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ghost-proofbaby · 2 months

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IT WILL COME BACK (E.M.)

"honey, don't feed me - i will come back."

summary: when eddie came back from the upside down, he was different. and you finally come to realize just how different the man you saved truly is one night, when push comes to shove.

pairings: kas!eddie munson x reader

warnings: mentions of BLOOD (in sexual manner), mentions of BITING (in sexual manner), allusions to possible coercion (consent is still explicitly stated - trust me), mentions of death and trauma, mentions of eddie's canon death, taking a lot of creative liberty with expansive vampire lore across all media, mentions of murderous dreams? (eddie dreamt about killing reader idk), oral (f receiving), smut. MINORS DO NOT INTERACT - 18+ ONLY.

wc: 7.7k+

a/n: i told y'all i'd write a serious biting/blood kink fic one day - today is the day. very lazily edited so beware.

When Eddie came back from the Upside Down, he was different.

There were subtle changes at first. Small, minute details that were easy to ignore. Everyone could turn a blind eye to them — everyone figured they would fade once the boy healed. His healing was first priority, and whatever lingered after could be dealt with.

Get Eddie better. Then question all that lingers.

A simple plan. A genius plan. A torturous plan.

The two of you had been friends, if you could even call it that, prior to it all. Teasing in the hallways, working on school projects here and there when in shared classes, he was your favorite (and only) dealer when you craved something to make sleep come just a little bit easier. He had been familiar — an old ghost you'd grown comfortable with, long before you’d seen those large and wet eyes looking back up at you in the boathouse.

Long before he’d pieced together the puzzle pieces as to why you’d needed the weed to cancel out the nightmares. Long before he’d processed exactly what those nightmares entailed.

But then, you’d fought for him. You’d fought with him. And most importantly, you’d bled with him.

God, you had bled for him.

Something admirable had blossomed in that short time. Eddie’s entire life had fallen apart, thread by frayed thread, and that new planted emotion had been the only solid thing to emerge for him to absolutely cling to. You were more than a fellow classmate to pass by in the hallways. You were more than his favorite customer, always weaponizing fluttering lashes and puckered lips for a discount he’d have given you regardless.

You were a force to be reckoned with, and had ignited a hunger in him like no other.

That’s all he had thought it was when he’d awoken in his living room — not the distorted version but the real one — to you screaming for the others to help you as you’d sealed his wounds. That’s all he had thought it was when you’d come to visit him as wounds turned to scars, and stabbing pains turned to hungering pangs. So he had tried to bury it, listen to Harrington and Wheeler and Buckley when they told him to take time to readjust. He’d locked away that hunger and focused on his healing, just as everyone else had, and told himself it was just residual feelings.

Residual feelings had been bound to happen after seeing someone bloody their hands, with your own blood, for your survival.

And in his burial, he’d never considered a similar hunger igniting somewhere deep within you.

You visited far more often than you should have. Returning time and time again to change his bandages, taking on one too many shifts at the hospital during his unconscious spells and baring your teeth for anyone who got too close. The sweet blood on your hands hadn’t washed away in that first shower; you swore, if you looked closer, you could still see the stain of nearly losing him across your knuckles.

Physical wounds were easier to heal than the internal ones. It was easier to lather on antibiotic lotion than it was to sleep soundly at night. Both of you came to realize that quickly in the weeks that followed Eddie’s return from the dead.

His nights were plagued with bad dreams, with thirst and cravings he couldn’t quite name. He’d wake up, burning up from the inside out with a fever that never existed. Tearing skin. Puncture wounds. Blood spilling across floors and his lips alike. He could never tell if the shivers that traced his spine had been from the cruel visions that had become his nightly visitors or if it was due to his perpetual drop in temperature that had worried Nancy since the very first night home from the hospital, that had concerned the nurses who piled blankets atop him during his week long sleep of recovery.

Your nights were even less kind. Horrific memories were the demons that haunted you — remembering the way you had watched Eddie cut that sheet rope, remembering finding him bloodied on the ground, remembering the warmth of his blood seeping across your palms and how when your ear had turned just as heated with it as you pressed it to his chest. Only to hear nothing. Emptiness.

His heart had stopped for minutes. Plural.

It had been your steady rhythm, your desperate hands and your gasping breaths breathing into his lungs. You’d sunk your claws into him, caught them right between his ribs and had decided he couldn’t leave you.

Some nights, when you wake up screaming, you can still taste his blood on your lips. You sometimes still swore that when you’d checked for a pulse after that, you hadn’t heard anything. Still worried that Eddie Munson’s heart never really restarted and resumed beating.

The worst was when you’d stare through the faded grey of mornings plastering across your room’s walls, and could still remember that initial look in his blown out pupils, once honey brown swallowed in pure black as he’d taken his first breath on his own.

Hunger.

You’d felt it, too. Shame riddled you on the nights you’d come down from the nightmares and remember it; it was as though the Universe had snapped back into place the moment you’d watched his chest first rise. A need so ardent to remain at his side. A chain clicking into place, binding both yourself and Eddie to one another, unaware of just what price had been paid to keep the boy that had laid under you in this world. Unaware of the hunger you had struck the match too that would become both your downfalls.

And so it had been buried. Something alive, even with your doubts of Eddie’s liveliness, and choking on dirt while six feet under. You and Eddie, two sides of the same coin, had decided to not speak of it. He never told you how he had come to be able to pinpoint your heartbeat in every shared room he entered, throat burning as his gaze always settled on you, and you never told him of the matching aches that had shamefully sparked within your chest and between your hips for him.

A hunger to be near one another. A hunger to devour. Neither of you really understood the heaviness.

“How are you feeling today, Eddie?” Steve asks as he sits on the edge of the new bed in the new apartment in the new part of town the Munson men now occupy.

Government money could go a Hell of a long way. Especially after your home had been devastated by the aftermath of alternate dimensions and unheard of evil being defeated.

“Fine,” is the only response Eddie can muster.

In reality, every time anyone came near him now, he burned. His throat tightened till it was surely raw, he swore his teeth sharpened until a mere slip of his tongue against his canines could bring the taste of metallic blood to his mouth. His entire body would tense with every person that walked through his door.

Control. Whatever was happening to him, Eddie needed to exercise control.

“Just fine?” Steve continues on, not catching the drift as he puts down the bag of things he’d bought at Eddie’s request. Basic things — painkillers, packs of cigarettes, a 6-pack. Some habits die harder and can’t be controlled, “You look like shit, Munson.”

“Gee, thanks, Stevie.”

Everyone had assumed the dark shadows beneath Eddie’s eyes would fade. They assumed his cheeks would eventually fill back out. They assumed he could wash away the ashen shade his hair now flatly flowed in. It was as if the life had been drained from Eddie since that day, and they had all assumed it would eventually flow back into him.

It never did. Just as his new hunger lingered, so did the look of Death.

“Sorry, man,” Steve throws his hands up, shrugging a bit before he stands, “Just being honest. It’s the best policy.”

“Is it? Is it really?”

If honesty was the best policy, Eddie could have filled the room with it. He could admit about the nightmarish wants, needs, he’d been keeping at bay. He could admit the way his irritation had been growing this last week every time another body, another friend, walked through his doorway and it wasn’t you. You, who had begun to plague the night terrors. You, who Eddie was beginning to crave far more than he had before he’d stared the afterlife down the barrel of the gun.

Steve just looks at Hawkins’ newest zombie boy, sighing, “Look, I don’t know what’s got you pissed off-“

“The whole dying thing, for starters.”

“-or why you’ve insisted on being an asshole to all of us these last few weeks-“

“Again, I died.”

“-but you’ve got everyone but me scared to visit you. We’re all scared of you biting our heads off, dude,” Steve finally finishes with a scowl.

Everyone. It’s unspoken that you’re included in the generalization.

It occurs to Eddie that maybe, just maybe, he should be kinder if he ever wants the ache of yearning to see you again to fade. If that’s what he could call this ache.

By the time Steve has left, Eddie’s still thinking about his warning. About the way he had been unusually cruel since coming back to life, since waking up handcuffed to a hospital bed. It made sense initially. But he wasn’t handcuffed to a hospital bed anymore — he was home, or as close to home as he could get, and he was technically safe.

The issue was that he’d accepted his safety. Everyone who had wanted Eddie Munson dead was now six feet under themselves. No, the bigger issue at hand was everyone else’s safety.

Your safety.

Once he’d realized you were the staring lead in his violent fantasies, he had stopped calling. Half of your absence last week had been his fault.

No one really bothered to look deeper into it. Steve didn’t press as to why Eddie’s fridge had remained empty, Nancy didn’t take second glances at the odd books on vampire tales that were now littering all the free real estate of Eddie’s room, and you hadn’t questioned the coldness of his tone whenever he spoke to you. The chill of his words had grown icier than his own palms, desperate to keep you at arm’s length until he figured out what had changed in him that day he came back to life.

He wanted you near. He wanted to rip your throat out. He wanted your blood to stain his mouth and neck just as his had stained your hands. That was an issue. That wasn’t normal.

Something had changed in Eddie Munson, and it had terrified him to his twisted core, and no one had cared enough to notice. Not yet.

–

It took you two weeks to be fed up with the radio silence.

Eddie stopped calling even Jonathan (the only one of the group he found he didn’t want to devour whole, as it turns out). When everyone had mentioned it in passing, it had only reminded you of the sleepless nights you’d be enduring. That small voice in the back of your head that had called out to you in the dead of night, the whisper of come to me that echoed all the way across a broken town.

Come to me.

Sometimes you swore it was Eddie’s voice calling to you. Sometimes, you nearly left your own new apartment in the dead of night, and let your legs guide you to the undead boy you had single-handedly revived.

Tonight was one of those nights. Your stomach was twisting, your head was pounding, your bones were aching. Every single inch of you hurt as it listened to that soft calling, and at some point, you gave in.

Hunger. You were insatiable with the need and drive to be at Eddie’s side. Warnings from the others be damned.

One thing leads to another. You find your coat, you find your car keys. You find yourself driving the deserted streets of Hawkins in the middle of the night. You find yourself on the Munson doorstep, knuckles shaking and aching with the knowledge that just beyond the wood of the door, he was there. You don’t have to see him to feel him; his thrumming presence, his anchoring existence.

Come to me.

The door swings open before you get the chance to knock. This string tying your two souls together is not a one-way channel, it seems.

“Why are you here?”

You watch him wince as the harsh words leave him. Immediately, you know that the abrasiveness is on instinct. Just as something claws inside of you to be near him, there is something within him howling to keep you far from him.

The polarity of two magnets. Some nights, surely, his twists in a way that would draw him to you, just as yours will twirl with the sensibility that whatever has changed within him should give you cause to run as far away from him as possible.

But tonight, your magnetism only yanks you closer to him. He doesn’t even invite you in, and yet, you find yourself stepping over the threshold of the new apartment.

“You’ve gone quiet,” you whisper as an answer. It’s not what he wants to hear, grimace deepening, nearly a scowl now, “I just… It’s been weeks. I…”

I missed you. I needed you. I heard you in my dreams and I’ve never had much self-control when it comes to you.

Magnets are a useless metaphor for whatever is happening here between you. A better comparison would be the cliche image of a moth to a flame; he’s dangerous, threatening to burn you alive, and you still find your heart fluttering after him hopelessly. You’re going to get scorned, and you’ll still never learn. You’ve fallen victim to a tired narrative that you’d rolled your eyes at in a plethora of books. How many times had you sworn that wouldn’t be you? Just how many eye rolls had you exhausted at the mere idea?

And now, here you were, on his doorstep. Grasping for something you’re not sure either of you can give.

“I’ve been dealing with a few things,” he mutters as he shuts the door behind you, shielding you both from the chill of the night. The room is still cold, especially in his radius, “Didn’t think it would make much of a difference.”

“You didn’t think I’d care if you just stopped calling?” you turn slowly, taking in the state of the living room. Wayne was clearly gone for the night, work most probably, and several books littered the coffee table. Eddie had been the one reading them, lounging on the couch.

The last time you had seen him, he couldn’t even sit up in bed on his own.

He’s keeping an unusual distance, nearly leaning back out of your vicinity, “Figured you were busy.”

He’s never been this short with you. His words are choked up, his body tense with pain. You assume it’s just his injuries bothering him.

You couldn’t be more wrong, but you’re completely unaware.

“I brought you back from the dead, and you think I’d still be too busy for you,” you laugh humorlessly, fully in disbelief at his pitiful excuse, “Eddie, we could find out Vecna didn’t really die, those damn cracks in the Earth could open right back up, and the first person I’d care about finding is you.”

The animal inside that had been yearning for his presence is satiated for now, but you can still feel it lurking in the darkest depths of your mind, ready to call out a new request at any moment. It’s the distraction that has you spilling pathetic truths.

The only response he offers you is a dead stare. With eyes wide, pupils nearly swallowed up by darkness.

“You could have called,” your voice cracks, body shaking with the effort not to take a step closer to him, “You could have just let me know you were still alive.”

“I-”

He cuts himself off when he’s the one taking a step closer. His entire face twists with pain, and you give up keeping your distance. In an instant, you’re at his side as your hand reaches out for his bicep.

He flinches away. Something inside of you burns.

Your hand is hovering in the air between the two of you, and in this lighting, you swear the skin is still stained with the blood that won’t wash away.

“Please don’t,” he begs, “I’m fine, but… please.”

You don’t know what he’s begging for. Distance, for you to pull your hand away, time – you don’t know what he needs.

“We should sit down,” you insist, finally pulling your hand as far from him as possible but making no move to put the space back between you two, “Has anyone helped you with your bandages? If your wounds got infected-”

“They didn’t.”

“If you didn’t change the bandages, they definitely could have-”

“They’re not infected,” he grits out, but he’s still walking over to the couch regardless, “They’re healed.”

Healed.

Mere weeks ago, those wounds were still deep enough to keep you from ever achieving a full night's rest. Deep enough to worry you to the core that you would wake up to them finally having consumed him. Deep enough that you all assumed it would take him months, not weeks, to recover.

“What do you mean they healed, Eddie?” you whisper, almost reaching out for him as he sits down.

Your hand twitches, but the echoes of his begging and his flinching keep it at bay as you stand before him.

“I mean, they healed,” he huffs, nostrils flaring as he takes deep breaths. He’s looking anywhere in the room but at you, his gaze subverting you with purpose. As though the mere sight of you, the mere proximity, is painful to him, “Don’t know how, don’t know why – they just did.”

“So why are you still in pain?”

A sharper intake of breath. A hush of silence falling over the apartment. Even the buzz of the building’s AC unit has faded from all your senses. It’s just you and him, and a heavy quietude like no other.

Until he finally breaks the surface tension, breathing out, “You.”

Your heart drops. That tug inside your chest, the one taut as you look at him right within your reach yet still so far away, almost snaps.

“Me?”

He nods with a harsh swallow, “I- Look, I can’t explain it, but when I came back, I came back…”

“Different?”

He doesn’t have to explain it. You’d felt it.

The moment his eyes had opened, just moments after what should have been blissful victory. The taste of his blood heavy on your tongue, a terrible sweetness that had choked you rather than its initial metallic twang. The whispers of his voice in your mind.

He wasn’t the only one changed from whatever had occurred that night.

“Different is a good way of putting it,” he nods, looking up with apologetic eyes, “It’s not you. It’s cliche as fuck, but it really isn’t – it’s me. I died, and you brought me back, but I don’t think either of us knew the cost.”

The yearning. The nightmares. The unmanageable needs. The hunger.

“What was the cost?”

He almost doesn’t hear you. Your voice is a whisper, tone weighed down with the curse of knowing.

You might not have known the cost when you were pressing your palms into his chest through your wretched sobs, functioning as his heart and lungs for nearly a minute, but you think you might have a clue now.

All that had been tethering you to him since he’d come back to you, all those webs and strings that had formed their knots around both of your necks. He’d changed, and you had plummeted right into the chasm of the unknown with him.

His blood on your tongue, sweet as honey.

Blood shouldn’t be sweet.

He grabs one of the books off the coffee table, motioning for you to join him on the couch. Under the weight of your realization, you’re nearly under a trance. All he has to do is wave a hand, and you follow.

You’re at his beck and call. Just like you had been when he’d been calling out for you, yearning for you.

“Don’t make me say it,” he mutters under his breath, tossing the book into your lap the moment you’ve sat down. This time, you’re mindful to keep your distance.

This time, you’re painfully aware of the compromising situation the two of you have found yourselves in.

The book is older, leather-bound and worn from years of readers’ careless hands breaking the spine. The corners of every page are weather, close to disintegration. The entire thing could easily pass for a Halloween decoration.

It’s not. You flip open to the title page, and if Eddie didn’t appear so deathly serious at your side, you would have scoffed.

“Dracula?” you question carefully, running a finger over the delicate script of the title, “Eddie, I don’t-”

“I’m not insane,” he interrupts you, “I’m not fucking- I swear to you. I’ve gathered up every goddamn book about it that I can. Fictional, nonfictional. Just- there’s obviously a Hell of a lot more fictional material to work with, okay?”

A vampire. He’s convinced he’s a vampire.

And even worse – you’re convinced right along with him.

You turn your head to look at him, trying to find the right words, but all you find is Eddie burying his face in his hands, head nearly hung between his knees.

“I can’t eat normal food anymore,” his voice is muffled, “That was the first sign. Couldn’t stomach it, made me throw up for hours when I tried. And then all those nurses kept talking about how I was healing faster than they expected. Most of my smaller cuts – those healed in under a day,” he finally lifts his face just enough to turn and peer at you through all the stray curls that fall into his vision, “My vision and hearing were the next things I noticed. Remember how I had a nonstop migraine those first few days?”

He doesn’t need to convince you, but the argument is compelling, “It… wasn’t a migraine.”

He shakes his head. “Not even close. Just turns out that it’s a killer to get used to fucking superhuman night vision and impeccable hearing. I still can’t handle being out in the sun very long. I don’t… burn up or any of that shit, but… it just…” he trails off, shoulders falling in defeat before he throws himself back against the couch. When he continues, his tone is flat, devoid of all emotion, “I keep having these dreams about you, too. Bad dreams. Terrible dreams.”

You shut the book, toss it back onto the coffee table, and decide to Hell with keeping your distance.

You need it. Even if he’ll only allow you to get an inch closer to him, you need it.

“What do you mean by terrible dreams?” you ask, breath catching at the end of your question as you scoot yourself closer on the couch. Even with such a small movement, Eddie is quick to notice, eyes flicking to you quickly with a sense of urgency flashing behind them.

“Don’t,” he lowly warns.

“What’s happening in your dreams, Eddie?”

Another inch closer. His jaw clenches.

“Sweetheart, do not-”

He doesn’t finish his sentence. Your knee bumps into his thigh, and you watch him go rigid. Hands turning to fists, eyes pinching shut and face twisting with the same pain he’d worn the ghost of when you first arrived at the apartment.

The moment you touch him, you see it. The flashes of his nightmares, all those terrible actions haunting him every time he closed his eyes. You. Your blood. That hunger.

Like a blackhole in the center of your stomach, it burns viciously as it sucks the air out of your lungs. It threatens to cave your entire being into itself until there’s nothing left. Not even a crumb of who you once were.

But it's not yours. It’s Eddie’s.

That pain on his face is only exhibiting a fraction of what he was feeling. That dizzying craving that he’d miraculously been keeping at bay since you’d simply entered the building, not even yet knocking on his door. You hadn’t even been in the same room as him yet, and he had still known. Had smelt you, had felt you.

He could almost taste you.

“You…” you have to shift your knee away from him, break the touch, break the connection, “You haven’t fed since you woke up.”

“I haven’t fed, period.”

With the connection severed, he somehow finds it in himself to open his eyes once more. You don’t know how – if he’s feeling what you’d just been privy to, you’d be an incoherent mess on the floor. Something feral and unrecognizable.

Although, maybe he was nearly there. You couldn’t see his pupils. That same look when he’d first woken up – a man swallowed whole by hunger.

“You’ve been dreaming about ripping my throat out,” you say it as a matter of fact, not a lick of judgment in your tone.

It wasn’t you scrutinizing him. It was what you had seen, with one simple touch.

His voice is hoarse as he echoes in confirmation, “I’ve been dreaming about ripping your throat out.”

You should probably be afraid. All your survival instincts should be kicking in, your feet should be carrying you towards the door, you shouldn’t be leaning in closer.

“You know what really sealed the whole vampire ordeal though, sweetheart?” he breathes out, your eyes fluttering shut at the lull in his hushed tone.

Just as you’ve been leaning in, he’s been slowly turning his body to face yours, hands twitching at his sides. He’s no longer retreating from your presence, sucking down breaths in harsh gulps the closer you grow to him.

He’s losing control. You’re losing control.

That thread, vibrant red as it draws you near him, is clear as day now. A noose around your neck. A road to your damnation.

A road to your hunger.

You hardly hum in response, completely entranced now. Had he ever been capable of this before? Of holding you beneath such an inescapable spell with such ease?

Probably.

He doesn’t use his words to answer. Instead, he finally takes the plunge.

