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ay0nha · 7 months

Note

This world needs sanji ANGST...i haven't seen anything like that that isn't immediatley fluff so plz plz plz do angst OR maybe enemies to lovers but reeealll enemies ther'es gotta be beeeffff

tension. jealousy. protectivness. what the hell. where is it.

thank u :3

Pairing: opla!Sanji x f!reader

Word Count: 1.3K

Warnings: canon-typical things, smoking, cursing, the Baratie, mentions of annoying/handsy costumers, RUSHED ending (sorry), etc.

A/N: Hello anon! Thank you so much for the request. I started a little sm sm based of this request and a couple similar ones. It's just a start, so let me know if I should turn this into something more/longer...I have ideas...COMMENTS ENCOURAGED. Enjoy.

PART II

You always preferred sailing on quiet nights.

Fewer lights from the ship scared the stars into submission. It was the only time your shoulders settled and your breaths became leveled. The air’s humidity wrapped you in warmth and the patterned waves lulled your racing thoughts.

Yet, the lights of the Baratie reminded you that those idyllic nights remained only in memory, few and far between. The chatter radiated an aura, which functioned as a reminder of the never ending responsibilities of hospitality.

Your dwindling cigarette marked the time left of your break, but you savored every second. You slouched into your shoulder, head resting softly to the side to acknowledge the footsteps approaching you.

“Sanji.” Even with your back to your newly found company, you knew who had found you. He always had. “If Zeff sent you…” You drew in a deep and finalizing breath, the crackle satisfying in contrast. “Turn around and fuck off.”

The breath of his laughter exposed his delight at your demise. “Your funeral—

“—Our.” You corrected him. Finally offering a glance, you saw he’d replaced his apron for a tie. Always trouble, you thought.

“Nah, you’ll be alright…” He tutted with humor. “Regardless, who can I count on to spit on my grave?”

You hummed to hide a semblance of a smile. Sanji’s charm was worthless to you, never working in his favor. It had taken years of coaxing past vindication to even occupy the same space. So as always, you’d removed yourself to create a more familiar distance.

“Funny.” You only ever entertained him with sarcasm. Flicking your butt into the darkness, you began to walk away. “Just don’t get in the way.”

The night was busy—every night was busy. You hadn’t minded the adrenaline or the late hours. It was what kept you going, kept you from realizing that slowing down would never be an option.

But then the constantly spinning world stopped. Your wrist was caught in the hand of a guest, the very one whose crude remarks failed to cause a reaction. However, your plastered smile only encouraged him. You became a challenge he hadn’t realized would eventually retaliate.

It caused a scene, glass to be broken, and scolding from Zeff that echoed throughout the kitchen. Your pent up venom led you to an ultimatum; cool off or leave. Now, your headache dulled in comparison to the nausea you felt walking back in.

Hearing your name you turned to see Sanji’s face illuminated with his lighter. His eyes were fixed on his task, but you knew he was speaking directly to you. “You’re alright, though? Right?”

It was happening more frequently than you’d like to admit; your sarcastic insult caught in your throat and your breath pinned to the roof of your mouth. Your words were lost. Sanji was responsible for the confusion of feelings and it only furthered your resentment.

Yet, your voice was never found and so you nodded with promise.

Instead, your wrist throbbed and you were sure by the end of the service the bruising would surface. But you rolled it as if the action could wash away the pain. You straightened your posture, pulled a practiced smile, and held a soft air as you began again greeting guests table by table.

The people dining waited their turn just as those rubbing elbows with them. From the decor, the crystal, story of the menu, even you were a part of the experience. Performance was key and you were nothing but stellar at pretending to be someone else.

“Good evening—” You greeted. Your voice could have been mistaken for sultry. Some nights you struggled to recognize yourself. “—I’ve noticed you’re back and your wine is getting low.”

“Always attentive, you.” The Baratie regular reveled in the banter. It was formulaic at this point, but the atmosphere captivated you both.

“I can’t help but play favorites.” You countered, granting a heavy pour of wine into his glass. Your dress cut low, ever dip intentional to distract from the mountain of Berries owed for the aged wine provided.

His eyes took in your figure, falling into the trap. “Apparently, I’ve got competition.”

You wanted to feel good, as you normally did. The fabric complimented your physique and kissed your skin with such sensuality. The feeling of hungry eyes on you never grew old. The assurance was always refreshing. However, there was a weight tonight that wasn’t the fault of the fabric.

“Pirates can never resist treasure.” You pushed past the crack in your demeanor. You smiled wider, but your eyes cast down at your wrist hoping it didn’t reveal too much too soon.

The bark of laughter almost made you flinch. “Not the filthy pirate! Your friend there—” The man continued, complaining about nonsense while raising his already dwindling glass to Sanji. “100 Berries he’s spit in my food.”

That swirl in your chest had just settled, but it returned as your eyes met Sanji’s. His glare wasn’t shy, burning through you. Judgment about your pairing of wine, most likely. Regardless, you noted the fluidity in his movements pulled him closer to you.

The man laughed at the slight staring contest. You internally cursed at breaking first.

“He’s harmless.” You muttered, pouring another serving of wine. Moving your body kept you distracted from the unspoken.

“Harmless?” The man scoffed, inebriation heavy in his inflection.“The scum of a pirate walked—well, crawled really—out of here with nothing but a bloody promise of a slow death.”

You remained light and playful as you finished the conversation, distracting your regular enough to slip away. You made your rounds just as Sanji had, but you were clever to dance around him, avoid him.

It worked at first, but it only aggravated Sanji. He spoke loudly and boldly about the well-known service, slipping in insults and intentionally sabotaging everything you’d just smoothed out. It may not have been intentional. It rarely was if you thought about it, his disappointment reserved for Zeff.

It was as though Sanji had tunnel vision. His upset became yours conscious or not, as every complaint and move he made contradicted yours. It made you trip and stumble. It began to make the night agonizingly slow as he became the barrier between you and the end of the service.

You’d boiled over, pulling harshly on his arm until you both crammed into a blindspot of the rest of the restaurant.

Sanji’s eyes blew wide, but his smirk only widened. Even in his state of mild shock, his mind wandered. “What are you—

You straightened his tie harshly, a threat. “Fix your attitude.”

“Mine?” He countered with disbelief. “If Zeff understood—

“I don’t care about Zeff. I don’t care about you.” You hissed, pushing a finger deep into his chest. Slowly your composure was unraveling, but you regained it quickly, speaking pointedly, “What I care about is this night being over.”

Sanji took the beat of silence to look between your eyes. You were frazzled, your collectedness hanging on by a thread. He could guess why, but you’d never admit he was correct.

“Are you even listening?” You prompted again, ready to move back with utter impatience.

However, Sanji touched the wrist that was within distance causing your body to freeze. “You need ice.”

His hold was gentle, but he felt the heat come from the swelling. The pain was catching up to you.

“Enough.” You spat, wobbling with your steps backward. “Enough of—” Tonight, you wanted to say. The kindness threw you off, made you feel seen in a way you wouldn’t accept. “Just—

“We’ll finish the night smoothly.” Sanji spoke evenly, decidedly for the both of you. “Then, I’ll find ice for you.”

Your chin raised for your childness to surface. “I can take care of myself.”

“I have no doubt.” Sanji felt his emotions settle on his face, the smirk was hard to call on, but the air had become too tense not to with such unfamiliar territory. “But yet, If I don’t help you, you’ll milk it for weeks and I’ll never hear the end of it.”

#QUEUE #I'm nervous writing for someone new #sanji vinsmoke #vinsmoke sanji #sanji #black leg sanji #one piece #one piece sanji #opla!sanji x reader #opla #opla sanji #opla!sanji x f!reader #opla!sanji fluff #opla!sanji angst #sanji angst #sanji fluff #sanji x reader #sanji x you

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brigidfromthecelts · 2 months

Text

Healing Hands (Law X FemReader)

Summary: You were somewhat of a slave on your previous crew - if you could call them that - and now that you are with the Heart Pirates, you don't really want to bother anyone.

Until you ask your captain to remove that awful Jolly Roger tattoo that covers very intimate places that he now has to touch.

Notes: For MATURE readers only! Implied/referenced abuse - Mild Sexual Content

This is very likely a one time thing. I was just trying to do a character study on Law and it escalated! Also, this is quite raw, compared to my usual works. I did not want to waste too much time on this since it was mostly writen on a whim!

Ps: English is not my first language so I apologise in advance for any spelling/grammar mistakes.

Word count: 3650

Link for A03 if you rather read there.

The first time it happened it was very light. Just a deep pressure behind your eyes, a throbbing of sorts that came and went. It was bearable, for a while, then it became bothersome so you thought that some medicine might help and stopped by the sick bay.

Luckily, the captain was nowhere in sight, and you could go by your business unannounced. You did not want to upset your captain! You had barely exchanged two full sentences with him since you joined the Heart Pirates, and to say that he intimidated you was not enough.

So you took some headache pills from the shelf and went on your way.

Only two days had passed when it happened the second time and this time the pain was sharper and it came with nausea and a sensitivity to bright light and loud noises. Grunting you made your way to the sick bay again and popped an extra pill, just to be sure it would pass. Thank God the captain was away again.

The third time happened the morning after and it felt like dying, surely. Your skull was being split into two by an invisible axe and you could barely get out of bed. You went into the bathroom to empty your stomach on the toilet but it was already empty so you were dry heaving for about ten minutes, large tears staining your puffed up red cheeks.

And the pain did not relent.

You knew why this was happening, really. You had been deprived of using your devil fruit powers for such a long time by those cursed sea prism cuffs that, now that you were free to use them, your body was resenting the newfound freedom.

Maybe this time you should go to your captain. This could be beyond your expertise.

You got up on wobbly steps and exited your room. The Polar Tang was bustling with activity, with everyone already on their posts and working hard. Everyone but you. As you were approaching Law’s quarters, you heard him yell and berate someone over - it seemed, since there was no response - the Den Den Mushi. He seemed pretty mad.

So you backed away.

You could do this on your own. All these angry words were making your skin crawl and you could feel your jaw clenching which, in turn, just made your head hurt more and more. You could not help this natural reaction that your body had when presented with stressful situations.

The captain of your former crew -... Wait, could you even call them crew if all they did was kidnap you, place cuffs on you, force you to being with them and abuse you every day? You shouldn't, really. But it was ingrained deep into you that he was your owner and captain . And you should obey him. Anyway, he always yelled. So much yelling.

So your natural reaction to it was to escape. Which you did, even if your head was throbbing and you could barely see where you were going.

You bumped into something - someone - soft and almost fell down on your butt. Hastily apologising to Bepo, who helped steady you, since you could barely stand on your own legs, you looked into his eyes and implored.

“Don't tell the captain, Bepo, please!"

And then you ran away again, seeking refuge in the med bay and thinking about downing the entire bottle of headache pills, wondering how many could the human body sustain before shutting down.

Taking deep calming breaths, you sat on the infirmary bed. Just to get it together since the world was spinning around you and you did not know what to do to stop it.

There was your friend, nausea, making an appearance as well.

So you groaned and laid back. Just a minute. Just until everything stopped hurting.

Then it hit you. You could just use a bit of your powers. Maybe it would help. Oh, for sure it would help. Why didn't you think of it earlier?

Raising your right hand in the air and lowering your index finger made all the sounds stop. You sighed. The outer world had stopped existing and it was bliss for a second.

Then you lowered your ring finger because everything was still so very bright, even without your eyes open, so taking away your sight would make that stop hurting. Surely.

And it did. For a moment.

Next was the smell because the nausea was attacking you again and the smell of alcohol in this room was overwhelming. So you lowered your middle finger and the nausea subsided a bit.

You thanked whatever deity had helped you find the right fruit, because being able to just shut down your senses was definitely a bliss.

But the incessant throbbing was still there. Maybe you should turn off your sense of touch as well. Would it help?

You were about to lower your pinky when you felt a very strong hand enveloping your own and you gasped, though no sound reached your ears. Opening your eyes, you were momentarily confused because you couldn't see anything, until your pained and tired brain clicked and you let go of the hold you had in your senses by relaxing your hand.

And all at once, sound, smell and vision came to you and you were overwhelmed by your captain. His staring was cool and hard and he was berating you with angry words. He smelled of soap and antiseptic and it was all too much. You just wanted to retreat again.

Sitting up and raising your hand again, getting ready to use your powers, once more, you made yourself appear smaller, your legs against your chest, your free arm enveloping your knees, but Law’s grip was firm on your hand and he was not letting you use your powers.

“What do you think you're doing? How long has this been going on? Why didn't you come talk to me? I'm the doctor of this ship! Not just your captain.”

You felt tears sting in the back of your eyes but tears just made your last captain angrier so you bit them back, swallowing a sob. Your hand twitched. You wanted to retreat into yourself so badly.

“Stop trying to use your powers. If you're in pain, I'll help. You don't have to do everything alone.”

Now this time a sob really escaped your lips. No one had cared about you or about helping you for so long. You didn't know what it felt like to get someone's help.

“What hurts? You need to talk to me.”

He wasn't yelling anymore since your hand stopped twitching, but his gaze was so cold and intense .

“Head.” Your voice was weak and fragile. And so, so broken.

He took out a flashlight from the desk’s drawer and examined your irises. Then he told you to open your mouth and you groaned at the effort.

“Dizziness?” You nodded softly. “Nausea?” You nodded once more and your hand grasped the sheets because the world was spinning again. “When was the last time you ate?” You shrug. Honestly you have no idea. “Drink?”

“I can't keep anything in my stomach.” It hurt just to talk.

“Lay back. I'll start an IV. You're dehydrated."

You obeyed and closed your eyes. He wasn't looking at your face when a fat tear rolled down your cheek. It felt nice to be taken care of, for once.

You felt a sting when the needle punctured your skin but barely flinched. “Next time, come to me. I don't bite.”

You nodded stiffly but realised that he needed an explanation. “My last captain didn't like to be disturbed.”

You barely whispered.

“Well, your last captain was a dick and I thought that we had already established that.”

He knew some of the story. You didn't share everything with your new crew. They found you in chains, on one of your former captains punishments and put two and two together with the little information you had provided. They knew you were some sort of slave. You just didn't share much more than that.

The medication he had put in the IV was helping because the pain was subsiding and you sighed.

“If there's a next time, I'll be sure to find you.” You said and he nodded.

There was a beat of silence and he shifted on his chair. He was probably going to leave because he had other businesses to attend to other than keep you company, but, suddenly, you needed him there with you, so you opened your mouth and immediately regretted bringing up the subject.

“Can you erase tattoos?”

His dark eyes bore into yours and you gulped while looking elsewhere.

“Yes, but I thought that they hadn't marked you.” He looked at your bare arms and legs - since you still had your pyjamas on.

“They did. You just can't usually see it…” You felt your cheeks turn beet red. You should not have mentioned this. “Forget it, it's fine. It doesn't bother me that much.” You could feel your eyes stinging again.

“Clearly it does.” He leaned back on the chair and crossed his arms. “Do you want to show me?”

Not really. You didn't even know why you brought it up. Other than the fact that everytime you undressed or took a shower you wanted to use a knife and cut that damn tattoo off of you.

“It's big.”

That was an understatement. It was huge.

“Show me.” Well that was an order. And you were used to those. So you sighed deeply, trying to gather some courage.

He was a doctor, he was a handsome man. He had definitely seen boobs before. There was nothing to fear.

Slowly you lifted your pyjama's shirt, making sure you kept your nipples covered with your hands - trying to maintain some dignity, at least - while your eyes looked at anything other than his face.

Law got up and you heard a low grunt erupting from deep in his throat. “That dick did this to you?”

You nodded and suddenly your throat felt very tight. “He did.” You could feel Law’s eyes roaming around your body. The tattoo of the previous crew Jolly Roger was carved in the middle of your sternum but, since the Jolly Roger was of an octopus, it's tentacles were everywhere. Two of them enveloped your breasts in a very sexualized manner, there were two that escaped to the back, two just roamed around your stomach and the other two disappeared beneath the hem of your shorts.

And those were the ones Law was staring at, his eyes dark and his lips a thin line. You gulped, self conscious of your body and covered up.

“It's no big deal. It's been there for the last five years anyway…” And you could still feel the way your last captain touched you to mark your skin. Your turned your face away from Law, stifling a very small sob. You hated feeling this weak and pathetic. But there was nothing that you could do about it.

After five years of constant abuse, it was instinctive.

“I can do it whenever you want.” His voice betrayed nothing. But his eyes were as cold as death.

“Would right now be okay?” Had that sounded desperate? Because you were pretty sure you could not take another bath scrubbing yourself raw until everything turned red.

He nodded. “Just going to let Bepo know that I'll be busy. We should let the IV finish as well, so you have strength.”

And he left you without another word, but you could see him clenching his fists and could feel his aura and he was beyond angry.

You closed your eyes and tried to rest a bit. The pain in your head had finally subsided.

-*-

You woke up to a burning sensation in your stomach and hissed through your teeth while lifting up your head.

“I'm sorry, does it hurt? I anaesthetised you, so it shouldn't be too bad.” You shook your head. You'd known worse pain than this. “You were sound asleep so I started on your back then proceed to the stomach area. It's done.”

You looked down and he was right. A big part of it was gone. Most of the tentacles and the Jolly Roger were gone. You were really out of it for not having felt anything.

“For the rest of the tentacles you need to… Remove your clothes.” Was that a hint of a blush on his face? Because yours was burning up.

