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yandere-sins · 6 months

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Favorite

You are Astarion's favorite blood sacrifice. He decides to reward you for it.

Characters: Yandere!Ascended!Astarion x GN!Reader Fandom: Baldur's Gate 3 Warnings: Yandere, Vampires, Reader nearly dies, Blood being mentioned in all manners, Biting, Death mention, Minor sexual hints, Desperation, Possessiveness, Obsessiveness, Minor violent acts (not directed at reader except biting)

a/n: I don't have a big Halloween story for you guys, but I've been trying to get back into writing more and I've been working on this story the last couple of days, so I hope you enjoy it ♥ (I mean it's vampires so that's almost Halloween-themed right???)

Darkness is a vampire's best friend.

It shields them, hides them, benefits them—all without expecting something in return. It's nature's way of making up for all the pain and suffering it put its less loved children of the night through, and they welcome it, moonlight glistening on their skin, their perception so much sharper without the fear of sunlight's burn.

Like eager partners in crime, a vampire's gifts are amplified by what the darkness provides. They stalk in the shadowy coat of the night; see the prey that wants to stay unseen. Their voices, mellow and honeyed, sound even sweeter, whispered in the ears of those who wander into the vampire's hunting grounds as the creatures lure their prey with promises of grandeur. Fame, money, lust. It seems to be all that their food desires. What more could someone want who's unaware of being tricked? And so they follow wherever the masters of night command them.

Deeper and deeper into the darkness.

"Hello, darling."

You came to hate it—all of it. The darkness, the night.

The whispers and touches, promises and the hunt. You knew he had many more like you, living blood banks stored in cold, dark cells. You heard them scream every night when the bell rang twelve, the darkest hour of the day. Sometimes, you recognized the cries as the ones from days before, but you never knew when would be the last time you'd hear the poor souls lost in the darkness. New ones came and went, but you were the only one that remained after every night.

Somewhere between three and four months, you lost count of the days spent here. You tried to remember how many times you'd been visited, but one miscount, and now you didn't know if it had been one or ten years. You would have expected to get mad in the darkness, alone and aching from your shoulders to your ankles, with no place on your body unbitten. But Astarion was punctual—perhaps the only good quality about him. That was the only thing to keep you grounded down here.

He didn't miss a single day of feeding or, as he called it, spending time with you.

Alongside your meal, he showed up at exactly midnight every night, someone always there to close the door behind him without fail. You had never seen his face, but you had felt it plenty of times beneath your fingertips, enough to know he was one of those handsome bloodsuckers who kidnapped and locked you here. At least for now, as long as you were pretty enough in his eyes as well. Eyes that you felt creeping over your body the moment the only door to the outside opened, only more darkness waiting behind it. They mustered you, devoured you perhaps, an appetizer before the main course.

You knew nothing of your nightly visitor besides his punctuality and his name. There was no face to associate it with, just the feeling of his cold skin and the sharp pain of his fangs in your memory. And yet, something told you he was special even among his kind. Somewhat… superior. He still had the capability to be gentle if he wanted, never causing you to cry out in agony like the other sacrificial lambs did. And more importantly, after all this time, you were sure he was the one keeping you alive.

"Astarion," you greeted him, simply, calmly. Hiding the shiver in your voice despite the room growing colder ever since he stepped inside. It was hard to say if you were still afraid of death when it was a constant threat like a noose hanging above your head. Perhaps you dreaded surviving more than dying if you thought about it, your heart growing heavier with fear and loneliness every day. But at the same time, you grew more and more desensitized to the screams and pain and more used to the darkness.

Hugging your body with one arm, you used the other to walk along the wall to your chair, the wood creaking as you sat down, scooting it closer to the table. He liked it when you did what he wanted without him having to ask you to. Astarion's steps were non-existent, but you needn't wait for or invite him to join you. You could always count on his chest pressing against your back the moment you sat down as he leaned over you from behind. It was a familiar yet suppressive feeling. A reminder of your position.

You were below him, prey to be consumed. Yet, he treated you more like a pet, almost beloved, but at best, you were well-cared for. You doubted he could feel anything towards you that wasn't belittling. You'd not thrive in the darkness on your own, but Astarion knew how to keep you alive. A waft of roasted chicken drifted into your nose, hearty and mouth-watering, and you had no doubts it would be accompanied by sides that would nourish the dire lack of vitamins you had. He had always insisted on you finishing your plate, feeding you himself if he had to. It couldn't go that you'd not eat what he graciously provided. But this was the only meal you were given every day, and the loss of blood made you too hungry to strike.

You tried once. For almost a week, you starved yourself until you could not do it anymore. Continuing not to eat when you were starving and food was served in masses to you cost too much willpower that you didn't have. Likewise, eating the food with the condition that you had to sit on his lap and thank him for every measly pea he fed you one after the other was enough humiliation to never try that again. And Astarion had been happy since with your plate wiped clean.

"You smell delightfully today," he mused as he drew back from the table. You felt his lips brush over your bare shoulder, your breath hitching when he pressed them to the nape of your neck. You'd not put it past him to eat before you, even though he seemed satisfied waiting for you to finish most of the time.

"Garbor gave me new soap today. Roses, I think," you breathed, reaching forward to the cutlery that, no doubt, laid beside the plate Astarion brought. It just appeared, almost magically. But you were pretty sure it was there all along, Garbor, the guard, probably cleaning and switching it out while you were asleep. You didn't even know if his name was Garbor; you merely decided to call him that. After all, no one would speak to you here aside from Astarion, even if you knew they existed in the shadows.

"Sure, if that's what you want to believe," Astarion chuckled, his comment profoundly unsettling as you knew what he meant when he said you smelled nice. Your blood. To him, you must have smelled as mouth-wateringly as your meal did to you. You had always empathized with animals, wishing for them to live their lives as best as possible, even if they were destined to be slaughtered. Ironic, now that you were cattle to a vampire, likely being fed according to Astarion's tastes.

"Next time, I think I'd like something citrusy again. The last soap was divine."

His hands driving up your arms made you nervous. They were unfettered by your movements as you aimlessly tried to pierce meat and vegetables onto your fork, your eyes never adjusting to the complete darkness of the basement cellar. You weren't a vampire, after all. Despite the time spent down here, the broken fear and authority between you two, he could still make you nervous. And you talked when you were anxious, to the point you wanted to bite your own tongue off.

A mix of a chuckle and a scoff escaped him as he wrapped his fingers around your neck, his nails resting softly against your throat while his thumbs ran up and down the sides of your spine in feathery touches. Slowly, reassuring you of his presence. And the ability to snap your neck with this formidable cut-throat necklace. He readjusted his touch a few times until his pointer fingers pressed against your pulse on one side, your gullet on the other. Enough for you to eat and breathe, but you didn't dare to move your head.

"I shall tell… Garbor, to fetch that for you. Anything else? Another pillow? A new shirt? Would my darling fancy some earrings? We just so happen to have someone donate a wonderful pair of rubies that would look so beautifully dangling from your ears."

A shudder went through you; the word 'donate' was not one to take kindly. People donated to charities and beggars. Not to someone who could put meat on a plate every day for you and obviously had no saintly bone in his body. Gulping down the chicken that got stuck on your tongue as you listened to the sultry voice of your captor, you put down the fork for a moment to think, clearing your throat as best as you could with his hands still pretending to be a necklace.

"A candle maybe, and a book. I feel like now's a great time to pick up a new hobby."

You heard the grin spread on Astarion's lips as he chuckled, his thumbs curling inwards until you felt his nails press against your skin. "I do so very like those entertaining ideas of yours, sweetling. But alas, I'm afraid I cannot give you that. You'd end up preferring the book over my company!"

"How could I ever, Sir? I wasn't planning on going on a paper diet."

This time, he actually burst out into laughter, hands disappearing into the darkness as you presumed he held his stomach from the ache of amusement. You wasted no time to stuff two more bites into your mouth as long as you had the freedom that was oh-so short-lived. His hands banging on the table in front of you created an explosive sound in the small confinement you called home. Compared to the cold body pressed against you, his breath skimmed your ear warmly, his voice like honey dripping right into your ear.

"That's why you're my favorite. Those little witty comments of yours have saved you so many times, you know?"

The food you were so eager to sneak into your mouth now threatened to fall out of it as you couldn't find the strength to swallow. Some instinctual part of you waited for him to attack, exploit your vulnerable self. It readied you, muscles tense, body paying attention to everything it could perceive (which was shamefully little with your senses so inferior to the vampire). But then there was the rational part of your brain, currently occupied with the warmth of his breath gracing your ear and cheek, and his words.

Favorite. You were his favorite.

You forced yourself to finish chewing, slowly, embarrassingly aware of Astarion waiting for another 'witty' remark from his favorite. Favorite late-night amusement? Favorite person to take care of? Favorite blood bag? You felt his eyes drilling into your jaw expectantly as you chewed your food properly before you leaned forward to reach for the cup of water that was unmistakably always on the table. Perhaps because of the darkness, you were so very aware of your hair brushing his nose and the deep inhale it caused Astarion to take before he pressed his face into it, gripping a bunch of it with one hand and forcing you to halt.

"You're my undoing, pet."

"Really?" you said in your most convincing, surprised voice, trying your hardest to sound as fake as possible. Revealing his thoughts to you might have given you a chance to bargain with him, even though this cell and the darkness had long become much safer than anything he could offer. In reality, you knew better than to trust the words of a vampire, yet found yourself truly surprised about the reverence they were spoken with. "It's hard to imagine I could do such a thing. I'm just sitting here."

Astarion hummed, amused, satisfied with your remark once again. Another chance at life, how you noted duly. Perhaps he liked the challenge of you playing his game, neither of you ever speaking the whole truth and coating your words in sarcasm and fake friendliness. Or maybe vampires were accompanied by madness that made them prefer prey who didn't cave as easily into a begging, sobbing mess. Prey like you.

"It's been years—no, decades since I last took a liking in someone, and you have no idea how much I longed for companionship like yours. It's exciting and a bit of a tease. I couldn't bring myself to kill you yet."

"How very gracious of you," you praised, hoping he didn't pay close attention to your face, a grimace edging into your features.

"You know, I might even be convinced to return you to the light. If you ask, nicely."

And suddenly, there it was. You gulped as you felt your stomach twist anxiously, suddenly attacked by something you had long abandoned. Hope. A glimmer of it, at least. You remembered the days when you had still banged at the door, demanding and reasoning with anyone who'd hear you to release and let you go home. The early nights when you dreamed about the sun and the warmth of being surrounded by people. And now the time had finally come to reclaim those wishes, almost bringing you down to your knees.

You knew you couldn't be so foolish as to retort to being a boring, begging nobody. You had to be his favorite. Crawling over the dirty floor and clinging to him for dear life wasn't going to cut it, no matter how much you wanted to. Because yes! Yes to the surface, yes to leaving all of this behind. Escaping him would be much easier when you weren't locked in the darkness. You had waited so long for the sweet embrace of death and endured so much pain when you were forced to survive pitifully like this. You even became his favorite. And now it was paying off—if you played your cards right.

"Ah… I don't know," you sighed. You could hear your own voice, thin and nervous. Excited. Your mouth was dry, but your heart was banging against your rips. Undoubtedly, he knew that, but you hoped Astarion would forgive your very appropriate reaction. Maybe even fancy it.

Every flinch of your muscles and every word carefully uttered was driven by a hope that Astarion could easily crush if he disapproved. You never saw yourself as exceptionally talented with words, but if that was what he wanted, he should have it. Your mom would scold you for being a brat, but this vampire here favored your attitude enough to keep you alive, so it had to be good for something. "I was just starting to get comfortable here. It's so… cozy."

"Well, I have it cozy up there as well. Cushioned chairs and silk sheets—only the best for my best."

It was strange to hear his voice in the same tone as his usual banter, even though you could detect another tone swinging in the background. It was but an insignificant waver, one of uncertainty and doubt. Desperation. Maybe not as much as you, but he wanted you to agree, his reasons unclear. And yet, your heart setting out a beat must have given away that you recognized his wish since he added, "You were always a marvel. But imagine how good you'd look by my side up there. My consort. My favorite."

"W-Well, are the beds soft?" you pressed out quickly, trying to avoid the sensual allure of his voice being murmured into your ear. You didn't mean to stutter, biting your own tongue before deciding to calm yourself with deep, quiet breaths that you hoped he didn't notice. But you knew that everything he said went straight to the unreasonable part of your mind, the one a vampire knew to manipulate so well. But in your desire to get out of here, eagerness and giving in too easily could cost you everything.

"Very," he mused, and you were relieved to hear him still in good spirits, his next words almost a lilt. "Soft and warm. Like you."

"And the food?" you asked, gulping. You didn't care for the beds or the food.

"Oh, the food!"

His exclamation caught you by surprise, as did the sudden disappearance of his body. For a moment, you thought you had ruined your chance. Had gone too far with your hesitance. But next you knew, you felt his hand fall to your shoulder again, running down your arm until he had your wrist in his palm, lifting it to his face. Astarion planted one kiss below your thumb, then moved on to kissing the pulse beneath it.

"It's delightful! Delectable! The best you ever had. And me for dessert. You won't lack anything, I promise."

His promise meant very little to you, and yet, as he littered your wrist with kisses, you couldn't help but cave. It was everything about this situation, the hope, the reverent kisses, the empty promises, that blinded you from the danger. You hadn't questioned his intentions or the price you'd have to pay. Not when he spoke to you as if he was laying the world at your feet, promising you the moon, the stars, and everything beyond.

"Ask me, pet, and you can have it all. The luxuries, the world, me. All you have to do is ask, darling."

There they were, the simple, honeyed words every human wanted to hear. All feeding into your own desperation so perfectly as if they were made just for you. As if you were the only suffering fool in this world, and perhaps to Astarion, you were. The grin curling his lips upwards against your wrist revealed just how much of a fool he took you for when you opened your mouth again.

"I…" you hesitated. But not long enough. You had too much to lose, despite not knowing what you were going to lose agreeing to this. "I want to go to the surface."

"Do you now?" he smirked, and you felt the hard edge of his teeth as his lips parted in a wide grin.

"I want to, Sir. I want to be your favorite. I want to be by your side. Please take me with you."

For a moment, there was silence, then Astarion let out a hum of satisfaction followed by a deep breath.

"Oh, you are, darling. You are my favorite. I've longed for this moment for so long, yearned for it every damned day and night, and finally, it's here. Let's be together forever, alright? It'll hurt only a little, and then we'll always be together."

"What will hurt?" you asked before you felt the sharp pain of his teeth sinking into your arm. You knew this pain, the searing burn of his fangs piercing your skin. You had felt it a hundred times, no, a thousand. But this one was short-lived, blood dripping from your hand as you bit your lip, holding back the tears. No one liked tears, and you were too close to your goal to ruin it now.

"Endure it," he purred, and it was almost a shame that he noticed, considering how much you fought yourself to keep your composure. "You'll have to bare this beautiful neck of yours if you want to be mine, darling."

There was another moment of hesitation, the taut skin of your neck always hurting the most if he bit it. But why even did he have to bite you? What good were two more bites of you in this dark cell when he could assume you'd be at his beck and call upstairs as well? Astarion couldn't know of your feeble escape plans yet, so he had no reason to doubt your devotion. And even if he did, wouldn't he enjoy feeding from you in one of the more comfortable beds he mentioned?

But pondering was of no use to you. You had to comply if you wanted your dreams to come true. Turning towards him and laying your head to the side, you could feel your hair fall out of the way, baring your neck so beautifully. "Yes, Sir," was your short, meager reply, and yet your arm immediately fell to your side, one of Astarion's hands wrapping around the back of your head while the other weighed down on your shoulder, keeping you in place.

"That's a good pet," he mumbled, face inching closer to your body with every spoken word. You braced yourself for the pain, the burning, the mess it would make, and you took it like a champ, which you probably were after all those bites—at first. However, all the bites before eventually ended. They never lasted more than a few minutes at worst. But not this one, and that's when you realized your mistake.

You gasped as you reached for him, grabbing his clothes like a lifeline to hold onto. Tears fell freely as the pain didn't stop, your body growing lighter while Astarion had little problems keeping you in place. "It hurts!" you sobbed as your thoughts became less reasonable, less controlled. Everything began to swim, and though you were sitting, you felt like you were going to fall. But even as you struggled to stay conscious, Astarion didn't stop, didn't care.

By the time you realized you were going to die, it was already much too late. Your life was drained out of you with all of your blood. At least you didn't have to feel the pain of your crushed hope or the desperation of, once again, being stuck in this cold and lonely darkness. If you were honest, you looked forward to escaping all of this, as had been your destiny for so long. At least this way, you'd be free, too. Differently than you thought, but free nonetheless.

"Mhm, darling. Even now, you're ravishingly beautiful."

You could hear the voice, but your body had no blood left to supply your brain, so it could understand anything. You didn't even feel his uncharacteristically warm fingers smear a thick fluid to your lips, slipping in to coat your tongue, reflexes working even when you were as good as dead.

"And you're mine. All mine."

At least you wouldn't have to die in this dark cell, though you had no strength left to think about what shithole you'd be thrown into instead. Your body was but a sack of skin and bones in his arms as he carried you outside, your head empty like your blood vessels. But even as you lay dying in Astarion's arms, getting carried away, you knew one thing for sure: You hated it. The pain and the blood. The cold and this evil man that had held you like a cattle for so long only to kill you just like everyone else in the end. You hated him. You hated everything.