His head ducks down towards your neck just as his hands lose the war, grabbing onto your hips, dragging you dangerously close to him until his lips hovered just over your pulse point. And by some strength that you certainly don’t possess, he stops there. Letting his lips barely brush against your soft skin, breath coming out in pants for you to feel, to relish, to get lost in. And just as soon as those pants, those waves, become a comfortable pattern to succumb to, you feel them.

His fangs.

Grazing over your sensitive skin. Sharp tips nipping at a surface they could so easily break, pierce with one wrong move. Your pulse is thrumming beneath the surface, heart racing painfully as Eddie’s grip turns bruising.

Come to me.

“Please.”

You’re the one begging now. It goes against every rule you’ve ever seen applied in fiction. If a vampire is baring their fangs against your neck, you should be reaching for a stake. The only noise escaping you should be a scream for help, not the pathetic whimpers beginning to slip out.

“I can’t,” you feel his gasp more than you can hear it. Your blood is too loud, roaring in your ears as you feel the fangs slip with his words, “I can’t.”

That hunger you felt, the one that had called out to you through the night and led you right to his doorstep, is unavoidable now. You need him closer, you need him to do this. For the first time since you had saved his life and tasted his blood after the Upside Down, everything seems to click into place. All he needs to do is let them sink into you, take that final leap of faith and reprieve that ache you’ve battled for weeks now.

You’re so close. So close.

“Eddie, please,” you’re nearly sobbing, hands gripping onto his shoulders, trying to pull him in closer.

But you’re no match for his strength. You don’t know if it’s a new addition with his vampire business or if there was always more to him than met the eye, but he easily stays stoic against your attempts, not moving a centimeter. Still hovering, still just barely making contact with your heartbeat.

“I-” his head drops slightly, tip of his nose beginning to trail down the side of your neck, mouth no longer dangerously close, “You saw my dreams-”

“I trust you.”

You do. You trust him even more now than you had when you first stumbled upon him in the boathouse. More than when he had pleaded his case, promised he hadn’t been the one to kill Chrissy Cunningham. The trust comes easier than breathing as his nose nuzzles into the junction of your neck and shoulder.

“You shouldn’t,” he mutters, fangs now brushing your collar bone, “You really, really shouldn’t.”

He doesn’t stop you when you move to straddle his hips. Your weight settles onto his lap, and he only fights to keep his face burrowed there in your shoulder, arms now moving around your waist to hold you tightly to him.

His self-control is impeccable. You’d admire him and all this impressiveness another time, when something inside of you wasn’t lamenting his resistance.

All at once, it occurs to you how to give him the final push.

“Did I ever tell you how sweet your blood was on my tongue after I brought you back?” you start, sighing, rolling your shoulders to expose more of your neck, grip on his shoulders tightening, “All that blood, all those tears, and I still can’t forget how welcome that warmth of you was in my mouth. How I needed more. How I pictured it every night, after every nightmare-”

He breaks.

One moment, his nose is buried in your skin. And the next, his fangs are.

You weren’t sure what to expect, but relief would have been low on your list. You gasp out in initial shock, but as you feel his teeth dig in, it’s as though something has snapped. The ache has been satiated, preening as you feel the warmth of your blood contrast the chill of his chin pressing into you.

If there’s any pain, you don’t feel it through the haze of pleasure.

Ice shards spread through your bloodstream, but the point in which Eddie’s mouth is connected to you radiates heat. He’s pulling you into him, letting go completely and relinquishing all that control as he nearly purrs against your skin in satisfaction. That connection is back, two minds linking with a heavy click, and you can feel all his pleasure mingling with your own. Satiation, desperation, adoration – the plethora of emotions all swarm your head and block out any better judgment.

You’d let him drain you dry, if that’s what he needed. If nothing more than to hear those soft moans as his fangs sink even deeper.

He pulls back too soon, though, suddenly and unexpectedly. Just as quickly as he had given in to both your desires, he’s putting an end to them. He hadn’t taken much blood, but your head is swimming from the loss all the same. Your grip has gone slack on him, hands slipping down to just barely cradle his biceps while his own touch stays unyielding around you.

You can hear his thoughts. Or rather, maybe more aptly put, you can feel them.

He wants to devour you. Wholly, ruthlessly.

He looks up at you with pupils still blown wide, chest heaving and a small scarlet drip trailing from the corner of his mouth. For the first time since he’d come back to you, he looks alive. Hair fluffed in a halo around his head, skin tinted with a healthy glow and unmistakable blush, bags beneath his eyes faded for the time being.

You were never quite sure if Eddie Munson’s heart had ever restarted, knew for certain that it hadn’t now, but you swear you can feel its pulse finally thrumming for you.

I need more.

It’s his voice in your head, echoing in the empty space as you look down with wild eyes to match his.

But it’s your voice in his head when you respond instantaneously.

Then take it.

Something unspoken lies there in the need. He doesn’t move back to your neck, doesn’t bite down and drink his fill of your blood. He only stares for a few seconds, watching the welt of blood that pools from each puncture wound of his making. His eyes follow when it runs down your skin, as though he might lose it should he so much as blink. Down, down, down. Following the trail that his nose had followed minutes before, across your collarbone until it stains the neck of your loose shirt.

My pleasure.

His hold proves helpful when he quickly changes positions, roughly throwing you down onto the couch before he’s settled between your thighs, crawling his way up your body. He pays close attention to the maroon trail on your throat, his tongue cleaning up after his mess, savoring the taste of you on his tongue.

Sweet as honey.

His tongue only pauses for a moment over the bite wound, pressing into it, making your back arch as you press yourself fully into him. Your head digs painfully into the cushion behind you as you expose your neck, wanting and begging and pleading all without words.

“I think we should take this off,” he plucks at the hem of your shirt, tugging hard before he begins to carefully lift. His freezing knuckles brush against your burning skin, eliciting a whimper from you, “Before we make an ever bigger mess. Don’t you agree, sweetheart?”

A sultry tone you’ve never heard from him before. Honeyed words, familiar to how he once spoke, but entirely new in the way they curl around you. There’s a confidence there, a baiting that he’s luring you with.

“Yes, please.”

He could ask anything of you in this moment, and you’d be eager to comply. Fueled by your desire for him before the events of spring break, worsened by his new condition. A bright, red, vibrating thread. You couldn’t severe the tie if you wanted to.

And you most certainly did not want to.

Your shirt is removed, his hands careful despite the way they shake. His words may be smooth, but each move is jagged, the only sign you had that he’s still exercising control.

“And these?” he whispers, lowering his lips to your sternum as he toys with the band of your pants. His fangs scratch down the center of your stomach as it quivers with each breath, careful to not break skin as they make their presence known. You nearly lose all capability to speak until he says, “Use your words, baby. Tell me I can take them off.”

Yes.

His eyes flare, looking up to you, “Use your words. Not your mind. I want to hear how badly you need me – I want everyone to hear you beg.”

The words strike straight to your core. Lashing out in your lower stomach, burning deliciously.

It’s more than putting on a show. He needs to know you want this.

“Take them off,” you gasp out, hands wandering to tangle in his hair, “Take- Take it all off. I’m yours, Eddie.”

Shaking hands perform a dance you had long since fantasized about. In easier days, when Eddie had been uninvolved in the episode down, heart still beating along as he would bounce his knees in front of you and his fingers would idly fiddle with his pencils and pens. A yearning, a wanting, you’d always held for the boy.

He used to be an escape from it all. A pretty thing to daydream about when you weren’t worried about monsters. And now – he was one of the monsters.

Your monster. Tied to you inexplicably, brought back by your hands and your stubborn efforts.

His lips and fangs are one in the same, trailing along your body as he finds a home at the apex between your thighs. Even in undeath, he’s the most beautiful thing your mind could conjure.

You’d forgotten how he was privy to your every thought until he reacts.

“You’re too sweet,” he murmurs, smirking salaciously as he mouths innocently at that sensitive skin of your inner thigh, tongue darting out to lick a cool stride before he breathes out against it. It has you writhing beneath his hold, “You’ve wanted this all this time, sweetheart? Wanted to see me, between these pretty thighs, making you scream my name?” His mouth falls open a bit wider, the sharp canines pressing but not sinking against where he had just licked. He holds there, eyes locking with yours, until he pulls back to cockily say, “Could’ve just said something, y’know. Didn’t have to bring me back from the dead to have me devoted to you.”

Finally, finally, he lets his fangs sink back into you. The soft meat of your thigh is more pliant in his mouth, and he doesn’t linger as long as he had on your neck. One nick, just enough to start the blood flow, before he’s pulling back and licking hungrily at the scarlet liquid. Less for feeding, more for marking.

Marking you as his, just as you have with him. His methods just appeared a bit more physical.

He’s quick to avert his focus on your cunt, no warning before the tongue still covered in your blood is taking long strides over your entrance and clit. Devotion. That was the only word to describe the way he was unraveling you, alternating between indulging in your sweet cunt and returning back to that bite, going as far to even sink his teeth in a second time to take a proper drink of you. His chin and lips grow slick with it all – with the blood, with your wetness, with his own saliva. A starved man with a feast before him.

The way he’s rutting his hips into the couch as he slings your legs over his shoulders doesn’t go unnoticed.

It’s a mess. A wonderful, satisfying, enchanting mess.

Beautiful. So beautiful, all mine.

His voice has you teetering on an edge of new carnal pleasure. Completely consumed by him, your hands tugging viciously at his curls. His face is round once more, eyes and cheeks no longer sunken in, vitality being breathed into him with each taste of your blood.

Let me touch you. Please.

You beg over that connection, trying your best to not buck your hips mercilessly against his tongue. You feel his wicked grin.

“You’re already touching me, sweetheart,” he reaches up, untangling your fingers from his hair for emphasis before he’s pinning them to your sides, “And what did I say about using our words? Hm?”

“Need more,” your voice is wrecked as you tilt your head back, wrists straining against his hold, “I need more.”

You’re fully light-headed now, the blood loss finally catching up. Maybe you were about to let him drain you dry.

And what a beautiful way to die. At the hand, at the fangs, of the one you had fought so urgently to bring back to you.

One last timid lick to the wound on your thigh, and he’s crawling his way back up to you. The mess doesn't phase you as he kisses you hungrily – the blood remains sweet rather than metallic, the remnants of your juices still on his tongue – and you meet him with an unbridled fervent. Nipping at his lips with your own dull canines as if you were the one looking for a bite of vivacity.

You don’t know when he lets go of your wrists, or when your hands find their way up beneath his shirt. The specifics don’t matter once he’s naked before you, clothes discarded messily to the ground with your own. The only thing that matters is the weight of him, the reminder that he was still here as his hips roll into yours and the head of him catches on your entrance.

He had been dead. For minutes. And you had brought him back to you.

The process had taken longer than the mere CPR administered, had taken weeks of whatever waiting game you two had tortured yourselves with, but you had him now. He was yours. You were his. There wasn’t a deity, a monster, an omniscient being in this world that could take that away from you. Not even Death herself.

“Last chance, baby,” he whispers against your lips, holding himself up so that not a single inch of his skin pressed to yours. You nearly cried out, missing that connection, missing him. Your hunger, the hunger for him entirely, rattles your bones once more, “Say the word, and I’ll-”

“No,” your hands pause their exploration of skin jagged with scars. Reminders of those few dreadful moments in which the world existed without Eddie Munson in it, that would fade in time but never fully disappear. Always there, just like the stain of his blood on your palms. Always there, just like your desperation to have him at your side. “I meant it when I said I’m yours. I’m not changing my mind. I want this.”

His skin is back on yours, body laid fully along your own road map, and it all comes flooding back. The pain of seeing his lifeless body, the nights spent in an eerie hospital room, baring your own teeth at any one who came too close to the man you had pulled back from the ledge of Death. The anxiety, the fear, the relief, the yearning – it all accumulates as he’s pressing into you, brimming you so full that there’s no room for memories of nightmares.

He’s here. He’s yours. You’re his.

His heart didn’t need to beat for you to accept that truth.

You can’t decipher which chants of your name fall from his lips for others to hear, and which ones whisper in the depths of your mind for only you to bear witness to. Each curse, each grunt, each moan – there for you and only you anyways. You’re entirely unsure if your lips even separate once as he thrusts, cock brushing somewhere deep in you that has you clenching around him.

And if his fangs wander, it only adds to the pleasure.

Blood, sweat, and tears all mingle between your bodies. He’s holding you tighter than water, as though you’re at risk of disappearing from him at any given moment. But that link between your two minds, your two souls, is unwavering. It’s the only thing grounding you to the moment as your half curls around his waist and your heel digs into his lower back. Urging him, pressing him, taking him.

“Fuck, sweetheart,” he says it out loud, this time. You feel his lips brushing against your ear as he does, “Gripping me so tightly. This pussy was fucking made for me.”

Every movement only unlocks something more feral inside the two of you. Your nails rake down his back, leaving angry red lines to trace over once it’s all said and done. There’s enough shallow bite marks across your neck that you’ll be wearing scarves for weeks, months. The others might question it, strangers might stare, but the pride you feel as he marks you is unmatched for any anxiety about it.

That black hole of hunger is no longer swallowing either of you whole. That debilitating pain, that animal inside, has been tamed.

When his hips begin to stutter, mouth no longer capable of the strength to properly bite you as his lips only smear the soft spattering of blood pooling at the base of your throat, you’re already there. Squeezing him tightly, sucking him in, voice raw as you let everyone know who’s ravishing you.

Eddie.

Hawkins’ newest zombie boy – Hawkins’ newest vampire.

The climax is just as pleasurable as the lead up. The haze lingers long after his spent has dripped out of you, long after he’s collapsed into your body with exhaustion and contentment. The blood dries, the wounds clot – but that haze doesn’t falter.

As long as his skin presses to yours, you feel that caress of his mind against yours.

“Did…” you’re breathless as his face nuzzles into your nude chest, a few mindless hums of gratification still slipping from him as you bring a hand to toy with the curls at the crown of his head, “Did any of your vampire books say anything about… that?”

The connection. The bloodlust. The spell you swear he still has you under, even as it’s all said and done.

He snorts against your skin, “Not that I, uh, recall.”

“What? You mean to tell me in all your research, you never dived into any vampire smut?” you tsk jokingly, a calm smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. He lifts his head, and you swear, those honey-brown irises have threads of a deep maroon now, “You’re slacking, Munson.”

“Why read about it when I can just experience it?” he coos, letting his nose and lips drag across your still hot skin before he rests his chin on your sternum, “Besides, I mean – we’ll need to do this again, won’t we, baby? For research.”

Your head still spins. Your body aches in a welcome manner. There will be a need for explanations to others, for actually researching his condition, later on. But for now, it’s enough.

The pounding behind your ribcage, the one you know Eddie feels for the both of you when his ear presses to your chest, is enough.

Of course, lover.

That thought stays between the two of you. The world doesn’t need to know what can’t hurt them.

eddie's taglist: @capricornrisingsstuff @thisisktrying @hideoutside @vol2eddie @corrcdedcoffin @ches-86 @alovesongtheywrote @its-not-rain @feralchaospixie @cheesypuffkins87 @thebook-hobbit @babez-a-licious @eddies-acousticguitar @aysheashea @kellsck @cosmorant @billyhvrgrove-main @micheledawn1975 @eddiesxangel @siriuslysmoking @witchwolflea @tlclick73 @magicalchocolatecheesecake @mizzfizz @nanaminswhore @mikiepeach @ali-r3n @hawkebuckley @alwaysbeenfamous @darkyuffie-blog @vintagehellfire @lilmisssiren @elvendria @loveryanax @stylexrepp @princessstolas @fangirling-4-ever @eddiesguitarskills @babez-a-licious @josephquinnsfreckles

join my taglist!

#ghost's stories #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #kas!eddie munson #kas!eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson smut #eddie munson angst #reader essentially became soul bound to him womp womp #don't drink a vampire's blood kids #i really didn't edit that intensely i spent two hours fucking with photoshop #if it's bad it's bad #finally dipping my toes into kas!eddie tho wahoo #vampire!eddie munson #someone requested eddie with this song forever ago but i lost the ask #eddie reading dracula to figure out if he's become a vampire is actually so fucking funny to me

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bratphilia · 6 months

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office chair (w. afton x reader)

request: "hi angel!!! ummmmmm…….. could you possiblg write some big age gap, lap riding and kissing + teasing with steve raglan/mathew lillard william? asking for a friend.."

note: sorry it's a little short but i hope you enjoy anon!!

pairing: steve raglan / william afton x reader

tags: age gap (reader is 18-21, william is like 45-50+), dry humping, riding, make out session, implied friends w/ benefits

you're in his office. again. surprise, surprise. but you both knew what you were getting into the moment you locked eyes in the waiting room of his office. especially once he locked the door behind him after you entered.

steve has had you on every surface of this office. even up against the walls. bent over the desk, on the little couch in his office — fuck, even on the floor.

you don't quite know what it is that makes him so attractive to you. he's a weird guy, to be honest. he's enigmatic and distant about his past and his emotions, whenever you've tried to actually talk to him. for now, you chalk it up to his age. you've never seen what he looked like when he was younger, but he aged like fine wine.

anyways, you're sitting in his lap in his desk chair. you've been in this exact position many times before, but that never takes away from how exciting it is. he's cradling your face with his hand and in control of the kiss you two are entangled in.

steve's mouth moves against yours, slow and sensual. his tongue guides yours in a slow dance. sometimes it's rough when he has little patience, or running on a low budget of time, or when he deals with an annoying client. but this time, the two of you have all the time in the world. whenever the two of you break apart for air, you press your foreheads together, listening to each other breathe.

over the time of your kiss, you become increasingly needy. so much so that steve takes notice. "want me that badly, huh?"

you begin grinding your hips against his jeans. the friction feels absolutely delicious against your clothed clit, making you whimper. "'need you."

he chuckles. "you already have me, sweetheart."

"steve, please."

he takes a moment to appreciate you. wandering eyes travel down and up your body, to where you're pushing your hips against him desperately, to your heaving chest, and to your eyes squeezed shut as you chase any kind of relief you can get. "i won't torture you, baby."

your heart soars. you hop off his lap, begrudgingly, and for a moment you miss being close to him, but he starts unbuckling his belt, practically making you salivate. he only pulls his cock out, leaving on his pants on. you wordlessly follow suit and take off your panties. purposefully, you leave your skirt on. you know all too well how he likes it.

he pats his thighs to beckon to to come sit. your heart thumps already with excitement. you hop on his lap, instantly sinking yourself down on his hard length. the both of you moan in unison. steve's hands find their way to your hips and pushes your pencil skirt up so it's bunched around your lower waist.

"ride me, baby," he almost grunts. you place your hands on his shoulders and begin to move at a slow pace. moving up and down, up and down, up and down.

steve is leaned back lazily. his gaze switches from your pretty face and down to where your pussy is sliding against his cock. his expression is just too good. flushed red face, sweat beading on his forehead, and pupils dialated.

you try to move faster but it's hard with your stamina and the position you're in. "help me out?" you ask in a sweet, fucked out voice, one that's music to his ears.

without another word, he uses his grip on your hips to guide you at a faster pace. soon enough, you're riding him with reckless abandon. your moaning freely at this point and the sounds you're making bring him closer to the edge.

knowing how much you love it, he leans forward and whispers dirty praises in your ear. "you're doing so well f'me, love dove, riding my cock so well."

"mmm," you moan in response. you wrap your hands around his neck and he takes the initiative to bury his face is the crook of yours.

you feel your own orgasm approaching as your whining gets louder. you both stopped caring who hears you a long time ago. steve can feel his own orgasm approaching closer too as his own grunts and groans increase in longevity.

he pulls you down and up on his cock faster, encouraging your movements. "come on baby girl, come for me. come for me, i'm close too."

the both of you finish at the same time. he pulls you down on his member to sit still as hot spurts of his cum shoot into you. you both moan at the same time as you take in the feeling of your insides being painted by him and your pussy clenching around him.

when the both of you calm down, the room is filled with the quiet sound of breathing. steve doesn't pull out yet and holds you close to him and peppers kisses on your face, your neck, and your chest, while you lay your head on his chest.

#five nights at freddy's #fnaf #fnaf smut #fnaf x reader #steve raglan #william afton #william afton x reader #william afton smut #fnaf movie

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cozage · 10 months

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Hi hope you are having a good day

I wanted to know what would it be like if, Mihawk, Shanks and Buggy had a female s/o that was basically like inosuke from demon slayer, they are a bit dumb but will pick a fight with everyone, and they only wear a bandaged top with like shorts or smt.

You guys have been asking me lots of questions and making me feel loved so here is this!!! (And maybe more spicy things to come later this week 👀)

Characters: female reader x Mihawk, Shanks, Buggy Wordcount: 850 CW: the last bullet point in all of them that are a little spicy

She’s Kinda Stupid, but…

Mihawk

This man is literally so tired. He’s so tired.

Will very often say things like “I didn’t know I was in charge of three children.” (yes Perona and Zoro are his CHILDREN okay) or “Are you acting your age today, or are we pretending you’re six years old again?” or “I’ve met dogs more behaved than you.” (it’s all coming from a place of love and he knows you won't take offense because you don’t take offense to anything)

You’re a brat and he knows it (and loves it). He loves you but god you are so much work when the two of you are out in public. He feels like he can’t take his eyes off you or you’ll end up in a fight with some random guy because he looked at you funny.

