#if you must go might as well take all of spring with you

[ladysansalannister]

persephone had it right

“a burning hill,” mitski/“the beatrice letters,” lemony snicket/“cigarettes & saints,” the wonder years/“the beatrice letters,” lemony snicket/“samson,” regina spektor/“the beatrice letters,” lemony snicket/“letters to doc,” cathy linh che

#mitski #lemony snicket #a series of unfortunate events #asoue #the wonder years #regina spektor #cathy linh che #the beatrice letters #web weaving #words #books #musicians #grief #heartbreak #persephone was right #if you must go might as well take all of spring with you #made by me

[peachesofteal]

Simple Math / Part Eleven

Simple Math masterlist

Ghost/Soap/female reader 6k words - AO3 Warnings-tags: 18+ MDNI. Graphic depiction of domestic violence. This fic contains mature themes. Mention of pregnancy. Nurse!reader, hospital setting, medical inaccuracies. Bun is in pain, goes to a doctor. Dissociation. Lots of despair, fear, anxiety. The 141 reunites. Nightmares. Comfort. Tenderness. Angst. Welcome home.

“Knock knock.”

“Bunny.” Johnny murmurs, lifting an arm, urging you close, a moon to a tide.

“Hi.” You bend, moving into the hug, pressing your face to his neck for a quick second before straightening.

“I miss ye.” You survey him, glancing at the monitor, the brace on his leg and hip, the disconnected fluid line. He’s doing well. You’re so relieved to see it with your own eyes, ribs rattling with a long exhale. Satisfied, you smile, tension bleeding from your spine. 

“Simon says you’re terrorizing your night nurse.”

“Am not. She’s jus’ not gentle, or quiet. Wakes me up.”

“That’s her job.” He scoffs, waving you off. You settle in the chair at his side, and he takes your hand in his, lifting it to his lips, dotting kisses across your knuckles. His affection is freeing, sweet and easy, a warm breeze on a spring day. It overflows your heart with warmth until you think it might spill over, and you go with it, following his lead, even though your better judgement, the girl in the mirror, wails.

“Ye look good. Better. Swellin’ gone down?” He cradles your chin, turning your face from left to right, inspecting with a crystal-clear sapphire gleam.

“Yeah, my shoulder is still sore but… yeah. I feel better.”

“’m glad. Simon keepin’ ye off yer feet all day then?”

“Oh my god.” You laugh. “He keeps telling me to lay down. Or asking if I want to take a nap.” Johnny chuckles.

“Sounds right. He’s a bit o’ a mother hen, that one. He cares though, we both do.”

“I know.” You squeeze his hand. “And I missed you too.”

“He said ye an’ him had a nice chat the other night?” Your cheeks burn. Oh god. Did he… “I’m a wee bit jealous.” He complains, turning his nose up and away in a mock pout, and you roll your eyes.

You laid in bed all night and thought about these moments. Thought about Simon’s mouth on yours, his hand on your ass, squeezing and stroking. You thought about how he tasted, how he smelled, the way he looked at you, like you were a part of their world, a piece of them.

And you thought about Johnny. Johnny alone here, Johnny trapped in the hospital, healing, unable to leave or even get out of bed. How anxious he must be, being separated from his family, how frustrating it is to spend so long trying to get better.

You wanted to give him something. Wanted to make him feel better, see him smile.

Here goes nothing. 

Leaning, standing, you dip into his orbit, lightly bumping your noses together. It takes no time until his good hand is around the back of your neck, crashing your mouth into his, and he breathes you in, holding you steady, tongue and teeth and lips swirling together in a ubiquitous, overwhelming haze. He tastes like summer rain, the feeling in the air before a giant storm, electric and blazing, brilliant glow transferring between the two of you, lightning striking a mountaintop. He nips your bottom lip, heat flooding your stomach, and you pull away slowly, his eyes jeweled and shimmering, brilliantly blue.

“Bunny,” You try to swallow a quiet giggle and fail. “I’ll have to tell ye I’m jealous more often.”

“Don’t take advantage.” You playfully scold.

“Me? Take advantage?” He pretends to be outraged, voice piquing higher, and you laugh again. “How can I take advantage when ‘m the one stuck here in this bed while ye two are at home, playin’ house, takin’ couch naps and gettin’ butt rubs. No one cares about Johnny, no-“

“Shhh.” You press your lips to his, silencing him, remaining in the kiss that’s long and soft and saccharine. He sneaks his tongue back between your teeth, mischievous and wild, every bit the man you’re drawn to, an attraction you can’t fight.

“Well.” Simon clears his throat from the doorway, brows raised, mask snug. “Hope I’m not interrupting.” You don’t know why, but you fly backwards, nearly stumbling, cheeks on fire. You feel like you’ve been caught doing something you shouldn’t, and that feeling, the pit in the bottom of your stomach, is all too reminiscent.

It frightens you.

“Whoa, hey.” Johnny tries to snag a finger around your wrist, but you step out of the way.

“It’s alright.” Simon moves inside fully, clicking the door shut behind him. “You’re not in trouble. Nothing is wrong, I was just kidding. That’s my fault.” You shake your head.

He’s not mad. Johnny is fine. Everything is fine. 

You’re overreacting. You’re making a mess of this. 

You shouldn’t even be doing this in the first place. What’re you doing? Who are you kidding? 

“I’m s-sorry.” You stammer, hands wringing together anxiously.

“Ye dinnae have anything to be sorry about.” Johnny protests, still trying to reach for you.

Get it together. You have to get it together. 

You close your eyes.

Deep breath. In and out. You can do it. Just breathe. 

It works. You’re steadier, and you meet their watchful gazes as your eyes open.  

“You okay?” Simon murmurs, moving very slowly to the other side of the bed where you’re standing, like he’s approaching a spooked, scared, wild animal.

“Yeah. Sorry. Just… had a moment. I’m fine.” Not entirely true, but that’s alright. You feel a little unsteady, a little unnerved, and Johnny frowns.

“Ye should sit.”

“I’m fine.”

“Bunny, please. For me?” He bats his eyelashes, and you want to groan.

But you lower yourself in the chair all the same.

Quiet falls over the room. It’s awkward and stiff, and you curse yourself for ruining the moment.

“Hey.” Simon soothes, reading your mind. “Hey, you’re alright. Everything is fine.” You nod, unsettled. He squeezes your good shoulder and dips past you, leaning to press a gentle kiss to Johnny’s brow, before dotting his nose and pushing their lips together. Their kiss is long, languid touch melting away to expose their connection, trust and love on full display. Delicate and rare, their affection makes your heart flutter, pulchritudinous whispers given to one another as Simon holds Johnny’s hand, stroking a familiar pattern into his skin, something similar to the way he touches you. “How are you feeling?”

“Fine. Wish they’d let me out of this bloody bed.” Johnny grumbles. You clear your throat.

“They’re waiting on your wrist. Once your wrist can support your weight on crutches, then you’ll be able to start PT and be released.”

“Ach. I know.” He’s frustrated, it’s clear. You know it’s not easy, being here, being separated, stuck in a hospital.

“It won’t be too long.” You try to reassure him, and he nods, still a little forlorn. “Here,” you stand with a burst of confidence, knocking his arm with the back of your hand as a direction, “scooch over.”

His eyes light. Simon laughs.

You fold yourself onto the edge of the bed, turned on your side, curled along where he’s the least banged up, careful of the sensitive graft lurking beneath his hospital gown.

“There. That better?” His good arm wraps around you carefully, settling on your ribs, a thumb tracing the wrinkle of your shirt.

“Aye, much better.” Your knees are bent, and cool air ghosts over your lower back, where your shirt has ridden up and exposed your skin. You shiver.

“Cold?” Simon murmurs, and you nod. He’s close, hovering, pulling a blanket up from the end of the bed to cover both you and Johnny. He tucks it around the two of you carefully and leans forward, pulling his mask down again to brush his lips across Johnny’s brow.

You watch in a daze. They don’t speak, but there’s something happening between them, something being said in their eyes as Simon holds his face briefly, and Johnny nods.

They both look to you, your bottom lip caught between teeth.

“Want one too?” Simon hums, cupping the back of your head. “Here.” He kisses you, lingering in it, heat of his naked mouth still a shock to your system.

Johnny is beaming, and cuddles you as close as possible, cheek resting atop your forehead.

They make you dizzy. All of it feels like some kind of dream, a world impossible, a fantasy suddenly turned real life. You’re on the verge of spinning out of control inside it, losing yourself.

It doesn’t help that everything you’ve done over these last few years, this identity, this life, the work that went into hiding and planning and saving and scraping, trying to stay unseen and unnoticed-

Was all for nothing.

“Bunny?” Johnny whispers, bringing you back to them. Simon is settled in the recliner, the same one from the ICU room, but his arm is stretched past your head, fingers playing idly in Johnny’s very long mohawk.

“Sorry. I’m here.”

“Where did ye go?” He tightens his hold, and you snuggle in closer, hiding away from everything bearing down on you, the pain and the panic and the doubt. You hide your face from it, refuse to acknowledge it, desperately trying to stay in this moment, hoping to just be… be here with them. In the sun.

“Nowhere.”  

A day passes. Then another, and another, and another. Your face nearly looks normal, puffiness and swelling practically gone, and your neck aches less and less with each passing day.

Your shoulder, on the other hand, is a problem.

It never stops hurting. You struggle to get your arm through your shirts, can barely lift it, can't pick anything up, and it’s so sore, tender, and stiff, like it’s been dislocated or worse, broken. You’re worried, worried about going back to work without a full range of motion, worried about being in pain.

Worried about being even more permanently damaged than you already are.

Just another tally mark. Just another thing you must live with now, a permanent remnant of him, a forever reminder of just how foolish you really are.

You’re weak. You’re stupid. You’re damaged. 

The pain breaks you down. It prevents you from sleeping, keeps you twisting and turning through a roil of dark dreams. It depresses you, sinks its teeth into your flesh and gnaws on the pieces touched by the sun, the parts of your heart still beating, somehow.

It reminds you of everything you’re desperate to forget.

It all comes crashing down one morning. The despair. The helpless feeling brewing in your stomach. The loneliness. It keeps you there, in bed, in agony, past breakfast.

It keeps you there, until you hear the creak of the stairs, a firm knock.

“I’m coming in.” Simon advises, trying the door, cracking it enough to stick his head through.

You’re crumpled in the middle of the mattress, pillows strewn about from trying to find a comfortable position, tears already dried. Your shoulder hurts so bad, and you don’t know why, don’t know why it’s not getting better, not healing.

“Hey, sleepyhead.” He sits at your side, hand resting on your hip, inspecting the worry lines, the frown tugging at your lips. “What’s going on?” Guilt swamps you.

“It’s nothing, my shoulder just kept me up, so I’m a little tired. That’s all.” You paste on your work smile, forced and believable, but he only shakes his head.

“Don’t do that.” He thumbs your brow. “I think you should see a doctor.”

“N-no.” You can’t. He doesn’t understand. They’ll want to take x-rays. X-rays lead to questions. 

He never takes you at face value. Always pushing. Always digging, looking you over. “Why not?”

“It’s… it’s not necessary. I’m fine, it’s probably just a deep bruise.”

“You’d be experiencing less pain if that was the case.” You raise an eyebrow. He shrugs. “I know a little bit. We all have basic medic training, and I’ve been reading up, for when Johnny gets home.” He pats your hip. “Let’s make you an appointment.” You shake your head.

“No!” It’s too sharp, too insistent, and he freezes. You wince. “I’m sorry. It’s just-“

“You can’t go to a doctor.” He finishes, like he knows. “Tell me why, sweetheart.” You take a shaky breath.

You can’t. You shouldn’t. 

Sunlight taps against the iron that’s encrusted around your heart. It knocks, wanting to be let in. It searches for weakness, places of opportunity, slivers of space where it can find its way.

Your mouth starts moving before you give it permission, like it knows this is where you’re headed, no matter how hard you fight, no matter how deeply the survivor’s logic is ingrained in your brain.

“It… it’s not safe.”

“It creates a trail.” He surmises, and you nod. For a wild moment, you wonder if he’s a plant. If they’re a trap, designed to get you to lower your guard, fabricated to encourage you to trust, to love, just so the jaws of Philip’s cruelty can close around you at the most opportune moment.

They wouldn’t. They’re not. You’re being ridiculous. You’re paranoid. 

“We’ll make it under my name. Our primary is service member focused, and very discreet. You’ll be safe.” He makes it hard to argue, even though you want to. You should.

“I- I don’t know.”

“I can’t stand to see you in pain like this.” He rebukes, and then smiles softly, eyes lighting up. “Besides, I’m going to need your help. Johnny’s coming home on Friday.”

“He is?” You push upward. “Really?”

“Really.” He’s beaming, radiant sunshine spilling from his lips, and it makes you emotional, seeing him so happy, so weightless. “He passed a strength test on his wrist this morning. He needs a few days of PT in hospital, and then he can do it outpatient. His care team has signed off, and he’s ready.”

“Oh my god, that’s great!”

“It is. But I want both of you on the mend, not just one. Please.” It doesn’t take much more for you to concede, unable to find an excuse or a good enough reason, one he’s not able to combat.

“Alright, I guess.”

“Simon. Good to see you.” The doctor extends his hand and Simon shakes it readily, keeping his body positioned between you and the physician, one hand still on your knee.

He’s had a hand on you for the last half hour. You’ve been rattling on the exam table, shifting and fretful, disquieted energy spilling forth since he coaxed you into the car this morning.

“Dr. Fitch.”

“This is my patient?” He motions to you, and Simon stands to the side, concentrating, eyes focused above the mask. You give your name, and the provider repeats it with a warm smile.

“Hi, I’m Dr. Fitch.” You raise your good arm to shake his hand, and he pulls the rolling stool underneath him, taking a seat opposite Simon at your knee.

A warm palm flexes at your lower back. It’s soothing, comforting.  

I’m here, it says. You’re safe.

“Simon says you’ve been having some shoulder pain?”

“Yeah, I had… I had an injury. Thought there was some soft tissue damage, maybe some minor bruising, but the pain is too persistent.”

“Mind if I take a look?” He points to the side you’re clearly favoring.

“Sure.” It’s not comfortable, to have another man’s hands on you outside of your job. There’s no trust there, no familiarity like there is with Simon and Johnny, and your body knows it, practically vibrating as he walks his fingers up your scapula. Simon stays close, still with a hand at your back, watching intently.

Dr Fitch holds your elbow, and slowly lifts your arm until you’re telling him to stop, pins and needles radiating through your shoulder and up your neck.

“I think we need an x-ray so we can really see what’s going on.” Your fingers curl, nails digging into your palm. 

Fuck.  

“I… I think I just need a sling, or an immobilizer for a few weeks. Give it some time to heal.” You try to protest, but he shakes his head.

“I can’t be sure of any of that, without an x-ray.” Oh god. You think you might throw up.

He’s right, though. You know he’s right. You know no good provider in their right mind would sign off on a treatment plan without knowing the extent of an injury. He’s not going to let you dictate what you need.

“Bun.” Simon murmurs, and you blow out a rough breath.

“Okay, fine.”

Dr. Fitch is grim when he reappears almost an hour later, throwing the films up for both you and Simon to see.

You spot what’s soured him immediately, and there’s a sharp intake of breath behind you, the tell-tale sign of Simon noticing it too.

“This side of your body has seen a lot of trauma.” The doctor says gently. He’s not unkind, but still clinical. The kind of provider you’d like you work with, you think. “These old injuries, your clavicle, acromion, even this break in your ulna, make your scapula a very delicate part of your body. I think an MRI would show a fair amount of cartilage damage in these areas.” He motions around your joint, and you close your eyes.

You can’t do this. 

If Dr. Fitch sees your unease or panic, he pushes past it. “You have a rotator cuff tear. The good news is, it’s not surgical. I recommend physical therapy for injuries like these, along with activity modification and lots of rest. I want to do a corticosteroid injection for your pain as well. Today, if you’d like. You’ll need to rest your arm for twenty-four hours afterwards, make sure you’re not lifting anything or moving it…” He continues, but you lose track, lose focus, staring at the vinyl tile, weird grey and pink and green patterns all worked together to make some of the ugliest floor you’ve ever seen.

You zone out. Lose yourself. The films mock you, their ugly, horrific images hanging you out to dry, showcasing the truth, the reminders you’ll never be able to escape.

The pieces of you, changed permanently.

It’s hard to look at. Hard to think of.

You’d rather be considering survival. Counting your cash and researching new places to live. New communities to disappear inside, a new life to assume.

It’s easier to run.

You can’t look at Simon. Can't bear the shame. Can't believe he's seeing this, your nightmares on display. 

You keep your eyes fixed on the wall.

The girl in the mirror is falling apart. She despises being confronted with your failings, your weakness, the results of your stupidity.

It’s far less common now, these mistakes. These slip ups.

But before… before… they indulged Philip in a beautiful game of cat and mouse. You made it fun, made it exciting. A wolf with his prey. Playing with his food before he eats. Before he strings it up and breaks its collarbone because he likes to hear it scream.

Simon is talking to the provider, asking questions, receiving answers. You can barely hear him. You’re underwater.

The only thing that tethers you to the earth is the hand on your back, the warm, gentle, broad, grounding pressure.

There’s more conversation, and then Dr. Fitch is vacating the room.

Is it time to go? 

You try to stand on autopilot, but Simon holds you steady.

“We’re going to do the steroid, for your pain.” He drifts into your line of sight, pulling the mask down. “Bunny, look at me.”

When you can’t, he follows your gaze.

The films come off the wall within the next second, ripped down by the long reach of his arm.

Gone. 

“I have to go.” You whisper.

“You’re not going anywhere. You’re going to get this injection, and then I’m going to take you home and put you to bed.”

He doesn’t understand your meaning. 

Or maybe he does. 

Home. The word rings in your ears like a punch. It’s like you’ve been hit with it, burned with it.

Home. 

He’s not forceful, but you still feel the pressure, the insistence. You expect to rail against him. To cower.

Instead, you slip inside it. Allow him to tell you what to do, to make the decision. You fall easily into him, and he holds your hand through it all, while the injection site is swabbed, when the needle goes in. He holds your hand out to the car, holds your hand as he buckles you in. He holds your hand as he tucks you into a bed larger and softer than the one you've been sleeping in. It smells like him and Johnny, soft sheets and pillows piled around you like a wall, false sense of security building every time you twitch, testing where is he is, if he’s left yet.

The last thing you feel before you drift off to sleep is your hand, still in his.

You don't know how long you sleep. You sail in the darkness, navigating turbulent seas, waking every now and then, sometimes alone... sometimes not. 

The baby monitor blinks pale green, little circle fuzzy on the edge of your vision, appearing and disappearing throughout the day. 

Sometimes the bed is warm. Sometimes it's not. 

When it is, you seek him out on instinct, trying to crawl inside his ribs, frantic with your effort to hide, to run. He holds you through it, rocks you gently, tells you you're safe, says you don't have to be afraid anymore, he's here now. He'll take care of you. 

There's a rope around your ankle, tied too tight, tethered to the ocean floor. It drags you down, rips you away from him, fills your lungs and silences you. 

You didn't make it. 

All you can see behind closed lids is those films. All you can feel is the phantom ache in your limbs, the remnants of a shadow, still living and breathing inside of you. 

The girl in the mirror is silent. Nothing to say for once in her life, she weeps like her chest is being carved open, sobs and screams pouring out in a flood. 

I know you'll be here when I get back, won't you?

The house is vibrant today.

Lou has been here, stocking the fridge, precooking some meals, and her husband is helping Simon rearrange the living room, moving pieces of the couch to be more accessible, laughing back and forth quietly. Occasionally, he stops into the kitchen where you’re seated next to Pen in her highchair, checking in, but never encroaching.

He doesn’t get too close, right now. You’re still underwater somewhere, lost in a current. You’re here, but not really, silently drifting like a ghost, watching and waiting for something or someone to shake you out of it.

Simon hasn’t yet, but he’s watching. Always.

He’s intentionally careful, loud. Announcing himself everywhere he goes in the house, telling you everything he’s doing.

You didn’t understand why at first. Didn’t realize you hadn’t spoken in eight hours, and then ten, then twelve.

Trapped in a tomb of yourself, locked away with the girl in the mirror.

Guilt burns like a wildfire.

This should be a happy time. A wonderful time. 

But all you’re doing is making a mess of their life.  

Lou, thankfully, doesn’t push you either. She’s content to let you sit there, next to Pen. She keeps an eye out, glancing over at you occasionally, but your placating smiles seem to satisfy her.

Simon steps in front of the counter, ducking his head down to catch your eyes. “I’m going to pick Johnny up.” Somewhere, in the pits of hell, excitement blooms. Happiness tries to sprout. “Do you want to come?” Definitely not. They’ll certainly clap him out, and there’s no way you can be there for that. 

“No, I’m… okay.”

“Okay. Penny is coming with me, but John and Lou are staying here. Kyle is coming by. If Johnny’s feeling up to it, I’m hoping to do dinner all together.” Acid is tossed around, tempestuous in your stomach. Lou smiles around his side.

“Want to watch something while we wait?”

“Sure.” She disappears down the hall, saying something to John, and Simon slowly pulls Pen from her chair, kissing her cheek and nose before cradling her to his chest. She’s not a small baby, but in his hold, she’s tiny, soft and delicate, content in her dad’s arms, still a little sleepy from her afternoon nap. 

“We’ll be back soon.” He whispers, turning to go.

Your hand whips forward instinctively, out of control.

It latches onto his.

“Simon. I’m… I’m sorry.” You’re sorry you’re ruining everything. You’re sorry you’re fucked up beyond belief, you’re sorry he had to see all that in the doctor’s office, you’re sorry, you’re sorry, you’re sorry. 

He squeezes. “Shhh, hey. There’s nothing to be sorry about.” He shifts, still holding Penny, but stooping down to crouch at your knees, his own popping with effort. “It’s okay, if you have to go somewhere else for a little while up there, as long as you're not lost in it.” He motions to your head. “Nothing has changed. We’re still right here, everything is alright. Huh, Penny girl?” He bounces her, and she shrieks out a giggle, reaching for his face. He kisses her hands like he’s trying to eat them, rumble in his voice making her squeal, and he catches your faint smile. “There she is.” He kisses your forehead. “We’ll be back soon, okay?”

“Okay.”

You hear Johnny before you see him.

There’s a scrape of crutches, his voice animated, talking to his baby, Penny giggling wildly outside on the walk. Lou and John exchange a comfortable smile, and she manages to get the door open before Simon can get his key in the lock.

“Welcome home!” She exclaims, and Penny squeaks, clapping excitedly. She’s wriggly, wanting to get down immediately upon crossing the threshold, but Simon holds her firm, turned around so Lou can snap their picture.

“Ach, Price, can ye do somethin’-“ Johnny laments, but the captain only laughs and looks on.

“Hey! Come on, you’ll want this, later. I promise. Look over here.” They’re picture perfect, Penny cradled between them, Johnny’s hair moved out of his face, his posture a little slouched because of his hip and leg. His head rests on Simon’s shoulder, an arm stretched across his middle, right under Penny, who glows from her perch, the center of attention.

An ache unfurls in the middle of your chest, a sore spot, growing, spreading through your body.

They’re so lovely, it hurts. This moment is beautiful, a homecoming, a story of survival and perseverance. Johnny’s strength and determination. Doing something you know a lot of people initially doubted.  

The dark spot of pain passes, fleeting.

Johnny’s eyes find yours. “Ye goin’ make me hobble all the way over there?” He teases, and you shake your head.

The two of you can only give half hugs, but you make it work, holding onto him, fingers fisted in the back of his shirt.

“Welcome home.” You whisper in his ear, and he pulls away, notching his forehead against yours. His eyes glitter, heavy, trembling breath filtering through his nose, and he kisses you slowly, so painfully slowly it’s like you’re the only one in the entire house, in the whole world.

“You too, bunny.”

Dinner is lively. Kyle arrives shortly before it’s time to sit down, greetings and warm wishes passed around as everyone gets settled, Penny positioned in highchair between the guys with mashed potatoes and peas already scooped onto her tray. Johnny’s on your left, with Lou on your right, and Simon sits at the head of the table, across from who you realize now, is his old, or kind of still, boss. 

He looks perfect there, half turned towards Pen and Johnny, radiantly smiling at his partner and daughter, trying again and again to catch your eye. Johnny's knee stays steady against yours, fingertips occasionally brushing your thigh, and the two of them try to draw you in, pull you towards them, over and over. 

Conversation flows easily. They’re all talking, laughing, swapping stories, poking at one another. Kyle tells you about a time he fell out of a helicopter, and they all tease Johnny about nearly dying this time, or a different time, you can’t be too sure.

“Ye jus’ wish ye had the natural ability I do.” He sniffs, and Kyle chortles, struggling to swallow his food.

“I’d probably be dead, mate.”

“’Cause ye cannae handle it!” He retorts, and Simon laughs, causing Penny to giggle too, and then the entire table erupts in it, attention redirected, cooing at the adorable girl with mashed potatoes smeared on her face. Johnny and Simon fuss over her, a perfect family in unison. 

There’s a whining, buzzing noise in the back of your head. It’s an off-key tenor, annoying and coarse, like the snag of rough skin texture against a soft sweater.

What are you doing here? 

The world, this room, these people, spin and spiral around you. Talking, laughing, loving. Making connections with each other, feeling the warmth of love and friendship, of happiness.

The buzzing gets louder.

You’re vaguely in it now, still seated but not here, not anywhere. You’re drifting, falling away, slipping behind walls and layers, hiding.

The girl in the mirror approves.

What makes you think you have any right to be here? What makes you think you could ever possibly belong here? With them? With their friends? Their family? 

You’re an intruder. 

You’re risking their safety. You’re making a mistake. 

Lou boasts a sharp laugh, and you nearly flinch.

You don’t belong here. You’re supposed to be alone. It was supposed to be okay, to be alone.

You’re selfish.

Simon reaches for Johnny’s hand, stretching across Penny’s spot, eyes heavy with love. There’s so much in his expression alone, dedication, devotion, borderline obsession bleeding through, and he holds Johnny like he’s holding his lifeline.

You’ll never be loved like that, known like that, cherished and protected… like that. 

And why should you be? 

You’re standing before you announce it, trying to hold yourself together. Both guys look to you, Simon’s expression changing from amusement and love to worry and concern, while Johnny mirrors it, and tries to grab your hand.

“Ye alright?”

“Bun?”

“I’m fine, just… uh. My stomach.” You lie, motioning away from the table, like it makes any sense. You excuse yourself quickly, apologizing, and practically run up the stairs.

The guest bathroom door locks, and you slide down against the tub, slumping over to rest your cheek on cold tile. “Fuck.” You whisper, rubbing at your cheeks. What is wrong with you?

You lay there long enough that your shoulder starts to hurt. Everything aches, your heart too, and wipe your cheeks over and over, trying to regain control of a sinking ship.

God, you really, really hope they aren’t mad you bailed. 

The bed is your only option, your only salvation, and you sink into without fuss, burying yourself beneath a pile of blankets, hiding yourself away from the world.

At least when you sleep, you can’t think.

At least when you sleep, you can’t feel.

“Philip, please.” 

“You made a fucking fool of me tonight.” He grips your upper arm so tight it feels like he’s cutting into your flesh, branding you, burning you down to the bone. 

“No, I- I wasn’t trying to, I swear.” 

“I think you were, spitfire. I think you wanted to see me sweat, didn’t you? Wanted to play a little game, huh?” 

“No!” you’re crying, chest heaving with giant sobs, and his fist tightens in your hair, dragging you down to the ground. “No, Philip, stop. Stop!” 

“Shut up.” You’re crawling on your knees, trying to keep pace, trying to stay in stride with him as he tugs, practically pulling you down the hallway to the bedroom. 

Once he gets there, he jerks you upwards. 

The hardwood floor is the next thing you see as your face crashes into it. 

“S-stop.” You’re barely audible, buried in sobs. He mocks you. 

“Stoooop, babe. Stop please.” Your arms cover your head, trying to protect your delicate bones there, your skull, your nose, your cheeks. 

His foot rears back. 

The world goes cold. 

“NO!” you jerk your knees up to your chest, rolling away. “No! I’m pregnant!” 

You think he’ll be happy. You think he’ll be pleased. 

Instead, it’s raw, concentrated fury you see lining his face, lightning and thunder gathering in his eyes. 

“You’re what?”

You come to trembling, coated in a cold sweat.

It’s okay. He’s not here. He’s not. You’re safe. 

You clasp a hand over your mouth to ward off the volume of the sob, nausea rising until you’re almost gagging.

It’s okay. 

You can do this. Get it together. 

Time ticks away, but the agony of your memory, your nightmare, doesn’t fade. It settles in your bones like a sickness, infecting your mind and heart, keeping you from closing your eyes.

You can’t go back there. Not in real life. Not in your dreams. Not ever.

You would die before that happened.

Johnny and Simon sleep down the hall. You wonder if they’re wrapped up together, if Johnny is comfortable, if their room is cozy and homey, bed heavenly and full of love.

You could… 

No. 

The clock on your phone reads three in the morning. You feel like you haven’t slept at all, but every time you try to close your eyes, dread spreads, tenebrous and sticky, clinging to every synapse in your logical brain.

You eye the door.

You could… 

Should you? Would they be mad? Would they welcome you? Would they even answer?

You don’t know how you convince yourself to do it, to drag your weak will down the hall and knock on their door, but you do. You’re a child the whole way, padding up to a parent’s room in the middle of the night, looking for salvation and sanctuary, desperate for comfort.

It takes almost no time after your timid little rap for the door to swing wide, Simon standing behind it, little lamp flicked on where Johnny is half sitting up, mostly still asleep, rubbing his eyes.

“Hi.” You whisper, distracted by Simon’s naked chest. He’s wearing sweatpants, but they’re slung low on his hips, soft tummy with wispy light brown hair peeking out above the drawstring. You think you’re staring, and you force a blink, trying to appear normal.

“What is it? What’s wrong?”

“N-nothing, I just… I had a nightmare and…I… I can’t…” the rest doesn’t come out, laying heavy on your tongue, trying to organize itself so it doesn’t seem so intrusive, or weak.

He doesn’t make you feel bad. Or guilty. He doesn’t even ask, he just steps aside, motioning to bed, clicking the door shut behind him.

“Take the middle.” He whispers, and you crawl across the expanse, timidly smiling at Johnny, who’s still yawning. He’s got his bad leg and hip set up on a bunch of pillows, and the spot next to him is still warm.

“Hey pretty girl.”

“Hi.” He pats the empty space, shoving the blankets down to the best of his ability to let you get underneath them.

“Bad dream?” He drawls, slow and sleepy.

“Yeah.”

“C’mere.” He tries to tug you closer, but Simon scolds him softly.

“Johnny, easy. Your graft.” He turns, sliding, encouraging you to settle on your side, with him at your back. “There we go. That’s better, hm?” It is better. So much better. Warm and safe. Blocked in on either side by them, your hand resting on Johnny’s sternum, grounding yourself with the rise and fall of his breathing, Simon nestling you into his chest, heavy arm slung across your ribs to hold Johnny’s hand.

It's so nice, tucked between them like you belong there, things start to spiral a little bit, doubt and worry fueling a cycle of second guessing. You shift restlessly, and Simon rubs your hip, soothing whatever he senses amiss back to neutral, lips humming just above your ear. “Close your eyes, little bunny. We’re here. You’re safe.”

#peaches writes #simple math #ghoap x reader #ghost x reader x soap #ghost x soap x reader #simon riley #john mactavish #simon riley x reader #soap x reader #john mactavish x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #ghost x reader

[theeveninghour]

All My Dreaming

Summary: You came to the Night Court as a fugitive and quickly became a valued member of the Inner Circle. Azriel’s love for you has burned brightly in his chest for nearly two centuries now, but when an unknown force threatens to take you from him, he must fight to keep you at his side.

Pairing: Azriel x Winter Court!Reader

A/N: I don’t use Y/N here just out of personal preference, but the IC do call reader “Little One” because she’s younger than them by like a century or so. Also, slight timeline deviation? I kind of just made the ACOTAR timeline work for me a little bit but the important bits are there mostly. If it’s not totally accurate, please suspend your disbelief and go with it. I also took some serious liberties with Prythian geography and Azriel’s shadows in this. I had to force myself to stop because I could’ve written five more scenes, so let me know if you all want a part two. I got nasty Azriel thots to spare, baby! 

WC: 16.1k  ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

TW: 18+, Minors DNI, violence, death, descriptive gore, lots of time jumps, torture, smut, p in v, fingering, porn with plot, mating, slow burn, angst, friends to lovers, declarations of love, loving sexy times, miscommunications abound, Azriel being a big ole softie, Azriel being a big ole bitch to bad men, Azriel really going tf thru it emotionally, and Azriel being mouthy as fuck. Just girly things. 

