” This was the first time he couldn’t meet her gaze.

“It sure seemed simple when you told me I would never see you again,” she grumbled. This caused him to meet her eyes.

“Don’t say that.” His words were curt and cut like a knife.

“Tommy, you obviously were done with me because you know I would’ve waited for you forever.” She said that part before she could stop herself. A beat passed between the two before she felt a hand entwine with hers. She looked down to see Tommy closer than she had imagined he could ever be again.

He leaned in and rested his forehead upon hers. She knew she should run, tell this stranger to leave, but she knew she couldn’t. Her body was stuck in that spot as she stared into the blue eyes in front of her.

“Do you think I wanted to do that? Do you think I wanted to never see you again?” There was a quiver in his voice, but he continued, “I was stuck, Y/N. I loved a perfect woman and I just kept making her life shittier and shittier. I left because I loved you.” And there was her answer. The words she wanted to hear for so long.

“You don’t mean that-”

“I was damaged goods who would either die on the streets of Small Heath or honorably in France. I decided to do one kind thing I could do and…” He needed to catch his breath.

“And what, Tommy?” She stuttered.

He took a deep breath before saying, “I let you go. Gave you a fighting chance. You deserved better.” He pulled away from Y/N, keeping her hands in his as he took in her kitchen for a second time, “so maybe I am a little spiteful because I got exactly what I wanted.”

Exactly what he wanted. That’s what he said. He gave her what he wanted. A home. A kind husband. A beautiful child. Stability. Something he could never give her.

So, Y/N did the only thing she could think to do at that moment. That was when Tommy’s chest was pulled into Y/N’s. Their first embrace in four years. She felt his body stiffen as she brought it to her, but she didn’t care. She needed this. She needed to know why.

“Tommy, I loved you.” His body loosened, and she felt a hand graze her back. Y/N could barely hear the next words, but she knew she couldn’t ask him to repeat.

“I’ll always love you, Y/N.”

And in that moment, she knew she could play pretend. She knew she could pretend this home was bigger, cleaner, and fancier. She could pretend that Tommy was the one coming home to her every night and sharing her bed. She could pretend that they held each other close every night as they drifted off. She could pretend this was their life. So she gave in.

“Can I show you something?” She asked, pulling away from the broken man in front of her. He smiled in response as she motioned for him to follow her lead. She brought him to the living room where a phonograph was the centerpiece. Next to it, a pile of records lived.

“Quite the collection you have.” He noted, she smiled to herself at that.

“Thank you, but there is one I think you should see.” That was when she plucked an old dusty 45 out of the pile. She blew the dust from the cover before examining it. She took in the image of the singer and the way the words lived on the sleeve.

Tommy looked over her shoulder and smiled, “It’s our song.” She felt his hands touch her shoulders and she leaned in.

“I couldn’t get rid of it,” she said, turning toward Tommy, “how could I?” His hand goes to her cheek, caressing it.

“Why don’t you put it on?” And that’s what she did. As soon as the crackles turned into a melody, she faced Tommy, giving him a curtsy. She received a theatrical bow in response. No words were exchanged as Tommy held his hand out to Y/N. She floated into his arms and swayed as the crooner’s voice filled the room.

And there she was. 1914, telling Tommy to never leave and he listened. 1915, the wedding happened. 1916, they bought their first home. 1917, their first child was born. 1918, peace. And now, dancing in their living room like they were 15 and 16 again. Maybe they both were still those people.

“I’ve always loved you too, Tommy,” Y/N whispered at a volume no one could hear, but he did. She didn’t have to look up at him to know he was smiling. Maybe for the first time in a long time.

The song ended and the crackles filled the room again. Their eyes met and she didn’t have to question what happened next. His lips were just as soft as they were the last day she felt them. Warm, comforting and saying words he didn’t have the ability to speak. She couldn’t say them either, only her body could. And they were at peace.

At least they were until the dream was over.

A wail echoed throughout the home as Y/N pulled away from Tommy. She knew this couldn’t last forever.

“Excuse me,” she murmured before scurrying up the rickety old stairs. Standing in her crib banging on the bars like a prisoner stood Jane. Her face was red and blotchy as cries and screams too loud for her small body left her mouth.

“I’m here sweetheart,” she comforted, picking up the small child. Jane burrowed into her mother’s arms, immediately calming down. Y/N rocked the child, trying everything she could to calm her. A hum started to sound from her lips as the tune of the song she just danced too filled the room. It was only interrupted when a new presence made itself known.

“Who is this?” Tommy uttered, but he knew the answer.

“This is Jane,” Y/N voiced, “my daughter.” The baby finally noticed Tommy, looking at the man with the astonishingly blue eyes. Y/N could see the gears in her daughter’s brain moving as she took in this new man.

“Jane,” Tommy said, approaching the mother and child, “A beautiful name for a beautiful girl.” Y/N smiled as Tommy held out a hand to the baby. She took one of his fingers in her tiny hand and examined it. Tommy cannot help but mirror Jane’s curiosity, taking in every detail of the baby.

“She looks just like you,” he noted, moving his gaze to Y/N. “I always imagined our first child would be the spitting image of their mother.”

