#ray is an open wound in my heart

[chawarin-panich]

Ray's mother, music and the barriers to his heart that Sand must overcome

TW: discussion of suicide This is building upon the shorter meta I wrote here about the Micro song that plays during Ray's suicide scene. The parallels between Ray's arc in falling for Sand and Mew are so overt that I was completely overlooking the person that Sand is really up against in Ray's wounded heart and who, I believe Mew is ultimately a proxy for - his dead mother. I go into a little bit about how Sand's affection for Ray can sometimes read as familial here and I think it's quite readily noticeable how Ray acts very childlike around Sand with his puppy dog eyes and constant wheedling. One thing I do want to note is that Ray doesn't particularly come off as childlike in any of his other interactions either with his friends or in his conversation with P'Yo except for perhaps that first night when he got drunk and told his friends how much he loved them and during the suicide scene when he cries wrapped up in Mew's arms, distraught by how his mother never loved him. I think Ray is the epitome of someone with a deeply wounded inner child and the only way he can ask for love is as a child, somewhat helplessly and appealing to people's caretaker/protective nature. The parent child relationship between Sand and Ray comes up a few times through the episodes. The earliest explicit acknowledgement as far as I can tell is here at the end of episode 2:

There's another explicit nod as to how their dynamic is set up within Sand performing acts of service for Ray in Ep 3:

Sand says he has been Ray's driver, drinking buddy, shrink and chef. Three of those things - driving him around, cooking for him and providing him emotional support are not just familial activities but activities you would normally do for a young child. Sand pointedly leaves out that they've had sex from this list of services. And yes, that's because Sand doesn't view sex as a service and if it was just this then it would be hard to make the point that I'm trying to make which is that Sand needs to fulfill that parental attachment need that Ray craves; give him that type of no strings, unselfish kind of love before he will ever be able to gain Ray's trust enough to be able to build a romantic relationship with him. So how is the show making this point? That Sand is replacing not just Mew but Ray's dead mother in his heart? Well, let's start with the two things that Ray's mother has left him with: 1) music and 2) her alcoholism. Ray's friends were all very surprised when Ray volunteers to arrange the music for the party. While that was more about Ray's lack of interest in taking responsibility (His now in restrospect gut wrenching 'I'm only good for spending money' line from Ep1 like ouch) but it also indicates that none of them really know or connect with Ray over his music. How can they?

Music is such a deeply personal part of him, that's where he keeps the love he holds for his mother; the love that is entirely grief - painful in its vastness, beautiful in its consistency. And the first thing Sand tells him to do is be grateful for it - her good taste in music. The second thing? Is to show him how to enjoy it:

The fact that he's taking his hand and Ray is half resisting it, the silliness of the gesture more than the touch itself but he's undeniably enjoying himself - It reads to me like the awkward, stilted movements of a childperson who doesn't know how to move their limbs when they're first being taught how to do something. And when you realize that the song that Ray plays for Sand in ep2 is the same one that is playing when he's taken the pills - the positive associations that Sand is making with Micro in Ray's life suddenly becomes monumental. This happens twice more in the show. Once, in the car when Sand ditches his date to drive them to Ray's house where they engage in a delightful flirtation around it, Ray singing badly while Sand eats it up complains about it

And again, at the night of the party when Ray tells Sand to play Micro for him and Sand like the simp that he is serenades him with it:

But their connection over music doesn't stop at teaching Ray to cherish and honor his past - and unknowingly the pains that are attached to it. No, Sand goes further to expand it, help Ray find a space for himself in music, carve a corner of it that isn't only pain, isn't only that moment of seeing his mother laid flat on that floor with a whiskey glass inches from her fingers.

When music is such an integral part of Ray's personality how else does one interpret this scene other than Sand telling Ray to move on, when Sand plays Selina and Sirinya for him because finding new music he likes is Sand's happiness how else do I interpret it as anything other than Sand teaching Ray how to be happy? What am I supposed to do but pull out my own hair when they're connecting over music, looking at each other like this:

And Sand will do it AGAIN - as the ep5 preview suggests - take Ray's hand and teach him how to enjoy contemporary music while Ray makes his awkward, adorable face where he's having fun in spite of himself. And the sheer amount of joy that Sand gets in seeing Ray like this is just - they're so insufferable:

But perhaps the most surprising (and delightful!) of all is this:

Ray taking his headphone off, interrupting this magical moment of being with Sand and the music, telling him he wants to be close to nature and drink beer - for the very first time Ray desires alcohol not as a means to destroy himself but as a vehicle of peace and of connection and I haven't been well since seeing it and understanding what it means. In many ways, Ray's mother is such a tragic character. I know nothing of this woman other than the three seconds I have seen of her dead and the frightful way she has driven her son to follow in her footsteps, to feel so unloved and unwanted. And yet she named him Ray Pakorn (pakorn meaning sun) - a ray of sunshine. Perhaps even, her ray of sunshine.