You nodded slowly. “Now?” He also nodded so you took a deep breath and took off your shirt. It was just boobs. And nipples. The last crew had seen them on a daily basis anyway and you were pretty sure that Law was just going to look at them in a medical way, not oggle at them and try to touch them like the other pirates did.

Somehow, very secretly, you were glad that the last captain only wanted you to himself. You would not have survived long by being abused by everyone in the crew.

Yep, that was definitely a blush on his cheeks. You gulped and tried to look anywhere but his face, but it was hard. He was so… intriguing…

Law hissed trough his teeth and flexed his fingers. “I have to touch you. It's the way this works. Can I?” You nodded but he closed his eyes firmly. “I know what you've been trough - at least what you do share, clearly not enough - so I need verbal consent this time, okay? Can I touch your breasts?”

Your stomach summersaulted at this affirmation and you were pretty sure that your heart had skipped a beat. Thankfully you weren't on any monitor or that would've been flagrant. “Yes, you can touch me.”

And as soon as his long fingers started to trace the tattoo on your skin, you felt like molten lava. He was just using his fingertips and his touch was so light, yet it was igniting a fire in your belly that you didn't know was there.

You were pretty sure that your mouth hung open since the minute he started to touch you but you couldn't care less. This feeling was overwhelming . You gulped and glanced at his face. His brows were scrunched together and his jaw was clenched tight. You could see little prespiration beads forming in his forehead. Was he using that much of his power? Or was it just the concentration?

His fingertips grazed your erect nipple and you bit your lower lip to stifle a moan. What was wrong with you? He was a doctor! He was doing a procedure! And you were getting turned on like crazy!

You closed your eyes tight and took a deep shaky breath. Vaguely a lone thought passed through your mind. You had never been touched like this. In such a gentle way. No touch had ever ignited this… desire within you.

You could feel your heart beating somewhere between your legs and you knew that that was no place for it to be beating so you tried to think of something else.

But you couldn't think of anything else.

Because this man was fire and desire and he was literally burning himself into your skin. Your hands clasped the sheets tight and you fought very hard not to arch your back and lean into his touch.

“Does it hurt?” His voice was somewhat affected as well. He seemed… drunk. But certainly not on booze.

“No!” You should've just kept your mouth shut tight because your no came out accompanied with an earth shattering moan that you were trying to contain since he started to touch you. He gasped and removed his hands. You turned tomato red and covered your mouth with your own hand. “I'm sorry, I didn't mean…”

Didn't mean what, genius? To be so turned on by your touch? To give in to pleasure? To want to have your lips on my nipples and your cock inside me? Shit. You should get a grip.

His hands were on the bed and he hung his head down, taking a deep breath. Was this affecting him too?

“Maybe you should use your powers.” His voice was so low that you weren't sure he had spoke at all. “Remove your sense of touch so I can do this.” The silence was stifling. “And remove mine, as well…”

When you didn't answer he lifted his head and you could see his eyes. He seemed lost, like he had never felt quite like this before. So you felt bold.

“I want to feel you.” You forced yourself to stare at him while you said those words and you couldn't care less if your head was fuming with embarassment. “Do you want to feel me…?”

He opened his mouth to answer but closed it immediately, taking a deep breath instead. “I'm your captain.”

“So?"

“Your experience with previous captains was terrible. I don't want to make you uncomfortable.”

Your hand traveled all the way up to his and your touch was feather light. “You're not making me feel uncomfortable. You're helping me heal.”

And that was the truth, because his touch was healing emotional scars as much as the physical ones and he should know that.

His eyes burned through yours and he seemed to be waging war inside of himself.

A small nod.

You could count that as a win. So you settled back again. Inhaling deeply and trying to control your emotions. You could use your powers as he had suggested. But you wanted to feel him .

“I need you to… Lower your shorts… Please.”

Your head snapped up and you stared at your boobs. He was done already with the tentacles of the breasts? Okay, so this was fast. You could get trough this.

Gulping, your hands found the hem of your shorts and you pulled them down, along with your panties. You heard Law’s shaky exhale while he looked at you. You knew the two tentacles trailed over the mound of your pussy and wrapped themselves around your thighs. So you lifted your knees and opened your legs slightly before he had to ask you to.

It took a while before he touched you and you were starting to feel self conscious. “Is… Is everything alright?”

He grunted and held his index finger up, like asking you to wait, while his eyes remained closed. For an instant you thought that he was reviewing the process in his head, but then your eyes traveled down his pants - unintentionally - and you could see the outline of his hardened cock tight against his pants.

So he was as aroused as you were.

Blushing, you were just about to give some mercy to this man and to use your powers when he opened his eyes and, with a very determined look, started to touch you.

And by everything that was sacred, there were so many nerves down there, and it was like they were all tingling, right now.

You instantly clenched your jaw and grasped the sheets. His touch was harsher now, needier it seemed. He was using both hands - maybe trying to finish this faster? - and the sensations were intensifying by the second.

A burning sensation all around, a tightness in your belly and an ache - like something was missing - in your core. His fingers were so deft and long and hot and you needed them inside you so desperately .

You bit your lip and couldn't help but arch your back a little when his finger almost touched your clit. He grunted and hissed through his teeth but he did not stop.

Aparently, two hands truly worked faster because he moved his position and was now staring at your tighs - and probably at your dripping wet self.

“You're going to kill me.” He muttered between his teeth but before you could reply, he had one hand on each of your tighs and his touch was now rough but not at all unkind and you moaned so hard your throat hurt.

“Fuck, Law. Maybe take a break. I-... I'm…” Everything was overwhelming and his touch was igniting you and you just knew that you were going to fold and come even without his fingers inside of you, if he didn't remove his fucking hot hands from you.

“I'm almost done.” His grunt was almost animal like and this time - maybe on purpose or maybe because he was being a bit sloppy with his work - his thumb did brush your clit.

“Law!” You screamed and squirmed and your legs clenched while you rode out your waves of pleasure.

God, nothing ever had felt quite like this. And this was the result of this man's blessed hands. You noticed that he was panting as well. A very deep blush was covering his cheeks, as were yours.

“I'm sorry…” You started, a bit ashamed now.

He inhaled and regained a bit of composure. “Don't ever say you're sorry about your pleasure. You and I both know you've suffered enough.”

You nodded while a lone tear traveled across your cheek.

“Your tattoo is gone now. Hopefully I was able to replace the awful memories associated with it.”

Your mirthful laugh made him lift his eyes to meet yours and he looked surprised. You realised that it was because this was the first time that you had actually laughed since boarding the Polar Tang. “Yes, you were.”

“Are you alright?” He asked, his cool demeanour almost back in place. You nodded softly and he hooked another fluid bag to your IV and told you to rest for a while.

His hand lingered on your arm, you noted.

And as you closed your eyes you couldn't help but think that you were alright indeed.

Albeit, perhaps a bit in love with Trafalgar Law.

#law x reader #trafalgar d law #trafalgar d water law #trafalgar d law x reader #one piece #one piece x reader #heart pirates

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alloftheimagines · 1 year

Text

joel miller | left behind

masterlist | taglist | ko-fi

words: 2.9k

warnings: angst, angst, angst. so much angst. ep two spoilers. tess's death. grief. loss. infected stuff. reader is tess's younger sister. age gap. more angst. so much angst. slightly violent reader.

synopsis: in which joel honours a promise he made to tess that means he must force reader to leave your infected sister behind in boston. resentment and a bit of hurt/comfort ensues as you head to frank and bill's.

sibling!tess x reader, reader x joel, little bit of reader x ellie

tags: @sweetbabygirlsworld

“Holy shit. She’s infected.”

You didn’t think the world could fall apart twice, but you look at Tess as Ellie's words settle in and realise you were wrong. Here you are again, losing everything. This time, you don’t know if you can survive.

“Tess…” you whisper, shaking your head slowly. “No. No. No.”

Beside you, Joel is deadly still. He looks at your sister with such detachment that you want to scream. This is Tess. Fucking Tess.

But you know him. You know he’s good at switching off when things get tough. Not like you. You wear your heart on your damn sleeve, and you can’t fucking do this. You look at her again, heart breaking. You feel every tear, every shard slipping through your ribcage. Tess is motionless — resigned. She wears sadness, but no fear. None anybody but you can see, anyway. You grew up with her. You can see the fading light in her eyes in a way the others won’t.

And you don’t know what to do.

“Let me see it,” Joel orders quietly.

“Joel…” Tess pleads.

“Show me,” he growls.

Bitterly, she tears down the collar of her shirt, revealing the infection blossoming across bruised veins. Your knees threaten to buckle, nausea rising in your throat.

“No.” Tears slip down your cheeks, and you’re already searching the room again for some hint the Fireflies might have left, some sign that it won’t end like this. “No. The girl is a cure. If we can just—”

Tess is saying your name. You’re not listening. If you listen, it will be real. If you listen, you will have to say goodbye to the only family you have left.

“Joel,” she’s saying now. “This kid… this kid is real, okay? You gotta get her, get them both, to Tommy’s. He’ll know where to go, what to do.”

“No. No, I’m not doing that,” he replies.

You’re still rattling around, searching old papers and nooks for something, anything; as though you’ll find a miracle in the shadows.

“If not for the kid then for her.” Tess’s voice rises. You squeeze your eyes shut, your back turned to her. “She needs you, Joel. This is the end of the road for me, but you need to keep going. Promise me."

“I’m not leaving you here!” you shout, throwing the first thing you find against the wall. It smashes to dust. “We’ll find a way out of this, Tess. We always fucking do. Let’s just stop and figure it out!”

“There is no figuring it out.” Tess marches over to you, gripping your face in her hands. You try so hard to fight it, so hard to stay in denial, but you look at her drawn face and know she’s already half-gone. You know the worry furrowing her brows isn’t for herself, but for you. For what will happen to you now. She practically raised you, toughening you up or else cradling you through the bad nights, never any in between. It made you both strong and so unbearably weak. Not like Joel, who has never let anything touch him.

You choke on a sob and close your eyes. “Please, Tess. Please. This can’t be it. I need you.”

“I need you. I need you to be safe. I need you to keep going. Please, sweetheart.” She softens, brushing the tears from your eyes. “Please. For me.”

“No—”

The sound of moans and the shuffling of uneven footsteps interrupt your protest. Joel goes to the window and curses, readying his gun. “Infected. Shit tonne of ‘em. We gotta go.”

You grab Tess’s wrist without thinking. “Come on.”

But she slips out of your grasp, stepping away from all of you. Ellie has tears in her eyes, but she says nothing, looking for the first time not to Tess or Joel, but to you.

“I can buy you some time, but you have to run. You have to go,” Tess whispers.

You shake your head again, ferociously this time. “No. No, I’m not leaving. If you stay, I stay.”

She snaps her head away. “Joel. Get her out of here.”

You fight back a bitter scoff, fists curling at your sides — but then hands lock around your arms, nudging you away. “Come on," Joel grunts. "We have to go. Now.”

The betrayal stings. This is fucking Tess. Of all people, he should want to help her. He shouldn’t be giving up on her.

You snarl, “Fuck you if you think I’m going anywhere!”

He doesn’t let up, face carved from stone. “We can’t stay,” he hisses, ducking his head to meet your eye. “You want us all to die?”

“You go! I’m not—”

“Now, Joel!” Tess is yelling. “Get her the fuck out of here now!”

He swears under his breath again and then his arms are like a vice around your waist, your feet lifting from the floor as he drags you away, kicking and screaming.

“No!” You’re shrieking now, vocal cords ripping apart as you try to reach for your sister. "Tess!"

But she doesn’t reach back. She turns away, and you know with certainty it’s the last time you’ll see her face.

“Tess, please!” Sobs erupt from you, and you fight harder now, but Joel is too strong, too broad, too heavy-handed to let you go. “Please! Please! Let me go! Let me stay with her! She's my fucking sister, Joel!”

The fresh air hits you all at once. One moment you’re there, watching your sister get smaller and smaller as infected scratch and rattle the doors, and then you’re back in the rubble of the drab city, the gold dome of Massachusetts State House dwindling.

And then exploding.

As your feet finally hit the floor and you try to nudge Joel away, the earth cracks with black smoke and you’re thrown to the ground. Joel’s warmth shields you, and you feel Ellie trembling at your side.

Silence blankets you like ash. It takes a moment for your brain to comprehend it. Any of it.

You shove Joel to look back at the State House. The building that is no longer a building, just debris and fire.

The building where your sister was standing not a moment ago.

“No.” You say the word differently now. Softer. Devastation pierces through it, through you. She’s gone. Tess is gone.

“Darlin’...” Joel puts his hand on your shoulder and squeezes, and fury sparks through you.

“You did this!” you scream, hitting his chest again, and again and again. “You took away my choice!” Because the truth is, you would sooner have died in there with Tess than carry on without her. “You took away my fucking sister!” Because he’d gotten her into the jobs, the smuggling. He’d done all of this.

Joel doesn’t react, barely even budging as you slam into him. His jaw is set, trembling, throat bobbing, and finally he catches your hands and locks his fingers around your wrists. “Look at me.”

You can’t. You can’t look at him, or anywhere else. You want to vomit. You want to disappear.

Instead, your chin wobbles and your ribcage opens up and everything pours out of you as you wail.

He catches you as you sink to the ground, pulling you to his chest, and you’re too weak to push him away now.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers into your hair, rocking you gently. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, sweetheart. There was nothing else we could do. Nothing else I could do. But look at me. Please look at me.” He grips your jaw just as Tess had, and you flinch. You hate him. You fist his shirt between your fingers and you want to destroy it, destroy everything around him.

Except you don’t. He’s all you have left, and the realisation makes you numb. Joel fucking Miller is the only goddamn person you have.

You do as he asks. You look at him.

“She bought us time," he says. "We can’t waste it now. Do you understand? We can grieve her later, but right now, we gotta go. We have to get up and keep going. For Tess.”

You hate that he’s right most of all. As you begin to shut down, shock taking over, you look back at the smoking State House and stand. And then you clutch Joel’s collar and bare your teeth.

Ellie stumbles towards you, eyes round with fear, but you’ve lost the will to care about her presence. You’ve lost everything today.

“Don’t you fucking say her name again,” you snap. “You lost that right. I blame you. I blame you for who she became, who we’ve all become.”

Anguish curls across Joel’s features, but you refuse to feel guilty. You let him go roughly and grab your backpack off the floor, the same one you’d clutched during the outbreak just after you’d watched your parents get savaged by your infected neighbours, Tess dragging you to safety. You’d been thirteen years old, and your sister had gotten you through hell and back, that night and every other one that came after.

“It shouldn’t have ended like this,” you whisper into the wind, swallowing your own tears.

It’s the last moment you allow yourself to have, and then you wipe your damp cheeks and glare down at Joel again.

“Get up. Let’s go.”

He does, looking winded as he rises from his knees to his feet. You allow him to lead the way only because he knows the city, knows his way around, far better than you did. Tess rarely let you do jobs out of the QZ, protective until the bitter fucking end.

You wish more than anything you could have protected her.

***

You don’t get the chance to catch your breath again until you get to Bill and Frank’s — which is empty. You never met them yourself, but you know Tess warmed to them, so to find them dead too… it feels like the last piece of good in the world is truly gone. You slump onto their couch still wrapped in numbness as Joel and Ellie gather supplies, reluctant to so much as look at you. Later, you hear them talking about showering, and Ellie thumps up the stairs, leaving the place quiet. You should wash, too. You should eat, drink, prepare for whatever comes next, but you can’t move. Can’t do anything.

After minutes, or perhaps hours, of silence, Joel kneels in front of you with a plate of food. “You need to eat, darlin'. I know it’s hard, but you have to.”

You hate him calling you that. He never used to call you that. He barely addressed you at all, stubborn, grumpy old man he is. But he’s been family for a long time, and the three of you…

You got by together. Until now.

You glance down at the food and your stomach turns.

“Please,” he whispers, voice cracking. It surprises you, that vulnerability bleeding into his words — and it seems to surprise him too, by the look on his face. You’ve never seen him like this. Not once.

You take a bite for that alone. It’s dry in your mouth, and you find it hard to swallow, so you push the rest away. He sighs and puts it down on the coffee table, swapping the plate for his flask. You take a swig, whiskey burning like vinegar in your throat.

“If I talk,” he asks, “will you listen?”

“No,” you answer honestly. “No, I don’t feel much like listenin’, Joel.”

Still, he takes your hand. You glare at your intertwined fingers but make no move to pull away. Perhaps part of you still needs to be coddled, taken care of the way Tess might have.

And maybe you need to know you’re not alone. That he isn’t going to give up on you the way he so easily did with Tess. Which is sick, you know, but you’ve never much been able to help the way you feel about him. The way you have always wanted to peel away his layers and understand him. Tear away his self-hatred, guilt, grief, for whatever horrors he faced before.

“I didn’t want this. Not for Tess and sure as hell not for you.”

“I told you,” you bit. “I told you not to say her name.”

“I made a promise to her a long time ago.” He continued as though you hadn’t spoken, his brown eyes pleading. “I promised that if something happened to her, I would always protect you. That’s what I did today. I was honouring that promise, and honouring your sister. If you need someone to blame, someone to hate, if that makes it easier, go ahead. But don’t think for a second that this was a choice I wanted to make. I cared about her. I care about you. And even if I have to drag you kickin’ and screamin’, I’m getting you to Wyoming, to Tommy. You and I still have a job to do.” Slowly, as though unsure how you’ll react, he tucks your hair behind your ear. “That kid needs us, but we need her a hell of a lot more if the cure is real. And I… I need you. I need you here with me, safe. I ain’t losing another…”

He bows his head, words thickening. “I ain’t going back on my promise to Tess, so you can make it difficult as you like. You can never lay your damn eyes on me again. But I’m getting you through this.”