Most of the time he doesn’t acknowledge your shenanigans. When you fight with someone, he’ll grab your wrist and physically pull you away from them, usually with some kind of snide remark.

Sometimes you’re justified, though. And when that happens, he gives the guy who wronged you five seconds to apologize before he sets you loose. Most of the time the guy sees Mihawk and apologizes, but the swordsman secretly hopes the guy won't apologize. And on the few occasions they don't apologize, he smirks as he releases you.

He always has to pull you off the guy because you just don't know when to stop. In all truthfulness, it kind of gets him hot and bothered, but he always pretends to be irritated. “You’re psychotic. Do I need to teach you how to behave?” he scolds, his gold eyes scanning your body. “I can think of a few ways to get you to listen.”

Shanks

Shanks adores you. Cheers you on. Loves watching you cause absolute chaos. Why? Because you are him without a conscience.

Shanks knows when he needs to flip the switch from polite to fight, but you don’t. You are always at 100%, your most authentic self 24/7. And he absolutely adores that about you. Even if that means that sometimes you take it a bit too far.

Sometimes Shanks will even use your emotions to his advantage. “Can you believe that guy just did that?!” or “Talk about rude!” knowing full well you’re ready to throw down whoever wronged you or him.

The absolute only time that Shanks will stop you from fighting someone is when you all are in a building. He’s had to pay SO MANY owners back for you destroying glassware and furniture and plenty of other damaged goods. You learned pretty quickly that the first words out of your mouth should be “Wanna take this outside?!” because if you were outside then Shanks didn’t stop you.

The first few fights, he watched carefully, making sure he would be able to jump in if he needed to. The next couple of fights, he watched you with an amused look, excited to see how you were going to beat up the guy (and just to make sure you would win). Nowadays, he doesn’t even feel the need to go outside with you, but sometimes he does just to cheer you on.

After your victory, he always rewards you with a bunch of kisses and sings your praises. He pulls you onto his lap at the bar, making sure everyone knows you're his. “You did so well. I loved how you stomped that guy into the dirt,” he’ll coo, dotting kissing across your neck. “How about later I show you just how proud I am of you, okay?”

Buggy

You never cease in stressing this man out. He is always on high alert now because of you.

Stealth missions? Forget it. Normal day in town? Absolutely not. He BEGS you to be a normal human being in public. To have an ounce of self preservation. But you cannot comprehend that. People who talk shit deserve to get hit.

He is constantly running after you, screaming at you to stop fighting people for no reason. Sometimes he’ll even jump in front of your punches to try and de-escalate it (which of course doesn’t work and results in you just punching him in the face). You don’t even feel bad, you just scream at him to get out of the way and beat up the other guy even more since he made you hurt your boyfriend.

If anyone makes fun of him, he doesn’t even have a chance to scream at them anymore. You’re already pounding their face into the ground. And every time you do, he falls in love with you a little bit more.

“That’s right, that’s my baby!” he screams, watching you smugly walk away from some guy’s beaten body. “Let’s go celebrate, you can do whatever you want.” He grabs your hand, practically pulling you back to the ship.

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angelltheninth · 8 months

Text

BNHA Men when You Have A Near Death Experience During a Mission

Pairing: Izuku Midoriya, Bakugo Katsuki, Shoto Todoroki, Eijiro Kirishima x Reader

Tags: angst, hurt/comfort, nightmares, cuddles, sneaking around, literal sleeping together, life affirming kisses, crying

A/N: Time for some angst! Hope you're ready to get punched in the feels.

Izuku never wanted to see you like that, on the ground and bleeding, broken. You can feel his tears falling onto your face, you can hear his cries, telling you to hold on that you'll be okay, you'll get fixed up in no time just hold on. In the following days he can't let go of the sight, his mind won't let him forget seeing you like in that state. When you get out of the hospital you notice that he's more quiet then usual, still sticking close to you but unsure what to say to you. If he was stronger then maybe you he could have watched your back better. So... will you train with him? Like a date. It's odd to count that as a date but he was always a weird boyfriend, in an adorable way.

"It might be sudden, you just got out of the hospital but I really want to get stronger. I haven't been sleeping well since then, every time I close my eyes the nightmares come rushing in. I want to get stronger, be able to stand by your side. Then, do we have a date?"

Bakugo is the guy who will blame himself for you getting hurt but he will do it in the angriest way possible and actually make it seem like he's blaming everyone else. Needs to carry you to the hospital on his own, even if he himself is badly injured. If anyone so much as tries to touch you he will get aggressively protective, holding you closer to his chest in retaliation. The moment you open your eyes his mouth is on yours, his hands cupping your injured cheeks with the gentleness most doubt he could possess. He can't stay for long but for the time he can he doesn't want his hands to not be on you, he needs to know that you're okay.

"Fucking messed up back there. Don't give me that, you know I did! You could have died you idiot! Look... I'm not the best guy but you... you bring out a better side of me, I don't want to lose you. I can be sappy when I wanna. Keep your mouth shut about it or I'll shut it with mine."

Shoto never wants to know what it feels like to lose a person he loves. There have already been so many close calls in his life, and now it's happening again. You keep telling him you'll be fine but how can you say that when you're loosing so much blood. The hall outside of your room in the hospital is in a constant flux of too hot and too cold because his emotions are all over the damn place right now. Seeing you awake calmed him down a little but it's not until he feels your hand in his pulling him next to you and letting him listen to your heartbeat that he truly calms down. It's a little cramped in the hospital bed but if you don't mind it then he'll stay like this.

"How could it have been worse? You almost died there. I never want to think about a worst outcome. I want to stay by your side forever, I want to go to sleep and wake up while listening to your heartbeat just like I am now. In a bigger bed of course."

Eijiro had never been so angry in his life. At those who almost killed you yes but also at himself. He's your boyfriend, he should have payed more attention to what was going on around the two of you. Now you're bedridden in a hospital, unable to move without it causing pain. You'll heal but what happened will always haunt his mind. Because visiting hours have their limits he thinks it wouldn't be a problem to sneak in through the window, bring you flowers and snacks to make you feel better. You spend many hours talking, kissing, even long periods of silence. He eventually falls asleep in his chair and in the morning has to run right as he hears the door handle turn.

"Brought you flowers and your favorite snacks. I don't want you eating yucky hospital food. Are you doing better? Did you... see me when you... sorry, I don't like being that way, but when I saw you like that I lost it. I will smash through anything and anyone to keep you safe."

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princeoftheeternalbog · 2 months

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Op characters with a clingy/handsy drunk? let's go

suggestive in Sanjis, Luffy, Brooks, DEFINITELY in Namis and Frankys and maybe Usopps? Mostly vague stuff, on that note would you guys actually be interested in like nsfw stuff? I know I'm really toeing the line here and i have drafts but I'm nervous to post😭.

Feel like this could be ooc in some places but who cares😻(me :()

Luffy

Giggles a lot, he finds it so cute and it really makes him feel warm in his chest. He can't get enough of you to be honest. Like this man loves physical touch but be warned he will think it's a sudden new level in your 'friendship'(read:in love with each other) and start acting that affectionate all the time. Willing to carry you around and also wrap himself around you so you can walk with him just there, yes this includes to the bathroom-

Zoro

Adores it. I think he actually loves affection and physical touch but just doesn't say it because he thinks it's obvious (it's not). So when you come up to him, wobbly and on your 6th drink, and just practically throw yourself into his arms hes just like :/). Makes sure you stay nice and close to him because he doesn't want you clinging to anyone else, and he always makes sure you drink water before bed even if bed involves falling asleep on top of him.

Sanji

Makes him nervous to be honest. Usually he's the forward one in the relationship but here you are untucking his shirt just to shove your hands up it. He absolutely will shriek if its in front of other people, and he's trying to wrangle your grabby hands but he really enjoys it so his resolve is so weak. Tries to satiate you by being affectionate back but it just makes you worse and he ends up taking you to a more private area so he at least doesn't have to blush in front of others.

Nami

She thinks it's so cute. Let's you do whatever you want as long as the people around you are comfortable and you've said it's fine(when sober ofc), but she doesn't really care about people seeing until you start trying to either get undressed or undress her and then she takes you to a private space because she's ever so slightly possessive. Listen for a girl who didn't have much, you add a lot of value to her life and she wants to treasure you properly, she doesn't trust anyone else to appreciate you the way you deserve.

Usopp

Surprisingly confident. You come up to him with this big dreamy smile and you're practically falling over yourself so he just- scoops you up. Front piggyback style yk, he's got one arm under your ass supporting your weight and the other one is holding his drink, listen this mf is strong okay you think a man who can build a boat isn't strong? Fool. He just lets you do what you want to be honest, one of your hands is tucked in his back pocket, the other is trying and failing to undo his overalls and he's just like "You okay honey?".

Robin

She's flustered. She's not that used to physical affection so it makes her really giggly and blushy, though she's still quite confident in her words and actions, she's fr twirling her hair around her finger. She has quite a high tolerance for alcohol but she actually gets a bit similar when she's drunk, she's more reserved of course but she just melts into you like butter on a hot pan. The crew always take so many pictures because they think it's so cute, literally every celebration you two just end up cuddling and then it sorta turns into a big cuddle pile with the crew because seeing her relax gets them emotional.

Franky

Oh baby you are looking in a mirror. He is just as bad if not worse- when he gets drunk he is a massive flirt and a massive tease. He's so giving in relationships and usually you don't have to ask twice but being drunk will mean he wants you to practically beg for a kiss. Half because he thinks it's funny and half because he's a horny bastard- Though if you get upset then he immediately drops the teasing, even when drunk he's so considerate of your feelings and your boundaries.

Brook

Doesn't mind at all but prefers to be in private when you're like this.

Quick headcannon that his bones are more sensitive than skin because there's less external protection-

Lets just say one time you touched a sensitive area in public and he will never get over the reaction he had or the fact that other people saw it. So you go to room jail as soon as you start trying to practically crawl inside his clothes to be as close as possible. He's not mad though, he giggles the entire way, he's just very shy about his interests.

Jinbei

Flustered as hell but makes him feel really secure in your relationship. Also, he lowkey loves being able to bring it up to tease you later, like he pulls an uno reverse when you're sober and you're just like omg omg omg- He's a sneaky guy fr, does so many unexpected things in a relationship. Don't get me wrong though he'd never let you do anything inappropriate, even when drunk he's very aware of boundaries and social etiquette so if he notices you getting a bit grabby then he takes you somewhere private for both your benefit and the people around you.

Sabo

Oh baby. This man is feral don't even start. The first time he experiences it, it's actually really unexpected, it's quite early in your relationship so you havent been too affectionate yet, but you come up to him and just sit down. On him. And you can practically see his brain melting out of his ears, his face goes so red you think he's going to pass out but the second you stand up, drunk and lowkey sad, he snatches you back down. You wanted to sit there, you are going to sit there now you have no choice. (You do but would you want to get up?)

Ace

Menace. Cannot even state how much of a menace. He's so physically affectionate that it usually flusters even the most confident people, and this is while sober, so if you start getting clingy when drunk he just becomes obsessed. But he absolutely hates it if you're like that with other people so once you start getting to that stage then he's whisking you away to your shared room, usually you stick to him like glue anyways but the crew love to wind him up by coaxing you away from him with food and funny stories.

#mdni #one piece x reader #luffy x reader #nami x reader #nico robin x reader #sanji x reader #zoro x reader #franky x reader #brook x reader #jinbei x reader #jinbe x reader #usopp x reader #sabo x reader #portagas d. ace x reader #one piece fics #one piece x gn reader

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bestosunglass · 2 months

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Hi! I just wanted to say how lovely and interesting you make your platonic radiostatic :)) I saw your stuff on TikTok and I’m loving seeing it here as well!

I see so much one-sided or romantic radiostatic, and while I love it all, this is by far my personal favorite depiction of their relationship. Your art makes them look like such cuties even while they’re two of the scariest demons in hell <3 my personal fav so far is Al laying with Vox while he recharges it’s just so cute!!!

If you don’t mind me poking your brain of it I’d love to hear more about your AU and headcannons! If you want to bounce off of something specific then I’d love to hear how the residents of the hotel think of Alastor and Vox and if they clump them together or think of them differently.

In any case I adore your art and hope to see more of it no matter the fandom!

I'm really glad you like it!!! I didn't expect it to get this reception at all as I was planning on it being something more along the lines of "Comfort" after seeing so much Angst content, so I'm genuinely glad so many people liked it!<33

As much as I like the ship I wasn't entirely sold on seeing it in a romantic or suggestive context; I rlly love that Alastor is respected as an individual Aroace (as a fellow Aroace lol) so seeing him in contexts of that sort were a bit ... demotivating??? So I wanted to create this Au of them being typical husbands but on a platonic way.

The residents of the hotel definitely have different opinions. On one side is Charlie who sees this as a great miracle, the two great entertainment representatives from hell, giving her hotel a chance! Especially when her relationship dances very well between the two of them; with Alastor there is "the voice of reason", the one who offers a solution and listens patiently and undaunted to whatever news she gives him, where she knows she will find an answer as Alastor chooses the pen over the sword; while with Vox there is the chaotic, where the sword is above the pen. He vocifies his opinions tactlessly and offers the less gentle, quicker and more effective ways. In him Charlie finds far more vivid emotions than Alastor would be willing to unveil.

Then there is Vaggie who is of course the most informed about these two and her concern is very much on the edge as she knows that the Media Demons are a couple that absolutely no one knows anything about beyond the false image they paint in their shows and the imminent danger these two represent.

Angel, Pentius and Cherry don't really have a strong opinion about them as they pass over or ignore them. Nifty is already more than familiar with both of them.

Husk (his relationship with Alastor is considerably "better", even though Al still owns his soul, than it is in canon as Alastor still owning his soul and having a faithful and warm companion with him for years, his personality is arguably somewhat more relaxed and patient than the original), like Nifty is already familiar with them so he doesn't give the matter much thought.

And Lucifer ofc is terrified that it's not just one but two Overlords who apparently want to steal his daughter.

I still have a lot of polishing to do on this Au as it's new but I want to slowly build it here as people can offer different points of view that can be explored (⁠ ⁠◜⁠‿⁠◝⁠ ⁠)⁠♡

#inbox #hazbin hotel #broadcast husbands #hazbin hotel au

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darling-zain · 10 months

Text

✮ ↳ All Eyes On Me ↰

♡ yandere! actor x gn reader pt 2♡

tw/cw: obsessive love, murder, mentions of blood, slight emotional manipulation

authors notes: this took me forever i'm sorryyyy editing is a bitch :( but I'm really proud of this one!! hope you'll like it too <3

"Why weren't you watching?" His voice is cold and filled with contempt as he glares at you, his nails digging into the skin of his palm.

"I-I was! Why wouldn't I watch, I've been backstage this whole ti-" Your voice is soft, trying to quell the fury in his gaze.

"Liar!" He steps closer to you, causing you to back away. He takes a deep breath before speaking again. "You weren't watching. When I was offstage, I looked for you behind the curtains. But you were never there." He's now right in front of you, grabbing the door handle and slamming it shut. "All those training sessions, all those late nights memorizing my lines till it felt like my head was going to burst, all the blood, sweat and tears- It was all for you!" His breathing is heavy and his voice is a low growl, his light tan skin flushed with anger.

"Aurelius, I...I had no idea..." Your voice trails off, eyes gazing into his with regret. "But, I did watch! It's just that near the end I got a phone call, so I had to leave the theatre to pick it up and I got distracted!"

"I don't need your excuses." He spat, glaring down at you. "I understand. I get that I'm just another actor you have to work with; you're just here for the paycheck. And that's fine!" He backs up, a deranged smile on his face. "But could you at least pretend that you care? Just a bit?"

"I do care! why wouldn't I care, I've been working with you on this for months! Please, no need to get so upset." Your words cut through him like a knife, and his eyes widen with disbelief.

"'No need to get so upset'?! How can you even say that right now?! I've put so many hours into this, spent so much time on this all for your approval, and when the day finally comes you don't even stay to watch?! I'm not just upset, I'm-" he takes a deep breath, shaking slightly. "Heartbroken."

"Aurelius, please, listen to me. The reason why I couldn't stay is because I got a call from my best friend, and they sounded really upset, so I needed to go help them... I'm sorry."

He turns towards you, a look of cold, pure, disbelief on his face. His eyes widen as he mutters something under his breath. The room is so quiet that even though he whispered, you could hear every word clearly.

"You missed my show...for someone else?" He takes a step back. "You missed my show...because someone told you to?" The silence is thick between the two of you, the same deranged smile appearing on his face. He chuckles, his laughter becoming louder and more insane. "Are you serious?! After all that time we spent working, you left me for your friend?!" Tears roll down his face, smearing his makeup. He stumbles back into the sound table and clutches onto it while trying to regain his composure.

"Auri, you have to understand! It was an emergency, I had no other choice!" The desperation in your voice is evident, you need him to realize the severity of the situation. You walk up to him and hesitantly place a hand on his shoulder. Your breath hitches in your throat when he smacks your hand away, looking up at you through the gaps in his fingers over his eyes.

"Don't," His voice is shaky, yet still cold and unforgiving. "Don't touch me. You don't deserve to after what you've done. I know how much I mean to you now, I don't need your lame explanations." He straightens up before walking out the door, standing in the frame for a second. "Bandaids don't fix bullet holes." He departs with a swish of his hair, leaving you standing alone in the now deathly quiet sound booth.

He grabs his stuff, slipping a small object into his bag as he hurriedly exits the theatre, wiping off his smudged makeup. He doesn't even take the time to change out of his costume, his brain is too panicked to even think about anything except what you said.

"Excuse me, you work with y/n right?" A person with a panicked expression walks up to him, biting their nails worriedly. His angry expression immediately changes to one of calmness.

"Yes, I do. why do you ask?" He puts on his signature winning smile as he bends down to their height.

"Well, I was with them earlier when they said they had to leave, and they didn't even tell me where before they just left! I know they work here, so I was wondering if you've seen them?" Your friend seems really troubled at your sudden disappearance, but Aurelius had other things on his mind.

"Actually, I think I have an idea of where they might be. Follow me!" His charming disposition and comfortable aura would make anyone follow him without question, including your friend. They started to walk together, the silence between them tense because of the worry that accompanied it. He lead them up and down roads, into busy lanes and quiet walkways. Eventually, they landed in front of a large forest.

"Wait... this is their favourite forest! You're a genius, I don't know why I didn't think to come here sooner!" Aurelius looked at your friend with exquisitely veiled contempt, their eyes shining with hope disgusting him.

"Oh, really?" He feigns surprise, not wanting to give away his true intentions just yet. "I didn't know! I just remember seeing them come here one time after work, I didn't know it was their favourite." He was lying. He knew everything about you. Your coffee order, the route you took home after work every day, the position in which you slept, everything. "Shall we head in?" He asked politely, extending a hand toward them. They nodded, walking into the dimly lit forest.

"I don't think I got your name, sorry."

He scoffs inwardly, berating them in his mind. "How do you not know my name? Me, the Aurelius Yavuz? You should be able to tell from one glance alone!" He thought, but he responded kindly regardless. "It's Aurelius. Aurelius Yavuz. And you?"

"Carmen! It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Yavus!" The way your friend sounds so cheerful disgusts him.

"Likewise," he mumbles, his voice sounding slightly pompous from their ignorance of his status. He brings their attention elsewhere, just wanting to get this whole ordeal over and done with as soon as possible. "I think I heard a noise over that way, would you like to check it out?" He points towards a dark corner of the forest with a small clearing in the middle.

"That looks like their hiding spot...yes, I think they might be there! quick!" Carmen starts to run into the thicket of trees, leaving Aurelius behind. In the dim light of the evening sun peeking through the trees, his eyes glow with a menacing aura. A confident smirk makes its way onto his face as he follows behind them. He pulls a small knife out of his bag, the shining metal glinting in the light.

"Aurelius...they're...not here..." Carmen's disappointed voice emanates through the forest. He slowly walks toward them, the satisfied look on his face making him seem even more insane than before.

"Aww, now isn't that a shame~?" He steps even closer, now almost nose-to-nose with them. "Don't worry," He brings his arm behind their shoulder, placing his hand right behind their neck. "You won't have to even think about them anymore." In a flash, Carmen collapses to the ground, the once pristine silver knife now tainted with potent red sin.

He dusts off his hand, wiping the blood on the knife onto the backside of his costume. He scoffs as he looks down onto the now still body of your beloved friend, kicking their body into the bushes beside him. He walks away and out of the forest, taking the same path you always take to your residence. He stops in front of your house, knocking on the door. He takes a deep breath and forcefully makes his eyes look teary, needing every tactic he knows to make you believe him. You open the door, stepping back when you see him.

"Aurelius, why are you-"

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to lash out at you like that. I just...was so upset, I thought this show meant something to you! But, I understand that you have your priorities, so I'm not mad anymore. Forgive me?" He gazes into your eyes, false tears now pooling at the corners of his eyes.

"Oh, Auri..." You embrace him tightly, crying into his chest. "I'm so sorry! I should've stayed, I should've watched, I didn't mean to hurt you that bad, I'm sorry!" You can't see his face as you're sobbing into his shirt, not able to see the knowing smirk on his lips. He pats your head kindly, cooing at you to help you calm down.