That’s when words she thought she would never utter exploded from her lips, “I cannot help but think if that would have happened with the baby, or if he would’ve looked like his father…”

A silence falls upon the room as the lovers gaze upon one another, imagining what could have been and what could still be. Because, deep down, she knew, she would follow him anywhere.

“Y/N,” she moved a step toward him, putting a hand on his cheek.

“Tommy,” she replied, he stiffened against her touch.

“I’m sure you know why I’m here today. I thought maybe I could convince you to run away with me. To finally leave this godforsaken place. Get married and live the life we deserve. But,” There it was, the but. She knew there was always a but, “I think someone else needs you a bit more than I do.” That was when Tommy’s hand moved from Jane’s to the baby’s face, taking the plump cheek in his hand.

“But, why?” She knew she sounded like a petulant child. With him here, that part of her truly seemed to shine. Tommy chuckled, pulling away from Jane.

“A child needs their father and mother, especially if that mother is you.” That was when it all became clear. Jane needed her mother but she also needed William. The stable and kind father any child deserved. Tommy was right, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t yearn.

“I just wish I could rewind the clock and run away from all of this with you.” At her words, his arms moved around her waist, pulling both mother and child into his embrace.

“Maybe in another life,” those words came out wistfully as his chin rested upon her head.

“Maybe,” she echoed, gazing past the room into the unknown. A beat passed before she turned toward Tommy, his chin leaving her head so he could get a good look at her. They both knew it might be the last.

“Can I ask something of you?” he questioned. She nodded, and he smiled. “One final kiss?” Before she could respond, her lips were pressed against his. She held it for as long as her lungs could bear. This was goodbye, and it had to count—or at least last forever, but she knew that was impossible. He pulled away sooner than she would’ve liked and rested his forehead against hers.

“In another life,” he whispered, placing a light peck on her forehead before leaving as quickly as he came.

His words repeated in her head, in another life. Little did she know, that life may not have been too far away.

Next chapter

Taglist:

@mrharringtonsbae

@mysticwitchcraftco

@globetrotter28

@swordofawriter

@annesunlight

@litteltourtius

@oneboygenius

@rubyxx16

@thoughtfuldonutdragonherring

@cryptidsrcool

@jensfraise

@stranger-the-better

@msjaeger

@lavanderskies

@ay0nha

@likearaindropfilledwithgoldust

@budugu

@edencherries

@thhriller

@amberpanda99

@lostgirl219

@sousydive

@tortilla-maria1

@oodlesofn00dles

@mariaelizabeth21-blog1

@lulukings92

@oodlesofn00dles

@sherbitdibdab

@adsss0

@shittyprofilebutfuckit

@esquivelbianca

162 notes · View notes

ramblingoak · 9 months

Text

~~ Read my works on Archive of Our Own ~~

4/24/24 - I'm working through the kiss prompts I received! Excited to get those finished up. Still working on all my wips too, thank you for being patient with me! Leave a comment or send a message if you'd like to be tagged in any future fic posts!

new fics:

Napping in the Clouds (young copia, angst and fluff, sfw)

A Kiss Goodnight (copia x gn!reader, a sweet kiss, nsfw)

Peanuts and Cracker Jacks (secondo x f!reader, ghaseball, smut)

Suggestions (copia x swiss, a very thorough kiss)

A Nap With Secondo (secondo x gn!reader, fluff, sfw)

ongoing series:

Tales From Lucifer's Hollow (copia x aether, mountain x rain, swiss x phantom/aeon, fluff, eventual smut) An au series set in the small town of Lucifer's Hollow. A look at the lives of the humans and ghouls that live there. There are just snippets so far but I've linked them below or you can search the tag: tales from lucifer's hollow. Mr. November (copia x aether) snippets so far: here and here A Petal For Your Thoughts (mountain x rain) snippets so far: here, here, here, here, here and here Sweets and Treats (swiss x phantom/aeon) snippets so far: here and here

Naps With Copia - series masterpost (copia x gn!reader, fluff, fluff and fluff, sfw) A series of stand alone stories featuring soft, fluffy naps with Copia and gender neutral readers. The specific "Copia" will be listed by each story.

The Cardinal's Bride (copia x f!reader, cowboy au, angst, smut) latest chapter: 12 / series masterpost After being forced into a marriage with Mr. Saltarian by your father you are sent west to his estate in Nevada. Along the way you end up meeting one of the cowboys you have always fantasized about...

Copia on ICE! (copia x f!reader, winter olympics au, angst, fluff, smut) Chapters: 1 / series masterpost At what would probably be your final Winter Olympics you needed to focus on realizing your dream of winning gold. You definitely didn't need to start a whirlwind romance with world famous speed skater Copia Emeritus…

Clockwork Hearts (copia x f!reader, steampunk au, fluff, adventure, smut) A tale of adventure and alchemy in a steampunk world. You have to join forces with Captain Copia on his airship, The Impera, in order to save your city. Capitano Copia (copia x f!reader, tease for main story, smug copia) Clockwork Friends (f!reader, fluff) Building A Family (young copia, fluff) Napping in the Clouds (young copia, angst and fluff)