Part 2

Azriel hadn’t seen you in four days. Nearly a week had passed since you’d left. Rhys mentioned a mission but no additional details, Cassian avoided the topic, knowing how frustrated his brother got when you were gone, and Feyre was decidedly unhelpful the few times he’d brought you up. His shadows searched aimlessly, they’d found nothing as far south as Winter Court, daring not venture into Autumn, and knowing damn well you’d never step foot into Spring. You were slowly driving him mad; the bond in his chest aching at the loss. Even if you hadn’t recognized the golden thread linking the two of you, he felt it. 

Gods, did he feel it. He’d often lay in his bed at night, eyes tracing the intricate foil patterns of the ceiling tiles. When sleep evaded him, as it frequently did, he’d grasp the thread tightly in his minds eye and tug it experimentally, begging you to see, to notice it was him that loved you with a ferocity that rivaled the sun. Try as he might, the responding tug never answered, his call into the void not returning an echo. 

The second it snapped for him, Azriel had resolved himself as unworthy, not of someone like you. You were powerful, breathtakingly beautiful, intimidatingly intelligent, and you regularly brought men to their knees, both in political circles and on the battlefield. Rhys relied on you as much he did Cassian and Az, you were a core member of his court, a valuable asset, and the love of Azriel’s life. Azriel avoided the latter subject entirely, choosing instead to silently stoke the ember in chest with unyielding affection; his own private paramour. 

When you’d joined the Night Court, you’d been on the run from both Winter and Autumn Courts. Your father was a high fae noble in Winter that had attempted to arrange a marriage to the second youngest Vanserra of Autumn. The family’s brutal reputation was legend and you were terrified. You were young then, barely a century old, and upon your introductory visit to the Autumn Court, Beron sought to make an impression by presenting a welcome gift. That gift? The public torture and execution of a servant he’d deemed traitorous. 

His gleaming eyes remained on yours with each cast of the fire whip he’d conjured using his cruel magic. He’d cracked it again and again until blood splattered and the servant was left flayed beyond recognition, flesh searing, and finger tips twitching from the remaining neurons firing in his brain. Only after his death did Beron announce his crimes. He’d stolen a parcel of food from the royal pantry to feed his wife and small child. Your stomach churned at the thought of the now widow and fatherless child waiting at home for the male that would never return. 

It had all been a test to see if you were worthy of the most violent and petulant of the broody sons, and you’d passed, holding Beron’s stare and keeping your back straight as you faced his wrath head on. You’d cried yourself dry in your room that night though, sobs wracking your form until your chest ached, grief for the male that was lost. Fear settled into your heart, terror of the family you were set to marry into. 

You’d ran at first light, leaving with nothing but the clothes on your back. Your Winter white blonde hair streaking across the red and orange forest as you bolted. Beron sent his dogs after you. You still had the scars lining your calves from where they’d gotten too close, brought you down into the dirt, jaws snapping and tearing at the muscly sinew there. But you’d fought. You’d kicked and clawed like a feral child of the woods, screaming with a sense of self preservation you’d never known you possessed. 

Rhysand had found you half dead, starving and a little savage in the mountainous border between the Day and Night Courts. He’d made a bargain with you then; he’d save you, if you worked for him. Word had already spread of the ousted Winter female and spurned Autumn princeling and Rhysand was impressed you’d lasted in the wilds undetected for so long. The small star flecked tattoo of the Velarian night sky that lived on your wrist since was the only evidence of his deal. 

You’d long moved past such a bargain. Rhys had offered to lift it half a dozen times in your first hundred years within his court, but you hadn’t minded. A reminder, you’d insisted, a mark of your loyalty to the family that didn’t lead you the wolves with such glee. 

You’d settled into a routine in Velaris, training with the Illyrian brothers and charming Amren with your intelligence and wit.  But you’d become the closest with Mor, who felt a kinship in your shared traumas. She’d soothed you in those first years, fiercely protecting her friend when Eris Vanserra had shown up in Hewn City as an emissary to inquire on your new position in the Night Court. It was that same night that Azriel realized how fucked he truly was.

Eris smirked at you and your back straightened, face growing cold. He spoke, “My brother was wondering where you’d scampered off to.” A laugh followed, “You couldn’t stomach our court, but found yourself bound to the Court of Nightmares? My my, what a wicked turn of events.” 

Rhysand had spoken then, wearing his High Lord mask well, “Watch yourself, Eris. You know not what our Little One can do.” Eris laughed, the sound laced with the dark spark of a threat. “Little One? Fugitive and Night Court whore, I must tell your father. I’m sure he’ll be proud to hear of his daughter’s fate.” Azriel’s wings pricked, then fluttered, he would’ve killed Eris right then for you. Your hand came to rest on Rhys’ arm as you stepped around the throne to level your accuser with a look that should’ve turned him to stone. 

“I am no male’s whore and I belong to no court except Night. Report what you wish to my father, to your father, your brother. May you all rot.” You’d spat at his feet then, and the room heated twenty degrees, Eris’ barely kept rage simmering under the surface, fire blooming on the fringes of his figure. 

He stepped forward and Cassian, Azriel, and Mor all shifted, prepared to take out the threat. Eris’ eyes tracked their figures, gauging the situation. He knew better. Any attack here would mean war on his court and his father have his hide for that. You stepped forward to meet him, knowing he could make no move without endangering his position. You kept your spine straight and narrowed your gaze at him with such contempt he would’ve been impressed at the show had you been anyone else. 

“I will say this once Eris Vanserra,” you held up one long manicured finger, and Azriel traced the action with thinly veiled obsession. “Leave my court or I will be the one to kill you. I’ll rip your spine from your body and I’ll do it with the same glee in which your father,” you’d spat that word, the hatred you held for Beron burning your throat as the words exited your mouth, “killed that male for feeding his family.” You took a step closer, summoning a dagger in your left hand, and rolling it your palm. “Trust that we have no tolerance for your family or your bullshit in these lands.” 

Eris had good enough sense to step back then, peering around your form to where Rhysand sat, legs spread, slouched in the throne, smirking at your display of dominance. Azriel to his right looked on in pure male satisfaction, you were a powerful little thing and he was rather fond of you in that moment. Eris spoke up, “Should I note that the Night Court threatens other Courts for sport?” Cassian and Azriel rolled their eyes in synchronous fashion, but it was Mor that spoke with the dark edge of a threat, “Only ones that deserve such brutality.” Her father, Kier, stood in the gathered crowd and sneered at the tone of her voice.

You’d done the unthinkable then, winnowing behind Eris, grasping the male by his red hair and dragging the dagger to his neck, digging in enough to cause the male’s heart to speed, a line of scarlet leaking from the press of your blade. You could feel the heat in his skin, the flame licked at your hand as you released him with a shove. 

You brandished your dagger as if it was an extension of your hand, the tip of the silver blade glinting with red from the now healing cut at Eris’ throat. “Come for me again and I’ll kill you.” It was then that Azriel noted the slight tremble in the hand at your right side and he wished on some distant star that he could reach out to you, soothe you, tell you that he was proud and you defended yourself and your court beautifully. 

As if his wish was granted, he felt his chest give way to a canyon of emotion, heart stuttering as the bond fluttered and snapped, thrumming with affection for the female standing at the center of the room. He had selfishly allowed himself to hope it would be you, in the dark of the night when he was alone and his shadows whispered to him of your whereabouts. Since he’d met you, he fostered that small romantic notion of soulmates. His most private desire. 

Eris whirled on you with a roar, grabbing your throat with hands of fire. Azriel felt the breath leave him, and he took two then three steps forward before he could think, hazel eyes alight with a fierceness you’d not yet witnessed. Your eyes found his and you held up your hand to halt his movements, the one that had trembled seconds earlier, now steady as a stone. You’d looked at Eris then, raising your chin defiantly, a slow smile overtaking your face as you once again spit at the Autumn male before winnowing back to your place in front of the dais. Rhysand raised to his feet then, taking steps down to meet you. His hand grazed your arm this time and his mind reached out, “Very good, Little One, very good.” 

“As the lady said, Eris, come to my court in search of her again, and she’ll be the one to kill you.” Rhys circled Eris, tracking like prey. “But not before I sanction it for laying your hands on a member of my house.” Rhysand spoke with such quiet cunning, it was no wonder he excelled as High Lord. Eris snarled then before winnowing out of the Hewn City and Azriel quickly set his shadows to following him, ensuring he was actually gone. 

You returned to Mor’s side and the shameless pride that set on your face the rest of the night made Azriel want to kiss you. Gods, he was fucked.. 

You’d flirted with him constantly in the first century you’d been in Velaris. You had laid it on thick too, dragging a long nail up his arm, your mouth sliding into a smirk after one too many drinks at Rita’s. Azriel had always feigned friendly indifference though, a mask he slipped on that was equal parts protection as it was self soothing. His only crack coming in the form of a slight tremble in his pinky as he tried to gather himself to avoid closing the space between you, touching, grasping, feeling.

He’d worn black leather gloves around you in your first few decades with them. His hands always held the most insecurity for him, the silver scars and warped skin a brutal reminder of his childhood. It was after training one day, as you all packed your small bags and threw towels into bins that you’d asked about it. 

“I don’t mean to pry, and feel free to tell me to fuck off, but why the gloves?” You asked quietly leaning against a wall less than ten feet from him. He’d stiffened and breathed tightly, “it helps with the work.” That had always been his excuse, wearing gloves when killing helped reduce the touch memories associated with the act, and it was partially true. But he wasn’t on a mission right now, and you called him on that, “are you spying right now?” Your lips quirked, “should I tell Rhys?” Your words were mirthful, but your eyes held nothing but empathy for the Shadowsinger, sometimes Azriel wondered if that was your Cauldron blessed gift. 

You’d reached down then, rolling up the left leg of your training leathers. You’d resumed your full height and rotated your calf outward for his eyes to survey the damage there. Ragged silver keloid scars marked the skin from your ankle to the soft back of your knee— a knee he’d admittedly fantasized about many nights in a row now. He’d selfishly thought about trailing kisses up your leg, pausing to nip playfully at the soft skin at your knee as he made his way north, up your thigh. He breathed deeply banishing those thoughts as he took in the site of your marred skin. Judging by the heavily keratinized markings, the injury had no doubt been painful when incurred originally. Azriel’s fingers twitched again, wanting to touch your face, hold you as he kissed away your grief. 

“From Beron’s dogs,” you breathed, rolling you shoulders, as if shaking the memory from your mind. “They wouldn’t heal when I was out there,” you clicked your tongue, “granted I was starving,” you sighed, “but that’s a story for another day.” You looked at him then, and he had to steady himself at the emotions pooling in your eyes. 

He’d already planned on killing Beron if the opportunity presented for what had happened with Mor, but for you, he’d make it hurt. He’d drag it out and make it slow. He’d torture him for days, flaying skin from bone, taking fingers then limbs and when at last he begged for death, Azriel would set the dogs on him and laugh as they tore him apart. He felt a long repressed need for vengeance creep up his spine, and he hated to acknowledge what its presence meant in regards to you.

“It’s okay, you know,” you’d said, head lolling to the side as you watched him, eyes swimming with a gentle affection, “I’ll never judge you for something like that.” Azriel squeezed his eyes shut as he turned his head from you and breathed in tightly. How did always manage to be so fucking disarming and vulnerable? That must’ve been a gift too.

He pinched the middle finger of the right glove and pulled it from his hand, grasping his now exposed fingers into a fist, knuckles cracking. He extended that arm out, palm up as he let you view his deepest insecurity, the thing he hated most in his appearance. 

You’d stepped forward, looking at his palm. Your hands went to reach but you’d paused, looking to his eyes as you silently asked permission to touch. He nodded stiffly, watching you with the same intensity of an animal being hunted, prey ready to bolt at any moment. 

Your fingers touched his hand, and he felt the connection race up his arm and to his chest, settling in his heart. Your eyes studied, and you rotated his hand, fingers gently tracing from his wrist, to knuckle, to fingernail in reverence. You covered his hand with your own, moving your eyes to his hazel ones. “Are they dead?” You’d asked seriously, and he stuttered a shocked laugh. “Yes, Little One, they are,” he answered, a small smile playing at his mouth. The two of you far too similar it seemed. “Good,” you’d said simply before kissing his knuckles and pulling the glove back on for him. The action was quietly intimate, and Azriel should’ve kissed you then. Mother knows he considered it, eyes watching you with rapt attention as his heart sped up and breathing shallowed. 

“If you two are done flirting, lunch is ready,” Cassian announced from the doorway, breaking the spell you were both under. You’d jumped and laughed freely at the large male smirking at the entrance. You grasped Azriel’s hand tightly in affection before releasing it to turn on your heel to exit the room, passing by Cass with an eye roll, thumping him square in the chest.

Cassian looked to his brother as he walked into the room and his face split into a shit eating grin. “Let’s go, loverboy,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest. Azriel glared, scoffing as he followed behind you, praying to whatever Gods were listening that he’d get you alone again soon. 

In your second century with the Night Court, you’d lessened the blatant flirting and settled into loving, easy friendship. You regularly attended balls and galas in Hewn City, fitting into such pomp with practiced ease, but always with a dagger strapped to your thigh, ready to cut a male down in seconds. Those events were almost routine at this point: Azriel would save you a dance, and you’d move together in a slow ritual that you’d both perfected over the years, he’d bow as the violinist played their final note and resume his place on dais at Rhys’ right. His eyes would follow you the rest of the night, as you spoke in an airy manner to various high fae, glaring at any male whose hands ventured too close to his mate. 

Nights when the Court held parties at the House of Wind were different though. You were far less rigid, finding it easy to exist without scrutiny. Those were the nights Azriel’s eyes rarely left your form as he watched obsessively from the corners of the room. 

“You’re staring,” Rhys chimed from his place next to Azriel, eyes not leaving the crowd as he spoke to the Shadowsinger, mouth smirking. Azriel was staring. You’d worn cobalt blue tonight, a lovely color on your skin. His color on your skin. Mother above, the male possessiveness that crawled up his spine was unreal. Mate, mate, mate, his shadows had sang in his ear. He wanted to pluck the eyes from every male in the room for even glancing in your direction. He wanted so much more than that too. Your breathy sighs as he marked you, your moan as he made you come undone, his name crying from your lips as he ate his come from your cunt after. Azriel had a million and one scenarios running through his head. He yearned to make each one of them come to fruition too.

He hadn’t answered Rhysand, so the High Lord tried again, “you really should tell her, but please,” Rhys closed his eyes with a grimace, “quiet your thoughts first, for Cauldron’s sake.” That got Azriel’s attention, his back straightening and mental shield slamming down. His eyes squeezed shut, almost as if he was in pain. “I cannot burden her with that now,” he said, “not with war at our doorstep.” Indeed, the second war with Hybern creeped ever closer, disappearances of other high fae occurring daily. Whatever they were planning across the sea, it was going to bring Prythian to its knees. 

Rhysand sighed then, feeling older than his 500 years. “Be that as it may, we should hold those we love tighter.” Rhysand looked to Feyre at that moment, his eyes meeting his mate’s, as he sent a strum of warm affection down the bond. She smiled and returned it cheerily. He turned back to Azriel, “if it all ends tomorrow, I know my love and she knows me. That’s all we can ask for in this immortal life.” Azriel looked back to you, and your eyes were already on him, tracing the shadows that wound around his chest. You met his eyes and winked, before turning back to Mor and laughing freely.  

“I thank the Cauldron daily it was you that found her in those mountains, Rhys.” Azriel spoke quietly, admitting a small secret he’d not told anyone. Rhysand softened, and clapped his friend on the shoulder, “As I am, brother.” Azriel nodded, letting the conversation die between himself and the High Lord as he drained the drink in his hand and moved down the steps in your direction. 

You’d been in conversation with Mor when he approached. She was telling you of the seamstress she’d been seeing, and how happy she was. Azriel cleared his throat from behind the two of you and you turned to meet him, taking in his appearance with wide eyes. “Ladies,” he started, bowing to you and Mor, who snorted at the silly formality. “And that note, I’ll be taking my leave. I’ve got a lady to see,” she said with a wink and a flourish of her red dress. You laughed and shook your head before turning back to the Shadowsinger. He’d caught you staring earlier and your heart had nearly jumped into your throat, before Mor mocked you lightly, diffusing the tension. 

“Hi Az,” you greeted softly, before dropping your empty glass on a passing waiter’s tray and thanking them. Azriel watched you closely, noting the revealed skin that shifted with each movement, committing every angle and freckle to memory.

“You want to get out of here?” He dared ask, jerking his head toward the private balcony on the House of Wind. You raised a brow, Azriel? Asking you to leave? Together? You heart was back in your throat and you thanked the Mother that you’d taken your time getting ready that evening. Nodding, you grasped his arm as he offered it to you like a proper courtier. He walked the two of you up a round of stairs and away from the eyes he’d threatened earlier in the night. Voices dulled the more space you put between yourselves and them and you couldn’t help but start to sweat a bit at the thought of being alone with Azriel. 

You’d been friends for nearly two centuries, but you’d always felt a connection with the male. Your heart thrummed with a warm, golden affection when he got close. It made keeping a clear head during training hard. It made sitting next to him at dinner difficult. And when he’d looked at you like you hung the moon as you danced earlier in the night, it made you want to take him to bed and ride him until he moaned your name. You breathed deeply. ‘Focus,’ you chided yourself, ‘he is your friend, for Cauldron’s sake.’

He led you out onto to the balcony and stopped at the railing before looking up at the star flecked sky. “This is my favorite part of the House,” he said eyes scanning the sky before looking back to you as you watched him. A blush crept up his neck, before he cleared his throat again. 

“I’ve always wondered what it was like to be able to fly, you know,” you said quietly, removing your hand from his arm, rolling up onto your toes, leaning against the stone railing, and looking out on Velaris before scanning your eyes up to the three stars that shone brightly overhead. “When I was a child, I met a Peregryn from the Dawn Court and thought she had the most beautiful wings I’d ever seen.” You chanced a glance his way, “I’d not met an Illyrian yet.” You reminded with a smirk, bumping his arm with fondness. Gods, he was in trouble.

“I asked her what it was like and she said it was the purest sense of freedom possible.” You glanced down at your feet, “I spent the next year wishing for wings.”  He mulled on your words. He wanted to say something cheesy as Cassian would, like ‘I’ll be your wings’ but he couldn’t, so you continued on. 

“When I was a little older, I witnessed a blue skinned lesser fae’s wings ripped from his body as punishment and it was the most gruesome thing I’d seen at that point.” You took a shuddering breath, “I cried for him that night. The lost freedom. How maddening it must’ve been.” You looked at him then and he watched you with furrowed brows. “How does it feel for you?” You asked softly, eyes tracing the shine of his wing. ‘Magnificent things,’ you thought. You remembered seeing his wings for the first time and thinking the Peregryn had finally moved to second place in your mind. 

Azriel had to gather himself as he spoke, “It’s… everything.” He said quietly adjusting his body to extend a wing. “My ability to fly came in late,” he said, and your eyes widened, you hadn’t known that. “My childhood was… rough and I didn’t learn to fly until I was nearly grown.” He laughed, scuffing the toe of his boot, wings folding in behind him. “It was a lot of crash landings those first months.” You snorted, mental image of a younger Az, landing in a puddle of mud crossing your mind. 

“I was never a proud Illyrian, not like the others,” he continued, “it was hard for me to reconcile my heritage and our traditions.” He looked to the cityscape then, “but the stronger I got, the more I understood why flight was so crucial to my people.” He looked to you, eyes shining, “it’s the closest we can get to the stars.” 

You leaned over the railing again, staring wistfully at the night sky, the moon reflecting on your skin. “Will you take me someday? Flying, I mean.” Did you not know Azriel would give you the world? Of course he’d take you flying. He’d give you the moon, the stars, walk through fire and back, anything. He nodded, “you say the word, and I’ll fly you the the ocean and back.” The smile that broke across your face crippled him, his knees threatened to give way. 

“Yours are my favorite,” you murmured softly, eyes glancing from his wings to his face. Azriel blushed in full, pink speckling his neck and cheeks as he laughed. “Don’t let Cass hear you say that, he’s got an ego,” he said, a smile remaining at his lips. You liked him like this the most. Loose, smiling, free. You reached up then, cupping his reddened cheek, thumb stroking. “I don’t care,” you said smiling, “it’s the truth.” Azriel swallowed roughly, staring at your eyes swimming with an emotion he knew, but was much too stubborn and scared to name.

Just as your hand went to retreat, he grasped it between his own. “You can touch them,” he offered, knowing damn well the implications, “if you want,” he added. Your eyes widened. Mor had mentioned once that Illyrian’s wings were ‘sensitive,’ was the word she’d used. It was a sign of great intimacy and trust to allow another to touch them. You felt the air shift between you two then, as you nodded.

He extended a wing toward you. This felt so much like the first time he’d shown you his hands all those years ago. Your hand crept forward and gentle fingers met the red gold membrane that stretched between two metacarpals. Your fingers traced the membrane in smooth circles, then traced up to the crest. Azriel felt his breath gutter out of his mouth in a loud, choppy exhale, and he felt himself harden at the sensation of your fingers against the most sensitive portion of his wings. You gasped and jerked away at the sudden noise, before apologizing. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have gotten carried away.” 

Azriel shook his head, “It’s not that, they’re sensitive.” There was that word again, only it made you think of how they’d been shredded before the King of Hybern, and you opened your mouth to apologize again, but he stopped you short. “I haven’t allowed another to touch them freely since my mother.” The admission floored you, your gut giving way with a breath.

You looked to his eyes then, the air between you had shifted again and you knew this was it. This was the moment you’d waited for, he was going to kiss you. Mother, it felt you’d waited a millennia, and he felt just the same. But that kiss never came. Instead, Azriel went stock still, his eyes now on the House behind you. 

“Azriel?” You questioned. “It’s Rhys,” he said tightly, “he’s summoning me.” You understood then. He looked to you desperately, eyes a little wild and apologetic. “I’m sorry, I have to go to him.” You nodded, you both worked for the High Lord, you’d never get in the way of Azriel’s allegiance to his Court. “Of course,” you said quietly, taking a step back and swallowing down your disappointment. 

Azriel took three steps towards the entrance then stopped. “I’ll take you,” he turned around, backing his way to the arched stone, but keeping his eyes on you for a moment longer. “When I get back, I’ll take you flying,” he offered. Another smile etched its way across your face and Azriel took a long moment to memorize it greedily. “It’s a date,” you said confidently. He beamed then, turning on a heel to pick up into a jog, Rhys no doubt shouting to hurry up. 

That date hadn’t happened though. The second war with Hybern broke out days later and you both barely made it out alive. 

When Feyre had come to Velaris after Amarantha’s defeat, you’d accepted her with easy friendship. You saw Rhysand, your longtime friend, overcome with love for his newly found mate, and you couldn’t help but love her as well. You’d shared your story with her and the two of you bonded deeply over her art. She’d offered to teach you to paint, and you began taking lessons in your off time. Rhys had been Cauldron blessed with her and you reminded him daily. 

Later, when Feyre’s sisters joined their little unit, you’d been the first one to break Nesta’s tough exterior. The female saw parts of herself in you and you’d gotten her to crack a smile when you mocked Rhys’ High Lord voice at dinner one night. Elain had been a tougher sell, but you’d tried, along with Azriel, to bring the female out of her shell. The day she joined you in the library to read, you knew progress had been made, even if you two had only sat in silence a few feet apart, a small smile gracing her features. 

You left her book recommendations with small notes and she began to do the same. Your friendship playing out in the margins of the library’s tomes. You won her over with silent conversation. Nesta noticed, of course, and she looked to you with gratitude as she saw her sister’s eyes brightened and skin began to return to its normal, healthy color. The night Azriel mentioned it as you walked down the hall toward the dining room for the family meal, you’d shrugged. “I met her where she needed me to,” you’d said quietly, glancing to your feet. Azriel smiled, a Cauldron blessed gift indeed. 

Dinners at the House of Wind were by far Azriel’s favorite version of you. You’d laugh with abandon, smile splitting your face, showing every tooth as Mor cracked a joke and leaned against you for support, one too many drinks in her system. The first time he’d seen that smile, it blinded him, and he’d gone a little dazed, staring at you in wonderment. Rhys had interrupted his train of thought with an invasive insertion of “How quickly she reduced you to a puddle, brother.” Azriel had scowled at Rhys then, mental shields firming up, but not before he heard the distinct sound of his High Lord laughing at the Spymaster’s defensiveness. 

Indeed Azriel was gone for you. When Cassian finally confronted him last year about the truth of his feelings, Azriel saw no point to avoid it any longer, not after his brothers had also found their mates. “Our souls are one in the same, she’s my mate,” he’d said pensively, as if he was letting his deepest secret breath in the light for the first time in centuries. Maybe he was. He’d made Cassian promise on his life not to tell anyone, and despite being the biggest gossip in the Inner Circle, he kept his promise. He was thrilled for his brother, knowing you were the perfect match.

Little did Azriel know, everyone else was already more than aware of his affections. Amren had figured it out a century prior when Azriel had tended your needs as you’d recovered from an injury sustained during a mission. He’d fretted around you like a mother hen, buying you flowers, sweets, and books while you were bedridden. The female had watched and hummed with a raised eyebrow as Azriel exited your room for the fifth time in one day, wringing his hands with worry despite Madja’s clean bill of health.

Feyre had figured it out the same year she’d returned from the Spring Court, just before the second war with Hybern. She’d seen the way his eyes had followed you in the war room Rhys had created to host strategy meetings. Saw him lean towards you when you spoke, saw his wings flutter when you finally cast your gaze to him, eager for your attention. More than anything, she’d seen his shadows, desperate little things, sneaking across the floor each night, sidling up your ankles and wrists, begging for your affection. You always laughed and nuzzled them as the wound their way to your hair and Azriel went a little soft at the sight. 

When she told Mor, the blonde had laughed, “They’ve been circling each for two hundred years now, eventually one of them will cave.” Mor leveled a sardonic look at Feyre then, “and when they do, we’ll all have to relocate to the River House for a year lest we be subject to the frenzy.”

This mission should’ve been simple. Rhys had asked you to check out reports of rogue soldiers spotted making their way towards the border of the Night Court from the Day coastline. The intel he’d received had mentioned three to four maximum, all of them drunken ex-Hybern loyalists. It should’ve been a matter of locating them, spying for a day or two, then winnowing in to neutralize any threat. Gods, this was far from simple. 

When you’d arrived in the region, the hairs on your neck rose, the air itself feeling off. As you tracked them, you’d noticed intentional attempts to throw you off course. A carelessly trashed map, crudely laid tracks in the opposite direction, Dawn Court wine bottles that had been emptied and tossed about. They knew you were there, and you quickly realized that a trap had been laid. You backed off them then, staying further than you’d have liked, but trying like hell to make them think you’d given up. 

On your fourth night following them, you’d drifted away to an inn two towns over, desperately seeking a place to bathe and rest, even for a few hours. As you bathed, you felt watched in a way that discomfited you to your core, and your dagger stayed within arms reach the rest of the night. Suddenly, the role you’d played for the last two hundred years had left you entirely ill equipped for whatever was happening here. 

You’d left out before dawn, refusing to lose an ounce of daylight, but as you hit the tree line, readying yourself to winnow out, you’d noticed it. Hanging from a tree, a hundred yards away was a piece of clothing, your clothing. Clothing that should’ve been in the pack at your back. Your breath shuttered out of you as you opened your mind to Rhys, asking for back up. You were in over your head and you knew when to admit it. There was no pride in getting yourself killed. 

As you turned to move back to the inn where you could wait out contact from Rhys in a public location, you were met with a pair of shining blue eyes. You stepped back, keeping your grounding, readying for a fight. “You’ve been following us,” the stranger said calmly, beginning to trek in a slow circle around you. You opened your mind to Rhys again, “Help,” you called. Rhys answered this time, “Where are you?!” It was a frantic response, you never asked for help, Rhys knew this. “Just off the coast, beneath the mountain range, Day court border, 400 hundred paces from the inn” you spoke to Rhys in choppy thoughts, trying to establish a location before all hell broke loose. 

“I have,” you finally answered the stranger, whose lips quirked at your voice. He stopped circling and resumed his stance in front of you, blocking passage to the inn. “Why?” He asked and you tried to keep your mind steady as you answered. “You’re trespassers in these lands” you stated simply, shrugging a shoulder up. He grinned then, “had your lot not gotten in the way of our King’s plans, these would be our lands. We were promised them. I was personally promised the Court of Nightmares.”

“Well,” you shrugged feigning indifference, “that’s not how the war played out, so I will have to ask you to leave,” you offered in your most bored political tone. The same tone you’d used with High Fae that ran off at the mouth in Hewn City. The stranger cocked his head the side then, eyes twinkling, “I don’t think I will.” At that moment, one by one, additional soldiers appeared from the forest line. One, then four, then ten, until near twenty stood around you, looking on with hatred. 

Shit. 

“We’d hoped for the Illyrians, but it seems your High Lord sent us a treat instead,” the stranger said with mirth. You steeled your spine, looking down your nose at the stranger, “They’re going to kill you, you know.” He’d laughed at your threat. “I think not,” he said as as arrow was released from your left, finding purchase in your shoulder. You folded over on yourself at the blow, and looked up baring your teeth, before drawing your dagger and rushing the stranger with a feral sound.

Five more arrows hit you before your blade could find its target. One into your hip, two in your back, a fourth piercing your in your upper thigh, until the last burrowed into the back of your knee, bringing you down in front of him — forcing you to bow to the stranger. The arrows were laced with faebane you realized as you’d begun to feel its effects in your blood. Your power waning quickly, thoughts becoming murky. 

You released another shattered thought to Rhys then, “Tell him, please,” you begged raggedly. Rhysand came back with a rushed and tight, “Hold on, Little One, we’re coming.” You shook your head, there wasn’t time. “Tell Azriel I love him if I don’t make it, Rhys, promise me.” He responded but it muddled out, sounding like words shouted through a pool of water, then your brain fell quiet. The line severed. 

The stranger lifted your head, hand wrapped around your throat, as he bent to meet your crouched form. “I’ll be sure to savor this,” he smiled and the hilt of his sword came in fierce contact with your forehead. 

It was the early morning on your fifth day away when Rhys heard you. “Help,” it had come through so clearly that it startled Rhys awake and set his heart to racing. You’d only asked for help once, during the war when you were overrun and near death. You were in danger.

He’d sat up straight in bed, Feyre still sleeping silently at his side, hand resting on her pregnant stomach. “Where are you?!” He’d asked down the line, a little frantic, remembering the state he and Azriel had found you in last time. Gods, you’d been run through on a Hybern soldier’s sword, the damage was astronomical. Azriel had nearly killed everyone within a mile radius at the sight of you.

You recited your location in short bursts and Rhys focused on the bond of your bargain, using it to locate you with more precision. He reached out to Azriel then, “Get Cassian and meet me downstairs. Be ready to fly.” Azriel responded an affirmative and Rhys rushed around his room, grabbing his dagger lined belt, and using his magic to dress in his leathers quickly. He winnowed to the base of the stairs and was glad to find Cassian and Azriel waiting. 

“Tell him, please” you begged into Rhys’ mind then, words growing ragged. Rhys’ eyes slammed shut with a wince and he attempted to reassure you, “Hold on, Little One, we’re coming.” Rhys opened his eyes and looked to Azriel, who was watching him with anticipation. You responded again, words growing murkier, a little warbled. “Tell Azriel I love him if I don’t make it, Rhys, promise me.” Rhysand felt sick. “We will find you and you will tell him yourself,” he spoke but the bond was dead, silent, foreboding. Rhys thought he might vomit. 

He looked to Azriel again, “It’s her. She’s in trouble. We have to go.” Azriel’s face darkened with a thunderous ferocity. Mother help the males who’d harmed you. “Where?” He asked, voice deep with the threat of murderous violence. “The wilds on the border, off the coast of Day. I’ll winnow us as close as possible.” Azriel nodded his acquiesce and lifted a trembling hand to his hair, running scarred fingers through the strands. Cassian spoke then, “we will get her back,” he’d said softly as Rhysand put his hands to the two of them, preparing for the jump. “And we will kill every last one of them,” Cassian added darkly as blue-black shadows encased them and they disappeared. 

You awoke with a start, gasping like you’d been underwater. Your shoulders ached from your position. You pulled on your hands only to realize you were shackled to a tree somewhere deep in the forest, the same forest you’d been on the outskirts of earlier. You looked up to the sky, trying to find the sun to gauge how much time had passed. The sun had long moved past midday and was sinking towards the evening horizon. Your throat tightened. Where was Rhysand? 

“Nice of you to join us,” a voice spoke. It was the stranger again, he emerged from the camp set two hundred paces to your left, hidden by shrubs and underbrush. You got a good look at him this time. He was tall, leanly muscular in a way that reminded you of Lucien Vanserra. His hair was a dishwater blonde and lacked any sheen, falling in choppy dry waves around his shoulders. His face was gaunt, eyes sunken, bruised with a lack of rest, and his cheekbones were sharp, giving his face an angle that made him look harsh and unforgiving. Though he carried himself with confidence, you noticed a slight, barely there limp in his right leg, an old wound perhaps, one that never healed correctly. You noted that for later, if you ever got out of these shackles. 