"Hey, hey, don't cry... it's okay now. Everything's been taken care of, now it's just you," he kisses the top of your head, rubbing soothing circles into his back as a sharp glint flashes through his eyes.

"and me."

taglist!! @lasagna-goob @izizzl @skylark144 @cyphertryagain

#zain>>works #tw yandere #tw obsessive love #tw murder #tw blood ment #yandere blog #yandere writing #soft yandere #yandere x you #yandere #yandere oc #yandere x reader #yandere oc x reader #oc x reader

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undercoverpena · 14 days

Text

1. tie the knot

javier peña x f!reader* | chapter one of let us pretend

summary: peña has been back in Texas for all of five minutes, thinking he wants a simple life. but, when steve offers him the chance to gather information on a potential new player, he jumps at the chance. the only problem is, to do so, he'll need to go undercover with a female agent—and pretend to be her husband.

wordcount: 4.6k chapter themes: fake dating/relationship/marriage, forced proximity / sharing one bed, colleagues to lovers, no use of Y/N, *female agent has a nickname (sunny) for use undercover. an: this week i am full of surprises. welcome to the world of let us pretend. this chapter might not feel different from htcu, but it is.

All he has to do is pretend. Put on an act.

It’s simple on paper. Easy. A thing he’s already a master in, something he has never found particularly difficult or hard: pretending.

Javi, after all, had had always been pretty good at concealing, at masking—

“Y’need to pretend to be married.”

Faking being a husband was a new one.

Having lived with far too many emotions for so long, it’s not hard for him to fake nonchalance.

Colombia had been his school. The place where he collected his degree—days of pretending he was okay. Hiding the fact he couldn’t sleep the horrors away, that he wasn’t falling apart at the seams. That stress wasn’t making him chain smoke and the pressure wasn’t making him sink his cock into women he couldn’t save.

He picked up his doctorate when he returned home. When ranch life had felt so fucking dull it made him want to pick the smoking habit back up, just for something to do. When he saw boats that made his insides twist, but found he had to wear a smile. Hiding, as expertly as he could, so he didn’t bristle each time someone called him a hero—when all he wanted was a drink, a fuck or a newspaper.

Mostly, Javi had become a master in squirrelling away the fact he saw every minute of the hours at night, feeling nothing short of relief when his alarm chimed so he could get out of his homemade prison.

Bluffing had always been a skill of his. But, this, this was new to him. His bluffing had never required him to wear something shiny on his left hand and—

“And, Jav. Try not to fuck her.”

He’s not surprised that Steve heads up a department in Miami—or that he’s happy and content.

From the moment the two of them reunited, he took in the glow on his old partner’s skin (the one he strongly suspects isn’t just from the sun) and listened as he heard short (in Murphy’s opinion) stories about his daughter growing older.

Javi couldn’t relate—not that he’ll admit it. Just another thing he disguises. Smothers his face in what he assumes is what happiness looks like, wears it like an accessory, something akin to wearing a jacket, rather than actually feeling it.

Picking up a ring, rotating it between his thumb and finger, he snorts. “Wouldn’t be very husband-like of me, if I didn’t, would it?”

He’s nudged. An intentional elbow to the side sparks a grin as he places the ring back into its velvety spot.

Because none of them look right. None seem right—even for a fake thing.

“Fake husband. And don’t fuck this up.”

“I’m hearing a lot of don’ts and not a lot of do’s, Murphy. What the fuck is it you want me to do?”

He’s already been told, informed. Briefed.

Tricked in fact. Requested down here for an opinion, but when his worn-in soles landed in the office of his former colleague, it unravelled into something so much more.

Handed a file—one he knows everyone expects he won’t read—and given a rundown of what the operation is supposed to look like. But Javi knows better. Had known it too. Even suspects, Murphy does too.

One thing Colombia has taught him is that plans don’t mean shit, not when you’re up against an ever-evolving problem.

You don't just want me here for a consult, do you, Murph? Was hopin’ you were bored in Texas.

He suspects that’s why his Pop had given him an arched brow, an expression that was accompanied by pinched lips when he’d first mentioned it. Even his assurance that it’ll be a few days—just helping Steve out was met with a look Javi hadn’t banked on. Realising as he stood admiring wedding rings that his Pop had figured it out long before him.

At least now he understands why he got the Chucho-treatment—not quite quiet, but not quite the same treatment from him that he did the day before.

Instead, that kind of treatment that pierced itself into him, attempted to bury itself inside of him and made guilt flood through him like a poison.

Even if once before he would struggle with it, found himself desperate to apologise—make it up to his Pops—he didn’t this time. Because Javi already struggled. Already grown tired of itching for something.

So, he said nothing. Because he knows Murphy wouldn’t have asked if he didn’t need him.

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Murphy closes his eyes. The same noticeable twitch in his fingers and chewing inside his cheek that Javier can relate to: the sign of a recent quitter, and one attempting to use gum as a replacement.

Needing too.

“Where is she, anyway?” he asks, shifting the conversation, suppressing a yawn.

Before he’d even got on the plane out here, he’d been tired. Already beginning to fray at the edges, sleep had already become an even more distant friend.

All of it had been made worse by the worried look on Pop’s face when he dropped him at departures. It thickened, slathered itself on his shoulders even more so when he calls him from Murphy’s office to tell him it’ll be three months.

“You managed longer than I thought, Javi.” “Pop…”

Even though he had known it wouldn't matter, he had still tried to explain it all over again. From the top. All softly, with patience—the phone receiver leaving an indent on his cheek as he pinched the bridge of his nose. Reminding his Pop that this time he was doing his friend a favour, that it was a one-time thing—a few months, at most.

It didn’t shift the tone—didn’t stop Javi from imagining the disappointed lines bleeding into worried ones, mixing with the ones caused by age. It didn't lessen the tightness over the phone, simmering in the miles of air, because they were both at a standstill in the centre of a formerly (albeit temporary) happy situation.

Sighing, Murphy drops his hand, pulling him back from his thoughts. “She’ll be here, alright.”

Javi snorts, swallowing.

Glancing back over another table, seeing other things, other accessories. Things that’ll help him blend, help the two of you blend. You and him, him and you—a person he knows the name of and nothing else.

Steve had shared that you were good, brilliant, the only one he’d trust. That you knew the work so far better than anyone.

He’d been about to begin unpicking those earlier statements when the door opened, blouse and black tailored trousers walking towards him.

It isn’t anything cliché.

Time doesn’t stop, the room doesn't silence, but something happens. Something shifts, changes—alters. Because instantly, Javi realises you’re pretty. A thought which confuses him, especially when it dawns on him that usually, it’s a woman's figure he notices and admires first, but he finds that it's your eyes that he lingers on.

And fuck do they cut into him.

Practically reach inside of him, before they go through him, digging into flesh and fucking bone.

Then, all at once, ceasefire. A chance to strengthen his façade as you turn to greet Murphy, a handshake, a sea of pleasantries. Enough chance to shove it down, whatever attempted to rise in him.

But, he swears he can still see them behind his lids. Something which makes his jaw tighten, teeth grind—

“You must be my husband,” you say, smirk sliding up into your cheek.

Your body suddenly turns to him, hand sticking out towards him, adding your name to the statement as though stamping it into the air and his body goes clammy, grows warm and makes him suddenly desperate for water, coffee or even whiskey.

Slipping his hand into yours, he’s not surprised to find that it’s soft, the right kind of warm. He’d suspected about as much from just appearances alone.

“Agent Murphy has told me a lot about you, Mr Peña.”

Running his tongue over the front of his teeth, he eyes you. “Think my wife should call me, Javi.”

Javi learns, rather quickly, that you have a nice voice.

It doesn’t grate, doesn’t annoy him—it’s informative, but there’s something else there, a playful edge, a little thing within you that hasn’t been crushed.

He remembers when he’d been as sprightly.

Rubs his forehead with the heel of his palm as he does, fingers desperate to clutch a pen, his jaw tightening as he thinks about how he could roll it in his fingers, hold it like he used to hold a smoke.

Fuck, he wishes he could chew his gum.

A thing which is slowly making him more tense.

Not that you seem to notice, too focused on getting him up to speed on the actual investigation. He’d read much of your notes before today, it was the next part he was more on edge by.

Because, whatever his earlier opinion of you was, he was getting the distinct impression you’d rather set your skin on fire than be fake married. A thing you stop trying to hide, your face displaying your disgust at it each time it is casually mentioned.

It was mandatory—Murphy’s words—for the two of you to get to know one another. A crash course, a 101 in the other. It’s told to you, that the two of you are going to be stationed in your new home for the next few weeks, starting from today. But, because they’re merciful—

“Wanted to make sure you had time to get to know one another. So, take the day—work can begin another day.”

“How nice of you, Murph,” he responds, words dipped in sarcasm. Briefly catching sight of you smirking as you study something on the table.

Javi had already imagined that—since it was recon, and more surveillance than anything else—for the most part, everything could remain the same. He learnt he was right moments later when it was confirmed his name would remain very much his own, and you were handed his surname like a gift you’d rather burn than accept.

It was you who had to surrender more.

“Y’need a new first name.”

If you were surprised, you didn’t show it. A sea of reasons given, the main one being if anyone asked around with a photo and your name, it would be easier to put two and two together. You lived here, for one.

You keep your eyes down, glancing over the table of possessions you’re allowed to borrow, to play dress up with. Fingers brushing over a watch (silver, a white face)—something haunting in your eye you’re quick to blink away when you meet Murphy’s stare.

Folding his arms, Steve sighs. “Jus’ something you’ll answer to. That can be used in public.”

Javi watches you smirk, something secretive, a hidden joke simmering between the two of you—leaving him very much out in the cold of it.

After a beat, you lick your lips.

“Sunny,” you reply, lifting your eyes, digging each syllable of the name you’re going to use into him.

“Let me guess you’re someone’s ray of sunshine?”

He doesn’t mean for it to fall out laced in bitterness, but it does all the same. His mouth tilted into a smirk, your eyes hardening as you placed down a pair of earrings you’d picked up.

“Think it’s more because of my sunny disposition.” He snorts, watching you move around the table. “It’s a family nickname—I’ve… I’ve always been called it, so, I’ll answer to it.”

Swallowing, Javi lets his eyes wander to the wall of the room.

“Alright, you two. You need to sell it, y’hear me?”

“Then we need money.” It’s short, stern, the way you deliver it, head tilted and face unreadable. “We’ll be sniffed out immediately without it. These people deal in money, not handsome faces.”

"So, you think I'm handsome?"

The roll of your eyes doesn't dispute it, not as you direct your attention back to Murphy.

Who, until now, Javi hadn't realised (with his hands on his hips) how big boss Murphy looked as he whispered fine, or how much it rather annoyed him. How it would be quite easy to give him a shove. More so when he’s handed a new phone, a set of documents, credit cards and given more instructions he wishes he could shove down his throat.

He almost gets close enough to do both when briefing ends and he’s handed the keys to the hotel suite they’d be living in—their story simple, easy:

“We have a fake house for you both being made ready as a cover story, but for now you’re both in the hotel. Prime location. Beach views, and very much in reach to the top places the targets visit.”

And, Murphy hadn’t been lying.

It did have good views, the suite was even nice—really nice.

Almost too nice for a little surveillance, a little fake marriage and a drug bust. But, he didn’t complain, barely said a thing in the ride over, or when you wheeled your own case. He even remained silent when you refused to look at him in the elevator or on the walk to the room, and even when the two of you entered.

In fact, the first words he said were: “You gotta try and look at me like you don’t wanna peel my skin off. You know, if you want this to work.”

He expects it; braces for it, the tongue lashing, an icy stare. Picturing you as the kind of woman who is already to sharpen your tools and pierce him with them when he blinks. But, you don’t.

If anything, Javi watches in slow motion as your shoulders sink, your cogs turning before your expression softens.

“You’re right—I’m… sorry.”

Biting the inside of his cheek, he nods. “There’s one bed.”

“Well. We can sleep in the same bed, Peña. We’re adults. However, for your sake, I’m going to put a pillow between us.” Your eyes sweep over him, cold, drowning him in a chill. “Two actually.”

“You a cuddler, or something?”

Smiling, you sigh. “No. The pillow is so that if you roll over all sleepy and desperate for some affection, I won’t have to cut you. Because if you touch me, that is what will happen.”

“How are we meant to sell we’re in love if I can’t touch you?”

“Oh, out there, you can touch me. In here, no.”

His snort rumbles from his chest. Tugged up, wrenched from some cobweb-filled depth, as you smile. Nothing big, nothing life-changing, but a start—the beginning of a level-playing field.

“What kind of touching, cariño?”

Jaw tightening, you smirk—but it’s cold.

He suspects you’re used to charm. Easily able to disable it, switch it off, unfazed by his gaze or the edge of his words. If anything, you seem really fucking bored of it—something he’s not sure if he admires or despises.

“Nothing like you used to pay for, Peña.”

Before he’s even recovered, he learns that you take things seriously.

Your bag opens, pulling out a notebook—upside down cursive etched over a page, your eyes scanning over it, before you ask if he’s ready. He’s barely able to ask for what, when you begin firing things at him.

Favourite food. Comfort film. Where did we meet? What song do you sing in the car when I’m not around? Are you allergic to anything?

The list goes on, and on. The more things continue to run out of your mouth, the more he begins to admire you—to settle into some comfort that you want to do this properly. That you’re going to take it seriously too, something he wants.

Needing it to matter.

Needing to have something work out easily, not have it all end for nothing.

The only time you pause is for a dinner—room service, his treat and his choice. A way of providing proof that he’d been listening, paying attention—somehow wanting to prove something to you, even if he’d known you for only half a day.

“So, how did Murphy get you on this?”

He studies the way you cross your leg over the other, the base of your heel tapping against the carpet—all very much guarded, on edge.

“You can tell it’s my first, can’t you?”

Javi smiles, making it softer purposefully. “A little.”

“He said you were good,” you sigh, placing your napkin down. “I assume I was chosen because it was easy. Y’know, than someone with… higher priorities. Plus, I already know the case. Guess it just made sense to send me.”

Nodding, he watches as you avoid his sight, focusing instead on the swirls in the carpet. Something ticking in your pretty little head, it forcing your nostrils to flare, for your jaw to tighten—and he’s watching it happen, practically feeling the air around you begin to vibrate from it all.

“M’not gonna let anything happen to you, Sunny. You know that right?”

That does it. Further digs in the hatred you’re feeling tenfold because the use of your new name makes you flinch. And he knows, like he had suspected earlier that it means more than just a name. Especially from the look on your face.

At first, your expression is soft, almost mask-less—no walls, no defence. Then, like magic, it shifts. It drapes down, rebuilds, and suddenly there within seconds, the same expression he’s been working with since introduction.

“I have heard how you take care of the women who work with you.”

Picking up your drink, and stirring the straw, you let your eyes meet his. The small wooden table suddenly even smaller—the large suite, suddenly constricting in a way he hadn’t expected so far.

“S’not what I meant.”

“I know.” It’s curt, your reply. Clearing your throat, you snort, “You are handsome. I can see why you did so well. And, I might not need to say this, but I need you to know I like my job, and I don’t require that kind of care.”

Rubbing his jaw, he sighs. “That so?”

“I have something that can help with that. It doesn’t talk. It doesn’t need to remind it that it’s ‘so big’, and it doesn’t need me to call it baby. It just hums—politely—and makes my thighs shake. I just need you to be with me in this.”

He snorts, draining the rest of his glass. The ice clangs just before he places it back down on the table. “You bring it with you, your something?”

Licking your lips, your mouth slides into your cheek. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

Steve had told you his credentials—how he worked, how smart he was. How easily he was able to decipher a read on someone.

He did also mention much of Peña’s backstory—including his rich history with the opposite sex. A thing you hadn’t wanted to let escape out coated in catty and wrapped in bitchy. And yet, it had all the same.

You did want to get on with him, you admired him after all. Hearing the truths from Steve made the things that swirled like gossip even more impressive.

But, in all of the briefings you’ve had before agreeing to this, your boss had failed to mention that it wasn’t just the man’s tongue that got women to confess all their secrets, but his ridiculously handsome face too.

The one that keeps turning towards you—eyes concentrated in on you as though you’re the most interesting thing he’s ever had the chance to listen to.

But, it wasn’t just that. It’s that he’s quick-witted, observant, and it most definitely doesn’t help that he’s all broad shoulders and brown eyed. That, in part, you thought you could handle.

Then, he’d flirted.

On any other day, in any other place, you’re sure you’d have melted. Likely leant forward, elbow on your knee, tracing your bottom lip with your finger just to make his eyes drop to your mouth.

But, this isn’t any other day—it’s work, a job, one that requires him (in part) to be a flirt.

Clearing your throat, you smear on a smile. “You not tried to date since you’ve been home?”

His face hardens, just slightly.

It pinching, eyes more so than anywhere else—his smile falling, descending to a thin line as he traces his teeth with his tongue. Then, his eyes shift into an entirely different brown, an explosion of shades swirling—flecks of gold and sadness-infused umber.

“No.”

Nodding, you pick at some salad on the side of your plate. “Probably a good job—don’t need any angry people coming for me when I’m curled up on your arm.”

He snorts, but it doesn’t flutter over his face. His hand remains balled up, resting on the arm of the chair—something more there, prodding, needling him. He may be so easily able to read you, but you’re sure he’s about as clear as a warm day himself.

Landing his gaze back on you, you feel it linger, hover—before it begins to slip down from your eyes, landing somewhere at your neck, before the buttons off your shirt. Something warming inside of you, flooding out, spreading across your skin as you try your damnest to level your breathing.

“Got any more questions?”

“Plenty,” you reply, almost catching the y on your teeth before placing a light smirk out over your lips, letting it move across your face.

Gesturing, Peña licks his lips and so you begin with more. Not needing the book now, just working your way through the things which populate, which appear like bubbles he bursts with his answers.

He’s open about some things more than others. The two of you covering family quickly, childhoods even quicker. You both discreetly avoid too many details of Colombia, about the things you’d already heard in chunks from your superior.

Your 101 beginner class in your new husband proving to be easier to understand than your field handbook—although, you supposed the intermediate and expert levels to him would be far harder to crack.

He’s unmarried, not dating—there’s his dad, a sea of distant family and a town full of people whom his father would class as family. You suspect some guilt there, it layered between the conversation on his dad, and the one which followed when you’d asked if the ranch would be okay without him.

“—My Pops has had help for a long time. One of them has been promoted. He… He works there full time now.”

Even if he had tried to say it simply, it was laced in bitterness—not from jealousy, you suspect from the sadness that had poisoned over time. A well stuffed with things which had rotted and gone mouldy over time.

Upon sight of him this morning, you had known you’d need to be clever, smart—find ways to compartmentalise it all. Because, when he traces his nose with his finger, when his eyes widen a little more than normal—coffee-brown all but drowning you—you had known it would be hard otherwise.

Something there, niggling, piercing through.

“Any lovers I need to be aware of?”

Smiling, you slide your feet from your heels, pulling your legs up more, swallowing. “No, you’re good.”

“Any potential risks I need to be aware of—anyone who’ll call into question your new name?”

Your stomach knots, uncomfortably so. A thing balling inside of you, that same fear you’d been plucking at for days—ever since Steve had suggested your name, thrown it out on the conference table with a bunch of greedy eyes seated around it.

“No, I… you have nothing to worry about.”

He looks at you, lets it hover, hold. Something there, trying to disguise itself in the way he narrows his eyes a fraction, in the way his lips pinch together—the way his brain seems to whir like a fan that can be heard even across the table.

When you yawn, he makes a move to tidy up the plates for the tray—batting your hand away. “I’ve got it, cariño.”

“Cariño?”

Your cheeks are warm, more so under his stare. Easily able to smother it the first time, but found it difficult the second. It’s all wide, blooming—it tracing your eyes before it sweeps back to the tray.

“Gotta call my wife something original, special.”

“I’m hardly special, Peña.”

“If I’ve married you, you’re special.”

Clamping your mouth shut, you say nothing.

Something churning, a horribleness that you know stems from the fact this isn’t real. None of it. The niceness, the ring on your finger—the one your finger slides up your palm to brush over, to trace.

The one which didn’t have a home there this morning, but now sits like it’s always supposed to. Your stare on his back as he goes to the door, pushing the metal tray, the jingling of plates and glass sounding out as your heartbeat pounds in your ears, your cheeks burn in embarrassment.

It continues to hammer when your back flattened against the bathroom door—safe amongst marble, mirrors and an array of complimentary products which covered most of the sink.

Only as you begin to undress and change for bed, does it lessen, does your composure return back to you. The mask which you so delicately applied, the one which had taken more words of encouragement in your bathroom mirror this morning than you’d thought.

Because, it isn’t that you thought you couldn’t do this—but rather why would you?

This isn’t your expertise. Not your usual field of knowledge. The last time you’d even been on a date had been at least over a year ago, and the last time you’d lived with a man had been so long ago you were worried you’d wake tomorrow and learn you have habits you weren’t aware of.

Did you kick in your sleep?

Did you grind your teeth?

“Cariño?” Peña calls out, knuckles tapping on the door. “You good in there?”

No, you want to reply. Hands gripping the sink basin, staring at your makeup-less face and the nightie he was about to see you in.