The Repugnant (mary goore x f!reader, pirate au, horror, adventure, smut) Chapters: 1 / series masterpost After becoming too curious about seeing the pirate ship The Repugnant you end up captured and in the clutches of the feared pirate Captain Mary Goore...

my other fics:

Pancake Breakfast (gn!reader, domestic fluff, sfw)

Happy Lasagna Day (f!reader, silly birthday smut)

Papas Taking Care of a Sick Reader (gn!reader, fluff, sfw)

Care Package (gn!reader, sick copia, fluff, sfw)

In His Name (gn!reader, filthy smut)

I Love You, I Like You (gn!reader, sweet and caring copia, sfw)

Invisible Touch (f!reader, phone sex)

Ring Ring (f!reader, phone sex then closet sex)

Don't Go (gn!reader, brief angry copia, angst, fluff)

Smudge (gn!reader, silly copia, fluff, sfw)

Feeling Blah (gn!reader, fluff, sfw)

Them Rats (gn!reader, rat dad copia, fluff, sfw)

Little Hands (violence, horror)

A Lil Somethin' Somethin' (f!reader, sex toys, smut, car sex)

Play Ball (f!reader, copia in his ghaseball uniform, smut)

Best Folk Album (copia's ghouls are just trying to help, fluff, sfw)

Copia Is Terrible At Telling Scary Stories - chapters: 1 / 2 / 3 (gn!reader, fluff, sfw)

The Vampire's Bride (f!reader, vampire cowboy au, smut)

Ratte Art (gn!reader, coffee shop au, fluff, sfw)

Rainy Kisses (gn!reader, kisses in the rain)

Yay Satan Day (f!reader, smug copia, desk sex)

His Dark Song - chapters: 1 (f!reader, occult au, future smut)

Satan's Toy Box (gn!reader, fluff)

A Man After Midnight (f!reader, copia doing a strip tease, fluff, smut)

Falling (f!reader, fluff, smut)

The Late Assistant (f!reader, fluff, tiny bit of smut)

The Pants (gn!reader, fluff, sfw)

No, Cardinal (gn!reader, cock warming)

Shooting His Shot (terzo x omega, winter olympics au, fluff)

A Gift Of Bones (terzo x omega, zombie!terzo, death, resurrection)

The Morningstar (f!reader, cowboy au, smut)

The Perfect Afternoon - sequel to One Dance (f!reader, regency au, fluff)

One Dance (f!reader, regency au, fluff)

Please, Cardinal (f!reader, cardinal terzo, loss of virginity, smut)

Satan's Dick (gn!reader, insufferable terzo)

Yes, Cardinal (f!reader, cardinal terzo, desk sex)

My Husband is Now Bones (terzo x omega, zombie au, death, resurrection)

Promises (f!reader, smut)

140 Shades of Terzo - series masterpost (prompt fills from a list of 140 smut prompts featuring terzo)

The Sexy Adventures of Cardinal Terzo - series masterpost (cardinal terzo and his sexy adventures around the abbey)

His Little Ghuleh (secondo x aurora, rough bj, scratching, size kink)

Another Round (f!reader, messy ritual sex, overstimulation)

Breakfast in Bed (f!reader, vampire secondo, blood, smut)

Distraction (f!reader, aftermath of teasing papa)

A Single Kiss (gn!reader, fluff, sfw)

Shut Up (gn!reader, secondo is bad with emotions, fluff, sfw)

Sap (gn!reader, forced separation for ritual prep, fluff)

Sliding Home (f!reader, secondo in a ghaseball uniform, desk sex)

And I'm Yours (f!reader, jealous secondo, ritual sex)

Drenched (f!reader, overstimulation, little breeding kink)

Payback (f!reader, messy desk sex)

What You See (gn!reader, old man body worship)

Nema (f!reader, ritual sex)

Dumbasses (cardinal primo deals with a young terzo and copia, sfw)

Time's Up (primo comes to terms with his time as papa, sfw)

The Repugnant - chapters: 1 (f!reader, pirate au, horror, adventure, smut)

Napping With An Outlaw (gn!reader, cowboy au, injured mary, fluff, sfw)

Giddy Up (gn!reader, pony play)

#oakie's writing #the band ghost fanfiction #ghost band fanfic #copia x reader #terzo x reader #secondo x reader #primo x reader #mary goore x reader

262 notes · View notes

emeritusemeritus · 6 months

Text

Vulnera Sanentur [Weasley Twins x Reader]

Part 11

Part 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14

Title: Vulnera Sanentur

Pairing: Fred Weasley x Reader x George Weasley {established relationship} mentions of Snape x Reader.

Timeline: DH1&2- Initially set during the battle of the seven potters. Canon and certain plot points have been altered for the needs of the story.

Summary: The battle of the seven Potters throws your world into chaos when one of your boyfriend’s is cursed. As Snape’s ex-potions assistant and previous protégée, you recognise the inflicted curse immediately and demand answers from your mentor.

Warnings: Angst, mentions of war and Voldy, descriptions of injury and blood, descriptive smut, p in v sex, shower sex, tension. Outside sex. Semi public sex. None sexual nudity. Crying. Snape has a soft spot for reader. Arguments. Probably some cursing. Mentions of nightmares. Reader is part of the Order of the Phoenix. Mentions of death (Dumbledore). Mentions of Tonks’ pregnancy. On it got a angsty. So much angst I can’t tag it all. Not spellchecked nor beta read, we die like Madeye.