A tear drips down your cheek, your entire body trembling as the sorrow, the grief, finally takes over.

“Oh, baby,” Joel whispers, voice full of the same loss, the same pain.

A whimper escapes you as you put your head in your hands. You can’t even hate him now, because you can imagine your martyr of a sister asking Joel to do just that. To protect you above all else. Still, you despise it — despise that your choices were taken away, your voice ignored.

“I should have been with her,” you say. “She shouldn’t have died alone.”

“She died knowing you were being taken care of.” He squeezes your knee with rough hands. “She died knowing she saved us. It’s the best anyone could’a done. I wish it could have been different.”

“I don’t know how to do this without her,” you admit, because how can you keep it all in? All the love you had for her, all that grief… where will you put it when it’s spilling out of you without warning?

“That’s something we’ll figure out,” Joel responds. He’s drawing circles into your lower thigh now, the pad of his thumb wearing down your denim jeans slowly. Wearing you down slowly. “You should take a shower then see about finishing your food. That hot water… it’ll help. And I won’t be mad if you use it all before I get my turn.” He offers you a small smile.

But you can’t imagine anything ever helping. You close your eyes, sinking back into the couch. “In a minute. I just need…” You don’t know what you need. If you’re being honest, you need Tess.

As though knowing it, Joel rises, the couch cushions dipping with his weight beside you. He lets out a soft sigh, fidgeting with his fingers. You feel the weight of his gaze on the side of your face.

A moment later, he’s draping a blanket over you, and your lids flutter open again in confusion.

“S’okay,” Joel says. “Get some rest. I’ll wake you when it’s time to go.”

You don’t need to be told twice. But when you try to nod off, you only see Tess burned on the inside of your eyelids. Her face the last time you saw it. The bite. Her pleas for you to go.

You give up quickly, aware Joel is still beside you, unmoving. It isn’t like him to not be moving.

Rubbing your face, you sit up, pushing the blanket off. “Joel…”

“Hmm?”

“Blaming you... it doesn't make it fucking easier. I understand why you did what you did, even if I don’t like it. But if you ever take away my choice again… I won’t go on with you. I can’t. I know you and Tess still see me… saw me,” you correct with a wince, “as a kid, but I’m not. Not anymore. And I sure as hell ain’t your responsibility.”

“I don’t see you as a kid,” he says quietly. “And I don’t see you as my responsibility, either. Honestly?” He purses his lips, tapping on the arm of the couch before he continues, “I see you as the only damn thing worth going out of my way to protect. Make of that what you will. Just… don’t expect me to let you die if that’s your choice. I can’t do that. I won’t do that. I won’t apologise for it, either.”

You’re not sure what to say to that; what it means. Why Joel, of all people, is the one to say it. You always thought he and Tess…

“Why? That promise mean so fucking much?”

“Yeah." He looks at you as though for the first time. "Yeah, it does."

You don’t have the energy to wonder what it means anymore. Instead, you pull yourself up on unsteady feet. Your mind is racing, and that shower is sounding better as reality sets in. Just in time, Ellie returns with damp hair and fresh clothes. She offers a small, reassuring smile, and you ruffle her hair, feeling guilty that a fourteen-year-old was subjected to everything you went through in Boston. Whoever she is, whatever purpose people want her to serve… she’s just a kid, and you couldn’t hold it together for her today. That makes you a shitty chaperone.

“My turn,” you mumble, glancing at Joel a final, wary time before heading upstairs. His expression doesn’t change, but you see something new in it now. Something strange.

Something that looks an awful lot like care.

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mrsnancywheeler · 5 months

Text

midnight rain part 2 // finnick odair x f. reader

summary: finnick had pulled the plug on your relationship long ago, when he could no longer keep from you what he'd been forced into. but after you've returned victorious from your games, he knows you need him as the nightmares come for you each time you close your eyes.

previous chapter

the sequel

warnings: descriptions of gore, violence, death, including an eye, blood, manipulation of someone's feelings to survive, betrayal, unrequited love to resentment, mentions of a break up, relationship with lack of communication, anxiety with symptoms of nausea, allusions to trafficking but no explicit detail, ANGST, hurt/comfort, fluff, nightmares and flashbacks, if there were more I didn't get I'm sorry

unedited and not beta read

2.7k words

“Only two more stops, angel. Then we'll be back home." Finnick was clasping together your necklace for you as you stared blankly into the mirror. He was trying to be comforting, but it was difficult when two more stops meant he'd have to tell you soon. First you'd get through District 4, through talking about Conway, and he'd let you down when you were headed to wrap it all up in the Capitol.

“Promise?" You desperately wanted to be home, to deal with the haunting of your nightmares without having more to face every day.

Finnick couldn't really promise you'd get to go straight home after the Capitol, maybe Snow had something waiting or maybe you'd have longer to wait. So he said nothing, he offered you a small smile and kissed the top of your head. Now your innocent question left your chest pounding, why didn't he just say, yes?

“Let's go get you something to eat, angel." He offered his hand out to you which you paused before taking. There were too many secrets, you'd tried to allow him them after all he'd gone through of course he had things he still needed to process. However, this was now your life too and if they involved you then you deserved to be told. Yet you knew nothing you could say or do would convince Finnick to reveal things except his own inner clock.

“Okay." Tearing your eyes away from him as you rose from the vanity’s stool. Exhaustion was only slightly hidden in your tone.

Of course he knew why this was, besides the little sleep you'd been able to obtain between nightmares that left you sobbing into his arms, but he reasoned that currently he was doing you a favor. So he said nothing further on the subject as you walked out of the train car only awaiting the difficult day ahead.

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

When your name was called in the reaping you could have sworn your heart was going to fall right out of your body. All the blood was rushing straight to your head and your body begged you to just collapse then and there. But the performance had already begun, everyone would be watching to see how District 4’s female tribute acted. Would she be cocky and strong? What about scared and fleeting? You already had to start forming an image as you walked up the stage on shaky legs.

When you saw his face as you approached the steps you could no longer push away the incoming tears from at least briefly shedding. Finnick. All he'd said he would to protect you, the poor boy who pushes you away claiming it was to keep you safe from a looming danger that he would not reveal. Eyes are windows to the soul and his showed how his heart was being violently crushed on top of the hastily thrown on bandages for its past cracks and bruises.

Maybe your eyes showed the same thing to whomever was paying attention to them, whoever was really trying to get inside this tribute’s head. Perhaps it would benefit you if they did, to be seen as a hopeless romantic needing to get home for an unseen love. Thoughts of how you would perform filled every crevice of your brain and the Capitol escort reached inside the bowl to pull out a male tribute's name.

Her voice was like a sickly, sweet syrup, cotton candy that was melting down the stick on a hot day as she let out a heavy breath into the microphone.

“Conway Delmare!” Your heart pounced up, maybe the odds were in your favor after all. Part of you wanted to shake the forming idea off, it was cruel, mean, unfair, but so is everything else, this is life and death.

He walked onto the stage with confidence and he gazed at you with pity. Pity. Is that what sealed his fate? An ‘I don't need your pity, I pity you for what I'm about to do.’ The two of you shook hands, his was firm and calloused, yours soft and fleeting. That feeling he'd always found so entrancing about you, how delicate you were with your looks, your smiles, your touch, your voice, but unbeknownst to him the same thing could not be said of the part of your soul plotting his demise.

Looks could be faked and you mustered every feeling that represented your heart's visceral reaction to Finnick straight into Conway’s deep, midnight eyes and the look he gave back to you showed that he fell for it hook, line, and sinker. So as you were led to say your familial goodbyes you began mentoring yourself on exactly how you'd already begun playing this game and your hard work would not be put to waste.

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

There was only a matter of minutes before you made your grand appearance in front of District 4, in front of Conway's family and your stomach was in knots. At the time you began hatching your tactics to win you didn't have time to think about how everyone would view you for it. If the Capitol thought you were a Princess, a damsel in distress who had to fight for herself like she was in some sort of twisted fairy tale then the districts, your district saw a manipulator, a sly girl who couldn't just harm the usual way but made cuts into people's hearts. You played the game too hard and too well to be forgiven.

Heckling was something you were prepared for, you doubted the Peacekeepers would let it happen for long, but if it did you'd deserve it you reasoned. What would hurt the most would be staring at Conway’s mother who'd once made you snacks after school, his father who'd tell you fantastical stories about his job, his younger sister who wanted to mimic everything about you, and his older sister who comforted you when Finnick had broken your heart, knowing that you had exploited these relations to leave him dead in the muddy marshlands of the arena. They would resent you just as much as you resented yourself for it. There was no space in your heart to blame them for this, just mind hollowing guilt.

“You gotta stay with me, sweet girl " Finnick’s arm around your waist brought you back to the present, out of counting down the seconds until you faced the consequences of your actions.

“I'm gonna be sick." Anxiety always had you dry heaving, desperate to be free of the gnawing inside.

“No you won't. C’mon, angel, you step out there, say the speech on the card, smile, avert your eyes no matter how difficult, and then you come right back to me." His reassuring smile was usually infectious like the sunshine, like Conway’s had once been.

“He should be going right back to them, Finnick. I'm such a terrible person." You didn't realize how cold your face was until he was wiping away the tears falling.

“No you're not, that's what they want you to feel. But you're not, you did what you needed to do. It's not your fault if you decided to play smarter." Someone was shouting something and you knew it was time for you to go, to do exactly as Finnick had instructed no matter how difficult. You reluctantly pulled away from his comforting hands, “I'm not going to wipe all the tears, it'll help. Not because you're manipulative, but it shows you are how you present yourself, remorseful."

You nodded and sniffled, hands tightly gripping the card with the speech. He gave you a reassuring nod as you took slow steps to the doors, preparing to dissociate completely from the people who lie ahead. Panem today, Panem tomorrow, Panem forever.

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

“We should keep heading east, put enough distance between us that we can think of a plan to ambush their camp before they ambush us." Conway was leaned up against a tree as he wiped the sweat off his brow, the mugginess was making you both claustrophobic.

“I'm not sure why we split anyways, it would have been easier to take them by surprise immediately, if that was your plan." Exactly, his plan didn't make sense. It made you tense, put you on edge, which was a terrific achievement considering the current predicament.

“I told you, I heard Birch talking.” His voice was brisk, usually it was more playful. Conway usually had a tone of cold strawberries on a hot summer day, but now it was like they were just as hot and mushy as the weather.

You nodded cautiously, the tides were changing. Every vein pumping blood echoed through your head, he was off, this was all wrong. He'd checked off nearly every box you'd expected, so why was he diverging from the script now? Adrenaline was pushing through your legs, you were ready to run, it shook through your arms, he had the spear and the knives in the bag. Stupid. Too much trust and you were basically defenseless, you should have prepared for this outcome as well.

“So what's the plan until then?" Your voice exuded relief and trust, but he'd known you for too long to not notice the tapping of your foot. Signaling how ready you were to bolt if things went awry.

Conway looked down a second and scoffed, “I think you've caught onto that by now."

Just like that you were hurtling through the marsh, darting around the trees, and as the breeze screamed wildly through your hair, your jacket, everything was too loud. You weren't sure what was his pounding footsteps and what was your heart in your ears with all the overstimulation. Him screaming your name was; however, loud enough to distinguish.

He'd always been an unbalanced climber so your instincts decided to send you barreling up the nearest tree. You were too slow and his hands clawed into your legs, so you screamed and kicked, but he pulled you down regardless. Hitting your head with a thud that made all noice cease for a second. Tears filled your vision, you were desperately trying to push yourself away with your legs and forearms, but he had you pinned down.

“Did you really think I would believe you would just suddenly stop loving him? After years of me pining for you, suddenly now was a good time for you to realize you'd felt the same?" His laugh was biting and you shook your head as burning tears covered your face in desperation. He should have hit you with the spear but somewhere he'd abandoned it, you shouldn't have let the adrenaline take over because sometimes between then and now he'd grabbed the knife too. It was all so personal.

" Conway, please, it's not like that.” You thrashed wildly, digging your fingernails into his hands trying to get him to drop the weapon that with one sure slide could put an end to your backbending efforts.

" It's not like you thought I would do anything for you, even though you turned me aside for years, for him? He doesn't even want you, but you only really see me when it saves you. But it's not gonna save you this time, princess.” He jammed the knife down as you pulled your body every which way, screaming as he missed his target and landed on your side. “What did I beat you at your own game? Did you think I was dumb enough-"

Before he could finish his own screams filled the wind when you let your instincts take over, jamming your thumb into his eye. Blood poured from it as he instinctually went to cover it, you kicked him further off of you. Your eyes greedily searched for the spear as you propelled yourself off of the ground.

“Damn you!" He yelled as he tried to see through the river of blood pouring over one of them. Finally you saw the weapon he'd discarded and hastily scrambled for it. Using every concentrated muscle possible to aim it straight into his chest without pause. The impact caused his already stumbling self to crash onto his back. His cries overtook the arena and your senses were once again flooded. There was no time for sympathy when he was still breathing and eager for your cannon to go off before his, so you approached his body and pushed the spear further in. The cannon rang out and you gave an exhaustive sigh of relief, wiping your face of its grime.

There was no time to rest when you'd heard a branch snap and whirled around only to see Birch. A perfect loop for what would haunt you.

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

This time when you woke up it was the numbness that hit. Thinking about how the sunshine ray of a boy who'd always supported you had been snuffed away because of you. You damaged him, Conway would've been happy to live a quiet seaside life with your families, kids and candy, he was so kind until you tore it all up with that urge to win. Maybe if you hadn't been so dark and dreary to his rays of sunlight he would have happily sacrificed himself for you and sent you back with a wish to take care of his family.

All to be with the man keeping you warm and safe now, from the ghosts of your own memories. You could feel his ocean eyes boring into you as you stared at the ceiling, he probably hadn't slept at all.

“Finnick?" Your voice sounded foreign to you, it was as if you were above yourself.

“Yes, angel?" His breath fanned into your neck, his nose nuzzling into the side. It relaxed you so well that it made you feel worse. Why did you deserve that comfort?

“If this had never happened, if it hadn't been my name, would you have come back to me?" Your body was stiff and freezing. If you had broken Conway's kind, overflowing heart for this kind of love you at least needed to know the truth.

“I'm sorry, I want to keep you so safe, so above it all, but I can't anymore." Finnick shook his head into your shoulder as he sat up, taking a deep breath. His eyes were bloodshot from lack of sleep and the fact he was holding back waterworks he didn't want to show anyone. “President Snow, ever since I won-" He was getting choked up on his words and you rubbed his shoulders, trying to relax his tensed muscles. “I'm popular, my love, the Capitol darling and so he lets people buy me." Finnick's voice was so quiet it could have been snapped in half with scissors.

The courage it took for him to open up about that was unfathomable to you so you just wrapped your arms around him as tightly as you could. He'd left because he was ashamed, you felt bile rising in your throat, how could you have ever felt let down by him when he was battling so many demons everyday in isolation?

“Angel, I don't know what this means for you. That's the worst part, that's the selfish part. I should have given you more time to prepare, but I wanted to help you deal, but I can't.” He was crying and it was tearing your soul apart. " You deserve to know what could happen, they've already dubbed you with a nickname, you're so popular, it almost feels inevitable. Yet my heart drops in my chest every time it crosses my mind because you deserve so much better.”

You pulled your body away from his, catching his warm face in your cold hands." So do you.” It felt like a weight had been lifted from his chest as you whispered this out and he embraced you once again. Pulling you back down to lie within the confines of the pillows. He would still struggle to vocalize all of his inner traumas with you, but you were a saving grace. So understanding, someone who at the end of the day he could wrap his arms around feel like he was at home with. Where he would think about collecting sea shells rather than the cruelty of the Capitol.

“I love you." He let his honeycomb voice sit in the stagnant air, but wouldn't let you respond. “I know, my love. I know, you show me all the time."

You had no clue what lay ahead for either of you, but you had each other to help, to understand, to stare at the waters of District 4 with and know in at least that sense you were safer than most.

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

thank you so much for reading, comments, reblogs, likes, and feedback is all super appreciated. I have so many more ideas for Finnick but I'd been thinking about the games themselves and needed to get my thoughts out. so if you want to see more of my writing let me know!

@imaegonstargaryenswife0

#finnick odair angst #finnick odair fluff #finnick odair x reader #thg finnick #finnick odair #finnick x you #finnick x reader #finnick imagine #finnick odair x y/n #finnick odair x reader angst #finnick odair x you #finnick odair x reader fluff #thg x y/n #thg x reader #thg

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sassypossumm · 2 months

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It Happened One Night: Tequila and Bourbon

(Part 1) (Part 2)

The alarm on your phone went off, shaking you out of a deep sleep. So, you flung it across the room.

Your head began pounding, and breathing seemed too loud. Groaning, you tried to roll over and go back to sleep, but the churning nausea rolling through your gut would not be ignored. Flinging the covers aside you staggered to your feet.

Funny, your slippers weren't where you'd left them. Before you could ponder that quandary further, your stomach roiled again, sending you running, or more likely dragging your half dead carcass to the bathroom.