And most, you hated the darkness that continued to surround you, enveloping you mercilessly as it cooperated with your murderer. Unaware that you, too, were meant to succumb to it. That your dying body was changing into that of a child of the night, a spawn to the very same lonely vampire you so willingly promised eternity to in exchange for what you believed had been your path to 'freedom'. The same freedom you'd never have now.

Because you were his favorite.

And he'd never let his favorite spawn leave.

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riotlain · 1 year

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Slashers' Werewolf S/o

school is crazy

BACK TO MY LONG POSTS

THIS IS A NWLNW BLOG!! WOMEN DNI

Poly Ghostface

Along with the various Ghostface killings theres been another bit of murder

"Animal attacks" the news said

You just avoided the news because of it before yall dated

After a while of dating you told them about the whole werewolf situation

They didnt believe til they saw it

You were quite docile with them

They gave you the nickname, Wolfy

Mainly Stu uses it but yknow Billy does too sometimes to tease you

Youre surprisingly docile while in wolf form

Well around them atleast

You mainly just follow them around which leads to you being apart of the whole Ghostface thing

Billy hates the fur so much. Stu doesnt mind it though

Yes theres dog toys in Stu's house for you

It surprisingly works

Stu's parents aint home often but whenever they are and you're transformed they hide you in his closet or bathroom

Billy gives good massages if you complain enough about the after pain of shifting and all that

Michael Myers

Yall were in the penitentiary for... different reasons

You both escaped at different times and eventually you ended up a tattered mess infront of Michael's lil house place

He wouldve killed you if he didnt see you turn from a werewolf thing to a human

Hey he recognized you! You were that patient who escaped a bit after him!!

Michael doesnt know how to feel about the werewolf thing

Yea youre enjoyable when youre a human but as a dog thing?? He usually jusy puts you outside

One of these times though you got hurt and he stopped doing it💀

Carries you around in both forms. Very strong man

Hates the fur hates the fur

*sprays water at you to get off the couch*

Jason Voorhees

Jason was never allowed any pets as a kid

Not saying your his pet but in your wolf form he treats you just like a dog

Yall definitely wrestle. HES A STRONG LAD HE CAN TAKE IT

He wont make you hunt trespassers or anything if you dont want to (Depending on how well you can control yourself when turned💀)

Gives the best massages when youre sore from shifting hes so gentle with it🫶🫶

Will hold you like a baby

You hurt him on accident once and never lived it down😭😭

Your fur feels nice to him

Will steal a brush from a trespasser to brush you out

Will lose his shit if you accidentally walk into a trap

Vincent Sinclair

Youre used to waking up in random places. Ambrose was the place this time

Vincent saw you turn from wolf to human and wanted to keep you around

HE THINKS ITS SO COOL OK

He wants you to be a model for him but thats near impossible bc you never sit still

Please dont eat the wax statues😭

You arent allowed in his work room when transformed. Youre usually outside tho when you are so it dont matter too much

So you hang around Lester and Josie on those nights

Or he calms you down to where you sleep

Likes laying on your fur

Hates the slobber hates the slobber

Has many drawings of you🫶

Bo Sinclair

Acts like he hates that you transform

But he loves it and gives you so much affection in wolf form (you remember it all but dont tell him)

He hates the fur as well

"QUIT CHEWIN' ON MY HAT Y/N!"

Theres a dog bed in his garage

Like yea you always curl up next to him but still its there for you

Would prefer if you hunted some runaway victims but yknow you dont gotta

Will fold if you did puppy eyes at him

Lester Sinclair

Loves you so much

You're Jonsie's bestie

Mainly feeds you roadkill to keep you away from eating the wax statues😭

talks about you so much to his brothers

Youre great for collecting roadkill but you scare the travelers alot

Treats you like a big dog but knows your boundaries

Def gave you the nickname Puppy

Learned how to make tea to soothe you after you turn back

Bubba Sawyer

YOURE A WHAT??? HOW THE HELL DID YOU END UP IN TEXAS

You woke up in a basement with blood in and around your mouth and a large man infront of you in an apron or something in fear

Bubba (and nubbins) had to convince Hoyt to keep you

Loves your abilities so much

Nubbins or Choptop usually try to rough house with you

You shed so much especially since its FUCKING TEXAS

Hoyt literally hates it so much

"GODDAMNIT THERES FUR ON MY SHIRT!!"

Gnaw on the bones of victims why dont you

Hoyt calls you mutt sorry😭

Bubba loves your fur

Just loves to ruffle it

Thinks your sharp teeth are really cool

Does not know what to do when youre in pain or sore from shifting back

Thinks your dying ngl and panics so much

He eventually understands youre sore and tried to give you massages

Thomas Hewitt

Near same thing to Bubba. HOW THE HELL DID YOU END UP IN TEXAS

Never allowed pets as a kid so when you just lay on his lap as a wolf he loves it so much

Doesnt mind the fur too much

Just tries to keep it away from the food

Monty has locked you outside in your wolf form multiple times and Tommy boy literally loses his shit

Monty is a hater

Luda may loves you though

Finds petting you therapeutic

Doesnt mind the slobber or anything

Gives you limbs of victims sometimes to gnaw on

Billy Lenz

Been literally stalking in your house for a while so he knows

His calls have more dog jokes in them calling you Puppy/doggy instead of piggy

Has barked at you

You kinda knew he was up there after the second time you shifted and heard him being... well him

You intimidate him so much hes so inlove with you

Smells your fur like alot

Theres saliva in your fur and a good amount is from him💀💀

You bit him once so he bit you back

Grabs your tail and ears alot to be annoying

Brahms Heelshire

Was also never allowed pets as a kid

Is scared at first. He knows werewolves as scary monsters that eat people! You wouldnt eat him right??

Eventually gets used to it

Cuddles his head against your chest

Your fur feels so nice to him

Ngl he just treats you like a dog?? Like how he treats the rats ngl

He'll give you food and then gently pat your head

Jesse Cromeans/Chromeskull

Jesse didnt believe in that stuff until you

Dont lick him on the head omfg💀💀

You shifted at work once and it scared everyone

Bro was just like "Aww my boyfriend🥰🥰"

Will trim your nails. Even if youre trying to go against it hes going to trim them

Enjoys brushing your fur

Preston hates how you always end up growling at him when hes around

It makes him look bad infront of his boss😭😭 (good)

Thinks youre an angel compared to him. Youre literally throwing bodies around and mauling them?? Nuh uh

You cant get him with puppy eyes no you cant (Yea... you kinda can)

Also sprays water at you sometimes

You have your own collar

Asa Emory/The Collector

Youre basically his pet so like yea you have a collar

Spooked him when you first turned like what?? people dont usually do that???

Hates the dog hair so much like omfg

Youre a guard dog now

Your job is to chase down any victim on full moons

Studies you

Watches you transform and takes notes

Has a notebook just about you

Asks you alot of questions before and after shifting

After his lil studies he will give you massages and somewhat pamper you ig

3K notes · View notes

itoshiexx · 9 months

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make my way back (to you)

synopsis: after an argument that leaves doubts about the future of the relationship, the last thing you expected was your boyfriend rin coming to your doorstep to apologize.

pairing: itoshi rin x gn!reader | words: 1k | warnings: established relationship, hurt/comfort, fluff, making up after an argument, implied exes to lovers (?)

notes: hey guys! this fic is inspired by this list of kiss prompts, where @ode2rin chose prompts number 3, 11 and 38 for our bbg rin. i really wanted to try this out and mimi was kind enough to help by choosing some prompts <3 i dedicate this to you, mimi, hope you like it!

masterlist

“i’m sorry.”

to say you were shocked was an understatement.

out of all the things itoshi rin could ever say to you, this was the last option you would expect. after eight months of dating, you were well aware that rin was not the type of person to apologize — mostly, he would pretend nothing happened and try to move on with your life as a couple, even if that usually rubbed salt in your wounds.

though you could only endure so much of this behavior, and one day the thread finally snapped. the argument was the worst you ever had, leaving both of you with sore throats, teary eyes and doubt about the aftermath of your relationship.

so it was quite a shock to see him on a saturday night at your doorstep, all sweaty and breathing heavily as if he just ran there. you were sitting snugly in your pajamas, watching your comfort show on the tv with a tub of ice cream, trying really hard not to think if your relationship would still continue, when the doorbell rang and revealed such a sight.

“i’m sorry,” he says again, breaking you from your stupor.

“rin, what are you doing here?” you finally find your voice to ask. “i thought you said…”

“i was wrong,” he interrupts, and your jaw drops again. not only was he apologizing, but recognizing his mistakes?

he must see the incredulous look on your face, because he sighs and pinches the space between his brows with his fingers. this was way harder than it looked.

“i know what you’re thinking,” he continues, “but at the end, the answer is always the same: i love you.” your breath hitches. “i love you so much that i rather sacrifice my pride and overcome my fear of vulnerability than lose you because i can’t fucking apologize. and i’m shit at it, i know, but i’m… i’m trying. for you.”

your fingers that still hold the doorknob tremble, and you are pretty sure your eyes are welled up with unshed tears. you never thought this day would come, but here it was.

rin was trying, and that was all you ever wanted from him.

“i should have said earlier. all those times we argued and i was wrong, i… i should have said i was sorry, because i was. every time. i just didn’t— shit, i didn’t know how. i still don’t.”

he laughs a little, but it sounds strangled and full of pain. you decide you don’t like it. “maybe this is terrible, but i really hope it’s the thought that counts—”

“rin,” it’s your time to interrupt. his body goes stiff and he goes silent, gulping.

“yeah?” it’s a meek little sound. he thinks it’s a bit pathetic.

but then you lunge forward, lacing your arms around his neck. your voice is nothing but a breathy demand when you say, “kiss me.”

and rin finally feels like he can breathe again.

his left hand holds your waist tightly, as if you could disappear at any moment, and his right one cups your cheek in a loving gesture that leaves your legs trembling. then, his mouth is on yours, delicate, gentle, like you are the most precious thing he has the pleasure to hold.

he kisses you like he’s scared to let go, prodding his tongue inside your mouth wanting to commit your shape to memory, twirling through every crevice and corner he can find. he is licking your lips like a man starved, sighing with ecstasy every time they welcome him further, because rin knows you are the closest thing to paradise he will ever find and that he’s not worthy of such heaven.

and he really hopes his kiss can convey everything he can’t manage to say. that you can feel on every inch of his plump lips that they are only meant to say your name, and that his tongue only wants to feel your taste.

you do.

when you finally part, faces flushed and breaths short, the smile that adorns your face is enough to soothe any of rin’s concerns, and he can’t help the little whisper of “i love you,” that comes out of his mouth before giving yours one last peck, chaste and full of veneration.

“i love you, too,” you say, squeezing his hand in reassurance. “and i forgive you.”

rin sighs in relief, “thank god.”

your giggle is like music to his ears, and he feels his heart grow tenfold with the way you’re shining under the dim moonlight. sometimes rin believes you can not be from this earth, because only something unworldly could make him feel so full of love to the point he could barely breathe.

you step inside your apartment, bringing him with you. “let’s go to bed, shall we?” your words are slightly laced with sleepiness, and he thinks you’re adorable; so ethereal even with your slightly disheveled hair, so he only nods. together, you walk the familiar path towards your bedroom, where you lay in bed and melt in each other’s arms.

it’s a little bit like a puzzle, you think, the way you and rin fit so well. it makes you feel safe and relaxed, and there is no other place in this world you’d rather be. it’s no surprise you fall asleep so quickly.

your eyes are already closed, but he whispers nevertheless, “goodnight, baby”.

when morning comes and the sun seeps through the blindfolds, rin can feel you even before he opens his eyes. your groggily murmur his name, and then your lips touch his nose.

“not your lips.” he can hear you pouting. “mornin’, baby.”

you try again, eyes closed, trying to find his mouth by tracing his face with your nose. you kiss his cheek, his chin and even the corner of his lips until rin finally has enough.

even without seeing you, his mouth makes its way to yours easily, just like rin would always make his way back to you.

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etheries1015 · 9 months

Text

Lilia x (Slightly) traumatized reader - When he began to fall in love

TW: Panic attack descriptions, mentions of PTSD

General warnings: Gender neutral reader

Lilia loves jumping out and scaring people. Something about the faces people make and the silliness of it put a smile on his face, he never knew he would find himself stopping faster than he had even begun. It's the one thing that you probably hated THE MOST. You flinch, you duck, you cover your head, and your heart comes to an absolute stop. Perhaps you had some sort of traumatic past that resulted in you flinching at the smallest movement, or perhaps you just aren't good at paying attention to your surroundings, so the suddenness catches you off guard. Or maybe it's just how you are, someone who doesn't take well to being jumpscared, touched without seeing them, or hearing noises or even your name called out that you were not anticipating. No matter what the reason, Lilia vowed never to do it again to you after this one instance, eventually finding himself feeling a few conflicted emotions as time went on...

It was your first meeting, unfortunately. He popped out of a tree seemingly out of nowhere in order to hand you the letter from Malleus, he had seen you coming up and giggled to himself as he planned his "attack."

The second you let out a scream and he recognized it to be genuine, his heart wrenching never thinking he'd hear a scream like that again. It was a scream of pure terror from the deepness of your heart, not a light-hearted "You scared me!" kind of scream, but one someone let out when they felt they were in danger, in pure fear, as if you were in...pain, almost. Immediately his face fell in regret, twisting into grief as he watched your legs give out from under you falling to the ground with your hands grasping your chest and sobbing.

"Don't do that!" You wailed out, body folding in a way where your face began to tuck towards your legs facing the ground as you tried to console your trembling body. You began to sob, and he had never felt worse.

Others call this dramatic, some think; "It's just a prank, you're being ridiculous. I wouldn't ACTUALLY hurt you." However, Lilia never thought of it that way. Somehow, some way, either your past experiences or something else, caused you to react how you did. Not once did he judge you for this reaction, but chastised himself for not being more aware that perhaps others do not take kindly to those types of pranks as the people he is used to surrounding himself with. He quickly dropped down to your level and apologized, hands wavering in hesitation. The last thing he wanted to do was touch you, seven no, he wouldn't want to frighten you more than he had already done.

"I'm so sorry...please, breath. In and out, just like that..." He took a few dramatic deep breaths, making them loud enough for you to follow his breathing in hopes to help calm you down. A minute of this and you began to come to, sitting up slowly and wiping your now puffy eyes before letting out a shaky sigh and avoiding his gaze.

"I'm s-sorry-" you choked out rapidly trying to explain away your reaction, "I know you were just trying to b-be funny, I'm okay it's okay I promise I'm not mad-" Lilia quickly shook his head and slowly moved his hand to rub your back, gauging your reaction to be certain his movements were not making you uncomfortable in any way.

"No, I apologize, (y/n). I will not do that to you ever again, the last thing I want to do is instill another panic attack upon you." He was so kind, so mature, and apologetic. It wasn't often you met someone who was understanding as that, without questioning you or your past or your reasoning. He simply apologized and let it go, and for that you were incredibly grateful for. After this he gave you the letter and you spoke to each other per usual, he gave another quick sorry before disappearing into the wind.

He did indeed keep his promise, finding that he had begun treating you with slight favoritism, and always being there for you whenever he found you in a state of panic. As time went on and he watched you go along with your school life, Lilia found himself gravitating to you naturally. He felt the need to...protect you, to watch over you, perhaps it was his "fatherly" instincts kicking in out of worry for your curious behavior from your first meeting, but it seemed to perhaps be something more. The charismatic Fae found himself behind the scenes giving advice to others around you, suggesting that instead of coming from behind or making themselves known by touching your shoulder or your back, make sure you see them first. To come in with their presence automatically known, something in which the other students didn't fully understand, however, took up his advice with grace and kindness. Lilias explanation for the advice?

"I simply notice how off in space they look at times," He would say, "We wouldn't want to wake someone who sleepwalks, would we? Treat it the same with our dear prefect," He tried writing it off in a joking manor to avoid suspicion. They would shrug their shoulders and simply agree, and you had taken notice that people were not surprising you as often, although the occasional jerk of shock was inevitable at times. Even when he noticed those small movements, Lilias's heart ached just a little bit. He knew you were capable, he did not doubt that you were a strong person who could hold your own, yet he couldn't help himself. Perhaps it was the guilt he was feeling? Although he wouldn't try this hard for anyone else, he found his heart beating a little bit faster whenever you were the topic at hand, and suddenly trying his best to make sure you have a comfortable life at school the best you could with your circumstances seemed to come natural to him.

These subtle changes had not gone unnoticed, of course. Malleus had even pointed out to him how he had never seen Lilia cut his antics for someone before, how he noticed Lilias gaze gravitating to you whenever you walked into the room, how he seemed to shine just a little bit brighter at the mention of your name. Malleus had inquired Lilia about the things he had mentioned to other students, to which he responded with a fond smile as he gazed at your figure talking to Grim and the others.

"Well," Lilia said, "I suppose you can say I may have grown a soft spot for our prefect," He chuckled, "And wouldn't want anything to make them uncomfortable. They are not from this world, so I simply would like to assist in any way I can," He sighed. Maybe one day they can trust me enough to speak about what ails them, although I'm satisfied behind the scenes for now, Lilia thought. Malleus raised an eyebrow at his guardian, an amused smile creeping upon his face.

"Are you saying that our old general has become enamored with a human?" He teased with a hint of amusement in his voice. A light blush painted on the fae's cheeks, with his red eyes widening nothing short of a split second, before returning to his normal haughty expression and a guttural laugh.