“Yeah,” you call out, washing your hands, and flushing the toilet before unlocking the door, and emerging.

He’s polite enough to not drink you in, even if you're sure he’s craning his neck not to do so.

“Look. Before you crack your neck from not doing so.”

Smirking, he traces his fingers across his chin, before slowly dropping his eyes.

And you feel them.

Warm. Hot. Sliding over your neck, collarbone, down the silk which covers your chest, abdomen and most of your thighs, before he’s running his vision back up.

“Better?”

“Nice legs.”

Narrowing your eyes, you straighten your spine. “Try not to dream about them, and Peña?”

He hums.

“Try to remember you’re not actually married, don’t want you falling for the fantasy we’re putting on. Hate to break your heart.”

Leaning against the doorframe, staring at you, you somehow manage to level your breath. “If it’s you breaking my heart, Sunny. I might just let you.”

Your mouth almost falls open. Almost.

Something you think he's aware of from the way he smiles, from the way he drinks you in before he whispers about getting passed.

Then, you're alone.

Filling your lungs with a breath, staring around the room not sure how you're going to make it a week not cracking, never mind more.

CHAPTER TWO ->

AN: tag list won't be around from chapter two, thank you for letting me tell the story how i always envisioned. your kindness is appreciated.

taglist: @thetriumphantpanda @texassmiller @wordywarriorwrites @iknowisoundcrazy @thundermartini

@secretelephanttattoo @belliezz @picketniffler @thelightsandtheroses @sawymredfox

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amourdivine · 3 months

Text

𝐖𝐇𝐎'𝐒 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐒𝐇𝐀𝐃𝐎𝐖 𝐒𝐄𝐋𝐅? ઉ PICK A CARD

Hello lovelies, I hope you're having a wonderful week! This is perhaps the first heavily shadow work focused PAC I bring to you. I'm quite nervous to post this, since I know delivering these messages can be difficult and I don't like taking a harsh, judgmental approach. I hope this reading resonates. As always, feedback is highly appreciated! If you liked this reading, please consider tipping me at @ [email protected]! xo ♡

paid readings are closed as of february 2024

none of the images are mine unless stated otherwise!

pick a card masterlist & information

how to choose your pile. take a few deep breaths for and look at each and of the piles separately. see which one brings you to a feeling, a place or a memory. take your time and feel free to come back to it later!

amourdivine. 2021 - 2024 © do not copy, redistribute or edit my content.

୨୧ PILE ONE

who is your shadow self? eight of swords • knight of cups • nine of wands • queen of wands

Your shadow self is the fearful side of you attached to anxiety. The side of you that does not believe you can save yourself from bad situations and feels endlessly hopeless, helpless and trapped. It causes a self-fulfilling prophecy, one where you think you'll inevitably fail, so you self-sabotage (either consciously or not) and end up "proving" yourself right.

However, as helpless as your shadow feels, it never asks for help. It's trapped in a spiral of shame and self-doubt, even self-hatred. All of this happens mentally for most of you, to the point where your body is neglected or stuck in flight / freeze mode. I feel stuck in the gutter, unable to move in the sticky mud. Despite your best efforts to succeed, you may suffer from impostor's syndrome as well, an inability to see your worth, your beauty and your own light. It's almost as if you're scared of your own power, pile one. Very painful, very self-inflicted and something which you may have learn from childhood, maybe you got bullied a lot or were heavily criticized by the people around you. If that happened, I'm so sorry pile one. You deserved so much better. You still do.

how can you work with your shadow self? nine of cups • the sun • queen of swords • queen of wands

You know, when I was entering college, I had a counselor whose words were life changing to me. One day, he picked up a cup full of coffee and asked me: how do you get rid of the coffee, without throwing it out entirely? And I was puzzled. It wasn't possible. Him, in his neverending patience, took me to the water station and started pouring water onto it, until the coffee was cleared away and all that remained was clean, crystal liquid.

Maybe the bad things that happened still haunt you, but they can be drawn out by the good ones. Seek for the light, pile one. Seek the nurturing experiences, the days when you allow yourself to just be, seek the help, the love and stay open to the love. Stay open to the idea that yes, you are worthy, even if you do not feel like it, even if so many people have made you feel otherwise.

These wounds may not fade entirely with time, but you are more than them, always. Always. I know it's never easy to challenge what we've been taught about ourselves, but in order to unlearn all of that, you will have to learn the new things, the true things about you. If they said you were lazy - was that really true? Or were you just tired? You're not "naive", you're pure. You're not "too sensitive", you're in tune with your emotions.

The stories we tell ourselves hold power. What stories are you telling about yourself? Maybe it's time to switch to a new point of view, one where you can rewrite yourself as the person you were never allowed to be.

୨୧ PILE TWO

who is your shadow self? judgement • five of swords • ten of cups • king of wands

Your shadow self is the side of you that thrives in chaos - listen, that's not entirely a bad thing, after all, our shadow reflects something which we need to acknowledge, nurture and work with. However, when you perceive danger or feel threatened, you may turn to harsh words or hurtful actions to avenge yourself.

It can manifest in the form of extreme competitive behavior, the inability to rest, overworking, even maybe envy, jealousy and arrogance sometimes. Now, I'm not here to judge or shame you, you're safe here. I think you have and still feel the need to prove yourself to others, to prove them all wrong. Maybe other people told you that you couldn't do it - and you took it all personally, so personally that it crumbles your self-esteem when someone diminishes your efforts or accomplishments.

Your shadow side craves attention, praise and approval. You want to succeed, to be someone you're proud of, to just never feel insecure, diminished or ignored again. You can also turn possessive with loved ones, wondering if they really love you or if they are lying. There's a lot of skepticism here, too.

how can you work with your shadow self? judgement • ace of pentacles • three of pentacles • eight of swords

Acknowledge your feelings and these insecurities. "Fake it 'till you make it" doesn't always work. Being vulnerable is, ironically, also being strong. Understanding your limitations and allowing for other people to collaborate with you (and vice-versa) will take you even further in life.

Your sense of justice is commendable. Make sure you're using it for justice indeed, and not just vengeance. Your ambition can walk hand in hand with your desire to do good, to make space for everyone else to shine, to open up to others, let them see all of you. No one can love perfection - even if they could, what's there to love about something or someone so perfect that they barely feel human?

It's okay to be scared, to feel insecure, to not shove difficult emotions under the rug. We cannot be at our 100% all the time. And we cannot please everyone, all the time. What you can do is praise yourself, let others praise you when they do and accept it gracefully, making sure you're spreading your warmth and wisdom to others as well. See, I think you have overcome a lot and a lot of people could use your help, either in the form of advice, resources or a shoulder to lean on.

You have leadership potential, pile two. Don't limit yourself by being alone. We were never meant to make it on our own.

୨୧ PILE THREE

who is your shadow self? ace of wands • page of swords • three of cups • king of pentacles

Your shadow self is someone who may indulge in harmful habits out of a need for instant gratification, maybe reckless spending, speed driving, partying everyday or simply not saving up resources and caring about the future. Your shadow self is someone who hates boredom, who craves excitement and cannot fully deal with long-term commitment in its many forms. It wants novelty, adventure and it comes at the cost of your responsibilities, your routine and your friendships even.

This shadow self hates suffering (fair enough, who doesn't?!) and will to go great lengths to avoid it... but ironically, it causes you more pain in the long run by avoiding the unavoidable. By never crying, never addressing your issues or your difficult moments, you end up running right back into yourself and these same issues return.

This side of you doesn't want to grow up - you don't want to fall into the trap of routine and a boring, 9-5 job. But excessive habits are difficult to maintain, no matter how good it feels in the short term. There's a difficult, troubled perception of adulthood and life itself. A need for constant adventure and chaos, a feeling of entrapment whenever you are with anyone who loves you, because you fear being controlled, tamed and used.

how can you work with your shadow self? the tower • nine of wands • nine of cups • three of pentacles

To put it simply, let yourself hurt. Let the foundations of your heart crumble, stop to feel just for a second. You don't have to be on the run all the time. What are you running from, pile three? Disaster, pain and hurt are often inevitable, but they do not have to be the be-all, end-all of our lives. The Tower is a reminder that all that crumbles was meant to crumble eventually, and there is beauty in letting things end naturally, allowing the flow of life to do its thing.

That means aging, growing, learning from the seasons. I think you have a very, very deep heart and mind you're scared to tap into. You're scared to be trapped in the endless hustle, to never feel alive or good once you "settle". But who says the big joys are the only ones that matter? As someone said once, big joys and small joys are often the same. Sometimes, waking up in itself can be an adventure. Don't overlook or underestimate the ways life tries to find you, to cling to you - remember to embark on the hard journeys, knowing you'll have gotten something valuable in the end.

You're brave and rebellious. You can be a catalyst for change in so many ways. Who said adulthood has to be boring? Who said you have to work a 9-5? Do you have to get married? Maybe being a stay-at-home parent isn't for you. That's okay.

Challenging the status quo may not be easy, but you have a natural inclination for it. Your shadow self can dive deeper. It's one of your greatest tools. Your need for joy and fun is not shameful - you can use it for healing, instead of self-destruction.

୨୧ PILE FOUR

who is your shadow self? judgment rx • justice • the high priestess rx • knight of swords

Your shadow self is the side of you that refuses to acknowledge your needs, your wants and desires. It makes you live inside of a bubble, scared of the truth, even if it will set you free. I had the hardest time shuffling for this pile, I kept trying and trying but nothing made sense. I think this is how your shadow side manifests as well, in the lack of clarity, the fogginess that permeates the choices you've regretted.

It's both reckless and frozen, completely lost in a maze, confused, looking for a path, for directions, for anything. It's almost as if you lost your compass, nothing eventually guides you and you remain looking for the directions only you have.

It's too scared to admit what it wants, who you are. Both out of fear of what other people will say, but also out of fear that it'll all go wrong. It's the side of you that remains disconnected from yourself, hidden because it keeps highlighting the aspects you keep trying to ignore, to not know. It can manifest in a lot of ways, either through people-pleasing or being completely reckless. Through lying, denial or even isolation from the world, from life itself.

Something funny is that a song by Bad Suns that just started playing really relates to this pile. "Cinderella slips into a dream like a curse / you could mistake it for heaven at first." This shadow self may live in projection, daydreaming or simply keep you out of touch with everything.

how can you work with your shadow self? six of pentacles • page of wands • two of wands • king of cups

Engagement and socializing are big ways you can work with your shadow self. Being actively curious about the world, about people. Approaching relationships, truths and life itself with genuine interest, no judgement or shaming thoughts involved.

Telling yourself you're an eternal student of this world, because we are and remembering you don't have to know everything. Start scared. Most things, you'll have to do it scared. Unprepared. In the thick of it all, you'll find the answers you need, but only if you are willing to dive deep for them. No taking shortcuts, making assumptions or allowing self-doubt to paralyze your living, because you need to witness life as it is.

Therapy is one big thing, music as well. Anything that connects you to your deepest self, relationships that genuinely make room for who you are, good friends that feel safe and non-judgemental. Your heart has been calling you for so long, pile four. It's about time you listen to it. It knows everything you need to know.

disclaimer. tarot not a substitute for medical and professional advice, nor is it meant to be taken as such. i do not take responsibility for any choice(s) made by you or others regarding my readings. please remember you are responsible for life and in power of it, no one else! ♡

amourdivine. 2021 - 2024 © do not copy, redistribute or edit my content.

#pick a card #tarotblr #tarot reading #pick a card reading #tarot #pac reading #astrology #witchblr #tarot witch #pagan #mine.

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gildedkrone · 5 months

Text

As long as you're next to me, just the two of us

request from somebody asking for military reader with internalised homophobia. john price x male reader

"You really ought to not blow your cigar smoke onto me, you know?"

The warm embers of spent tobacco, an all too familiar sight in the dark, starry night, and he's smiling, albeit faintly. He takes an audible suck of air, and the embers glow brighter and fade into a dull orange.

"Thought yer used to it by now," Price blows the hints of something scorched gently across your nose and you fan the smoke away with a flick of your hand.

"I don't smoke, John." He blinks and nods to take another chuff of the cigar as you look away then back at him.

He says he knows. Infernally glorious bastard of a captain and he's content with the warm tranquility settled into the space and the cigar is the last thing the mind's got time for. On the rooftop, the stars are ever distant in the cosmos’s grasp and he moves to lay with his back to the railing, almost close enough to touch. But he doesn't come any closer than that and a healthy distance remains between you and him.

"How many years has it been?"

Five. Five years since he appeared in his lieutenant uniform with SAS patches sewn neatly onto the vest and now? Now, he's a captain of a famed task force and chasing a terrorist halfway across the world with a short break in between his ever-growing catalogue of missions. The rank suits him well, suits him and his beard nicely as he grew into the man standing before you.

All's well. If all's well, then why does it feel as if there's a divide between you and him?

"You know," his head angles towards you when the silence fills with murmurs, "I never did congratulate you on your promotion, John."

"Never too late to do so, sweetheart."

"You call everyone that? Bet your lieutenant wouldn't take it well. That mask—"

"Not him." The words are scented with woodsy, "Nobody else gets to be a sweetheart." And he's saying it so sincerely, it’s impossible to doubt the truth and intensity in his words.

"Exceptions? You're not being fair, captain."

He scoffs and you take the time to admire his visage with a subtle lean towards him. The left eyebrow hitches a little, then it falls back to its place and he's smiling warmly as the cigar burns away in crumbling ashes falling to the wind under the pale moonlight.

"How's your love life? Still seeing Sandy?" The sudden change of topic and you cock your head slightly and he grimaces slightly to have felt some sense of chagrin at poking the sore wound in your heart.

"We broke up a month ago." He lowers the cigar, "She just, didn't want to be in a relationship with a military man, you know? All the absences made her mad and she just ... left."

"On a Thursday afternoon."

He listens so attentively; he's reminiscent of the cadets under your care when they first arrive at sergeant bootcamp. A little awestruck and very much eager to learn and get going and you lean in closer for a look at the new-ish scar marring the area above his eyebrows.

"You've gone and hurt yourself again, eh?"

Fingers brush across the region of his face gently as his face is pliant in your hands and tilts with each nudge to facilitate your examination of his new battle scar. Eventually, you release his face and he runs a hand through his scar absentmindedly.

"You datin' again?"

"No such luck. Tinder's trash these days. All you'll ever find are people down to fuck and run. 's not much better on the other dating platforms too."

"Just women?" The parting of your lips and nothing comes out; the words don't come as they should.

"Just women. I-I ... I’ve never considered other men, John."

"Why not?"

It's a moment of confusion—you entertain his queries about manhood and love. What do you say to that? It's a minefield of emotions and memories tangled with barbs and spikes laden with the flags of youth and curiosity shaped into a spitball refusing to be verbalized.

"I don't think another man could ever love me. And ..." The forgotten cigar in his hands dull and the soft cerulean eyes are gently imploring you to continue, "I ... well, it's wrong and I ... don't know if I can do it."

He nods empathetically and you lean back into the railing to find fleeting interest in the moon. How did the conversation morph into this weird mess of clunky and awkward conversations?

"Well, I have a problem when it comes to dating." Oh? Go on, and he does go on.

"I met a man, and I don't know if he fancies me the way I fancy him."

"Really? I'm glad for you, John. What is he like?"

It's cute how his brows furrow slightly when he's in deep concentration and he says—valiant and resplendent. The vigor of the sun, the ferocity of the lion, and the tenacity of the stars.

"Valiant? Resplendent? You must really like him to hold him at such a regard."

"It's not an exaggeration, lieutenant."

Who had managed to capture John's heart to such a degree? You lose interest in the moon to lay the brunt of your attention on him. His eyes dart away into inkiness night then back at you and its kept steady as a sniper's hands in a high-tension scenario.

"Have you tried telling him? About how you feel?"

"You have tips? ‘M not sure quite how to break it to him."

He seems mildly amused by the chuckle and you regale him with strategies and tactics to win over the mystery man Price loves so much. Everything you’ve learnt from the trashy romance novels stashed in your drawers never to be seen any other service personnel. Even if they would never find their place with another man.

"So, a hand grasp and a head tilt, lots of eye contact, and a heartfelt confession? It’s certainly shorter than the list on the web.”

“Mmhm, it’s that simple.”

He asks if you would entertain his request to rehearse it. You humor him and step away from the railing to face him head on. He clears his throat and warmth envelops your hand in a hand shaped like John’s. His body posture is open and inviting, and he’s putting in the effort to treat it seriously.

His hands clasped with yours is so damn warm and fiercely domestic, and his fingers are gentle when they tilt your head upwards slightly. Something in your heart twists slightly at the endearment in his eyes; you’ve been privy to aggression, bloodlust, and anger in them. But not this. Blood hammers in your ears and you keep your face schooled in blasé calm even if his grasp is uncharacteristically soft and yet, harbored the love he had in his being.

“I love you, sweetheart.” The words are painful to hear on ears not meant for them and instincts are warring in your head in tumult.

You cough gently to realign his focus with the moment.

“Yeah, so, that is how you do it, John.”

“I love you, sweetheart.”

“That’s what you would say that to the man you love so much.”

His throat swallows harshly and his hand remains on your chin. He eyes search for something, and he says it again.

“I love you, sweetheart.”

What is he doing? He cuts you off before you can start.

“I’m saying it to the man I love.”

Whiplash. Whiplash at the revelation as your lips part to reveal hollow words and empty reconciliation of the revelation and your thoughts. No. This—

“I mean it. Whole heartedly. Fully.”

“John … I—I can’t love you, not—”

“I’ll wait. As long as it takes.”

“Why? Why the fuck would you choose me? Of all the men and women in the world and you’ve gone and loved the one person who can’t give you anything! John, why?”

His hands are still clasped around yours and laced around your runaway heart. Don’t leave.

“Because it’s what the heart wants, love.” He tugs you in closer and in a moment of stupor, you feel the warmth emanating from him against the chilly night.

“It’s wrong—” And by god, it’s so fucking hard to tell him why it’s wrong when he’s looking at you like that. All worried and desperate to alleviate whatever you were feeling.

“I don’t want to be the fool who dies with a million regrets. And this is fixing it.”

He’s so close but he’s waiting for permission to breach the last barrier of that defensive wall built around the wastelands of the heart. He wipes away the tears which had formed, and soft lips are all you can feel when he closes the gap. Plush, soft lips press against yours and his embrace is all encompassing even as your eyes are shut to close out the world. He comes into view when warmth of his lips disappears and shakes rattle your body in his arms.

“I’ll be here for as long as you want me, sweetheart.”

He means it.

“’m not leaving, unless you tell me to.”

“John, I … I don’t know what to do.”

“We’ll figure it out together. Me and you, we will find our way as a unit. Together, we’ll do it together.”

He is deadly serious again. “If you tell me to leave, I’ll leave.”

“No … I—I don’t want you to leave. I’m so fucking scared, John.”

“I’m here.” He is here. His hands on your back are proof of his existence in a world bending into a pinpoint of focus that is only John and his features and his exhales on your cheeks. What were you supposed to say? Or do?

There’s no need to do anything.

And maybe, just maybe, that is enough of a promise for you that everything is going to be ok—if it's John, and this was fine, more than fine. Your nod is what John needed to bring your foreheads together.

“Thanks fer trusting me, love.”

The hints of tobacco smoke don’t smell as acrid as they did a while ago and the night isn’t so cold anymore. Not when he wears his heart on his sleeves and draped over you in the moonlight.

Do not edit, reupload or translate my works without prior consent || masterlist

#fanfic #cod mw2 #captain john price #john price #john price x male reader #john price x reader #male reader #x male reader #x reader #price fanfiction #cod x male reader

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yuujispinkhair · 5 months

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Angel Baby

Who would have thought that resident bad boy Sukuna would become your personal angel? -> This is part of my Blog Anniversary Event (closed). @reneeprika requested the song "Angel Baby" by Troye Sivan.

Pairing: Modern!Sukuna x Reader (female) Genre: fluff, College AU Word Count: 1k Warnings: None. Lots of fluff. I cried my eyes out writing this because it made me so emotional. Please listen to the song while reading it!! All characters are of age. My blog is 18+. Minors don't interact.

The sound of heavy rain hitting your window wakes you up in the middle of the night. You sigh and snuggle closer to the warm, muscular body next to you. Your boyfriend Sukuna, who has one strong, tattoed arm wrapped tightly around you, not letting go of you even in his sleep.

A sleepy smile wanders over your face. Sukuna and rain are a combination that will always fill your mind with fond memories.

It was a rainy night like this that brought him to you. When you ran from a party after a song started playing, that reminded you of your ex, who had just broken up with you a few days before. Your tears mixed with the rain, making you stumble half-blind into a solid chest, and two strong arms caught you before you could fall.

"Hey, easy there, princess."

His voice had sounded amused until his maroon eyes landed on your face, and he took in your tear-swollen eyes. You expected to be made fun of when you realized who you had run into. Of course, you knew Sukuna. The whole campus knew him. The bad boy with the tattoos and the smug smirk. A guy like Sukuna surely wouldn't be considerate of your feelings.

But he proved you wrong. His low voice was soft when he asked you what was wrong. His eyes were filled with worry when you muttered something about being sad because your boyfriend broke up with you.