You leveled a glare at him that you hoped looked more fearsome than you felt. Mother, your bones ached and your wounds throbbed. “I left the arrows in, but broke off the shaft. Didn’t want to have you healing too quickly.” He spoke with nonchalance, while polishing a dagger, your dagger, you realized as your eyes focused. You pulled at the shackles above your head, and the stranger chuckled at your attempt. 

“What do you want?” Your voice croaked, mouth dry from disuse. The stranger laughed, pointing the blade at you, “I want my fucking court and you’re the key to getting it.” You shook your head then, “I am nothing.” The words sounded foreign on your tongue, a lie on some level, you knew this, but you would be damned before you gave up your family. The stranger clicked his tongue at your response, shaking his head. 

“Surely you don’t believe that? The High Lord doesn’t trust easily, you’ve been seen with his entourage. The Shadowsinger’s whore.” He squatted a few feet from you, eyes tracing from your tied hands down to your face, pausing at your breasts, before trekking down your stomach, thighs, and calves. He was sizing up how much fight you had left.

Your brain had short circuited though, the Shadowsinger’s whore. Mother above, you’d never even kissed. How long had this male watched you and your family? How had none of you seen it? A bitter laugh wretched from your lungs, “sorry to disappoint, but the Shadowsinger isn’t mine.” No matter how desperately I’ve wished it so, you added silently. 

The stranger grinned then, “if you are truly nothing, then I’ll make this a little sweeter.” He took steps towards you, raising the dagger to rest at your chin, the blade pressing to the underside painfully. “You’re far too pretty to be nothing.” He ran the blade along the column of your throat, resting it against your sternum, between your breasts. You pushed yourself further into the tree, back protesting as the arrows burrowed deeper with the movement. You didn’t like the new angle this interaction had taken and your fight or flight instincts were screaming. 

You attempted to reach out to Rhysand, but the bond was dead silent. Your breathing hitched at the realization that you were truly alone in this. The stranger chuckled, dragging the blade down your chest, slicing the leathers, letting the fabric fall open and reveal your undergarments to his greedy view. Your legs moved to kick, but you realized quickly they too were tied. The blade came to rest at your bare stomach, and the stranger dug it in below the navel, causing blood to pool there. You winced, but made no sound. 

“Ah, I was hoping you’d be louder than that,” the stranger smirked, “I’ll have to try harder.” He backed up then and pulled a whip from his back pocket, unfurling it with a crack. Your eyes widened and you brain went silent, fear overtaking your senses. “There it is,” his smile gleamed with violent delight, “there’s the reaction I was hoping for.” He reared an arm back before cracking the whip in your direction. The leather made contact with your torso, a stinging slice appearing along your rib cage. You jerked, but bit your tongue.

He cracked it again and again until you were bloody, slices in your leathers, festering wounds along your breasts, ribs, and stomach. You’d counted to 25 lashes before your brain gave out and your vision blurred from the pain. You looked up to the sky wearily. The sun was gone and the stars were slowly appearing. You smiled at them, remembering Azriel’s words from that night all those years ago. 

You hoped he’d forgive you for not telling him. You hoped he’d understand your fear in revealing that secret, that the bond had snapped for you during the war. When that Hybern soldier’s sword pierced your armor, running through your body to the hilt, and he’d let out a fearsome bellow from across the field at the sight. You felt it then, the golden strumming taking the form of a fated thread linking you two. You been near death when he and Rhys had found you and the only thing you could do was smile. Such an ironic thing it was to die in the arms of your mate. 

Your head lolled to the side as exhaustion threatened to overtake you. “Azriel,” your thoughts ventured, calling down the bond he didn’t even know existed, “I love you.” Darkness swam in the corners of your vision but you swore you felt his responding tug. The Mother was kind for granting that hallucinative mercy in your final hours. Your body gave out, slumping against the shackles and darkness overwhelmed you. 

Azriel was furious. No, furious wasn’t the word, he was a walking time bomb. You were gone. His mate was missing and he was going to explode. As he’d arrived with Rhys and Cassian to the location you’d given them, he could smell you. His eyes searched frantically around the scene before him until they zeroed in on an item hanging from a branch a few dozen paces out. Cloth of some sort? He approached and could detect your scent on it, realizing quickly it was your clothing. A ripped cotton blouse. His fists clenched and he vaguely heard Rhysand speaking to his left. “They must’ve captured her here.” Rhys crouched down to the ground, two fingers swiping the dirt there, before bringing them eye level to examine sample. “Blood,” he muttered, rubbing the hand on the leg of his pants, “she was injured.” Azriel’s heart thundered, he was going to fucking explode. 

He set his shadows work, surveying the forest with rapid precision. They’d cover more ground this way, an army of three operating like a whole infantry. By the time the sun rose to midday, Azriel was ready to begin screaming. They trekked further into the forest, following a line of smoke that was miles deep, originating at a camp somewhere far into the wilds. His shadows murmured to him of a small band of males there, of you, shackled to a fucking tree, arrows buried in your back. He’d nearly lost the contents of his stomach at the information and set to a run alongside Rhysand and Cassian. 

As the three approached the encampment, the sun was nearing dusk. Rhysand had commanded the halt and strategize. There were roughly twenty-five men, all armed. They couldn’t enter this blindly and infuriated, they would lose if they weren’t careful. Azriel hated admitting he was right, his instincts screaming otherwise. Mate, mate, mate, his heart pounded. 

They backed off to a thousand paces out, close enough that they could hear if the troop vacated the premises. As Rhysand and Cassian spoke quietly, Azriel felt his heart thrum. The golden thread there had pulled him closer to you and he could tell you were still alive. Though Rhys couldn’t reach out through your bargain, Azriel’s bond was still alight and warm, he stroked it with gentle affection. You might not feel it, but Gods he would try. 

As the trio retraced their steps to the camp, stars were just beginning to light overhead and Azriel grasped his daggers tightly, knuckles cracking around the hilt. He was going to kill them. Kill them all brutally for taking you, for touching what was his. When they were within a stones throw from the camp he heard it, heard you. “Azriel,” you whispered into his mind. He went stock still, spine ramrod straight, fingers trembling as they gripped his knives. The golden bond vibrated in his chest, and he felt you reaching out through murky waters, against all odds. “I love you,” you said with a soft exhaustion before your side went dark. Azriel’s breathing guttered and he felt high on mirthroot, sick from fae wine, and enraged to the point of explosion all at once. His blue siphons flared brightly from the surge of power. He closed his eyes and reached out to you through the bond, tugging on the thread connecting your souls. He was coming. He was going to save you. 

Rhysand looked to him then, curiosity swimming in his eyes as he took in the Shadowsinger’s sudden stop. Azriel opened eyes, irises alight with fire and shadow, voice grinding with dark threat, “Let’s go.” Rhys nodded and Cassian drew his knives. 

They moved with brutal efficiency, killing male after male until none remained alive. Some had begged, others shouted and scattered their belongings as they set into a run. His shadows had caught them, twisting around their ankles and dragging them back to meet their fate, daggers slicing throats from ear to ear until blood poured like a prized hunt being slaughtered, the Illryian’s hands grasping and snapping necks like twigs. It was a practiced routine for the three of them, who’d trained since they were teens. 

As they stepped through the shrubs to find you, Cassian gasped and Azriel felt his lungs threaten to collapse at the sight. You’d been shackled to a tree at the wrists and ankles and whipped within an inch your life. Wounds glistened with blood along your thighs, soft stomach, ribs, breasts. There had to be thirty lashes. A knife wound was visible at your exposed navel. Your head hung forward unconscious and Azriel’s heart pounded. He wanted to vomit and his hands shook. 

“She said you’d come,” a voice said, emerging from behind the tree you were bound to. The male held a dagger to your throat. This new stranger had to be the leader of this band of idiots. Azriel’s eyes followed the tip of the blade up his arm to the male’s eyes and a growl escaped him as he bared his teeth. The male laughed, “to think she said she was nothing and yet I have both the Shadowsinger and the Lord of Bloodshed before me to save her.”

Azriel’s mind latched on to that piece of information, turning it over in his head. You’d told this male you were nothing? Did you not know Azriel would do anything for you? You were everything. You were his love, light of his life, keeper of his soul, his mate. How alone you must’ve felt, how scared. Azriel’s eyes narrowed, he was going kill him. 

Rhysand spoke then, emerging from behind the two Illyrian brothers, “And may I ask why you’ve abducted a member of my court?” He was in High Lord mode, tone bored, fingers picking at his sleeve. The Hybern male’s smile gleamed at the introduction, “just who I was hoping to see!” 

“Hybern, the old fool, made a few promises in his last days as King,” the male spoke, digging the blade down to your chest, where it rested over your heart. Azriel stared at the blade, eyes tracing to the the hilt. That was your blade, the one he’d given you when you first arrived in Velaris, the one you wielded against Eris, the one you kept strapped to your thigh. Your own knife had been used against you.

“One of which was that I would inherit these lands after your lot were annihilated.” Azriel wanted to laugh at the male’s words, was he serious? “A dead king cannot honor empty promises,” he ground out eyes shifting to the male’s blue eyes. “A dead and headless king cannot gift you shit,” Azriel spat. The male smiled then, a feline grin growing on his lips. “Precisely Shadowsinger, a dead king cannot give me my due, but this little thing can help.” You’d made a noise then, something akin to a whimper as you came to. Eyes wincing then fluttering open as your irises found Azriel’s immediately, some preternatural magnetism existing between the two of you. Then you looked to Cassian and Rhysand, and your eyes swam with apology.

“She awakens!” The male sang, looking to you. Azriel jumped at the opportunity to send his shadows out while the male’s attention was elsewhere. They traced over the ground to you, circling the tree and working at your binds. He sent two others towards the distracted male. “Who knew the Night Court was so attached to a whore,” the male laughed, “I want my lands,” he fixed Rhysand with a glare, “you can have your plaything back in exchange for my seat, High Lord” he sneered. 

Rhysand looked from you to the stranger to the shadow now creeping ever closer to the male. “You must be mistaken,” Rhys said then and Azriel’s shadows wrapped around the male’s neck and wrist simultaneously, whispering violence for touching their mate, forcing the dagger from his grasp and air from his lungs. Azriel tightened them until they heard bones crack in the male’s arm and choked sounds exit his throat, face reddening as oxygen was cut off. “I do not make deals with dim witted cunts,” Rhysand said darkness beginning to surround him, High Lord voice encroaching, “I do not entertain terrorists and I do not take kindly to threats on my family.” 

‘Finish him,’ Rhysand said darkly into Azriel’s mind and the Shadowsinger moved with lightening precision, dagger find purchase as the male’s neck was sliced open and his right hand was removed from his body. The male’s body toddled forward with a choked gurgling, before falling to the ground, lifeless, blood pooling.

Azriel’s gaze fell to you and he softened. His shadows finished picking the lock of the shackles that held your arms and they clicked open, allowing your body to fall into his. “Azriel,” you breathed, voice weary with exhaustion, “I didn’t— I—“ you stuttered, pulling a shaking hand to his face. You swallowed, tracing his cheek with trembling fingers, “I didn’t think I’d see you again,” you murmured, your watery eyes searching his face, memorizing the details of his visage.

Azriel picked you up in his arms and unfurled his wings protectively. “I will always come for you,” he said vehemently, eyes watching your face with intensity. You smiled, a weepy trembling smile as you nodded. Rhysand reached the Shadowsinger’s side then and your eyes moved to his violet ones, “Hi Little One, I’m so sorry we’re late.” You let out a single watery laugh before wincing as the sudden expansion of your chest burned the wounds littering your chest and back. 

“The arrows,” you gasped, “at my back,” you twisted in Azriel’s hold, “please get them out.” Rhysand leaned down to inspect the wounds. “Faebane,” he surmised, that’s why his connection to you had been severed. “We need to get her to Madja, now.” Azriel nodded, allowing Rhys and Cassian to move closer so the High Lord could winnow them home. 

Landing back at the House of Wind had been chaotic. Rhysand shouted immediately to get every healer available and the dining room table had been lined with a sheet, turning the warm family room into a medical ward. You were laid facedown on the table and Azriel took to your side, scarred hands touching your face, keeping you awake as Madja worked to remove the six arrows burrowed in your body. 

You’d screamed. The sound would haunt Azriel for centuries. You begged to make it stop and Madja had apologized softly as she worked faster to remove them while minimizing damage. “I’ve got you,” Azriel said softly, “eyes on me, alright?” He rubbed the hollow under your eye with a scarred thumb and you opened your eyes to lock on his. “No gloves,” you said, smiling tightly, before wincing as Madja applied local anesthetic to an arrow wound. Azriel smiled, eyes a little watery. “Not with you,” he whispered shaking his head, “never with you.” You smiled at him and the sight set Azriel’s heart to fluttering.

Later, after the arrows had been removed and wounds bandaged, you’d been given a strong herb tonic for pain that set your head swimming as exhaustion overtook you. Azriel carried you his room, laying you gently onto the mattress and covered you with the duvet. He leaned down then, breathing in your scent as he placed a kiss to your forehead, nuzzling his nose to the Winter white hair there. He would tell you. When you awoke, he would bare his soul to you. 

You woke with a groan. Fucking Gods, your body ached with the effort it took to roll over. “Easy,” a voice came from the corner of the room. Your breath gasped out of you as your eyes raced to the figure there. “Azriel,” you breathed. The male smiled warmly at you and stepped forward to rest at the edge of the mattress. You pushed up in the bed, the wound at your shoulder screaming from the exertion. Once in a sitting position, you rested your back on the headboard as you looked at him. “For taking out a small militia, you seemed to be decently uninjured,” you said smiling tightly, memories of the stranger and his whip haunting your mind. He snorted a small laugh, “Yes well,” he looked down then, thumbs fiddling with each other, chest heating, “I had something worth fighting for.” 

He looked back to you and your cheeks had grown pink, a small pleased smile at your lips. “I heard you, you know,” he said softly, turning enough to rest a hand on your thigh, thumb drawing small, soothing circles there. The heat generated in the touch sent a spark to your belly. Oh, you were fucked. “I heard you in my head, through the bond,” he said eyes watching his thumb as it traced on your bare skin hypnotically. 

“You know then?” You whispered, breath skittering out of you. You were scared to death of the trajectory the conversation was taking, your heart preparing for the best and the worst simultaneously. Azriel’s eyes dragged up your form to your face and a smile broke over his lips, one that caused your heart to ignite. Your Mother had once told you the heart was an organ of fire and you’d laughed, never having cause to believe such a statement. You understood now. 

“I—“ Azriel started, before clearing his throat, turning his body to face you in full, a knee pulled up on the mattress, touching yours. “In the whole time I have known you— two centuries, Little One,” he looked at you pointedly, “you have been my dearest friend, my greatest comfort, my confidant, and the person I admire most in this Gods forsaken world.” He breathed deeply, a whoosh exiting his lips as his hand tightened around your thigh. “The times when you were lost to me have been some of the most painful moments I’ve experienced.” 

Your eyes began to water, and you moved a hand to rest atop his own, thumb circling the scarred skin at his wrist. He took a breath then and the air shifted between you, his mouth opening and closing, as if he was gathering his confidence for what he was about to say next. “I have loved for you so long that I’d given up all hope of reciprocation.” The words shattered through you as all air escaped your lungs, guts swooping down as heat alighted there. “I felt the bond the night Eris came for you,” he continued, eyes watching your entwined hands. Your body went still and a startled laugh exited your mouth. Azriel’s eyes flew to yours questioningly. 

“Sorry,” you chuckled again, “I’m just realizing how fucking stupid we’ve been.” You lolled your to the side, watching him with loving eyes. “I’ve been in love with you for almost two centuries, Azriel,” you smiled, “I thought you wouldn’t want me.” Azriel’s eyes widened, his mouth opening and closing in disbelief, two then three times. You thought for a second to compare him to the guppy fish that swam in schools along the banks of the Sidra but refrained. 

He pushed forward then, hands coming to cup your face, pinky and ring fingers resting in the hollow below your ear, thumbs stroking your cheeks. “How could I not? You’re everything,” he whispered, searching your face, conviction showing in his eyes. You couldn’t stop the smile that overtook your mouth as you spoke, “and you’re my mate.” His eyes moved to your lips, glazing before they moved back to your eyes. “As you are mine,” he spoke confidently. 

Your eyes watched each other for a long second, “I really hope you’ll kiss me this time,” your hand trailed up his arm, fingers teasing. “Mother knows I’ve been dreaming of it for far too long.” He surged forward, lips meeting yours and you thought you might float away. You gasped and his tongue moved in, claiming your mouth, your taste with his own. 

He pulled away minutes later, a little breathless, “Sorry to have kept you waiting, my love,” he spoke, resting his forehead to yours with a smile, watching your dazed expression, pink cheeks, as your lips split into a grin. Your hand moved to the front of his button down, fisting in the material there, giving an experimental tug. “Kiss me like that again and I’ll consider forgiving you.” 

The laugh that came out of him was golden, and you pushed yourself to memorize it. Azriel, Lord of Shadows, Spymaster for the Night Court, Rhysand’s right hand and Illyrian warrior was soft for you. He loved you. He was your mate. You’d be giddy about it for the rest of your life. 

Your healing had been slower than you would’ve liked. The faebane had done serious damage but with Madja’s help, the scarring was minimized. The lashes at your front took two weeks to heal, the arrow wounds took three. Three fucking weeks. Meanwhile all you could think about was your mate. He hadn’t left your side in the interim. Helping you take steps, applying the wound creams that Madja had left in small glass pots, keeping you fed, making you laugh, telling you how much he loved you daily. Mother above, you were going to ruin this male. 

You walked into the kitchen at the end of week three, the only evidence of your wounds now in the slight limp of your right leg and twinge in your left shoulder. The marks at your stomach and chest had diminished into barely there, silver scores. Cassian was sitting at the small table in the corner as you entered. “Hi Cass,” you greeted, “seen my mate around this morning?” It was fun calling him that, a small part of your chest swelling with pride each time. 

Cassian smirked, “He’s been…… out.” Your eyes narrowed, he was being evasive. “Out where?” You asked, grabbing an apple and hopping up on the counter to watch the male. He shrugged, “No idea, Little One.” You smirked, “I know where you sleep Cassian,” you started, “is it really wise to lie to me?” Nesta strode into the kitchen, “What’s he done now?” She asked laughing. “Hey! I’ll have you know I’ve done nothing!” The male exclaimed, “She’s interrogating me on the whereabouts of her maaate.” He dragged out the vowel of the last word mockingly. Nesta took her seat next to Cassian and laughed, “Ah, him.” She looked to you then, “he’ll be around to collect you soon.” 

You looked between the two, suspicion dripping from your features as you took another bite from the apple in your palm. “You two are being weird,” you stated. Nesta shrugged, nudging Cassian who smiled at her. “Just wait,” she said softly, “maybe cook yourself a meal.” Cassian’s mouth quirked with a laugh he restrained. “Right, I’m leaving, cause whatever this is,” you waved a hand at them, “is deeply odd.” You hopped off the counter and strolled to the exit.  You heard them laughing softly once you were out of the room, making you roll your eyes at their antics.

You’d gone to the library after leaving the kitchen and found Elain already there. Her eyes moved to you upon your entrance and she closed her book, middle finger marking her spot. “How are you feeling?” She asked softly, eyes surveying your body for lingering damage. You sighed, falling into the sofa across from her. “I’m better,” you said quietly, “the pain is gone, scars are minimal.” You turned your eyes to her, she looked brighter than the last time you’d seen her. “How are you?” You asked in return. She smiled sweetly. “Better,” she echoed you and you wanted to laugh. “I’ve been exchanging letters with Lucien,” she added and your ears perked up.

“That’s great, Elain,” you rest your chin on a closed fist, watching her. She shifted and sat her book to the side, page forgotten. “I want to tell you something,” she said quietly, fingers twiddling with each other. She looked... nervous? “I’m all ears,” you said softly. 

“I had a vision while you were gone,” she started and took a deep breath. “It was so muddled at first, I couldn’t tell who it was, but then I saw you. Your hair was longer, you stood taller, and your belly was round.” The breath left your body in a powerful exhale. She looked to you again, eyes watching yours, “You were pregnant and happy and in love,” she said quietly, as if the words in themselves were fragile. Your hands trembled and you moved them under your thighs, her eyes didn’t miss the action. 

“I couldn’t understand why the Mother would send me a vision like that, I saw Feyre’s pregnancy, but we’re sisters, you know?” You nodded. “Then I realized I recognized the tattooed arm I’d seen wrap around you, knew it was Azriel.” Your eyes watered, and you hiccuped out a small laugh. “I’ve known for a while you two were fated, but the Mother was telling me for certain. I hope you know how happy we are for you.” She finished and moved to sit next you, small hand touching your knee. 

“When they brought you in that night, I thought the Mother had lied to me, that it was a vision of what could have been, that you wouldn’t make it.” You’d never heard Elain speak at length in this way, and you thought you might stop breathing. “I’ve never been happier to see you than when Azriel brought you in to read days later, my sweet friend.” You surged forward, throwing your arms around the female and she returned the gesture warmly. 

You sat back and looked at her then. “Thank you,” you said, voice small, a little watery. She nodded before turning to resume her original spot at the end of the sofa, picking up her book and opening it to the page she’d left off. 

In the hours that followed, you’d returned to the kitchen, grateful to find Cassian and Nesta had left. You took Nesta’s advice, gathering the ingredients to build a small berry tart. It had just gone in the oven when your mate appeared in the doorway.

“Hello love,” he said casually, leaning against the door jamb. You startled, turning on your heel to find him smiling at you. “Where have you been?” You asked walking towards him and running your hands around his midsection in a hug, head resting against his chest. His arm came around your shoulders as he pressed a kiss to your hair, breathing in your scent. “That, my dearest one, is a surprise.” 

You looked up chin resting against his chest, watching his face. “It’d better be good, I baked for you,” you said, smiling softly at the Spymaster. His eyes moved to the oven then and back to you, irises darkening, as his pupils blew a little wide. “You… baked?” He asked disbelieving, “didn’t know you knew how to bake,” he followed up playfully. You gasped and shoved him, “for that, you can starve, have fun finding another mate to bake for you.” He laughed heartily and caught your hand, bringing your knuckles to his lips, eyes swimming with warm affection as he pressed a kiss there. Gods, the action made lust swoop in your stomach, heat spreading. 

“The fool I’d be to turn away such a female,” he said, voice deepening, lips running across your knuckles with each word. “Azriel” you breathed. “Yes?” He offered in return, still smiling, moving your knuckles back and forth against his hot mouth. “Please tell me this surprise involves you bedding me.” A growl creeped out of his throat, the thought of you under him sending lust racing down his spine and to his groin. 

“It might,” he said quietly, lips resuming their exploration, tracking small kisses from your knuckles, to the joint of your thumb, the inside of your wrist where Rhys’ tattoo lingered, up the soft skin of your arm, to your elbow, until he reached the skin of your shoulder. His lips traced over the raised skin there, a small nip above the scar as he traced north to your collarbone. You’d gone to putty in his hands, head rolling to the side to bare your throat. He pressed soft kisses there, pausing at your pulse point to trace the area with his warm tongue, a whimper escaping your mouth. 

“If this is going to become a regular thing, I’ll need you two to relocate to the River House,” a voice came from behind you and you jumped in shock, but your mate, he let out a possessive growl before turning on the intruder. Rhysand laughed airily and folded his arms over his chest. “Easy, brother,” he smiled, causing Azriel to roll his eyes. You blinked a little dazed, and pulled away from the Shadowsinger. “You’re gonna make me burn my fucking tart,” you shoved him with an arm and laughed as you turned to resume your place at the oven. 

Azriel instructed you to dress comfortably and be ready in a hour as he kissed your knuckles one last time and exited the kitchen. Butterflies roamed freely in your stomach at the thought of what he had planned. You’d returned to your quarters after removing the tart from the oven and portioning it into a small travel sized container. You were going to accept the bond, and your nerves were alight with anxious excitement. After you dressed in a lightweight linen dress, you packed a small bag with your remaining creams, and the boxed tart you’d prepared earlier. 

You descended the stairs to find Azriel waiting at the base, his wings standing proudly behind him, shadows skittering around his feet. At the sight of you they raced to meet on the bottom step, running up your legs, around your waist and into your hair. A laugh escaped you as one nuzzled into the space behind your ear. Azriel watched fondly. “They love you,” he said smiling, taking a step to meet you, “ever since the bond snapped, I’ve had the hardest time reining them back from touching you.” 

You reached a hand out to meet his, interlacing your fingers. “They’re cute, but you’re cuter,” you said with gentle affection. A shadow pinched at your waist and Azriel’s cheeks went a little pink as he laughed. 

“Will you tell me what the surprise is?” You asked as he walked you toward the training balcony. “I’m afraid I’m very poorly dressed for training,” you joked. He snorted, “no, we’re not training.” He came to rest at the railing and then turned to you, running a hand up your arm, fingers moving to hold the back of your neck, warm palm heating the skin there, thumb grazing your jawline. “Amongst many things I’ve been terribly late for recently, I realize I owe you a date.” 

Your face went a little puzzled and you looked to his eyes. “A date?” You questioned. He nodded, “I was supposed to take you flying.” Realization dawned on your features and a smile overtook your lips, each tooth shining in the setting sun. “I wanted to kiss you that night too,” you admitted laughing, remembering how desperate you’d been for his touch and attention. He smiled softly, “you have no idea how angry I was with Rhys for calling me away.” Your eyes widened, still in disbelief that this male wanted you return. It seemed both a millennia in the making and still so new and fragile. 

Azriel snuck an arm around your waist and brought you up into the stretch of his firm body. His other hand tracing down your hip, then thigh, to curve under your knees as he picked you up. His wings unfurled and he shot into the air. A shaky laugh startled out of you and you gripped him tighter, your arms winding around his neck. His wings flapped in thunderous bursts, taking you higher, until you could see the entirety of Velaris spread below, the Sidra flowing like a snake through the winding city. Your breath left you in awe. “The Peregryn was right,” you said loud enough for him to hear and he smiled, pressing a kiss to your temple.

The flight was short, but it took you to the rural banks of the Sidra on the outskirts of the city, just before it emptied into the sea. You could see ships sailing into the harbor, moonlight beginning to trickle across the water. This was undeniably special, you thought, no one would see you up here and you felt like this was the edge of the world itself. You turned to Azriel, finding his eyes already watching you. “Thank you,” you said softly, leaning into him, his chin meeting your forehead as you moved your body to rest alongside the length of his. His hand came to rest at the small of your back, pinky stretching to graze the curve of your bottom. Wherever this was going, you were very interested. 

He turned and grasped your hand, pulling you back up the hill and away from the view, towards a field of wildflowers and grasses. There, in the middle, a blanket had been laid out, small candles lit to illuminate the setting. A basket sat in one corner, a bottle of fae wine held within with an assortment of pastries, breads, and cheeses. You realized quickly that your mate, the male you’d loved for damn near two centuries, was courting you. The thought thrilled you. 

He led you to the blanket and motioned for you to sit next him. “I must confess, I never took you for a romantic,” you said looking from the candles, to the basket, and then to him. He was watching you again. He smiled, laughing a bit nervously, “I’m a lot of things,” he said and your eyebrow quirked. “Oh yeah? Like what?” You challenged him and he loved you for it. You made him feel easy to love, you made loving fun and freeing. Azriel had once only thought freedom could be found in fucking and flying, then he’d found you and he knew it was there too. In the smile of your lips, in the thrill of your touch, in the ease of your love. 

“Well,” he started, moving his wings to lean into you, pressing a kiss to your exposed shoulder. The action caused you to shiver. “I’m a spymaster.” You snorted, “no shit.” A laugh rumbled in his chest. “I’m a bit shy as you well know, I’m quite fond of dancing, I’m—” he hummed the last letter, pausing his thoughts and moving his lips up your neck. “I’m in love with you,” he said biting into the flesh at the juncture of your collarbone and throat, cock hardening at the sound that rolled out of your mouth. “I’m going to take you right here, on this blanket, under the stars.” 

You gasped, your hands moved find purchase in the hair at the back of his head, fingers winding through the strands, nails dragging at his scalp. His nose ran the length of your jawline before his lips found yours. He rumbled a small hum the instant his mouth touched your own. At first it was a gentle press, teasing you as he had done today in the kitchen at the House of Wind. The adrenaline racing up your spine made you feel like you might vibrate out of your skin. His hand reached up then, threading broad fingers into your hair as he took the kiss deeper. Tonguing the bottom of your lip until your mouth opened, his tongue stroking your own. Humming with contentment, he tilted your head, deepening the kiss at a new angle that had heat swooping down to your core. 

You brought your left hand to his shoulder, fisting your fingers in the fabric there and pulling him closer. He understood your intention and leaned you back into the blanket, pleasure alighting each nerve as his body pressed into your own. He eased up on your lips and began a slow trek south, pulling the strap of your dress down the curve of your shoulder, leaving a love bite there that had you gasping. He kissed down the bust line of the dress, laving his tongue at the swell of your breast. Your breath was coming in pants and you pressed yourself up on your elbows as he moved further south, fingertips tracing the hem of your dress that had risen to the middle of your thigh. 

He looked back to you and smiled, mischief playing in his eyes as he ran his hands up your thighs, the slow drag pulling the dress with it. “I’ve been thinking about your cunt for centuries,” he said, his lips on your knee, pressing insistently as they moved north. “I’ve been dreaming of making you come on my tongue since I met you.”

Your breath leaves you in one fell swoop as you feel his tongue at the juncture of your hip and thigh. His mouth was insistent at skin there, tonguing the lace of your panties before pulling them down your legs and off entirely. He picked up a foot, placing it to his chest as he traced the long line of your body with hungry eyes. You were panting already, dressed rucked up around your waist, straps fallen down your arms and breasts heaving. His gaze flowed south and landed on your pink cunt, glistening, begging for him. His eyes went back to your face then, and his titled his head to the side, “Will you let me eat your pretty little cunt?” He asked fingertips tracing the scars of your calf with reverence. He brought your foot up, kissing the inside of the ankle, then nosing his way over your scarred calf, suckling at the skin there. “Please,” he added, eyes moving back to yours as his mouth continued his ministrations. 

“Mother above, Azriel,” you breathed and a laughed startled out of you, “you are mouthy.” He chuckled darkly then, nipping at your knee, taking special care to press a gentle kiss at the new scar there. “Is that a no then?” He said softly and your head fell back with a groan, exposing your neck to his view. “As if,” you said, head pulling back up and lolling to the side to rest on your shoulder. “I’ve thought about it too, and if you back out now I will explode.” He laughed again, freely this time, forehead resting on your thigh. 

His eyes find yours again, and he kept them there as he traced his lips north. He nosed the juncture of your cunt and inner thigh, running a tongue along your mound. You gasped and eyes narrowed, watching him with rapt attention. He pressed a kiss to the top of your slit and his hands come up to open you to him, pulling the lips apart and tonguing the collected moisture there. Your head fell back as your elbows gave way, falling flat against the blanket. 

“You taste better than I imagined,” he said before wrapping his lips around your clit and sucking. The moan that left you had his hips pushing into the ground to find relief as his cock begged for release. His tongue flicked against your clit as he sucked and hummed. He thought this might become his favorite place in all of Prythian. He thought that every bad thing that had happened in his life seemed insignificant now that he was able to worship freely between your thighs. He traced fingers up and paused to wet them on his tongue, before pushing his middle and ring finger in to the second knuckle, pulling them out and scissoring them back in again. His tongue found your sweet little button for a second time that night and he laved at it, listening to your cries as he pushed you to the brink. Azriel’s life had been a nightmare, but between your thighs, mouth on your cunt, walls fluttering around his fingers, he thought he’d been blessed by the Mother herself. 

Your hips rocked up in time with his fingers and you cried as your gut twisted, the coil there tightening. “Az-“ you gasped. “Azriel,” you went a little whiny on the vowels of his name, and your hand reached down to thread your fingers into his hair, nails scratching and tugging the strands. He hummed, the vibration sending shocks up your spine. “Azriel, baby,” you gasped, coming up on an elbow again, rutting your hips into his face as he took you higher. He didn’t let up, suckling at your cunt, fingers finding the spongy spot on the backside of your clit that made the world go blank “Azriel!” you gasped again, hips stuttering out, “Fuck, fuck— oh.” In seconds you were reaching your peak, hips faltering, thighs twitching, toes curling into the hard planes of his back. 