Only a few more chapters left to go now. This one hurt my Severus loving heart🖤

It's cold and dark in your mind but your body feels like it's on fire, trapped in an inferno that won't end. You'd scream if you could but you're trapped, rendered silent and frozen as your insides blaze without reprieve. Your suffering continues though you fight through it, ploughing on even with a pain-clouded mind and blurry vision as the blood continues to pour from your body.

You try and focus your eyes upon your opponent, forcing yourself to look harder and be stronger, using what little power you have left to continue to fight.

Nagini is hissing wildly, her huge, thick body roiling on the floor as if she's under the cruciatus curse, pain consuming her. There's a sound emitting from her that sounds ungodly, a mixture between a hiss and a scream that makes you feel as if your own throat is burning through the awful sound. Her body vibrates, continuing to convulse on the floor and you take a moment to back away, stumbling backwards as you slide across the floor, not realising until that moment that you'd fallen to your knees. The sharp rubble slices at your hands but you don't feel it, your mind screaming at you knowing you needed to get a safe distance away.

You fix your wand upon the multiple, horrifying gashes in Nagini's body, leaking both blood and black liquid which had mixed together to form the most grotesque sight you could fathom. The skin around her wounds was quickly turning black and your consciousness was fading in and out though you fought to pull every ounce of strength from yourself to focus. Taking steadying breaths, you think of Severus, the dear friend you had lost, feeling more than ever that you needed him right now.

"Vulnera Sanentur, Vulnera Sanentur, Vulnera Sanentur."

You drag your wand across her skin, watching at the lines on her body heal but not completely. It draws the black liquid out of her slowly, like pulling an invisible thread out and you watch in relief as the wounds begin to lose their black hue.

You were weak, much weaker than you hoped to be and you knew with little consolation that you might not be able to get out of this, your own blood still dripping onto the floor by your feet. Your eyes were closing on their own accord, exhaustion overcoming you no matter how hard you fought.

You dragged your wand over your own skin now, trying desperately to stop the blood flow, seeing the black venom infecting the deep gashes on your arm. The incantation was weak but you managed to draw the black venom out of your arm, just. The wounds were far from closed but the blood flow had slowed and that was all you could do.

It hadn't worked. Nagini was still a snake, not the woman you'd had seen in your mind; nothing you had done had worked. You forced yourself in your last moments to think of your boyfriends, their infectious laughter and gorgeous smiles. A loop of memories played in your mind, a montage of favourite moments together throughout the years. The first time you met, the first kisses, the last kisses and everything in between. They had each other, you reasoned, feeling a slither of peace at that very fact, knowing that whatever happened to you, they wouldn't be alone.

Your eyes briefly opened again upon hearing a haunting sound, a hissing that only increases with volume and intensity, immediately causing you to enter an internal fight or flight reaction though your body was still paralysed with exhaustion. Your mind takes a few moments to realise exactly what is happening as you register the figures of two people nearby, their outlines becoming clearer with each passing moment as your vision cleared, though you couldn't hold your eyes open for long.

Ron and Hermione.

You were encased around the large, wrapped trunk of Nagini's body, though you felt no pressure on your limbs, no constriction. The snake was wildly hissing at Ron and Hermione who were trying to approach you with horrified eyes, their wands fixed upon the snake with conviction. She was protecting you.

"Ron no! If you miss, you'll hit y/n!" Hermione wailes, tugging on his arm which had his wand aimed at Nagini. He looked furious, more angry than you'd ever seen him, a look in his eyes which showed he was out for revenge. The snake hisses in fury at Ron, sensing his intentions and gives a warning snap of it's head, showing the vicious fangs to warn them away. You can only see the side profile but even from your limited view, the blood covered fangs and healed but visible gashes across her body were a terror inducing sight.

Closing your eyes, you tried to connect to Nagini, finding nothing in the darkness behind your eyes. You're exhausted, both mentally and physically but you push harder, searching deeper and further in your mind for any sign of the snake, but there's nothing, the connection had been broken.

You open your eyes, feeling it easier now as the light no longer hurts your eyes, finding strength in the knowledge that something had changed, something must have worked.

You shift slightly, attempting to think of ways to get out of Nagini's hold and almost instantly she senses your movement. You reach blindly for your wand but feel nothing, preparing yourself for the imminent attack, but nothing comes. Instead, she unfurls herself from around you and with one last vicious hiss in Ron and Hermione's direction, she turns to you, watching you carefully as she peels her body away from yours, shifting to lie between you and your friends. You don't break her gaze, eyeing her carefully with the knowledge that she might attack the second you looked away.

You look into her eyes and see the woman staring back at you in your mind, looking frightened and lost, her eyes drawing you in. You feel compelled to explain, though she may not understand and there's no denying that the truth could cause her to attack, the uncertain nature of the serpentine creature only making you more afraid.