Lifting the toilet lid, you dropped to the ground and wretched into the bowl. And then again. Resting your cheek on the rim of the toilet bowl, you closed your eyes and hugged the porcelain like a lifeline.

"I feel like an extra in the Walking Dead." You moaned to no one in particular. At that moment you didn't care if it wasn't 'socially acceptable to talk to yourself'. You felt like shit, and if you wanted to complain to yourself, by George, you jolly well would.

Again, your stomach churned, and you again wretched over the bowl. Your body was shaking at this point, and a few tears slid down your cheeks from the exertion.

Unbeknownst to you, you hadn't been the only party in bed, and said party was just stirring awake. And suffice it to say, he didn't look much better than you.

Miguel rolled over, sprawling across the bed and raised his head when his fingers felt the warm spot that had clearly been occupied recently. With some effort, he pulled himself up and cradled his head in his hands.

Usually, he could handle his alcohol, but not this morning. While his stomach wasn't roiling like yours, he did have a splitting headache, and the overwhelming need to take a piss. Peeling back the covers slowly, Miguel rolled out of the bed and stretched, moaning in relief when his back made an audible cracking sound.

"Getting old, O'Hara." He muttered to himself, running a hand raggedly through his hair. Pulling on his t-shirt, Miguel shuffled to the bathroom, stretching out his arms and yawning loudly. He felt as shitty as you but considering that the last six months of his life had been one long shit fest, this had become the norm.

They hadn't called it retirement, when Jess and Peter had suggested he take a break. No, of course not. Just... a break. It was of little consequence to him, in his mind Miguel had been put out to pasture like so much cattle, and he resented it. So how did he express that resentment?

By scarfing down cold empanadas and watching whatever terrible Tela Novela was on television. Sometimes to mix things up, Lyla appeared sporadically with cheery little reminders that he had a back log of messages from Jess. Messages he was ignoring on purpose.

Yawning yet again, Miguel stepped into the bathroom and dropped his boxers... only to be met with a piercing scream... which he returned with a startled cry of his own.

The mating call of the idiots.

"You!" Both voices shouted in surprise.

The events of the previous night...

"You need to take a break man."

"What I'm hearing is that you're ousting me." Miguel had shot back.

"What? No!" Peter had tried to pat his shoulder, but Miguel was having none of it. Folding his arms, he glared at Peter and Jess.

"After everything I've done, I pulled this society together with my bare hands, not to mention I've kept the universes safe,"

"We've kept the spider verse safe. Miguel." Jess said pointedly, mirroring his stance, refusing to back down. "We took down Spot as a team, Miguel. We saved countless lives as a team. And you seem to have forgotten that."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Miguel reeled back at her insinuations. Jess looked almost regretful as she glanced at Peter and back at him gravely.

It means you're not God, Miguel, and you need a break."

"You okay, man?" The bartender's words cut through his bitter recollections.

"Why shouldn't I be, okay? I'm a free man." He bit out the last words and held the drink up to the light. "You try to be a good man, take care of everybody and what does it get you?" Narrowing his eyes, he downed the bourbon and placed the glass on the counter with a 'thud'. "Cucked. Apparently, it gets you cucked." The bar tender shook his head and left Miguel to his misery.

If only you'd done the same. But like they say, misery loves company.

"Mind if I sit here?" Without waiting for an answer, you plopped onto the stool next to Miguel, and took a sip of your tequila.

"It's a free country." He muttered without looking at you. Shrugging you turned to flag down the bar tender.

"Tequila, please, a whole bottle." He raised a brow at your still half full glass, and you gave him a tight smile. "Go big or go home, right?" The bar tender slowly returned your grin and reached behind the counter for a bottle.

"Here you go."

"Thank you, my good sir." Sliding a wad of bills, you'd won in a slot machine across the counter, you topped off your glass and glanced again at Miguel. "I see we seem to have the same mission tonight."

"What?" He finally glanced at you, albeit through eyes that were growing glassy. You jutted your chin towards his half empty bottle of bourbon.

"Getting swacked. Seems to be the theme of the night." Miguel shrugged and turned his attention back to his drink. "I've never actually gotten properly drunk before, figure," Shrugging, you take a drink straight from the bottle. "What the hay, break up with a shitty guy, might as well get wasted." You bit out the last words and took another swig.

"Are you always this chatty when you drink?" He grumbled, turning again to glance at you and his eyes narrowed. "The shitty guy, he did that?" Miguel's voice took on a dangerous edge as he gestured to a deep purple bruise near your left eye. Humming, you shrugged nonchalantly and squinted to read the label on the bottle.

"That's nothing, you should've seen the going away present I gave him."

"What'd you do?" Miguel turned to face you, leaning against the bar, interest piqued. You chuckled darkly and took another swig.

"Cuffed him in the jaw with a shovel." A twisted grin ghosted over your face before it fell, and you took another drink. "Hope he's not dead. The shit's not worth my time in prison." You grumbled. Alcohol made your tongue loose and lowered your inhibition, which was why you rarely drank. Miguel snorted and took another drink of his bourbon. Refilling the glass, he looked at you again, a healthy dose of respect in his eyes.

Your eyes flit to the shot glass of tequila you'd abandoned. "Haste makes waste, or whatever it is they say." You muttered, downing the shot. By that point, you felt that warm hazy sensation overtaking your body, and whatever decision-making skills you possessed where swiftly being ignored in favor of instinct.

Taking note of the jukebox in the corner, your ears perked up as you recognized the song. Seven Spanish Angels. It'd been a favorite of your fathers. Miguel noticed the tears pricking at your eyes, and he raised a brow.

"You, okay?" Wiping your nose with the back of your forearm, you shook your head and sniffed.

"No. But who is, right?" He couldn't argue with that. "That is..." Squeezing your eyes shut, you swallowed hard. "Was my dad's favorite song." Miguel's eyes softened, and he topped off your shot glass with some of his bourbon. "Thanks." You smiled weakly at him.

"Don't mention it." He said gruffly, refilling his own glass, emptying the bottle. You downed the shot and put the glass on the counter none too gently. "I'm not one to preach to the choir, but you might want to pace yourself."

"I might not be Paul Bunyon, mister, but I can hold my liquor."

"Paul Bunyon?" His lips quirked. "Am I supposed to know who that is?" You brushed off his snide tone and sighed heavily, gesticulating dramatically with your hand.

"A giant lumber jack with a giant blue ox."

"And I remind you of this, giant lumber jack?" Miguel said bemusedly, with a raised brow.

"I'll bet you'd swing an ax, real pretty, mister." Giving him a sly once over, you leaned an elbow on the counter and propped your chin in your hand. Miguel felt a distinctive heat prickle across his neck, and he coughed.

That should've been the most ridiculous thing he'd ever heard. But with the subtle twang surfacing in your voice, and the almost hungry way you were staring at him, Miguel struggled to find it anything other than positively erotic.

"In case you were wondering," His breath stalled when you scooted closer and looked into his eyes with an exaggerated sense of gravitas. "I am objectifying you to a disgusting degree." A tingle slithered down his spine and curled around his tail bone, and he released a shuddering breath.

Present Morning...

Getting your bearings, you dragged yourself to your feet and sat on the edge of the bathtub, head in your hands.

"I have so many questions..." Glancing up you saw Miguel pacing, boxers still around his ankles. So, he wasn't so much pacing as he was waddling. There was so much to take in all at once, but you shook your head and shielded your eyes. Now isn't the time to be getting horny you idiot. You grumbled to yourself. "Please put that thing away."

"Thing?" Miguel paused midstride and glanced down. Looking up, he noticed your attempts to block your vision and smirked. "You don't like what you see?" He said, propping his hands on his hips cockily, seemingly forgetting the circumstances at hand.

"That's hardly the point right now!" You sputtered and groaned when a splitting pain shot through your skull. Miguel rolled his eyes and pulled up his boxers.

"I'm not naked anymore." Tentatively you peeked between your fingers and dropped your hand, looking up at him.

"You look like shit." The words were out of your mouth before you could stop them. Miguel smirked.

"You're not exactly sleeping beauty yourself." You felt your face flush, but you couldn't argue. It didn't take a mirror for you to know how you must look. Your stomach roiled again, and you flung yourself over the toilet bowl and wretched.

Miguel held back your hair. You shuddered violently and pulled back, wiping away tears and filmy residue. Miguel's eyes softened at your vulnerable state, and he helped you gently to your feet.

"Thanks." You rasped. Miguel's brows furrowed, and he seemed to be studying you. Tilting your head back, your expression mirrored his own. "What, hey!" You squeaked in surprise when he hoisted you up by the waist and sat you on the counter by the sink. Without a second glance at you, he turned on the water and rifled through the drawers for a wash cloth. "What are you doing?" You watched him, curiosity piqued.

"Your face is disgusting." He said simply, lathering up the wash cloth he'd found.

"Gee, thanks a lump." You muttered, folding your arms.

"You know what I mean." He sighed and squeezed the excess water out of the soapy cloth. You reached to take the cloth, but he pulled it back and narrowed his eyes at you. "What do you think you're doing?" You blinked at him, confusedly.

"Wash my face?"

"I'll do it."

"I'm perfectly capable of washing my own,"

"I said, I'll do it." He cut off your protest firmly, tilting your face up. You opened your mouth to protest, but at his glower, you closed your mouth. Satisfied, Miguel gently washed your face with the cloth. Up close, you had a chance to admire anew just how good looking he was. No, good looking was an understatement.

This man was the stuff of Michaelangelo's wet dreams. Oh, to be a sculptor. You thought, wryly, tracking the subtle twitch of his eyebrow and the way the muscles ticked in his jaw as he focused. His eyes locked on yours, and you glanced away, flushing.

"You weren't this shy last night." Miguels lips twitched, but his tone remained neutral. And for some reason, that made it all the hotter. Your eyes flit to his momentarily, and at the shit eating grin that spread across his face, you huffed.

"Asshole." You grumbled, folding your arms. Miguel simply grunted, good naturedly and rinsed the rag before wiping the soap off your face. "I don't remember very much about last night." You admitted when he finally pulled back, giving you breathing room again.

"And I seem to remember even less." He said, tossing the cloth in the hamper.

"I guess we both got pretty swacked last night." You groaned, rubbing your temples thoughtfully. "I don't even think I caught your name." You breathed, looking up at him slowly, shame flushing your face. Miguel folded his arms and leaned against the bathroom wall.

"Miguel O'Hara." Were you not actively fighting to tamp down a rising waive of panic, the subtle accent that rolled off his tongue with the words would've had goose bumps prickling your skin. Pinching the bridge of your nose, you sighed heavily.

"All things considered, you're taking this really well, Miguel O'Hara." You glanced up to catch his shrugging his shoulders.

"As you so eloquently put it, we got 'swacked', is it? And it seems evident to me that we hooked up." You were taken aback by his cool demeanor.

"Oh, is that so evident to you, Mister Smarty Pants?" Narrowing your eyes, you jumped off the counter, and immediately stumbled. Miguel reached out and caught you before you fell.

"Mujercita espinosa." He grumbled, wrapping an arm supportively around your waist.

"I don't think I want to know what you just called me." You groused as he slowly led you back into the bedroom and gingerly helped you perch on the edge of the bed. Fighting through another wave of nausea, you placed your head between your knees and groaned. "Just let me die." You moaned loudly.

"You might really want to when I tell you where we are..." Miguel sounded genuinely concerned.

"Oh, yeah, why's that?" Opening your eyes, you turned your head and saw Miguel standing tensely by the window. Feeling the blood pounding in your head, you slowly sat up. "Might as well tell me what other piss poor decision we made last night, where are we?" Miguel glanced at you warily. "Miguel... where are we?" Narrowing your eyes, your tone grew firmer.

He sighed and pulled the curtain further aside, looking again out the window. In the next tense moment of silence, your eyes fell on a sheet of paper sticking out from under the lamp on the nightstand and reached for it curiously.

As you read the paper, your heart dropped. You didn't need him to tell you where you were. A marriage license. With the proud country of Mexico stamped at the top.

"I think I'm going to be sick..." You struggled to breath, and dropping the paper to the bed, you curled in on yourself and began hyperventilating. Crossing the room, he started to reach for you, but froze when his eyes landed on the paper.

"Mierda." He muttered under his breath, as he scanned the writing. He recognized his handwriting, and the accompanying signature he attributed to you. At least he had a name to go with your face now.

And a wife to go along with it, cabrón." He thought bitterly, dropping the paper on the nightstand. Tempted to give in to his familiar spiral of self-loathing, but paused when he looked down at you. You'd curled up like an armadillo and were shaking like a leaf.

His heart crumpled at the sight. He couldn't be selfish, you clearly needed him to be the stable one right now. Running a hand through his hair, he took a ragged breath and sat heavily next to you.

"Hey." He rested a hand in the center of your back, causing you to tense. After several minutes of his soothing strokes up and down your back, you started to uncurl yourself. "You, okay?" He whispered gently when you finally sat up and crossed your legs. Breathing out a shaky laugh, you ran shaky fingers through your hair, and glanced at him with slightly wild eyes.

"Not even a little bit." You said, shakily. Miguel could only nod, his own mind trying to wrap around the overload of information. Moaning, you flopped back on the bed again. "I'd always assumed I'd get married, but this is ridiculous!" Not that he didn't agree with you, but for some reason, his ego still stung at your caustic tone.

"It's certainly not ideal." He said tentatively. You shot up and looked at him, eyes panicky.

"Not ideal. Not ideal. He says!" Sensing you were going into another spiral, Miguel took your face in his hands, gently but firmly and turned your head.

"Hey, look at me." The authority in his voice caught your attention, and you narrowed in on him, breath still rapid and shallow. Miguel leaned closer and looked intently into your eyes, his voice never wavering. "This is going to be okay."

You began sputtering, but he simply shifted a hand so he could place his thumb gently over your lips. Your eyes widened at the motion, and you glanced from his thumb back to his eyes. Had they been that startling russet hue last night? You couldn't remember.

Just like you can't remember anything else, you dodo. You thought bitterly. You felt the rough pad of his thumb grazing softly over your bottom lip. The combinations of that sensation and his deep voice whispering your name, brought your thoughts to a screeching halt, and you couldn't do anything but stare at him.

"Are you with me?" He said a bit louder, and said your name again, more pointedly. You nodded as best as you could with his hands keeping you so firmly in place. Taking a deep breath, he let his hands slacken a bit and you took a bracing breath.

He looked back into your eyes. "This is a shitty situation, and I've got a splitting headache, but it's going to be okay, I promise." Your heart stuttered at his firm tone, and searching his eyes, you found that you believed him.

"I believe you." You choked out. His eyes widened, and you saw his pupils dilate and retract before he released your face and leaned back. Releasing a breath you hadn't realized you'd been holding in, you studied this perfect stranger, this... husband, more intently.

Something about him made you want to believe him. Made you want to believe that if there was a monster in the closet, he'd vanquish it. Made you want to believe that he'd slay a dragon if it meant keeping you safe.

Wishful thinking. You shook your head, clearing out the fanciful thoughts. He was just a man, like any other man. And men failed. You were certain, Miguel O'Hara wouldn't prove to be the exception. But, for some reason, on this one thing... you had no qualms about putting trust in him. When he said this would be okay, you knew it would.

"What are we going to do?" You gave voice to the nagging question, flopping back on the bed. You bounced a little when Miguel's heavy back hit the mattress. After several minutes of silence, you turned your head and saw him staring intently at the ceiling.

"Miguel?" He hummed. "What are we going to do?" A muscle ticked in his jaw, and slowly, he turned his head to meet your eyes.

"My lawyer is in Nueva York. We'll fly back, and he'll look over the license. He can tell us if it's legally binding or not."

"And if it is?" You pressed, raising a brow. Miguel breathed out through his nose, and he shrugged.

"Then, we'll cross that bridge when we reach it."

@feyhunter78 (figured out how to tag!!!)

By the by, I AM open to suggestions about where we can take these two idiots in the future! Kinda wanna try to actually have some follow through and develop a full fledged plot for once!

#miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara x reader #atsv miguel #meet cute

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tkaulitzlvr · 7 months

Text

THE WRONG WAY - T. KAULITZ

synopsis: tom hasn’t been paying you enough attention lately, and, when you finally snap, he can’t understand where you are coming from, until you reach your breaking point. can the issues between you and him be resolved?

content: angst

a/n: pulled this out of my ass lol, i had to rush it because i’m in the middle of another req but it’s nowhere near done after like three hours of writing so i’ll have to finish and post it tomorrow. sorry if there are mistakes, i only proofread veryyy briefly cause i’m so tired rn😭 hope this is okay tho!!

"you don't love me."

i voice the harsh words to the silent room, clearly and with every sense of belief behind my statement. to my discomfort, saying it out loud does not make me feel any more at ease, in fact seeing the way tom’s entire body breaks for a second, processing what i had just said, before trying to cover the hurt on his face up, only suffocates me even more. the lump in my throat only gets bigger, the tension in the air thickening by the second.

"wow." he begins, shaking his head, trying to wrap his head around how i could even come to that conclusion. "that’s an awful accusation." he glances at me, his eyes already glossy, giving me enough of an idea on how much i have hurt him by uttering those four words. however i stick to it, figuring that it is too late to back out now. within me, behind all the anger, all the upset, i feel that it is true. i sense that he no longer feels the same way he did when he met me, all those years ago, the love within his eyes slowly diminishing until it is now long gone.