You thought he would leave after that. But he didn't. He took off his leather jacket and put it over your shaking shoulders. He led you to a nearby portico and sat there with you on the stairs, refusing to leave you alone, telling you that your ex was an asshole, and making you laugh softly when Sukuna offered to punch him for you.

He waited with you until your friend with the car was ready to go home, and even then, Sukuna told you to keep his jacket so you wouldn't get cold.

"Just give it back to me next time, princess."

The next time was three days later when you invited him to coffee and cupcakes at your favorite coffee shop to thank him for the jacket and the company. And that next time turned into many more times.

That was two years ago, and now you can't even remember anymore how being heartbroken feels.

Everyone warned you not to get involved with Sukuna and told you he wasn't good for a girl like you. He was the resident bad boy. Arrogant and rough, with too many tattoos and a tendency to get into trouble. Someone who was infamous for being only good for the bedroom.

But instead of scaring you away, that was actually what made you drift to him. Sukuna seemed like a good distraction. Someone who couldn't break your heart because you knew from the start he would only be a little fling. Someone you could just have sex with when you felt like it. The perfect guy for someone like you, who had given up on love.

You weren't looking for a boyfriend anymore. Love was just a lie, lots of words that didn't mean a thing, because you knew everyone would just leave again after a while. You had given up on romance, on "forever" and "happily ever after."

But things turned out very differently. And you are so incredibly grateful for it.

Falling in love with Sukuna caught you off guard. You didn't expect him to treat you so well. Although that first night in the rain should have told you, he wasn't the way people made him out to be.

Sukuna was sweet to you. He was the type to glare intimidatingly at everyone around him and flip them off, just to turn around and smile a genuine, dazzling smile at you and call you his princess and hug you so tightly to his tall, strong body that you felt safe like never before in your life.

He was reliable. Something you would have never thought when looking at him. But he always remembered everything you told him. He remembered your birthday. He remembered when and where to pick you up. He remembered all your appointments and helped you with them. He was there for you when you were anxious, when you were sad when you were overwhelmed with life.

He looked scared when he told you he loved you, just as terrified of those feelings as you were. Two people scared of love. You because you had already gotten burned by it too many times. Sukuna because he had never felt like that before, and the sheer intensity of his feelings for you terrified him.

You both spent the following months learning that love didn't have to hurt or be scary. You both fell in love with so many little things about each other. The way he smiled, the way you laughed. His secret passion for cooking, your passion for books. You spent hours counting the tattoos on his skin and tracing them with your lips. He told you his secrets, trusting you with everything he was underneath his tough shell. Trusting you with a heart that was surprisingly soft, if only for a few select people.

You feel him stir, and his strong arm automatically tightens around your waist, pulling you even closer. The warm feeling in your chest grows even more. You can't stop yourself from pressing a tender kiss to Sukuna's tattoed chest.

A soft laugh, raspy with sleep, fills the bedroom,

"Hmm, princess. Can't sleep?"

You smile as you nuzzle your face against his warm, muscular chest.

"The rain woke me up. But it's ok... I'm happy about it, actually. Do you know that rain always reminds me of you?"

He laughs softly and wraps both of his strong arms around you now, hugging you tightly to his firm, tall body.

"Yeah? Rain always reminds me of you, too. I'm glad you ran into me that night."

"Sukuna?"

You lift your head off his chest to look up at his beautiful tattoed face, smiling when his maroon eyes meet yours in the dim light of the streetlamp and the moon shining through the window. There's a lazy, sleepy smirk on his lips, his gaze unguarded, a look he only has when he's with you.

"Yes, baby?"

"You're my angel."

The smirk grows wider and turns into a laugh, even as his eyes sparkle happily,

"Didn't you mix something up, princess? Don't you mean I'm your devil?"

You shake your head, feeling a broad, happy smile spreading over your face,

"No, you are my angel. My angel baby. When I ran into you, I was at a point in life where I had given up on love. I thought true love just existed in books and movies but not in real life. But then you came into my life and showed me a kind of love I never knew before."

You feel happy tears well up in your eyes and run down your cheeks. Tears that immediately get gently wiped away by a warm, tattoed hand. And Sukuna's glittering maroon eyes gaze deeply into yours with a tender look in them that makes your chest feel incredibly full,

"And I never knew love before I met you, princess. You taught me how to fall in love and how to want to stay there. I think you are the angel out of us two."

You laugh happily as more tears spill from your eyes. You reach out to cup Sukuna's cheek, too, caressing the black lines under his eyes and on his jaw, looking at him with love written all over your face.

"I mean it, Kuna. Just because you look like a devil doesn't mean you are one."

He smiles at you, that beautiful smile that is only reserved for you, making him almost look angelic too,

"Then I'll be an angel just for you, princess."

I cried my eyes out while writing this!! Soft boyfie Sukuna hits so different for me, and this here really did things to me 😭💗 I hope it made you feel something too!!

Thank you so much for the super cute prompt!! The song is so perfect for Sukuna. I added it to my boyfie Kuna playlist too 💗💗

Please let me know what you think. Comments and reblogs would be very sweet 💗

#sukuna x reader #sukuna x you #sukuna x y/n #sukuna #jjk x reader #jjk x you #sukuna fluff #jjk x y/n #ryomen sukuna

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wh0reforcoriolanussnow · 5 months

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I Know it Won’t Work || Tom Blyth x singer!reader

Summary: You and Tom break up after three years of dating and you perform a song about the truth of the breakup for the first time live.

Warnings: slight age gap, reader is 23 and Tom is 30

Wc: 658

A/n: these r addicting to make lol. Also, changed up some lyrics for the sake of the storyline making sense. 2/4? Fics I’m posting today!

Tom Blyth x singer!reader au masterlist

Divider by @pommecita

You let out a shaky breath, "I left you here, heard you keep the extra closet empty," You sing the first words of your unreleased song to the crowd. "In case this year, I come back and stay throughout my twenties, what if I won't? How am I supposed to put that gently?" You had just freshly turned 23 and broken up with Tom.

You honestly don't know how you ended up here, in-front of a crowd of hundreds in London. Performing in front of people was the last thing you wanted to do at the moment but you had to keep a strong front for your supporters, this show was highly anticipated.

"I've had the thought, tried to work it out through anxious pacin'" Your biggest coping mechanism was writing songs. You never knew how to really express your emotions in sentences to someone, so instead, you write them into songs. Your real feelings and emotions laced into words that in the end, formed a song.

"But it's a lot, all the shine of three happy years fadin'" The crowd watched in silence, partly because it was a new song and they did not know the lyrics to sing along, but also because they were mesmerised. Your voice held so much emotion.

Your fans weren't aware that the two of you have broken up, but a few had already pieced it up. "The whole facade, seemed to fall apart, it's complicated." Everyone viewed you and Tom as the power couple, deeply in love with one another with no flaw or doubt in the relationship

While half of it was true, the other half wasn't. The seven year age gap different had been brought up so many times throughout your relationship. You remember the first time the two of you got together, you were 20 and he was 27.

You both received heavy backlash from the internet but the two of you ignored them all. They weren't the ones in the relationship, they weren't the ones to make the call about whether or not you should be together.

"And part of me wants to walk away 'till you really listen, I hate to look at your face and know that we're feelin' different," As the three years went by, uou hoped you weren't the only one in the relationship that doubted a few things. You didn’t want to admit that other people's comments were getting to you. As the three years progressed with Tom, you felt as if you were just both in such different phases of life.

You were still so young in your early twenties and fresh in your career while it seemed that Tom was ready to settle down, marry, and start a family. He would always mention starting a family and you would listen, not really knowing what to say to him.

But recently, you came into terms with the truth that both you and Tom don't share the same feelings or goals at the moment. "Cause part of me wants you back, but, I know it won't work like that, huh?" You loved Tom, parts of you still do. He never did anything wrong, he was everything you could have ever wished for. You like to think of him as the right person, wrong time.

But nothing was going to change the fact that you two were just in different stages of life. Nothing will change the seven year age gap between the two of you. "I know we cut all the ties, but you're never really leavin'"

Tom hasn't left your mind. It would've been easier if he did. But he just couldn't. "And part of me wants you back, but, I know it won't work like that, huh?" Your voice slightly cracks, a single tear drop runs down your face. Eyes closed, you let it. The dewy stream your tear left—accentuated with the bright lights focused on you—did not go unnoticed.

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rukkiya · 10 months

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goodbye isn’t for forever

(al haitham x reader, zhongli x reader (separate)

༻ part 2 to take it back༺

al haitham ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

It's been two weeks since you’ve left.

The once lively apartment Al Haitham had taken for granted was no more, it was far too quiet for the scholar.

The silence was far too loud. He couldn’t concentrate on his work.

The same work that had led him to push you away.

He’s seen you around of course, he checks up on you and makes sure you’re doing well through mutual friends or passing by shops/places you’d both go together.

He hasn’t slept properly since you’ve left, he doesn’t remember the last time he was alone in bed without you next to him.

He thinks back to the times you’d wake up at night and get him from his study, dragging him to bed because he has to be up at the crack of dawn because you wanted him to sleep, because you cared. Now he’s stays wide awake, not worrying about work or other matters for once, instead he was worried about you.

No one has brought it up to him though, they couldn't.

He thought he was hiding it well, keeping it masked under his unrelenting face but the emotions he felt were being shown through his eyes.

During Al Haithams meeting with Cyno he was stammering, taking one too many pauses because he couldn't concentrate on anything. Cyno merely eyes the two wedding bands linked around a silver chain sitting on top of the scholar's chest but says nothing of it, well that is because he already knows.

“Have you tried talking things out? He looks like shit.” Cyno sits next to you, handing you a bottle of water sighing when he sees the corners of your lips tug down at the mention of Al Haitham.

“I can’t, after what he’s done. What makes you think that he wants me in his life anyways? Look, he was the one who threw his wedding band at me. I didn’t do it, he did.” You lay your head on the table huffing as Cyno sighs again.

He doesn’t like seeing you this way. He’s not the most fond of Al Haitham but seeing him down, with an expression other than a punchable face, it actually makes Cyno feel bad for him. You both being this torn was more on you guys than you expected.

“You miss him, you miss him more than you're letting on. From what I can see he misses you too.” Cyno leans back on his seat, you slightly turn your forehead on the table to glance at him, seeing that knowing look he always wears when he knows he’s right.

“Y/n, for as long as I’ve known Al Haitham I’ve never heard him stumble on his words or look worse than now. You might not accept that because yeah you’re right it is his fault. Everything he’s said and done to you isn’t excusable by a long shot but if he really truly meant it, he wouldn't be beating himself over it this bad.” Cyno explains, putting his hand on top of your head and ruffling your hair making you grumble and turn away.

“I’m scared, we’ve been together for so long, married for just as long and for him to do that I- I can’t just let it go so easily you know? He’s probably held it in for so long and he finally spoke the truth, what if I’ve been a hindrance this whole-“

“Stop.” Cyno clicks his tongue, making his hand into a fist and softly bonking your head.

“You always do that. Don’t be so hard on yourself. Listen, you said it right now didn’t you hear? You’ve been together and married for so long, don't you think he would’ve told you beforehand? If anything you made him more tolerable, he seemed content and happy with you. But right now he seems lost.” Cyno removes his hand from your head and crosses his arms.

“But I did something just as bad Cyno I took mines off too.” You turn your head to face Cyno again, feeling your voice crack just remembering how Al Haitham’s face looked completely horrified when you did that.

“Go home and you’ll see. Go home to him y/n he’ll have it waiting for you I can guarantee.” Cyno smiles at you knowing look in his eyes, he knows Al haitham wants you home just as bad, he’s keeping your ring on him for when you do come back.

Your chest feels heavy, your hands are sweaty as you stare at the familiar wooden door to your shared house with Al Haitham.

It’s only been two weeks, it feels like forever since you've walked out. You didn't even bother getting your things.

You raise your hand and hold it up, contemplating as to whether or not this was a good idea. But you feel your knuckles tap against the wooden door a few times and freeze, holding still to hear any movement from within.

Nothing.

No footsteps, no moving, no talking.

You do it again only to get the same empty response.

You feel your stomach drop.

Is he ignoring me? Did I really mess it up? Why did I leave like that? You feel your eyes burn as you continue to state at the door, mind thinking the worst.

‘Y-Y/n?” Al Haitham whispers from behind you.

He blinks a few times, making sure he's not hallucinating. There's been a few incidents where he thought you came back home a few days ago and it wasn't you, he didn't want to get his hopes up.

You blink at the door and hold your breath, slowly turning your head to look back at a distraught looking Al Haitham.

You open your mouth to say sorry, to apologize for leaving him when you should have just talked things out but nothing comes out, instead a small whimper escapes as your vision gets more blurry. His eyes, the look in his eyes made your throat swell. When you first met him it was so hard to read him, to tell his emotions but the look in his eyes right now says everything.

This tears Al Haitham from the inside out, his long legs walk up the small step to your house and he opens his arms as he nears you immediately wrapping them around you and pulling you in close, his eyes blown wide.

“It's you- you're here I didnt think you were- I thought you weren't coming back.” He exhales a shaky breath as he brings you closer, one hand cradling your head and other pulling you up from your torso.

“I'm sorry, I'm so sorry for what I've said to you. It's inexcusable to say it's because of my work when you were just trying to help, you always do and I need that, I need you here to keep me grounded to keep me sane, you're anything but a hindrance, you help me in ways I never thought anyone could. Please stay. Don't leave me again.” he pulls back, hands moving to hold your face as he rests his forehead on yours.

“I will marry you over and over again if I have to prove myself.” one of his hands moves from your cheek, grabbing your hand in his and placing it on his chest where the necklace with the rings are.

“Haitham I'm sorry I left you alone I should've just listened.” you grab his hand that was holding your cheek, closing your eyes at the warmth you've missed so much feeling the tears you were holding slide down your face. Al Haitham only shakes his head

“Don't apologize to me. No one should have to hear that. Be treated that way, especially you.” he feels his hands shake slightly, with you in his hold. He feels like it's fake, like it's another one of the dreams he's been having since you've left him like he's going to wake up and you're still going to be gone.

“Please don't leave me, I need you home to keep me grounded. I missed you more than you can imagine.” He hugs you again, pulling your head into his chest and closing his eyes.

Throughout all the time you've been with him you've never seen him so on edge, look so scared. Let alone be this affectionate, you can feel it in the way he holds you , the way he speaks, he truly feels bad for what he said and done. Though you still feel torn, hurt from his actions you know you can't leave him again as you've missed him just as much.

As he holds you close, breathes in your comforting scent that he's come to love so much he vows to not take your caring for granted, that he needs you here more than anything. That he isn't himself without you.

zhongli⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

Zhongli left, he’s gone.

You’re more than sure he’s moved on, found someone better who manages to actually care for their own well being and who doesn’t stress him out too much the way you did.

It’s what he deserves, anyways all you were doing was weighing him down, putting him under constant stress and worry to the point he couldn’t take it anymore.

It’s you, you’re the one who pushed him away the only good thing you had going on is now never coming back

Though he's been gone, Zhongli kept his word, he’s kept an eye on you since the day he left you.

A whole year had flown by agonizingly slow. It was driving him crazy as more time passed he grew worried you didn’t want him back.

During the duration of the year he’s noticed how you care more about your well being more. You took a break from adventuring and weren't as reckless. You started to work at your fathers local bakery to get back on your feet as you recovering from your injuries, Zhongli was relieved.

Though you seemed fine on the outside you only grew to despise yourself more than you ever had before since he’s left. You knew you didn’t deserve him and having him leave just proved your hurt heart more to that fact.

Zhongli kept his word, still watching over you from far away places, making sure to keep out of your line of view but more than anything he wanted to go back to you, wanted to go back home with you where you both belong.

The year with him gone was a process, one that took your mind into a very dark place.

You were hurt for so long, then you grew angry only for it all to ball up into self hatred.

During your time away from him you’ve reflected, taken care of yourself physically but mentally you were drained, it was constant nagging going on. Zhongli would be the one to quell those thoughts but you only had yourself, it was getting harder as days went on.

“I can’t stand seeing you beaten and bruised yet you are all the time.”

“You’re too much for me to handle.” Zhongli sighs, finally having enough, leaving his wedding band behind and walking out the door, never turning back once.

You shoot up from bed, looking around the room as you try to regulate your breathing, seeing the sun peeking in through your curtains.

Your hand reaches over to the ever so cold side of your bed and you're thrown back to reality. You mind immediately fogging with thoughts you don't want to hear.

You were in a constant brain fog, always lost in your own thoughts.

To the point it was was starting to become a problem, you weren't aware of lots of things most of the time. Not paying attention to certain things that could easily turn dangerous.

You got ready for work as usual, made your way down to the bakery, your mind racing a thousand thoughts per second.

“Hey y/n right?” A regular that you see buying bread at your fathers bakery stops you just blocks away from the bakery.

You turn around and he walks closer to you, greeting you with a smile.

“Good Morning.” you force your lips to turn upwards.

“Your father told me to tell you to pick up some things from my house for ingredients before you go in, it's just down the street.” he points down the road to a small house by the mountain.

“Alright, I'll go grab it right now. Is it a lot of supplies?” you ask, walking down the path thinking nothing of the situation.

“Not much but I think you’ll need an extra hand if anything.” The says, following a few feet behind you, looking around the surrounding area.

Zhongli was on his usual morning stroll, passing by your fathers bakery to make sure you get to work safe when he sees a random man stop you.

He stops walking when he sees you walk the complete opposite way from the bakery, following the man down the road. He feels a familiar feeling rising in his chest once again, your putting yourself in situations you don't see are clear signs of danger.

“Yeah, I'll help you bring them back up, it's just a few bags of flour and sugar right?” you ask, the man only hums in response, walking slowly behind you. You don't think about it, instead you continue your regular pace, already dreading the day ahead of you. you know you won't be able to concentrate much already feeling drained from getting up from bed alone.

Though it was morning, the end of the street was oddly quiet for this busy part of town.

Every stall around here is usually set up by now.

You near the small house and walk up the porch, turning and waiting for the guy behind you to open it though you notice his whole demeanor change. He was much closer now looking around him before looking back at you, reaching in his pocket to grab his keys.

He walks past you and unlocks the door holding it open, mentioning for you to walk in first, so you do, hearing the door behind you close and the sound of clicking, like he was locking it behind him.

“Why're you-”

“I brought them, our deal is done.” the man clears his throat, looking directly behind you.

You freeze, looking at the man with wide eyes when you realize what he said. Feeling the hairs on the back of your neck stand as you slowly turn around seeing a group of treasure hoarders standing directly behind you.

You start to back away, reaching into your pocket and getting the small dagger you carry but feeling someone grab your arm before you can pull it out.

“No no no, don't play dirty now we just want to talk. Your father makes a good amount of money in this town, he'll surely pay a good ransom to get his precious kid back now, won't he?” a treasure hoarder laughs, squeezing your wrist making the dagger drop from your grasp.

“My father pays for my brother's medical bills. Please don't make him pay for something he can’t afford. I have money, you can take all mine and let me go. I won't say a thing.” you look at the treasure hoarder standing in the middle of the room and hear his laughter boom through the small house.

“You’re kidding me right?” his hand brings up the ax he was holding and takes a step towards you.

You don't want this, to make someone else suffer because of you. Not your own family after they are already dealing with so much.

Zhongli waited a few minutes by the house you entered and saw no sign of you coming back out, he didn't want to interfere. He has no right. He's been so scared to go back to you, he regrets leaving. He knows he shouldn't have done it that way, he should've stayed, helped you another way. He doesn't think you'd want him back after so long, he has no right to be checking on you. You've probably well moved on.

But he can't help but worry, still check on you because he still loves and cares for you, just like he said he would the day he married you. But he left you, walked out the door, left his ring but worst of all left you all alone.

He feels something off though. From the looks of it the man you were talking to wasn't someone you knew personally, he could tell from our body language, the way you distanced yourself from him. If it was a friend of yours or someone you were close you’d look more relaxed and wouldn't be so tense or distance yourself so far from them when talking.

They're taking too long. Are they ok? Zhongli thinks, eyeing the small house. Contemplating as to whether or not he should go and check.

“Listen, your father gives us the money for you and nothing else got it.” the treasure hoarder leans down to your height and you narrow your eyes at him.

“My father won't give you a penny understand? Do your worst.” You dare the man in front of you seeing his smile drop.

You stay still, seeing a small open window to the right of you from your peripherals. The dagger you dropped right next to your foot.

“You testing me kid?” the treasure hoarder steps even closer making you shrink into yourself.

You quickly duck down, sweeping your leg under the mas feet and grabbing the dagger next to you hearing a thud, you don't even turn around as you hear multiple footsteps closing in as you run to the window, your arms and torso getting out before you feel a pair of hands grab your leg.

You feel your body get pulled back in instantly, your body hitting the ground with a loud thud.

“Donp tugh mi (don’t touch me)!” you try to scream but a hand muffles you before you do.

The loud ruckus alerts Zhongli and he doesn't even take a second to think. He's outside the door in an instant before his brain can register what he's doing.

A soft knock at the door stops everyone making the guy on top of you press his hand harder against your mouth.

“Don't think about it.” he looks down at you, voice dripping with malice.