"Don't be ridiculous," Lilia turned on his heel, "It's not much different than how I feel about Sebek or silver." Malleus hummed in response to this, but the two fae knew that was not true. He treated you with much more gentleness, much more care, and concern. Again he tried to convince himself that it was perhaps in his fraternal nature, or perhaps the thought he never wanted to hear that scream again or see you in pain as he had that one day. It was the guilt, he also told himself, nothing more. Although, if it was something more than that... "It...does not matter," He hesitated, the smile he had painted upon his features wavering, forcing himself not to turn around to steal another gaze at you. 'When it comes to love...' he thought,

"It's far too late for me."

Maybe in another life, he could hold you in his arms as he wished, and protect you the way he wants to. But for now...watching from the shadows while suppressing these confusing feelings will have to do.

----

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daydreaming-away-reality · 9 months

Text

One Step Back

Jack Frost x Reader | ☁️ + ☔ + 🌠 | 7.7k | Grim Reaper!Reader

Warning: mentions of death, lots of angst

You quietly sat there, staring at the chess pieces deep in thought. The occasional breeze caused the slight creaking noises from the metal décor in the dimly lit space.

Something about the silence brought you a sense of a comfort. Compared to the cries of despair that had recently filled your ears, sitting in front of a very slow strategy game was something you preferred.

“Going to just stare at the pieces all day?”

The deep voice caused you to look up at the yellow coloured eyes that pierced into your own (E/C) eyes, you merely shrugged.

“Perhaps.”

“Not all of us have time to spare,” he responded.

“Time is irrelevant when you’re immortal,” you commented. You rested your chin on your palm as you looked straight into his eyes. “You wouldn’t be here if you didn’t have the time.”

Pitch let out a hum of acknowledgement but made no further comment. As your chess partner, you knew he had grown use to your slow pacing. What you lacked in speed made up for in strategy though - it was enough to keep you and Pitch to play chess ever since the two of you had met.

Sliding a piece across the board, you let out your breath as you leaned back in your chair.

“Good game,” you softly said.

Pitch frowned as he leaned forward to check your move. As the results dawned on him, he gave a small nod.

“Good game,” he echoed.

The King of Nightmares turned his attention to you, looking at you as if he were trying to figure something out.

“Something on your mind?”

Your constant poker face was a difficult expression to read, but somehow Pitch had a way of telling when there was something on your mind. As a grim reaper, your life was pretty monotonous. You learn about the next soul put under your care and you bring them to the afterlife when the time comes. When that was done, the cycle would repeat itself.

From serial killers to the rare newborn infant, you had seen souls at every stage of their life leave this world.

You lived your life among humans, even though you had not been human for the past couple hundred years. Many people who lived around you didn’t see you unless you chose to be seen, letting you live your peaceful life of solitude easier.

After having this role for so many years, you thought that things would get easier. To live with humans, watch them experience grief and pain.

From the few social gatherings with other grim reapers you had attended, you had soon realized you were softer than the others. Your job records were beautiful, but something always stuck with you.

It wasn’t easy experiencing death all the time.

It never got easier.

While this was a common experience for many new grim reapers that would eventually be accustomed, you still found yourself struggling sometimes.

“You’re too kind, (Y/N). All we need to do is make sure their soul moves on. We’re not doing anything bad.”

Even though all of that was true, the fear in the eyes of some people you were assigned to made you wonder how terrifying you were. What you resembled clearly brought a myriad of emotions, but fear was the most common one.

“Nothing new,” you finally replied.

Pitch gave you a look of inquiry but didn’t push any further.

He stood up, walking over to the globe in his lair. Little lights glittered across the world, showing the children of the world who believed in the Guardians.

“If the balance of the world were to change, would you be on my side?” Pitch asked.

Tilting your head, you let his words simmer in your head.

You had never met any of the Guardians, but you recognized their role in the world. From knowing Pitch, you also knew he had a role to play in the world as well. While some saw fear as a bad thing, you recognized that some people grew stronger from their fears. Not everyone, but some rare cases.

Having heard about the last time Pitch had challenged the Guardians and failed, you knew there was bad blood between the Guardians and the Boogeyman.

If you had a to pick a side though...

You knew your role was one that would be forever bound to your duties. Wars could be fought and whatever decision you made would be insignificant.

“Death takes no sides, Pitch,” you answered with resolve. “So, I would not choose a side either.”

“Is that so?”

Even though he didn’t turn around to look at you, you gave him an uncertain small nod. Some things were inevitable, whether you desired so or not.

Sitting down on your couch and peering out the window with a warm cup of tea in your hand, you watched the rain pour down from the sky. Snuggled into your blankets, you listened to the pattering of raindrops against the glass.

Today was one of those dreary days - one that brought out sad emotions among people. The kind of day that had people mourning their lost ones.

Luckily for you, you had the day off. Or at least, you thought you could afford the day off.

A letter appeared on the coffee table before you brought a sigh to your lips.

Setting your cup down, you lifted the letter up carefully and checked the name.

Amber Miller.

Carefully inscribed under the name were the date of when they were born and the death.

Noting the death date, you paused. Doing some quick calculations, you realized that Amber was still young - a child. A frown appeared on your face as you stared at the simple card.

Most of the time, you received names of those who experienced life longer than this. Chewing on your lip, you wondered if it was a good idea to go check in on this young girl now. Usually you appeared a few days before their death to see if you should make contact with the person, but with younger ones... You tried to spend more time with them so they wouldn’t be scared when time came for them.

When your eyes flickered back to the world outside your window, you noticed the rain had become little snowflakes dancing their way around the sky.

Weather permitting or not, perhaps it would be good to step out of your house to do a check in. Amber had a week to live.

Pulling on your closet open, you stared at the various dark coloured pieces of clothing staring back at you. Like other grim reapers, your clothing mostly consisted of black, to be respectful to the dead, to not draw attention to yourself and follow the policies in place for grim reapers.

Slipping into a simple black knit sweater and skirt, you made yourself presentable. Finishing off the look with some boots, you grabbed a jacket just in case. Having gone through the process of getting ready to meet your next assignment so many times before, you weren’t too concerned.

Taking a deep breath, you opened your bedroom door and walked out of the bus shelter. The power to transport yourself through doors was one that all grim reapers had. No one around you noticed you, making everything go smoothly.

Following your instincts, you walked towards the nearby hospital. Walking past the receptionists and other patients, you immediately recognized the young brunette who was pressed up against the glass staring at the snow in awe.

Something about her soul seemed familiar to you, but you weren’t sure why.

She was dressed in the typical patient attire with a paper wristband on, confirming your suspicions around why you were here. Amber was sick.

Walking over until you were standing next to her, you turned to watch the snow with her.

“I wish I could go outside and feel the snow,” she commented.

With no one else around, you decided to check your suspicions.

“Would you like to step outside with me for a bit?” you asked quietly.

Amber’s brown eyes looked up at you with excitement. “Really?”

You nodded, offering your hand out to her. “Really, we’ll only be out for a moment, so nobody will even notice we’re gone.”

The enthusiastic nod and hand now in yours confirmed things. She could see you. While most grim reapers didn’t like showing themselves before it was time, the fear of growing emotional attachments was common, you made the effort.

“I’m Amber. What’s your name?”

“I’m (Y/N). Nice to meet you.”

Walking down a quieter hallway, you lead the two of you towards the small outdoor space on the side of this hospital wing. No one would step out in this weather, so it’d make it easier for the two of you. Taking Amber outside, you shrugged off your jacket and slipped it around her shoulders the moment you two were outside.

“Will you be cold?” she asked, eyes wide as she slipped her arms into the sleeves.

You shook your head. “I’ll be okay.”

The oversized jacket on her made you smile as she excitedly tried to catch snowflakes on her tongue. The sight of someone who was still so hopeful towards life, you could feel a deep sense of sadness within you. As you looked up at the sky, the sound of another voice surprised you.

“You don’t look dressed for the winter weather.”

Attention immediately moving towards the source, you found yourself staring at a boy with beautiful blue eyes and silvery white hair. An amused quirk of a smile graced his lips as he held onto a wooden staff in his hands.

“Jack!” Amber excitedly called out as she threw herself his way. “You made it snow!”

“Ahaha, I did. I’m glad you have the chance to step outside to see it today.” Jack responded, ruffling her hair.

Your brain raced to figure out an explanation for what was happening. Amber called this newcomer Jack and associated him with the snow. Somehow this sounded familiar. As your brain tried to make a connection between the information you just received with what you knew, Jack turned his attention to you once more.

He looked you over, taking in your black attire.

“Who this with you, Amber?”

You straightened up. “I’m (Y/N).”

“Oh, so you can see me,” Jack said with a surprised tone. He held out his hand to you. “Nice to meet you.”

You hesitated but shook his hand.

Sensing something happening inside the hospital, you pushed the door back open. “I think we should head back inside, Amber. Make sure no one noticed us sneaking away.”

“Oh, okay!” The brunette jumped up and hurried to your side. She turned around to wave at Jack. “Bye Jack!”

You looked at Jack once more, information finally clicking in place.

Jack Frost - the Guardian of Fun.

Ducking your head, you let the door shut behind you before escorting Amber back to her room. The energetic girl was about to pull off your jacket, but you stopped her.

“Keep it,” you encouraged. “It looks better on you than it does on me.”

“Thank you!” she responded gleefully. As she sat down on her bed, she looked up at you.

“Is there anything you want to do this week, Amber?” you asked, sitting down next to her.

The young girl thought about your words and responded with a small shrug.

“I’m not sure.” Her honest words brought a small smile to your face. “Will I see you again, (Y/N)?”

You nodded. “I’ll come by and visit again tomorrow, how does that sound?”

Amber nodded. “Okay.”

Getting up, you gently pet her head. “Be a good girl for the nurses, okay?”

“I always am!”

You smiled. Slipping out of the room, you glanced back once before moving to leave the hospital.

As you stepped out of the hospital, you weren’t paying attention to the person rushing towards the doors and didn’t have any time to react. Shutting your eyes, you felt a breeze as they ran through you.

It was moments like these when you were reminded of your place in the world.

Not alive but living as if you were.

Just as you walked away from the hospital, a cool breeze ruffled your hair and someone fell into step beside you.

“So you’re a spirit as well,” Jack commented.

You looked at him. “Is... there something I can help you with?”

Surprised by your question, Jack shook his head.

“No, it’s just, we haven’t met before and I was curious about you.”

Stopping in your tracks, you turned to face him. Eyes shifting to meet his, you could see the confusion on his face.

“I’m a grim reaper.”

This new information startled him.

Walking away, you spotted the same bus shelter and headed towards it. Having met Amber now, you had a lot on your thoughts and wanted to go home. It took a moment, but you heard Jack hurrying to catch up to you.

“Really?”

“Most people don’t want to interact with me when they know that,” you said, stopping by the bus shelter door.

“Well, you’re the first grim reaper I’ve met,” Jack responded. He paused and his voice dropped to a whisper. “Amber... there’s a reason you’re visiting her, isn’t there?”

You nodded.

Hoping to end the conversation there, you pulled open the bus shelter door and stepped through.

“Wait - !”

As you appeared back in your own house, Jack appeared from behind, coming through the same door you had.

The surprise the two of you shared came from very different reasons.

You had no idea anyone could follow you through the doors. Meanwhile, Jack had no idea where you had transported the two of you to.

“Where are we...?” Jack asked, speaking up first.

“Home. My home,” you clarified as you pulled your boots off and put them aside. Letting out a sigh, you sat down on your couch before deciding to address Jack. “Amber has one week left - I don’t plan on taking her until her time ends.”

“Why did you visit her today then?” Jack moved to sit on the armchair perpendicular to you. His tone was genuine - encouraging you to speak.

You curled up, wrapping your arms around your legs. Trying to make yourself smaller, you tried your best to pull your words together. “Life’s... not fair and death doesn’t discriminate. She’s so young... I want to make sure her last days go well at least.”

There was a blanket of silence that fell over you two. As Jack took in your words, you blankly stared at the envelope that rested on your coffee table. With how many letters you had received over the years, you had lost track of how many cases you had dealt with.

“Maybe I can help?”

Jack’s offer caused you to look up.

“I’m not sure what I can do, but I want to try to help,” Jack elaborated.

“That’s nice of you, but... are you sure?” You could tell he had good intentions behind his words but you knew the choice he was making was one with difficulties that he wouldn’t realize until the pain weighed down on him.

You were too familiar with that feeling to wish it upon anyone.

Death took a toll not only on the person who experienced it, but everyone around them as well.

The confused look on Jack’s face indicated that he didn’t know about these effects.

“Losing someone isn’t easy,” you explained. “Do you really want to put yourself through that kind of pain?”

Your words seemed to reach him in some way as Jack’s shoulders slumped and he looked down at the ground. His silence filled the air, and you didn’t know what to do or say.

“I know, I’ve lost people in my life before,” Jack softly responded, his words coming out slowly as he formulated his thoughts. You could tell what he experienced weighed down on him.

It made you wonder if he had what it took to be grim reaper.

Honestly, you weren’t sure you were cut out for this line of work either. Yet here you were, a couple hundred years in and still going with no end in sight.

“If I can do something about it and make a difference, I think it’s worth the pain.”

His optimistic answer had you turning your gaze back outside to watching the snow fall outside the window.

“If that’s what you wish, I cannot stop you.”

“I look forward to working with you then, (Y/N).”

When you had tried to sleep that night, the sound of crying from your past kept you up.

“Time to go,” you softly urged the crying soul.

They looked up at you, tears still streaming down their face. In the brief moments of realizing their own death, they still carried the burdens of life they experienced.

“There were still things I wanted to do. It isn’t fair,” they wailed. “Can’t I.... Can’t you do anything about it?”

Regrets.

Almost every soul had them.

You waited. It was difficult to communicate with anyone when they were this emotional. Once the crying had been reduced to sniffles, you finally responded.

You shook your head, looking over at the unfortunate accident that left them lifeless. “You are no longer part of this world, don’t worry about things like that.”

“A little more time... I wish I had a little more time to do the things I wanted to do...”

The clear skies above held promise of a good day ahead. You stifled back a yawn as you made your way to the hospital. Restless nights were common but it never affected your work.

Once you arrived, you paused by the reception. When the receptionist looked up, their eyes met yours.

“I’m here to visit Amber Miller,” you said. “I’ll be taking her out a bit.”

"Alright,” the receptionist spoke in a trance. There was a cloudy look to their eyes.

When you turned away, you could hear them resuming to their work as if the encounter between the two of you never happened.

Walking into Amber’s room, you could see her face light up when she saw you.

“(Y/N)!”

“Hi Amber,” you greeted. “You ready to go?”

She bobbed her head enthusiastically. After you reminded her to dress for the weather, she quickly bundled up before standing in front of you.

Taking her hand, the two of you walked through the hallways unnoticed and made your way outside.

A figure showed up with a chilly gust before the two of you.

“Jack!” Amber exclaimed.

“Sorry for running late,” Jack said with a smile. His blue eyes flickered over to yours, trying to get a read of your placid expression but unable to do so. He turned back to Amber. “The snow is perfect for building snowmen, you up for it?”

“Yeah!”

“Let’s go then.” You acknowledged Jack. With him leading the way, your (E/C) eyes wandered back, noticing another grim reaper leading a soul away.

Hospitals were always a busy place for grim reapers.

“Here we are!” Jack cheered as you all arrived an untouched patch of snow. “The perfect spot, if I do say so myself.”

“(Y/N),” Amber said with a tug on your hand. “Can you help me build a snow bear?”

“A snow bear?” you asked, a smile on your face. “It’s been a while since I’ve built anything in the snow, but sure!”

“Yay! Let’s build a super big one! You and Jack are in charge of the head then.”

You exchanged a look with Jack as Amber scurried off to start her snowball.

“You heard her,” you said, tilting your head at Amber. Pulling out gloves from your pocket, you slipped them on. “I’m going to need your expert help if we’re going to make this the best snow bear.”

“Alright, let’s do this.”

After letting Jack start off the snowball (he had made the bold claim that yours wasn’t good enough and that was thrown at him with a feigned cry of offense), the two of you worked together in creating a head for Amber’s snow bear.

With a lot of playing in the snow between you, Jack and Amber, the day passed by quickly. Letting Jack do the heavy lifting, the snow bear was nearing its completion.

Watching Amber giddily bounce around the two of you, you couldn’t help but smile.

“We’re still missing the face,” you commented.

“I got it!” Amber exclaimed, holding out some rocks.

You crouched down and held your arms out to Amber. Her eyes lit up when she realized what you were offering. Moving into your arms, you lifted her up so she could have a better reach of adding the face to her snow bear.

As she added the final touches, your (E/C) eyes met a pair of blue ones. Jack had moved to stand next to you without you noticing. While it had not startled, you were suddenly aware of how things were feeling like an intimate family moment.

“Ta-da!” Amber cheered as she put on the final rock.

You and Jack let out some cheers as well. Considering the fact that you had never made a snow bear before, this one was pretty cute.

“Looks amazing.” Jack commented.

You nodded in agreement. “It does. Great work, Amber.”

Amber turned so she could look at the two of you. “Thanks for helping!”

“Nah, you did most of the work,” Jack modestly said.

Noticing rosy cheeks, you bopped Amber’s nose. “You look like you’re getting cold.” Before the girl could protest, you offered her a smile. “Shall we grab some hot cocoa and head back?”

Your proposition immediately brought a bright smile to her face.

It was moments like these that you weren’t sure whether or not that you should be happy or sad.

Almost as if he sensed your uncertainty, Jack clapped his hands.

“Let’s go.”

“(Y/N)! Jack!”