"and also." he speaks, leaning forward and looking directly into my eyes, staying in his position spread on the end of the other couch. "it's not true. you know it isn't."

the pressure of his gaze leaves me unable to hold eye contact with him, looking away sheepishly into my lap, hoping that somehow the ground could swallow me up. i grit my teeth, locking my jaw in anger, feeling no reassurance from his quick denial of my statement. so i decide to challenge him, standing my ground despite the nausea only growing within me. though his voice seems somewhat certain, i refuse to believe that i am making it up, that it is all in my head. "do i though tom?"

my eyes meet his, except the ones looking into me are foreign. they are angry, a glint of hostility present within them that i had not yet witnessed, this change taking me aback, yet i refuse to look away. he is sad. those eyes, past the resentment in them, i see pain. i see sorrow. i have upset him, far beyond what he intends to let out. he is usually strong, and perhaps right now he thinks that he is keeping this up, yet i can read him like a book, the way his left brow furrows, creating a crease along his forehead, the way his eyes cannot focus on one thing, darting around the room, i can see that he is struggling. and whilst part of me hurts with him, hating to put him through any sort of distress, i need it right now. because i am tired of feeling unloved and unappreciated - regardless of whether tom intends to make me feel this way or not.

he shakes his head, scoffing slightly in disbelief, letting out a shaky sigh, before speaking up, his voice loud, in contrast to the silent room. "what, so i've been lying every single time i’ve told you that i love you, over the past six years that we've been together? mind you, i say that every day, without fail."

i stay silent, my eyes becoming glossy as they quickly tear away from his. he takes my silence as a cue to continue, my sudden belief that he does not love me angering him as he desperately seeks to remind me of every reason why i am in the wrong. "don't i do everything for you? make sure that you're always safe, give you my everything-"

"give me your money, you mean." i reply, cutting him off. i don’t want to seem ungrateful - i appreciate the way tom would spend any amount of money on me if it made me happy. i am thankful for the house he has given me, the vacations he takes me on, the things he buys me, but those things are not the reasons why i fell in love with him. i fell for tom kaulitz. not his money, not his fame, not his profession. i fell for who he is, for him as a person, whether he is rich or poor, yet it feels that day by day i lose a small part of that. i have always understood that his job means that he will be away a lot, but it is hard to be in a relationship with someone that can't always be there, only their fortunes can.

"i’m grateful for what you do for me, really i am, but i'd much rather have time with you than the latest gucci bag, or the newest chanel perfume. if it meant that i would have to live with nothing for the rest of my life, i would do it. don't you understand? i want you - not your money tom! i don't need you to apologise with gifts when i don’t see you all day, i just...i need you." i am desperate, craving for him to hear me out, to understand that it is him that i need, but the way he looks at me in confusion shows me that i am not going to achieve that.

"i thought you liked the things i buy for you. have you been lying?" he completely ignores the point that i have been trying to make, this only fuelling the frustration within me as i exhale shakily, quickly grasping onto the opportunity to argue my point once again.

"i do but that's not the point tom! i like them because i feel like it's all i get from you!" my voice is raising, something which i did not want to happen. shouting never solves the problem, however right now i am far too angry to care. "i just want some of your time, to feel like you actually care! when you're with me, you're here physically, but your mind is always elsewhere. i just miss you. i need to you be mine again, i-"

"look, i’m sorry okay?" he begins, harshly cutting me off and matching the volume in my voice. "i'm sorry that my job is more demanding than others, i’m sorry that it needs a lot of my attention, but i told you this from the beginning. my career is a big part of who i am and things aren't always easy. they get hard, they get tough, but-"

"that's my problem! when things get hard for you, i don't fucking know about it! because you shut me out, every. single. time. i'm your girlfriend, tom. i want to know about your life, i want to help you, but you always run away from me! you spoil me with gifts and money to compensate for every fucking time you leave me in the dark! i don't want it anymore. i just want you to communicate!" i move from the couch, walking to the middle of the room and standing a few feet away from him. his eyes are glued to me, watching my every step, and he is listening to me this time. "am i such a headache to be around, that you can't talk to me? that you can't deal with spending time with me, so instead you spend your money to try and shut me up, because you have so much that no matter what you buy, it doesn't affect you?"

"don't." he voices shakily as i stare into his eyes, his expression more wounded than ever. my words stab into him, hitting him harder than i had anticipated. his fists clench against his thighs, holding every ounce of frustration. though we have argued in the past, i have never seen him this upset, regardless of whether he intends to show it visibly or not. "you know that i don't think of you that way, even for a second. so stop."

"you can't blame me for thinking it tom." i shrug. "you leave me out of everything, i have no idea what's going on in your life anymore-"

“because i'm trying to fucking protect you!" he interrupts, raising his voice once again. his hand slams against the arm of the couch, the sudden contact causing me to wince slightly. "i'm sorry if you feel like i'm hiding things from you. but i know parts of my life would just stress you out and hurt you. don't you get that? i'm trying to save you from the pain-"

"i want the fucking pain!" i fire back. "we are supposed to be in a relationship. do you know what that means? i want to suffer with you. i would choose that, a million times over, if it meant that i could be with you for another day. i want every part of you, the sad, the happy, the angry, i want it all. can't you see that i need you? i hate being left in the dark. i absolutely fucking hate it.”

my voice pierces through his ears, diminishing the tense silence as tom gulps, clenching his jaw and leaning forwards, pinching his nose with his thumb and pointer finger. the rash and quick responses don’t allow me time to calm down, my eyes becoming glossy with tears, the salty liquid staining my cheeks before i can try to hold them back, my weakness just as evident as tom’s. the pain, the upset, the lack of affection that have been feeling all spills out, reeling outwards from within me as i let it out, no longer attempting to hold back.

he looks up, his face softening as he takes in my hurt expression. he has never seen me like this, so broken, and the fact that he is the cause of this pains him even more, his mind coming to the slow realisation that it is up to him to fix this. although he doesn’t fully understand how i could possibly believe that he does not love me, he wants to try, to try and see from my eyes. he lets out a shaky sigh, swallowing nervously before looking into my eyes.

"i would rather feel the sadness, suffer with you." i begin, my voice small as the tears quickly take away my physical strength. "i would do absolutely anything if it means that you will love me, that you will do it with me, tom."

"i don't live a normal life, and i just want to keep you away from the crazy things." he speaks slowly, trying to reason with me, refusing to turn his gaze away from mine. "some people want to hurt me, and i would never forgive myself if someone ever did anything to harm you."

i try to wipe my tears and calm my breathing, wrapping my arms around my small frame in an attempt to comfort myself, quickly becoming overwhelmed with the situation. but my mind acknowledges tom’s change in tone. not only is he more gentle and calm, he also seems sorry, like he now recognises where he went wrong.

"what do you want me to do?" he whispers, defeated as his tired eyes meet mine. he is no longer angry. he is desperate, longing to resolve this. "i'll do anything. i- i can't lose you. you're my world, schatz, and i'm sorry if i haven't shown it, but you are everything to me."

though there are millions of things i could say, i stay silent, standing still across the room. my heart clenches painfully, hurting at the sight of him so distraught, as his mind considers the dreaded idea of what losing me would be like. his world is crumbling before him, the one thing he seeks to protect seeming to slip through his fingers. i have never seen him like this, so vulnerable, so desperate, and whilst it comforts me to know that he is slowly letting down the walls that have prevented me from truly being with him, it saddens me to see him in such a distraught state.

"all i've ever wanted is to keep you safe. to keep you happy, liebe, because if you're happy then so am i. but you deserve more than this." he points to himself angrily, letting out a shaky sigh. "more than this fucking idiot, who doesn't even know how to love. i’m so sorry if i've done it the wrong way and made you feel like i don't care. because you shouldn't for a second think that i don't love you."

everything that i have been craving to see is happening in front of me. i have longed to see him open up, to break down the barriers that separate us both physically and mentally. i don’t want him to be strong all the time, and it hurts that he feels he has to be. the tears fall from my bloodshot eyes once again - this time out of sadness for him. i hurt with him, hating to see him so upset, but i understand his pain, his anger, and i feel every emotion along with him. for the first time in forever, i feel connected with him.

after a few moments of silence, he stands up, slowly walking towards me. i refuse to meet his gaze, fearing that i will break down once again i realise how hurt he truly is, and looking into his eyes will certainly display every emotion amongst his beautiful features. his hand brushes tenderly against my cheek, wiping a fresh tear that had fallen. he reaches towards my chin, using his pointer finger to angle my face upwards so it meets with his eyes. he towers over me, taking in the sorrow etched upon my face, before tucking the loose strands of hair behind my ears, gently caressing my cheek with his lips slightly parted, shaky breaths escaping from them.

"please, look at me." he whispers, gazing longingly into my eyes. i comply, shifting my own eyes to the deep brown ones in front of me. they are full of adoration, and i feel the man that i fell in love with slowly coming back to me. "i love you, so so much, please believe me schatz. you are the most important person in my life, and i am so sorry that i've made you feel the opposite way." he chokes up, his voice shaky as i can tell he is on the verge of tears.

i listen to him, allowing every word to sink in, as it is now no longer hard to trust what he says. i feel what i have been desperate to - love. i feel truly appreciated, like i am able to confide in him like i once could. though frustrated it took the both of us to get to this state to make him speak his mind, i appreciate him opening up, his apology making up for the lost time. there is no shame in being fragile, and through his entire conversation, we have both learned this, a new found appreciation for each other gained as i feel safe again.

"don't feel like you have to keep things to yourself. i’m your girlfriend, i'm supposed to be here for you, and i'll gladly do it, but you have to talk to me." i respond, lacing my hand with his. a soft smile spreads across his face, contrasting with his bloodshot eyes whilst he slowly nods.

"i hear you. i’m so sorry baby. i love you." he whispers, pulling me into a tight hug as his hands lace together around my waist. he lets out a sob onto my shoulder, my heart breaking at the sound. he clutches onto me tighter as if i may slip away, my own eyes tearing up once again. it has been a while since i felt like this. i feel loved, and it is all that i have ever wanted from the start.

he slowly pulls away, resting his forehead against mine and looking into my eyes through his eyelashes. after a few seconds, he leans inwards, until his lips touch mine. the kiss is gentle, carrying every promise to love and cherish me like he has failed to do, and i gladly accept it, kissing back quickly and wrapping my arms around his neck. he pulls away, planting a few pecks on my lips once again, his breath shaky as the remnants of tears stick to his cheeks. i slowly wipe them away, not breaking eye contact as i do so, gently caressing the soft skin until any trace of sadness is lost within our newfound love for each other.

a soft smile graces his lips, failing to wither as he kisses me once again, the same amount of passion as the last, making up for the lost affection as i feel more treasured than ever. this is all I have ever wanted, to feel like he cares, and now that i am feeling his affection, my mind is oozing with contentment, the feeling almost foreign it has been so long.

requests are open! keep sending them in!!

#tom kaulitz #kaulitz twins #tokiohotel #tom kaulitz x reader #tom kaulitz angst #kaulitz #tom kaulitz fluff #tomkaulitz #tom kaulitz smut #bill kaulitz

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lightlycareless · 4 months

Note

I always wonder what naoya would act like if he had a new born baby? Would he be very soft towards his child? Akxjjzsbizzjj my heart needs y/n and naoya fluff😭😭😭😭

HI ANON YES THANK YOU FOR THIS ASK AAAAHGHAHAHAGH you've come to the right place!! Literally, the more asks I get of Naoya and Y/N with their newborn baby the more ideas I get I want to write (doing one already, xmas themed, idc if I'm late lol)

Anyways, here is the good stuff you asked for 😏 warnings: none. just fluff.

I hope it's to your liking! Happy reading ❤️

Naoya is obsessed with the baby as soon as you tell him you’re pregnant, and soon, his days are filled with nothing but the pregnancy: from wanting to know if you’re alright, if you’ve had any nausea, if there were any specific cravings that needed to be satisfied, or his all-time favorite—if the baby was kicking.

You’d have to remind him that it’s too early for that, but when it’s finally time, his hands never leave your stomach, whether asleep or fully awake; he always must always be touching you, he needs to—as if he wasn’t already highly overprotective of you!

So, one can only imagine how this escalates when the baby finally arrives. (I’m still going with the idea that their first child is a girl)

When Naomi is born, all that Naoya desires is to stay by her side, her being the first thing he sees in the morning and the last in the night.

Naoya wants to be there as soon as the baby wakes up, hear her adorable coos and gurgles which he somehow always understands, as well as selecting her clothes for the day (they have to match. Non-negotiable) feed her (although that’s more like accompanying you while doing so.) and on and so forth.

And although there is nothing he loves more than being with his baby, his favorite thing in the world is seeing you bond with her.

Naoya just… melts when he sees you gush at their daughter, talk to her in that baby voice that always makes Naomi giggle, the occasional pinch of her chubby cheeks (which he likes to say she got from you—you, of course, deny it.) or how you seem to take her wherever you go, unable to peel away from her, not even a second! As if doing so would cause your immediate death!

I don't think I'll be able to convey just how overprotective the two are with Naomi.

Like, you and Naoya would be the type of parents to overdress her as soon as temperature drops the slightest for the simple fear that she’d get sick or something—obviously this didn’t last long because the doctor (alongside family members) would immediately remind them that being this way is only detrimental in the long term.

Rest assured, you and Naoya would find a way to compensate for that, specifically through toys, and outings when she's a bit older. Weekly trips to Tokyo Disneyland become the norm by that point (hell, if Naoya truly wanted to, he'd take Naomi to each worldwide Disney Park on a weekly basis, if only she didn't get crampy by flights—and if that wasn’t too much, of course.) which again, had to be stopped thanks to your dad advising both to take it easy, or she'll grow spoiled… the wrong way, that is.

I think out of the two, Naoya is the one that would struggle the hardest to not buy every single thing that reminds him of Naomi. But can we blame him? The nature of his work often keeps him away from you and the baby, which makes him very, very sad and resentful that it does.

He literally tried to get some time off so he’d be able to stay with you and the baby… but he wasn’t able to get much; so, he looks for all possible ways to make up for his absence, as well as reassure her that his career is not more important than her, or that he isn’t trying hard enough to be there.

Because of this, you make your best effort for Naomi's first word to be papa; it might not be much, but it’s your way to reassure him that he’s a good father and that she loves him very, very much. (The one deciding to name their children after him is your idea, because you want Naoya to feel included, loved. Like he deserves a family after all that he went through 🥺)

Going back to Naomi’s first word, this feat is easier said than done, but you do your best either way, and when it finally happens…. Oh my god is Naoya over the moon.

He literally died when Naomi cheerfully yelled “papa!” upon seeing him return one day from a mission, with that toothy grin he loves so much and those chubby little hands reaching out for him that immediately melt away all his stresses and anxieties away.

And we haven't even spoken of nicknames yet!!! He already had the habit of calling you all kinds of pet names, and that, alongside his tendency to pinch your cheeks, is something that Naomi will also inherit from him.

He'd call her all kinds of cute things, however, his favorite ones are the ones he associates with you, but adding a small differentiation, for example:

“Princess” and “little princess”

“Little mochi” and “littlest mochi”—this one you tell Naoya not to use just because of how silly it sounds, not that it works but hey, you tried.

“Pumpkin” and “little pumpkin”—this one was mostly used by your dad, which Naoya later adopted upon finding out about it—and if you already felt embarrassed by it, this sentiment just grew when Naoya began to endlessly tease you with it.

But now that it’s being used on Naomi, you finally began to appreciate it and subsequently, find it adorable!

So, yes. Naoya loves his baby very, very much, for Naomi represents a combination of all the things that make him happy: you, his love for you, and now, a family.

He'd go above and beyond to make them happy and keep them safe; when it comes to this, the sky is the limit.

wow ngl. I want to write more. ajgajgjsaajgkja specifically the "Naoya placing his hands over your stomach to feel the baby kicking" or how he'd react to tiring nights where baby Naomi just can't sleep 🥺 if anyone wants to indulge me by sending in an ask of what you'd like me to write, you know where to find me 😏

thank you for this lovely ask!! Take care and hope to see you soon ❤️❤️

#ask #naoya zenin #naoya zen'in #naoya x reader #naoya zenin x reader #naoya zenin x you #jjk naoya #naoya zen'in x reader #jjk x reader #jjk fluff #jjk x you #prompt series: jujutsu kaisen

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moonstruckme · 7 months

Note

This is a bit of a heavy request but could you do a blurb or drabble of Siriusx reader where they struggle with eating and food in general in recovery tho and still finds it difficult sometimes again this might be too much so I’m sorry if it is

Thanks for requesting!

cw: reader is struggling with eating disorder recovery, thoughts related to bullemia, please don't read if this will be triggering for you

Sirius Black x fem!reader ♡ 737 words

You can’t fathom how Sirius has managed to clean his plate, but you’re grateful that he has. It makes it easier to think of your portion, hardly more than half of his, as a reasonable amount.

Still, it sticks in your throat as it goes down.

“How was your day?” Sirius asks, waiting patiently in front of his empty plate as you take your tiny bites.

“Not bad.” Not great. Your boss had gotten irritated with you for asking too many questions about your new assignment, and you’d spend the rest of the day steeping in shame for your incompetence. “Yours?”

“It was good,” he replies, and his voice is breezy, but you can feel his eyes on you. There’s a few bites left on your plate, and if Sirius weren’t here you’d throw the rest of your dinner in the trash. You think he knows.