He pulled his mouth off of you, pressing kisses to your pubic bone as he moved north up your stomach. He eyes were alight with desire, the male was pure want and you were his last meal. He pulled his fingers from your cunt and trailed them up to rest at your neck as he slotted his body between your thighs and kissed you. The hedonism of tasting yourself on his mouth made you wetter, cunt pressing into the hard line of his cock, still restricted in his trousers. He moaned at the contact, mouth leaving yours to rest his head against your chin and gather himself. The sound sent a pleasurable shock directly to your core. You grasped the hand at your throat and brought his fingers up and to your mouth, tongue laving at them before taking them to the knuckle, and pulling back slow, hollowing out your cheeks and sucking, keeping your eyes on his. He bared his teeth the sight and ground his hard cock into you, the friction on your clit making your thighs twitch. 

“My sweet little mate,” he cooed. “Love of my life,” he nosed your cheek, his fingers still in your mouth. “All my dreaming has been put to shame it would seem,” he pulled his fingers from your mouth and replaced them with his tongue, his hands flying to his belt. He growled in struggle and you ventured a laugh. His eyes found yours and his jaw ticked, “keep laughing, sweet girl, I’ll fuck your throat next and you won’t come.” Your eyes went a little wide and a feline grin appeared on your face. “Mouthy indeed,” you said with glee as he finally got the buckle undone and pushed the pants down and off. 

His shirt went next and your fingers traced up his exposed arms to his shoulders. “I’ve seen you shirtless a dozen times, and you still take my breath away,” you said softly, a hand resting on his pectoral. He laughed and went a little pink, before he pushed your dress up your body and over your head, leaving you bare. “I’ve always been impressed by your ability to so disarming,” he said, mouth finding the space above your breast as his hands came to cup them, fingers toying with the nipples. “It’s my favorite thing about you, you see me in a way I can’t even see myself,” he followed up. 

Your eyes watered at the admission and your hands found his face, bringing his mouth back to yours as you kissed him again, tongue entwining with his. Your hands grasped his shoulders, as your leg found his hip and you pushed him over, onto his back. Your hands came to rest on his chest as you settled your weight on his lower abdomen. You could feel his manhood standing to attention, insistent at the curve of your ass and you reached around to grasp it, pushing your chest out for his greedy eyes. Taking him in long strokes, you ran your hand up and down, circling your thumb around the head. His eyes screwed shut as his breathing shallowed. 

“Wanna know a secret, baby?” You offered, rocking your hips in time with your strokes. He whined then, the Lord of Shadows keened a little whine for you that had you ready to come right there. “Last time we hosted a gala, that night before Hybern,” you were panting, “all I could think about was taking you to bed.” His eyes opened and hazel was gone blacked out in pure desire. His hands found your hips and his own began to move in time with you. “I thought about riding you,” you said, twisting your hand in a way that had his breath guttering out of him. “I thought you might love me in the way you looked at me.” His eyes softened and he leaned up, hands tracing up your spine as he pressed kisses to your chest. 

“I loved you that night and every night since,” he said before tonguing a nipple and sucking it into his mouth. “That dress you wore, my color, had me hard for a week.” You laughed then removing your hand from his cock and bringing both to his face, so you could kiss him. His hands slipped to your ass then, palming the cheeks as his tongue moved in tandem with yours. When you moved back from him, a string of salvia still connected you two, you reached up to comb fingers through his hair gently.

“I brought you something,” you said quietly, looking to the corner of the quilt where your bag had dropped ages ago. His brow furrowed, confusion showing in his features. “You don’t have to, but I brought some of that tart. If you want,” you offered the statement nervously, as if there was still a chance for rejection. Azriel’s heart went soft and his brain turned to mush.

“You want to accept it?” He questioned, hands sliding up your back and to your waist. You smiled and looked at him incredulously, “Of course I want to accept it, it feels like I’ve waited a millennia for you.” You’d laughed a bit and that feeling of home raced through him again. Gods, he was fucked. 

You leaned off his lap, pulling the strap of your bag to you and unzipped it. There, packaged in a little glass container, lay a small slice of the berry tart you’d fretted over earlier in the day. “Nesta made some stupid comment about ‘cooking’ when I’d asked where you were,” you laughed in hindsight at the female’s leading words. “She knew because Cassian knew, he helped me with the food and candles,” Azriel murmured pushing your hair up and over your shoulder. 

He pulled the container from your grasp then and opened it before picking the pastry up with his fingers, the same fingers that had been inside you minutes ago. Eyes on yours he took the first bite, your heart thrumming as the golden thread of your bond lit up like the sunrise. His eyes never left yours as he consumed the pastry in four bites, swallowing and pulling his fingers into his mouth at the remaining sweetness there. 

The bond between you two was shining, strong and thrumming with love. ‘Hi,’ you tried, your thoughts reaching out to him. He smiled, laughing freely, and his voice came through clearly, ‘Hi, Little One.’ You choked out a laugh, eyes watering as you leaned forward to kiss him, tasting the berries on his tongue. ‘Can I make love to my mate now?’ He questioned down the bond and you laughed again. His hands were already tracing your hips as you leaned forward, hand reaching underneath to guide him into your cunt. Lowering yourself down, you rocked forward once then twice in order to take him to the hilt. 

Mother above, he was big. His cock was thick and filled you wholly, pushing against your cervix making your eyes flutter in pleasure. You thought of the comment Mor had made about wingspan once decades ago and you heard him laugh, “I’m flattered, truly,” he said playfully, reading your thoughts and nipping at your shoulder.

You rose up again and set to riding him slowly, hips moving in long strokes as his hands traced your ass, pulling at the flesh there in time with your movements. You gave a experimental squeeze of your walls, and he keened a loud moan that had you speeding up your flow. “You keep that up, Little One and I won’t last,” he panted at your throat. “That’s rather the point,” you laughed breathlessly, your own hand moving to cup your breast, the other sliding down to circle your clit. His eyes traced the view greedily, moving down to the point where you connected, watching your cunt take him in full, his cock glistening with your shared wetness. He bared his teeth at the sight, a rumble lighting in his chest. 

Just as your walls began to flutter with your impending orgasm, he grasped you and flipped you to your back, pulling your hands from your body and entwining your fingers with his own on each side of your head. He ground his pelvis in deep and your legs hitched higher around his waist. “Azriel, fucking Gods,” you called out at the switch in angle, the tip of his cock grinding into your cervix. He hummed at your throat, teeth marking you there as his hips pulled out and pushed in, grinding each time he bottomed out into you. His wings flared behind him and you thought you’d never seen a more beautiful sight. 

“You take me so well, my love,” he panted, “you were made for me.” You whined then, cunt fluttering around him as he bottomed out deep and held it there, grinding his pubic bone into your clitoris. The pleasure raced up your spine and you thought you’d never be able to leave this place, might have to keep him inside you forever. He growled, reading your thoughts. “You want me to fuck this cunt forever?” He asked aloud leaning up, pulling his hands from yours. 

You whined at the loss, but the sound died as he pulled your legs up his waist to his shoulders, kissing the scarred calf. He drew his cock out, only to slam back in. “Fuck,” you moaned out, voice going up two octaves. “You want me between your thighs for the rest of my days?” He said again, hips moving faster, your hands moving to your tits as they bounced from the impact. His eyes watched the movement and he bared his teeth again, turning his head to bite into the flesh of your calf. 

“Azriel!” You called out again, pleasure zipped up your spine and you felt your stomach tighten. “Az, baby, I’m so close.” He chuckled darkly. “Be a good girl and come on my cock,” he said as his fingers traced down your leg to find your clit, rubbing the bundle in quick, timed circles. “Az- I-,” you barely got the words out before your orgasm overtook you, a long moan exiting your mouth as your cunt tightened around him, he ground into you and worked you through it, before dropping your legs back to his hips and pistoning deeper.

“My sweet mate,” he gasped at the skin of your throat, mouth tracing up to find yours, hands finding purchase on your thighs as he pulled you open, allowing him dive deeper. “My darling love,” he moaned and his tongue moved with yours, your hips pushing up to meet his thrusts, walls fluttering against his velvet length with the remnants of your orgasm. 

You ventured your hand up his shoulder to the base of a wing and traced your fingers up the membrane to the bone. His eyes twisted shut, and he keened a low primal whine that had your cunt ready to come again. At the tightening of your walls, he groaned dark and deep, shadows seeping from him, as he pushed in, grinding against the innermost portion of you. His hips pulled out slightly and then pushed back in as his cock kicked, come spurting against your walls. He panted against your throat as his hands released their hold on your thighs and moved up your body before grasping your throat. He moved up to lean over you and his eyes found your own. He gave an experimental thrust of his hips and your eyes widened. Fucking Cauldron, he was still hard. 

He laughed then, nuzzling at your mouth as he nipped at your bottom lip. “I’m giving you five,” his voice was deeper than you’d ever heard it, “and then I’m eating my come from your cunt and fucking you until the sun comes up.” 

You gasped out a laugh as your arms wrapped around his shoulders. ‘They call it frenzy for a reason,’ you thought, kissing along his cheekbone and to his mouth. Gods, you were fucked. 

#acotar fanfiction #acotar x reader #acotar x you #azriel shadowsinger #azriel x reader #azriel x you #azriel acotar #azriel spymaster #azriel supremacy #i love this bat boy sm #azriel fanfic #azriel smut #hoo boy this is nasty #Save a horse ride a bat boy am i right? #bat boys #bat boys x reader #azriel imagine #acotar imagine #acomaf #acowar #acosf #acofas #azriel acomaf #azriel acosf

[ew-selfish-art]

Dp x DC AU: Danny didn't want to rely on his rogues, but Tucker's computer skills only got them so far and if the media black out continues... Danny knows it's not going to be pretty for them. Nightmares begin to plague the Justice League.

---

Danny gets back from a shitty conversation with Clockwork and in his frustration, accidentally sets off one of the new GIW sensors that his parents allowed to be installed in the lab. Their collaboration seemed to be going no where but when Danny had new holes blasted through him... it must be going somewhere. Damn it.

The commotion is loud enough that Jazz hears it from her room above the lab (he knows she listens to more than just the lab... it's cause she cares, even if it is a bit invasive.) and rushes in to play the distraction while Danny gets away. This time it works- the Drs. Fenton might have the worst aim in the city but they demand all shots cease if a civilian is nearby- Next time his mom might be aiming her gun at him and not the ground. Danny decides he'll buy Jazz a coffee on his way home.

But first, new holes. Yikes. That like, needs medical attention- He heads to Tucker's place and he's pretty sure Sam is already there.

"Danny! What the fuck, did Clockwork-" She starts, her meticulous cat eyeliner making her glare all the deeper.

"Nah, it's the stupid GIW sensor, the stupid one I told you guys about that has a spring lose in the back?"

"I thought we decided those weren't a concern?" Tucker looks him over, face covered in undisguised and very blatant concern.

"Yeah well, Clocky pissed me off so I forgot about them when I came back in through the lab portal-"

"you were supposed to be practicing making your own." Sam interrupts.

"-And when I did, the thing got knocked and I was swatted like immediately. Jazz launched herself into the lab so Mom made them stop shooting and it gave me enough time to get out." Danny continued to explain, ignoring his friend's 'i told you so' faces.

"Dude. We're pushing it close this week. Sam already had a confrontation with the lab guys and I already got blacklisted on my new persona accounts. We're like seriously threading the needle for getting caught." Tucker, pulls his glasses down to pinch the bridge of his nose and Danny and Sam both get what he's really saying. They need to lie low.

"What did CW say to piss you off?" Sam asks after a silent moment.

"He said nothing really, just like he always does, but insinuated I should try getting a rogue to help." Danny sighs.

"What, Like getting Ember to announce the GIW invasion on her tour? We already agreed that-" Sam is getting angry as she speaks so Tuck cuts her off- "It's a bad Idea. She is- They are all just as likely to get captured and hurt as you are if you go out of town." He comes to the same conclusion they've agreed on for weeks. No rogue involvement.

"Maybe we just need to sleep on it... Hey... wait." Danny sighs, but then his gears start to turn.

"Nocturn. We need Nocturn to help us. He can get the message out through dreams." Danny comes to the new conclusion and his friends look hesitant but at least like they're considering it.

"Isn't he an ancient? He's not going to help us for free." Tucker, ever the Egyptian god in these moments.

"Most people don't take their dreams literally." Sam, ever the skeptic in these moments.

"Yeah but, if they dream it enough times, and they're the right people to do something... they can look it up and then at least see that there is a problem?" Danny sounds hopeful and its the first time he's sounded that way in months.

"What, you're gunna give Batman nightmares?" Tucker snickers but Sam looks inspired.

"That's exactly what he's going to do. We need to haunt the Justice League. They'll see past the fake facade the GIW put up online and they'll be able to get the right legislation passed." Sam is practically buzzing.

"Okay, so lets get scheming- What do you get the primordial beast of the unconscious? Should I google 'what to get someone who has everything'? " Danny laughs.

_____

Bruce and his children rarely do feelings when they have breakfast in the morning after a night of separate patrols, but it seems as though the room is plagued with unease. Tim looks about as tired as ever, so his unease is probably attributable to WE board meetings, but its unlike the rest of his children to be so... disturbed. For some reason, after Alfred has excused them all from eating more than a few nibbles, they make it to the cave. Bruce is glad for the noise his children bring.

The nightmare's he's been having are following a dark plot. A town, a boy who looks like he was kin, and so, so much death. Bruce has had vivid dreams before in life, but this nightmare is... unreal. He tries to remind himself that it's just a nightmare.

When his JL emergency communicator goes off at the computer desk, he's not expecting it to be Dinah Lance. She and her Birds are typically wary of him in Gotham, even if they work well together in the League. He answers it like he would any Batman call, with silence.

"Bats, we have a problem. Any chance you've been having weird dreams about a kid getting experimented on or a town being burned down? Ghosts? Lazarus portals?" Dinah sounds exhausted, but Bruce snaps to her voice with rapt attention. As do all of his children.

"I-" Bruce takes a look around the room, everyone's heads except for Tim's nodding up and down with distress," We all have."

"Something tells me that they whole JL is. Everyone I've talked to this week has had a variation of the same dream. We either have a telepath trying to tell us something, or something even worse than that."

"I'll call emergency meeting, we need to collect details and try to determine the complete message."

"I'll send you what I've noted down so far, sans personal details of course, it's definitely in a town called Amity Park though. My client this morning saw the sign."

Batman grunts and the call ends. It's time to get to work.

----

When the Justice League finally arrives, the town is glowing, and everything feels like... sleep. smothering. snoring. smoking. smoldering.

And then, despite the exhaustion that echos within them, the trudge onwards. The noise of laser guns certainly wakes them up a bit.

#tim hasn't seen shit cause he never sleeps but he has the same energy level to get shit done #dc x dp crossover #dcxdp #dpxdc #dc x dp #dp x dc #danny phantom #dc crossover #dp crossover #long post #dinah lance #nocturn haunts the JL #its up to you to get angsty with the demand he made in exchange for helping team phantom #nocturn is such a fun villain concept but like he's an information outlet so... #Lots could go right or wrong with this plan #tim drake x sleep is something i'll never ship tho #fentons working with GIW could be as benign or evil as wanted #is jazz in peril after this??? PERHAPS

[definitelysel]

MELUSINES ON THE MISSION

pairing: neuvilette x reader

synopsis: he takes you to Merusea Village for his birthday as a friend, leaves the village with you as his significant other. All thanks to some wingwomen- no melusines.

contains : reader is a baker by profession, fluff, wingwomen melusines, whipped, lovesick neuvilette, mutual pining, corny, neuvillette can deal with anything expect romantic feelings and gestures, spoilers for 4.2 story quest, references to his birthday letter.

a/n : happy birthday to best boi neuvi. he is deffo a lovesick dude and you can't change my mind.

sequel of this fic , but can be read as a stand alone.

Neuvillette stared at the calender, eyebrows knitted together, pen twirling in his slender fingers.

"Should it be in spring? No that would be inconvenient...same holds true for autumn." He grumbled.

"My Dear Ludex, What's got you so tensed?" Furina chimed in, taking a glance at calender.

"I am trying to settle on a day to serve the purpose of being my birthday." Neuvillette sighed. If only he remembered the actual date. Furina took the pen from his hand and randomly circled a date without sparing a glance.

"18th of December? Why so?"

"My dear Ludex, this is such a trivial matter! Don't waste your energy on this. We must save it for the thrills of the court!" She patted his shoulder and walked off.

18th Decemeber.

That was today.

Neuvillette recalled while signing some documents he had received this morning. He finished up his work and turned around to arrange all the files and declutter the cabinets.

When he glanced back, he saw a small gift on the edge of this table. A smile crept up onto his face as he peeked a bit further to see the head of a melusine sticking out.

"You can stop hiding." He mused as the melusine slowly revealed themselves. Slowly but surely more melusines emerged out of their hiding spots.

"Happy Birthday Monsieur Neuvillette!" They all cheered as Neuvillette had a hearty laugh. The strict and straightforward Chief Justice had a soft spot for the adorable creatures and went to lengths to assure their safety.

"Thank you all. I appreciate your kind gesture." He smiled and picked up the small gift delicately and unwrapped the present. His ears could pick up the melusines muttered amongst themselves.

"...ask him."

"No you ask him!"

"Ask me what?" Neuvillette looked up to see the pleading faces of the Melusines. Yup, they were most definitely trying to persuade him into agreeing to something and Neuvillette knew he couldn't refuse.

"Will you come to Merusea Village this time?" They asked but it sounded more of a demand than a question.

Neuvillette paused. Of course they would ask that. He hadn't visited last year due to the chaos in Fontaine and the death of Focalors. He couldn't bring himself to celebrate his birthday after her death. This time, he agreed on it.

"Sure. I will make sure to extricate myself of my duties and come to Merusea Village." He reassured the Melusines, who bounced up and down in excitement before scurrying out of his office.

Neuvillette sat down and began making preparations so that he could depart worry-free to Merusea Village without any problems arising.

He found his thoughts drifting towards you. A promise he had made you a month ago.

"My schedule is full for the following month. However, I will be sure to pay you a visit after that." He recalled his words to you. Neuvillette had now made up his mind. He was going to take you with him to Merusea Village for his birthday and let all the melusines meet you.

He couldn't help but long for that queasy feeling with stirred in his chest everytime he was in your proximity. He would feel jittery and his palms would feel clammy and sweaty everytime he saw your beaming smile and witty remarks that never ceased to amaze him.

Well that was easier said than done.

"Would like to accompany me to Merusea Village?" He said before facepalming. "No that would be too straightforward...I might sound authoritative and I don't wish to given off that impression..." Neuvillette had been pacing back and forth in front of the bakery and had been rehearsing the past 15 minutes.

He remained apathetic towards the people who would gasp and mutter at the sight of the Chief Justice's unannounced appearance. "Hello, it is my birthday today and I would like you to accompany me to Merusea Village." Neuvillette said before groaning in annoyance.

"No..if I were to straight away declare that it is my birthday then, it would sound self-centered of me." He muttered, his hand on his chin. "Ah, Yes. Greetings, it has been a long time since we last met. According to our public pronouncements, it is my birthday today and since I take out time each year to visit Merusea Village, I would love for you to accompany m–

"It's your birthday?" You gasped, your sudden appearance catching him off guard. You could see him tense up before turning around and awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck.

"Uh erm- yes." He fake coughed to compose himself again. "You should've told me, Monsieur! I would've prepared you a special cake!" You suggested. It would've made up for a good and genuine gift.

"No need for it. I was wondering if you would accompany me–"

"To some place you visit every year on your birthday? Sure! I was just finishing closing up the shop for the weekend, so yes I can accompany you!" You chimed at him. Spending time with Neuvillette, that too on his birthday!? Now that was opportunity you weren't letting go.

You weren't going to admit that you had taken interest in him and wanted to get opportunities to get to know him better but since he was a busy man, this was a perfect opportunity!

"Then let's leave, shall we?" He offered his gloved hand to you. You reached out to take it but he retracted his hand back and instead gestured in the direction you had to walk towards.

You could see his ears turn pink as he started to walk away. You were about to hold his hand? Then why did he back away?? Right someone as high and mighty as the Chief Justice won't settle for a ordinary baker–

You shook your thoughts away and followed him.

"Monseiur Neuvillette is here!" The Melusines erupted into cheers and circled around him. You could see him smile and pat their heads. Neuvillette's smile had swept your heart off its feet. Your heart swoll at the sight of him smiling, heartily laughing at the swarm of Melusines. Dare you say, you were trying to stop your face from turning red.

"Everyone, meet [Name]. They are my friend and I presumed you would all love to meet them." He gestured towards you as the little melusine heads turned towards you, judgingly.

"Um- hello." You awkwardly smiled. The Melusines seemed to have marked you off their suspicion list considering they had now dragged you away to indulge in their silly activities.

Chasing other melusines, laughing with them, sitting around the bonfire, making flower crowns, it seems like you had a whole new world. You took the crown to Neuvillette. "Monseiur Neuvillette! Look!" You ran up to him as he turned towards you, with a smile lingering on his face.

"Is that a flower crown?" He mused, inspecting the bundle of flowers. You nodded and reached up to put it on his head. However, as you were putting it on his head, you both found yourselves gazing at eachother, fondly.

His eyes said so much despite his face showing so little. You two were unaware of the conversation between the melusines in the background.

"Oui oui! Monsieur Neuvillette definitely likes her!"

"Oui! You are so right, he looks at her in a certain way!"

"Should we help him?"

"Yes!" They all agreed.

"Monseiur Neuvillette! [Name]!" All of them yelled. You and Neuvillette snap out of it and turn your faces away, both of your cheeks flushing a shade of red.

"You guys should stay for a bit longer!" The Melusines tugged on your clothes and his robe. Eyes widen like puppies. Now how could you refuse to those cute faces.

"Sure! I would love too. It is the weekend anyways." You nodded and Neuvillette also agreed.

Now the plan was in full swing.

Neuvillette went inside the accommodation the melusines had prepared. He walked over to the desk and spotted a neatly kept letter.

Dear Neuvillette,

I wish to tell you that you are really pretty and I find you interesting. I can't seem to find the courage to express it though.

Sincerely,

[Name]

His face flushed red as he did a double take, flipping the letter to assess its legitimacy. The Melusines peeped through the small window, seeing his reaction.

"He is blushing!" One whispered.

"Huh? I never thought those cheesy and corny sentences would actually make him all flushed." Another marveled

"I tried my best okay? It's hard to act like that girl considering we just met her." The third nudged the other.

"You think sending them fake letters is going to work?" The fourth asked.

"Duh!" The first 3 yelled at him.

You, on the hand, were reading the letter given to you over and over again.

Dear [Name],

You seem to have captured my thoughts. I find myself thinking about you every passing moment. However, I don't mind this feeling.

Sincerely,

Neuvillette.

You giggled like a high-schooler with a big fat crush on a ficitional guy. Who knew the Chief Justice was so lovey-dovey! How endearing.

"The plan worked!" The first melusine beamed.

"Both of them hopeless." 2nd one sighed.

"Hopelessly in love!" 3rd one snickered.

"Let's wait and watch." The 4th reminded.

The next day, you both were busy with groups of Melusines, chatting and playing yet both of you kept catching glances at eachother and looked away in embarrassment.

The Melusines rejoiced in their plan of fake letters to both of you, working. This kept on going. Both of you would find a letter in your room each time you came to freshen up or rest.

You and Neuvillette found yourselves blushing and feeling clammy at the letters, unaware of the true sender of these letters, until...

Meet me by the lake, 9pm.

As planned, both of you reached the lake, looking around to find the other. When you caught sight of Neuvillette, your breath was taken away. His white hair framed his fair perfectly and his eyes shined in the moonlight.

"Hello.." you started.

"Hello to you too." He replied. Well this is awkward.

"So um..do you truly believe I am- uh pretty as you mentioned in the letter?" Neuvillette asked, refusing to make eye contact. How fascinating that a man of status and authority is reduced to a flustered mush infront of the person he wishes to be with.

"Huh- what letter? I don't remember sending you a letter." You tilted your head in confusion. You received letters but you never wrote any reply back.

Neuvillette's eyes widened. "Then who sent- oh. The melusines.." he sighed, pinching his nose. "I am so sorry for the inconvenience." He apologized.

"Oh.." you sounded disappointed. So it was a lie then? Neuvillette said any of those sweet words which you had read in the letters. You could feel your heart break and chest ache. How did you manage to fall into this rabbit hole of loving the Ludex of Fontaine only to have your hopes crushed.

"What did they write in the letters given to you?" He calmly asked after a brief moment of silence.

"They said that you kept thinking about me and how you liked me and didn't mind the feeling...it is fine though! I am glad it is a lie hahaha." You waved your hands dismissively.

"..it is true." He blurted out. In his mind, it was now or never.

"Huh?" You stared at him, dumbfounded.

"It is true. I am indeed infatuated with you." You could visibly see his face flush pink. After your brain computed the information, you also turned red.

"I- I feel the same-..I always thought that I was too plain and simple for your liking.." you awkwardly muttered.

"No. It may be inappropriate of me to say this but..I believe that you are just perfect. You are perfect the very way you are, [Name]." The words effortlessly rolled off his tongue, though his flustered face told another story.

You hugged him without a warning, nuzzling your face into his chest. The hug felt warm, like the ocean hugging you with their waves as the sun dawned its warmth on your skin. Neuvillette wrapped his arms around you. You could hear his heart thundering against his chest.

"You like me that much huh?" You wriggled your eyebrows, with a teasing grin.

"Let's not bring that matter up." He huffed, trying to maintain his calm and composed composure. Oh he definitely was feeling giddy but why admit it?

"We will miss you!" The Melusines whined and fake cried, clinging to your legs as Neuvillette chuckled.

"Well, let's leave, shall we? It is a long walk back." He asked you, a soft smile on his face, his smile lines crinkling. Oh Archons! If only you had a Kamera on you.

"Mhm!" You nodded. He, again offered you his gloved hand, which you took into yours as you both started your journey back.

This time he didn't back away. Instead, he took your hand firmly in his and walked away, together, with you by his side.

a/n : happy birthday dear Neuvillette. Gosh i love this man so much, it's unhealthy. I can listen to him talk for hours about different tastes of water.

not proof read.

don't copy, plagiarize, repost.

©definitelysel

#genshin fluff #genshin impact #genshin x reader #fontaine #genshin impact x reader #neuvillette #neuvillette fluff #neuvillette genshin #neuvillette x reader #neuvillette x y/n #neuvillette x you #neuvilette x reader #neuvilette genshin #neuvilette x you #genshin impact imagines #genshin x you #genshin impact fluff #neuvillete x reader

[dinogoofymutated]

ik you just wrote for Kurt but if I could request some sfw headcanons for him? 👉🏽👈🏽 he'd be such a cuddly man especially with that tail of his

Sfw! Nightcrawler/GN!Reader

YES OFC!!! I was just thinking about this !! With how cuddly he was in the latest episode it had me all giddy and shit AAUGHH!! THIS MAN!!!

I also may or may not have gotten carried away with the fic half of this because I'm actually in love with him.

-Ps- @bl1ngringz You sent an ask for more Kurt, and I'm working on more but I figured I'd tag you in this one!

TWs: none that I can think of atm.

Touch is 100% one of Kurt’s love languages. If you're close to him, he's going to be touching you in one way or another

He really likes to wrap his tail around your waist to pull you closer to him, and it's always surprising because how is his tail that strong?? The sensation of his tail being wrapped around you in one shape or form starts to become such a comforting sensation.

If you're anxious and picking and your fingers in a social situation, he'll take hold of your hand and press a kiss to your palm, and if you're less comfortable with pda, he'll snake his tail in between your hands instead. Afterwards he always checks your hands and cuticles, just in case.

Sometimes he'll have really rough days and will just really need you to hold him. He'll teleport you out of your office if he feels like you've been gone too long and he starts to worry about you. It's surprising at first, but you quickly get over it when the furball snuggles into you, quietly pouting about how long you've been gone. It's easy to tell other things are on his mind, but you know he enjoys the silence when you choose not to press him, and simply hold him tightly.

Kurt isn't just a cuddle bug. He's a cuddle MONSTER. On the couch? He'll plop down on top of you, falling asleep on you like a cat who only ever manages to fall asleep right when you need to pee. In bed? Again, no pee breaks. He usually has such a tight grip on you, only able to fall asleep buried in your arms. It doesn't matter how hot it is, if you roll away he'll feel bad. He knows you don't hate him and that you're just moving in your sleep but :( come back. He can't sleep without you!

You wouldn’t consider yourself a morning person, but sometimes you’d wake up and simply be too restless to fall back asleep. Sometimes it was anxiety, other times excitement, but today you woke up simply content. Kurt’s arms were wrapped around you loosely, which was a surprise. He’s normally fully wrapped around you, limbs tangled tightly with your own, tail wound around your wrist, ankle, or hand in his sleep. You smile as you turn around, brushing hair out of his face. He doesn’t even stir, nor lean into the warmth of your hand. You’d be freaking out if it weren’t for his steady breathing, but the two of you had a rough couple of days. If he’s sleeping this deeply, he deserves the rest.

It’s easy to slide out of his arms, quietly padding out of the bedroom barefooted. You flinch when you reach the cold wood floors of the hallway, early spring still inconsistent with its bouts of cold weather. After quietly closing the door, you make your way to the living room on the search for a pair of slippers. You had a bad habit of losing them, sometimes stealing Kurt’s instead, but you find yours set aside neatly. You smile as you slip them on, knowing that you most certainly weren’t the one who put them there.

It’s still dark outside when you start to preheat the oven, and you know you must be up way too early. You laugh a little, with how early Kurt tends to rise, you can only imagine the time. You glance at the oven clock and notice it’s a little after 5 am. You grimace just a little, deciding to ignore it for now. Might as well make breakfast.

You feel like you’ve forgotten how to make breakfast food. Kurt always manages to beat you to it, waking you up in the morning with the smell of coffee and baked goods. You used to feel bad about it, telling him that he didn’t have to. That he didn’t have to go through with the effort. You felt guilty about such a simple thing, feeling like an inconvenience to him. That feeling didn’t last long, however. Kurt had insisted that you were worth the effort, worth his love, and much more. You don’t fight him on it anymore, having taken over lunch preparations instead. He still tries to beat you to that too, though. It’s become a competition as of late, and you smile in a giddy manner, excited to see his pout when he realizes you managed to beat him to breakfast.

    The sun has risen by the time you’ve finished the biscuits and set them out to cool. You’re scrambling some eggs when a tail wraps around your waist and a warm chest presses against your back. Kurt nuzzles into your shoulder, pressing a chaste kiss to the skin. 

    “Guten morgen.” His morning voice is groggy, and to be honest, he sounds like he’s about to fall back asleep right here in the kitchen, holding onto you like a pillow.

“Good morning,” You giggle, turning your head to kiss him sweetly. He’s pouting when you pull away, leaning his cheek on your shoulder.

“You weren’t in bed when I woke up.” Kurt mopes. You mimic his pout with a poorly hidden smile, kissing him a few more times. They were chaste, as you didn't want to get distracted and burn the eggs.

“I’m sorry. I couldn’t sleep, and I didn't want to wake you up.” You turn your attention back to the eggs in the pan, and Kurt sighs dramatically at your words, beginning to smile a bit himself. You see an arm sneakily reach over to take the spatula out of your hands, but you’re quick to hold it away from him. He smiles widely when he’s caught, pulling you flush to his chest as he tries to snatch it again with his other hand.

“No!” You giggle. “Kurt, stop it! I’m not letting you finish the eggs!” You may have the willpower to keep the spatula away, but Kurt still has the upper hand with longer arms and an extra limb. His laughs are infectious and he fights you for the utensil.

“Penance, then! For leaving me in a cold bed, I could have gotten sick, you know?” You gasp as Kurt manages to slip the spatula from your grasp. He rejoices in victory, holding it above your head as he turns back to the eggs. He kisses you on the cheek, holding you squarely in his grasp as he finishes breakfast for you, as he always does.

Today was a good morning indeed.

#x men 97 #x men #x men comics #x men 97 x reader #x men headcannons #nightcrawler x reader #nightcrawler #nightcrawler Headcannons #kurt wagner x reader #kurt wagner #kurt wagner headcannons

[imthesilliestspider]

kitty!minho giving chan lessons ♱.

warnings: minhas kinda mean, chokehold, cunnilingus, unprotected sex (nonono!), hybrid stuff, kitty!reader, kitty!minho, human!chan, breeding, cum eating

a/n: hope you enjoy, and I hope this makes up for me being gone for so long . inspo here!

chan never knew how to deal with your heats, you were such a insatiable little kitty and he was just a human.

he thought he knew how to take care of your horny little spurts and heats, but it was so difficult to satisfy you and stop you from springing onto his cock every chance you got.

so eventually he talked to his friend, who might know what to do with you. he had a similar anatomy to you, so he must be of some help.

kitty! minho.

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

"say the word and this stops, okay baby?" chan cooed to you, petting your kitty ears. your eager nods made him giggle, looking to minho.