Amber’s delighted cheer greeted the two of you as you arrived the next day.

“Hi Amber,” you greeted.

“Hey,” Jack chimed in.

Amber climbed out of her bed and gave you both a bright smile. “Are we going to do something fun again today?”

You nodded. “Can you go get ready? There’s somewhere cool that I want to show you today.”

She excitedly nodded and hurried around the room to get ready.

Meanwhile, you turned to look at the winter spirit standing next to you.

“Did you know I was coming now?” you teasingly asked Jack. “I don’t remember telling you when I was coming by again today.”

Jack gave you a charming smile. “I had a feeling. Looks like I was right though.”

He took the time to look around the room, but he found himself watching you in the end. Adorned in all black again, Jack still thought that there was certain aura about you that made you less scary and more caring. He wouldn’t have pinned you as a grim reaper with your personality.

“What are the plans for today?” Jack asked, lowering his voice so Amber wouldn’t hear.

You pretended to zip your lips.

“Aw, no hint at all?”

You laughed. “I can give you one hint.”

Walking over to Amber’s bed, you straightened up a few of her animal plushies and gave a pointed look to Jack.

“That’s all you’re getting.”

Jack made a face at you. “You’re terrible at giving hints. That could mean so many things.”

You playfully stuck your tongue out at him.

“I’m ready!” Amber called out, pulling on an oversized black jacket.

“Let’s go then,” you said.

As you went to open the door and lead your trio out on a trip, Jack took a moment to chat with Amber.

“The jacket looks a little big on you,” he commented.

Amber nodded. “It’s from (Y/N)! She let me have it.”

Jack let out a hum of understanding as he walked beside Amber towards the door. He couldn’t help but feel a sense of appreciation towards you, even if he wasn’t the one who was receiving the kindness from you.

You were someone special, Jack could feel it.

Once you all went through the door, Amber let out a squeal when she realized where you all had been transported to. There were animals and families everywhere, the air filled with chatter of all the living beings.

“I know you like animals, so I brought you to a petting zoo,” you explained to Amber. Your (E/C) eyes noticed the bright smile on Jack’s face as well. Looks like the Guardian of Fun approved of this trip. “Ready to meet some animals?”

Amber clapped her hands happily. “Ready!”

Taking the time to see all the animals, you heard Jack chuckle when you guys approached the bunny enclosure. When he noticed your curious gaze, Jack smiled.

“They remind me of a certain spirit I know,” he explained.

“The Easter Bunny?” you guessed.

“Yeah, although, he seems more kangaroo than bunny sometimes.”

You giggled at his comment. “I would love to see him one day.”

“You’ve never seen him?” Jack asked, surprised.

“You don’t get to meet many other spirits in my line of work.”

“Ah.”

You waved your hand to brush off his comment. Sometimes, as much as you felt alive and hopeful, deep down you knew that being a grim reaper was part of who you were now. Getting to spend time like this with others and Jack... you would cherish this.

After you dropped Amber back off at the hospital and had her settled back down, you and Jack lingered around for a bit. Amber had been so happy today, it was hard to believe that this little girl only had a numbered amount of days left to live.

You turned to Jack to say something, but the sound of approaching voices made you stop. You thought about leaving, but something kept you in place. One of the voices belonged to Amber’s nurse. The others... sounds familiar.

“She’s been fine lately.”

“Is there a chance her condition will improve?”

“The chance of that happening is rare - young patients like her in our long term care unit with her conditions...”

You completely tuned out the nurse when the sight of a tired looking couple walked towards you and Jack. Looking at the couple intensely, you then turned back to catch a glimpse of Amber.

That feeling from before.

The familiarity of Amber’s soul.

Everything seems to click for you when you saw her parents. You’ve seen them before.

“(Y/N)?” Jack called out to you as you stepped back in almost a retreating manner.

“I...”

The memory of a blank letter page held in your hands brought you a sense of uncertainty.

“I should go,” you decided. “Thank you for spending the time with me and Amber today, Jack.”

With that, you turned and disappeared through a door before the Guardian of Fun could do anything to decipher your stranger behaviour.

When you got back home, a memory from a few years ago vividly resurfaced.

Having just finished delivering one soul, you had found another letter waiting for you to deal with. Work had been relentless for you for the last few days. While there was always work to do, this week in particular had been non stop work.

After glancing at the name in the letter, you turned back around to deal with the soul left in your care.

They were expected to leave today.

Finding yourself in the hospital, you let out a sigh as you looked around. Your eyes paused as you looked at the couple, presumably the parents of the soul you were here to take. They sat outside the operation room and looked anxious.

Understandable.

You moved on, moving closer to the operation room. Sounds of the doctors and nurses working relentlessly, trying their best to help the young girl in the room reached your ears. You could sense her soul hanging onto life.

Human life in situations like this always felt so fragile.

The heartbeat monitor let out a shrill noise and the energy in the room grew frantic. Although you were supposed to get ready to seek out the soul you were here for, something felt off.

There was an unshakable feeling that something wasn’t right.

Pulling out the letter, you checked it once more.

Only to find the page blank.

Your (E/C) eyes narrowed as you flipped the page over to make sure you weren’t seeing things.

Still blank.

Listening carefully once more, you could hear the regular beeping of the heartbeat monitor again.

A miracle.

It was extremely rare, but sometimes the letters were wrong if something miraculous happened and the soul was not ready to leave.

This meant more paperwork for you to do, but the girl would live for now.

Turning away from the operation room, you left.

The girl that you had originally meant take a few years ago.

Fate had you back again for your unfinished work.

You took a few hours to let yourself process the new found information and rest but then pushed yourself to get back to it.

If Amber only had a limited amount of time, you wanted to have her spend days well. Seeing her again the next day without Jack, you had brought her to the hospital cafeteria and let her enjoy her favourite foods.

Perhaps it was because of your strange visiting hours, but you tried not to bump into Jack. Sure, he was understanding the first time you when you explained your line of work to him. But what if he found out that you were here a second time for this young girl? What would he think then? Would he still want to hang around you? He would probably be like everyone else and believe that you were the indirect cause to her death.

Regardless, from what you heard from Amber, Jack still made the time to visit despite you not being there.

It only took another day or two before you started noticing the signs of fear and worry from Amber.

“(Y/N)?” Amber called out to you as the two of you sat by the window in her room. You turned to look at her, watching her wide eyes stare at you as she clutched her stuffed toy tightly. “I’m scared.”

“What’s scaring you?” you asked quietly.

“Mommy and daddy seemed worried... a lot more than usual.” The sadness in the young girl’s voice broke your heart. “They keep talking to the nurses and doctors... I think they know something about me that’s making them sad.”

You let her words sink in as you tried to find the right words to say to comfort her.

“Adults are always worried about things. Amber, it’s okay to feel the way you feel, but I hope you remember that you can also make your parents the happiest.”

Later that night, Amber had fallen asleep listening to a story you were telling her. As you stood nearby watching her sleep, you couldn’t believe how fast time was moving by.

There wasn’t much time left now.

It was like an unspoken truth that everyone including Amber seemed to know.

“I didn’t expect to see you here tonight.”

The deep voice startled you.

Coming out from the shadows of the room was Pitch, his eyes gleaming on the little light that came from the night light in the room.

“Pitch,” you greeted. “What are you doing here?”

“I sensed fear,” Pitch responded, moving closer to the bed. He looked at Amber, then his eyes flickered back to you. “I’m sure you sense it too.”

You nodded. Pitch knew your profession, he would know exactly why you were here.

Although the two of you had not played chess in a while due to his choice in actions, the strange relationship between the two of you still existed. Neither of you would cease to exist as you were both immortal.

“Her nightmares would be powerful,” Pitch commented.

You immediately frowned and defensively moved towards him. “No.”

“Do you intend to stop me?”

“For her, I’d do anything to stop you right now.”

Pitch stepped back, then took a few steps around the room. “I thought you said you wouldn’t take sides.” He moved closer to you, fingers touching your chin and tilting your head back to stare into your (E/C) eyes. “What is happening now, little miss grim reaper?”

The door to the room opened slightly and someone slipped in.

Turning to see who it was, you immediately froze.

“Pitch! And... (Y/N)?”

Jack looked at the two of you with a mix of emotions. It was clear enough that he was in disbelief though.

“Ah, the Guardian of Fun,” snarled Pitch. “Did you come here to play?”

Hearing this, Jack immediately raised his staff and pointed it at Pitch. It wavered though, when he realized how close to Pitch you were.

Regardless, it didn’t stop the rough tone of his voice when he directed his words to you.

“(Y/N), you know Pitch?”

“Know me? Of course she does,” Pitch responded. “We’ve known each other for hundreds of years.”

Jack’s eyes questioned you, waiting for your response.

You didn’t want to lie, but the truth was probably one he didn’t want to hear.

“We’ve known each other for a long time,” you acknowledged.

Betrayal flickered on Jack’s face and Pitch seemed to notice that.

“Ah, I see you must of have met (Y/N) just recently,” Pitch commented. He moved towards Jack despite the staff being point his way. “Death and fear, what a combination, am I right?”

“Leave. Now.” Jack demanded.

The sound of frost crackling on the windows seemed to remind Pitch that he wasn’t as strong as the Guardian before him. His yellow eyes met yours and he could tell that he had no advantage here.

Wordlessly, he disappeared back into the shadows, leaving you and Jack behind.

“Jack - “

“You should leave too,” Jack coldly said. “I don’t even know what to say to you right now.”

His words hurt. But you knew that now wasn’t the time to explain yourself. The enemy he had fought a few years ago with a girl he met only days ago who was a grim reaper. Even you knew it was a strange sight. You didn’t owe Jack any explanation, but you wanted to explain things to him later on.

Ducking your head, you moved around him towards the door.

“She only has two days left,” you said as you reached the door. “I will be back, whether you like it or not. I have a job to do.”

With that, you opened the door and went through.

Amber’s condition was getting worse.

When you had the chance, you would pop by and check up on her. At this stage, you could not take her out to go out and play anymore. But you made the effort to bring her surprises and chat with her.

Time was running out.

You still had a job to do.

During those next two days, you didn’t see Jack at all. After the encounter with him and Pitch, you weren’t sure what more you could say to the Guardian of Fun. You had told him almost every from the beginning.

What did he expect?

Hopefully, he would have taken some time to realize that death did not take sides. It was simply a part of life. To live and to die. The chance of you taking sides with Pitch was never going to be a reality.

Regardless, you tried not to bump into him if you could.

It seemed like the two of you needed space.

But that evening of the second day, you had a strong feeling that things were drawing to a close and you stuck around. If Jack showed up, then so be it.

He wasn’t going to stop you from doing your job.

He couldn’t, even if he tried.

“(Y/N)?”

You turned look at Amber, reaching out to hold her outstretched hand.

“Are you and Jack fighting?” she asked. “How come you two don’t visit me together?”

You gave her a bitter smile. Children. They always sensed when things were different much sooner than adults. They caught onto emotions so easily. They were always the most innocent when it came to death.

Giving her hand a gentle squeeze, you pat her head.

“We just had a misunderstanding, Amber.”

“Do you need to talk to him?”

“I probably should.”

Amber pointed to the space behind you. “Maybe you should talk to him now then.”

Turning, you spotted the Guardian of Fun. His blue hoodie pulled up as he stood there, leaning against the wall and watching the two of you. You weren’t sure how long he had been there, but you knew Amber had a point.

It was now or never.

If you let this chance pass you by, you might let this misunderstanding stay between the two of you forever.

The sound of voices outside in the hallways made you tilt your head slightly, trying to better listen to who it was. Recognizing them as the doctors and Amber’s parents, you knew this was your best chance to step aside.

“Yeah, I’ll go do that.” You leaned in closer to Amber. “Make sure you take the time now to say what you want to mom and dad, okay?”

“I’m running out of time, aren’t I?” Amber asked, voice quivering.

You hesitated, but only for a moment. Every part of you knew that these would be her last moments. She deserved to know.

“I’m sorry,” you softly whispered back. “I’ll be here to guide you when it is time though, okay?”

Amber nodded. “Thank you, (Y/N).”

She opened her arms out to you for a hug. While you were holding onto her embrace, you felt another set of arms wrap around the two of you. The cool presence you recognized had to belong to the only other spirit in the room.

Once the group hug was done, Amber shooed you and Jack out to talk just as her parents made their way inside her room.

“Let’s go this way,” you said, leading the way to a quieter hallway. Jack silently followed behind you.

Standing in the empty hallway, you and Jack stood there for a moment before you knew you had say something.

“Do you really think Pitch and I had something between us?” you asked, gauging for a reaction.

“It sounds like the two of you have known each other for a long time,” Jack pointed out.

“We have,” you agreed. “We play chess together sometimes. But that’s about it.”

“You never told me.”

“You never asked.”

Jack paused, but could only nod his head. “Fair enough.”

You fidgeted with the bracelet on your wrist as you gathered your thoughts. You didn’t need to tell Jack everything, but you felt like you should. You had grown to care and perhaps even like the Guardian of Fun, you didn’t want to lose him over something that felt as trivial as this.

“Not many people would ever befriend a grim reaper,” you explained, voice quiet. “It’s a lonely existence. Even among other grim reapers, its hard to fit in when I carry the weight of every soul I take like someone who was turned recently when I’m one of the most experienced reapers out there. Most of the other grim reapers have grown numb to the task, but that’s something I just can’t do.”

“(Y/N)…” Jack reached out to you.

When his fingers brushed up against your cheek, you looked up at him and Jack could see your glassy (E/C) eyes. You carried a lot more than what you were willing to show.

“Death takes no sides,” you recited. “What Pitch was implying... Its not something that could ever happen.”

“I’m sorry,” Jack said, pulling his hood down and taking a step closer to you. “I...”

Before he could finish forming his thought, there was a commotion from the direction of Amber’s room.

You knew immediately what was happening having experienced it so many times before. It never got any easier. Wiping at the unfallen tears in your eyes, you straightened up and brushed your clothes down with your hands. Hopefully you looked presentable enough.

“It’s Amber, isn’t it?” Jack asked, worry evident on his face.

“It’s time,” you murmured just loud enough for him to catch.

Walking towards the room, you stood a short distance away from the door. Jack had followed you, hovering nearby. He reminded you of the new grim reapers that you mentored a long time ago. Nervous and scared.

A light figure of a soul stepped out of the room. When her eyes caught sight of the two of you, a smile appeared on her face as she approached.

“(Y/N)! Jack! Did you get the chance to talk?” Amber asked.

You nodded, crouching down to her height. “We did. Did you get the chance to tell mom and dad everything?”

“Not everything...” Amber said, looking back at the room. The muffled sound of crying came from the closed door. “Do you think they know?”

“Of course,” Jack reassured her. He gently placed his hand on her shoulder. “Moms and dads always have a way to know what you can’t say.”

This brought a smile to Amber’s face.

For someone who never had to experience this, Jack was doing fine. Seeing them interact made the bubble of sadness inside you grow. Now was not the time to show how you felt. You reached into your jacket pocket and pulled out the letter. It fluttered out of your hand and landed on the door at the end of the hall.

A light glow emitted from the other side of the closed door.

You held your hand out to Amber. “It’s time for us to go.”

“Bye, Jack,” Amber said as she took your hand.

Jack gave her a small wave. “Bye, Amber.”

Giving Amber one last moment to linger, you led her towards the door. Like every child that you were responsible for, you hoped that if Amber had another chance at life, may she live a long, healthy and happy life.

Opening the door, you took a deep breath, looked down at the little girl you were with and stepped through it together.

The next few days were quiet for you luckily. After Amber, it was like the someone knew you needed time to recover and gave you a break.

You took the chance to hole up at home, hiding under blankets as you tried your best to manage your sadness.

Your tears had dried up, your heart still felt heavy, but you were still here.

Being a grim reaper was tough.

The sound of knocking on your front door was what dragged you off your couch. Cracking the door open, you were surprised to see a magical snow bunny dance in front of you before turning into a small shower of sparkling snowflakes.

“Surprised?”

You turned to see Jack watching you from the side, casually leaning against his staff.

“Jack,” you said, looking at him. “How’d you find me?”

“I came by one time, remember?” Jack approached you. At the sight of your still swollen eyes from these last few days, his expression softened. “Mind if I come in?”

You nodded, letting him inside.

Jack left his staff by your entrance, propped up against the wall.

He came into your place with a bit of familiarity, yet still looked around as if this were his first time here. His eyes settled on the pile of blankets on your couch.

As you trailed after him, you were startled when he turned around and swept you into a hug. Despite being the bringer of winter and cold, Jack’s hug felt warm and comforting. His breath tickled your ears as he held you close.

“I’m not very good at saying the right things to comfort people,” he admitted softly. “Is this okay?”

You nodded, snuggling into his embrace. Your response drew a relieved sigh out of Jack as he pulled you in closer. He gently pet your hair as he let you hang onto the much needed comfort you needed the last few days. There were no more tears left inside of you to cry and having someone here for you was more than enough.

After some time, you shyly stepped back from Jack. He was reluctant to let you go though, hands still placed on your shoulders.

“Thank you. For being here with me.” You mull of your thoughts for a moment before ultimately deciding to voice them to the man in front of you. Meeting his eyes, you try your best to not let any emotions show in your words. “Jack, perhaps you shouldn’t spend any more time with me.”

Confusion settled on his face. “(Y/N)...”

“Being a grim reaper is like being surrounded by sadness and death. No spirits like interacting with us. Humans think we’re a bad omen. It just comes with the profession - we’re not meant to get attached to anyone.”