You can feel your meal pressing at the base of your throat. You want it out, up, whatever. It's one of your worse days, and the thoughts of how disgustingly full you are, how many calories you’ve eaten, how you didn’t work out that morning, are more difficult to repress. Nausea works at your gag reflex, and you keep swallowing as if that’s going to help.

“Do you want some water?” Sirius asks softly.

“No.” Anything more in you, and you’re sure you’ll be sick. But now irritation provides a distraction. Inexplicably and to your self-loathing, nothing sparks the flint of your anger quicker than the people you love being worried about you. It’s some petulant instinct: don’t tell me what to do. You know Sirius isn’t trying to be patronizing, that he’s not trying to take control of your meal away from you, and still. Resentment roils hot and bitter with the undigested food in your stomach.

“Just a few—”

“I know.” Your tone is so harsh you’re surprised the words don’t scrape and tear on their way out, and you backpedal immediately. “I’m sorry, Siri, I—”

“It’s okay,” he says quickly, with more sympathy than you deserve. “It’s okay, baby, I get it. You don’t wanna talk about it?”

“No, thank you.”

He nods, and there’s a brief silence.

“Hey, d’you wanna start that puzzle tonight?” he asks casually. “I know you’ve been wanting to work on it for awhile.”

Sirius doesn’t even like puzzles. “I thought you had work to do?”

He shrugs. “I can do it in the morning. It’s only five hundred pieces, right?”

“A thousand.”

He blanches, and you almost smile. You know what he’s doing, but you’re going to let him anyway. He composes himself quickly.

“Perfect. The more the better.”

You force yourself to take one bite, then another, swallowing before you can fixate on the feel of them in your mouth. It’s impossible not to think about them, but Sirius’ chatter makes things easier, beckoning you to engage with him as he asks silly questions about whether you start with the border or the picture, if you’re a purist or if you use the box for reference.

“It’s going to be hard,” you admit, and realize with the clink of your fork against the dish that the last bite is gone. Sirius takes your plate before you get the chance to think about it too hard, carrying it with his to the kitchen.

“Why’s that?” he prompts.

“Because…” It takes a moment to remember what you were talking about. You’re proud of yourself for finishing, but the insistent full feeling is still there. “Because the picture is watercolor. Things won’t be as distinct.”

Sirius seems to sense that you could still use a distraction, discarding the plates in the sink and leading the way to the living room. “This one, right?” He holds up a box for you to see, and you nod, sitting with your legs crossed under you on the floor by the coffee table. “Pfft, that’s easy money, dollface.”

“You’re going to eat those words,” you reply, doing your best to match his easygoing tone.

Sirius makes a disbelieving huffing sound as he spreads the pieces on the table, dropping a kiss on your head. “Proud of you,” he murmurs, and it’s like a blip, a break in character, before he settles down beside you on the rug and his voice resumes its normal volume. “With your skills, we’re gonna make this puzzle our bitch. Just you watch, sweetness.”

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fabulouslyflamboyant5 · 27 days

Text

The Unrighteous Knight Part 3

pairing: azriel x second archeron sister!reader

summary: an argument with nesta sends you reeling, so what better place to escape to than your own room? and what worse fate to be bestowed upon you than azriel intruding your solitude?

warning: canon typical violence

word count: 1.2k

a/n: writer's block is a menace and I like crystals so please feel free to send in suggestions for a potentially witchy reader. also, I am experiencing INTENSE throne of glass withdrawals and need something else to latch on to.

Part One Part Two Part Three

What is it to live?

Must one feel to live? Or does life only exist in the fleeting moments of feeling?

Feeling and living. Can someone composed of nothing attain either of the two concepts? Or are life and feeling limited to those composed of something.

You are, in the biological sense, alive.

You bleed red and you bleed often; usually at the hands of yourself, and sometimes by the fury of Azriel.

But what does blood matter in any of this? It signifies you are alive, but fails to determine whether or not you are truly living.

It's a peculiar thing, really.

Living.

Is it meant to be defined, can it be? Or is it just something that is felt, never objectified, only ever theorized?

And can someone filled with nothing live?

Would you be no more than a soul, rotting away in the shell of your lifeforce? Dead in all ways but anatomical?

Is that what you are? A shell, hollow enough for the winds of change to pull back your exterior and expose the monotony that brews within you?

Your answer comes in the form of wake.

Like a rose ripped from its stem and forced into a bouquet, you are plucked from your slumber and presented to the world once again; with the expectation that you live, even though you have long since died.

It’s degrading, really.

It makes you feel like a prop.

You are not y/n Archeron, and you have not been for quite some time. You are the Night Courts underutilized doll, tucked away in a gloomy room and laid across a rose pillared bed.

Adjectives fail to encapsulate your essence, for adjectives require substance. And you are lacking in everything one could possibly possess.

It is questions like this that plague your thoughts, tying you to your bed, holding you hostage from the lives playing out behind your bedroom door. You’d like to believe you lived a more fulfilling life as a human, but you are well aware of the fact that despite the mortal blood that had run through your veins, you were never living.

And despite it all, you remain placid, crestfallen on the stairs of yearning, praying for contentment to shine upon you. As fate would have it, contentment is not what arrives in seek of you, for it is Azriel looming over your unkempt silhouette.

The thought of words being shared has a wave of nausea crashing against you. So you, in spite of your resentment for the winged manipulator, turn away from the closed curtains and lean onto your right side.

His eyes are what you take in first. Had he not raised his blade against you, perhaps you’d dream of swimming in hazel. But life, never quite kind to you, has you drowning in the golden irises you cannot help but revere.

“Good evening, Shadowsinger, I do hope you’ve come in peace,” you drawl, never tearing your eyes from his own.

Peace.

The prospect of it has you scoffing.

“I’ve come to you as I am,” he replies blankly. His face, that damn face. Had he looked any less regal then perhaps you’d have an easier time listening to what he had to say, but all you can focus on are his unemotive eyes and formidable wing span.

“...I do recognize the situation is less than ideal, but it is a direct order from Rhysand, and we have no choice but to conform.”

“Ah,” you begin, not quite sure what he had been explaining to you for the past few minutes.

He raises an eyebrow but quickly lets a scowl overtake his features. His arms cross and his eyes look as piercing as they feel. “You know nothing of what I just said to you. I don’t intend on repeating myself for I do not find you of all beings to be worth the effort,” he exhales sharply, “meet me at the training grounds tomorrow, bring no weapon and arrive no later than the sun.”

Training grounds, with him and not Nesta?

It’s hard to imagine your High Lord caring very much for your well being, even with Feyre’s convincing. Still, you cannot help but feel that you are being overlooked once more. Exploited and deceived, never allowed to make decisions for yourself. You do not wish to train, you do not wish to learn the art of bloodshed, and most notably, you despise the prospect of Azriel being the one to teach you, for his blade is still wedged in between your flesh each and every time you close your eyes. Even today, he did not come in peace, for peace is a concept entirely unknown to him. He, despite his success as the Night Court's spymaster, is a creature of torment. An unrighteous knight, a commander of cruelty, the bringer of despair. And yet, in his own twisted way, he is still a savior deserving of accolades.

The clearing of his throat removes you from your trance, commanding your attention to his being once more. As though he expects an answer, he nods in your direction, encouraging you to say your part. You are once more a character in a play, for your lines are being fed to you and the individual you embody is a stranger to the soul inhabiting it.

“Very well,” you say, letting nothingness consume you once more, “I will see you tomorrow, no later than sunrise.”

Seemingly content, or something akin to it, Azriel’s gaze falls upon your own and his scowl deepens to the point where it seems permanently etched to his features. It is moments such as these that you wish you could retreat into the air and never return. Of everyone to have ever despised you, the hatred that Azriel emits is entirely unprecedented. Since you’d been turned into a creature of myths and legends, he has taken it upon himself, treating it like a mission of the utmost importance, to tear you apart until absolutely nothing remains. His words are venomous and his actions bleed true, never once have you felt like such a waste.

Feeling is a fickle thing because before this most recent encounter, you’d been convinced that it was a language lost to you. But no, you are capable of feeling in the same ways you are capable of living. Hope is not lost but it is frivolous because the promise of feeling and the potential of life cannot stop your soul from rotting away. According to your own philosophy, you are dying, little by little with each passing day. And yet, it is Azriel who stands before you, seemingly content with making you his prey.

“Do not disappoint me,” he says as he walks further away, through the door and down the stairs, effectively leaving you to bathe in your own grievances.

He speaks of disappointment as though they are old acquaintances; or, in simple terms, as if you’d never be capable of recognizing such a thing had he not identified it for you. But a fool he is, for you and disappointment are the dearest of friends and loveliest of lovers.

“Until next time, Shadowsinger,” you say to no one in particular, staring at the chandelier above your sprawled form. Its crystals, sharp, precise, and devastatingly beautiful are what spark something in you. Even if it is only a spark, the reminder that you are not yet dead is all that matters in this very moment.

So alas, a crystal is the muse that has called to you, and a crystal is the very thing your desires shall embody.

taglist: @aetherl0l @sidthedollface2 @marvelouslovely-barnes @impossibelle @chessebookgirl

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angryschnauzer · 2 months

Text

19th February 2024

An update.

Hubby has finished his radiotherapy. It seemed like a long 6 weeks, and its taken its toll on him with extreme fatigue. He was also on a mild dose of chemotherapy at the same time, that thankfully didn't come with any side affects such as nausea, but he was on anti sickness meds for that.

He'll now have about 4 weeks off all treatment to allow his body to recover and to try and regain some strength. But during those 4 weeks he'll have some tests and MRI's to see if the tumour is growing back.

Then from mid march he will have 6 rounds of strong chemotherapy, with one week on, three weeks off. This will be a much stronger dose so the nausea side affects may be considerably more than the small dose he had with his radiotherapy.

What we don't know is what the prognosis is. We don't know if he has 6 months, 18 months, 5 years, whatever. And now we aren't told either. They wont be pinned down to a 'you have x amount of months left' because its been found this is much more detrimental to patients mental health (and also their families) as if the patent passes away before then there is resentment that the prognosis was wrong, or if the patient lives longer there is also resentment as to 'why did we rush to do the bucket list' when i actually had more time.

This however is impacting my mental health. The uncertainty of what the future holds, and what plans i can make for the future. There are trips with our son's school that i've had to ask the school to make special exceptions for us with where we'd like a space reserved but can't commit to it. Same with any sort of commitment or plan for the future.

Hubby however is fairly relaxed about it all. I honestly think he thinks its going to be cured. He plans on going back to work from start of March, but working the equivalent of 1 day a week spread over 5 days, so around 2 hours a day. This would be working remotely from home, and i do support this as he needs something to concentrate on, but its hard to imagine what future life is going to be like. He can't drive for another 2.5 yrs (one year after his seizure, and then 2 after radiotherapy because it was on his brain), so he won't be able to commute into the office anyway by car, and he can't go via train as he can't carry a bag because of his reconstruction surgery on his shoulder.

Thankfully his employers have been wonderful about this, and we are covered for the bills financially as well but will have to tighten our belts with a lot of things. I'm still trying to work and keep my business going, but finding the time to do so is tough as i'm now basically a full time carer for two people; my son and my husband. (The government doesn't consider the work i do for them 'enough' to pay an allowance though').

So that's were we're at. We've had a lot of other shit thrown at us since the start of the year too, but its not as important as the situation with my husband so that's what i'll keep you updated on.

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k-s-morgan · 7 months

Text

Those Gentle Slopes: Snippet 1

So, prompt 3 won, which was Ciel and Sebastian interacting with Ciel's look-alike that Sebastian made contract with! Here it is. Since people's wishes really differed, I'll post the remaining two prompts from this list anyway, but later. And thank you all <3

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

Almost reluctantly, Ciel looked up, and his heart dropped when he saw the so-called owner of this gaudy, tasteless house.

Like Sebastian said, it was a boy. He looked older, but Ciel couldn’t determine by how much.

What Sebastian hadn’t said was that this boy bore an eerie resemblance to him. A resemblance too strong to be a coincidence.

Biting his lip hard enough to hurt, Ciel examined this— person, his skin crawling just from the fact of his existence.

The boy had similar eyes and hair. Similar complexion. Similar bone structure. It was already hard to swallow, but the worst thing, the absolutely worst thing, hid in their differences.

This imposter was better looking.

The dismay that suddenly flooded him at the thought was startling enough to render him speechless.

Ciel had never compared his looks to anyone else’s before. This had never occurred to him, he’d never been concerned with such things, so it was all the odder that this particular realisation stole the ground from under his feet. He wavered, somehow even more upset now than he’d been five minutes ago, and Sebastian instantly reached to steady him.

“Don’t touch me,” Ciel snapped, reeling away and sending him a warning glare. Sebastian pursed his lips. He didn't say anything, so Ciel returned to observing his supposed replacement.

The boy was taller and had softer features. His hair curled in a way Ciel’s never had, and Ciel was suddenly seized by resentment so vicious that he had to fight a fierce impulse to grab a knife and cut each of those locks off. His blood boiled, sending heat to every part of him, and whatever expression he was wearing must have frightened the boy because he flinched back.

“W-who are you?” he stammered. “Are you… are you a demon, too?”

A demon? Ciel let out a derisive snort, watching the boy with narrowed eyes, trying to understand what could have possibly motivated Sebastian to make a contract with him.

If he were just hungry, then maybe, possibly, Ciel would have understood. But this boy looked too much like him for it to be an accident. What was this supposed to mean? Where had Sebastian even found him?

“My lord,” Sebastian said quietly. He was a disgusting traitor, but Ciel still glanced at him. “What would you like me to do?”

“Are you talking to me?” the boy asked. He sounded a little braver now. “I mean, you are, aren’t you? You are my demon.”

Rage, dark and burning, rose up to block his airways. Ciel clenched his fists, biting back a growl.

He wished he were a demon. Then he could rip this stupid excuse for a human apart with his own claws. He wished he had a demon he could trust to do this task for him. He wished he had a demon who would have never done what Sebastian did, who would have looked at this boy and dismissed him like a cockroach instead of elevating him to the status of someone special, choosing him, preferring him.

How could Sebastian do this? He’d nearly choked the life out of Ciel for thinking he’d been communicating with another demon, and meanwhile, he had this little second contract stashed in a hidden house? There was no punishment Ciel could think of that would rival what Sebastian deserved.

But he would think of it. He would make Sebastian regret looking away from him long enough to notice another contract.

He certainly wasn’t looking away now. All his attention was on Ciel.

“My lord?” he repeated. He didn’t even glance at the boy, but it was a very small comfort after everything he’d done.

“Kill him,” Ciel ordered through clenched teeth. Then he thought about Sebastian consuming this little idiot, taking his soul — kissing him. Because that’s how he’d said demons took souls. Through a kiss.

Nausea gripped him, chased by new floods of helpless anger.

Would this indignity never end? Would he be forced to watch Sebastian kiss this… abomination right in front of him?

No. Never.

They’d have to change their plans, then.

#my fics #sebaciel #black butler #kuroshitsuji #ciel phantomhive

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sequinsmile-x · 4 months

Text

Hold On To You

It's New Year's Eve, Emily is overdue, and they are going to Dave's house for his annual party. What could possibly go wrong?

-x-

Hi friends!

Happy New Year!! This is a fic based on a prompt I got asking for something where Emily is overdue and goes into labour at Dave's house at New Year's.

As always, I got entirely carried away and this is just shy of 5k words.

I really hope you enjoy this and that you have a good New Year. I just wanted to take the chance to say thank you for all the comments, kudos, likes and reblogs this year - it truly means the world that my writing means something to people.

Here's to another year of me putting these idiots in just about every situation <3

For the last time in 2023, please let me know what you think <3

-x-

Warnings: Pregnancy, Labour, cursing (but who can blame Emily, she's having a baby on her friend's couch)

Words: 4.8k

Read over on Ao3, or below the cut

“We don’t have to go, sweetheart.”

She rolls her eyes at her husband, something he misses entirely because he’s kneeling on the floor in front of her, dutifully tying her shoes with so much care and attention she doesn’t know whether to yell at him or kiss him. She rubs a circle on her belly, shifting on the couch in a failed attempt to get comfortable, something she’d been unable to do for months.

“We should go,” she says, grunting at a particularly hard kick against her ribs, “Jack is excited to hang out with Henry, and he keeps saying he’ll make it to midnight this year.”

It was Dave’s annual New Year's Eve party and whilst the idea of getting dressed up and spending her evening anywhere other than home was the last thing Emily wanted to do, she didn’t want to let Jack down. He was, at most, days away from being a big brother, and the last thing she wanted to do was make any potential resentment toward his new sibling start before they were even born. Jack’s initial reaction to finding out Emily was pregnant was less than ideal, his concerns that she would love the baby more than she loved him causing him to act out, to say things he immediately regretted and apologised for. Whilst that was months ago, it was something she still worried about, a seed in the back of her mind that had planted and bloomed, making her almost go out of her way to make sure Jack felt like a part of all of this.

Aaron smiles up at her as he double loops the laces on her sneakers, “I think we both know he’ll be asleep in one of Dave’s spare rooms by 11 pm,” he stands up and sits next to her on the couch, looping one arm around her shoulders and resting his other hand on her bump, “You know he’d understand, Em.”

She hums and rests her head on his shoulder, “I know, but we should still go,” she says, smiling when she feels the baby move, “Besides, if we stop going to things because I’m massively pregnant we’ll never go to anything again - I don’t think Pickle is ever coming out.”