How can I truly believe that she never loved him?

I know Ray tells Mew that she never held him but he loves her so dearly, wants to be with her so desperately, she permeates every moment of his life so thoroughly that the loneliness she left behind isn't a gaping emptiness but the festering carcass of a love so profound and full to bursting that Ray keeps trying to give it away, keeps trying to love his friends, keeps trying to save them and aches in the way that he finds no recipient for it.

People wonder what Sand sees in Ray, why he would fall for him. But Ray is a creature made entirely of love, soft still in the way he lets it rule his life, innocent in the way that he asks for it, precious in the way that he gives it away - How can Sand be anything but desperately in love with him?

#ofts meta #sandray meta #only friends meta #ofts #sandray #only friends the series #ofts ray #ofts sand #nani's hot takes #i spent so long on it please don't let it flop #but also its so long so i dont blame you #but i couldn't help myself #ray is an open wound in my heart #i do nothing but think about him #long post

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

Run Away To Me (II)

AU MASTERLIST || PART III

PAIRING: Blacksmith!Johnny 'Soap' MacTavish x F!Runaway Bride!Reader

WORDCOUNT: 4.5k

WARNINGS: Blood, wounds, medieval period-esc standards for women, arranged marriage, toxic family dynamic/relationship, intentional harm (in the recent past), blood, angst, protective Johnny, hurt/comfort, pining, speedy relationship, etc.

A/N: Johnny sweaty and working the forge...that is all.

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

You groggily awoke to the steady sound of a hammer meeting metal and the scent of eggs. Warm bread makes your mouth water. Eyelids peeling back, your lashes flutter in even intervals as you groan in the back of your throat, content and unbothered in this soft bed of fur and cotton. For a moment you had forgotten everything that had transpired—the run and the rain slamming into your scalp.

Had it all been some dark dream? A trick? 

“Ow!” You hiss, hand darting out from the plush covers as a sharp pain darts through it. Your eyes blink on the bloody bandages, white now completely bled through with fresh crimson. 

Everything comes rushing back in a lightning-strike moment of realization. 

Quickly sitting up, your face moves all over the sun-lit room, rays of light leaking in through the opened shutters; past the glass of the windows, the nearly violent green of the near forest line meets your wide gaze. A small sound exits your throat, fingers sliding through the bear fur that had been once pulled up to your ears as you gather your senses. 

Johnny. The blacksmith.

Your eyes lock onto the small table across the room. 

As the hammering outside continues to ring in your eardrums, you tilt your head at the items sitting atop—slipping off the bed you go to tidy the fur but pause in your curiosity. A patch of blood from your wound stains the sheets and you slow at the sight, the air leaving your lungs.

“Oh,” you swallow down your slight nervousness, heart jumping for a moment as you bite your lip. 

You would have to tell Mr. MacTavsish—your brows furrow. 

Not Mr. MacTavish, he asked me to call him Johnny. A strange thing, now that you thought about it as you slowly back away and go to the table, gut rumbling at the sight of fresh eggs on bread. There was also a parcel covered in cloth sitting on the chair. 

Carefully tiptoeing, you grab the plate with a delicate hand, picking it up as you lick your lips. Had the man…made you breakfast? 

“What reality have I slipped into?” Your lips whisper, Johnny’s clothes hanging off of you heavily. Not only food but milk had been poured into a carved cup as well, and utensils placed on the table with care. Fork and knife on the right, spoon on the left; all forged and tempered. 

It was sweet, perhaps. Kind. 

You eat standing, bare feet taking you around the homestead as you listen to the blacksmith work outside. Your hands take up carved knick-knacks of animals, twirling them in a hand as you lick your lips before placing them back with all the care of a priceless possession. Chuckling at the poorly wooden face of a deer, you bring the last bits of food to your lips as you pass the window. 

Sucking in a swift breath, your body freezes. 

Perhaps it was the sudden freedom of your situation or even the want of true, honest, companionship, but you had suddenly never seen someone look as good as kind Johnny MacTavish as he worked his forge. 