“That’s not true,” Jack gently protested. His hand caressed your cheek, causing heat to rise to your face as he looked down at you. “I see you, (Y/N). After everything we’ve been through this last while, I have a pretty good understanding of who you are. You can’t let your job define you.”

He gazed into your eyes, checking for any signs of rebuttal or conflict. It was the glimmer of hope he saw from you that gave him the confidence.

Jack leaned in, pressing a soft kiss on your forehead.

“Give yourself a chance,” he murmured as he leaned his forehead against yours. “And if you feel the same way as I do, give me a chance too.”

While his confession surprised you a little, you knew deep down, you had felt the same connection he was feeling.

Raising a hand, you touch Jack’s cheek. It felt as warm as how your own were feeling.

“Okay,” you agreed. “As long as you help me along the way.”

“For you, anything.”

#rise of the guardians #jack frost x reader #Jack Frost #jack #frost #x reader #reader insert #one step back

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yourstory-teller · 1 year

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The ramos one could be something like how he is breaking ankles and injuring people on the field but around the girl he likes he is all soft and sweet, his teammates can't believe it is their same aggressive teammate

Hey bb, thank u sm for requesting!! I'd never written for him before, but it was fun, even though I don't know if I really like this lol

But I promise you I did my best. Hope you enjoy it ♡

Tame the beast

Part of the players were moving in a frenzy. It was normal for this kind of thing to happen during a game, it was to be expected. There were just some people who crossed the line, or got really, really close to it. Some would say close enough to start something.

Ramos walked incessantly towards an opposing player, forehead pressed against his, while the other man kept stepping backwards, trying hard not to trip. "The fuck do you think you're talking to? Huh?" His voice changed considerably at times like this, so much so that even his own colleagues feared the things that he could do. After all, whatever happened to him could harm the entire equipe.

What happens is that, during a play, the Spaniard had made a tackle that directly hit the opposing player's ankle. After that, instead of helping him up, or apologizing, he scoffed, as the other laid down on the grass, complaining of pain. Obviously, the guy wasn't very pleased.

Some of both men's teammates moved to intervene and, after much painstaking, managed to pull them back. Sérgio mouthed an "Hijo de puta", before walking away. Well, it could be much worse, honestly.

Perhaps less than an hour later, everyone had already moved to the dressing rooms. The buzz was loud and between laughs, jokes and screams it was almost impossible to actually hear each other.

Neymar was the first to miss his friend. In the midst of what they insisted to call a conversation, he discreetly nudged mbappe and leaned in to speak close to the boy's ear. "Where's Ramos?" he asked, then saw Kylian move his head to look around the room, just like he'd done a few moments earlier. "He's been away for a bit, right?" "Right." And with a kind of unspoken agreement, they both got up and started walking towards the back of the room, close to the lockers.

When they were already farther away from the shouting of their mates, a much more subtle and smooth voice could be heard. And when I say smooth, I mean smooth. It sounded eerily like someone speaking a few good octaves higher than what they would usually sound like, like when you're talking to a baby, or a dog.

It took them a while, but they gradually did recognize that voice. "Is this-" Kylian started, but the older man was quick to bring a hand over his mouth.

"I know, honey, I'm sorry, but he started it!" Sergio sounded like a kid being scolded and the two secret listeners did everything they could not to burst out laughing. What a time to be alive.

"I miss you too, baby. But I'll see you soon, right?" This time, the tone used was much lower, almost pleading. He most definetely sounded nothing like the number four they had just seen and heard out on the pitch. It was almost ridiculous to imagine that it was the same man.

"Okay, anjo, I'll call back later. Love you." Ney's eyes widened and he quickly grabbed his friend by the arm to avoid being caught snooping around.

That's when they noticed. Glorious moment.

To say that they laughed about it again and again and again, was an understatement. Neither of them spoke about that with the others, but they didn't need to, anyway. They would eventually find out themselves.

As said, Sergio got to see you not long after that. You had gotten a few weeks off and, of course, would spend as much of that time as possible in the company of your handsome boyfriend. You had arranged everything, every little detail together, and his anxiety was almost palpable, even over the phone.

So, like the hopeless romantic that you were, you decided to surprise him by arriving a few days early. It was cliché and could be very predictable, but you still hoped he wouldn't suspect a thing. He didn't. When you showed up that day, right after a match his team had emerged victorious from, he was as incredulous as you imagined he would be, perhaps a little bit more.

You calmly walked over to your boyfriend while the others were still busy cheering around. He was standing still, seemingly in disbelief of the fact that you were actually there, within reach, for the first time in a while, too fucking long, if you asked him. But when you were just a few steps away, looked like it finally hit him and Sergio was immediately grabbing you into the tightest, warmest embrace, that you missed so much.

You wrapped your arms around his shoulders and allowed yourself to get lost in the feeling of being at home.

When you pulled away, just enough to look into his eyes, he stared back with such apparent adoration, that it made you dizzy. Your foreheads now rested together, his lips brushing against your trembling ones. And as he whispered how much he loved you and that he had no idea how he managed to endure all this time away from you, you could feel his tears flowing down your own cheeks.

That's when everyone noticed.

After that, the other players teased him to death. Light hearted jokes, of course, even though sometimes they did carry a hint of envy. Whistles and kissing noises, but it just didn't bother Ramos. The only reaction he'd show was an eye roll and, occasionally, a slight blush that took over half of his face.

"So, Ramos, is she going tonight?" Marquinhos asked, eyebrows dancing suggestively. "We know she's going, he can't even breath without her" "He's whipped, doesn't even deny it"

It would be impossible for you to realize that there really was such a big difference between Sérgio Ramos on the field, and Sérgio Ramos when he was in your company. To other people, however, this discrepancy seemed more than obvious.

Of course, he wasn't really a violent person in everyday life, at all. He was a serious person and somewhat closed off, sometimes even frowning, but not violent. On the field, however, it was a completely different story. When he wore the team's shirt, his presence on the field was nothing short of threatening, in many ways. Sérgio was a great player, fast, skillful, but, above all, an aggressive player. And this was the man the team was used to.

Maybe that's why it was so shocking for them, seeing the two of you together.

Right after a tough workout, or another bitter defeat, which wasn't uncommon playing for PSG he would crawl into your open arms and completely melt, like putty against you.

"It's amazing" You'd hear a whisper, coming from, you just knew, probably Neymar. "She tames the beast." It took a lot of effort and a maturity that you definitely didn't have, for you not to chuckle.

It was funny, yes, but also flattering and, in a way, gratifying, to know that there was a side of him that was kept just for you, and no one else.

"Come on, babe, we're gonna have fun." Your grip around his waist was tight and you moved so that your chin was resting on his chest.

While spending the season with him, you learned that it was common for the players to gather after some more intense training sessions or a few matches, sometimes to celebrate, sometimes to lift their spirits and feel more invigorated to get back to the fight. These weren't really parties, but more like get-togethers, albeit relatively ostentatious and considerably eventful.

"We can have fun here!" You sighed, despite the smile that made its way to your lips. "I know, but we're gonna have plenty of time to stay here. Please, love." You insisted once more, giving him your best attempt of some puppy eyes, but he'd always been better than you in these type of things. He sighed and rested his head back against the pillows, closing his eyes.

You found yourself smirking as he looked back at you, an amused glint in his brown orbs, which now looked almost black. It all happened so fast and you honestly don't know how, but in a second Sergio was hovering over you, strong arms pinning yours against the mattress. It was easy to notice how there was still so much care and delicacy in how he held your wrists.

"Fine" He lowered his head until his lips were ghosting against the corner of your mouth. "But after that, it's gonna be just us. In this room. For a long time." You couldn't control the giggle that rumbled through your ribcage. "Si señor."

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ryker-writes · 11 months

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if you want, can you do a thing where the reader has a habit of scratching skin till it bleeds. It's a habit I have and do when anxious, yes it hurts but pain makes it easier to ignore thoughts about what ever is causing me anxiety. Also god forbid they have have acne of any bump in their skin cause that can and will be scratch off. This scratching dose leave scaring and they do it constantly cause this world is unfamiliar and magical so lord knows what could happen to you. You can use any characters you like tho I would like Vil for obvious reasons. If you do make this then thank you and have a fulfilling life.

of course dear anon! I can relate to this one a little bit because I have a lot of anxiety myself and used to do something similar. I don't do it much anymore so there's no need to worry, but I do encourage you to find a different way of ignoring the anxiety and/or seeking help fir anxiety. Anxiety is a very tough thing to deal with and if you need to talk to somebody about it, I will gladly listen <3

I decided to add some of my favorite TWST boys to this so apart from Vil, there's also Malleus, Silver, and Leona

Request rules and Masterlists

Vil:

Vil is very familiar with anxiety and some signs of anxiety

many people get anxiety before big performances after all

so when he sees you scratching your skin so much, he's able to recognize that it's probably anxiety

and he can see the small scarring on your skin too

Vil isn't going to stand for this

whenever he sees you start to scratch, he will give you something, anything, for you to hold in your hands

and he asks you to hold onto it for him for a little bit and take care of it

his goal is to get your hands doing something else even if it's holding the object or fidgeting with it or whatever

as long as your hands aren't damaging your beautiful skin

and I do mean he will give you anything

he's handed you his textbooks, his eyeliner, and even his Pomefiore crown once

being in a new and unfamiliar world is sure to cause a lot of anxiety

but he tries to be there for you as much as he can, and slowly help you adjust to the world around you

he's also roping you into his skincare routines now

Leona:

he's actually a very observant guy

so you bet he sees you scratching your skin, but he might not comment on it much unless he sees you scratching hard enough to break skin

at that point he's going to drag you to a place that's calmer like botanical garden and try to get you talking about it

he'll ask you about your world while keeping your hands away from your skin

basically anytime you start to scratch, he just moves your hands away

you may think he'll lose his patience doing this, but he actually doesn't

he just listens to you while laying down and keeps moving your hands away

and he listens very well

Leona has actually taken mental notes about your world

so when you start feeling anxious about being in a strange dangerous world again, he brings you to somewhere calmer again, but this time he tries to show you something you're more familiar with

he'll even have Ruggie bother Sam to make something if they don't have it in their world

Leona isn't the type to hover around you, but he usually tries to check in on you from time to time to make sure you aren't scratching too much

Malleus:

I'm gonna be honest, he probably doesn't know how bad anxiety can get in people

so originally when he sees you scratching, he doesn't think much of it

that is, until you start bleeding

then he is very invested in why you're scratching

you probably have to explain it to him

once you explain that it's anxiety and being in a new magical world causes a lot of anxiety, he is very concerned

he's noticed the small scars on your skin, but he didn't comment on it in fear of upsetting you

but now that he knows those are because of the anxiety...he's very determined to help you stop

Malleus starts hovering around you a lot more after finding out

he just worries about you

whenever he sees you scratching, he will do almost anything he can to help

like he goes through different strategies each time

his magic helps a lot with this

usually he tries to use his magic to make your surroundings look more familiar or he'll create something for you to focus on

and if he isn't able to help in time and you start bleeding, he's immediately there with his healing magic

Silver:

Silver knows a bit about anxiety, and he's seen you scratch at your skin a lot

but he doesn't want to assume it's anxiety

he will ask about it though after he notices your scars

and he's a very good listener and is very understanding

he can perfectly understand how being in an unfamiliar world causes anxiety

Silver does want to help you tho so you don't hurt yourself anymore

unlike some of the others, his method of helping isn't changing your scenery

whenever he notices you getting anxious and starting to scratch at your skin, he just grabs your hands and holds them in his own

there doesn't even have to be any communication, he'll just do it

and he has no problem holding on until you start feeling better

when facing something that causes a lot of anxiety, he'll stand next to you holding onto your hand

it's very nice and good reassurance that you're not alone while keeping you from scratching

even if he falls asleep while holding onto your hand, you're not getting it back until he wakes up

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eros-vigilante · 12 days

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The Many References in Teniwoha's Samsa

If you haven't read "The Metamorphosis" by Franz Kafka, the one thing you likely know about the short story is that in it a man turns into a bug. And this is enough to recognize the allusion of Samsa being named after the protagonist, Gregor Samsa, as well as the imagery of a dragging tail and onomatopoeia of "zuki". However, there are several deeper layers to Teniwoha's symbolism of themes and references to "The Metamorphosis" that add a great level of cohesion with Immiscible Discord's story. First, I would like to say that "The Metamorphosis" can be found as a free pdf online, and is a very good short story, so if you have the time and energy you should read it. This post will only be summarizing the themes that are referenced in Samsa and Immiscible Discord and will not include some of the other great commentaries Franz Kafka has. And of course, it will spoil the progression of the plot. Also, all quoted lyrics are from Amiaryllis' english cover, which is also very good and worth listening to. The lyrics will not be quoted in order.

The biggest and first theme the surrealist nature of the story expresses is that Gregor Samsa has been led to - and does - believe that his worth is tied to his ability to work. When he discovers he is a bug, he is only concerned because he is going to be late for his job if he cannot figure out how to get out of bed in his new body. He is determined to go to work because his entire family relies on his job to pay for their lives. ("i've grown monstrous down to the very core of my soul") This is comparable to Mafuyu's relationship to academics. Their mother relies on them to fulfill her dream of Mafuyu becoming a doctor, and so teaches them that nothing matters as much as this goal. Even when Mafuyu is stressed or physically ill, they push themselves to attend school, club activities, cram school, and study. Mafuyu's academic performance is their worth to their mother, as Samsa's income is his worth to his family. ("so could the bravest of souls face me and bear the toll?") When Samsa's family discovers he is an insect, they are horrified. Samsa finds this reasonable as he also considers his form monstrous. It is another theme of the story being from his perspective that he has good faith in his family to the point of seeming either naive or to have a low self-esteem. Actions that are most easily justified as disgust and hatred are rationalized by him, despite acknowledging at points that his family was not as affectionate to him after they began relying on him for money, as well as acts of physical violence such as his father shoving him back into his room.

("those painful fights, fearful nights") This is an interesting thing to compare to Mafuyu's experience of being gaslit by their mother. They believe very strongly- because they were told- that everything their mother is doing is for them, their future, and is in their best interests. This prevents them from questioning her actions and sacrificing their own desires in a self-destructive manner, which is also something Samsa does. For instance, he hides himself with a bedsheet so his sister does not have to see him when she brings him food, despite him finding this uncomfortable. ("craving any smile or attention just from you") Samsa's sister is the only one who still shows affection towards him, as she is the one who brings him food, but eventually she too festers fear towards and dehumanizes him. By the end of the story, the entire family blames their despair on him becoming an insect and no longer believe he is Gregor Samsa. The most direct reference to the story in the lyrics is when his father throws apples at him and has to be stopped from killing him by his wife, Gregor's mother. He crawls back into his room and he is locked inside. ("i beg, don’t throw those rotten apples at my chest before they lock up, lock up samsa") This could best reference when Kaito says that Mafuyu's mother is killing their feelings or true identity. Additionally, Mafuyu's mother places all blame for Mafuyu's recent behavior on Kanade's influence. And as the family plans for their life after his death, Mafuyu's mother tells Kanade that she plans to convince Mafuyu to go back to doing what she wants, no matter how extreme she must be about it. ("if it all goes to plan, then, we’ll soon rejoice") In the end, Gregor Samsa stops eating, and dies of starvation. All the while, he still thinks fondly of his family and believes they are in the right for their treatment of him. Gregor Samsa is used to form a strong representation of the extent to which Mafuyu has been gaslit. ("so please don't tell me that you'll be giving up on reality, samsa") The biggest difference (other than the bug transformation) is that Mafuyu has people who still dearly care about them, and not just for what they can provide. While all of Gregor Samsa's family abandons him, the other members of Nightcord do not abandon Mafuyu. Mafuyu has a reason to live, and people to tell them that they do not deserve to be locked away. ("i know that brilliant light will shine as the clock strikes 25")

He could already hardly feel the decayed apple in his back or the inflamed area around it, which was entirely covered in white dust. He thought back of his family with emotion and love. If it was possible, he felt that he must go away even more strongly than his sister. He remained in this state of empty and peaceful rumination until he heard the clock tower strike three in the morning. He watched as it slowly began to get light everywhere outside the window too. Then, without his willing it, his head sank down completely, and his last breath flowed weakly from his nostrils (Franz Kafka).