"are you sure you're alright with doing this?" chan checked on minho as well. minhos nod made chan nod aswell in affirmation. he moved back to the headrest of your bed, sitting down and watching.

minho approached you like you were prey, a low hungry look in his eyes. when you slightly squirmed away, he pounced. kissing and grabbing you, it was hardly a kiss, more of a attack. teeth biting, tongue, and his hands harshly groping you through chans shirt you were wearing.

after a bit of wrestling, he had you were he wanted you. bent over, your face buried into the sheets, and a pillow tucked under your hips. it propped you up nicely for him, your ass on display. he took his time with you, caressing your ass gently, chans shirt now pushed up and out of the way.

before you knew it, you felt a hard smack hit your ass. then another, then another.

"bad kitty, always giving chan trouble, hm?" minho cooed, his voice full of sarcasm and mocking. he rubbed your eager little hole, spreading your slick all over your messy cunt.

another smack hit your ass when you shook your head at his words, denying the obvious truth. you could hear some shuffling, you couldn't see, but it was easy to guess that it was minho getting undressed. your suspicion was confirmed after you felt his tip rubbing through your folds and soaking itself in your slick.

"such a dirty kitty, so eager to have a cock in her, so cute.." minho laughed, teasing you. he pushed into your tight hole, moaning loudly at your feel. he gave you a minute to adjust to his size before he started thrusting into you. his hand went to grip the base of your tail, using it to anchor your body back onto his dick.

it was all so overwhelming, the feel of your tail being tugged, and the feeling of his dick slamming into your achy hole. moans started flowing from your mouth like always, high pitched whines and sobs leaving your throat. chan was so astonished, he didn't know tugging on your tail had such a effect on you.

your head was tugged up from the blanket, forced to stare into chans eyes as minho ruined your pussy. "look at him slut, look at him as i ruin you." minho smirked, showing chan how to deal with your heats.

no matter how you kicked and cried and whined, minho wasn't giving in. normally, one look to chan would have him swooning and petting your head, calling you his pretty kitty. but no. not with minho. he was going to hold you to your punishments and make you take them like a good girl.

his hand left your tail and found its way under the pillow and between your thighs, starting to twitch and play with your clit. the noises you were making rushed to chans dick so quickly. he was already hard but now he was throbbing.

"see chan, this is what you have to do-- ngh--.. can't be gentle with whores like this." he laughed, fucking into your cunt harder now, chasing his own high.

he felt as you got tighter around him, and figured you'd be getting close. he smiled and chan and got even faster, ruining your poor pussy.

"want me to cum in you? huh slut? yeah? gonna cum in you.. make chan lick it out of you.." he moaned and hissed under his breath, his words not being as coherent. his words threw you over the edge, your body shaking as you came with a quiet shriek, moans leaving you effortlessly. minho followed soon after, slamming into you and burying his cum deeply inside.

he pulled out soon after, the rest of his cum landing on your ass. he gave it one more smack before turning you on your back, smiling down at your fucked out face. he beckoned chan over, looking at your red cunt. chan immediately got up, joining minho in-between your legs. minho moved away, hoisting you up so your upper body and head is resting against him.

"chan, get to it, don't keep your kitty waiting." minho laughed, peering down at chan.

chan shot minho a glare, moving down closer to your pussy. minho got impatient, grabbing a fistful of his hair and burying his face into your poor, sore cunt.

minho held your legs still as you screamed, squealed, and squirmed around, nipping at your neck and tugging your kitty ears when you annoyed him.

chans tongue ravaged you. minho controlling him like a puppet, shoving his face into you. his tongue curled into your pussy, licking up what remained of minhos cum. but before you could cum again, minho tugged chan away by his hair.

you kicked and cried at the loss of orgasm. and chan looked like he might cry too.

"let me finish her off-- she's my fucking girl." chan angrily whispered, shoving minhos hand away from his hair and shoving his face into your pussy. a squeal of pleasure left you and your head tossed itself back against minhos shoulder.

minho wasn't having that though. he wrapped his arm around your throat, you now being in a chokehold. his other hand went to your kitty ears, grabbing one and forcing you to watch chan ruin you.

your stomach tightened and tightened and it felt weird.. different then usual. "w-wait-- feels weird-- 'm gonna..' your voice left your throat in a little squeak. minho held you tighter, and chans hands found your thighs and he buried his face deeper into your cunt.

then that pressing in your stomach snapped, and you came harder then you ever have before. the pressure of your ears being yanked, feeling minhos hard on press against your back, chan ravishing your pussy, and his hands holding you tightly as you kicked and screamed. you squirted all over the bottom half of his face, and he licked it all up. your eyes shut moments after, so sleepy now and overwhelmed.

you woke up in a clean pair of pajamas, wrapped up in blankets and chan beside you. "hi princess." chan smiled, grabbing a water bottle and pressing it to your lips, making you drink.

now chan knew how to deal with your heats!

#skz minho #lee minho smut #minho hard thoughts #minho #chan smut #stray kids smut #skz smut #skz #skz imagines #stray kids minho #stray kids #bang chan smut #bang chan #christopher bang #straykids bang chan #skz x reader #straykids x reader #nora speaks💗 #bang chan hard thoughts

[loveinhawkins]

The day before Spring Break ‘84, Eddie has a panic attack so bad he stays locked in a bathroom stall long after the final bell has rung.

And it’s so stupid. It’s not like the whole thing came as a surprise to him: he saw the writing on the wall even back in December, his grades on a continual downward spiral he couldn’t shift.

But he kept on trucking cause he’s still got the mind of a five year old, apparently, hoping against hope that things would just miraculously work out.

Idiot.

He doesn’t have anything worth getting riled up over, no mistreatment to distract him—sure, if it was O’Donnell doing the honours, she might’ve been a little mean about it, but instead he’d been directed to the school receptionist who confirmed the ‘unfortunate news’ with an uninterested if pleasant smile.

She asked if he’d talked to his homeroom teacher about his predicament, and he’d promptly lied through his teeth and said yes, even though he’d rather die than do anything of the sort. Then she went on about his ‘many options’, a prospective timetable for next semester, some forms to fill in, blah, blah, blah.

“Would you want a call home?” she’d said, already reaching for the phone. “We can go through the process with—”

“No, thanks,” Eddie told her quickly. He stuffed the forms into his bag. “I’ve got—I’ll let my uncle know.”

The thought of Wayne having his day off interrupted by such news made him feel nauseous.

Fuck, Wayne. He’ll be waiting for him.

At that realisation, Eddie goes cold then hot then cold again. He stumbles, gets the stall door open eventually, shakes the jittery feeling out of his fingers.

The parking lot’s still busy—students lazily chatting, perched half in, half-out of their cars; all they’ve got to worry about is whether they’re invited to Tina’s or Josh’s or whoever-the-fuck’s—depends on whose parents have unwisely left their house empty for the week.

Eddie’s stayed so long that he’s missed the bus, so he starts the trudge home, grits his teeth at every stab of his boots cutting into his heels—the van isn’t even on his periphery yet, still many months of scraping and saving to go until it’s his.

He’s almost out the school grounds. He crosses the road entirely on autopilot, startles when he realises that he’s had to make a car do an emergency stop.

Steve Harrington waves him on with a tiny little flick of the finger, all breezy, and great, that’s all he fucking needs—Mister Cool being polite to him.

He gives a small nod of thanks before continuing his walk. Keeps his head down, eyes on the sidewalk. Doesn’t bother about whether he steps on any cracks or not; he figures his luck isn’t changing any time soon.

His palms itch. He knows it’s stupid and embarrassingly self-centred of him, but he can’t get rid the thought that everyone’s looking at him, that everyone knows somehow.

Wayne sees him coming from the porch. By the time Eddie reaches him, he’s gone inside and out, re-emerging with a can of cream soda that he cracks open and holds out with one hand.

Eddie can’t take it. He reaches for the contents of his bag, cringing inside at how the papers are already creased, he can’t even manage…

He passes the forms to Wayne. Can’t look him in the eye.

“I’m… I’m so sorry, Uncle Wayne,” he says—and mortifyingly, his throat closes up, and that’s all he can get out.

There’s barely a pause before Wayne says, “Eddie. Can you look at me?” When Eddie does, he clicks his tongue quietly at whatever he must find. “Kid, you’re all right. S’not the end of the world.”

Eddie scoffs. “Damn well feels like it.”

Yup, petulant as fuck too. Why not? Might as well crash and burn.

He at least makes sure to shut the front door as apologetically as he can. There’s one singular plate in the sink that he sets about scrubbing even though it hardly needs it.

He hears Wayne come in; he’s reading still, turning the pages over thoughtfully.

Eddie keeps scrubbing.

Wayne’s probably reading the test results. Eddie doesn’t need to see to know the ones that’ll be lingered on.

He couldn’t even pass English. The one thing that was meant to be in the bag, where he could scrape a C-, and he…

What the fuck’s wrong with him? Where’s the sense in being able to write a good campaign on a whim when he can’t even…

“Eddie.” Wayne passes the cream soda can across the counter. “You keep workin’ at the sink any longer, and m’gonna start thinkin’ you’re ‘bout to give me your last will and testament.”

Eddie chuckles. Scrubs at his eyes and obligingly steps away. He picks up the can—the cold metal soothes the itch trapped in his palm.

Wayne folds the papers neatly, corner to corner.

“I’ll help you fill everything in,” he says, matter-of-fact.

“I’ll, uh. I’ll get a pen.”

But Wayne shakes his head. “Not tonight. We’ve got plans, remember?”

Eddie laughs again. ‘Got plans’, according to Wayne, means watching T.V in comfortable silence, Eddie lounging on the couch; Wayne might occasionally read out a crossword clue he’s stuck on before typically solving it on his own, and Eddie would drop off to sleep early, his last impression that of Wayne treading lightly from his armchair, turning the volume down.

It’s a comforting thought.

But he… he should be…

Wayne gives him a knowing look, waves him over to the couch.

The creak of the refrigerator door opening. Wayne’ll be starting dinner soon. Some sorta pasta, probably: it’s tradition, whenever school ends.

“Hey, Ed.”

Eddie curls up on the couch, knees to his chest. “Mm-hmm?”

“It’s fixable, all right? It ain’t a chore. You know that, right?”

Eddie smiles—he sniffles and doesn’t bother scrubbing at his eyes again when they fill up.

“Yeah, I—I know.”

The words are old, a truth he’s had to be reminded of many times; it started back when the world had ended once before, when Eddie, newly moved into Wayne’s trailer, had stammered, “I-I won’t bother you, Uncle Wayne, I swear, you won’t need to—”

And then he learnt the very first rule of the universe—save for the fact that Wayne would always, always be there to help him.

It ain’t a chore, loving you.

#eddie munson fic #steve has a tiny cameo because i couldn’t help myself #eddie and wayne munson #eddie and wayne munson fic #eddie munson ficlet #eddie and wayne munson ficlet #eddie munson #wayne munson

[pigeonpeach]

I’ve Loved You From the Start

Chiori x oni fem reader

Cw: nudity, Fem reader, reader is big bodied. Pinning, fluff with some suggestive themes

“You don’t like it?” You said surprised. The kimono your friend had seemingly slaved over was truly magnificent to you. The beautiful patterns matched well with your horns. It covered every inch of skin yet allowed you full mobility. It was a boost of confidence to you, for your size was rarely provided in stores. Your weight was healthy for your kind, but humans still regarded you as obese even if the weight was mostly muscles. You were actually considered “underweight” by your oni parents who worried you were too skinny whenever you would visit. Truth be told you had to lose weight if you didn’t want to go out practically nude like Itto did.

“It conceals too much to me… most women don’t even conceal their ankles anymore much less everything below the neck.” She eyed you with a stern expression you couldn’t crack. But knowing her you figured she was up to something. Chiori hardly ever hates her creations. Old ones she views as learning experiences. You didn’t give her much creative freedom so that might be the reason.

“We-well I have to. Anything more revealing and I’d get those comments again.” You sighed.

“Oh please those folk are simply jealous. Your body is far more beautiful than any of those old crones were in their prime and they know it.” She said as she circled you like a shark. She lifted your hands and examined every inch until she just eyed your chest. Which protruded so.

“Well they weren’t all old people but I just can’t find anything my size there at all. I needed something like this but the price to have something customized is more than for other… normal bodies…”

“Nonsense. I won’t charge you a dime. If anything this is good for business. It shows I’m capable of branching out from the societal expectation. That my clothes aren’t simply for one body type but all who come in. And besides, you are far more eyecatching than any other model.” She spoke casually. You tensed a little but relaxed, a blush settled on your cheeks.

“You’re sure you don’t need anything? I could do a favor if you won’t accept my mora. I just can’t take this from you without giving something back.” You said politely. She paused, finally looking in your eyes.

“Are you busy today? I know you’re here on a trip but… I’d like to use you as inspiration for more possible projects.” She walked over to the curtains to draw them, placing s closed sign in the window and making sure not a single ray of sun would leak through.

“No actually. I was just going to go sightseeing in Fontaine. I hardly ever get to leave Inazuma so I made sure to have plenty of time before I return.” You eyed her suspiciously. She brought the paper screens to enclose the space, so even if someone walked in they wouldn’t see you two.

“Undress then.”

“E-excuse me?!”

“I’d like to see your body as bare as possible. I’m going to do some sketches for possible outfits.” She pulled out her sketchbook as she gathered some other utensils to draw with. You gulped. “You offered to pay me with a favor so this is the favor I ask of you. But if you’re uncomfortable I could find another way.”

“Uh… can I at least keep my panties on.” You asked. She sighed.

“If you must.”

Even though Chiori had been a good friend of yours in Inazuma, and had also brought you to the hot springs before, and had routinely seen you in your underwear, it was rather odd to stand posing while she scribbled. You felt incredibly nervous.

“Excellent. Turn around for me.” She instructed. You did so. “So obedient.” She whispered. You wondered if you misheard that. But either way you trusted Chiori. You knew she meant no harm, she wouldn’t do anything against your wishes.

“Um… might I ask what you’ll do with the sketches?” You asked.

“Make the one I find suits you most. I’ll admit its a shame you don’t prefer more feminine clothes.”

“Well I do its just I hardly get to wear them.” You explained. She seemed to light up at that clarification.

“Perfect, because that’s all i have been designing. Now if you’ll allow me I’d like to get a closer look.” She said.

“That’s fine with me.” Your approval seemed to evoke something as she circled you once more. You felt as though she’d bite or do something at any second. It felt invigorating. You had never felt sexy or desirable until you met Chiori. She treated you like you were the epitome of beauty itself. You did however deeply miss her In Inazuma. You felt safe walking with her down the streets. She had on many occasions left your hasslers speechless and sobbing on some occasions. She was known for her brutal honesty, even when faced with nobility. Its why you knew for certain she was honest in her intentions. And you knew that you would receive many outfits in the mail once you got home.

“Chiori… you’ve always been honest with your…um… sexual interest in me but I never knew exactly why?” You croaked as you struggled to maintain a facade of strength and endurance.

“Do you not realize that you’re almost what every lesbian would crave? A big beautiful wife, with a plumb chest and behind, thighs thick enough to crush, tall, strong, and oh so polite. You’re everything a femme could want. If only you would leave Inazuma. You know, a fellow fashion designer caught sight of my sketches of you from back then and she wanted to know if you would be her model.” Her voice never wavered in any sort of embarrassment. You however felt a shrill run up your spine.

“O-oh.. i didn’t realize you like women too.”

“How?!” She seemed baffled at that response. “Oh please no man could ever compare to even the most basic of women. The curves, the plumps, the lips-“

“No i just didn’t want to assume anything. I figured you might have been but i thought it was wrong to make assumptions.” You quickly clarified.

“Good. I’ve made my interest in you far too obvious. It truly is a shame you didn’t want to come to Fontaine with me then.” She sighed. “People here seem to like you. They don’t have the biases of those retirement aged folk in inazuma. They see you as a stranger but also a kind one. I heard you helped a beached boat the other day, those sailors boasted about how you did the work of five men in one push. I’ve even noticed how the former hydro archon eyes you when we passed her the other day.” You truly were baffled.

“I-i was too worried then that.. i’d slow you down. Please say you’re not playing up my reputation here. I do love fontaine but If I leave Inazuma I want to be certain its the right choice of place.” You looked her in the eye as she still eyed your chest. Her hand reaching up to gently play with it. She looked at you as you turned red.

“I assure you my intentions aren’t just to keep you here with me. I have missed you greatly while here. The letters I sent don’t convey that enough to me. But I swear on a oathe that you could sue me for, the majority of fontainians I have heard from have nothing but admiration or curiosity to you. And if they had anything else I wouldn’t hesitate to correct them.” You kneeled so her hand could reach your face and brush the hair behind your ear. Her face was closer to you now as you looked at her. “I swear on the very life of every citizen in every nation, I would protect and provide for you if you just moved here.”

Your faced turned red, a expression of embarrassment and flattery. “I didn’t realize your feelings were that deep.. I just thought you found me attractive.” You gulped. You had been a expert with pushing feelings down, you loved Chiori but you never wanted to weigh her down. You worried your heritage would ruin her reputation or chances in life. You loved her so much that you had been slightly envious of that special patrol lady who had seemed so close to her. But you kept it to yourself.

“I have long viewed you for more than your tits, the reason I look at them so much is simply because of our height difference. But your body is not the reason I know those stereotypes are wrong, that every liar who says you are something else is wrong. I have witnessed your facade crack to reveal someone who is strong in every sense. You may lift a log but you do so for the child who’s stuffed animal was underneath it. You stopped your own and first vacation to help a beached boat and regularly step in to safe those in trouble. Your scars aren’t from battle but from good deeds. Your heart is more golden and radiant than any ring or necklace. If you were a stone, you would be the most precious and sought after. I have loved you all this time and I am not ashamed of it in any regard.” She said bluntly. Instinctively you pulled her in for a kiss. She didn’t resist one bit but instead moved her hands to your waist that instant. A wave of relief and excitement rushed over you int that instant.

Afterawhile she pulled away. “Now let me show you the extent of my love to you, so you can understand just how beautiful you truly are to me.” Her eyes shone with a desire no longer hidden. You nodded as you laid on your back, your legs spreading slightly.

#genshin imagines #genshin x y/n #genshin impact #wlw #chiori x reader #chiori x you #oni reader #fem reader #suggestive themes #fluff

[mycadences]

Elain: I am not a child to be fought over. (Chapter 21 of ACOSF, Azriel was present when she said that and HE HEARD IT)

Azriel: (In an arrogant tone) I'll defeat him [Lucien] with little effort. (Azriel's ACOSF bonus chapter, after Elain said what she said, and referring to the Blood Duel)

(Here Elriels might bring up "but Lucien asked if Elain was worth fighting for!" but the difference is 1. Lucien had only met Elain once at that time (it was during ACOWAR) 2. he didn't know anything about her 3. she hadn't said the line I'm referring to 4. he didn't overhear the line I'm referring to 5. "fighting for" has a slightly different connotation from "fighting over".)

So it IS canon that Elain would hate the Blood Duel and would have a problem with Azriel killing Lucien... while Azriel doesn't. In ACOWAR, Nesta and Feyre were worried about Lucien going off to find Vassa in case harm befell him.

This was what Feyre thought: Even Nesta seemed relatively concerned. Not for him, no doubt, but the fact that if he were hurt, or killed … What would it do to Elain? The severing of the mating bond … I shut out the thought of what it’d do to me.

But Azriel didn't think of how devastating it would be for Elain if her mate were to die. No, in fact, he didn't think much of her "beyond the fantasies he pleasured himself to".

Wow. How romantic. If this is the "canon" that Elriels are so proud of, then I'm honestly glad that it wasn't written about my ship.

Also look at this scene:

Elain: You do not decide what I can and cannot do, Nesta. // Then I will find it [the Dread Trove]. // You cannot resent my decision to lead a small, quiet life while also refusing to let me do anything greater. (This is also from Chapter 21 of ACOSF, and yes Azriel was present to hear it. Notice how the wording focused on Elain's agency, on her choice, on people making decisions for her.)

Azriel: (In response to Amren's suggestion that they let Elain track the Trove) There is an innate darkness to the Dread Trove that Elain should not be exposed to. (Chapter 29 of ACOSF)

Once again, he was doing something that Elain had explicitly mentioned she disliked, something that he KNEW because he HEARD IT. Despite hearing that Elain didn't like Nesta making the choice for her (not to scry for the Trove), Azriel STILL chose to throw in his unsolicited two cents and was essentially robbing her of her free will.

Compare this to when Gwyn got taken to the Blood Rite along with Emerie and Nesta.

Cassian: If I interfere, we’re both dead. And even if I did, Nesta would kill me if I jumped in to save her. She’d never forgive me for it. \\ And even if the laws had allowed it, he would never take that away from her: the chance to save herself.

Azriel: You—we—trained them well, Cassian. Trust in that. It’s all we can do.

Both Cassian and Azriel recognized the skills and abilities of the Valkyries. They trusted them to survive. And Cassian himself said that he wouldn't step in, NOT because he didn't care about Nesta, but he knew she would hate it (that he made the call for her) and that he was confident in her strength to overcome the Blood Rite. And they're mates.

(^ Those who say "Azriel and Gwyn cannot be mates because he didn't save her from the Blood Rite" must not have read SF at all lol. But anyway I digress.)

Azriel's line of thinking was similar to Cassian in that he believed in the Valkyries, and that's more than I can ever say about his faith in Elain. Or lack thereof.

Speaking of faith in Elain, you know who has it, though?

Lucien.

(I swear he's the solution to every Elain puzzle. He's linked to Papa Archeron whose death Elain was implied to feel guilty about, he's linked to the Courts that Elain would thrive in (Spring and Day) and he's linked to the central conflict in Elain's personal arc (their mating bond).)

He literally went to the Mortal Lands to find Vassa because Elain had a vision about it. THAT, is an example of trust. The only other person to argue for Elain's visions was Mor, and Cassian was busy rebuffing her while Azriel "looked inclined to agree [with Cassian, not Elain]". Lucien went on a possibly dangerous wild goose chase all because of his trust in Elain's visions -- in his mate's visions.

Finally, this is not a hate post against Azriel (in case it reads like one). I love him, but somehow when he's around Elain they give me Tamlin/Feyre vibes, which is why I believe SJM is actually intentionally dropping hints that their relationship won't work out. Already we see how toxic it is. I adore his interactions with Nesta, Feyre and of course our lovely Valkyrie-priestess, Gwyn ;)

#gwynriel #pro gwynriel #elucien #pro elucien #antielriel #anti e/riel #elain archeron #it took me forever to type this

[drunk-on-dk]

[11:16 PM] | Yoon Jeonghan

pairing: bestfriend!Jeonghan x afab!reader tags/genre: angst, slow burn, friends to lovers (?), maybe fluff?, maybe suggestive? (minors DNI), college au, frat au, mentions of alcohol (drunk cheol appearance), the reader is a bit emotional, no specific pronouns but mentions wearing a skirt w/c: ~1.4 (a bit long for a timestamp I'm sorry) summary: Jeonghan has always been your Valentine, even if he's only been your best friend all these years. a/n: this is an excerpt that was taken out of my WIP Over the Country Club [teaser link here], which I didn't plan to include and sort of used to think of how I want to develop their dynamic a bit more. I still thought it would be fun to share! Happy Valentine's (and carat) day!

“There you are! Don’t you know I’ve been looking everywhere for you?” The shrill voice that rang from behind you was easily recognizable as your best friend’s. His tone was unfamiliar, a mix of disappointment and concern that made your eardrums trill in embarrassment knowing you must have worried him. Selfishly, you don’t bother to respond nor look in his direction, too embarrassed to face him and expose your likely swollen eyes.  

It’s not like he’s bothered to spend any time with you tonight anyway. You didn’t think he’d even notice you were gone. 

Jeonghan comes to a hesitant stop behind where you’re sat on the curb, sneakers smacking on the dewy pavement just inches away from you, definitely close enough to hear your sniffles. A quiet hiccup escapes you, pulling a sigh from Jeonghan who evaluates you carefully. 

Admittedly, if Jeonghan hadn’t spent the last thirty minutes running around the frat house in a frenzied search for you, he might have teased your slumped form that was dressed in a ridiculous Valentine’s Day get-up. The red tinsel headband with spring hearts was crooked on your head, your hair slightly frizzy from the humid air of the yearly Cupid’s Arrow party his frat held, and fingertips nervously tugging at your comically short miniskirt. 

Jeonghan advised you not to wear that skirt tonight, not that he ever intended to dictate what you wore, but just out of friendly concern. You know, since you might get cold, and definitely not because he had a hard time controlling his wandering eyes. No, friends don’t do that. 

As per usual, you were excited about this party; you had a plethora of festive accessories - including that silly headband you were presently wearing - that you’d dig through a bin for, fishing out an item for you and Jeonghan to wear. (Every year you’d beg Jeonghan to wear something festive, he’d typically settle for the fuzzy pink ‘xoxo’ socks you had, but this year he let you put little heart stickers on his cheeks). 

“Everything OK?” His voice is soft, deciding to set aside his frustration that you’ve been MIA. Jeonghan squats down behind you to place a gentle hand on your back, feeling you tense slightly at the contact, but you don’t pull away from him, which he takes as a good sign. “What’s wrong, Y/N?” 

“Nothing’s wrong,” you mumble, your voice sounding a bit hoarse, revealing that something is in fact wrong. Jeonghan sighs again, this time you feel his breath fan out against the back of your neck, making your skin prickle at the warmth. 

There’s a pause as if Jeonghan is thinking deeply about what could have caused you to be upset. “You were with all the guys when I last saw you. Was it Cheol? Did he say something stupid?” 

“Jeonghan,” your voice is whiny, and it would almost be embarrassing if it wasn’t your best friend you were talking to. Seungcheol didn’t upset you. Well, maybe he inadvertently did, which is why you couldn’t admit to Jeonghan that he might be onto something. You forget that Jeonghan knows you better than anyone does. 

“It was, wasn’t it?” Jeonghan clicks his tongue, an incredulous laugh escaping his lips. “That bastard. Do you want me to go knock some sense into him? He’s on another level tonight, seriously can’t keep his mouth shut.”

You’re almost frantic, turning around to grab Jeonghan’s wrist when you feel him stand up to go confront his frat brother, who was also one of your closest confidants other than Jeonghan. 

Seungcheol who may have had too much to drink tonight and may have been a bit loose-lipped when he pointed out the fact that, slurring, “You know, Y/N. Jeonghan’s really messed up your game tonight. Won’t let anyone hit on you, even told the whole frat that you were off limits for Valentine’s, and he’s practically ditched you with me. What’s that all about? Kinda fucked up if you ask me, dude.” 

When Seungcheol made his comment, you had rolled your eyes and shoved some crackers his way, encouraging him to sober up. He was talking a load of bullshit. That was until you really sat back and thought about it, how no one has approached you tonight. Not even one soul, and at this point you settled on the fact you’d unceremoniously go home alone later tonight. It hadn’t bothered you at all, not until your eyes narrowed in on Jeonghan who was busy flirting in the corner, a sinking feeling settling in your stomach at the sight. 

God, was that a confusing feeling. Enough to send you into a panic, sending you stumbling outside in search of fresh air. Instead of finding solstice, it almost felt as if the cool breeze knocked some sense into you, tears welling in your eyes thinking ‘fuck, it is annoying that Jeonghan hasn’t spent any time with me tonight. It is annoying that I’ve been apparently branded with an invisible ‘off limits’ sign. And why is he there flirting with someone instead of hanging out with me?’ 

Not that you planned on leaving, but you needed to collect your thoughts a bit before heading back inside. You hadn’t realized you were gone for that long until Jeonghan came looking for you.

Hence, which is why Jeonghan feels his heart breaking when he sees your expression, a small hand wrapped around his wrist and red-rimmed eyes silently pleading as if to say ‘don’t leave.’

Like the softie he is for you, Jeonghan pauses, urging you to speak when he quietly utters, “Something’s wrong, and I can’t help you if I don’t know why.” 

“It’s seriously nothing,” you breathe, finally gathering the courage to stand up from the curb. You let go of his wrist to properly brush yourself off. You know Jeonghan doesn’t believe you, so you muster up your best lie. “Just a few tipsy tears over the fact it’s another year without a Valentine. Nothing to worry about.” 

It’s a big lie, you’re practically sober, and not once have you ever been bothered by the lack of a true Valentine. However, after seemingly contemplating your words for a moment, it must be convincing enough for Jeonghan, who pulls you into a comforting embrace, lips pressing against your forehead just like he usually does when you’re upset over something. 

“That’s not true,” he mumbles into your hair, a teasing smile evident when he squeezes you a bit too tightly, earning a discontent groan from you. “You know I’m always your Valentine. Forever and always your Valentine.”

To which your heart skips a beat, what is supposed to be an innocent comment evokes a foreign feeling in your tummy for the second time tonight. It was true, long ago you two had pinky promised in grade school that you’d always be each other’s Valentines, not knowing the true nature of the holiday at that time. It was a curse you clearly had to deal with for almost your entire life. 

As you attempt to push him away, his nimble fingers tickle your sides in an attempt to cheer you up. Jeonghan stumbles away from you when you successfully break away, loving the way you huff in frustration at his teasing, his impish laugh quelling the weird fluttering feeling through your body. 

“Shut up, Yoon Jeonghan,” you use his legal name, evoking an incredulous chuckle from him as you stomp towards the house. It’s a feeble attempt to get as far away as possible, trying to hide what you assume is an incriminating blush on your cheeks. 

“Slow down, Valentine,” he sing-songs behind you, following closely as you re-enter the house, and immediately pulling you in for a bone-crushing back hug, guiding you back towards your typical group of friends. 

Thankfully, you find Seungcheol in a much more sober state, but you almost wish he was long gone, face-down in his bed instead. Especially when his sharp eyes narrow in on you and Jeonghan, curious and analyzing as Jeonghan clings to you. It wasn’t out of the usual, it was just that Seungcheol started paying closer attention, and you felt seen for the first time ever during your friendship with Jeonghan. 

“You sure you’re doing OK?” Jeonghan asks, his voice low as he leans closer to your ear, making sure you hear him over the booming music. 

It was then you knew you absolutely were not OK. Regardless, you twist your body as best as you can in Jeonghan’s grip, head craning so that you're face-to-face with your best friend. His worried eyes indicate that he’s still concerned, leaving you to breathlessly (nervously) respond, “Yeah, I swear I’m OK. Thanks for always being my Valentine, Hannie.”

#jeonghan fic #yoon jeonghan #seventeen fic #seventeen angst #svthub #yoon jeonghan fic #jeonghan angst #jeonghan x reader #jeonghan seventeen #jeonghan

[yoimix]

genshin men + dressing (their) wounds 

ft. childe, xiao, kaeya

[ tw: violence, language ]

✽ childe is no stranger to blood, not when he’s covered in it half the time he visits you. either his body has an unending production of blood or he’s committed murder on a catastrophic scale. to be honest, you’re not quite sure childe is human at times. the exasperation he instills in you is certainly not humanly possible. you’re not sure how you crossed fate so horribly that you were sent this infuriating manchild for a friend, walking around your living room like he owns it. you’ve said this before and you’ll say it again, “if i smell blood in my house again, i swear i’ll let you rot outside” and always his reply will be, “well, what perfume would you like me to buy?” you tell yourself he’s a complete jerk and redemption would require divine interception. yet, you let him in every goddamn time. you don’t know what part of you it is that believes in him so strongly. 

“please, (name), i promise i didn’t lose that much blood this time,” childe whines outside your door.

you make no notion of unlocking the door. “then you can take care of yourself!”

“oh come on, where else can i go?”

“the fucking hospital? i’m not even trained medical personnel.”

“aw, but you can cure me no matter what.”

there’s dead silence following that. childe knocks frantically at your door.

“i’m sorry! i’m sorry i said that! please let me in, it’s getting colder.”

you sigh. there it is again. some part of you always gives in and the rest of you collapses. you must be cursed.

you slowly pull the latch, and open the door to the tall figure of none other than the eleventh harbinger.

the filthy liar. this is far more blood than ever before. you can’t even locate the source but you notice the deep red along his side and leg. childe offers you a bright, almost child-like grin. you look at him horrified.

it only lasts for a moment before he collapses forward into you, nearly knocking the wind out of you. you swear this man is a walking medical emergency. well, not quite walking now.

childe is heavier than you expected, and it takes you a few minutes and a whole lot of effort to get him to the couch. long enough for him to regain consciousness, while you bring in your first aid kit. you hate stitching.

“i’m so glad i got here on time,” he groans, trying to sit up.

“no! no, lie back down. we have to stop the blood flow.”

“oh, good idea.”

“are you an idiot?”

childe pouts, obeying your commands without further argument. he must be really injured.

“okay. now take off your shirt.” you pull out the stitches and bandages from the kit.

“woah.” childe’s eyes widen. “at least take me on a date first.”

“now’s not the time!” you yell. does he have no situational awareness? archons, he needs not only medical help but something for his loose screws.

cleaning the wounds are easier said than done. there’s a gaping hole at his side, though no organs were irreparably damaged and the gash on his leg is shallow but it’s still at the risk of infection.