Another knock at the door and the man on top of you signal for his subordinates to stay quiet.

Zhongli was giving them a chance to prove themselves but the second time he knocked and no one answered he had enough.

It grew completely silent, the sound of footsteps walking away was heard before the door and its hinges flew into the house.

A familiar silhouette stood in the doorway and you couldn't blink, you had to be hallucinating now.

Why is Zhongli here? How did he know I was here? Your mind halts seeing his eyes glow gold.

The man on top of you was thrown off in a second as a flash of gold passed by you, the other men being knocked to the ground seconds after as everything slowed down your eyes following the gold flash going across the room.

Everything goes quiet once again. The treasure hoarders in there were now all on the floor knocked unconscious as Zhongli stood in the middle of the room, chest heaving up and down as he glares at the foolish mortals who dared to try and hurt you.

You slowly sit up and back away, not really knowing what to say to him because why? Of all time why is he here? How'd he know you were here?

He hears the floor behind him creak and turns, golden eyes narrowing at you until he comes to realize it's you, you're ok.

When he broke the door down and saw the man holding you down his mind went into autopilot, he hasn't acted out on emotion in so long, it took over him before he could control it.

“Why're you here?” you ask, looking away from him grabbing the dagger and putting it back into your pocket.

He steps forward and you step back, the anger you've been holding back is starting to surface.

“Why did you follow him? Do you trust this man this much to have him bring you here and-”

“Dont, I don't need another lecture from you.” you almost laugh. After all this time away this is what he starts with?

“Yeah I know, take care of myself, work things out, I remember trust me, after all that's the last thing you told me before leaving remember? Right now I don't have time to hear it, I have to go to work.” You don't even bother looking back at him as you walk past to leave.

“I'm sorry.” He stares at you as you stop, seeing you shake your head and look down.

“I shouldn't have left you alone, it wasn't a good way to prove myself, I just wanted you to-”

“Zhongli please don't….” you sigh, feeling the heavy feeling settling in your chest, turning to look back at him, your eyes widening when you see one of the men he knocked out get up behind him.“GET DOWN!”

Everything moved too fast, your legs, the man behind him, but Zhongli didn't move fast enough.

Old habits die hard. You feel tired from everything, thinking too much, getting up today.

Zhongli feels the weight of your body go limp as you fall forward an arrow sticking out of your back, the man he had knocked out earlier standing directly behind, wide eyes looking up at Zhongli as he realizes who exactly it was.

“I didn't mean to get them. I wasn't going to hurt them. I swear, please don't hurt me.” the man coweres as his legs give out under him. Zhongli only stares down at you in his arms, seeing your eyes fighting to stay open.

“You're going to leave again aren't you?” your voice cracks and Zhongli feels his breath hitch, the pain in his heart worsening, you think he'd leave you alone like this?

“I'm not leaving anytime soon my love, just give me a second and i'll take you to Dr Baizhu right now, whatever you do dont turn around and keep your eyes open for me.” He picks you up, carrying you to the corner of the house facing you away from the man behind you, leaning down and giving your head a kiss before standing back up.

It all feels like a dream, this can't be real, you feel far too sleepy for it to be.

Zhongli summons his polarm and stands back up, slowly walking to the man who hurt you.

You couldn't do what he wanted again, you tried but your eyes keep closing from sheer exhaustion, the last thing you heard before completely blacking out was screaming coming from behind you, the same flash of gold blinding you once again before you felt your own body go limp, succumbing into the darkness.

◇──◇─────◇──◇

authors note: hello lovelies!! ◝꒰´꒳`∗꒱◟ ohmygoodness I’m so sorry for how long I took to write a second part to this T~T I’ve just been pretty busy but I’ve been getting more inspo for more stories that I’m so freaking excited to share with y’all! :D but alas part two of take it back is here! I had to make zhongli’s part angsty and another open ending- IMSORRY ik I need to stop LOLOL but I do hope you all enjoy and that I wrote it angsty enough for y’all (some of y’all told me to make it more angsty LMAOO you all like getting your feelings hurt just like I do >.< please make sure you are all taking care and staying safe ^~^<3 (this isn’t edited so apologies for any errors!!)

@ilocqua @2hilarious4u @esthelily @cypressus-lunis @taetaebunni @coruscale @wearetherealarm @chiyukin @lum1nesc3nce @anxietysslave @starlightaura @duckyyyx @dreamlessnight @myimymy

#genshin impact #genshin impact oneshots #oneshot #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact headcanons #genshin impact zhongli #genshin impact al haitham #headcanon #genshin hurt/comfort #genshin angst #genshin comfort #angst #comfort #zhongli x reader #al haitham x reader

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neptuneiris · 4 months

Text

Wild Hearts | (One Shot)

'you, it's always been you'

pairing: prince!aemond × lowborn!reader

summary: you and he can't be together, yet the two of you have fallen for each other. but the Gods are not merciful and you both have to let go. but by comparison, your charming prince doesn't think the same way you do.

word count: 8.6k

next part • main masterlist

this is the new idea that I was talking about hehe🤭

i hope you like it a lot and first of all, i want you to know that there will be part two and nothing else. so enjoy this, dig it and let me know your opinion that is the most excited i am to read❤

enjoy and thank you so much for your support beautiful people!

warnings: angst, sex content, arranged married, minor mentions of cuts and blood, smut but not so elaborate.

The Gods can be cruel.

And for some time they have been cruel, especially to you.

You are a lady, yes, but not of a great house enough to be worth anything really big and significant. All your father can offer the Realm is a few soldiers, horses and you.

You are the only daughter of an arranged marriage trying to find their place among the Court. And when you are born a woman, your duty is to marry a suitable man, please him and give birth to as many children as possible.

That was your purpose in coming to King's Landing after Queen Alicent approved your stay at the Red Keep and you became a lady-in-waiting to the highborn ladys who also remain at Court.

But no one, not even you, could have prevented that those plans would no longer be a priority for you the moment you met Prince Aemond Targaryen.

You knew of the one-eyed prince's reputation, as well as his brutality in combat, his cold behavior and also of his recognition as the rider of the largest dragon in the world. But most of all, you knew that his disinterested and sometimes mean personality... was due to how he lost his eye at such a young age.

But that was what he wanted to show all the people of the Court and its visitors.

After such humiliating years of trying to prove himself while at the same time listening to whispers and rumors about him and the pity he caused people for losing his eye, Aemond had no interest in pleasing the Court, so he was just mean, disinterested and cold.

But with you it was all different.

Perhaps it was being alone for so long that he finally got tired of himself and let you in and see his other side, his true side that very few were privileged to see. After all, you were just a lowborn lady who had lived her whole life with the same duty as him: to please the Realm and fill its needs.

But even he never imagined that you and he would understand each other so well.

The gleam of his violet eye, charged with an unusual intensity and determination, the effect he made you feel when you looked back at him and saw his patch covering his left socket and the way he spoke and behaved with you, triggered a wave of unknown emotions and expectations in you.

Your first casual encounter with the prince began in the library, where you exchanged literary tastes. You revealed your fascination for the history of the Andals, as well as shared with him how interesting you found the stories of his family, the Targaryens.

And he shared with you his admiration for history and philosophy as well.

Your casual encounters with him continued in the library and before long, those encounters extended to walks in the gardens. Those walks became a mostly secret habit, where you not only shared equal opinions about books and history, but where you both got to know each other a little more.

And despite the growing friendship and the bonds that intertwined with every conversation and interaction, the weight of undeniable reality persisted.

However, neither of you stopped.

On some trips he had to make, on every return he would always bring some gift for you, whether it was a piece of jewelry or a new book that you don't have access to, to leave secretly in you chamber. Or he would even surprise you with a rare flower that is not seen in the Crowlands, handing it to you so delicately while you tried to keep the blush on your cheeks from being so obvious.

You too tried to look casual when you went to the training yard just to watch him train discreetly, admiring his skills and in every fight smiling proudly every time he made his opponents surrender to him.

And in the midst of everything and everyone, his violet eye always met yours.

At banquets and celebrations it was also the same. The two of you couldn't engage in conversation as such, at least not alone, so all night long, you could only exchange glances and act like complete strangers.

But in the occasional places where the two of you meet and no one else is around, you can act completely free.

He shared with you the story of how he claimed Vhagar, told you more about the history of his ancestors, even taught you some High Valyrian words, while you, who in comparison to him do not possess anything as great and exciting as he does, share with him your thoughts, dreams and tastes.

You both became friends. You became the friend he didn't know he needed and you definitely didn't expect someone like him, especially him, to enjoy your company so much.

And during those years, you couldn't blame the Gods for falling completely in love with the prince.

That was your total freedom and decision, even though you knew how impossible the situation was and that the two of you could probably never be together.

Your house is not worth enough to allow a union between you and a prince of the Realm. It was also useless to suggest it, because the answer would be no, both from the Queen and from your parents, who would have been totally pleased.

But Aemond is destined for more, you know that. And that more is definitely not you and not even close.

And despite this, you couldn't help but imagine as a fleeting dream the moment when he and you unite and become one. A dream that will never happen in which you finally become his wife and you can call him yours, just as he can also call you his, in body and soul.

But that dream is finally shattered when they announce the official betrothal between him and Lady Floris Baratheon.

It was something that was eventually going to happen, you knew it was going to happen, but still, the news takes you by surprise and your heart breaks into pieces, while everyone around you rejoices at the news and approves.

The days following the betrothal announcement become dark and sad for you. You retreat most of your time in your chamber, not having the mood to go out and face the Court, much less him.

And when you had to face the daylight, your steps became stealthy and sparse, trying to keep your distance as much as possible and avoiding any possible encounter with him or anyone else from the royal family.

Aemond of course realized the distance you took and respected it. Not because he knew exactly what happened, but because he thought you had other important matters that did not allow you to share your time with him.

It wasn't until an audience at the Court where the Queen and the Hand of the King attend to the needs of the people, that Aemond finally caught a glimpse of you. But you didn't return his gaze even for a moment. And it is only then that he tries to understand the reason for your distancing, but your eyes avoid any eye contact with him.

You spend several days living in the same way, until one silent morning, Aemond finds you in the library all alone. He knows this is not your favorite time to read, nor is it his, so to say you are avoiding him is clear at that moment.

He opens one of the doors gently and closes it audibly enough to get your attention. He sees perfectly how your whole body tenses and nerves are reflected in your gaze, as well as discontent.

That especially catches his attention and with more purpose he wanders deeper into the library, watching you completely intently and in search of an explanation, wanting to know what he has done to make his presence before you now uncomfortable and annoying to you.

"My prince," you say politely enough, bowing your head to him, but already wanting to leave.

You certainly did not expect him to appear and now you only try to hide from him as much as you can so that he avoids looking at the disappointment on your face.

"My Lady," he says, still with bewilderment in his gaze, taking a couple of steps towards you, "It is good to finally see you after so many weeks without your presence."

You force a small smile, lowering your gaze.

"It's good to see you too, my prince."

His closeness begins to unsettle you, feeling each step he takes towards you as an echo of emotions you'd rather keep hidden. And this is exactly why you desperately seek a way out, a convincing excuse to get away from him.

"If you'll excuse me, my prince, I must retire," you decide to say without further ado, hoping that it will work, "I wish you a good day."

But you only manage to move two steps forward when he quickly blocks your path.

"Wait."

Instantly you watch him intently and in awe, feeling your heart begin to beat too fast, as he looks at you confused and hopeful.

"You've been... absent lately," he says, his words laden with a mixture of confusion and longing.

You swallow hard, averting your gaze from his for a moment. You don't even want to look him in the eye but that would be rude and not appropriate behavior in front of a prince. So you have no choice.

"Yes," you say in a mumble, trying to find an excuse quickly, "I-I've had to take care of some important matters with my family. Also, my responsibilities at Court have kept me occupied with the ladies and other engagements, which has left me less free time, my prince."

And despite your explanation, really not at all convincing, Aemond can't help but feel annoyed.

"And will you stop saying that?" he inquires in a low tone and you watch him in confusion.

"What do you mean, my prince?"

"Exactly that, my title," he points out deliberately, "There's no one else here, it's just you and me. I don't understand what all the formality is about."

You press your lips together, again averting your gaze from him, as you as well as he, feel that tension between the two of you, a tension completely unfamiliar and one you have never felt before in each other's presence.

You had never felt uncomfortable in his presence and you had never wanted to get away from him before.

"I apologize. It was not my intention to offend you," you observe him with a serious expression, "If you'll excuse me, I have to leave now to attend to an engagement."

Again you try to walk past him and head for the library doors, but Aemond prevents it once again, blocking your path and pushing you back with his determined and clearly annoyed gaze.

"You are avoiding me," he sentences, firm with his words, showing his inconformity, surprising you, "Nothing is the same between both of us anymore and your explanations don't justify it," he says, with annoyance in his voice and a determination, "Did something happen that I don't know about?"

He asks, watching you with a restrained fury, mostly to see how you try to escape from him, while you press your lips together, trying not to let your look show your pain, disappointment and resignation.

But his gaze clings to yours with an intensity charged with longing, wanting to know, while the silence is uncomfortable and you feel again that tension between the two of you. Until finally you decide to break the silence to not quite answer her question, still evading it.

"This is inappropriate. We shouldn't be alone."

You say without looking him in the eye and that only increases the anger inside him more, watching you without understanding.

"Why the shyness all of a sudden?"

You bite your lips, feeling the discontent all over your insides as you say your next words.

"You are betrothed. People might think badly of you and me if they see us here alone."

"Oh, please Y/N," he tells you incredulously, annoyed, "You're acting ridiculous."

"Aemond-

"Why this sudden concern for appearances?" he questions, his tone infused with irritation and annoyance, "Everyone knows we're close, we always have been, and now it's inappropriate?" he inquire, not understanding.

You let out a short breath, closing your eyes for a moment, really not wanting this to be any harder than it probably will be.

"You don't understand," you murmur sadly, biting your lips, "You are betrothed now," you observe him with the resistance to cry in your gaze, "Now there are limits we cannot cross. And it would be best if this were no longer to go on," you say with a lump in your throat, "Your gifts and our meetings must stop, for the good of your future marriage and out of respect for your f-future... wife."

The weight of your words are felt in your tone, with sadness invading you as you utter them, as well as the ending of this... friendship.

Again the heavy silence hangs between the two of you, laden with a sadness and helplessness that neither of you can control. And although Aemond doesn't fully understand your reasons for distancing yourself from him, he knows there is something else that he still can't quite figure it out.

"Y/N, if you're upset because I didn't tell you about the plans my mother and grandsire had for me-

"No, no, I assure you it's not that," you hasten to say, hiding your sadness and disappointment, "It would eventually happen, wouldn't it?" you shrug, trying to smile genuinely towards him, but you can't, "You must do your duty and I will too, sooner or later," you say, lowering your gaze.

Aemond is speechless for a moment, watching you and nothing else, still feeling the guilt inside, while you struggle to contain your true emotions and shout to him in that moment that you love him, let him know once and for all, though it won't change anything.

"Y/N..." he murmurs, his barely audible voice full of bewilderment and a hint of pain, "Still I didn't want to-

"No, no... it's not your fault," you say again quickly, struggling to keep your composure, "Truly, it's all right. I should leave now."

He lets out a sigh, lowering his gaze for a second to look at you in concert with longing and concern.

"Can we please talk about this? I don't want things to end up like this between us."

"Don't worry," you try to smile genuinely at him, but rather a grimace appears on your lips, "I'm sure we can meet in the hallways and talk at the feast."

You tell him in a confident and assured tone, but even you know that won't be true.

"Oh and... hum... congratulations on your upcoming nuptials," you say with a lump in your throat and a forced smile on your lips.

To you, the falsity of your congratulations echoes in the air, a subtle echo of disappointment and resignation flooding your heart. Aemond tries to say something with the right words, but you don't give him the time as you finally move forward and no one stops you, each step echoing with the heaviness of what could have been and was not.

But just when you think you've managed to get far enough away, a hand gently lands on your arm, once again stopping you.

"Wait, please."

Aemond's voice sounds full of urgency and longing, making your breath catch for a second. And when you turn to look at him with the clear resignation and sadness in your gaze, his look reveals a mixture of torment and determination, frustration as well.

"I did not wish for this, Y/N," he confesses truthfully, his voice soft and emotionally charged. "It is not my desire to marry Lord Borros' daughter. That is not what I wish for myself."

Your eyes fill with tears as you hear his words, surprise in your gaze. And he stares directly into your eyes with despair, as if his thoughts are trying to be conveyed through his gaze.

And even though you have nothing to say regarding that, he continues with a confession that takes your breath away.

"Y/N..." he whispers, his expression heavy with longing. "If I had a choice, if the decision were mine, I would not hesitate in....

His words hang in the air, causing confusion in you for a moment, but as you watch him closely, his gaze speaks for him.

He watches you with attention, longing and hope, adoringly seeing the way your beautiful purple dress highlights your figure and beauty, with those precious and discreet jewels adorning your neck and fingers... his woman.

He shows you his affection and expresses it simply by observing you that he doesn't need to say anything else aloud. The meaning of her words is dispersed between the two of you, revealing a shared desire and a deep connection.

As you, upon understanding, surprise and hope collide within you, leaving you breathless at the implicit, yet clear revelation. Emotions intertwine in a whirlwind of feelings as the weight of his words sink deep within you. Your heart only beats faster, unable to believe what you are hearing, as time seems to have stopped, unable to speak.

And only then there, you can feel joy in knowing that your feelings are reciprocated, but the pain of knowing that it is now too late, simply ruins everything and fills you with pain.

"Why are you saying it until now?" you whisper with your voice broken and your gaze lowered.

"Y/N, please-

You don't let him say anything else, as with a lump in your throat and tears streaming down your cheeks, a sight Aemond doesn't like to see, you turn away from him more quickly and walk out of the library, leaving him alone with the weight of these confessions and unspoken words.

Also with a heart full of regret.

The news of your courtship came weeks after the last time you spoke to Aemond in the library.

You definitely did not expect to hear that at all, as you felt like you had been unexpectedly punched hard in your stomach and a sharp pain settled in your chest as your father spoke complacently about how he received two advantageous offers for the asking of your hand, Lord Ronan Redwyne and Lord Alan Beesbury.

Despite your father's efforts to express the importance and political benefits of such possible unions, to you it was as if the air itself had become heavier and stifling.

Only on this occasion the Gods had been good to you, as both men are the same age as you, so the fear of having to marry a man who multiplies your age and was surely going to be bad to you evaporates.

But still, you feel trapped and obligated.

Of course, your parents are quick to push you to start having conversations with both men to see which of the two is the most suitable for you.

Lord Alan, with his refined presence and gentle smile, known to be a skilled knight, is kind and very gentlemanly. You always see his attempt to make you feel comfortable with his presence, also in the topics of conversation that arise between the two, telling you about his home, his family, some stories and sharing some wishes with you.

You appreciate that, as you can tell he's doing his best, but even so, your mind reels at the thought of him being the possible candidate to take your hand, which adds another layer of complexity to your situation.

The same goes for Lord Ronan.

Despite his kindness, chivalry and the attractiveness of his face, you find no peace in the situation. You don't even care that they are both advantageous for a future marriage, all you want is freedom, to wait a little longer until you heal.

But at least you are being given the choice, a privilege not many women get from their parents when it comes time to marry and simply sell them as a trophy to the first advantageous man.

"It's a beautiful day, don't you think, my Lady?" says Ronan, breaking the silence between the two as you stroll through the Red Keep gardens.

"Yes, it is," you reply with a forced smile, lowering your gaze, keeping your pace slow.

He watches you intently.

"I just want you to know that I am eager to get to know you better, my Lady," he tells you gently and formally, "And any questions you have about me, you can tell me. Also any thoughts you have, I will be pleased to hear them."

You nod politely, feeling a little uncomfortable about the situation, unable to help yourself. And though you truly appreciate Ronan's kindness, your heart still yearns for something that now eludes you.

As you continue the walk, you strive to find something in Ronan, anything, just as you do whenever you are in Lord Alan's company, but you always fail. And even though neither of them is a bad man, you know that they too are caught up in choosing a future wife that is not entirely of their choosing.

"I thank you for your kindness, my Lord."

You say in a sincere voice, looking him in the eyes for the first time since you had started the walk,

"And also for your interest. Not many men are interested in the thoughts of women these days."

Ronan places a kind and understanding little smile on his lips, nodding in your direction.

"There is nothing to be thankful for, my Lady. And I know it's only a short time since we've begun to know each other, but I enjoy your company."

You nod again, keeping your gaze straight ahead, unable to help but feel how you still feel overwhelmed by the weight of courtship and the fact that you will soon marry him or Lord Alan.

And at the same time, reality dawns on you with undeniable clarity: Ronan and Alan are good men, but neither is him.

While both may be honorable companions, your heart still yearns for someone you can't have, feeling utterly sad and resigned, because it's not fair, not to the two of them either.

But how can you make those feelings go away fast?

And just when things couldn't be more unexpected for you, as you turn down one of the bush paths along with Ronan, you both find yourselves face to face with Aemond accompanied by Lady Floris at his side, who were walking in the opposite direction.

And the air is enveloped with immediate tension.