He can’t help but hide a smile in her hair at the use of the baby’s nickname, something that their actual name would soon replace. Whilst Aaron would have liked to have found out whether they were having a boy or a girl, Emily had insisted that they waited - wanting nothing more than to find out when her baby was passed to her, a well-earned surprise at the end of a long journey. He let her have the final call, knowing her opinion well outweighed his in matters like this, and instead, they’d settled on a nickname.

Despite usually hating them, always pulling them out of burgers and handing them to him, she’d been craving pickles since the moment her nausea had stopped at the start of her second trimester. Their fridge was full of jars of them since she now had them with every meal, no matter how strange the combination, so naming their unborn child ‘Pickle’ made sense.

“Only a couple more days to go until they induce you,” he says, kissing the top of her head, and she pulls back to look at him, her eyes narrowing. She was overdue by almost a week now and she was furious about it, her anger driving her to tears most nights as she struggled to get comfortable enough to sleep. Exhaustion and the almost primal need to hold her baby making her irritable.

“No more ‘only a couple more days’ talk unless you’re the one with a baby pressing on your organs,” she says, and he nods, swallowing thickly, and she huffs out a short breath, “I don’t remember how it feels to breathe deeply.”

“Of course,” he says, kissing her cheek, “Sorry, sweetheart.”

She grimaces as pain washes over her, her belly briefly tight with it and she curses as she squeezes his hand, “Fucking practice contractions,” she grumbles, squeezing his hand tighter until the pain passes, “I’ve been having them all damn day,” she blows out a breath as it passes, “I swear to God if Spencer says something about them being ‘mild’ again I’m going to kill him.”

Aaron clears his throat to cover a laugh, knowing it would do nothing short of getting him in trouble, and he rubs a soothing circle on her stomach as the tightness eases, “I don’t think he’ll ever say anything to you about pregnancy again after you made him cry last time.”

She rolls her eyes, “I didn’t make him cry,” she denies, even though she knows she had, her cheeks burning with embarrassment as she remembers the conversation in question, “And anyway, he should never have called me a geriatric mother.”

Jack comes bursting into the room before Aaron can say anything, the young boy's excitement palpable as he bounces on his feet in front of them.

“Are we ready to go?” He asks, and Aaron nods, standing up and chuckling as he ruffles his son’s hair and he tries to dive out of the way.

“We’re ready, Jack,” he says, digging his car keys out of his pocket and passing them over to him, “Why don’t you go wait in the car - we’ll be out in a minute.”

Jack nods enthusiastically and runs out of the room, the sound of the front door being pulled open following shortly after.

“You’re going to need to help me up,” Emily grumbles, smiling softly when she spots Aaron is already holding his hand out to her, “Thanks, honey.”

She groans as she stands up, only letting go of Aaron’s hand when she’s up as straight as she can be there days. She winces as she presses her hands into her lower back, the ache more persistent than usual, and Aaron looks at her, his brows furrowed.

“You okay, sweetheart?”

She nods, her lips pressed together as she shifts back and forth on her feet to ease some of the pressure, “I’m fine,” she says, looking down at her outfit and sighing, plucking at the dark green material of her dress, “I look like a blimp in a dress, but I’m fine.”

He smiles and kisses her, his hand on her cheek as he holds her in place for a moment before he pulls back, “You look beautiful.”

She hums and shakes her head at him, “You’re a liar, Aaron Hotchner,” she says, stamping her lips against his to stop him from arguing with her, “But I love you for it.”

She groans quietly as she follows him out of the house, her waddle slowing her down in a way she hadn’t known was possible, the ache in her back not diminishing at all. She runs her hand up and down her bump.

“Come on Pickle,” she mutters to her baby, unable to stop herself from smiling when she feels a kick that feels like a response, “Let’s go sit on a couch in Uncle Dave’s house for a change of scenery.”

___

She smiles and listens and laughs at the right moments, but she can’t say she’s enjoying herself. She’s uncomfortable in a way she didn’t know was possible, unable to find any relief at all as she consistently shifts back and forth on the couch. Aaron, whose endless patience for her only seems to irritate her more in a way she knows he doesn’t deserve, goes out of his way to make her as comfortable as possible. He brings her pillows from one of Dave’s bedrooms, positioning them behind her back because he knows it’s better than the cushions from the couch itself, and he gets her whatever food she can stomach.

She grimaces as another practice contraction starts to build, her grip on Aaron’s knee night as she places her hand there, and the only thing she can think is that she’s incredibly grateful Jack and Henry are in another room playing.

“Are you okay, Em?” JJ asks, her eyebrows furrowed as she looks at her. Emily grits her teeth and nods, blowing out a slow breath as the pain reaches its peak.

“I’m fine,” she says, smiling tightly as Aaron places his hand over hers on her knee, “It’s just Braxton Hicks,” she says, her body relaxing as the contraction passes, “I’ve been having them all day.”

“Are…are you sure they are Braxton Hicks?” Spencer asks, looking slightly nervous as everyone looks over at him. He clears his throat before continuing, “Only, they aren’t usually in a pattern. And when you got here they were 12 minutes apart and now they are closer to 7.”

“You’ve been timing her contractions?” Derek asks, frowning at Spencer, “That’s a little weird, Reid. Even for you.”

“It’s a pattern,” Spencer says, shrugging his shoulders, “I’m good at recognising patterns,” he looks back at Emily and cowers slightly under her glare, “I’m just saying, are you sure you’re not in labour?”

She scoffs and shakes her head, pressing her hand into her bump, “I’m not in labour,” she says, the denial sounding weak even to her own ears, and she turns to look at Aaron, “I’d know if I was in labour or not, right?”

Aaron links his fingers through hers and squeezes her hand reassuringly. As worried as he was, especially because he had a feeling Spencer could be right, he knew this was not the time for him to freak out. He had to be there for his wife.

“Do you think you could be?” He asks, ignoring the presence of their friends, all of his focus on her, on the way he could see her already frayed nerves coming even more unravelled.

“I…don’t think I am-” she says, cutting herself off as she looks down at her lap, grimacing at the wet feeling between her legs, “Okay, I definitely am in labour,” she says, sounding much calmer than she feels as she looks back up at Aaron, “My water just broke.”

“Are you sure?” He asks, looking her up and down. He’s aware of how their friends spring into action, how all of them stand up, but his focus is still on her.

“Well, either that or I just peed myself on Dave’s couch.”

“That couch is made of Italian leather,” Dave complains, taking a step back as Emily looks sharply at him, her glare followed by everyone else's, and he nods to himself, “It’s fine, it can be wipe cleaned.”

Aaron makes sure his stern gaze is fixed on his friend for a beat longer than necessary before he looks back at his wife, “We’ll get you to the hospital, okay?”

She nods, but her response is cut off as another contraction rolls through her, making her yell out as she grasps his hand, her nails digging into his skin, “Holy shit this one hurts.”

“That wasn’t seven minutes,” Penelope says, wide-eyed as she looks back at Spencer, “I thought you said you were timing them.”

“I was,” he says, close to stuttering, “But maybe she’s having a precipitous labour,” he says, rolling his eyes when everyone except Aaron looks at him like he’s insane, “A fast labour. It comes on quickly. There are risk factors, including giving birth in an unsterilised environment-”

“God I regret letting you read my pregnancy books on the jet,” Emily breathes out, cutting him off before he can carry on, her teeth clenched as the contraction barely lets up before she starts to have another one, “Fuck I’m having another one.”

She rests her head against Aaron’s shoulder, her hands in tight fists around his shirt, and she desperately tries to breathe through it. Everything around her except the pain and him disappears. She’s vaguely aware of Aaron telling Dave to call an ambulance and asking JJ to go get some towels. He then turns his attention back to her, soft words of reassurance against her ear as she grunts. She pulls back to look at him and she’s grateful for how calm he seems, some of her panic eased by the way he looks at her. A sense of serenity that briefly makes her forget she was in what felt like advanced labour on their friend's couch.

“We need to go,” she chokes out, shaking her head as he holds her steady where she’s sitting, stopping her from standing up, “We need to get to the hospital.”

“Dave is calling for an ambulance, sweetheart,” Aaron says, cupping her cheek, wiping away tears she hadn’t realised had fallen, “I don’t want to risk getting stuck in traffic with you in this much pain, okay?”

She hears what he hasn’t said, that this is happening too quickly. That if he was able to get her up, something she wasn’t entirely sure was possible even though she’d tried to stand, it was unlikely he’d get her all the way to the car. Even if he did, there was every chance she wouldn’t make it to the hospital.

She whimpers, a sound she hates, as she shakes her head at him again, the pain rolling through her unrelenting, “I can’t have a baby here,” she says, “This wasn’t the birth plan. I was meant to be in the hospital, with painkillers and an epidural,” she groans in pain, looking past Aaron to see their friends still just standing there, “And it was meant to just be us.”

Aaron’s heart fractures in his chest at how vulnerable she sounds. It was something he knew she’d hate, especially in front of their friends, so he knows he has to do something - that he has to give her back some semblance of control of a situation that had rapidly gotten out of their hands. He turns to look at his friends, his expression stern, hoping he leaves no room for argument.

“All of you need to get out of here now,” he says, watching how Derek and Penelope frown, the latter already stepping closer to them, “She doesn’t need an audience for this, so please go keep the kids company, make sure Jack isn’t worried, but get out of here.” They nod and start to leave but he stops them, “Reid, don’t go too far, just stay on the other side of the door, in case we need your help.”

Spencer nods and follows the others out, pulling the door behind him until it was mostly closed, leaving just a small gap he could talk through if necessary.

Aaron turns back to Emily and smiles in a way he hopes is encouraging, “See, it’s just us now, okay, baby?” He says and she nods, her teeth sinking into her lower lip as she tries to stop herself from yelling out in pain again, tears streaming down her cheeks with the effort.

“The ambulance is on the way but they said it might take some time,” Dave says through the crack in the door, “They said to examine her and if the baby does come to clear its airways and leave the-”

Aaron can see how every word Dave is saying is making Emily feel worse, the shock setting in on top of the pain she was in, so he cuts him off, even though he knows he’s just trying to help.

“Thanks, Dave,” he says, his tone of voice making his feelings clear, “Go wait with the others, keep an eye out for the ambulance.”

There’s a brief pause before Dave replies, JJ’s voice quiet in the background as she talks to him, “The towels are just inside the door for you.”

Emily looks over at the soft, white, towels that JJ had placed on the floor for them and she groans, “God, we’re going to spend a fortune replacing those towels for Dave.”

“I think he can afford to replace them himself,” Aaron chuckles, his relief at a small flash of his wife peeking through from underneath her fear nothing short of palpable. He kisses her forehead, “I’ll get them, I’ll be right back.”

She nods, unable to say anything as the relentless pain makes her feel nauseous. She places her hands on her stomach and tries to breathe, “I know I kept saying you needed to get out of there, kid,” she says, choking on a laugh, “But this isn’t what I meant.”

Aaron walks over to the door and picks up the towels and he looks through the crack in the door. He’s grateful that the only person outside the room is Spencer, who is sitting on the floor, his back to the door, patiently waiting to help if he is needed.

Aaron turns back to look at his wife, frowning when he sees she’s trying to lean down, her fingers grasping for the laces on her shoes that he’d tied so neatly earlier.

“What are you doing, Em?” He asks, rushing back over and placing the towels on the arm of the chair. He puts his hand on her leg and stops her, taking over undoing her shoes for her.

“I didn’t want to get my shoes on Dave’s couch,” she says, reaching out and grasping the sleeve of Aaron’s shirt as the pain gets worse, “Fuck,” she closes her eyes, shaking her head as she feels a lot of pressure, “I think I need to push.”

“I think this couch is about to have a lot worse than your shoes on it,” Aaron replies, making quick work of taking her other shoe off too, letting them fall to the floor without worrying about tidying them up. He helps her so she’s lying on the couch and he’s sitting between her legs. He shifts so his hand is on her knee, squeezing it so she looks at him, “We need to get your underwear off, okay?”

She wants to say no, wants to refuse, but she knows she can’t. She knew this baby was coming here and now, the urge to push making her entire body so tense she thought she could shatter into a million pieces. She nods and lifts her hips, letting him pull the material down her legs.

He stuffs her underwear into his pocket, not wanting her to feel any more exposed than she already would if their friends were to walk in and see her underwear on the floor. He looks up at her when he hears her laugh, a curious look on his face as he tilts his head.

“I think you did that the night we ended up in this mess,” she says, her hand on her stomach as she nods towards his pocket, “Although I seem to remember that underwear being sexy and not big enough to cover the Potomac.”

He shakes his head at her and squeezes her knee again, “You look sexy in anything,” he winks at her and she tries to glare at him but it’s lost as a sound that he can only describe as animalistic comes out of her. He remembers that sound, and it briefly pulls him back to when Haley was having Jack. It feels like it happened to a different person, like he was no longer the man who had stood next to Haley’s side and held her hand as she gave birth to their son. He guessed on some level he wasn’t the same man he was different, and he liked to think he was better, “I’m just going to have a look, okay.”

She nods, stopping him for a moment with a hand on his arm, “Promise me whatever you see down there you’re still going to want to have sex with me after this.”

He leans in and stamps a kiss against her lips, “Nothing is ever going to stop me wanting to have sex with you, Em.”

“You guys know I’m still out here, right?” Spencer asks, his voice breaking through the unlikely sanctuary they’d built in Dave’s living room, and they both look at the door sharply.

“Reid.”

“Spencer.”

They chastise simultaneously, their only answer silence, and then they look back at each other, and Emily nods, giving Aaron the go-ahead. He pushes her dress up to her hips and pushes her knees apart, blowing out a steady breath before he looks back up at her, hoping he’s been able to cover his own turbulent emotions to his already terrified wife.

“I can see the head.”

Her eyes go wide and she shakes her head, her trembling lips pressed together, “No it can’t be…” she drifts off, her head falling back against the couch cushions behind her and she screams, unable to keep it in any longer, “Fuck I think I need to push.”

“Then you should push, sweetheart,” he says, “The baby is already on the way.”

She swears that she feels her body take over, the immense pressure and pain forcing her to push even if she didn’t want to. She groans as she falls back, Spencer’s instructions from the other side of the door to slow down when the head comes out just about registering.

“This sucks,” she says, her breath catching in her chest, her entire body on fire, “This sucks so fucking much.”

“You’re so close, Em,” Aaron says, his eyes fixed on the dark hair on their baby’s head, “So close.”

“That’s easy for you to say you asshole,” she says, outright calling him a name for the first time since this had all started, “You’re not the one giving birth in our friend's living room.” Instead of replying, Aaron takes her hand and places it on the baby’s head, watching as any anger or frustration melts away, her fingers shaking as she touches the baby’s hair, “Oh my God, that’s our baby’s head,” she says, looking up at him, her eyes shining, “That’s Pickle’s head.”

Aaron nods, leaning in and pressing his forehead against hers, gladly passing her some of his strength, knowing he’d give her all of it if she asked.

“You’re so close, Em,” he says again, the words actually encouraging this time, and he pulls away, taking his position back in between her legs, “Just one more push.”

She nods and sucks in a breath, bearing down with more strength than she thought she had as she lets out one final scream. She feels her baby slip into the world and Aaron’s waiting hands, and she gasps, the sensation followed by the longest moment of silence in her life. Then the baby cries, loud and squawking and totally furious to be born. Aaron clears the baby’s airways and he lets out a noise somewhere between a laugh and a sob as he looks up at his wife.

“It’s a boy,” he says, looking back down at his son as he passes him over to Emily, her hands shaking as she takes the baby.

“It’s a boy?” She asks in disbelief, her eyes fixed on her little boy, her son as she holds him to her, “We have a son,” she looks at Aaron, laughing through the tears that fall onto her cheeks, “Holy shit we have another little boy.”

“No cursing in front of him,” Aaron says, laying a towel over the still crying baby before he shifts to sit behind his wife, enjoying a moment with her and their newborn son before he has to worry about the next stage of all of this.

“He’s literally two minutes old, honey,” she says resting on Aaron as he sits behind her, “He doesn’t even know where he is, let alone what a curse word is,” she stares at her little boy. He was bright red, his dark hair was glued down to his skin by god knows what, but he was beautiful, “He’s perfect.”

Aaron kisses the side of her head, “Just like his Mommy,” he says, “I love you.”

She turns to look at him, her eyes shining with love and joy, “I love you too.”

There’s a soft knock on the door, drawing their attention away from each other, Dave’s voice breaking through the little bubble they’d created even though he remains on the other side of the door, “The ambulance is here, JJ is just showing them in now.”

Aaron squeezes Emily closer, the way she tenses at the mention of other people, her eyes still fixed on the baby on her chest, and he runs his hand up and down her arm, “Thanks, Dave. Can you make sure-”

“Everyone is on the other side of the house with a strict instruction not to come over here until you’re gone.”

Emily hums, almost talking to herself when she speaks, “I wonder what he had to bribe Pen with to agree to that.”

“A case of my finest French wine, Bella,” he says, and they both know exactly what smile he has on his face even though they can’t see, “So it’s the couch, the towels and the wine that you owe me now.”

She knows he’s joking, knows that he’d have given anything to help them through this, so all she does is lean in further to her husband's side as the door is pushed open and the EMTs walk in alone.

“You can have anything you want, Dave,” she says, stroking her finger up and down her son’s soft cheek, “I have everything I need.”