“you’ve made a mess, ajax,” you mumble, getting worried. sure, you’ve stitched injuries like this back when you were with the fatui soldiers. but it’s been a while. leave it to childe to give you enough stress to last a month.

“this might sting.”

“more than the alcohol? you know i really prefer alcohol in drin—“

he hisses at the first prick, clenching his teeth in pain but he makes no other sound. he’s been through worse, you tell yourself. you try your best to fight the sympathy you feel.

“you can take it, big boy,” you mutter, focusing on stitching his the wound shut. “don’t look.”

“i’m really not,” he says through clenched teeth.

when the stitches are done, you can finally exhale a sigh of relief. childe rests his head on the headrest of your couch, looking glassily at the ceiling. 

“ajax?” you spring up, worried. “are you okay?”

you lean over to have a closer look. there’s no way this would kill him. he’s your ajax, after all. 

“ajax!” you call again, panicking as you smack his cheek lightly.

“huh?” he blinks, finally lifting his head. “oh, zoned out for a bit there. it numbed the pain though.”

“oh my fucking god, you’re the worst,” you exhale loudly. you can’t admit out loud the relief flooding your heart. teyvat could crumble into the abyss and you’d still choose for him to be safe and sound. so that’s what it is.

you’re in love with an idiot.

“next time, go to a hospital, ajax.” you breathe heavily, still trying to catch up. 

“you could kiss me better and it’d still be more efficient than the stupid hospital.” he rolls his eyes. you ignore the tiny ripple in your heart.

“or, i beat you till you’re bedridden and aren’t at my house at midnight five fucking times a week.”

“mhm, just say you want to kiss me.”

you hold yourself back from pouncing onto the man and worsening his injuries. sucking your teeth, you put the bandage roll back in, shutting the drawer rather aggressively.

“woah, cupcake, what did the drawer ever do to you?”

“i’m about to do the same to you if you don’t shut the fuck up.”

“ooh, slam me against a wall and- oof.”

the flick to the forehead was well deserved. he heaves out a sigh before shaking his head and looking at you with raised brows.

“well, someone’s gotten stronger since we last sparred,” he whistles. “your finger strength is no joke. shall we have an arm wrestling match?”

“i will literally break your arm.”

“my, isn’t that exciting?”

you hold back the urge to scream. you do not have enough sleep in your system to deal with this. “recover, ajax.”

“but what’s the point? if i’m all healthy and spry, you don’t spare a glance at me.”

you knit your brows together. “what?”

he shrugs. “right now, you’re looking at me and god, i love your eyes on me, but morning comes and you turn away.”

“i don’t understand, ajax.”

“you don’t spar with me like you used to, you don’t write to me, you don’t even keep your old insignia.” childe gulps, a somber look in his eyes as he fidgets with his fingers. “it’s like you didn’t care about how i felt at all.”

“you—what?”

“i loved you, (name),” he whispers, meeting your gaze with solemn grief. you’re certain you’ve only seen that look years ago, when he was finally found after reported missing. it unnerves you.

“you... loved me?” you try to process his words.

“i still do,” he adds, with a small smile. “so please keep patching me up. please keep looking at me.”

“oh, ajax,” you choke over your words. “i didn’t leave because i didn’t care about you. in fact, you’re the one i- you’re the only one who could’ve convinced me to stay.”

childe’s eyes widen. you nudge closer, avoiding his gaze.

“i’m sorry, ajax. the fatui life wasn’t for me but i should’ve left you an explanation.”

“so you don’t hate me?” childe’s eyes almost spark again.

“now, that’s taking it too far,” you joke, and childe laughs softly. he moves as gently as he can, like a lion cub play-hunting, and lands a kiss against your cheek, your jaw and the corner of your lips. as though waiting for permission, his lips hover over yours.

you close the distance, with a kiss as delicate as fresh snow.

“this injury thing really sucks,” childe complains, pulling back with a grimace.

“you realize that now?!” 

“woah, babe, no need to yell. i’m not going to fight a couple ruin guards at once again.”

“you did what?!” your tone gets even louder, nearing a shriek.

childe looks at you, perplexed. “what? i wasn’t aiming for this! just a few gashes so you’d fix me. i won’t do it again.”

“what the actual fuck, ajax? that’s it. you’re not leaving the house for a month. no, two months.” you frown at the man beside you, who looks the least bothered. in fact, he’s got a feline curve to his smile.

“so... do i still get get-well kisses?”

the audacity.

“...yes.”

✽ xiao can only whisper your name after fights, when he’s at your window like a cat that keeps coming back to the kind stranger that fed him. a gash on his chest, blood on his chin and cheeks—it doesn’t matter. even if you’ve never patched up an adeptus before, it is as your training goes. one thread, stitch by stitch. “it doesn’t hurt, it doesn’t hurt” he repeats as he collapses into your arms. he’s not one to take you for granted but you’re not one to give up. xiao’s skin is warm and his face is beautiful even when he’s in this state. it makes you wonder what it means to be an adeptus, though you’d dare not question. to you, xiao is just a boy you met by the crystal sea on a clear night that you refused to leave hurt. even if the hurt was a little scratch on the bridge of his nose. after all, your painted flower bandaids matched his hair all too well.

“you don’t- you don’t... have to,” xiao still manages to say, leaning against the headrest of your bed while you scurry around to bring your supplies.

“you came here, xiao.” you click your tongue. 

xiao looks down at his hands, covered in dry red. “i wasn’t thinking.”

you bring everything to your bedside table, hands shaking despite everything. you’ve done this so many times. taking a deep breath, you press the back of your hand against xiao’s forehead before flinching away. for a moment, xiao looks almost hurt.

“you’re burning up,” you gasp. “oh, mr zhongli left medicine for that. let me fetch that after you’ve stopped bleeding.”

you always blab when you’re working on a patient. whether it’s to ease their nerves or yours, you can’t say. you just know that you talk and xiao listens.

“and that’s how i stitched the hole in my foot after the whole sharp rock mess. ugh. it was horrible but hey, experience is experience.”

when you don’t get his usual hum of a response, you look up to find xiao dozed off. it’s strange, how it makes you feel. on one hand, your heart flutters at the thought of him being comfortable enough to fall asleep in your bedroom. on the other hand, you want to scream at him for coming to your house so injured. you nearly got a heart attack. this can’t be payback for you calling him at random times, can it? he appears at your call every time no matter what, even if if you called him to share ice cream with you. 

you sigh, brushing the hair out of his face. he looks so peaceful. if you can take away his pain for even a second, you’d rush to it.

“i don’t call you to annoy you, you know?” you say quietly, soft breaths departing your lips. “i just want you to be with me longer.”

his breathing stays steady, dreamless yet. you lean down to land a peck on his forehead, giggling as you pull away. he’s too cute. you think you’re the one who deserves a forehead kiss after all that hard work but you’ll let it slide. you lose yourself in daydreams so easily. just for a moment, you close your eyes.

xiao’s sudden coughing makes you startle, and you turn to him but he doesn’t face you.

“i... i breathed in too sharply,” he confesses, unable to meet your gaze. under the moonlight, you can see clearly the silken scarlet over his cheeks and ears.

“oh, you were awake,” you ponder aloud, feeling a bit embarrassed yourself. “it’s just part of the treatment process. good patients get forehead kisses.”

“you... kiss all your patients?” xiao slowly turns to you.

you scratch the base of your neck. “eh, not really. you’re just... too tempting.”

you can almost see the blood rushing to his face; you’re not sure if it’s out of embarrassment or indignation.

“what’s that supposed to mean?”

“oh, i don’t mean it in a bad way! well, this isn’t the best time for you to realize.”

xiao purses his lips. “you know i’ll hurt you.”

you raise your arms in defense. “i’m still unhurt, aren’t i?”

he clenches his jaw, eyebrows slightly furrowed. “it’s a slow death. you won’t know till you’re in the jaws.”

“i’ve lived a lot of deaths, xiao. i’m a doctor.”

“i can’t just have you ta—i can’t do this to you. i’m sorry i- i don’t know what comes over me.”

“what, when you’re getting yourself killed?”

“i always come running to you,” he mumbles, meeting your eyes. is it guilt? “it’s unfair.”

you grin wide. “you have a home here, xiao. even if you don’t pay rent.”

“what’s rent?”

you shake your head, a quick sigh leaving your lips. unable to help your self, you cup his cheeks, squishing them. there’s a solid chance no one in the history of teyvat has done this to xiao. 

“you better keep that cute face looking fresh. the day you die is the day i go out of business. do you know how many sick and injured i get every day in liyue harbor? even baizhu wouldn’t be able to keep up.”

xiao looks up at you soundlessly, eyes wide. almost like a deer caught in headlights. he moves his mouth but no sound comes.

“well, alright.” you let go. “i’ll reapply the ointment tomorrow morning so you can’t run away. and you need to take the packs of medicine mr zhongli keeps sending! i’m running out of storage.”

looks like the cat got his tongue. you don’t mind stunning him into stupor but his eyes on you make your stomach flutter.

“anyway, good night, xi—”

you’re pulled by the wrists towards xiao now sitting up. a pair of warm lips press against your forehead.

“thank you,” his whisper is hoarse. 

you look up to meet a small smile. you never realized how you yearned for it.

“of course, xiao.”

✽ kaeya would climb inside his grave himself before lets you know of his injuries. he’d much rather make sure you’re okay from the shadows, and he can’t really do that if you’re fussing over ever little gash and bruise. seriously, he didn’t ask for a nagging mother. despite being friends for quite some while, he tries his best to keep you at arm’s length. none of his misdeeds should catch up to you. enemies always start out friends, brothers even. if he were wiser, he would’ve stopped you the moment you held his hand and made him promise he’d stay safe. he regrets you—except when the soft touch of your palms press against his skin with unbound concern. this is cruel. no mater how elusive he can be, you always find him. dragged against his will to the favonius infirmary, he’s met with a constant glare from you as you grab the rubbing alcohol and cotton pads.

“it’s just a few scratches,” kaeya tries to appeal.

you see right through him. “if you move an inch from this spot, kaeya, i’ll make sure jean assigns soldiers to reporting your whereabouts. at all times.”

he grimaces at the thought. “no thanks. i’m great right where i am.”

“good.”

you dab the long gash along his bicep, trying not peek beyond his shoulder at his exposed chest. you’re not like one of those ladies swooning over cavalry captain kaeya. no, you have it so much worse. you can’t even begin to explain the stress this man gives you when he returns with bruises and cuts like they mean nothing to him. your trust must be lawless to him, as he saunters into trouble left and right.

“you’re done,” you announce loudly, a little pissed by now. helping him slip his arm into the sleeve, you huff. 

“gosh, i’d expect the cavalry captain to be more careful.” you cross your arms. “wasn’t it an infiltration job?”

“unfortunately, confrontation is required sometimes, dear.”

“oh, must be mortifying for you.”

kaeya rolls his eyes. “it was a job well done. if only someone would stop fussing over every little boo-boo.”

you glare at him. “if only someone would stop trying to get himself killed.”

“ah, how are they supposed to make me martyr then?”

“that’s not funny, kaeya.” you point a finger at him threateningly.

“sorry.” he raises his hands in defeat.

you shake your head, still annoyed at his nonchalance. you go back to buttoning the rest of his shirt. you swear you’re not looking. “archons, i can’t believe you got knocked on your ass by that little fatui guy.”

“combat was never my forte,” he mutters, chuckling. “it was all diluc back then. i wanted to be like him because i thought he was cool.”

“well, you’re not diluc.” you fix his collar. “but you’re still cool, if that’s any consolation.”

“oh? you don’t seem like the type attracted to the cold.” 

you roll your eyes at his shit-eating grin.

“attracted is a strong word. i just tolerate it. the cold.”

“tolerate it by dragging it indoors against its will? and then spend over an hour making sure it’s okay?” 

“ugh! what is your problem? i’m just looking out for you,” you huff, crossing your arms.

“by walking into danger?” kaeya raises his voice. “i told you to not follow me to the fatui camp! do you know what could’ve happened, (name)?”

“that’s your problem, kaeya,” you snap. “you assume i can’t take care of myself.”

“and your problem is that you never assume things can go very wrong very fast.” kaeya clenches his jaw, eyes trained on yours. 

you scoff. “guess we’re made for each other, huh?” 

“that we are,” he mutters.

an uncomfortable silence follows.

“i’m sorry,” kaeya speaks up first. “i didn’t mean to undermine you. i just... i want to look out for you the way you always do for me.”

“you do plenty already,” you mumble, looking down at your feet.

“hey.” kaeya hooks his finger under your chin to make you meet his eyes. “i really am sorry. i... you’re more important to me than you realize.”

he gulps, nerves on edge. he always comes so close to confessing, but it is never his intention.

“oh, for the love of god,” you heave. does he really not know the effect he has on you? when his touch, his gaze and this proximity are all driving you insane?

“excuse me?” he raises an eyebrow.

“don’t say things like that unless you want me to- to- ugh!”

you get on your tiptoes to reach his lips, yours barely ghosting over his. acting on impulse is right up your alley.

he flinches at the contact, pulling back. “lip’s still busted.”

“sorry,” you respond quickly, embarrassment flooding your face.

kaeya instantly bursts into laughter. “you really thought a busted lip would stop me? after all this time holding back? i hope you like the taste of blood, darling.”

your face heats up. “huh?”

kaeya pulls you closer by the waist, his other hand cupping your cheek like porcelain when he presses his lips against yours. and when he deepens the kiss, you do taste blood but neither of you pull back till you’re out of breath.

kaeya whistles. “never thought you’d be out here committing inappropriate workplace behavior.”

“you- you kissed me!” you sputter, heating up at his teasing look.

“ah, but who kissed me first?”

“kaeya,” you whine. “fine. have this victory. i’m leaving. you have fun alone with medical supplies.”

kaeya nearly falls off the bed trying to grab your arm and pulling you back. you glare him, even when nestled between his arms.

“hey, hey.” he pouts. “who said i’m reporting this to jean? i play nice.”

kaeya leans in, a smile brighter than the summer ocean. you’re so distracted, you can barely react to his kisses. 

“okay, enough. if you kiss me aga—mmpf—kaeya, i swear—mm—stop kissing me! i’ve had enough of the blood!”

kaeya’s frown deepens though he tries not show it. “so what? i’m supposed to tell the enemy to spare my face next time?”

“yes. and this means you’re also focusing on recovery full time.”

kaeya’s mouth hangs slightly agape. “you can’t deprive me like this.”

“you can stay deprived a week or two. that should teach you not to fight senselessly and then have the audacity to avoid me.”

kaeya can only sigh. “alright. this victory’s yours now.”

you grin. “you get one last kiss for admitting that.”

kaeya’s eye lights up immediately, and you nearly melt. you cup his face, and press your lips to his, telling yourself it’s the last. (no, you didn’t give him three extra kisses just because he looked cute with his messy hair and bright lovesick smile.)

#genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #childe x reader #xiao x reader #kaeya x reader #genshin impact scenarios #childe fluff #genshin fluff #xiao fluff #kaeya fluff #genshin x you #kaeya x you #childe x you #xiao x you #genshin impact fluff #childe scenarios #xiao scenarios #kaeya scenarios #yoimix.hc #childe is me after i fight a ruin guard without zhongli #this is not proofread i stress wrote this in 4 hours

[rendy-a]

OML I READ UR Malleus and Sebek courting mini fics and so cuteee AAAAAAAAAA

May we have a continuation? Where they receive a gift from reader?