You knew that eventually the news of your courtship with two possible candidates to give your hand in marriage would reach Aemond's ears, but when your eyes involuntarily meet his, you see only dissatisfaction and restrained fury.

This triggers a whirlwind of emotions within you, trying to disguise your surprise and discomfort, also nerves, as well as you try to focus on your companion, trying to move on and appear unaffected by this.

"Lady Y/N," Lady Floris greets politely with a smile, breaking the silence, "Lord Ronan," she address him, "How lovely to see you both this morning."

"Lady Floris," you reply, trying to remain calm, then look almost fearfully at Aemond, "Prince Aemond," you tilt your head slightly, biting the inside of your cheek.

"My Lady," he answers you in a soft tone.

Ronan at your side also greets Lady Floris in a respectful manner, then turns to Aemond.

"My prince."

"Lord Ronan," says Aemond, in a dismissive tone, observing you attentively and at the same time in seriousness.

Aemond's tone does not go unnoticed by you, with an intensity on his face that does not go unnoticed either, as you struggle to remain calm in the face of the uncomfortable situation.

It is clear that Ronan's presence at your side does not please him at all.

As Lady Floris at his side, she attempts to carry on a polite conversation, oblivious to the tension that has taken over the moment.

"I would like to offer my best wishes to you both on your courtship," Lady Floris begins to say kindly, "Fortunately the prince and I are in the same place as you and understand what it can be to have expectations high in families if you decide to join your houses."

You feel more the knot in your stomach and the discomfort all over your body, not daring to say anything regarding that, while Aemond remains just as silent as you.

And fortunately Ronan is the one who appreciates Floris' gesture, while Aemond keeps his eye on you with an expressionless but penetrating gaze, also watching Ronan from time to time.

"Thank you, my Lady," Ronan replies courteously, "Your words are most kind and we wish you both well in your future marriage."

"Of course. We hope to see you both at our upcoming wedding," Floris adds with a kind and visibly excited smile, while you again feel your heart give a painful jump.

And since you say nothing, nor does Aemond, Ronan hastens to speak.

"Of course, my Lady. We will see you there."

With pain in your eyes, your gaze involuntarily drifts to Aemond for a brief moment, where he is already watching you. And in that fleeting moment, the looks in both of your eyes convey more than words can express.

With a polite bow, the four of you take your leave and each pair continues on their own way.

You try to focus on your steps along with Ronan's, but the echo of tension and unspoken feelings leave an unpleasant sensation throughout your body. And that's when you hope that soon, both you and he will find peace in your respective futures.

But it didn't look like that was going to happen anytime soon. Neither did acceptance.

Aemond continued the rest of his walk with Floris in the gardens with his mind still focused on the encounter with you and that boy clearly unworthy of you. He didn't even pay attention to what Floris was talking about, he had not the slightest interest and obliged, he had to complete his walk with her contributing very little to the conversation.

Even he himself could not avoid the feeling of suffocation and frustration that invaded him. Seeing Y/N, his Y/N, next to that poor boy, one of his possible candidates to take her hand in marriage, provoked a mixture of indescribable emotions inside him and he made a great effort to keep his composure.

He feels furious and emotionally on the verge of exploding, like a mad man, with impotence filling him with rage.

Why should she marry a man who was not him? Why should he be forced to witness her courtship with another man? Why couldn't he have realized that she also loves him the same way he loves her and reacted sooner?

He felt that he was really going to go crazy, so as soon as he bids farewell to Floris and leaves her in the company of the other ladies of the Court, he heads for the training yard.

Big mistake.

As soon as his presence arrives at this place of the Red Keep, the figure of Lord Ronan pulls him out of his thoughts and draws his full attention.

At least he has the decency to hold a sword.

He thinks to himself, watching as he finds himself engrossed in his own training, accompanied by other knights, practicing his sword moves. He also thinks about focusing on his own training, but finds it a better idea to meet the candidate of his dear friend Y/N, wanting to know what truly awaits her.

After all, Lord Ronan is not the only candidate, Lord Alan also frequents the training yard and will eventually see him as well. So with a determined step, he approaches him.

"Lord Ronan," he says in a cool but controlled tone as he approaches, heading towards the weapons table.

"Prince Aemond," Ronan replies, stopping his training and turning to him, "It is good to see you here as well, my prince."

His gaze assesses Ronan closely, noting his every gesture and movement. And despite the anger still flowing through his veins, he remains calm, not revealing too much of his thoughts.

"I guess you don't train enough at home. House Redwyne is best known for making sweet wine from the grapes that grow on your island," he comments neutrally, watching Ronan's position with meticulous attention.

"Ah... no, my prince," Ronan says politely, "I have had training lessons with the sword, among other weapons, since I was a young boy. So have other members of my family and I assure you we are well trained," he replies, adjusting the position of his sword, "After all, a knight must remain prepared at all times."

"Hm," he says seriously, "And that is what you have accomplished with so many years of training?"

Ronan remains calm in the face of the prince's critical gaze, though Aemond's insinuation resonates with a defiant tone.

"P-pardon me?"

"With those moves is that how you're going to ensure protection for your future wife?" he inquires with a dismissive tone, challenging Ronan with his words.

Tension begins to be felt in the air, the verbal confrontation slipping between the two men. And though Ronan maintains his composure, not wanting his words to affect him, the disdain in the prince's words does not go unnoticed.

"Appearances can be deceiving, my prince," Ronan said calmly, controlling each word to convey determination, "And my duty as protector of my future wife is not limited to combat alone. I suppose there are more important aspects."

Aemond tilts his head, watching him in confusion.

"And what aspects are those, my Lord?" he asks, clearly disinterested.

"Loyalty, anticipation and sacrifice," he replied determinedly. "Protection goes beyond sword skills; it involves being willing to give your all for the person you are sworn to protect."

Ronan's words echoed in the air, filling the space between them with a seriousness that could not be ignored. And Aemond, his brow furrowed, lets out a sigh and watches him more seriously than before.

"Do you hear yourself, my lord? Speaking like the ladies of the Court who read and listen to love ballads," he snaps, watching him in disapproval, "Loyalty, anticipation and sacrifice are not going to protect your future wife from a life-threatening attack," he says and then turns away, taking his sword and a shield from the table.

Ronan swallows hard.

"You need not worry, my prince. Still I assure you that I am well prepared for combat."

"Oh yeah?" he looks at him expectantly, turning to him with his weapons in hands, "Then prove it."

Ronan looks a little confused.

"My prince-

"Come on," he interrupts him, egging him on with defiance, discontent and agitation in his tone and look, "If you're as skillful as you proclaim, then prove it."

The atmosphere grows more tense, as Aemond waits for Ronan to accept his challenge and prove his worth beyond words. Both men hold each other's gazes firmly, with the tension increasing by the second, but neither takes a step back.

The confrontation becomes tangible. Glares charged with a subtle but unmistakable rivalry. And without further words, the air filled with the anticipation of the physical training ahead, as the two head to the center of the training yard, each preparing in their own way.

Aemond tightens his grip on his sword and without hesitation, lunges towards Ronan with fierce determination, causing the poor knight to have little anticipation to protect himself from his sword, but managing to dodge it and answer him in kind.

At first it appears to be casual training, yet Aemond wants to get a reaction out of him.

And between every clash of swords and every move full of speed and precision, at every failure of Ronan, Aemond taunts and shouts questions and insults at him in a defiant voice while demanding superior performance.

And at every failure and every taunt, Ronan's determination grows, also inevitably to the prince's provocations.

"Is that all you can do!?"

Aemond exclaims arrogantly to him, wiping the sweat from his brow, trying to unsettle him.

Ronan growls and focuses on his movements, responding with brutality and force, trying to answer every blow he threw at him, which to Aemond, couldn't be more pathetic and weak movements.

"This is what you plan to defend yourself with? This is what you have learned?" he inquires, mockingly, "What a shame."

Ronan lowers his sword a little, watching him in bewilderment and panting in exhaustion.

"My prince-

He tries to say but Aemond won't let him.

"No," he tells him seriously, "Be a fucking man and fight me back."

Aemond raises his sword again and slams it against his, causing him to lose his balance, while Ronan as best he can defends himself from their attacks, while the combat begins to attract the attention of the other knights and some people of the Court.

And only when Aemond sees that they have just started and he can no longer stand and does not even have more strength in his arms, the confrontation went from a simple duel to a battle without mercy.

And he in a fit of anger and frustration, leads to hit him with his foot in the chest with excessive force, making him gasp in pain and throwing him to the ground, and then walk quickly towards him, with purpose, raising his sword, so Ronan quickly tries to get up, raising his sword, blocking his attack.

Then Aemond's sword dangerously grazes Ronan's shoulder, knocking him back to the ground with a blow to his side.

"My prince-

"You yield!?" he exclaims to him in his madness, bringing the point of his sword to his throat.

"Yes! I yield!"

"Just like that!? So easy!?"

"Prince Aemond!"

He hears someone shout in the distance but he focuses entirely on Ronan below him.

"I yield!"

"He's bleeding!"

"My prince!" comes Criston Cole immediately.

And only at that moment does Aemond stop, breathing shakily, his gaze with barely contained fury. And only at that moment he also notices that Ronan has a wound on his shoulder with which he had brushed his sword earlier, not realizing at the time that he had wounded him.

Ronan presses his free hand to the wound, trying to stop the bleeding, watching him in horror and clearly calling for help.

Aemond squeezes his sword again so hard that it marks his white knuckles, watching everyone around him for a moment, then with a hard stare, turning to him again, angling his body so that only he can hear him.

"You are not worthy of her," he whispers in a low voice, his words laden with disdain and resentment.

And without caring about the stares or even her opponent's injury, he leaves the shield on the ground and with his sword in hand heads towards the interior of the Red Keep's castle.

Aemond knew that eventually what happened at the training yard would reach your ears. He also expected a confrontation about it, but he didn't imagine he would face your fury late at night.

His guards are required to stand guard in different hallways, so taking advantage of the fact that there are none in the hallway by his doors, you quickly make your way there to enter his chamber as fast as your body will allow.

He looks up from his book in his lap, sitting near the fireplace, watching you attentively at once, but before he can say anything, you turn to him with your lips pressed together and annoyance in your eyes.

"Have you lost your mind?" you inquire in a serious and demanding tone, looking for explanations.

And just like you, Aemond isn't having your attitude either. He's annoyed to see how you haven't taken any time at all to come to the defense of that stupid, poor, defenseless boy.

Putting his book aside, he stands up, imposing his presence on you. Despite having to raise your face to face him directly, you don't let his posture intimidate you.

"I see that that... Ronan matters too much to you, my Lady," he says in a dismissive tone, "It took you no time at all to fall for his sure sweet words and promises of love. After all, you and he are very much alike."

You inhale deeply before responding, seeking calm despite his attitude and the tone of his words.

"Ronan and I are getting to know each other, nothing more. Just as you are getting to know Floris Baratheon. But I'm not doing anything against you, yours is for sure, she's going to be your wife. But you can't go hurting and almost killing the men who can be my future husband."

He looks away from yours for a moment, irritated.

"I don't know what you expected, honestly," he tells you seriously and indifferently, "That's what happens in combat when we fight with weapons, Y/N, men get hurt. And if Ronan is weak and wasn't taught well, that's not my problem."

You stand your ground, incredulous to hear his words.

"That doesn't justify what you did. Everyone witnessed how the combat began and it was you who unfairly exploded against him, hurting him," you reproach him with determination. "His wound was deep. He needed eight stitches!"

Aemond, sick of this, averts his gaze from yours and turns his back on you, heading towards his table to pour himself a glass of wine under your confused and incredulous gaze.

"I don't understand why you're so worried, he'll be fine. After all, you still have another possible candidate for your hand, I hear," he says in a tone devoid of emotion, laden with bitterness, "Though I doubt he's much stronger than Ronan."

His voice sounds harsh, his words laden with a bitter resentment that he can barely hide, jealous.

"So this is how things will be?"

You ask him earnestly and sadly, fighting back tears that threaten to escape at any moment.

"You'll go around hurting my suitors until there are none left and I have no chance of marrying anyone else but not you either?"

Tension hangs in the air as you wait for his response, feeling the weight of your words and the clash of emotions between the two of you.

And he remains silent, staring out the window with a hard stare, as if not looking for an answer through the glass, turning his back to you and not daring to look at you at that moment.

Finally the first tear rolls down your cheek and Aemond listens as you gently sniffle your nose, then turns to you, his face showing a mixture of emotions, from hardness to the flash of regret and longing.

And he lets out a defeated sigh.

"That's not what this is about, Y/N," he murmurs in a softer tone, his expression revealing his inner struggle, "They're not worthy of you. Your father is choosing wrong."

And that's when you explode with anger and frustration, unable to contain yourself any longer.

"I just don't understand why you care so much, Aemond!" you exclaim without understanding, "You shouldn't see them as a threat because they are not. You have nothing to do here!"

You face him, as your tears fall silently, with a defiant look and your posture firm, though full of sadness, anguish and confusion, inside and outside. And he too responds to you in kind.

"Of course I do!" he turns to you angrily, exclaiming in his fury, "This does concern me because those fucking men and your father are going to take you away from me! And they have no right!"

And again your emotions boil over, fury and pain getting the best of you.

"Do you even listen to yourself? How irrational you are being?" you inquire, not understanding, "You didn't even do anything in the beginning, you are the prince, the one who had the power to do something about it and you never even once asked for my hand!" you shout at him, your voice full of reproach, sadness and disappointment.

Furious, Aemond turns around and in a burst of anger, throws his hand towards the table, causing the wine jar and the cups to fall to the floor with a deafening clatter. The sudden sound makes you jump and recoil, startled by the noise and force of the act.

He turns his back and heads for the back of his chair, leaning hard against it as he tries to contain his fury. With her breathing rapid and agitated he struggles to regain his composure, his body tensing and closing his eye tightly.

The air becomes tense and the silence uncomfortable, as Aemond fights against himself and you just allow yourself to cry silently.

When he speaks again, with a tinge of bitterness in his gaze, still not turning to look at you and his voice soft but laden with resignation, still holding back his fury.

"I wanted to," he confesses to you, his vulnerability visible, "But my mother and grandsire would never have approved, you know that."

His statement leaves you speechless, with a mixture of sadness and disappointment that he didn't even try, not once and yet...he has the nerve to do this to you.

You remain silent and the disappointment and bitterness reflect even more on your face as the tears run their course, to finally gather your courage and speak.

"Then... let me go," you whisper, it being more of a painful plea than a command.

Silence expands in the room, marking every second with the heaviness of unresolved emotions. And you, overwhelmed with disappointment and pain, understand that you have nothing more to do here and turn to leave.

You don't even care if one of the guards sees you coming out of his chamber, you don't even care if rumors arise seeing you here late at night and everything gets too complicated, you just need to get out of here soon.

And with tears still running down your cheeks and being completely heartbroken, you grab the doorknob. But just as you are about to turn it, his firm and determined hand lands on your waist and turns you towards him, stopping you.

The action takes you by surprise and you look at him without understanding, he doesn't give you time to say anything either as he places one hand on your cheek and the other keeps it firmly on your waist, bringing his body close to yours.

And still without reacting, he moves closer, his warm breath brushing against your face.

"I can't," he murmurs, his voice cracking with anguish, laden with longing and regret, "I can't," he repeats in a whisper, gently caressing your cheek, "I'm sorry."

And just then, without a thought for anyone else and without a care in the world, his lips trap yours in a passionate, desperate kiss.

Paralyzed, surprise takes you completely and you can only feel how every movement of his lips is a mixture of apology and desire, asking you to kiss him back.

His arms wrap firmly around you, clinging to you as if he's going to lose you at any moment. And unable to resist a second longer, with his soft lips and warm mouth on top of yours, he makes the world fade away around you in that instant and you kiss him back.

You place your arms around his neck and cling to him completely, moving your lips in sync with his, as he presses your body against his and lets out a gasp at the wonderful feeling of having you this way with him.

And you feel as if you are floating, this being exactly what you had dreamed and prayed for so much, wishing and praying to the Gods that this is not also one of your cruel dreams.

But this is real. It is finally happening.

So you allow yourself to lose yourself completely in it, not thinking about the consequences and not caring about anything else, as Aemond walks you around without stopping kissing you for a single moment, until his feet touch the edge of his bed.

"I love you. I love you so much, my sweet girl."

He whispers into your lips, watching you with all that love and desire in his gaze, noticing your swollen and parted lips, watching him back with the same intensity and completely surprised to hear his words.

And without saying anything back, with the actions speaking for themselves, you kiss him again, feeling that urge to cry, but of happiness.

Aemond falls down sitting on the edge of his bed and you take a seat on his lap, placing your knees on either side of his hips, clinging to his neck and kissing him slow, deep, making you feel everything.

"I love you too," you murmur against his lips, watching him with nothing but affection and desire.

He kisses you again desperately, feeling something warm in his chest at your words, holding your waist with one of his hands and the other beginning to lift the edges of your skirt, making his way to touch your bare thigh.

You gasp into his lips, feeling his warm hand and the cool metal of his rings, only to tilt your head as he begins to leave soft, wet kisses down your neck, trying to find your sensitive spot to make you shiver.

"You're so beautiful," he murmurs, leaving a kiss on your collarbone, lifting his gaze to you.

"A-aemond," you gasp, feeling the hardness beneath you.

You reach up with one of your hands and remove his eye patch, wanting to see everything about him, instantly reflecting the faint light of his blue sapphire, looking so beautiful and dazzling.

You smile softly at the sight of him, then leave a soft kiss on his cheek, beginning to leave a small trail down his face to kiss him on the lips, as his hand on your thigh makes gentle, firm strokes on your skin.

Slowly, he lifts his hand from your waist to the laces of your dress, watching you attentively afterwards and needing first of all your permission. And you help him untie the knots yourself.

Your front of the dress loosens and revealing your white gown underneath, Aemond lifts one of his hands and gently traces your skin between the valley of your breasts, making you shudder and shiver, then stops at the straps, watching you again.

"May I?"

With the blush on your cheeks and the nerves in your lower abdomen, really wanting to do this, you nod.

"Yes."

His hand slowly slides the strap down your shoulder and arm, then exposes your breasts to him, making you feel more nervous, but you feel completely safe to be doing this with him.

Truly everything that happens next, giving him your mainhead and letting his calloused hands explore all over your naked body, is by choice and you think to yourself that if there is one man you would willingly trust with this, it's him.

And just as the tip of his hot, hard, heavy cock makes its way between your walls, he knows exactly how to comfort you and make you feel comfortable. Instantly blood stains his sheets, but he doesn't care at all.

And when he begins to move inside you, slowly and very carefully, waiting for you to get used to it, he wipes away every tear that escapes your eyes and comforts you with his hands and kisses, making sure that at all times you are well.

"You feel so fucking good, so warm and tight, my love."

And despite his obscene words, his actions are anything but, his movements careful and careful not to hurt you, asking you how you feel.

He kisses you sweetly and caresses your breasts, he makes sure to pleasure you too, as he understands that this is not just about him and the act is not just about fucking, but him making love to you.

He growls into your lips and you gasp as he begins to move with more purpose inside you, feeling the sweat all over your body and forehead, clinging to his shoulders and gently digging your nails into his skin also lightly illuminated by sweat.

"Do you have any idea how long I imagine this?" he whispers against your lips, moving his hips and pounding that sweet spot inside you, making you moan beneath him.

But he quiets your moans with his lips, not wanting anyone out there to hear you, it would be too risky.

"Aemond," you say his name in a moan, biting your lips.

"What's wrong, my sweet girl? Does it hurt?" he says to start moving more gently.

"N-no. It just... feels so good," you manage to say over the sensual movement of his hips that make you see stars behind your eyes.

The act doesn't last long and very soon Aemond makes you reach your highest point, making you experience a sensation you had no idea about all over your body and he also spills all his seed inside you, grunting and moaning from the pleasure as he feels your walls squeezing him deliciously.

And then, both of you sweaty and trying to catch your breath, you embrace and take a moment in his bed.

You feel a tingle between your legs that is more than gratifying and Aemond, for the first time in a long time, feels at peace and completely at ease, especially having you in his arms at this moment.

There was no time for regrets and worries, it was all done. So the two of you dive into that little world where only the two of you exist.

But even though you didn't want to think about it, you think about the future, with uncertainty beginning to invade you, as you inhale Aemond's scent, hiding your face between his neck and chest, embracing him as he encloses you in his arms and gently caresses your bare shoulder with his thumb, listening to his soft breathing above you.

You let out a sigh, close your eyes and wish you could stay like this forever, starting to feel your eyes water and that huge worry in your chest for what you just did.

When Aemond speaks.

"In the morrow I will talk to your father and ask for your hand."

He says in a soft voice and everything in you comes to a complete standstill, listening to him attentively.

"I'm sure he won't be able to resist my proposal. No one will be able to stop us when they know I have claimed your mainhead, not even my mother and grandsire. And then... we will have our Valyrian wedding and there will be no turning back," he murmurs and then places a soft smile on his lips, "You will be mine, as much as you already are now."

You feel him leave a soft kiss in your hair and you smile softly, moving closer towards him, if possible.

"Sounds like an excellent plan, my love," you whisper, grateful.

And finally you can be at peace now.

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