#mafuyu asahina #immiscible discord #mafumom #samsa teniwoha #franz kafka #prosekai #n25

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prettyboysdontlookatexplosions · 14 days

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because this has been on my mind wrapping up the epilogue, here is a little story about how writing fanfiction for very silly sometimes awesome sometimes genuinely terrible SYFY show the magicians changed my life for real.

i started writing help, i’m alive in may 2020. as i have stated many times on this blog, the overarching goal from which this story sprung was my passionate desire to give quentin coldwater each and every last thing he deserved: i wanted to follow him all the way through a downward spiral, and then i wanted to figure out what it would take for him to climb out of the darkness and make it to somewhere he actually wanted to be. the first part of that, the part that became damage control, was some of the easiest writing i’ve ever done, even accounting for the hours spent google mapping the most depressing road trip of all time. the second part was harder, and not just because it wound up being more than four times as long (lmao). it was thornier; there were more threads to weave through; and, frankly, quentin was so fucked up that it took a lot of effort even to outline what it was he needed in order to change. i had written one story already in which the pivot happened entirely internally, an act of self-forgiveness that proved transformational, and i knew that this time i needed to give him more: actual wants, actual actions, an actual life, with actual ties not just to the people already in his circle but to the world beyond. once i had that outline, the first four chapters flowed pretty easily, anchored by the goal of hitting the story’s first big win, which is when quentin finds a way to fix something for the first time since his magic broke; chapter five was where i got stuck.

by that point, it was fall. i had quit my teaching job mid-pandemic with some modest savings, no back-up plan, and a growing realization that after five years in the classroom, teaching was no longer something i could see myself returning to; working obsessively on this story was, among other things, a great way to quiet the constant humming freak-out of what the fuck i was going to do with my life. in october doing some jump squats after sitting in bed all day i threw my back out so badly i couldn’t walk to the bathroom unassisted and paid a hundred dollars to talk to a telehealth doctor for fifteen minutes for some muscle relaxants. the pain sucked, but so did not knowing whether i was going to be better by election day — i’d signed up to be a poll worker, and i really could have used the money.

i’d started dipping my toe in some local volunteer stuff when i quit, but it was during this time that i signed up for the first time for a particular project i was really excited about joining. i did the zoom training with my camera off because my back still hurt too much to sit up; the follow-up involved scanning and emailing some personal documents and signed agreements. i didn’t do it the next day because, whatever, my back fucking hurt; i didn’t do it the day after that because…? and then, well — then i started feeling like i had missed my chance, and it was too late now.

now, here’s the thing: i say feeling like because by this point i had learned enough about the world that i knew — like, knew — that, objectively, taking a few days to send an email (during a pandemic, while i was having previously established health issues) is not considered by most people to be an unforgivable crime. i knew that i should still send the email. and i also had learned enough about myself that i could actually recognize the thing happening in my brain as an example of the kind of overly self-protective mechanisms in which i have many years of practice; i knew by then that i was an absolute expert at finding reasons to not do things that felt like they were based in truth but were really just cleverly disguised manifestations of fear, because if you do things then bad things might happen, but if you don’t do things then nothing bad happens, except that you ruin your own life. i knew all of this!! i could diagnose and analyze exactly how i was once again perpetuating the same anxiety-driven patterns that had governed so much of my life. i was conscious of the workings of my own unconscious. but i still couldn’t bring myself to send the fucking email. instead i was spending 16 hours a day alternately lying in bed and gingerly pacing in my apartment to regain mobility, feeling like shit about the fact that i wasn’t sending the email and also trying fruitlessly to unpack whatever was going on in chapter five.

the election came five days into this mess, and i did feel well enough to go work the polls. this was a great way to experience election 2020, by the way; i had to leave my apartment at like 3:30 in the morning and by the time the returns started coming in i was too delirious to have any emotions about them whatsoever. it was also, not to be a shill for electoral politics, genuinely kind of inspiring: all these people lining up to Do Democracy, the deployment of translators to assist across languages, the columbia undergrad from the neighborhood we were in i was paired with at the info desk who told me he wanted to go into politics and said very seriously, upon hearing i had a friend in the grad school there, “you should tell them to join the union.” plus, you know, the high of doing something, surrounded by other human beings, at a time when that sort of thing had been in short order for the work-from-home crowd for months, and i personally had recently been confined to my bed for several days.

leaving the site that night, entering my twentieth consecutive hour awake, i felt this weird mix of spiritually rejuvenated and psychologically worse. i had just lived through this physical proof of how doing things is both not that scary and kind of awesome, i had spent a day living in alignment with the kind of person i wanted to be, i felt a fresh rush of love for my city and its people — and i still couldn’t imagine sending the fucking email! it was like i was looking at the thing i wanted most through a pane of glass, and the glass was actually really easy to break, so the only thing stopping me was that i was too much of a baby to do it.

and the thought that i had then, i fucking swear, was: i would be such a fucking hypocrite if i wrote quentin coldwater into a happy ending i’m too cowardly to give myself.

which is, first of all: SOOOOOOOO corny, like omg. unbelievably cringe. embarrassing as hell. but it was also my truth at that moment in time. i had no faith in my own ability to change, but i had spent five months and counting thinking about almost nothing else except the story i was writing in which quentin also has no faith in his ability to change but is brave enough to do it anyway, and i really felt like — i could not live with myself putting these ideas out into the world and refusing to integrate them into my own life. i could not write this promise that something better was possible for quentin if i wasn’t even going to try to make it possible for me. i could, apparently, live forever with my constant self-sabotage, but i couldn’t live with myself making this story a lie (this story being, again, fanfiction for a TV show that was, at its best, so great, and also, at its worst, so, SO stupid).

and like… that worked. i emailed the documents the next day; i attended my first monthly zoom meeting that weekend, during which the election was officially called, which felt like a good omen. i summoned the idea that had presented itself to me that night — don’t be a hypocrite! do what you would want quentin to do! — again a while later when my email got lost in the shuffle and i had to send a check-in following up, and again every other time something came up where my fear had to war it out with my desire. (or, well, most other times — it's a work in progress, and yes, i do still find myself calling upon this logic to this day.)

my life now looks more like the happy ending i wrote quentin into than it did almost four years ago, when i started this story, or even three years ago, when i finished it. it looks more like that future than i ever imagined my life could look when i was writing it, and not just because, as i have mentioned before, a few weeks after my election night revelation, i did do as quentin did and befriend a community-minded extrovert who invited me to join a book club. even the fact that the final part of the epilogue has taken me so much longer than expected is a funny case of life imitating art, because while i have had work and illness and travel and general life stress, i have also had many days in the past few months where i was not very productive because i was simply too busy doing something fun — the kind of never-quite-solved balancing act quentin was set to deal with in the epilogue back when i first started kicking it around, well over two years ago at this point, but which was not really applicable to my own life until basically now. and it sounds even to my own ears so, so, so insane to say this, but it’s true: i can trace every aspect of that shift to the fact that i wrote this story, and that writing it fundamentally changed something inside me for the better. (shout-out to the people in the comments who noted that the story was, in a meta sense, my own version of quentin’s coffee maker; i knew you were right, but i don’t think i knew how right until this recent bout of reflection.)

i don't really know that there's a take-away here, because "quit your job and write four hundred thousand words about a weird TV show with a niche audience" is not exactly universally applicable advice. but if i were to try to find one, i think it would be something like: i felt really crazy and kind of embarrassed the entire time i was writing this story, not because i was writing fanfiction, or because it was incredibly horny and wildly self-indulgent, but because it mattered to me so, so deeply. it was one thing to have a fun goofy hobby, even a fun goofy hobby i took semi-seriously and poured a lot of time and effort into, but it was another to actually, like, care, and to care a lot, which i did. but if i hadn't accepted that this story mattered to me, i don't think it could have been as personally transformational as it wound up becoming. the heart wants what it wants, and you're only going to find out what that is if you're willing to listen to whatever rhythm it beats.

i solved chapter five on the way home from the poll site, by the way. i knew there needed to be some problem with quentin’s first semi-successful attempt to mend the coffee maker, but i couldn’t figure out how it tied in thematically with where he was in his life. on the bus it hit me: quentin and the coffee maker were both trying to remain unbreakable. an appealing idea if you’ve been broken, but one more conducive to stagnancy than to growth; you can stay there for a while, but eventually you need to let yourself want more.

#writing tag #the magicians #isabel 2k24

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cannedpickledpeaches · 12 days

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Insert Your Name (7)

Mafia!Jade Leech x Mafia!Reader

Link to part one, two, three, four, five, six, eight, nine, ten!

Notes and TW: Jade doesn't care much about the hierarchy of the mafia when it comes to you. This series will have mentions of blood, violence, crime (kidnapping, attempted assassination, extortion), and harassment, as one might expect from a mafia AU. Please enjoy!

Tags: @guava-writes @itszzmoon @twstsandturns @myteacupisempty @rou-luxe @chikitasmol

It’s a common song and dance. Small organizations sometimes come to the Leech Mafia in hopes of garnering support for their coups. Walrus asked Jade to “lend” you to her. You’re more surprised at her audacity than her motivations.

“You’re trying to replace the Carpenter?” You occasionally see the leader of the Carpenter Mafia at formal functions. A tall, thin man with a disproportionately large head and wheedling voice. Friendly and charismatic on the surface, but known for his underhanded methods of luring people in, stranding them, and devouring them. An insatiable man who takes as much as he can get his hands on.

“Yes, so I humbly came to ask for help.” She places a hand on her chest and furrows her brows. “The Carpenter is a money-obsessed, greedy man who exploits all those who fall into his trap. I can’t watch him go on anymore. Call me a hopeful idiot, but I think with enough determination, even seven maids with seven mops could clear all the sand on a beach in half a year.”

If you were someone else entirely, maybe you would have fallen for her act. That pained look on her face and her poetic description of her tenacity could move a heart made of stone. However, you’ve spent a major portion of your life knowing Jade. You could recognize that duplicitous sorrow anywhere.

“What kind of mafia doesn’t have any suffering?” You won’t pretend the Leech Mafia is a good organization, either. There are monetary benefits, but mafias are built on cruelty, discipline, and fear of the pecking order. For example, if you dislike the way something was done, you have the authority to make sure the offending soldier who carried out the task disappears by sunset.

Walrus smiles. “I strive to create an organization where we can depend on each other.”

“And you want me to help you, huh. Is that why you told your men to attack me? It was a test to see if I meet your expectations.”

“You’re so cute, you know that? You ask questions when you already know the answer. I hope I didn’t upset you.”

No wonder why Jade looks so displeased. He likes to play pranks of that nature on you as well, but he becomes defensive when anyone else tries. What a hypocrite.

“I’m not upset.” As two-faced as Walrus is, you find that you don’t hate it. In the underbelly of society, this is what it takes to not only survive, but to claw your way to the top. In her own way, she is admirable. “Well, tell us what you want and what you’ll give us. This is a negotiation, right?”

“I’m just asking for the basics. Soldiers and weapons, that’s all. Can you spare me a hundred men?” She asks this nonchalantly, but surely she must know the weight of her question. One hundred men on land when the Leech Mafia operates mainly in the Coral Sea is a tall order. Such a number would impact your own operations in the Queendom of Roses. Again, this is expected. When you have more to lose in a negotiation, it is standard to ask for more than what you hope for.

“What a daring question. You are also quite the greedy person, Walrus.” Jade folds his hands on his desk. “Surely you have prepared something of equal value.”

“Of course.” Walrus pulls out a twisting gold wand inlaid with a red jewel. With a flick of her wrist, an image of a man appears in the air. “This is the man who cursed your parents, Jade Leech.”

A shadow passes over his face. This must be a bluff. How are you supposed to believe her when she declared such a thing without proof? To your surprise, Jade does not challenge her claim.

“That matches my findings.” Jade lowers his chin, his sharp gaze scrutinizing her. “What of it?”

“He’s dead. Carpenter personally got rid of him. No use for someone who managed to screw up an assassination, right?” She taps her wand to the image. It becomes a map with a glowing red dot south of the Coral Sea. “One of my friends has a Signature Spell that can analyze dead bodies. If we get his corpse, she should be able to figure out exactly what curse was cast on your parents. His body was dumped around here in the ocean, so you’ll need to retrieve it.”

Jade’s shoulders tense. You glance at the rigid line of his jaw. Softly, you place your hand on his shoulder blade. Calm down. A beat passes. He takes a breath and relaxes his muscles.

“Your proposal is hypothetical. There is no guarantee your friend will be able to deduce what spell was used. In the scenario which she does, there still remains the question of whether or not it can be cured.”

“It’s better than knowing nothing, right? I’ve been working for you for a month. I know there’s been no progress with your parents’ condition.” Her eyes glint. “Honestly, you should be happy to get any kind of lead.”

She has a way with words. At this rate, she will gain the upper hand of the negotiation. You stand still and believe in Jade and his silver tongue. He is not the type of person who will walk away from a discussion having lost more than he gained.

“You knew about the attempt on my parents’ lives, and yet you did nothing while under our employment.” Jade leans forward in his seat and stares her down. “Why didn’t you tell us you knew something about it? Withholding information from us until you can use it as a bargaining chip . . . I’m hurt, Walrus. It will be difficult for us to form a relationship of good faith anymore. If you had told us before it happened, we could have prevented such a tragedy in the first place. From that angle, is it not your fault that my parents were saddled with such an unfortunate ailment?”

Twisting her words and the situation until it benefits him is child’s play for Jade. No matter how contrived that reasoning may seem, at the end of the day, Walrus is the one who desperately needs resources from the Leech Mafia. As long as he does not forget who has the upper hand, he will certainly get his way.

“Of course,” Jade continues, offering her a way out, “I believe in second chances. If you take responsibility and pitch in to find a way to undo the curse, I will have no qualms in lending you my support in your upcoming coup.”

In the end, Walrus has no choice but to concede. There are other groups she could turn to, but creating good relations with the Leech Mafia can only help her if she wishes to gain influence. A weak, unstable group after an internal struggle is easy prey for older, already established syndicates to absorb. She needs their support to avoid a short-lived victory.

Walrus leaves with a promise of seventy men and enough weapons to supply them. As soon as she’s out the door, your mind drifts to the manuscript again. It briefly mentions that the Leech Mafia’s influence spreads after their parents wake up. Maybe this inner turmoil in the Carpenter Mafia causes that expansion. No details were ever given in the manuscript. When you read it over, you had the impression that the author did not have the slightest inkling towards the politics and inner workings of a mafia.

You find yourself stepping back towards the wall as you think. Your body yearns to curl up in the window seat in the attic. Part of you wants to hide up there right now and digest this information. There is so much to think about now. The division of resources, the men you’re going to lend to Walrus, the compensation for the lack of manpower in some of the Leech territory on land . . . .

A hand rests on your waist and reels you in towards the side of Jade’s chair. The perpetrator gives you an imploring look.

“If you need a space to sit, would my lap suffice?”

A few moments ago, you thought Walrus had audacity. Jade outmatches her.

“No, I’ll go up to the attic instead.”

“May I come with you?”

“Seven, you’re so persistent.” You heave a sigh and motion for him to shift so that you can sit comfortably on his lap. His smile grows unbelievably smug as you take a seat, purposely putting your full weight on him. He doesn’t show the slightest hint of discomfort.

It becomes easier to think when you have something pressed against your back. His arms surround you, providing a small space for you to retreat in your mind without any worries. Sturdy and secure like the face of a cliff or the trunk of a tree, safe despite the threat you know he is capable of being. No matter. You were the one who said you would trust him. And now that you’ve let your guard down, you find that you feel rather cozy.

“You’re being weirdly clingy today.” You notice he still hasn’t let go of your waist. “When Walrus asked for my help, you were so adamant on refusing. I could’ve gone, you know. We would’ve had a reason to lend her less soldiers.”

He huffs. “I have told you before. Have you already forgotten? There is no need for you to dirty your hands with filth.”

It takes you a moment to recall when he last said those words: outside Azul’s home while Floyd beat the living daylights out of Barry Moore. You should never have to lift a finger. Just keep making others do your dirty work.

“What’s your problem with me fighting every so often? I’m not against it.”

Jade rests his head on your shoulder. He’s been getting bolder ever since you promised him your trust.

“If you want to, I would not stop you. But I can tell you prefer to stay holed up somewhere and wrack your brain instead of using your fists. In situations where violence is necessary, you often order someone else to do it unless you are the only one around. Regardless, I would support you to the best of my ability whether you wish to scheme or massacre.” He sighs into your shirt. “I was already quite upset that I did not manage to stop Walrus’s men from ambushing you. It put our negotiations at risk.”

“You were going to refuse her terms just because of that?” It’s not like Jade to make such an illogical decision for something that doesn’t even bring him entertainment. In fact . . . “I would’ve thought that watching me struggle in a fight would be interesting to you.”

“Of course it is.” His chest rumbles against your back. Your eyebrow twitches. Laughter? The nerve! “But I would rather you struggle in a situation that I’ve created, which I can stop whenever I wish.”

“So you only like my suffering when you’re in control of everything about it?”

“Let’s not call it suffering. Challenging obstacles, if you will. But yes.” His eyelashes flutter against your cheek. “If it is ever necessary to truly put your life at risk, it means that I have failed in some capacity.”

You should be grateful to hear those words. But some part of you sours. Why is he so bent on protecting you? You aren’t weak. Your Signature Spell’s primary function is to shield you from physical injuries. Fighting comes naturally to you. In fact, when you met the twins, you were the one who fought for Jade. Sort of. You even extorted him afterwards. And in the Leech Mafia, it is your job to protect him.

“I don’t need to be protected.”

“You are correct.” He nuzzles his face into your neck. “You have survived for this long in the mafia. I don’t try to keep you from harm because you are incompetent—far from it, actually. I do so because you are too competent. You take on more and more difficult work, increasing your chances of getting hurt, but you do not stop and consider how seeing you injured may throw me into disarray—”

He suddenly pauses. You think you get the gist of it. His parents still lie unconscious in hospital beds. Perhaps a small part of him blames himself for not being careful enough. Even you sometimes lie awake wondering if there was anything you could have done to prevent it. If only you took that manuscript seriously sooner. If only you had been more vigilant. If only, if only, if only. Do you dare to assume he’s worried about you as well?

Jade’s fingers tighten on your waist. “I want to make sure you are safe and comfortable. If you will allow me, I will do anything in my power to ensure it happens. Scheme and plot, stew in your thoughts, give orders like a tyrant. I will be your hands and feet so that you never have to endanger yourself. It is only a selfish desire of mine that you will never be harmed.”

“So, if I’m understanding correctly, you’re saying you care about me?”

He chuckles. “Is it something that needs to be said?”

Answering a question with a question. Typical.

“Tell me properly.”