"You know don't you, what needs to be done," you say gently, still looking into her eyes. She continues to look at you and there's a momentary pause that passes where she doesn't respond in anyway, making you feel foolish for trying to communicate with the snake. She suddenly shifts her head and you immediately throw up your hand to stop Ron from moving forward as he prepares to lurch towards you, wand still aimed at the snake threateningly, his grip so tight you can see that his fingers have turned white. Her head slowly nods, though it's minuscule in movement.

There's a brief flash of embarrassment you feel at connecting this way with a creature but you sense that she can understand you completely.

"If there was another way," you begin to say but the rest of the words catch in your throat. Truthfully, you didn't know any other way of how to save her, of how to kill the Horcrux inside her without her perishing. Her head sinks to the floor, near your leg and suddenly she doesn't feel like a threat anymore. You sit there for some time, not knowing how to proceed, feeling like you'd reached an impasse.

All it took was a large bang out in the courtyard for the temporary armistice to be broken. Ron ran to the main doors just around the corner to look at what had caused the crash and he looked horrified as he explained with difficulty that Harry and Voldemort were duelling. It had to be now.

You turned to Nagini and noticed almost instantly how her demeanour had changed, her eyes no longer conveying any of the sadness or understanding, but instead looked cold and hardened. Her body had tensed and her tail had curled into her body tighter, all signs of alarming defensiveness. You understood immediately; the Horcrux within her was sensing her master only metres away. She could sense his danger, the treat to his life, which meant that the Horcrux within her, the slither of Voldemort's soul was also in danger.

Time seemed to slow as you realised too late the danger you were in, your proximity to the seemingly possessed snake putting you in imminent peril, especially without a wand. You ran, scrambling away until you backed up towards the wall, looking for some way of hiding, dragging Hermione with you so that she would be safe. It was like the predator in her had awoken, the last semblance of humanity drained from her mind as her body tenses, her body stiffening as she prepared to attack. You were defenceless and Hermione only had mere seconds to adjust to you throwing her back, as Ron leapt forward to protect her before Nagini lunged.

You watched at the snake flew through the air, her mouth wide open and blood soaked mouth hurtling towards you with an unstoppable force. You force yourself to think of your beloved boyfriends a s of your lost friend, desperately clinging to the love you'd received throughout your life as you waited for the attack.

But no pain came. Your eyes had closed on their own accord and you opened them tentatively to see a billowing cloud of black smoke rising in the air, clearing slowly to show the figure of Neville, bloodied and panting hard, the sword of Gryffindor in his hands. He'd done it, the very last Horcrux was dead.

Ron and Hermione held on to each other for the longest time, the near death experience pulling them closer together. You looked at Neville and leapt to your feet, throwing your arms around him. He stumbled briefly having not anticipated your embrace but held strong, wrapping his spare arm around you as you hugged him in both celebration and appreciation.

Then, you saw the translucent figure of a woman before you . It was the very same woman you'd seen in your mind, through the connection with Nagini. She was beautiful, the contrast of her dark hair and pale skin looked vibrant once again. The spirit's connection was brief, lingering just long enough for her to nod once at you, bowing her hair before she disappeared. You had done it, her spirit had been freed. The spell, your blood, mixed with hers and the venom really had worked.

You turned to Hermione and Ron, pulling away from Neville and found them to be staring at the exact spot where she hovered only moments ago, clearly having seen exactly what you had.

"Harry."

That one word prompted you all to run around the corridor and out into the courtyard, reminded that Harry was duelling the dark Lord with no assistance. You expected to see a myriad of lights and colour, the two powerful figures mid combat as each opponent fought for what they thought was right. Instead, you found Harry alone, stood in the crumbled courtyard clutching both his wand and the elder wand, staring down at the mythical hallow in amazement. He'd done it. He'd won. You'd all won.

Ron and Hermione ran towards him, embracing with triumphant glory, each of them pleased to be alive after facing their opponent head on. Neville fist bumped the air in celebration and limped quickly off back towards the main building, no doubt alerting the others that Voldemort had been defeated.

You stood alone, feeling suddenly overcome with emotions that you hadn't anticipated, conflicted to your very core. You felt a massive surge of relief of course, wanting nothing more than to celebrate alongside the trio and everyone else. But you felt sad and a little lost. You felt for everyone that had lost their lives in the battle, the damage that had been caused, for little teddy who had lost both of his loving parents in a single night and for Severus, who had died in your arms, a spoil of war.

But then you remembered the tear. The memory he had given you in his last moments. You looked upon the trio once more, seeing them rightfully still embracing and celebrating their win and with one last glance, you slipped back inside the castle and walked straight towards the headmasters office before anyone could stop you. You couldn't wait to get back to Fred and George, to be wrapped in their arms and back with everyone you loved, no longer having to feel fear or doom but this had to be done first, you needed answers and closure from the only person that could give you that.

Approaching the gargoyle staircase, you thought of that night so long ago when you'd slipped in to the castle and confronted Severus about George's injury. You thought of your anger, your resentment and your confusion that your friend and mentor could have done this to the man you loved, particularly as you approached the main doors, remembering how you had barged in the last time.

The office was largely undamaged, with only a few books and glass cases smashed on the floor from the attack. The pensieve pulled out automatically s you stepped further into the room, crossing the threshold with a nervous trepidation that made you pause, pulling the vial out of your pocket and holding it out with shaky hands.