The earth was still layered in dew and mist, the distance between the main home and the small hut that was holding anvil, tongs, the flame of the furnace itself, and a great number of hammers. One of which was being wielded with firm efficiency by the sweat-stained hands of Johnny—being brought down again and again to the molten form of what would be a fine sword. 

Clothed in a rolled-back white tunic, like the one from yesterday, and brown breaches, there was a leather apron tied ‘round his waist cinched tight. Lips parting, you watch with a guilty conscious for the frailness of your resolve; gaping at the sight. 

Johnny works like the dead might rise, not faltering or slowing in the abuse of the metal—twisting the rough shape of the blade and flipping it with one hand while the other hammers. How he doesn’t overheat you’d never know; letting out a slow breath as the sweat slips down his strong jaw and drips from his chin, mouth open with a far-off pant of air. 

Electricity of the same breed as last night sizzles down your spine like a finger caressing the knobs of bone, hairs standing on end as you quickly clear your throat against the burn of your face. You shift your body away, fearfully aware of the scent of Johnny’s clothes and the very bed you had slept in last night. 

“My parents will never allow me back into their home,” you utter, picking at your bandages. “I shall never even be seen in the very air near them.” 

But the true question was whether or not that was a good thing. While this freedom of yours was what you wanted, you were a woman of relative standing—having no family, no husband, and no money to your name was not ideal. In fact, it could very well be the death of you. 

You stand and lightly lick your fingers of crumbs. “At the very least,” the wood under your feet is warm from an only recently dead hearth, “this Blacksmith is quite good with meals. Such a peculiar man, hm?”

Smiling to yourself, you chuckle and push back the heat in your blood; this odd attraction to a working man. So different from Lord Wilkin. 

Not wanting to sink back into that hole quite yet, you remember Johnny’s hands slipping over yours as you take a final glance back out the window before heading back over to the table. Cobalt eyes meet yours in an instant of wide shyness through the glass. 

Staring at each other, the Blacksmith's legs shift from where they dig into the packed ground, large biceps tight as they hold the hammer and the dulling metal. 

Blinking quickly, you feel your heart skip beats at the soft contact. 

Smiling awkwardly, you raise the empty plate in display, chuckling as a wide, pleased, grin builds on Johnny’s face. He mocks a small bow, hammer going across his abdomen as his dirty cheeks peel back at his glee—you see his chest move with a deep laugh. Like the scent of lavender in your nose, you can call the sound of it to your ears as if he was in the house all this time. 

Quickly skittering away, you feel giddy, placing down your plate and taking a sip of milk before looking at the parcel. While your mind may be mingling with the blacksmith and the sweat of his body, curiosity was getting to you. And, mayhaps, a shyness at being caught.

It was covered in dark cloth, and when you touch it, the fabric immediately reminds you of a cloak—an expensive and finely spun wool dyed green. Lips parting, your hands pick it up and place it on the table; turning it over as you pull at the twine tie. 

Your heart seems to grow like a flower, the pedals opening and the stem becoming strong with a rush of admiration. 

“When did you do this, Blacksmith?” Your voice hits off the walls in a breathy gasp as the hammering picks back up outside. 

Smiling delicately, you pick up the fine linen of a chemise and the paired kirtle dyed deep blue. It wasn’t the most extravagant thing you’d worn by a long shot but as you step back and size it to your body, you decide that it was the most meaningful. 

When had he gotten up to ride into town and buy this for you? How much did it cost? 

How could this blacksmith be as chivalrous as a Knight? Not wanting you to be forced to wear his own clothes in a way unflattering to your status even if you didn’t truly care about all of that.

You had no answer, body vibrating with warmth as you slipped out of Johnny’s sleep clothes and slid the gifted items over your skin. They were slightly oversized for ease of the man’s mind, not knowing your measurements. With a small bronze clip, you situate the cloak before the boots at the door add to the already bursting emotions in your veins. 

Tears burned the back of your eyes, putting your fingers to your lips to hide the shaky inhale. All of this care after such horror was nearly unthinkable; by a complete stranger no less. 

Your own family had never been so generous. 

Taking up your now empty cup, you look to the water basin and let your ears twitch to the sound of physical labor; thinking, wanting to give even just a sliver of thanks back for this debt. As you lace your new boots, leather, you keep the memory of his calloused hands in the front of your skull with honied sanctity. 

You fill the cup and that’s that.