“Relentless as always.” He relaxes his grip. “I care about you. More than you think.”

“You said you wouldn’t lie to me anymore.” There’s enough sincerity in his voice that you don’t have to confirm. A part of you just wants to hear him say it.

“I was not lying, then or now.” Jade’s arms wind around your torso and hold you close. “I have always been truthful on this subject, and this is no lie, either.”

#twisted wonderland #disney twst #jade leech #twst jade #twst fanfic #twst x reader #jade leech x reader #mafia au #multi chap fic #slow burn

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throneofsapphics · 3 months

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Hi can I request manorian x reader where she has a drinking problem and stopped but when she’s out with her friends they make her drink and it gets bad again :( manorian are frustrated, give me some angst and also then helping her

one day at a time

Manorian x Reader

Summary: “You knew they were next to you, one on each side, probably waiting for you to wake so they could talk, but the last thing you wanted was to face them. One drink, and all of your progress felt thrown out the window.”

Warnings: alcoholism, not great handling of alcoholism, minor injury/description of blood, some angst, hint of fluff

Word Count: ~3.2k

A/N: thank you for the request

“Just one,” she grinned at you.

The problem was one always led to another, on and on until you slowly stopped remembering why you didn’t drink. As she slid it towards you, across the table, you knew you were making a mistake, but kept trying to justify it to yourself.

The disappointed look on your friend's face when you turned the first two drinks down.

It’s not like you said you would never drink again. Just that you’d keep it under control.

You wouldn’t go home for a few hours, that’s plenty of time to come back sober. Like you’d said - you’d promised to come home sober.

Earlier, you’d told them you’d likely be home … but you said likely. They wouldn’t worry. Maybe. The fear of their disappointment, of them seeing you like this, overrode any common sense. You weren’t thinking clearly. If you were, you’d know they’d rather you come home drunk off your ass than not at all.

Not quite in your right mind, you decided to stay the night at a friends apartment.

One thing you forgot; the guards, waiting quietly for you in the shadows. Discreet enough you rarely saw them, at least two or three were always there, especially after the threat on your life a few months ago. The reason you’d stopped drinking in the first place. Nobody knew you had a problem.

They watched as you took drink after drink, waiting for you to leave so they could make sure you got home safe. Under orders to make sure you got to the castle, through one of the side gates, without attracting attention.

“She’s got a high tolerance,” he said under his breath, the man next to him chuckling. You twirled and danced, finally waiting until last call. They knew just how much you’d downed, but you played it off well, appearing mildly tipsy.

As you strode for the door, arm in arm with a friend - the one who’d funneled drinks to you all night, they rose to follow.

Turning onto her street, the path away from the castle, you only made it a few paces before you were intercepted.

Shit.

You’d forgotten they had people tailing you at all times. Felix, and someone behind him you vaguely recognized, his name slipping from your mind.

“Castle’s this way,” he jerked his chin, an amused smile on his lips, probably thinking you’d just made a wrong turn.

“I can’t go home like this,” the words stumbled into each other, your cheeks flushed red with alcohol, jerking your arm out of your friends.

“We have more wine at our place,” a vice-like grip curled around your upper arm. Alcohol numbed you enough you didn’t sense the pain right away. Felix had tensed, eyeing her warily. “Come on,” she coaxed, nails digging in harder, warm liquid pooling on your arm. When you didn’t move - she tugged - hard enough you let out a small cry, your shoulder straining - maybe even popping.

Everything happened quickly, you were separated from her, a third person, a woman, appeared from the shadows, a flash of metal, you were shoved behind someone. Shielded. Murmurs over the wind - words indistinct but undeniably a threat. If your arm wasn’t hurting like a bitch maybe you’d feel pity.

It was repeating again. You were too drunk to stop someone, hurting you. Last time you’d barely gotten away. Even though she was a friend, likely meaning no harm, just unaware of your own strength, the realization brought tears to your eyes, quickly hidden as your good arm threw your cloak over your face.

The guards were good. Not a single passerby sensed anything was wrong.

They stuck close to you as you headed through the back gate, half-aware of everything around you.

Declining a visit to the healers, just wanting to be with them, you made it to the end of the hall before Manon was shoving through the door, stalking towards you, Dorian behind her.

You couldn’t - wouldn’t look at them, and tried to skirt around her. She wasn’t having it, stepping to the side to block you.

Taking a breath, you prepared yourself for the lecture - for the disappointment, only for her to gently lift your arm, gold eyes peering at the spot where your friend had gripped. Blood - that was the warmth from earlier. Why Manon came out so quickly - she’d scented your blood.

“It’s fine,” you murmured quietly. She lifted it again and you winced, some of the pain catching up to you, the walk had sobered you enough. A small strain that would heal in time.

“What. Happened?” You could tell her temper was balancing on a paper thin edge.

How could you begin to explain the shit show? Thankfully Dorian started guiding you back towards the room, giving you time to think.

After you were seated on the couch, a cup of tea pressed into your hand, Dorian against your side, Manon pacing in front of the fireplace - looking murderous, he spoke.

“Who did that to you?” You raised your brows, surprised he wasn’t asking about why you were drunk. “We’ll get to that later,” he read your expression, and your head dropped.

“Who was it?” Manon hissed, murderous rage flooding from her. You’d have to convince her not to gut the guards who brought you back here.

“It was an accident.” You winced as Manon pressed a finger into the fingertip shaped bruises, silently calling your bullshit. “It wasn’t on purpose,” you tried. She didn’t look convinced.

“We’ll talk in the morning,” Dorian sighed, wrapping his arm around your waist. You’d insisted you were fine, ready. He didn’t want to stop you, even though he had a bad feeling - hence the clear orders he gave to get you back. Maybe he should’ve told them to keep you from drinking, but that felt a bit too invasive - and he’d trusted you when you said you were ready.

You were, for all he knew. There was something else missing - other answers he needed to get.

“I need you to stay here with her,” he said quietly, to Manon, as you were getting ready for bed, the bathroom door wide open. She agreed - quicker than he thought he would. He was going to get answers.

Felix, the guard who spent the most time watching you, was waiting at the end of the hall, as if he was expecting someone to come looking for answers. Dorian watched a hint of relief cross the man’s features - probably that it was him, not Manon. He couldn’t blame him, his witch was terrifying on a good day. He gave a detailed and precise report of the night’s events - down to each detail, and Dorian remembered exactly why he requested for him to guard you.

Objectively, he knew they’d done everything right - but he was still pissed you’d ended up injured, blood drawn by one of your ‘friends.’ As for the identity of the friend, he decided Manon would have to get you to tell her yourself.

“Thank you,” he said at the end, giving a polite nod as the guard bowed, taking his leave. Dorian pressed his forehead against the stone wall, letting the rough and cool surface center him. Anger would get nowhere tonight. He’d been so fucking proud of you, and the disappointment stung.

The next morning, your head was pounding. One hand shielding your eyes from the sun, an audible groan left your lips. Hungover.

Hungover. Drinking. You’d broken last night. Fuck.

The self-loathing hit a moment later. You knew they were next to you, one on each side, probably waiting for you to wake so they could talk, but the last thing you wanted was to face them. One drink, and all of your progress felt thrown out the window.

“Good morning,” Manon drawled, and you forced your eyes to blink open, your hand to move. Her expression was too neutral. An obvious sign of her holding in her anger. “Who hurt you?” She followed up.

Hurt? There was a tinge in your shoulder. Vaguely, you remembered one of your friends gripping you, her nails digging in, the wet drop of blood against your skin. “It was an accident,” you said quickly.

She pulled the sheets down, revealing the angry blue-purple bruises, small indents of fingernails, on your upper arm. Her finger traced over them, barely touching. “That is not an accident,” she hissed.

“They didn’t mean it,” you tried. Manon raised one brow. “Please, don’t hurt them.” Before breakfast, and you were already resorting to begging to keep her from murder. “I’ll promise not to see them again, if you won’t hurt them.”

Her nostrils flared. You watched her debate it, whether or not to satisfy her bloodlust and rage. Part of you was endeared by this, at her protective streak, but the other part was very, very worried about having blood and death on your hands.

“Fine,” she conceded. “How do you feel?”

The words felt like a trap, but you answered honestly. “Like shit.”

“Good.” Ouch. She ran a hand down your arm, skipping over the bruised area, and gently squeezed your hand. Tender, coming from her. “I’ll see you this afternoon.” You tried to sit up, to catch her and maybe give her a kiss or hug, but with preternatural speed, she’d already left the room.

A pathetic and small broken noise left you, and a sigh reminded you of Dorian’s presence.

“She’s just on edge.” His voice indicated he, too, was on edge.

You were still half-raised, staring at the door, when he slid closer to you. Close enough to feel his body heat, but not to touch. Self loathing and destructive thoughts filled you. Maybe they didn’t want to touch you, maybe they thought you were disgusted enough you’d be packing your bags, heading right out of the castle. Your shoulders caved, curling in on yourself, eyes squeezed to fight tears.

Dorian’s hand rested lightly on your good shoulder. “We’ll talk later.”

Then he left, and you felt your fears were confirmed.

Forcing yourself out of bed, you brushed your teeth, washed your face, scrubbed your body near raw - trying to erase any vague scent of alcohol. You had the day off work, and knew they’d both be busy. Tying a towel around yourself, you clutched the clothes from last night in one hand. Without hesitation, you threw them in the fire. The less reminders, the better.

That night, you all had a private dinner in your shared rooms.

“Why?” Dorian asked, and you could tell he was trying and failing to keep his tone neutral. That was worse - you wanted anger, maybe frustration, anything else.

“I don’t know,” you fidgeted with the ring on your middle finger, the one they’d both given you - not an engagement ring, just a physical representation of your commitment to each other. “I thought I was ready, but … I wasn’t. I gave in.”

You didn’t need to say what you gave into. It was obvious - the atmosphere, peer pressure, temptation. Glancing up, they both tried to hide it - Dorian more than Manon - but the disappointment was there and gods you hated yourself even more. Subconsciously, you began to slide the ring down your finger. Before it could reach your middle knuckle, Manon’s hand had clasped over your own.

“Don’t,” she nearly snarled, lifting just enough to slide the ring back up, before retracting her hand quickly, like she couldn’t bear to touch you longer than necessary. At least they didn’t want to leave you. Yet, a voice in your mind whispered.

Your throat bobbed as you swallowed, nodding. Any words might lead to tears. Dorian sent you a smile, but it was strained - forced. Didn’t they understand you hated yourself now? More disappointed and frustrated with yourself than they ever could be? Maybe, maybe not, but it wasn’t worth saying. Quickly gulping down the rest of your water, you excused yourself.

Finding your favorite chair in the small personal library, closest to the fire, you tried to read, but your eyes scanned the same page at least ten times. Everything would be fine. It wouldn’t happen again, and … hopefully whatever divide came between the three of you would mend.

Manon knew you were avoiding them. But, she’d always been under the impression that if someone needed help, they either had to ask or do it themselves. You’d come to them the first time, and she was waiting for you to do it again. At communal dinners, she watched how your eyes would waver towards the various bottles of wine or liquor, before averting quickly - as if they’d burn you for looking at them. Your hand would twitch if one got particularly close. Dorian had noticed too, and said nothing. Maybe that’s what you wanted? For them to pretend it never happened?

As another week passed of your distance, she grew tired over it. Fine. If you wouldn’t ask for help, she’d go to you.

Dorian would be out late, and she headed back to the rooms - knowing you’d already be settling in.

Inside, she saw something that nearly made her blood boil. A bottle of wine sat on the coffee table, a small note attached to it. You sat on the couch, arms wrapped around your knees, physically shaking - staring at it, a haunted look in your eyes.

Slowly, she stalked towards you. No glasses, the bottle wasn’t open. Getting closer, she picked the bottle up, watching you from the corner of her eyes. You kept your gaze straight ahead, switching to the wall, pointedly avoiding her. At least you weren’t fleeing the room.

Witch senses helped, and she could tell you only touched the note - not the bottle.

“We’ve been missing you, come out of hiding soon! First round is on me.”

A female, one of your former friends, signed underneath it. She walked around the couch, placing the bottle out of view, before crouching in front of you, putting herself directly in your line of sight, forcing you to look at her.

“I told them before,” your voice was just above a whisper, “that I’d stopped.”

She noticed the blue-purple bags under your eyes, the pain in your eyes.

“And they still pushed you?” Manon was fighting to keep her temper even as you nodded. “Not very good friends,” she commented. “You should’ve let me kill them.”

A choked laugh left you, and she thought that was a fairly good sign. “I don’t need blood on my hands,” the corner of your lips tilted. A smile you were fighting rather than forcing, she liked that. Manon knew you liked how protective she could be, even if it irked her you rarely ‘let’ her act on it, not that she always asked for your permission.

Still, it was about time she got to the point of this. “Do you need help?”

The smile left, your arms tightened around your knees again. One small jerk of your chin. Manon raised a brow. “Yes,” you sighed.

Years with you had taught Manon more of what human’s needed, liked, and granted these things grew on her as well. She wrapped an arm around your shoulders, chuckling at how you quickly unwrapped and hugged her midsection instead, leaning your head into the space between her chest and shoulder. Before you and Dorian, she never thought she would’ve missed physical touch this much. But, as you not-so-discreetly moved close enough you were nearly on her lap, she realized she didn’t want to go another two weeks without this kind of closeness.

Dorian spotted the bottle of wine tucked away on the kitchen counter first, his eyes widening in alarm. A closer look told him it was still closed, and a note was tied around it. The contents of said note pissed him off. That’s the last thing you need right now. Gazing over his shoulder, he saw Manon shooting him a warning glance. A keep fucking quiet, if he read it correctly. You were there too, curled up around her.

How long had it been since he spotted the two of you like this? Too damn long. But … Manon had probably been with you for a few hours by now, he could justify interrupting. It was only fair to share.

Striding across the room, lips curving into a wicked grin, Manon’s golden eyes narrowing into a glare, he sat heavier than necessary next to the two of you, one hand brushing over your knee.

Your pretty eyes blinked open, small bags lining them. Had you not been sleeping well? He hated that he didn’t notice it before now.

“Hello love,” he ran his hand up and down your thigh, in calm and soothing strokes.

“Hello,” you murmured back.

“Tired?”

“No,” you yawned, covering your mouth.

“Mhm,” he slid one arm under your knees, the other behind your shoulders, ignoring Manon’s snarl and carted you off towards bed.

Manon stood in the doorway, silver hair gleaming, arms crossed. “I have a few reports to read,” she said gruffly.

“Can’t you do that here?” He could tell you were trying to keep the whine from your voice. Manon’s eyes softened briefly.

“The two of you are too distracting,” she spun on her heel, closing the door softly behind them, not giving either of you the chance for a snarky reply.

“I can’t get you to myself for a while?” He teased. You blushed, and his fingers trailed over the heated areas as they turned a brighter shade of pink.

“Of course you can,” you mumbled, hand running over the back of your neck. You wanted to talk - maybe not wanted, but needed. Dorian needed it as well, even if it was the last thing he wanted to do right now. “Are you mad at me?” You asked.

Honestly, he reminded himself, and took in a steady breath. “I was at first,” he said cautiously. Resignation showed on your face, along with a glimmer of hope. He’d said at first. Wording was important, and he still treaded carefully. “But, I haven’t been in your … situation, so I can’t say I understand - or what I would have done.” He didn’t recognize the emotion that flashed in your eyes, but it didn’t look negative, so he continued. “I want to help you,” he gripped both of your hands, pressing a kiss to the ring he’d given you last year. “If you’ll let me.”

Tears started to glimmer, lining your eyes. Maybe you’d wanted help this time, but been scared to ask for it, or were ashamed, or - Dorian reminded himself not to make assumptions.

“I’d like your help,” you said quietly, blinking. His thumb brushed away the tears, and your head tilted. “Did you and Manon coordinate this?”

It was his turn to blink. “No,” he shook his head. A pleased expression crossed your face. Apparently that’s what the two of you had spoken of earlier. “Did she ask if you wanted help?” A nod confirmed it. Subconsciously, his lips quirked up at the corners. Figures they'd both ask on the same day, and that Manon would beat him to it. "We'll take it one day at a time," he assured you.

"Thank you," you tried, unsuccessfully, to stifle another yawn and he figured now’s a good time to table the discussion.

“We can talk more tomorrow.”

You looked relieved, and nearly dragged him into bed.

#manorian x reader #poly!manorian x reader #manorian x y/n #manon blackbeak x reader #dorian havilliard x reader #throne of glass fic #manon blackbeak x y/n #dorian havilliard x y/n #poly!manorian x y/n #throne of glass imagine #throne of glass x reader

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emblemxeno · 15 days

Text

For as good-natured and open-minded as Alear is, effectively he's still extremely young and easily swayed.

While sweet to his friends, he's not at all merciful to enemies, such as outright saying he's going to kill Nelucce for what he's done to Alfred and Celine's family and home. Similarly, he lacks nuance/perspective on Veyle's situation later, thinking that such a blatant switch in personality was just her being a master manipulator this whole time, and lets his anger take control of what he says to her. A classic, good use of dramatic irony.

He doesn't run from things cuz Lumera told him that a Divine Dragon shouldn't run from anything, but Alear took that to an extreme by walking into danger even when advised against it by someone who absolutely knew better-Marth. It's precisely why Lucina and Lyn later have to explain the difference between running away from everything that scares you, and making a retreat when things don't look good. Courage is knowing the risks and recognizing your fear, but rising up to the challenge when it's still possible to win; folly and stubbornness is ignoring the risks as a whole due to getting a swollen head about your own abilities.