You poured in the tear and watched as it swirled down, a bright white cloud of billowing smoke within the water, drawing you in. You took a deep breath and submerged your face into the tepid water, watching as the cloud parted and dispersed, forming into figures that you recognised immediately. Severus and Dumbledore. They were in the very office your body was suspended in, Dumbledore sat at his desk with Severus stood before him, attempting to walk out.

"Don't ignore me, Severus," Dumbledore says, causing the potions master to pause in the doorway. "We both know Lord Voldemort has ordered the Malfoy boy to murder me. But should he fail, one should presume the dark Lord will turn to you."

Severus stands resolute, looking upon Dumbledore with a blank expression. "You must be the one to kill me, Severus. It's the only way. Only then will the dark Lord trust you completely."

You watch as Snape's face drops subtly, his eyes expressing a hesitancy and pain that is almost palpable. The vision flickers and you see Snape shushing Harry in what you know to be the astronomy tower before the image of Dumbledore's falling body briefly flickers across your vision, the killing curse uttered by Snape ringing in your ears. The vision then flickers back to their meeting in the office, Dumbledore's weak and tired eyes imploring Severus.

"There will come a time when Harry Potter must be told something. But you must wait until Voldemort is at his most vulnerable."

"Must be told what?" Severus' deep baritone voice calls out, a frustration and element of concern in his tone.

The vision suddenly changes again and you watch as Severus enters the broken house you'd recognised from your trip to Godric's Hollow on Christmas Eve. You watched as he walked across the debris covered landing and caught sight of Lily dead on the floor, the infant Harry wailing in his cot only yards away.

"On the night Lord Voldemort went to Godric's Hollow to kill Harry, and Lily Potter cast herself between them, the curse rebounded."

You can feel the affection he felt for Lily with the sound of her name, and then the devastation and pain at discovering her body on the floor in the nursery. It's gut wrenching and crippling to feel everything he felt and you now understood that he had loved her, he had loved Lily Potter.

"When that happened, a part of Voldemort's soul latched itself onto the only living thing it could find, Harry himself." Dumbledore has begun walking down the platform steps in his office, his legs weak and his frame looking frailer than ever as you see his blackened hand, the curse from a Horcrux.

"There's a reason Harry can speak with snakes. There's a reason he can look into Lord Voldemort's mind. A part of Voldemort lives inside him."

"So when the time comes," Severus says, squinting at Albus who has reared closer to him now, the tension in the room growing increasingly denser and thick. "The boy must die?"

"Yes."

"You've kept him alive so that he can die at the proper moment," Severus accuses, his tone suddenly much harsher, "you've been raising him like a pig for slaughter."

"Don't tell me now you've grown to care for the boy?"

Then you see him look out of the window, the darkness in the sky only further proof that this was conversation had late at night, in complete secrecy. You watch as Severus casts the patronus charm and a familiar glowing doe whips around the room before exiting through the glass, the illuminated spot fading as it disappears further into the sky.

"And y/n, you have grown to care for her too?" Albus asks. You watch as Severus becomes instantly more defensive, his eyes squinting and mouth opening before closing rather harshly, his chest puffing.

"That is none of your concern," he answers in a deadpan way, his eyes averted to a spot on the wall where the portrait of Phineas Nigellus Black hangs.

"But Severus it is, do you not see that she is involved?"

Snape's head whips round quicker than a flash until he's staring back into Albus' eyes with a fierce glare, though beneath the stare is concern and worry.

Flashes of yourself appear in Snape's memory, a strange thing to have seen memories you yourself had but from the other perspective. You see yourself in your sixth year, singled out in his vision as he watches you work, creating a batch of what you remember to be Sleeping Draught in class. The next memory shows the following week, your meeting in his office, seeing you smile and laugh as his deep chuckle fills your ears. You see as different memories merge together of you working together, annotating his books and transcribing his notes, the visions of you shifting to memories you had never known, of Severus watching you and glancing at you when you weren't paying attention. You can feel a warmth again to these memories, feeling the affection he felt for you, as if you were able to experience it exactly how he had, much like the memories of Lily.

"You said that you would protect her! You said by making her my apprentice it would shield her from his notice!"

"The dark Lord may be unaware of her prowess but I fear her connection to the Weasley's will have attracted the attention of her peers." There's a flash of you, Fred and George sat in the great hall from Snape's perspective at the top table, he sees you laughing and resting your head on Fred's shoulder, though the memory is brief.

"There's little I can do, Severus. They will need her," Albus says with conviction.

The memory shifts again before your eyes and you see Severus sat alone in his office, his corporeal patronus dancing wildly around the room as he binds together pieces of what you recognise to be the Lebetum, the misted glass opened as he summons the doe inside. He thinks of you, your laughter playing like a melody in your own ears and there's a brief moment where you can smell the scent of your hair as you watch the words 'Expecto Dominum Meum' appear across the black device just as you had experienced many times before.

There's a brief memory that flashes and you watch as Severus pulls a book from his bookshelf in what you assume to be his home, followed by him using the book as a glossary as he translates his words whilst writing. The next memory cuts in of you receiving the book from him, his deep voice speaking over the memory that you will need this to translate and transcribe his newest paper, handing you the book of Latin phrases and texts.