Cheeks heating, you bring the water with you as you exit the home, breathing down the scent of rain and pulling your cloak tighter to your neck at the slight chill. Closing the door, you make your way to Johnny who continues to work away, now a small distance from the anvil and setting the iron back into the fire to heat. 

His large back flexes and rolls with the movement.

“I hope I’m not interrupting,” the cup stays steady in your two hands as you see Johnny’s muscles momentarily tense, blue eyes turning to look over his shoulders. There’s a moment where something swirls in his eyes as he stares down at your new clothes, standing up to his full height quickly. You blink. “...I’m sorry, but besides an offer of fresh water I’m unable to repay you for the gifts.”

“Ah,” Johnny clears his throat, looking back to his forge before turning back to you with a bashful look. “Please, none of that. I needed to go off and grab more grain for my horse, see.” He chuckles. “But I’m glad they fit, Dearie, was a bit worried I’d asked the wrong size.” 

“They’re perfect,” you shake your head. “It was…far more than I deserve.” 

Brows furrow. For such a presence, he slips the cup out of your hands with more care than your husband-to-be had ever thought to handle you, nodding a deep thank you.

“Now why would you say something like that?” Your head tilts, lips thinning. You suppose it was right to make good on the deal you’d struck last night. 

Johnny takes a sip from the cup, waiting for your answer as one hand hangs from the neck of his apron, fast lungs steadily slowing. As you frown and gather your thoughts, you don’t notice his eyes narrowing, concerned. 

“Well, anyways,” he clears his throat, itching at his stubble to change the subject as you startle back to reality before you can form a sentence. “I suppose I’d better take a look at that cut of yours, then, eh? Wouldn’t want it to get infected, do we?” 

“That’s not…” He has already darted to a small chest in the corner of the open hut, cup placed on the anvil top before he opens the thing with a scratch of rusty hinges. “...necessary.” 

The blacksmith laughs, taking out fresh badges. 

“I don’t think gettin’ bedridden is in your plans, now is it? C’mon…I’ll be gentle.” Johnny winks with a smirk and your pulse flares; stuttering as he grasps your elbow—leading you out of the forge and to a small break in the trees. 

A stump and a dead firepit take form, and you’re plopped down to the wood with a small huff, a stiff look sent to the man who only smiles and raises an eyebrow. 

“Is my kindness wearin’ ya down, Little Lady?” 

“You’ll make me lose my head and I’ve only known you for, at most,” you emphasize as he kneels down and takes your bloody hand, “half a day.”

“Being generous,” Johnny hums, unwrapping your hand and once again looking you over. Bloody, but still alright. His fingers move to pick up dew from the grass and wipe away some of the crimson pigment as if an artist. “When one goes and nearly makes a man’s house crumble from the force of ‘er fists, it’s only customary for him to respect her.” Blue eyes gaze up to you and twinkle. “I’m just savin’ my own hide.” 

“How honorable,” you shake your head and turn to hide the full-face grin, moments later laughs slip your tongue. “They weren’t that loud,” your vise insists, “...were they?”

“Thought the world was ending,” Johnny says it was a fake expression of seriousness, re-wrapping your hand in clean cloth. “Damn near got to my knees and prayed.” 

You find great amusement in that, placing a hand over your mouth as your spine shakes with loud laughs. The scene is similar to the one from last night—the blacksmith offering jokes and merriment to get you to laugh. It's as if every time he succeeds he smiles just a smidge wider. Realizing this, you feel your lips twitch and you look away, embarrassed.

“...I promised you answers, did I not?” You decide to ask, deciding that getting this over soon was the best course of action; also the more courteous one. After so much giving, you had to share at least the reason for all of this. “I’m sorry.” Johnny frowns at you, tying another loose knot atop your palm before sitting back on the ground. 

On his bent knee, he rests his arm, hanging off loosely, while the other hand rests behind his back as a way to keep him upward. With all of this, with him, you'd entirely forgotten to mention the stained sheets. 

“There’s no need to apologize to me, Dearie, I won’t do anythin’. I promised you,” he smiles, “remember?” You blink softly at his strong face, those eyes studying you as your hands rest in your lap; curled over each other. 

“There’ll be no harm comin’ to ya as long as you stay under my roof.” 

Johnny huffs a chuckle, shaking his head. “Take your time, eh? I won’t be needin’ to travel back into town again until late evening.” Your hands curl slightly tighter, touched. 