Specifically, what's great about this to me, is that Alear is still a work in progress in the story proper. He's compassionate to not want others to experience the pain he has, but not enough to fully grasp the kinds of things people would do because they, their country, or their families were hurt (Zephia, Hortensia, Hyacinth, etc.). He has much general wisdom and good day-to-day advice, but is still susceptible to being full of himself (Chapters 10 and 11). Even after getting a hold of himself when he lost the first six Emblems, he's still not mature enough to see Veyle as anything other than a selfish, monstrous murderer.

When learning he's a Fell Dragon, he sinks into despair, feeling as if he's been deceiving everyone this whole time, even though that perspective logically doesn't make sense. But it doesn't have to! Alear is convinced that Fell Dragons = Bad News, and that it doesn't matter what kind of person he actually is, his heritage is enough for derision.

That's why it matters so much that his friends immediately reassure him of the opposite! Dude, you just spent the entire game learning and growing with us, helping people from royal to citizen, using your power to protect others. You've proven your own version of Divinity, not just because of your hair color, but because of your unending goodness. You're a good dragon!

Alear doesn't have to be all powerful, he just has to be himself; encouraging, calming, inspiring, leader-like. He just has to connect himself to others so they can overcome challenges together. It's also why his interactions with Veyle (and Mauvier as well tbh) are incredibly well done, since now that Alear's been through the process of healing and accepting who he is versus who he can be, he can do the same for his precious sister.

What a lovely character Alear is.

#fire emblem #fire emblem engage #alear fire emblem

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maybe-limerence · 7 months

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Hello! I absolutely loved going through your page, you have such wonderful writing and your color-coding of the pronouns adds such perfect emphasis! I would love to possibly colaborate some day, if not, I'm happy to just read your works!

If you wouldn't mind, I would like to request what would happen if Worshipper and Self-indulgant had the same innocent darling? It just seems like such an interesting fire and ice dynamic!

No Longer Yours

TW: Stabbing, implied murder,

Pronouns: Gender Neutral

AN: Oml, you’re so sweet <3, I’d love to collaborate with you ^^. Feel free to send a message! :) + sorry I took so long, I’ve been working on the flower folk individual posts T^T.

Yan! Ex boyfriend (Jay) x Reader x Yan! Ex’s Rival (Ezrah)

Yandere types: Worshipper, Self-Indulgent

Darling type: Innocent

💔🤍🩷💔🤍🩷💔🩷💔🤍🩷💔🤍🩷

You were so sweet and kind, always seeing the best in people. Especially those you love.

You had so much love in your heart, even for your boyfriend. Even when you thought he was cheating, you pushed it away.

He wouldn’t do that to me was a common thought. You thought he loved you as much as you loved him.

Oh how you were wrong :(

💔🤍🩷💔🤍🩷💔🩷💔🤍🩷💔🤍🩷

“Why? Was I not good enough?!” You whisper-shout.

You learned long ago that if you dare raise your voice at your boyfriend, you would be punished.

“You know what? No, you weren’t good enough. You are the most annoyingly boring person,” your boyfriend spat back.

Tears spilled down your cheeks, silently shaking you looked down.

“And now you’re crying, you know I hate when you cry,” your boyfriend reached out.

Slap

You smacked his hand away. Both of you looked at your action in disbelief.

Your boyfriend was the first to come to his senses. He was angry. Beyond angry actually.

“If you think I’m going to let you forget this, you’re sorely mistaken bitch.”

You looked at him in horror and shock. Backing away, not knowing what was to come, tears started flowing again.

He reached out and was about to grab you when your hand found the door knob and flung the door open.

Darting out, you ran as far as you could. You only had one thing on your mind.

I can’t let him get me.

You continued to run, run down the streets of your city.

You didn’t care your feet were being cut with the broken glass bottles from the bars, you didn’t care your body was screaming for air, you didn’t care that people were looking at you.

You just wanted to be safe.

💔🤍🩷💔🤍🩷💔🩷💔🤍🩷💔🤍🩷

A man looked to the night sky, not bothering to look at where he was going.

I wonder if it’ll rain tonight.

He was still wasn’t looking when he ran into a cold body, a small oomph coming from him as their body collided with his.

The person fell back.

At first he was upset. He wanted to go off on them, but then he saw who they were.

His rival’s partner.

His crush.

“Hey, are you ok?” He asked, offering his hand to them. To you.

When he saw how you flinched, his heart broke.

Were you being mistreated by that asshole?

“Hey, I’m not going to hurt you,” he said, soothingly.

You looked at him with so much fear that it confirmed his suspicions.

Still shaking, you pushed yourself to stand. The more you tried and failed, the more panicked you became.

“Do you need help up?” He asked with such loving kindness, you almost wanted to cry.

You shakily took his hand, and let him walk you to his house.

💔🤍🩷💔🤍🩷💔🩷💔🤍🩷💔🤍🩷

You were sitting in his bathroom as he was dressing your wounds. From what little you had seen of his apartment, it was nicer and cozier than your own.

You hissed in pain when he applied a disinfectant.

“It’s ok, I know it hurts, I’m sorry,” he spoke softly. He had been nothing but kind to you, cracking jokes to make you smile.

You recognized him. He was Ezrah, the man your boyfriend (well, now ex boyfriend) demonized often.

You didn’t understand why, he had been nothing but lovely to you. Much kinder than your ex.

“There, all done,” he smiled at you.

“Thank you,” you murmured.

He cleared his throat and opened his mouth. He looked like he was going to ask you something, but couldn’t find the words.

“Why were you running so fast? Was someone chasing you?” He finally decided.

You looked down and began to cry.

“Shit, I’m sorry,” he apologized.

He never wanted to make you feel unsafe or uncomfortable

He just wanted to love you.

💔🤍🩷💔🤍🩷💔🩷💔🤍🩷💔🤍🩷

You had fallen asleep long ago, passing out from exhaustion.

Ezrah had placed you into his bed, something he dreamed of for so long. He just wished it could have happened under better circumstances…

He wanted to touch you, play with your hair, caress your cheek, kiss you, make love.

He restrained himself. He couldn’t possibly do that without you telling him you wanted that.

He didn’t know what you’d been through, and he didn’t want you to relive trauma.

He didn’t want to scare you.

💔🤍🩷💔🤍🩷💔🩷💔🤍🩷💔🤍🩷

Jay, your ex boyfriend, was walking through the city.

“You couldn’t have gone far,” he mumbled.

He wasn’t worried, you’d be back soon and he was pissed. You were his. His his his. You couldn’t do anything without him. You needed him.

As soon as he felt a rain drop land in his head, he swore that when you turned up you’d be in so much trouble.

He ran home, rain soaking his clothes.

When you get back, you’re dead.

💔🤍🩷💔🤍🩷💔🩷💔🤍🩷💔🤍🩷

Three days passed. Three days of bliss.

You had been treated kindly, you felt safe. You felt loved. You felt like you.

Ezrah had waited on you hand and foot. Anything you wanted (which wasn’t much) you got.

💔🤍🩷💔🤍🩷💔🩷💔🤍🩷💔🤍🩷

Three days passed. Three days of agony.

Jay was losing patience.

He would have blown up your phone, but you left it behind.

He had destroyed your apartment, called all your family (he didn’t allow you to have friends).

None of your family members knew where you were.

💔🤍🩷💔🤍🩷💔🩷💔🤍🩷💔🤍🩷

Summer break was coming to an end. You started freaking out.

Jay had forced you to pick the same classes as him, and you were going to get your class list.

You would be separated from Ezrah.

Ezrah noticed your mood. He understood you so well, your nervous habits shown clear as day to him.

“What’s on you mind?” He asked as he poured you a cup of tea.

“I applied for the same classes as…” you trailed off.

“I see,” He replied.

As soon as he set the cup down, he walked out the room.

“I need to make a quick phone call.” He smiled at you.

💔🤍🩷💔🤍🩷💔🩷💔🤍🩷💔🤍🩷

Knock Knock

A light knock came at Jay’s door and a feeling of anger bubbled in his chest.

It had to be you.

He opened the door, expecting to see your teary face and hear pitiful apologies, but instead was met by a stab to the wrist and a gloved hand over his mouth.

He tried to scream and struggled, but the weight and weapon made it hard to move.

Jay’s eyes pricked with tears as the blade was ripped violently out of his joint.

The door was closed with a swift kick.

💔🤍🩷💔🤍🩷💔🩷💔🤍🩷💔🤍🩷

The day after you confided in Ezrah, you saw Jay, or what blurry thing was named Jay shown on the news broadcast.

You covered your mouth in horror. He must’ve died a horrible, gruesome death for the news to have to blur out so much.

Ezrah walked into the room, and seeing your distressed expression made his heart hurt.

He did the right thing, but to have you look so frightened was awful.

Ezrah pulled you into a hug, offering comfort as you cried into his shoulder, you not noticing the slight smirk in his voice.

Just as it should be.

#yandere #darling #oc stuff #maybe limerence #yandere types #yandere x reader #yandere x you #innocent darling #worshipper yandere #self indulgent yandere

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domainedewinter · 2 months

Text

The Price of fire - chapter 2

Summary: Aemond meets a mysterious silver-haired girl on the beach while facing Vhagar. But the more he tries to know her, the deeper her secrets seem.

Warnings: DUBCON, TYPICAL TARGARYEN INCEST, profanity, innuendo, he/him pronouns, she/her pronouns, fingering, oral m receiving, oral f receiving, misogyny, toxic behaviour, Dom!Aemond, begging, underage hotd style, nsfw.

(coming soon, I will indicate the chapters containing smut with a 🔥)

Rating: 18+, MDNI

English is not my first language.

Chapter two ⤞⟢⨳⟣⤝ Roxaene ⤞⟢⨳⟣⤝

She saw the danger coming as the heat rose from the mouth of the impressive dragon in front of her, and a voice next to her that resonated. Vhagar. She didn't need to hear her name to recognize the creature; the only dragon that could be so impressive was Vhagar, the one once ridden by Visenya Targaryen.

Roxaene knew all this because she had learned the history of every great house in the kingdom, and the history of the Targaryens had fascinated her from a young age. Dorian had tried to get her interested in other stories and other families, but the little girl she was at the time was already fascinated by the dragons that populated her dreams, and her interest had never waned.

She didn't have time to turn around before the sand already cushioned her fall, a gasp of surprise and pain escaping her lips as she found herself pinned to the beach by a man who materialized in front of her as if by magic. Or maybe it was the strange trance she had been in that had made her ignore her surroundings to the point of not seeing the danger coming in the form of a man.

However, she wasn't afraid and responded with courage, her thin eyebrows furrowed and her gaze attempting to be threatening, even though the man questioning her didn't seem frightened at all.

And since Roxaene had been well educated, she instantly recognized the one holding her down.

"Prince Aemond..." She murmured, her voice losing its courage.

Out of all the people living in this great city, Roxaene had to stumble upon a prince, alone on a beach. And not just any prince; one of the king's sons, the one whose dark rumors made their way to Dorne.

Being terribly too close to him, she couldn't ignore his hair of the same color as hers, and his eye, his only eye, which stared at her with the same violet gleam as hers.

Dorian would be terribly furious and disappointed if he learned about this. It shouldn't happen; she needed to leave and disappear as quickly as possible, return to her chamber and not come out until his return.

Her features tensed up a bit, her eyebrows rising, scared that someone saw her, recognized her, as Dorian often told her. Not wanting to disappoint him by learning that his cherished daughter had wandered alone at dusk to fall into the arms of the cruel prince.

Just for a moment, she thought she might be scared - not of Aemond Targaryen, but of the consequences of their encounter. Not for long, just enough time to regain her composure as he tightened his grip on her wrists and slammed her against the ground again.

"You seem to know who I am but refuse to tell me who you are." The prince growled, frowning, the coldness of his fine features turning darker. He obviously wasn't used to being refused, let alone by a young girl lost on the beach daring to resist him.

"Answer me, it's an order!"

Roxaene didn't know what she risked by refusing to obey a prince, but the mere idea of the reactionof her father or being recognized filled her with more fear. Trying to sit up, she growled in frustration.

"Get off me! I swear I wasn't going to do anything to your dragon, so let me go!"

Wanting to tip the odds in her favor and taking advantage of the element of surprise, Roxaene quickly brought up her knee, managing to strike him, probably not hard enough to hurt him but enough to surprise him. If he thought he was going to intimidate her, he didn't know her well because when Aemond's eye widened, she quickly turned her head and bit him as hard as she could, tasting the warm metallic flavor against her lips.

Vhagar growled in concert with his rider, who released Roxaene's face with a cry of pain, as if he had just put his hand in molten lava.

Surprise was written on his features, and it was the moment she chose to act; she turned around, quickly, then used her elbows to crawl away from his physical grasp to have a chance to stand on her feet and run.

Run as fast as possible, as far as possible.

Do not look back.

Forget this evening, the dragon.

Forget the prince and the fear.

She hadn't received any close combat training and would quickly be overpowered if she didn't act swiftly. But realizing that her legs were still half blocked by the prince's body, she decided to act differently; even bolder and more reckless, but the only idea that sprang to her mind.

.⤞⟢⨳⟣⤝ Aemond ⤞⟢⨳⟣⤝.

Few sane men dared to look at the one-eyed prince, and even fewer dared to provoke him. Despite having recognized him, this young girl seemed not to fear him. Either she was completely unaware, or she feared something much worse than Aemond.

And this simple thought further fueled the prince's curiosity, if that was possible.

Pain blossomed against his hip where she had struck him - by doing this, she had dared to raise her hand against a member of royal blood - and just when he thought it was the stupidest of her decisions, another pain erupted on his hand, forcing him to release her.

But this time, she wouldn’t win. He will not let her win.

He pounced on her as she crawled on her stomach in the hope of escaping him and grabbed her by the hair, pulling her back so hard that she groaned between her clenched teeth - apparently too proud to let out a real cry - ending up on her knees in front of him, her back hitting Aemond's chest.

"Enough! First, you stand fearlessly in front of the maw of the most dangerous dragon, then you shed the blood of a prince? I swear the Stranger is calling for you."

He tightened his grip, but she managed to pivot and do something unexpected; she struck him with the palms of her hands on the chest, unbalancing him so quickly that he fell on his back. She could have fled; she could have tried to save her life, but there she was, the young silver-haired girl straddling him in a vain attempt to immobilize him.

Her chest rose rapidly with her strained breath, her small and delicate hands trembling against his chest. She had tried her luck too many times for a single evening and couldn't retreat anymore. Lifting her chin and making a slight pout—quickly, but just enough for Aemond to furrow his brows, convinced he had seen that expression on someone close to him—Roxaene took a breath.

For courage.

"I was so fascinated by your dragon that I didn't realize what I was doing. But Gods bear witness, I had no ill intentions, nor did I wish to shed your blood. I... I had no choice but to defend myself."

A sigh of relief escaped her as he let her stay on him, not pushing her away or attacking. Aemond was a trained, dangerous, and efficient young man; if he had wanted to throw her to the ground and slash her throat, Roxaene's lilac eyes would have already lost their sparkle.

Instead, he placed his hands on her hips, keeping her where she was, on him.

The simple contact made Roxaene shiver, looking down at him, her hands still firmly anchored on his chest. She wasn't sure if it was to maintain her balance or to have the illusion of keeping him against the ground. But she needed this contact not to be frightened.

His hands on her hips, however, gave her a completely different impression. He didn't grip tightly, didn't hurt her, but it was a hold he exerted, fully aware that he could do whatever he wanted with her and proved it.

"Forgive me, my Prince, for the injury. I defended myself without thinking. Let me go, you will never see me again, I give you my word, I will pretend none of this happened."

A murmur rumbled in the prince's throat, not crossing the barrier of his lips; he seemed to be thinking, giving Roxaene enough time to observe the prince further; he was handsome, no more a child and not yet completely a man, even though he already had all the physical attributes. Their hair was the same shade, that particular color of the moon on a stormy evening. Even their skin was of the same paleness. Until now, Roxaene had not met anyone who resembled her, and it left a strange feeling in her chest.

"But that's not what I want." He eventually said with a sure voice.

"The last thing I want is to see you disappear without answering my question—and the ones to come." He didn't release her gaze, tightening his grip on her hips. "Let's find a compromise; I'll let you go tonight on two conditions only, and—"

"Please, I don't ask f—" the young girl began, cutting him off for fear of hearing what he was going to ask her, but the prince's voice overpowered hers, bossy and authoritative, his icy gaze fixing her with such intensity that she felt her cheeks warm and probably blush.

"Don't interrupt me." His voice was calm but firm as he tilted his head slightly to the side, as if trying to understand how such a young woman could have so much courage or recklessness and so little manners in front of a member of the royal family.

"I'll let you go if-and only if- you give me your name and your promise to come back tomorrow night."

The prince saw her shiver and felt a certain pride in being the cause of this reaction.

With a movement as fluid as it was rapid, he turned her over under his body, just for an instant - a brief instant, like the beating of a wing before lifting her up with him.

His hand had gripped one of hers while the other was in the middle of her back to maintain her balance.

"And don't try to lie, because I'll know how to find you and if that happens, you'll regret that I didn't let Vhagar end your life. Do we have a deal, girl?”

She didn't take her eyes off him, swallowing but no longer daring to lower her gaze, either out of pride or determination.

"Roxaene."

"What?" He asked, as if he hadn't understood what she said, to which she replied.

"My name is Roxaene. And I give you my word to be there tomorrow night, no need to threaten me, I keep my promises."

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