"You love her," Albus' voice cuts through and you watch as Dumbledore and Snape are stood on a cliff top somewhere, the exchange between the pair is rife with tension.

"Yes," he says, his deep voice speaking matter of factly.

"You've protected her all you can," Albus says, perhaps slightly gentler now.

"It's not enough," he says, his black sleeved arms wrapping around himself, turning to look out into the distance. You know he's thinking about you, and of Lily, the two women he felt he'd lost, slipping between their fingertips. "It will never be enough." He reaches into his pocket and thrusts the black device of his own creation that he'd pulled from within the folds of his cloak into the older man's wrinkled hands, who gapes at it for a moment, a frown pulling between his eyebrows.

"Severus, you can't possibly," Albus begins speaking but he's cut off when Snape looks up from the Lebetum with an expression you had so often seen, the fixed, harsh stare that told whomever he was speaking to that he would answer no questions nor explain further, his word absolute.

"Until my heart stops beating. With hope, even after."

The memory fades and the smoke like memory disappears into the water until it's no longer visible. You pull out of the water and sink to your knees, sitting on the bottom stone step of the desk platform, gathering your thoughts.

You sobbed uncontrollably, chest and shoulders heaving with the effort as you let every bit of pain consume you, every emotion you'd tried to hold back from the moment you left Bill's wedding and everyone behind in your hunt for the Horcruxes, realising that you had been played like a pawn in a game of wizards chess. You cried for your lost friend, knowing now that he loved you. You cried for everything that could have been, for how he'd protected you the whole way through without knowing, for the pain you felt at being so close but so far away from Fred and George, for the months spent pining for them, for the horrors you'd seen and what you'd been through.

You gasped for breath between your sobs, clutching your arms around yourself as you rocked gently, feeling entirely consumed by pain. You should feel victorious and triumphant, celebrating with everyone else in the castle but you couldn't face it, not when you felt so far away from yourself.

Your thoughts were consumed with Severus and what you'd seen in his memories and you wondered if you'd loved him too. You loved Fred and George, that was evident to everyone around you and to yourself but you'd never considered the piece of your heart that had remained with Severus, realising much too late that you had loved him too. Maybe not in the same way that you did the twins but it was undeniable that there was something there much stronger than friendship alone.

Your sobs had subsided eventually and you sat on the cold stone with a vacant expression, gaze fixed upon an uninteresting spot on the floor. You felt drained in every sense of the word; your mind was slowly going blank, unable to string two solid thoughts together as the mental and emotional strain took its toll on you. Your body felt weak and broken, pain and soreness now evident in your injured body, feeling the full effects of your shoulder injury and the cuts on your arm. You look down at the deep gashes on your arm and begin to slowly peel your jacket away, cringing and wincing as the dried blood around the cuts rips away having connected your jacket to the broken skin.

You cast a healing spell on the cuts but it's weak, knowing that you couldn't perform the correct incantation as much as you wanted to, your body too exhausted and drained. You pondered, just for a moment, the irony of the cuts on your arm. The spell created by your mentor intended to inflict pain for those he hated, but instead inflicted upon the woman he loved to free her from her torment.

You sat for a while thinking of the memories he'd shown you, realising now that all his words had made sense. He'd asked you to forgive him, telling you that one day you'd understand. He'd protected you when you needed it most, provided you with his own guardian in the form of a patronus and saved your life multiple times even from afar. He'd given you all the clues, the biggest of all being the book of Latin phrases, somehow knowing that it would be the key to surviving, putting his faith in your ability to decode it. He'd loved you. He was never a true destheater but had been the bravest man alive to act as a spy for the order, for the sake of everyone who seemingly hated him.

One thing had always bothered you, once singular piece of knowledge that had plagued you since the moment you'd been bequeathed with the Lebetum.

You stood slowly, throwing your jacket back over you to cover the scars and the wounds that littered your body and dusted yourself off, though it was a pointless effort as your clothes and skin were still stained with Severus' blood. You stepped towards the littering of books on the bookcase and tried to find the off-white leather book amongst the rows of text, hoping it was there. It wasn't. It was, however, laid on the desk, already open.

You searched through the glossary of words, alphabetically listed as you turned to the section you needed.

Lebetem, or Lebetum (noun) translates to Cauldron. A large metal pot used for brewing potions over an open fire. Can also refer to a situation characterised by strong emotions.

You felt gobsmacked by the revelation, realising that it was most likely a joke played by Severus, a little twist of humour he'd integrated in the the situation.

You then thought of the translation Mr Ollivander had given you of the text on the device, Expecto Dominum Meum, and his little chuckle when you explained that it was a Lebetum, realising now that it all made sense. He’d recognised you as Snape’s apprentice and had only chuckled when he pieced it all together.

Lebetum, Cauldron, a necessity of brewing potions.

Expecto Dominum Meum, I await my master.

I await my potions master.

You laughed out loud; an honest and very real laugh that you felt hadn't happened in such a long time. You'd been blind to it all this time, his intricacies never failing to amuse and astound you. You felt an immense sense of gratitude erupt from you and though you were naturally devastated that he was no longer here, nor were you able to thank him for everything he'd done, the Lebetum had done the trick to make you feel a little better, giving you humour in a time of sheer upset.