___

She’d never experienced peace at a hospital.

It was always a place of trauma, of grief, but as she looked down at her son’s face as he slept against her, tucked in under her hospital gown, peace was the only word that seemed right.

“How are you two doing?”

She smiles as she looks up at her husband, who was standing in the doorway having popped out in the hallway to make a couple of calls, the unrelenting joy on his face something she knew was reflected in her own.

“We’re okay,” she says quietly as Aaron walks over, carefully joining her on the bed. She secures the baby against her as she shifts to allow her husband to sneak in behind her. She winces as she settles against him, offering him a smile as worry flashes across his face, “I’m okay, just very sore,” she scrunches her nose up as she tries to get comfortable, “Getting those stitches was not fun.”

Once the EMTs had cut the chord and helped Emily deliver the placenta they’d brought them all to the hospital. JJ had agreed to take Jack home for the night, the little boy thankfully very agreeable despite his excitement at his sibling being born. Emily knew she’d be here for a couple of days, the quick labour and delivery meant the doctors wanted to keep an eye on her and the baby, and she was grateful for it - the residual fear that something was wrong even though her son had passed all of his tests with flying colours not quite leaving her alone.

“Jack is already asleep,” Aaron says, “He and Henry are having a sleepover and the team is raising a glass to us all at midnight.”

She hums contentedly, “As much as today was not what I wanted,” she says, tearing her eyes away from her son to look at Aaron, “I’m grateful for them,” she smiles softly, “And for the fact they respected our wishes.”

“I would have barricaded the door if that’s what it took,” he says seriously and she kisses his jaw, pressing her love for him into his skin. The baby cries out and they both turn to look at him, Emily’s soft shushing and her lips against the top of his head enough to quieten him down, “We need a name for this little guy, I don’t think he’d thank us for calling him Pickle in about 15 years,” Aaron says, placing his hand on his son’s back, linking his fingers through Emily’s, “I think the boy name we had picked out works perfectly, don’t you?”

She studies her son’s face, desperate to log every little bit of it to her memory, well aware that these early days that felt long as they were happening would go far too quickly. She smiles and nods, trailing her knuckle softly down the baby’s cheek.

“It’s perfect,” she says, shifting to kiss her son’s forehead, “Hi Hugo,” she says softly, tears she couldn’t explain if she wanted to gathering in her eyes, “Welcome to the world.”

A cheer from the nurse's station, muffled by the closed door, draws their attention away from Hugo, and Aaron smiles as he checks his watch.

“Happy New Year, sweetheart.”

She smiles and leans in to kiss him, well aware this would be her favourite year yet, “Happy New Year, honey.”

-x-

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#emily prentiss #aaron hotchner fanfiction #emily prentiss fanfiction #hotchniss fanfic #aaron hotchner #aaron x emily #hotchniss fan fic #hotchniss fanfiction #hotchniss #aaron hotchner x emily prentiss

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talesfromdvalin · 4 months

Text

ASTARION'S RAGE

Astarion lost you. Translate or reblog is alright, but only if you remember, that I may ask you to delete if I would not alright with your blog. Thank you. The place I will most of all.

Blood ran down his lips, but not at all the blood that belonged to Astarion, or, the devil, the woman he loved more than anything else in the world. The will that Astarion could not resist, the powers that Kasador had taken away, had imposed on his soul a sin disproportionate in size that Ankunin could only atone for with his own death (which would barely compare to justice).

Astarion clutched his neck tightly in his hand, which seemed many times more fragile than usual. A neck that he looked at not with a desire to quench his thirst, but with hunger, the urge to rip his arteries to shreds and tear out his throat, depriving his body of air.

Astarion hated that life was so easily taken - he'd only just gained his own when he was already destroying the creature into ashes.

''Come on, dare to kill me," Cazador spat a searing mixture, his teeth barely showing the blackness of rotting blood, "and it won't bring it back.

Kasador had done a foolish thing. He thought that forcing Astarion to kill you would restore his will, but in fact… in fact Astarion had contracted what others called a curse, and had returned to invest revenge far from the grudges of his years of imprisonment.

Astarion's gaze sank into Cazador's. If only he could order the wretched worm to kill himself, he would. But that was not something over which the will of a pathetic bloodsucking parasite torn from its master had power, and resentment… oh no, something worse than resentment filled his stomach.

Astarion couldn't forget the cruelty. He couldn't accept that the first person he would have wanted to give free rein to, to make happy, had died by his fangs.

"Drink her."

Those words rang out with another painful lightning strike. The pain was unbearable. It is incomparable to anything; this pain had no family, no descendants, Astarion didn't know he could feel something so strong, and he was sorry he had once lied in your ear, that love was the strongest source of light in the middle of a hungry wolf's night.

Oh, no, not at all.

Revenge. A desire to tear and pull at your horns to the sound of cracking bones.

Hate. You made Astarion believe there was something in him besides an all-consuming desire to gnaw at other people's fates, and you also died reversing the effort.

This grief had no beginning or end, it only had Astarion as a slave of deeds, and he broke another of Cazador's jawbones again, growling something inaudible.

Cazador was scared for the first time, but not because of the 'unjust' punishment being inflicted on him - but because he didn't know what the creature blocking his air with its hands felt like. Sniffling and wheezing was the only answer.

A couple of years would pass and Astarion would come to terms, if he survived of course, with the pain, but not in the way you would want him to. You died at his hand, filled his stomach with your own strength, made Astarion stronger. He alone inherited you, and no one else can now be the vessel that carries your memories and thoughts. Even if he can't hear them, he still feels that… that it's not that simple at all!

And that nausea made Astarion howl and cry, tear pillows and blankets with his teeth, and not even the cursed cloth he had carried with him all his puppy life could have such a soothing effect. And yet you loved to sit under it…

So Astarion will never get rid of the old tattered cloth. And he'll never get rid of you.

#baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #baldurs gate astarion #astarion #astarion x reader #astarion x you #angst #headcanon #drabble #astarion ancunin

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levmada · 11 months

Note

HI GEEE! Congrats on hitting an amazing milestone of 2.5k. If it’s alright with you, kitty levi all anxious bc you’ve been quiet all week. Minimal conversations and kitty levi’s observe that you disappear early in the morning. “Let me hold your hair back, at least.” When you were sick to your stomach on toilet only to tell him you’re having babies 🥹 im having baby fever and I badly want to adopt a cat sksksk.

Anyway, IM SO HAPPY FOR YOU! 2.5k is an amazing amount of audience. We’re so grateful for you and your hardwork 💛😙 ily 🫶🏽

THANKS MILAN!! i had fun with this one :333 (also you just finished school right? i think u deserve a cat hehe:33)

“Let me hold your hair back, at least.”

//hybrid (kitty levi), angst with a happy ending, insecure levi>>, domestic, modern au | ~0.9k

participate in my event here!

Levi doesn’t know what’s wrong. He just knows that something is wrong.

Once he noticed the slightest shift in your routine, and by extension his, he noticed more and more cracks in your day-to-day normalcy.

Regardless of how early you need to get up and be at work, he inevitably wakes up too. He bumps your temple with his forehead, and soon follows you downstairs.

But then you started telling him to go back to bed. It’s early.

You’re distracted. It takes a few pushes to get you to notice or answer him, like he’s become something of a phantom. He’s wondered if he’s annoying you, but would it be possible that he’s transformed into a constant annoyance, as you’ve been constantly distracted?

That question leads him down dark paths.

Needless to say, conversations are shallow and minimal. He’s quit curling up for his nap with you on your days off and cleans or hides, like he used to.

Sometimes, he’s out of the house when you come home for your lunch break. The love notes, marked by a smiley face or heart haven’t stopped, but he’s noticed the tone change, the guard the anxious letters hold up. In the last week he’s begun procrastinating to read them after his afternoon nap. He’s been on edge, and so, relegating himself to his routine spot on the couch is just impossible when he can’t get comfortable.

Instead, like the dark thoughts, he’s begun sitting in the back of your closet behind the clothes like he used to do before you met, mostly as a child, his tail resting protectively around his legs. He annoys himself. He doesn’t know what he’s hiding from.

When you get home from work, you barely meet him with a kiss, and then it’s to your office to work some more.

Levi’s willing to and enjoys cooking dinner for you both. It’s just been unnerving and strange since you stopped popping your head in to help like you usually do.

He’s gotten snappy in the last day or two as a result, without any of his consent. He doesn’t know what to do with what he’s feeling, and he definitely doesn’t understand why you’re changing around him, so it’s just there. Confusion, and worry, and growing resentment.

If something was wrong, you tell him. Why won’t you tell him?

He didn’t follow you yesterday when you got out of bed for work. You must know he’s pretending to be asleep when you do.

Today is your day off, and yet, he wakes up when you wakes up, and the sun has barely risen.

Then he hears retching.

He pops his head up, ears pressed down and back, and paces to the bathroom after you. True, you’ve been avoiding him, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t going to help.

Your head is raised when he gets to the doorway, clutching your stomach. Your eyes lock.

For once, he doesn’t know how to talk to you.

“You’re sick.” He walks closer.

"No… It's okay—”

You're interrupted by another gag, forcing you over the bowl again. In the background, you manage to pick up on him dropping down behind you. A blessing—he scoops up your hair, pinning it away from anywhere near your face.

“Don’t be stupid. Let me hold your hair back, at least.”

You don't have the energy to turn him away anymore even if, by some stretch of the imagination, you wanted to.

When the nausea is finished torturing you, you rest on your heels and slap the handle to flush it away. At least that’s over with.

He helps you to your feet, a damp cloth in hand to wipe the sweat from your forehead and temples, then your mouth.

His ears are pointed back the whole time, but you know it isn't the task itself that's making him unhappy. Even when you've been so fucking unfair to him, he isn't anything other than loyal and doting. You want to cry.

His eyes grow a little wider when he notices, and then pauses. "…What…”

"Levi..." you whimper, hanging your head. “I think I'm pregnant.”

Silence. Tense, thick silence you couldn’t hope to cut with the sharpest knife. His only reaction is a stammer in breath.

You shake your head, unsure what for. “No… I know I am. I took two tests, I just didn’t tell you because—because… It scared the shit out of me. I was trying to figure out how to tell you. I’m sorry.”

You raise your head. He stares blankly for one more moment, his lips part, and then he’s crushing you in a hug.

“Levi—” you hug him back.

“Pregnant…” he mutters on bated breath. He rests his head on your shoulder. You relax like the anxiety has been knocked out of you. You notice his tail twitching in restrained excitement.

“You idiot—Why would you need to be scared with me here? You don’t have anything to worry about now.”

You nod in quick, rapid motions. You’re really crying now, you’re so relieved, so grateful, so happy.

Levi masterlist • main masterlist

#2.5k.event #levi x reader #levi ackerman drabble #levi ackerman x reader #levi ackerman x you #levi ackerman fluff #levi fluff #kitty levi

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romanoffsbish · 1 year

Text

The Damned, and the Dame

Wanda Maximoff x Fem!Reader

Wanda x Vision ; Natasha x F!R (☠️)

Prompts

“After everything you've done, I still love you. with all I am.”

Every muscle in her body ached, the adrenaline built up from the chase, and the immense power garnered from the dark hold having faded by now. All Wanda wanted to do was to curl up in her bed, close her eyes, and quite frankly—never awake again. There was nothing left for her here, Vision was gone for good, along with their kids, and if she allowed herself to think about her greatest loss, then she’d be able to acknowledge your absence as well, and just how much it still hurts to have lost you.

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The first person she ever truly loved, who loved her back without a second thought, when in reality you would’ve been better to run like the world told you to. For years you two were happy, then one night she couldn’t look at you without feeling resentment. The smile never faded from your face, even though you’d lost just as much as she did, if not more really. It’d felt unfair to her, that happiness just came so easily to you, but had she been paying any attention she’d have known your never ending supply of joy was because of her, not in spite.

Pushing you away felt like the right thing to do; months of unwarranted silence left you in a fit of confusion, you racked your mind for any answers for the cold shoulder, only to find it when Wanda was hanging off the arm of the synthezoid. The glint in her eyes was enough to tell you she’d been cheating on you, at least in some capacity, and the heartbreaking sight of her kissing his cheek left you gasping for air. Stumbling back into the wall, a wave of nausea rolled through you, and you ran off to collect your things, planning to disappear for awhile for the betterment of all those around you.

You’d always thought your love, born in your youth, would stand the test of time, but fate never seemed to be willing to work in your favor, and you never were one to push back.

Wanda moved on first, but when you’d returned months later, in good spirits, and with your arm wrapped snuggly around the waist of the redhead the room began to spin, the entirety of her oxygen leaving her lungs, her heart stilled, and she was unfortunately vividly reminded of the night you left.

She’d returned to your shared room, a petty annoyance in her heart in preparation for seeing you, but when she found the room vacant of your existence, with a simple note on the bed reading: “I hope he makes you happy, I’m sorry that I no longer could…,” her heart had stopped then too, and even with her new beau it never seemed to beat the same again.

Wanda knew the world likely believed her to be dead, it was an agreed upon notion between her and the sorcerer that guided her back to sanity. Strange had nodded from the corpses frame when she looked to him, because if he didn’t agree then he’d have to send her to the raft, and he could see the despondence in her dull green eyes—she was no longer a threat.

Not only did the world think it, she herself wished it, but she promised you along time ago that she’d never give up. Even though she broke it by doing so with you, she reasoned it best to atone for such sins by forcing herself to continue going on; living was her repentance.

There had been only a few places she could go, she settled on a cabin in the woods of Norway, but as she approached it she saw a light on. Every hair on her body stood at attention, she had no intention to fight anyone else, she was exhausted, but this was her home now, the one she had once dreamed up with you in the peak of your relationship. There was no way she’d just let someone infiltrate it, and take away the only piece of you she had left, even if it meant drawing attention to herself after just agreeing with Strange that she would remain low.

The closer she got to the house though she found her body losing its fight, a deep calm began to settle in her heart at the familiar smell of your cologne, and the hum leaving through the kitchen window nearly had her tripping in an attempt to reach you. She knew it was a long shot, most of her believed this to be residual mind games from the dark magic, but on the off chance it wasn’t she wasn’t about to waste any more time standing outside.

Wanda froze in the doorway, it was you, there was just no mistaking that physique., “Y/N?,” you knew she was there, but it took you a minute to grow the confidence to face her. You’d come here the moment the news of her defeat made it to the headlines, and just as you expected—hoped—she was very much alive., “So you’re not dead then?,” you tried to sound indifferent, but the dinner on the stove for two and the relief in your eyes were enough to tell Wanda that some naive part of you still cared.

“Well, I’m making dinner, and I will go draw you up a bath, because you look kinda rough.,” Wanda’s heart fluttered in her chest at your soft smirk, and teasing chuckle, so much so that she was overwhelmed with a need to be close to you. Needing to feel you to know this moment was real, so even in her dirtied state she slammed her body into yours, tightly wrapping her arms around you, and only truly settling when you returned her gesture after the shock of her urgency wore off.

“Y/N, why are you here?,” she asked the question of the hour.,” you grimaced at the dark thoughts that had plagued you all day., “Because I needed to see you were alive.,” you felt a tightening in your chest, the words you omitted were stinging the tip of your tongue., “After everything you've done, I still love you. with all I am.,” you sighed, choosing messy honesty over beating around the bush any longer., “Why would you?”

“Because no matter what I know your heart Wanda, I’ve known you since we were little kids in a war torn country. When you don’t understand something you become defensive, you also tend to run, for all of that I forgive you, and my love for you will never waver.”

“It should,” she sniffled, but contrary to her sentiments she snuggles into your embrace further., “We’ve suffered enough apart Wanda, we’ve lost so much, why should we continue on this way when we could just let love heal us?”

“I-I’ve done a lot of bad things Y/N/N.,” she cries into your shirt, her hand clutching to the fabric tightly in fear of losing you after you see the monster she’s become., “I know Wanda, you got lost in your grief, it wasn’t right, but who on the team hasn’t?,” you reasoned., “Literally, Clint went on a killing spree, Tony and Bruce created Ultron without punishment, Steve put Bucky above every last one of us then left us all behind in a post Thanos world, truly the list could go on, and on Wanda. You did some bad things, yes, and it cost people their lives, you should feel guilty, but not to the point where you’d believe you’re a bad person.”

“I broke your heart.,” she reminds you, as if that was the worst of it all., “Yeah, you did, but for that I’m grateful.,” her eyebrows furrowed., “It gave us a chance to grow up, I was able to see love from a different lens. I felt free with Natasha, my love for her was true, as yours was for Vision, but it was never deep like ours was.”

“We’re soulmates Wands, Piet had always said it, and after all this time I know he was right.,” she pulled her head from your shoulder to gaze at you, her hands gently cupped your cheeks, and she pressed a gentle kiss to your lips. Tears began to befall both of your cheeks at the reacquainting of lips. Wanda sighed as she reluctantly pulled away from you, “Heart, Body, and Soul… Y/N, all of me belongs to you; please tell me, does this mean you’ll stay?”

“Wanda, if you will shower, I’d do anything.,” she pushed at your chest with a huff, but she couldn’t help but to chuckle along with you., “I’m holding you to that detka.,” she lowly whispered, winking and leaving you stunned. The witch smirked, grateful to know you’re still so easy to fluster, then she left with a kiss to your cheek, and a warmth in both your hearts.

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1,490 Words

🥰 Kaitlyn 🥺

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