Thank you ahead!

~~~🌟🎃

I'm so glad you enjoyed it. Here is a little more about how it might be when you gift him in return. I must say I had a lot of fun writing Sebek's part. He is such an amusing character to write.

Grim sat up from the small bed you’d set up for him in the corner and shouted, “Stop bringing that junk in here!”  You look over at him apologetically but still move over to your old nest and drop in the armful of fluff.  Grim shows his disapproval by growling.  “Sorry, but it has to be done!”  Grim’s brow furrows and he shouts, “Well then do it in your own room!” Then he burrows back into his own bed and pulls the covers overtop of him, hiding your nonsense from view. 

You were sorry, you really were but honestly, this was your room.  They all were.  It had been years since you’d married Malleus and become the consort of Briar Valley’s Prince.  As for Grim, you were a pair for such a long time that he’d joined you in moving to Briar Valley when you’d married.  You set him up in another room in your suite.  After a few years, you’d admitted to Malleus that you weren’t so fond of sleeping in the nest.  He’d laughed and moved you into a more standard bedroom.  It had a large comfortable bed and, after sleeping on twigs, you’d been ecstatic.  Grim, on the other hand, had resented your invasion of ‘his room’ and chosen to move into the room with your abandoned nest. 

‘No, not abandoned,’ you admonished yourself, ‘just preserved.’  It was still intact in the adjoining room, waiting.  Waiting for… well, you couldn’t finish that thought and instead, shook the fluster from your face and returned to the garden, seeking out more items to fill your empty nest.  Spring was the perfect time for your hunt as many trees in the garden dropped large pods of silky material to pollinate.  You pushed aside the long grasses looking for them.  “There are some in the west garden,” Lilia said suddenly.  You choke back a yelp.  Over the years, you’d become better at not being surprised by Lilia.  Or at least better about showing it.  He’d also become your closest conspirator in this matter.  When he’d seen you tucking a handful of feathers into your pockets, he’d looked at you with such an expression of glee that you’d have thought it was a gift for him and not Malleus.  But, you supposed, he had been waiting for quite a long time.  “I’d better go grab them before the wind takes them away then!”  He gives you a wink and you trot off.

The book (lent by Lilia all those years ago at NRC) had been clear; it was the job of the courting dragon to gather sticks and branches to create a nest to welcome a new partner into their life.  You’d remembered the first branch Malleus had given you fondly, a gift as good as a declaration of marriage.  Then it was the job of the partner to eventually fill the nest with warm, soft, and fluffy material to prepare for the next phase.  So here you were, tramping through bushes; looking for seed pods, feathers and really anything natural that you could find that would make a good stuffing for your nest.  It wasn’t easy though, not considering the size of the nest you had to fill.  You wished that Malleus had been a trifle less eager to impress when he’d been courting you; it would have made your job now a bit easier.

“Here,” came a voice from behind.  You look up and see Silver holding out a basket of feathers and fur.  “My bird friends had gathered too much for their own nests and wanted to share this.”  You smile back, “I’m sure they had a basket laying around too.”  At this Sebek bristles.  He’d never fully accepted you as the Consort of Briar Valley but, over time, he had come to a certain sort of understanding about your place here.  As long as you made Malleus happy, he seemed to gain a certain amount of satisfaction in assisting you.  “Just be grateful it’s for the great Malleus!  I couldn’t accept the young master having dirtied or rumpled feathers in his nest, so I was forced to find that basket.”  You smile at the young guard and see his cheeks flush in response. 

Really, it was like all the friends from your past school days were still here rooting for you and Malleus to have a happy ending.  It made you rather hopeful yourself.  You give them a nod of thanks and add your own finds to the basket and set off to your room.  With this basketful, you figured you’d be around halfway done.  If you gathered the rest of spring, and factoring in the rainy season, maybe by hmm… Bump!  You run into an unexpected obstacle.  You think you might fall and clutch the basket tightly only to blink after a moment and reassess.  You hadn’t fallen at all; you’d been caught in the arms of your loving husband. 

“My treasure, are you harmed?” Malleus asks in concern.  You hug the basket tighter, trying to hide the contents from his view, “Ah, no dear, I’m fine.  Thank you for catching me.”  Then you place a sweet kiss on his cheek before attempting to slip away.  You almost accomplish it before you feel his grip on your sleeve, holding you back.  “You wouldn’t be trying to hide something from me, would you my precious one?”  For a moment, you consider trying to evade his question but decide you’d rather be honest with him.  You sigh and hold out the basket, “It was supposed to be a surprise.”  He looks inside at the collection of fluffy things inside and back at you with wide eyes.  “You…you aren’t upset, are you?”

Instead of answering, Malleus quietly walks into your old room and stops at the edge of the nest.  You walk carefully to his side and peer inside at the fluffy collection you’ve started.  You wait for him to say something and when he doesn’t you look up at him and see a tear rolling down his cheek.  You reach out and hold his hand tightly, then grab the basket from his hand and drop the collection into the nest.  You both stand there, side by side in the twilight, until you finally decide to break the silence.  “I know we technically aren’t compatible like that, but I remembered when we married you said that there were ways it could happen if we used magic.  I was watching the trees bud and the birds making nests and it was like, I just knew it was time.”    

You hold out the last feather from your basket and Mallues takes it from your hand and gently places it into the nest.  Then he smiles in a way he so rarely does, fully radiant and content; it reminds you greatly of the day of your wedding.  When you meet his gaze, he picks you up and twirls you around while you both laugh.  You had a long way to go to finish collecting the lining for your nest, but you know you’ve collected the most important part: the agreement of your partner.  And soon, Grim would need to move again.  This room was going to return to what it was always meant to be, a nursery.

Family was important to the Zigvolt clan.  Sebek had older siblings and, by now, many nieces and nephews; all of which felt like were visiting today.  You and your spouse had run all over the house minding the little ones while your grateful in-laws took a break.  You had just corralled a little green-haired boy, whose fang toothed smile reminded you greatly of his favorite uncle, when the small hand pointed over your shoulder and a surprisingly loud voice demanded, “What’s that!”  You follow his hand to see him pointing to the two rocks that sit side by side on your mantle.  A fond smile crosses your face, “Those rocks?  Those are something special for your uncle and I.”  Then comes the dreaded word, “Why?”  You pause, unsure if this was the sort of story to interest such a young child, “Oh I don’t know.  Ask you Uncle when you are older.”

“NONSENSE!” comes a voice from the kitchen and you see your spouse striding over to you.  He transfers the little boy from your arms to his own. “It’s a fine story to inspire the youth with.  COME CHILD and I will tell you the story about my MOST ROMANTIC spouse and their gift to me.”  You’d like to just shake your head and walk away but you know it’s probably best to follow them and make sure he gets the story right.  Sebek can be prone to some…minor exaggeration...where you are involved.

They arrive at the mantle and the child points at the pebble Sebek had gifted you all those years ago.  “I like that one, it sparkles inside.”  Sebek frowns, “Forget that common rock and pay attention to the THIS AMAZING TREASURE!” Sebek tries to shift the attention of the boy to the plain looking rock that sits next to it, and you can see the puzzlement in his face.  Instead of trying to explain, your spouse is just standing there, smirking with an intense look of pride on his face.  It is probably time for you to take over.

You place you hand on Sebek’s shoulder, gaining the attention of both the boys.  You smile at your nephew and point to the sparkling rock.  “Your uncle gave that to me when we were in school.  He told me that he found it while visiting a ruin with Lord Malleus.”  Your nephew gasps and states in awe, “With the young Lord?”  You glance over and see Sebek preening at the attention being given to Malleus; some things never changed.  “Then he gave it to me as proof of his love,” you smile fondly at your spouse. 

“So, then you gave him this rock?” a small voice interjects.  “Yeah, that’s right,” you reply.  He seems to consider that for a long moment before carefully turning back to you and informing you, “Well there is something I’d like to say about that rock, but Master Lilia says if you can’t say something nice then you should say anything at all.”  You are HIGHLY amused by his cheek and not offended at all; you know your rock is rather plain.  However, when you turn to look at your spouse, you can see that Sebek’s eyes are wide with shock as though he cannot fathom how to reply to such an outrageous statement.  You chuckle to yourself at how adorable he looks before continuing.

“Hmm, that is true,” you begin, “but you see, I looked all over for a special rock to give to your uncle.  I wanted it to be just as amazing as his was.”  Your nephew nods sagely.  “The only thing was, I couldn’t find one.  I had these friends in school, see, and we used to walk all over after class.”  Ace, Deuce and Grim; ah, the bittersweet memories of friendships grown distant over time.  “And they would help me look for my special rock.  We looked for 3 years straight but never found it.  Then I went on my internship year, and I had to look alone.”  You smile sadly at the small child who seems very invested in the outcome of your quest, “But you found it, right?  You had to because you married my uncle, right? Right?”  You barely contained your laugh but when you looked at your spouse to see him nod eagerly at each ‘right’ you no longer were able to hold it back.

You let out a merry chuckle, “Well, I certainly looked that whole year in every free moment I had but, no, I never did find it.”  You look down at the boy whose mouth is making a perfect O in surprise.  “That’s not how stories are supposed to go.”  He tugs at Sebek’s shirt, “Uncle, tell her that isn’t how its supposed to go.”  Sebek turns to your and practically shouts, “THAT’S NOT HOW IT’S SUPPOSED TO GO!”  You wonder if he has somehow gotten so caught up in the moment that he’s forgotten he knew how the story ends. 

“All right, all right,” you wave them down.  “Well, after internship we all went back to school for graduation where Master Lilia and Silver have come to accompany Sebek back to Briar Valley.  I felt like I had no right to ask to go with them, considering I’d never properly confessed my feelings with my own rock.  I was just standing there, wondering where I’d go and what I’d do when Silver just picked up my bag and asked if I was ready.  So, I went.”  You smile fondly at the memory of Silver, who was like another brother to you at this point, and the way his easy generosity had included you into their group.  You ignore Sebek’s grumbling…something about Silver and how Sebek was perfectly capable of carrying your bag…

“When we got home, Sebek took me to meet your Grandpa and Grandma.  At the door of the house was this rock.”  You smile and point at your plain looking rock.  “That rock,” Sebek finally contributes, “was always showing up there.  I think it was earth fae or something playing a joke.  I moved it so many times, but it always ended up back on the front step.”  You lean in and wink at the boy, “That’s when I knew that was my rock.  Its not flashy or exciting but whenever he comes home, there I would be.”  You meet your spouse’s eyes and share a moment that needed no words.

“Then what?” a little voice interrupted.  “Well, you don’t want to know the rest,” you reply gently.  “Is it kissing stuff?” he asks as though that was the grossest thing he could imagine.  You nod at him in affirmation, “It’s kissing stuff.”  He rolls his eyes and signals his uncle to set him down, which he does.  As your nephew departs, you notice your spouse looking at you with a familiar look in his eye.  “So, what now?” you ask him, “Is it kissing stuff?”  He flashes you a fang-toothed smile, “It’s kissing stuff.”  And it was.

#twst #twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #malleus draconia x reader #malleus x reader #sebek x reader #sebek zigvolt x reader

[the-travelling-witch]

𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐀𝐅𝐅𝐄𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒

summary: meeting the handsome guy from the shop next door doesn't go quite as you expect it to

pairing: tattoo artist! kazuha x florist gn! reader

warnings: none except for kazuha himself, just pure fluff

modern au series || genshin impact masterlist

The breeze gently swayed the wind chimes decorating your humble flower shop as you rearranged some of the bigger plants. Despite the warm spring weather and bright sun, it was a tranquil day at the shop. With no holiday around the corner, people weren’t exactly barging down your door at this time of day.

As you were about to repot some of the flowers which had grown too big for their respective pots, your doorbell signalled a customer entering. Quickly, you made your way over into your sales area. In the middle of your shop stood a white-haired man, his mask pulled down and hair tied into a ponytail. When he turned to you, a red streak among the white caught your attention, as well as a few piercings. You couldn’t recall seeing him here before but he seemed somewhat familiar anyway.

“Hi there, how may I help you?” you greeted cheerfully.

“Hello,” he replied warmly, crimson eyes forming crescents as he smiled. In the back of your mind, you noted how beautiful he was. “I was looking for a bouquet or maybe a small potted plant, I’m not quite sure yet. It’s supposed to be a gift. Do you have anything you’d recommend?”

“Sure, please take a look over here.” You walked him over to a small area of potted plants sitting in aesthetically decorated pots. “Personally, I prefer gifting plants like these over cut flowers. Not only do they last a lot longer, they’re also easy to care for. In the end, the choice is yours though, and I’d be happy to show you the already arranged bouquets or bind a unique one for you.”

“Thank you very much, these are perfect though. My mother has a thing for house plants,” he chuckled. Ah, so it was a present for his mother. “Oh, is that a maple leaf over there?”

Stepping aside to let him take a closer look, you nodded. “It is, nicely spotted. I think they make for great decorative elements, given their striking colour.”

“It happens that I’m quite fond of them, too.” The man rolled up the left sleeve of his white jacket to reveal an intricate tattoo sleeve of what appeared to be maple leafs swirling in the wind. “They remind me of home.”

“Wow,” you said, in awe at the artwork, “that is amazing. Whoever drew this must be seriously talented.”

“Yeah, Xiao put his all into this. I drew the actual piece though, so I’m giving myself some credit here,” he sheepishly confessed and scratched his neck. “Ah, Xiao is my colleague. We actually work at the studio next door.”

“So that’s why I thought I had seen you before. It’s nice to meet you, neighbour,” you laughed before giving him your name.

“What a beautiful name, it suits you well.” The melodic lilt of his smooth voice made heat creep up your neck. “My name is Kazuha.”

For a moment, neither of you said anything and it seemed as though the world had stopped as you watched the sunlight break in his crimson eyes. Then with a snap, you remembered where you were and why you were there. You quickly cleared your throat and held up the small plant to him.

“Is this going to be your choice then or would you rather look around a little longer?”

“As much as I’d love to have an excuse to stay, I do think she’d like this one very much,” he said. As you walked over to the register and checked out the plant, you tried not to think about his words too much, otherwise you might not have been able to do much else. When all was said and done, Kazuha pulled his mask up again, yet you could still see his smile beam from his eyes. “Well then, it was nice getting to know you. I hope we’ll see each other more in the future.”

“I hope so too. Have a nice day and feel free to stop by whenever you’d like.”

The doorbell chimed again as Kazuha left with a small wave, which you returned shakily before you buried your face in your hands. Did this really just happen? Did this beautiful man say he wanted to see you again? Was he actually flirting or just being polite? You thought it best not to interpret too much into it, lest you get your hopes up, but your heart was beating out of your chest anyway.

You calmed down over the next few days, although the first couple of times a customer came in, your heart -the traitor- skipped a beat and you mentally kicked yourself for acting like a lovesick fool over a guy you had met once. Slowly but surely though, it was business as usual again and your encounter with him didn’t occupy the forefront of your mind anymore.

Until one afternoon, on which you were faced with striking crimson eyes, that was. You blinked a few times before your brain rebooted and you scrambled for something to say.

“K-Kazuha! Nice to see you again,” you greeted, not very professionally, might you add. “Here for another potted plant?”

Fortunately he chuckled about your clumsy attempt at a joke before gently shaking his head. “No, not today. My mother was quite delighted though, so thank you very much for the recommendation.”

“Not at all, you’re the one who picked after all.” Hiding your fidgeting hands behind your back, you tried your best to hold eye contact. “What brings you here then?”

“Ah you see, I'm here to ask a small favour.” At the curious tilt of your head, he continued. “I was wondering if I could stay here for a while to sketch. Last time I was here, I couldn’t help but feel inspired by all the beautiful flowers. I understand if you say no though.”

“No,” you said immediately before catching yourself. “I mean, no, I don’t mind. I’m very flattered actually. Just make yourself comfortable.”

With a warm ‘thank you’, Kazuha settled in a sunny corner of your shop and pulled pencil and paper from his bag. At first you were a little nervous with him there, hyper-aware of your every movement, but it wasn’t long before you found comfort in his presence. 

This became a regular occurrence afterwards. Kazuha would come over to draw whenever he didn’t have any clients booked as you went about your business, every now and then insisting to help you move a heavy pot to make himself useful. Somewhen down the line, he started bringing you coffee or take-out after learning your preferences and vehemently resisted having you pay him back. At one point, you started to wonder whether his coworkers missed him at all.

“They’ll live without me,” he laughed. “And even if, it’s not like I’m far away.”

Another major plus of having Kazuha around was getting a glimpse of his newest pieces, either through a peek over his shoulder or just straight-up asking him. There was something so vivid about his sketches, as if he transferred the vitality of the flowers directly onto the page and you were blown away every time.

One evening, you were sitting in your shop well after closing time. The two of you hadn’t planned to spend the night in, but as fate would have it, it started to heavily pour down as Kazuha was about to leave. So you, without any selfish ulterior motives, offered him to stay until the rain let up.

That was how you found yourself eating some of the pastries he had brought you earlier while Kazuha was drawing vines and flowers onto your arm after you asked him what kind of tattoo he thought would suit you. As he worked, it gave you a great opportunity to study him. 

His light brows were slightly furrowed as he concentrated, his eyes firmly fixed on your skin and his teeth biting down on his plush bottom lip every other minute. The touch of his left hand, holding and angling your arm as he needed it, sent chills up your spine and the pressure from the pen felt more intimate than it should have. Your body was set ablaze with nerves almost as if you got a real tattoo.

All too soon, Kazuha withdrew the pen from your skin, kept his other hand, however, on your arm, sliding it down a little further so it rested almost over yours. His thumb traced some of the lines almost absentmindedly. If he kept this up, you were afraid you’d melt into a puddle right on the spot, not that that would be such a bad way to go out. Then, he slowly lifted his gaze to meet yours through his long lashes and your breath hitched. You were actually sitting across from some kind of ethereal being, you were sure of it.

“So,” he started, voice low in the dimly lit shop, “what do you think?”

“I think it’s beautiful,” you replied without hesitation.

“I’m flattered, but perhaps,” he gave you a sly smile, “you should take a look at the tattoo first?”

Heat bloomed on your cheeks as you averted your eyes. “All your art is gorgeous though, it’s not like I’d have to look to know it’s true,” you mumbled.

Kazuha wore his faint blush a lot more gracefully than you did as he too looked down to take in the lines on your skin in their entirety. The motive he’d chosen was a branch of flowers wrapping around your underarm, detailed and fine, despite the less than ideal equipment to work with. Between the petals, there was one or the other maple leaf peeking through, causing you to smile. You couldn’t help but wonder what it would look like if it was actually inked onto your skin.

“It makes me happy to hear you have so much trust in me,” he genuinely said.

“Looks like I seriously have to think about getting a tattoo now,” you laughed, although there was actual seriousness bleeding into it. “Perhaps I should make an appointment with… what was his name? Xiao?”

“Come on, gorgeous, you can’t tease me like this,” he gasped in faux offence. “You wouldn’t rob me of the honour of being the one to tattoo you, right?”

“I could never,” you breathed, goosebumps rising all over your arm from where he continued to touch you. And Kazuha seemed to notice it too.

“Are you cold? Here, have my jacket.” Before you could refuse, he’d already stepped around the table and draped the garment over your shoulders. You could feel his body heat still emanating from it, the pleasant scent of his cologne surrounding you. “We wouldn’t want you catching a cold, would we?”

You hummed as a response, brain not procuring anything more profound at the newfound proximity. Just like the first time you met, you lost yourself in his swirling pools of maple but this time nothing was there to yank you back to stop you from drowning in them. 

“Has anyone ever told you how beautiful you are?” Kazuha quietly asked, almost as if talking more to himself. “I truly can’t recall anything which could compare.”

“I can,” you countered. When he raised a brow, you continued. “He’s standing right in front of me, actually.”

“I find that hard to believe,” he said fondly. One of the hands previously resting on your shoulders trailed over your skin, light as a feather, before cupping your cheek as if you were a delicate flower. “Hopefully this is not too forward, but… May I kiss you?”

“I’d love nothing more.”

Guided by his hand, you rose from your seat to meet Kazuha halfway before closing your eyes. When your lips met, your first thought was how his lips were as pillowy soft as you imagined. Yours moved seamlessly against them, as if you had done this a hundred times already, yet it was still excitingly new at the same time. Threading your hand into the base of his snowy hair, you carefully tested the waters but were immediately rewarded with a blissful sigh and an arm wrapping around your waist, Kazuha’s fingers splaying over the small of your back and pressing you impossible closer to his chest. 

Only pulling back far enough to speak against your lips, half-lidded eyes gazed into yours as his thumb brushed your cheekbone like the wind caressed the leaves on a tree. “I almost don’t want to stop.”

“Then don’t”, you whispered.

“You have no idea what you do to me, love,” Kazuha groaned before diving back in, this time deepening the kiss almost immediately. Neither of you noticed, nor cared, that the rain had stopped a while ago, too lost in one another to think about much else.

But, quite unfortunately, both of you needed air to live, so you had to reluctantly part eventually. While you breathed heavily, trying to force oxygen back into your lungs, Kazuha peppered a myriad of playful kisses along your jaw and the side of your neck, your giggles reverberating around the shop at the tickling sensation. When he resurfaced, there was a bright spark in his eyes as he mirrored your smile. 

“Even if this might not be the proper order in which to do this, I’d love to take you out on a date one of these days,” he said, seeking out your hand with his and intertwining them. “And hopefully a second one after that.”

“A date, huh?” Running the hand still slung over his shoulder through his hair, you mused lightheartedly. “Sounds like an awful lot of effort to get a new client to tattoo, don’t you think?”

“What can I say,” he played along, “I’m very devoted to the things I hold dear.”

“I don’t doubt that,” you said sincerely, catching on to the double meaning behind his words. “Seems as if I have fallen for your scheme then. 

“A date sounds lovely.”

#┊holly’s potions ೃ༄ #┊holly’s modern au ✩彡 #genshin impact #genshin impact fluff #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #genshin fluff #kazuha x reader #kazuha fluff #genshin impact kazuha #genshin modern au

[cordeliawhohung]

Sun Bleached Flies - Part 1

Simon "Ghost" Riley x fem!Reader - part ten of "soft spot"

Healing never comes as fast and easy as you want it to, but you try and adjust to your new life as best as you can. The thing is, there is no going back, there is only going forward, no matter how much you wished it was otherwise.

warnings: PTSD, angst, minor comfort, panic and anxiety attacks, spook and simon are going through it.

wc: 6.6k

A gentle breeze danced through the open window of his therapist’s office, bringing the scent of spring with it.

Moist grass, a hint of rain, freshly bloomed flowers; all hints of something new being born. Except this wasn’t new for Simon. Sitting in an overly calm and quiet room in a chair that was too soft as a man who looked too ancient for this earth flipped through notes of their previous sessions. 

This wasn’t Simon’s first time in therapy, and he was certain it wouldn’t be his last. After everything he had endured over the winter, he was required to attend sessions before he would be allowed to return back to active duty. He had only started a few weeks ago, as most of his energy and time had gone into taking care of you, but once you were well enough to go back to work, well, it was time to take care of himself. 

“How was your week, lieutenant?” the man spoke up after finally putting his notes down. His name was Gus, and was ex-military. Or, at least Simon assumed he was, judging by the deep and long wrinkled scars that littered his face and the unceremonious use of his rank. “Anything new?” 

“It was alright,” he answered bluntly. He was never quite good with the awkward small talk that came with therapy. Something about how he was supposed to bare his darkest secrets just to talk about the weather was unnerving. “Spook started physical therapy this week.” 

Usually, Simon never used that nickname Johnny coined for you, but ever since you were taken, he felt as if he couldn’t use your real name. That sharing anything about you was forbidden. Or maybe he was just being selfish, wanting to keep you, even your name, all to himself. 

“At least she’s in some sort of therapy,” Gus said dryly. “She still refusing counseling?” 

He nodded solemnly. “Says she doesn’t think she can talk about it yet.” 

Gus grunted a little as he sat forward in his chair. A pair of frail and shaky hands reached up to remove the oversized glasses on his face before he settled his foggy eyes back on Simon. “Does she talk about it with you?” 

“Tries,” he responded sourly. “She used to talk so much about everything; everything except for whatever was hurtin’ her. Always thought she’d tell me eventually, whenever she was ready. But after this shit? I’m fuckin’ lucky to get anything out of her. Even the good stuff.” 

Instead of prompting him with another question, Gus stayed quiet as he stared at Simon, and he knew what it meant. That man must have been in the business of fixing broken soldiers for quite some time because it never took him long to figure out what was bothering him. Always struck gold on the first shovelful of dirt. Might as well make things easy and give up the rest. 

“Everything that I’ve learned about her past I’ve had to piece together myself,” Simon explained. “Her moms passing she told me herself, but I know her previous partner was a right piece of shit. Judging by the way she hardly ever talks about her father, he probably was no better. She hasn’t told me anything about when she was taken, or what they did to her. There’s some stuff I can figure out. God, there was fuckin’ photographic proof on the damn floor.” He paused for a moment and shook his head as if trying to get his thoughts back in order. “She tries but then just shuts down and I… fuck, I dunno.” 

“And what have you told her?” Gus asked as he leaned back in his chair. 

Eyebrows drawing together and cheeks scrunching under his mask, Simon tilted his head to the side. “What?” 

“I mean, what have you told her? About your past, or your family? Are you making her play the same guessing games?” Gus pressed. 

A lump formed in Simon’s throat so thick he thought he would choke on it. He wanted to say that sharing his past was different. How was he supposed to talk about the torture he endured, the hook tearing through his ribs, the slaughter of his family? How their deaths were pinned on him, and he burnt away the evidence of them; what would you say to that? Or if you knew about his revenge, how he traversed a jungle just to kill a man? 

He grimaced. Hadn’t you already seen his revenge? 

“You’ve been pretty open with me so far, lieutenant, and that’s a lot more than I can say for most of the men I see in here,” Gus continued, “so tell me; what is it that you’re really afraid of?” 

Really, therapy wasn’t all too different from being interrogated. In both circumstances, there was someone trying to poke and prod around inside of his head. And in both circumstances, it was never fun when they poked the right spot. 

“I don’t want her to think I’m like them,” he finally admitted. 

“Her abductors?” Gus clarified. “Why would she think that?”

“I broke a man's arm and shot him as I had him pinned to the ground. Right in front of her,” Simon explained as if he saw Bukin dying all over again. Heard the bone snap and the crunching sound of his flesh grinding underneath his boot. Watched as his head jumped dully against the ground as the bullet tore through his skill. 

“You saved her life,” Gus countered. 

“I was violent,” he spat. 

“So were they.”

“I’m supposed to be better than them.”

“If you were better than them, she’d be dead, son.” 

Silence. The breeze continued to drift through the open window, attempting to kiss Simon’s flesh through his clothes, too kind for him to be deserving of it. He continued to stare through the old man as he waited for him to explain himself. 

“You brought her home alive. You know better than anyone that being soft comes with consequences. Some good, some bad. Be violent, be a monster; be Ghost in the moments when you’re doing your job. When you’re protecting the ones you love.” Throughout his last few weeks of therapy, Simon hadn’t heard the old man speak with such conviction until that moment. Like the man spoke from experience. “Be soft when you’re with her. Share the stuff that hurts. It sounds like you’re the closest person she has. Certainly the strongest. How is she supposed to be vulnerable with you when you’re the one who’s scared?” 

The thing Simon hated the most about therapy was hearing things he already knew but was trying to ignore. Everything would have been so much easier had he let you ramble that night the oxycodone had scrambled your brain. But it was his fault things had gotten that way in the first place. That picture of you that he kept despite his better judgment, leading Bukin right to your door; that was his fault. Selfish of him to hope that you’d be the one vulnerable first as if he didn’t have something to atone for.

Simon let out a heavy sigh as he looked down at his hands. The old man was right, and it was frustrating. “Christ,” he muttered. 

“Start with the small stuff. You don’t have to air everything out all at once. Actually, it would be better if you didn’t. Don’t want to overwhelm the poor girl,” Gus assured him. “Remember, she’s a civilian. She didn’t have the resources and training that you did going into that.” 

He didn’t spend much longer in that office before Gus sent him away to do his homework: figure out a memory to share with you. Sounded easy enough, but when he had spent countless years keeping things to himself so as to keep others safe, it was near painful. But he tried his best to think of something as he made his way back to the apartment. 

You weren’t there when he got home. Not that he had expected you to be, though it still felt wrong. As soon as your wound was no longer needing constant attention, you instantly hopped back into work. He tried to dissuade you from doing so, saying that he’d still have more than enough money to pay for everything, but you wouldn’t hear any of it. Claimed you were tired of being locked up in the apartment all day, even if he was there with you. Though it worried him, he couldn’t blame you, not after everything that had happened there. Every now and then he still found a small, green bead somewhere on the living room floor. 

A sigh left him as he stood in the entryway, staring at Boo who watched him curiously from the couch. The window had been left cracked open, and it looked like the little guy had been enjoying some fresh air. Simon tried to tell you that leaving the blinds open was just asking for someone to snitch that you had a cat in the apartment. You had retorted by saying boarded up windows made for a shitty home. 

“Fuckin’ hell,” he mumbled to himself. 

This was going to be a pain in his ass. 

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

“This guy is getting on my fucking nerves.” 

That was the fucking understatement of the year. Méabh lazily leaned against your desk as she glared over at the new branch manager they had hired during your absence. His name was Jace, and he liked to spend his time at work micromanaging all of his employees, including Cheryl, who was able to wire money with her eyes closed after so many years in the business. The poor woman looked like she was one more annoying comment from smacking the overbearing manager. 

“He told me I didn’t ask enough security questions on the last transfer I did as if I didn’t ask all the ones that popped up on the screen,” Méabh continued in a droning grumble. “I wish Anna was still here. She did her job and wasn’t a complete cunt about it.” 

“Just be glad that you only work part time,” you teased while trying to focus on your paperwork. 

“Yeah, for now,” Méabh whined. “I’ll be going full time over summer holiday. Means I’ll get to see this prick twice as often.” 

Really, it wasn’t Jace’s hawk-like gaze, or even his annoying nasally voice that got on your nerves. It was his shoes. While most of the girls at the bank wore flats to save themselves from achy feet, Jace wore terribly loud dress shoes. Whenever he walked, it sounded like he wore high heels with the way they clacked on the floor, and with how much he stomped around it was impossible for him to sneak up on anyone. 

“Are you almost done?” Méabh then prompted. “I wanna get out of here.”

“You don’t have to wait for me, you know,” you chuckled. 

“Thought I’d do the noble thing and keep you company. You know, unless you want Jace to read over your paperwork before you submit it,” she retorted with a playful roll of her eyes. 

“How kind of you.” 

Luckily for Méabh, or perhaps the both of you, you had just typed up the finishing touches to your work. Not even a minute later the whirring of your computer died down as you shut it off for the night and stood from your desk. However, you made the mistake of pushing with both your hands, and you winced as a zapping pain shot through your left shoulder. Even after all those months, your wound hadn’t fully healed. 

“You alright?” Méabh asked as you gathered your items. 

“Yeah,” you said, slightly winded. Glancing quickly over at Jace, and poor Cheryl who was still stuck listening to his ramble, you looked back at the young girl before nodding towards the door. “Let’s get out of here.” 

Without saying goodbye, or saving your co-worker, you and Méabh slipped out of the building unnoticed and into the fresh spring air. Or, at least as fresh as it could get in the midst of London. It had been months since you last smelt real fresh air. When had it been, back at the end of August when you and Simon had gone on holiday? With the beautiful seaside and mist that tasted like salt? Or was it…

No. No, that couldn’t be right. 

“Need a ride?” Méabh prompted. 

You pulled your head out of the frigid water, dusted the sand off your knees, and smiled politely as you adjusted the blazer that perfectly complimented your pristine work clothes. You always had a way of bringing yourself back to reality if it meant avoiding an awkward conversation. Always so calm and put together, even with fragments of a bullet still stuck in your body. 

“No, I’ll, uhm, just walk home. Thanks,” you excused as your eyes glanced out at the busy streets ahead. 

Saying goodbye was awkward. Hell, everything was awkward those days. But like you did with all things in your life, you gritted your teeth and bared it before starting your walk home. 

It was strange trying to remember how you used to fit into the world before everything. Sure, you never quite fit in beforehand, squeezing into places too small for you to exist in, but it had become home. But not then. Your edges had become warped, curling in on themselves, retracting into your body. Your piece of the puzzle had shrunk, but everything else stayed the same size, leaving you stuck with a gap that separated you from everyone else. 

You were a watcher; a stranger to the very earth that nourished you. You could hear the seagulls rummaging through a pile of rubbish left beside the bin, and you could see the vibrant valley flowers that took up the window of the florist's shop on your left, but it was… blurry. Fuzzy, like the tingling sensation that plagued your arm every now and then when the blood flow was bad. You tried to focus, do anything to make the imagery around you feel sharper, but the faces of pedestrians were empty, like nobody around you was real, least of all yourself. 

And then you were home. 

It was difficult to tell how long you were standing outside of the door, staring at the empty wood as if it was a mirror. You had just sort of appeared there, like some sort of ghost. Without taking your eyes off of the door, you dug your hand into your bag and blindly felt around for your keys. A part of you couldn’t help but wonder if this was the view Leon had before kidnapping you. Before drugging you and taking you to that fucking basement. 

No. Bukin. Simon told you his last name was Bukin, and you weren’t going to give your dead captor the pleasure of using his first name as if you had been friends. 

Eventually the keys ended up in the lock and you entered the apartment. A heavy aroma of seasoned chicken filled the air around you, and you heard quiet cursing coming from the kitchen. You rounded the corner and were greeted by Simon cooking at the stove and Boo trying his hardest to trip the poor man. The critter stareed up at him with big, begging eyes as he followed your lovers every step. 

“Hey, sweetheart,” he greeted, quickly glancing away from his work to look at you. 

“You two look busy,” you chuckled, tossing your bag onto the counter. 

“I’m busy,” Simon corrected before tossing a playful glare down at the poor cat by his feet. “He’s a menace.” 

Humming, you stood next to Simon and glanced at what he had on the stove. It was pretty common for you to come home from work with dinner already started, if not finished. Simon had become something of a chef since taking care of you, and he had some pasta boiling and some chicken frying. He had started eating a lot more protein and carbs since going back to the gym, attempting to gain back the strength he had lost while captured. 

“He’s just a baby,” you said, reaching a hand towards the hot pan. With careful fingers, you tore off a small bit of the chicken before blowing on it a little to cool it down. Boo had already stretched up to reach up your thigh by the time you had bent down to give it to him. After a few deep sniffs, he eagerly took it in his mouth and ran off. 

“Spoiled rotten, he is,” Simon mumbled. 

“He was being so patient,” you cooed, watching as Boo scarfed down his treat in the corner of the kitchen, as if afraid someone would take it from him. 

“Patient, my arse,” he chuckled. 

A dull beep sounded from the stove, which Simon quickly pressed a button to shut it off. With a twist of the dial, he turned the heat off of one of the burners and you heard the sound of boiling water quiet down before he moved it towards the sink to strain it. As hot steam billowed upwards, you turned your attention towards one of the cabinets where you found yourself reaching up for it. A small stack of china sat on the lowest shelf. You couldn’t even remember the last time you had actually set the table yourself. 

“Don’t worry ‘bout that, sweetheart,” Simon said as he sat the still steaming pot on the counter next to the sink. 

Shooting him a weird look, you continued in your pursuit. “I can handle getting plates, Simon.” 

And you did. Grabbed two plates right off the shelf and held them in your hands as you looked at him as if in a challenge. But you understood why he was still so… skittish. He had spent the last few months doing everything for you. Bathing you, dressing you, making your food; he did it all. It almost felt more vulnerable than bleeding out on cold grass. A burden, that’s what you had become. Just another pet for someone to take care of. And Simon didn’t mind it, you knew that; he never did. Still, it was difficult to rot away in that apartment in good conscience knowing he was caring for someone who more than likely should have been a corpse by the ocean. 

Saying nothing, Simon turned his attention back to his work as you walked towards the dining table. You hadn’t even made it halfway there before something crumbled inside of you. A shooting pain ran up and down your left arm, searing your nerves and burning away your flesh. A tingling numbness settled over your hand and the plates you tried to hold so carefully slipped right through your fingers where they shattered on the ground at your feet with a deafening crash. 

Your gasp was cut off by a short whimper as your hand reached up to press against your old, yet still aggravated wound. You kept the pressure there as if trying to keep yourself from spilling on the floor, and you looked down at the mess you made. 

“Jesus fucking Christ,” you cursed. You pulled your hand away from under your arm and looked at your hand as if expecting blood. 

“You alright?” Simon asked, heavy footsteps trailing across the floor behind you. 

“I’m fine,” you spat, words sharp enough to tear through flesh. 

The footsteps behind you stopped, and it forced you to realize the bite in your tone. It also made you realize how your hand trembled and heart stung as if you were afraid, as if you had been running. In an attempt to calm your nerves, you let out a heavy sigh before looking down at the mess you made. A terrible mosaic of broken glass and a now slightly chipped wooden floor spanned the area around your feet. You had ruined two perfectly good plates, damaged the floor, and you were the one snapping? 

So much like your father. Being angry at the mess when it was your own fault. 

“I’m… fine,” you tried again, softer this time. Empty. “Sorry, I… didn’t mean to…”

When Simon continued to walk towards you, you half expected him to reach for you, and some strange part of you didn’t want him to. Didn’t want his touch. Couldn’t stand it because you knew you didn’t deserve it. Instead, he knelt on the ground next to you, large fingers carefully picking up the bigger pieces of the shattered plates and gathering them into the palm of his hand. 

“You don’t have to clean up my mess,” you said softly, lip trembling as you knelt down next to him to mirror his actions. 

“I know,” he replied simply. He still cleaned anyway. 

Anger was a weird thing for you. It wasn’t often that you felt it without some other emotion accompanying it. Confusion. Frustration. Grief. Shame usually followed shortly after. Truth was, you were angry all the time those days, and it was worse than almost any other emotion you could have experienced. When you had first started your road to recovery, you felt numb, and when you didn’t feel numb you felt terrified. A part of you wished you were still in that stage because you could at least explain why you felt that way. Some sort of self preservation mode your body had forced itself into in an attempt to smother the trauma you had endured over several long weeks. The anger that hid itself away in your chest was something you couldn’t explain. You didn’t know why it was there, but you wished it wasn’t. 

So you stayed silent as you assisted Simon in cleaning up the shattered plates. It had remained mostly in several large chunks, but there were smaller, more fine pieces that you’d have to use a broom for. You hated that your hands shook for each piece you reached out for. 

“I broke one of my mum’s vases when I was a kid,” Simon said unprompted. You found yourself pausing. As you held what pieces you had gathered in your hand, you glanced over at him, and he must have felt your gaze because his eyes flickered to you before focusing back on his work. “Was an accident. Kickin’ around a football in the living room when she told me not to. I tried to hide it from her until I could fix it, but she knew immediately it was missing.”

“Was she mad?” you asked. 

It felt… odd. Strange. Nice. In all the years you had been with Simon, neither of you had really talked about your pasts. All you had gotten or shared were fragments. And there he was, picking up your mess, showing some raw part of himself you had never seen before. 

“Upset, but not mad. She never got mad, even when she should have,” he replied, voice unwavering. 

A thick lump had formed in your throat that was difficult to swallow. Something fuzzy tingled in the back of your mind, like something was trying to rip a chunk of flesh out of you; a memory. Teeth sinking into the inside of your cheek, you swallowed again before speaking. 

“My… father broke a lot of plates when I was younger,” you admitted, staring down at the chunks of china in your hands. “Usually to get a reaction out of my mom. They were her mother’s, my grandmother’s, plates. Eventually she had to end up buying plastic plates when he had smashed them all, but that didn’t stop him from throwing them. He was always…”

So predictable. 

Hadn’t you just said that not too long ago? After the shattering of a bowl? More broken china to stain the ground, the carpet, in that basement. You remembered his glare, Erik’s glare - Adakskin - when you told him he was predictable. And you were right. He had done everything you knew he would. A broken dish was always followed by pain. It didn’t matter. It never did. A broken dish was always followed by pain, even if you were the one breaking it. 

Eyes watering, you coughed a little as a sharp tickle formed in your throat. Simon, whose eyes had been on you, glanced over his shoulder to see a fair bit of thick steam and light smoke rising out of the pan he had been cooking chicken in. Cursing, he stood to his feet and quickly tossed the pieces of china he had gathered into the trash before moving the pan off the heat. 

And just like that, you were back. Still kneeling, still cleaning, still quiet. Your life had become nothing but a blur of time; living in the past and present at the same time. Even at work, at home, with Simon, the past held onto you so violently you weren’t sure you would ever be able to shake it off. You tried telling yourself you could - that you would - but once again you were cleaning up a broken plate. Always cleaning but never clean. 

“Hope you like crispy chicken,” Simon sighed. Spatula in hand, he attempted to scrape the burnt meat off of the pan. 

Once you ensured every single shard had been picked up, you turned your attention towards the kitchen for a split moment. You attempted a smile, but it felt too big on your face, so you got rid of it the moment it formed. 

“I’m gonna change out of my work clothes,” you said instead, crossing through the kitchen to head towards the bedroom. “I’ll, uh… I’ll let you get the plates this time.” 

He didn’t say anything in response as you vanished down the hallway, but he kept his eyes on you. His lips tightened into a thin line for a moment before relaxing once more and turning his attention back to dinner. He knew this stage of healing was going to be the hardest. The body had a way of mending wounds that the mind just couldn’t mimic with trauma. That conversation had been the most he was able to get out of you in months, and you still looked terrified. 

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

It had been years since Simon had last smoked a cigarette. He used to smoke regularly when he first joined up, especially more so after his family was killed. It was a good way to keep himself awake on missions, or for avoiding nightmares. He quit when the withdrawal symptoms got bad and he had difficulty with cardio during PT. Now he smoked for the alleviation of stress, even if it only lasted for a moment. Or maybe he did it just to keep his hands moving. No matter the reason, it didn’t change the smoke curling in his lungs as he took drag after drag. 

Something had been on his mind since you dropped those plates at dinner the previous night. The empty look in your eyes haunted him almost as bad as the shaking of your hands. It was getting worse. Or, at least, it wasn’t getting better, and that terrified him. He didn’t know what to do to help you short of dragging you off to some therapist, which he knew wouldn’t do any good. Something was building. Something was going to burst, and he didn’t know when, but the pressure was there and there was nothing he could do about it. 

So there he stood, off in some secluded area on base, smoking his cigarette with a jaw so tense there were indentations of his teeth on the filter. It didn’t take him long to finish it, and when it had been stomped into the ground with the heel of his boot, he was half tempted to smoke another. Keeping the pack in his pocket, he released a heavy sigh before marching back towards the building that housed his office. 