You wanted a shower desperately, a hot cup of tea and the comfort of your loved ones around you. You looked down at the book of Latin translations and smiled, touching your hand to the old pages before you walked away, feeling calmed.

You closed the doors to the office as you exited, casting one last glance at the intricacy of the wood and walked down the staircase, back towards the great hall where you hoped everyone was still gathered.

Bill spotted you first and leapt up from his seat to close the distance between you, pulling you into his chest. The unlikely friendship you'd forged during your time at shell cottage was entirely unexpected but welcome, his ability to make you feel at ease and protected was unparalleled, his role of big brother extending to you.

"Stop scaring me like that," he mutters and you can hear the slight smirk in his voice, making you chuckle. "Told you you were tough, wouldn't find me dead near a snake." You chuckle again and start to snark that Werewolves were fine but not snakes, but you're stopped as you see two near identical and very welcome faces waiting anxiously behind Bill. You pull apart, giving him one last smile before he slips back to sit beside Fleur at the table, allowing you to properly reunite with his brothers.

There's a singular beat that passes where you stand still, looking at them with a trepidation to your gaze. You felt guilty for leaving them alone, to fight your own battles without considering theirs. They both looked disheveled and dirty, eyes dark and tired and for the first time that night you no longer thought of your own exhaustion or torment.

Fred moves first and pulls you in for the tightest embrace he'd ever given, his hand holding your waist close to his body and his left hand cradling your head. He kisses you without abandon, uncaring and unashamed of anyone nearby as your emotion pours into the kiss, a thousand apologies and comforting words said silently between you. A tear falls from your left eye, overwhelmed by your official reconnection but he doesn't miss it, moving his thumb to swipe it away as he pulls his lips away from yours reluctantly, savouring the feel of your lips against his.

"I love you so much," he says, leaning down to press a kiss to your forehead as he begins to rock you gently side to side. "You're never leaving again, you hear me? I can't ever be apart from you again." Another tear slips at his words and all you can do is nod in agreement, blindsided by the emotion and conviction of his words.

"Never again," you reply, reaching out to grab the material of his jacket, feeling as if he'd slip away if you let go. He senses this and presses one last kiss to your lips before pulling away and stepping aside, allowing George to scoop you up.

Fred and George were different in many ways but it was never more obvious to you than when you were in their arms. George always seemed taller somehow, your head not reaching as far up onto his shoulder as it did with Fred but it was equally as comforting to be pressed into the centre of his chest. His arms caged you and held you tightly, shoulders and breasts smushed against the hard plains of his body but you didn't care.

"Tell me it's over, Angel, please don't leave again."

His voice sounds broken and like a little boys, lost and afraid, a sound that breaks your heart. You pull away firmly, looking up into his gorgeous face.

"I'm staying right here, forever," you say, reaching up to touch his cheek as you lean up, making it clear that you want a kiss. He obliges immediately and kisses you with a passion and intensity you hadn't quite anticipated. His hand find yours and he holds on to you tightly, one large hand grabbed around your back as your right hand stays on his face.

Once the kiss ends, Fred steps back to join you both as both twins grab for you, your small frame between their much larger once's making you feel safe and secure. Eventually you are pulled away by Molly who can't wait any longer and you're smothered by her fussing until Arthur pulls her away with a knowing smile before he embraces you. Each person embraces you as you're passed around the group, feeling every ounce of love they give.

There's a moment where you and Harry look at each other before you embrace, a wordless question about your shared connections to darkness. You shake your head with a smile, telling him that your connection had been severed and he nods his head with the same mirrored look, both of you smiling widely as you realise that it was now just you, no longer plagued by another's emotions or memories. You throw your arms around his neck, both laughing as you finally feel the celebratory mood everyone else felt, now that you were back with the people you loved.

Ginny brought you a hot cup of tea from one of the little reserves that had been set up and you thanked her kindly, taking a seat in between Fred and George, in your rightful place. Instantly, their arms lock you into place with George's arm extending around your back and Fred's large hand covering your thigh, keeping you anchored to them. Everyone was laughing and joking, telling their own stories and as you looked around at your loved ones, though missing one important person; you felt happy.

Taglist request:

@missryerye

@football1921

@rk-ceres

@weasleywheezer

@lotusloisstuff

@c0comichi

@xthatpottahfanx

@aigowen

@fandom-taylor

@weasleyluver85

@mariamkhaled87

@jewelsrules

@ledger-kaos

@bucksdonkey

@clara-carpenter-morgan

@jinxxangel13

@darkrozesblog

@slytherin4536

@crookedwerewolfobject

@chipscanbeevil

@justromaaa

#emeritusemeritus #harry potter #emeritusemerituswrites #fred weasley #fred weasley x you #fred weasley x reader #fred weasley imagine #fred weasley masterlist #george weasley #george weasley x you #weasley twins x reader #george weasley x reader x fred weasley #george weasley smut #george weasley x reader #weasley twins masterlist #weasley twins x you #fred weasley x reader x george weasley

130 notes · View notes