Avoiding as many people in the halls as he could, he quickly unlocked the door and shut it as soon as he slipped inside. The air felt stale, like no one had entered to clean his space in his absence, which was probably for the best anyway. He flicked the light on, and it struggled to fill the room, being dimmer than he remembered it being, but it was enough for the moment. With a press of a button, his computer started to whirr to life, and he sat in his chair as he waited for it to boot up. It had great difficulty starting, and he could hear his SSD grind and whine after being shut off for so many months. 

Eventually the monitor lit up, and Simon wasted no time logging in before opening his browser. The last time he had used this computer he had spent all his time and energy searching through houses and apartments and hotel rooms in search of where you were being held. Now, he found himself looking at houses and apartments again, but for a different reason. 

He needed to get you out of there; out of the apartment the two of you had been staying in. Too many bad memories stained the walls for either of you to do any sort of healing. And so he searched and searched and found his frustration growing. A one bedroom apartment for 3,000 a month? Christ, the housing in that fucking city was astronomically expensive, and sure he could afford it, but for a single damn room? 

So he kept searching. It was difficult trying to find someplace that wasn’t halfway across the city from base that was also still close to your work. He’d hate for you to have to take the tube alone, or walk too far alone at night in the city, especially dressed as fancy as bankers usually were. Of course there was always housing on base, but he wouldn’t be able to bring you with because the two of you weren’t married. 

Your wife; they are relocating her.

Even after all that time he could see that woman clearly, whoever she had been, sitting on the floor of the room you were supposed to be in. At the time he tried to shake off the way that statement made him feel. Behind the anger, frustration, and fear, there was something else there. Wife. He had liked the term. He wished it was true. Then he remembered the photos in front of her. Your face; your gorgeous face, trapped in that Polaroid. The tears and blood that stained your cheeks and lips, the way an unforgiving hand gripped your jaw, forcing you to look at the lens. 

Wife. He wanted that, craved it. But that wasn’t the time, not after everything that had happened. 

Simon wasn’t brought out of his thoughts until someone knocked on his door, where he found himself glaring at the big hunk of wood. He hadn’t been there in months, and most people should have known that, so why was someone trying to bother him? Still, he gave them a gruff order to come in and he was quickly greeted by Johnny’s wide eyed expression. 

“You’re back?” Johnny asked breathlessly as he shut the door behind him. 

Well, at least out of everyone that it could have been, it was him. 

“Not yet,” he replied simply. His chair squeaked as he leaned back in it in an attempt to relax some. He tried to make a mental reminder to use some WD-40 on it later. “How’d you know I was here?” 

Johnny used his thumb to point over his shoulder at the door behind him. “Was on my way to storage to put some files away,” he explained simply, simultaneously shaking the manilla folder in his hand. “Walked by and saw the light peeking from under the door. Figured someone was cleaning, but knocked just in case.” He took a few cautious steps forward, as if approaching a skittish cat. “How’s everything?”

Simon wasn’t quite sure how to answer that question. Things certainly weren’t great, but they could be worse. For example, you could be dead, or still hospitalized. But saying things were great was far from the truth, and he wasn’t exactly keen on explaining every little issue that had been plaguing him as of late. 

“It’s an adjustment,” he admitted instead, “but we’re getting there.”

Johnny nodded, getting even closer to his lieutenant. “Spook doin’ alright, then?” 

Even after all that time, Simon still didn’t like talking about you with other people, even if it was Johnny. Hell, even talking about you to his therapist made him feel tense. But he couldn’t hold onto you like that forever, keeping you caged in the safeness of his arms where you were supposed to be safe. And he had to come to the realization that his sergeant deserved to know. Simon had been there the entire time; through the hospital, through your healing. The last time Johnny had seen you, you were bleeding out on your way to the nearest hospital. 

“She’s back to work. Started physical therapy this week, too,” Simon explained, though he wasn’t sure how much more he could say. 

That small bit of information seemed to mean the whole world to Johnny, and his face lit up. “Good, that’s good! Glad she’s doin’ better.” Then, his eyes darted to the monitor. He caught sight of the rental listings lined up on the screen, as well as their crazy high prices. “Searchin’ for a new home?”

Simon’s attention turned back to the computer for a moment where he let a heavy sigh escape him. “Yeah. Figured it was about time I got her out of there. The apartment. Wanted to get her out sooner, but couldn’t when she was still hurt.”

“It woulda been a lot for her to adjust to at once,” Johnny agreed. 

Things fell silent for a moment as both men lost themselves in their thoughts, but only for a short moment before Johnny adjusted the folder in his hand. 

“Well, I’ll let you continue searching,” he excused himself as he took a step back. “Gotta get this to storage eventually.” 

Simon was one second away from wishing the man well before watching him leave his office, but something stopped him. He knew that if he was alone again, his thoughts would go right back to where they were before. That woman in the room. Pictures of you on the floor. The blood. The Polaroids. That fucking hand that gripped your face - the hand that had no fucking right to touch you. Those goddamn pictures. 

“I’ll come with,” Simon said, already shutting his computer down. 

Eyebrows drawing together, Johnny tilted his head to the side as he paused his retreat. “You sure?” 

There was no room for argument. Everything in his office was quickly shut down and put away, and the two men walked through the halls of the building. There were a few familiar faces that threw Simon odd glances, as if surprised to see him there, or perhaps surprised he was still alive. His name was Ghost for a reason. 

Neither man said anything to one another until they reached the storage room. Shelves lined up like dominos and spanned all the way to the back wall where an industrial sized paper shredder sat. Large white cardboard boxes rested on the shelves with simple flip open tops, each labeled with either a case or date of some sort. Painfully white lights washed out the entire room, causing Johnny to squint for a moment before his eyes adjusted. 

“Hate sorting through this shit,” he muttered as he began to wander through the aisles. 

Simon stood in the doorway for a moment, breathing in the scent of old paper and rotting ink. Usually he never had to go into that room; whatever paperwork that he did have that would go there he’d make someone else’s problem. Even then, he found himself searching, eyes scanning the labels on the boxes. Locations, names, dates, everything. Johnny caught onto his search, and watched him for a moment with careful eyes, but still refused to say anything. 

“Aye, here we are,” Johnny sighed as he flipped the lid off of one of the boxes. He unceremoniously tossed the file into it before shutting it once again. “Right. Ready to get outta here?” 

But when he turned to Simon, he saw the man’s attention was caught by one of the boxes. Salthouse | 8, December. The lid was already opened, and Simon stared blankly into it as if he wasn’t sure where to start. 

“Ghost?” Johnny said softly. 

Simon’s hands dove into the box decisively where his fingers grabbed onto a small, orange envelope. There was a slight thickness to it, like something had to be shoved in there to fit properly, or too many things had been stacked and folded on top of one another. He wasted no time undoing the brass clasp at the top and pouring the contents into his hand. 

A plastic bag full of Polaroids tumbled out of the envelope, and Simon and Johnny were met with the image of your face. Beaten, irritated, and bloody, it was a different image than what they had seen last time, like whoever had collected it shuffled through the images in morbid curiosity. You laid on the ground on your back, no hand gripping your face, but still very obviously out of it. Passed out, probably, or at least on the verge of consciousness. 

He wasn’t prepared for the anger that bubbled up inside of him upon setting eyes on those images again. So many regrets, things that he should have done differently. He should have been stronger, faster, deadlier. Should have made Bukin and Adakskin pay for everything they had done to you with more than just a bullet to the head. Should have ripped up that picture of you the moment he got the chance. 

“Simon,” Johnny said again. It was rare that the man ever used his lieutenants real name, but it left him before he was able to stop it. 

Ignoring him, Simon tossed the orange envelope back into the box before ripping open the plastic bag, nearly scattering the photos all over the ground. He gathered them up into his hands before marching off towards the back of the room, boots hitting heavy against the floor. 

“What’re you doing?” Johnny asked, voice a bit more firm. 

“No one needs to see these,” Simon responded within an instant. “Everyone knows what happened to her. No one needs to see her like this.” 

He approached the shredder that sat against the back wall of the room. It was a large thing, made for shredding stacks of paper all at once with teeth that could eat an entire hand within an instant. A few Polaroids wouldn’t be an issue at all. The thing was, Johnny couldn’t even argue with Simon, because he felt the exact same way. So he stood there and watched as Simon powered on the shredder, gears whirring and whining. 

Without remorse, Simon tossed the photos into the shredder and watched as the metal tore them to shreds with ease. Plastic crinkled and cracked until they were all eaten up and spat out into the bag that stored all the other scraps it had thrown up. The thing was, Simon was never very good at fixing things. No matter how hard he tried to be, he always ended up breaking things. His mother’s vase or a man's arm. He could pull a trigger and end someone’s life and yet he felt something convulsing inside of him at the thought of opening himself to you. 

But this? This felt right. Destroying those pictures. There was enough evidence on your body and in your mind as it was. He tried so hard to be something else, anything else; but in the end, Simon was a brutal man whose hands were only capable of violence; might as well put them to good use.

tags: @ghostlythots @archonsabyss @crowbird @beware-my-thorns @koko-1025 @nessaasstuff @escapefromrealitysm @babygirl-riley @theloneshadow24 @ashableketchup @violet-19999 @paigetaylor628 @curlygirls-world @gaebestie @datlilwrench @ryisghost @suffering-and-happy-about-it @achelois-is-here

find my taglist here

#simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #soft spot #f!reader

[cafeinthemoon]

Ever Dream (Apollo x reader)

Chapter 1/1

Wordcount 7,3k

Title Ever Dream

Fandom Shuumatsu no Valkyrie / Record of Ragnarok

Symbols ✔ . 1️⃣ . 💛

Warnings: Apollo is extremely inconvenient in the beginning; angst with a soft, bittersweet ending

Tagging ? (If you want to be tagged in any of my stories, just leave a comment on this chapter or send an ask or a message)

N. A. Finally I can fulfill my promise and post this little story with Apollo!

At first, he wasn't appealing to me at all, but as his character was developed, I found myself liking him (I basically understood that my lack of interest in him and his fight was due to me not moving on from Hades' loss, since snv doesn't feel the same for me anymore) Also his personality is a bit weird in this one bc I've started to write it before his flashback came out, and since I've wrote so much it would be a waste to restart my work to adjust his depiction to something more "pleasing", so I just kept things this way. But I hope you have fun with it :)

“Come out, come out

Wherever you are [...]

Give in, give in for my touch

For my taste

For my lust”

(Nightwish, Ever Dream)

Summer days might be the favorites among the mortals, for they were long and favorable to the body and the heart, as a good presage for the ones who needed it, but that didn’t apply to you. Yes, as many, you appreciated cheerful encounters of friends under the shadow of a tree on a warmth afternoon, as well as playing games in the city’s lake with your sisters, but none of these small delights were enough to make you enjoy Summer above the other seasons. Honestly, you would be happier during Spring, when the beauty of the flowers would be in its apex, or during Winter, when you would stay long periods at home, in front of a good fire, with warm food and crafting to occupy your hands; even Autumn had a special place in your heart, with its meadows of red leaves and winds whispering mysterious tunes.

The thing is that you used to work as a gardener during Spring and Summer, and this latter was always the most difficult one, for the land where you lived was always too hot for any activity to be possible under midday sun, so you would adjust your routine to work at early morning or when the sunset approached.

It was a hard work: the plants would suffer with the heat, and you must know the right moment of the day to pour water in them, in order to not burn their roots; some of them would even become dusty with the lack of rain, only to be harmed after sudden, summer storms, and it would take an entire day for you to clean the fallen leaves, broken branches and garbage brought by the wind – not to speak about the mud; and, as if none of this wasn’t enough, you would have to fight against seasonal infestations.

It was a lonely work, also: there would be days when you would stay in silence for so long that hearing your own voice after going back home or speaking to yourself during work brought a sensation of strangeness. But you enjoyed the solitude, using it to perfect your abilities and organize your thoughts.

Some would say that you should start thinking seriously about your situation, that is, that you couldn’t live only for the plants and that you were already in the age of considering marriage, but you would just escape from their demands inside the labyrinths of the garden. Not that you would get angry with them, though. You understood their preoccupations, but you were aware of where they came from: they didn’t understand that happiness could have many sources in human life beyond building a family.

And, as long as your own happiness came from the garden, you would stay inside it.

***

If the humans who knew you were the only ones watching your steps with what you’d call an abnormal interest, you could deal with it. But fate wanted things to be complicated for you, so your peculiar, solitary routine hasn’t caught only the mortals’ attention.

It happened that, close to your garden’s location, upon a greenish hill, a temple was built centuries ago. A temple to honor the deity whose powers were always strong across those lands – Apollo, Son of Zeus and Guardian of the Sun, Master of Poetry and Music, and owner of more titles than you could remember. You’ve never seen him in person, though it was said that he used that building as his temporary residence on summer days, which explained the intense temperatures during that time of the year; it also explained why the lights of the temple would be fed until late hours and why there would be sound of chords, drums and high voices all day. You respected the work of the people living there, of course, but you’d appreciate a bit of silence during a period that was so difficult for you, and there you had another reason to show up only when the sun wasn’t shinning in all its splendor.

Little you knew that, from the highest spot of the temple, upon a parapet only accessible to himself, the Lord of that house, to whom all those honors were directed, has been observing that lonely, little mortal who would come every day to take care of her flowers with the same dedication as Heracles by the time he had to fulfill his twelve tasks.

He couldn’t remember when was the first time he saw you: the only thing he knew was that, while he stood at that temple, he couldn’t spend one day without seeing you. Every morning, before his worshipers woke up, Apollo would walk up the stairs that led to the private space where the highest balcony of the temple was, and he would sit at it, with his back leaning on a column, to witness the girl’s arrival and her preparations before work; he would stay there, watching in ecstatic silence as she separated her tools, touched each plant with those delicate fingers of hers, examined each spot of them and gave them the necessary treatment, smiling and, sometimes, mumbling to herself.

Not only he noticed your diligence and dedication, but it didn’t escape him how much you were beautiful. Yes, you were surrounded by appealing fruit trees, flowers of the most interesting shapes and shades, all of them between intricate green walls that only added in majesty, yet your figure caught the man’s eyes above all of them – eyes that were trained to not miss anything that could be pleasing to one’s sight.

The god would cheer at himself with the fact that you were oblivious to this, while he, at that height, was completely out of your sight. It was like in the old days, where he would observe the mortal realm from his spot at the Olympus, except that this time there would be no difficulties in reaching you: as one of the city’s inhabitants, you were basically his neighbor, and knowing that building like the palm of his hand, he knew the secret shortcuts that would lead him to your garden’s gates.

At first, Apollo would state that his morning observations were just a hobby, and that with all the work to keep him occupied at the temple and the attentions he would get from the worshipers – particularly from the priestesses – he would soon forget about you and your flowers. However, he wasn’t fool to the point of lying to himself for too long, and soon he would admit that he was interested in you. Well, he was already desiring you, in a way that didn’t happen since… a few centuries ago, maybe by the time of that temple’s inauguration, when he would lure some of the city’s mortals into it. And now, there he was, leaving the comfort of his bed every morning, sometimes even before the sun came up to greet him, for anything but to catch the exact moment when your feet stepped into that garden, wondering how your voice would send shivers all over his body in case you whispered in his ears with the same docility you did to the flowers, how soft your skin would feel if he caught your frail form between his arms, and the heat he would sense once his lips touched yours.

This extended for days, until he finally had enough.

That morning, he watched you as always, but this time something inside him awakened, and he just let his body move away from the parapet and reach for his private chambers, where he caught his best garments and a pair of golden sandals, and then wandered to outside the temple, to the narrow path behind the hill, covered in stones and sand, only known by himself, and in one minute or two, he was standing at the garden’s entry.

Today is the day. The day when I shall make you mine.

***

It should be a pacific, ordinary morning of work at the garden.

You arrived at the usual hour, reached for the spot of the garden where you started working the day before, separated your tools and went to take care of your tasks.

You’ve spent one hour, maybe two like this, so concentrated in what your were doing that the sudden rustling between the leaves somewhere behind you made you startle and drop your garden shears. You turned around…

And found quite a spectacle for that time of the day.

Coming out of a narrow space between two green walls, you saw a young man dressed in garments that you supposed to be only appropriate for the Summer Festivities, not so far in the land’s calendar: he had a white toga around his body, which hems and details appeared to be sewn with golden threads; golden were also the strappy sandals he had on his feet, as well as the laurel wreath on his head. The first rays of the sun reached the space between you at that hour, and the golden light poured itself over the man’s figure as the hug of a beloved one, revealing that the metallic ornaments he carried were, in fact, gold, and conceding a singular glimmer to his eyes, which you thought to be of the same shade. But that wasn’t the only peculiarity seen in his appearance: his hair, falling on straight strands to his waist, were of a soft pink that reminded you of some of the flowers in your garden, but a comparison wasn’t possible, since they were out of sight at that moment.

Yes, the visitor was a beautiful man, though eccentric, so your first thought was that he was the son of a noble family that came to the city to honor the god of the Sun at the temple beside your garden.

He’s probably thinking that the garden is part of the temple’s territory. I must clarify this mistake and lead him back through the right path.

And you were going to do that very thing, but he was faster.

Without waiting for an invitation or at least a question about his presence there, the man approached your spot and stopped in front of you, observing your tiny person surrounded by flowers and tools with a mixture of curiosity and disbelief: was this girl really engaging in physical work this early?, his eyes seemed to ask.

You stepped behind, closer to a bush of wild roses, but glanced over your shoulder before touching the thorns – something that made the stranger giggle. You didn’t like that at all.

The first words said between you were his.

– I’ve always said that wild roses were not my favorites, but the truth is that they’ve scared me and charmed me at the same time, and I just couldn’t deal with it – he stretched an arm to touch a spot above and behind you; not disguising the feeling that he was closer than a stranger should be, your eyes followed his movement and found his fingers reaching for a flower of the bush – A ridiculous mistake from an arrogant heart… – and, turning his golden eyes to you, – Don’t you think, my flower?

Your eyes widened, but you managed to control your mouth to not scoff at those words: you’ve been working at that garden for too long now, and from time to time there would be one and other man who would come to celebrate the Summer Festivities at Apollo’s temple, many of them from privileged houses… and about whom you’ve already had a clear opinion.

Let me see… Extravagant clothing at this time of the day, bad sense of direction, abnormally elevated self-confidence and no regard for personal space. Of course, another womanizer who relies on cheap flirting to win innocent hearts. He knows that this type of chatting only works when the speaker is young and beautiful like him, but things would be very different if we had an old, naughty man in his place.

You knew that, if you didn’t do anything to get rid of him, he would bother you for the rest of the morning, and you wouldn’t be able to complete the works of the day, but fortunately you also knew how to deal with this kind of situation, so you decided to act right now...

By moving aside and bending down to grab the garden shears that he made you drop. You stood up again and started removing the small, green leaves from its blades as you spoke.

– My Lord, I suppose you entered here by accident – you started; and, looking into his eyes, still with the shears’ blades up – Because, you see, despite the proximity, this garden doesn’t belong to Apollo’s temple. No festivities will happen here.

It was with a bit of diversion that you observed the bright smile fading from his pretty face, but you remained impassible, for you were aware that this one was an experienced gentleman and wouldn’t give up so easily.

And he didn’t.

– I must be indelicate and disagree with you, Miss – he moved his hand away from the flower, but, with an eye on your shears, he hid both hands behind his back – For a garden is a never-ending festivity itself, and the one that is going on right here owes all its beauty to the work of your hands.

You swallowed. He did have a way with words, then. But not even this would be enough for you to allow delays in your routine, and you made that very clear.

– If this is the case, my Lord, I must make use of the same indelicacy and interrupt our conversation here – in a swift move of your hands, the shears closed and opened twice with a metallic whisper – And keep working on the garden’s beauty.

And, without waiting for a response, you turned your back on the man and restarted to prune the bush with the roses, just as you were doing when he arrived.

Not even this was able to shake the young man’s confidence, for he just stepped aside and continued to talk, caressing the flowers at the same time. No irritation or offense was sensed in his tone.

– Then I must leave you to complete your mission – and, after a pause, – But I’m trapped here, and you’re the only one who can release me... by letting me know your name.

Your hands stopped and you turned to him again. You weren’t willing to reveal it to him, but if that was going to make him go away, you would do it.

– Y/n s/n.

The young man opened a satisfied smile. But, instead of saying his own name in return, he just stepped back and nodded.

– For this I will be forever grateful, my y/n. I will make sure that Apollo’s blessing falls over you and your work concerning this celebration of beauty.

And without waiting for a response, he turned away and left.

***

If only the Festivities in honor of the Lord of the Sun were shorter, or if your garden was located in somewhere else, the strange events of yesterday involving that extravagant individual would be just a funny story to remember in an encounter between your friends, or even something you would forget after a week.

But, unfortunately, things don’t always go as we plan, so to your surprise – and exasperation – the situation happened again in the next day.

You were pouring water on the soil, in a spot of the garden not so far from the one where your first encounter happened, having only the sounds of the water falling from the can and the early birds singing on the trees as your company, when the rustling noise of indiscreet steps upon the grass caught your attention.

You turned around… and found the shinning figure of the young man smiling at you, his right hand leaning on the tree at his side, his golden eyes upon you with the same enthusiasm of the last day.

You bit your lip.

I can’t believe it. Did he forget everything that happened yesterday?

If he noticed your displease or if he chosen to ignore it, you didn’t know, but he started a casual conversation without waiting for an invitation.

– Good morning, dear y/n! – he left his spot beside the tree and walked toward you with no sign of embarrassment – As I can see, the festivities continue today.

You just gave him a silent nod in reply. The man’s smile widened in contentment.

– That’s good to hear, for today I bring you something that you might appreciate…

Only then you noticed the object he was carrying on his left hand: a bracelet made of gold, in the shape of a vine and with a white gem in its center, with rays surrounding it as an imitation of the sun. You looked at the object and hesitated.

– My Lord, it is not…

But when the words were still crossing your lips, you felt a strong hand holding your wrist and pulling it forward, making you drop the watering can; before you did anything, the man put the bracelet around your wrist and spent a moment admiring it, with your tiny hand between his.

You even tried to pull it back, but the he held you in place. You swallowed.

Heavens, his appearance is the most deceiving thing I’ve ever seen! I don’t know many soldiers who possess this strength!

Because of this, you understood that you might have been in danger since the other day, so that time you kept your mouth shut and waited to see what his next step would be.

And you didn’t know if you should feel relieved or shocked when you found it out.

– Now you were granted the necessary permission, my dear – he spoke with softness; and, pulling you closer to whisper in your ear, – The way to the Summer Festivities has opened to you at the Temple of the Great Apollo.

You had no time to respond, to move away or to show any form of refusal. The man, still holding your hand, pulled you with him and started running between the green walls and trees, rushing toward the depths of the garden and not allowing you to stop.

You glanced behind and your heart ached when you saw your work unfinished and the watering can forgotten on the spot it fell, the remaining water leaking and soaking the soil.

***

The path through which he led you, as well as the environment you found when you entered the temple was what you would sense in a dream: in one moment, he was carrying you by the hand through the green labyrinth, in a pace that defied time; in the next one, you were inside high walls of white, imposing columns with marble flowers surrounding them from their highest to their lowest spot, and countless tables of gold with goblets, jars and trays full of fruits, sweets and other tempting treats that were taken by uninhibited, joyful people dressed in flowing fabrics and barefoot, running, hopping and dancing between themselves to the frenetic sound of chords, flutes and drums. The place was a mixture of sounds, colors and smells that confused and numbed your senses, in a way that you were only able to stand thanks to the strong hold of the young man.

Despite that, you still noticed how strange was that those people seemed to move to the music as if they were just one, yet they acted like they weren’t seeing each other, lost in their particular world, to the point you wondered if they knew what they were doing or if they were just caught under a spell.

Are they really happy, or are they forced into this? It’s unsettling...

The people only showed a believable reaction when you arrived… Well, actually, when they put their eyes on the young man, and started reaching for him with no regard for your presence, pushing, bumping and even stepping upon your feet.

In a way you couldn’t understand, he opened his arms wide to receive them without letting go of your hand, with a satisfied smile on his face that seemed to light up when the first rays of sunshine entered the place, embracing him with the same passion as the people around.

It was when a thought crossed your mind as fast as those rays, and you stared at him with a knot in your stomach.

Could it be that he…?

The chorus around you, chanting the same words in delight, was the confirmation for it.

– Apollo! Apollo-sama! You finally arrived, Apollo-sama! Please don’t make us wait this long for you again, Apollo-sama!

His face brightened up with the call of the humans, as if it absorbed their joy and turned it into vital force, returning it to them with the warmth of the sun; to them, he was god, father, husband and master, and he was more than happy in taking all those roles for himself, in what you saw as a hungry, even predatory way. Though you still found it a beautiful thing to observe, you no longer saw any resemblance with a man in his figure.

He was something else.

Feeding himself with their energies and keeping them gravitating around him is like a diversion to him. How scary.

And with the same diversion, he pulled you to a tight embrace, giving you no choice to walk away, for many people came to him and were no dismissed, so that you were trapped between him and them, and you didn’t know for how long you would be able to breathe.

Somehow, he managed to walk among his worshipers and take you with him before you in fact were smothered, and without decreasing in enthusiasm, he looked around and chanted:

– My children, my flowers! Another day of Summer came to bless you! Enjoy it, cherish it like it’s your last!

Immediately, the people obeyed him and, as if slowly forgetting about his very presence, restarted the celebration, dancing and jumping around and opening the way for you two at the same time, not really realizing what they were doing.

Not wanting to join them and not being able to release yourself from Apollo’s grip, you had no choice but to follow him.

***

You walked up spiral, white stairs with golden banisters, ran through a corridor and ended up in front of an enormous pair of doors, which he opened with a slight touch of his hand.

They revealed a wide room that, even in your lack of experience in these matters, you knew to be worthy of a god: everywhere you looked, you saw comfortable chairs and couches, covered with satin sheets and surrounded by trays of sweets and fruits, and countless jars of wine; there was also a small fountain pouring water, with a jar and cups around it. You also saw books, parchments and musical instruments ready to be used. Everything there was arranged to display beauty and pleasure, as expected from its owner.

Once you stepped inside, you heard the sound of the keys turning to lock the doors from inside and shivered.

– My y/n, will you follow me to the balcony? – Apollo passed to your side – There’s something I need to reveal to you, but it has to be in an appropriate place!

And, without waiting for your response, he tightened his grip around your wrist and pulled you across the room, to reach the said balcony.

You passed under an arc with a pair of curtains of a peach shade and found yourself in a place that could serve as a common room of a human house by its largeness, except for the fact that it was uncovered; on it, there was wine, fod and water as well, and a couch twice the size of the ones inside the room, yet none of those objects interfered while you walked among them.

Apollo stopped at the parapet with you by his side. With his arm stretched over it, he indicated the entire view.

– Let your pretty eyes enjoy what’s in front of them with no shame, my dear – he laughed – Trust me, the view of your lands from the Olympus is no match for this!

And you were, in fact, impressed with what you saw.

From there, you were able to spot various things, from the mountains that surrounded the city, passing through the town itself, with its marketplace and daily movement, to nearer places… such as your garden, its open fields and the very spot where you were working this morning when Apollo arrived and abducted you.

Your face burned with the thought.

He has been spying on me from here? Since when…?

You never had the opportunity to inquire him on this, because he had no shame in telling you the whole story.

– Since this Summer started, though I cannot precise the day, I’ve been trapped in this balcony, just as I am now – he turned to you with a strange glimmer in his eyes; you sensed his hand letting go of your wrist and wrapping itself around your waist, bringing you closer as he spoke – I’ve been trapped by you, my flower, for I couldn’t spent one morning without seeing you from here, cherishing with your whole figure, your steps, the work of your hands, all for your precious garden…

You put your hands between you and him, in an attempt to prevent him from approaching even more.

– My Lord, with all the respect, this is my work – you managed to speak – I would never be able to properly take care of a garden if I refused to pour my heart into it…

The god’s response was to widen his already present smile, giving to it a hint of something that would be called presumption if he was a mortal man.

– I know it! I know well how these things work, and for this I am jealous – he caressed your face for an instant, his eyes swallowing each traits of yours with greed – I am jealous of your flowers, of your trees, and everything that has been blessed by the touch of your hands…

You gasped.

– My Lord, I think this is going too fa…

Your words were cut off by his next act, which consisted in wrapping his arms around you and lifting you from the floor, taking you to the couch you saw before, not so far from your spot on the parapet. There he sat you down, then knelt to take off your sandals – of course, without missing the chance to let his fingertips wander through your feet and legs. With no visible ways to escape this situation, you could only observe the scene in silence.

The door is locked, I don’t think I could open it as fast as he closed it, he’s too strong for me to put a physical fight and is too lost in his own fantasies to hear a word I say. I see no solution besides climbing up the parapet and jump.

While this thought was still crossing your mind (and your eyes glancing at the parapet), Apollo was already climbing the couch. You tried to move away, but he was faster: holding your jawline, he pulled you close to him, his lips brushing yours as he spoke.

– I beg you, my little flower… stop making me jealous… pour your heart to me… be mine…

You opened your mouth to speak, to reply, to try and reason with him one last time, to ask for his divine favor and beg him to let you go, but Apollo didn’t even give you the time to breathe: convinced that actions would teach you better than words, he covered your mouth with hungry kisses, his tongue reaching for yours in a hurry, his hands grabbing your body with voracity. With the lack of air, your lungs started to burn and your eyes got filled with tears.

Your hands, still free, pulled him away by his chin; he stared at you in incredulity.

– Please… my Lord… – you forced your words out, alternating them with gasps – Please… reconsider…

For the first time, Apollo seemed to have his patience tested, and the slight twist in the color of his eyes instilled fear in your heart like you’ve never felt before.

– Too late to think, my y/n… It’s time to act.

He pushed himself upon you on the couch and a second kiss happened, longer and hotter. Now that your attempt to stop him failed, desperation was taking over you, leaving you with two choices: letting him continue or dying for opposing to a god’s will.

The latter seemed less painful for you, so you opted for it.

Beside the couch, just like the other seats at that room, there was a small table with a metallic jar on it; you glanced at it when Apollo let go of your mouth and brought his kisses to your neck, and supposed that it was full. An idea came to you, but you had to be careful.

If I fail at this, it’s over for me.

With slow movements, you managed to bring your body closer to the table’s side, taking the god with you, leaving him too occupied in his caresses to notice anything around. You even reciprocated some of his touches to disguise your nervousness, and waited until you were sure that your hand would reach the jar’s wing.

When the moment came, you stretched your left arm… and your fingers closed around its wing, lifting it from the table with all the strength you could find.

Everything happened too fast for your eyes to follow: catching him in a surprise was your only and greatest advantage, and you managed to do it. The jar flew from the table and hit Apollo’s head, forcing him away from you and dropping the laurel wreath from his hair; confirming your prediction, the jar was full, and the water spread all over the place as the metal clanged against the floor.

You wasted no time: you dragged your body out of the couch and fled the balcony, leaving your sandals and a paralyzed, dismayed Apollo behind. You crossed the room like a ray and somehow unlocked the door easily despite your shaking hands; not only this, but you had the nerve to take the key with you and lock the door from outside to slow the man who would certainly come after you.

***

Your feet barely touched the stairs while you walked down. Behind your back, there was still silence, but you knew it wouldn’t take long until Apollo reached the door and found a way to open it, so you wouldn’t stay to see what was going to happen.

You soon were back to the wide room where his worshipers were celebrating, and it was with no surprise that you found them as happy as before, and that, as you joined the crowd to reach the exit, they barely remembered you. Still, you couldn’t help finding it scary to be squeezed and pushed to all sides by those strangers, who screamed, sang and danced with no regard for each other and for themselves, as victims of a sinister spell.

***

The image of you running away from him was the most terrifying of the nightmares.

Apollo could have ran after you, grabbed you and pulled you back to the balcony. He could have also stretched his hand toward you and used his golden threads to wrap your body and force you to stay, to submit to him. He even managed to raise his hand while you turned your back to him and moved away, passing under the arc that separated the balcony to the rest of the room… but he didn’t do anything.

He just stood there, paralyzed by the surprise with your reaction and the resulting dizziness in his head, his vision darkening as he came to the shameful conclusion.

What I did… there was nothing beautiful about it.

***

The sun was higher in the sky when he regained his consciousness and left the balcony. It must have been one hour or two, judging by its position now – long enough for the effects of the strike to diminish. His head hurt so much that he was sure he would be dead if he was human.

He left the balcony and passed by a mirror, not so far from its entry. He spotted the bruise on his forehead and flinched: it was darker, deeper than he first imagined. Not that he should be worried about having a permanent scar, of course, but it would ache for days.

The god crossed the silent room and stopped by the doors. One look to the lock and he noticed the absence of the key; the shadow of a smile came to his lips.

Clever girl. Trying to slow me down.

He raised his left hand and, working with his golden threads, he involved the doors and pushed them out of their hinges, destroying both with a thunderous sound. He walked out of the room in firm steps, the wreckage cracking under his golden sandals as he approached the stairs and walked them down.

In a minute, he has reached the first floor, where his worshipers continued to celebrate, yet this time a wave of uneasiness has spread silently among them, clearly provoked by the sound of wrecking materials upon there.

Of course, he was eager to leave and start chasing after you, but he was empathetic with the ones who were there just to love him, and made sure they were all calmed down by his words; with this, they were free to go back to their worshiping, knowing that their Lord would be back in a few moments.

He left the temple and rushed to the garden, as his feet were led by instinct to the place that first connected you, but it was with no surprise that he saw you weren’t there; you didn’t even use the garden as escape route. Still, his heart didn’t ache less with the sight of your tools on the soil, and your flowers abandoned, for they meant only one thing.

Not only you were gone, but you weren’t coming back.

***

Autumn came sooner to those lands that year.

The Temple of the Sun closed its gates long before the last week of Summer, and the worshipers returned to their homes with a strange weight in their hearts; it was clear that their god wasn’t content, but the reason was only known by himself, and perhaps as an act of mercy, he protected them from his wrath by sending them away, assuring them of their innocence and promising a warmer season of festivities for the next year.

The days quickly became short, and the winds of the new season were colder than they were in the previous years; the city’s inhabitants were caught in a surprise, and even feared what Winter has reserved for them. The streets were empty, the markets saw their clientele grow thin, the richest traveled to distant lands and the common people were hidden inside their houses. In the wild, the beasts and the small creatures were sharing the same difficulties, and just as it happened with the humans, there was no guarantee that they would make it through the longer period of cold.

Apollo, on his turn, stood in that house alone, instead of traveling back to his place and his divine fellows at the Olympus: he missed their company, but had no strength to face them after the ugliness he created; it has been a monstrosity and a shame, and this was something he must endure all by himself. And so he did it, spending his days and nights wandering among the cold walls of marble, inside which the sound of chords, voices of adoration and the wine being poured in the goblets wouldn’t be heard, and the echo of his own steps were his only partner; the fires lightened by his followers stopped making him warm even before they turned into smoke and cinders, the sweetness of their incense made him sick and the golden altars and objects of devotion turned gray to his eyes.

All because of what he did to you. Because in his eagerness to make you stay, he ended up scaring you away, and the sun that should have kept you content and safe almost burned you to death. How, he asked himself, how did he deprive love from its natural beauty, he who lived to exalt the beautiful? But silence was the only thing to reply.

***

Apollo visited your garden every morning, staying there for a while before returning to his temple and to his dark meditations. Protecting his physical form from the cold with a gray cloak, he wandered through the natural walls that were once green, but now had only brown and red to offer to his sight; the grass was now a shadow of what they were, just dried vegetation that would crack and whiter under his feet, and the flowers came undone to the touch of his fingers.

Many times he passed by the spot where he abducted you, and tears would fill his eyes as he looked at the watering can and the tools rotten on the cold soil, useless after so long time without executing their functions. One morning, he even considered touching them, but when he approached his hand no remnants of your spirit could be sensed in them, and he moved away.

Well, your presence just vanished from the garden itself, and even from the town: sometimes, he would disguise himself among the mortals and seek for your face in the corners of the streets, but he knew the search was worthless. You were long gone.

Actually, you left and hid on the other side of the land, and even your acquaintances haven’t heard about you since Autumn began. But even you couldn’t deny that the season was less merciful that year… and it didn’t take long for you to realize it had something to do with the episode at Apollo’s House. Maybe he couldn’t accept that a mortal woman defied him, and decided to punish her entire land in return; or maybe he just decided to leave sooner, and with him Summer has left. It was hard to be sure when it came to the gods.

However, as much as you weren’t willing to try and seek for his favor against your will in order to save the people of the city, innocent and defenseless against Nature, your heart has been yearning for your garden, your true house, where your happiness and strength and life purpose were. You’ve been struggling to stay in your hideout and wait until the god’s wrath was over, but you just couldn’t take it anymore.

One morning, despite the cold and the adversities, you dressed up and traveled back there. You had no idea of what you were going to find once you stepped into your beloved garden, and a thousand nightmares haunted you while you were on your way, and the times when you thought of giving up and return to the hideout weren’t few…

But all of this noise disappeared when you found yourself, in fact, standing before the garden’s gates. A breeze passed by you at that moment, coming from inside the garden, and sent a chill through your body – a chill that reached your heart.

You forced your feet to move ahead.

As you walked, farther from the entry and closer to the depths of the garden, you noticed that the sensation of loneliness that you were anticipating didn’t come. Yes, the flowers were dead, the grass was dry and the birds disappeared from the trees, but you had this strange feeling telling you that you weren’t the only living being wandering among the reddish vegetation.

A sudden instinct led your feet to the very place where your watering can and shears were left the day you were taken away by Apollo. Were they in the same place, still waiting for your return? You’d only know if you reached there.

And you did. And they were there. Covered in dirt, dead leaves and ivy.

But they weren’t alone. Someone was watching them in silence, standing among the desolation as if they were just a part of it that was waiting for you to come back as well.

And, perhaps, they were, for when they turned to you, your heart dropped.

It was him. It was him, there was no way for you to be mistaken.

The golden bright in his eyes has faded away, and so was his smile. The pink of his hair was no longer glowing, and the paleness on his skin was unsettling. He was still the god of the Sun, but the Sun just settled.

Suddenly, you were scared. What if he was there waiting to cease your existence in revenge? What if that was just a vision to deceive you, and you were now in a new trap, from which you had no chance to escape like the first one?

You tried to move your feet, but they wouldn’t obey you. Your heart ached inside you, and your eyes were getting filled with tears.

Is this how I’m going to die, then?

Apollo left his spot and walked toward you. He was still silent, but no sign of his intentions could be sensed, and you were too scared to try and guess them. Still, something wasn’t right – and when you finally had the courage to look straight to his face, you understood what it was.

From his eyes you saw tears rolling. And in his expression there was only room for incredulity and pain. It was when you knew: it wasn’t a vision; it was really him. And he couldn’t believe you were there.

Apollo stopped before you and you flinched, not knowing what to expect. You shut your eyes tight… and no touch, no extravagances nor punishment came.

You opened them again and found the proud god kneeling on the dirt soil, taking his cloak from his shoulders and leaving it beside him on the ground, his eyes glued on you all the time, as if you could disappear at the slightest distraction.

You didn’t know how long you stood like this, having only the winds to voice your anguish, but the silence became unbearable, and you opened your mouth to speak – but, as always, he was faster.

– Forgive me.

Two words only, but enough to shake your spirit and think of how strange reality could become. A god apologizing? When would you imagine such a thing?

– Forgive me, my flower – he repeated, since you stood quiet – For those things I’ve done weren’t but terrifying.

He stretched his hand to touch your clothes, but gave up on the gesture as to prove his feeling of shame.

Again, your heart ached, and your mouth dried out. You couldn’t just stand there with no reaction, no word, after traveling for so long to reunite with your beloved garden. But you didn’t know what to do or what would be right, so you just let your body decide.

You knelt on the soil too, before the astonished god, and didn’t try to stop yourself when you saw your arms throwing themselves around him, your head resting on his shoulder, and your skin shivering to the warmth of that embrace. You should be scared, you should be aware of any spell working at that very moment, you should be disgusted to see him there – but you weren’t.

– Yes, Apollo-sama – you murmured, not recognizing your own voice – They were terrifying. But I’m no longer scared.

And that was true. All your fear was leaving. And with the first signs that the Autumn was going away with it, you were strangely in peace.

#snv x reader #ror x reader #apollo x reader #ror apollo #snv apollo #shuumatsu no valkyrie x reader #shuumatsu no valkyrie apollo #record of ragnarok x reader #record of ragnarok apollo