The blacksmith watches you as you gather your thoughts, your face going stiff and new boots shuffling over the grass. Blue slides to your hand and his lips turn down. 

He’d be lying if he didn’t say he’d been up most of the night and working before the sun had risen—mind occupied by the woman that had been in his bed and the little information he had. Obviously, Lord Wilkin was looking for you; adamantly. 

Relentlessly. 

When he’d been in town there had been guards everywhere, checking every shop and house like beasts of metal and sharp words. You were the Lord’s bride, of course. As the tailor had asked him, a bit dejected, if he’d taken a wife as he’d bought you your chemise and kirtle, the woman had mentioned the wedding. 

“Little thing darted off during the Handfasting ceremony, I ‘erd. The Lord had only just put the knife to her palm before she yelled and fled. Oh, ya should have seen it, Mr. MacTavish. Like a bat from Hell, Lord help me. He’ll not stop till he’s found ‘er.”

Johnny’s stomach rolls, abdomen tightening as he shifts to release tension. Along the ground, his hand momentarily clenches. You hum under your breath, whispering out an easy, “Are we sure we should be outside for this?”

The man blinks in confusion. 

“Well, would…you prefer being inside?” You look nervous, fingers flinching over themselves and Johnny sits up straighter, letting his large hand carefully grasp your knee. Your innocently wide eyes lock with his own. He offers a comforting look. “It’s no difference to me—you decide. Whichever’s easier, eh?”

“It’s just,” you begin, the skin below your kirtle burning you in the best possible way. What was happening to you? “Well…My family rarely let me out.” Johnny’s body stills to a near stone carving. “Said I was to stay inside. I suppose I’m not overly used to it, you see.” 

It’s not impossible to understand the role that was placed on you. Arranged marriage, sold off to be a housewife for a large dowry paid up by the Lord. You’d been brought up to be tossed away at a moment's notice. The blacksmith’s jaw tightens, bone sharp through the flesh. 

“...Well,” his voice is a bit ragged—scratchy. You listen with nervousness in your chest, a slow infection of unease. “I’m not your family, am I? It’ll be good to get some sun, I think—let’s stay here for a little longer and then we can go back in when you’re ready. There’s no rush to things.” 

Letting you calm down, his thumb rubs a small circle before he pulls it away, perhaps realizing what he was doing before clearing his throat, cheeks alight. 

A small breeze pushes through the pines, a wind filled with the scent of fire and earth—dirt and dew. It was peaceful here, among the old spirits and the hidden trails. So different in the light than it was in the pouring rain. 

“I imagine you knew about the wedding?” You sigh, staring at your lap. “Lord Wilkin?” 

“Aye,” Johnny nods, speaking quietly. He doesn’t want to force you. “I did.”

“I was placed into the marriage two months ago by my parents, an agreement of land and money was traded for my hand.” Watching, the man’s eyes go sad, lids tilting. He stops the grunt in the back of his throat as you continue. “I had resigned myself to it, truly. Being of enough standing all I was needed for was marriage—”

“That’s utter shite.” Johnny growls, angry at the sentence. “They would just toss you away like that? To a bastard ten times your age?” 

You stare, brows tight. “I…I’m a daughter, am I not?” 

Johnny’s jaw goes slack, eyes sharp with horror as his gaze looks deeply into your vision, biceps tense with cooling sweat and dirt. Such a sight it was, two beings as different as a mountain and a valley; so near but starkly contrasted in the harsh strength of rock and the gentle sway of grassy low-land. Bears and deer, barn swallows that sit on rafters and golden eagles that soar tempests. 

The dark-haired man could never imagine raising a girl for nothing else than to be a man’s property—to sell as if a good and nothing more. Johnny turns his head away before he snaps at nothing, a low sound trapped in his chest. You never had a single choice.

Confused by his approach to this, you watch the side of his face as the man’s expression of anger slowly shifts back to a hidden seriousness. Eyes dark and his hand tightened into a fist. 

“I’m sorry, Dearie. Didn’t mean to interrupt.” Johnny blinks, shaking his head. “Hope I didn’t scare ya.”

“No,” you motion a hand. “No, not at all.” 

“Good.” He sighs, rubbing at the back of his head. “Ah, please, keep going. I’ll be quiet as a mouse, promise.” You smile tinily. 

“At the wedding, when it was near the end, they brought out the cloth and the knife for the Handfasting ceremony,” Johnny leans forward, and you look down at him on the ground. He lent a sort of silent vigor, you think to yourself. A comfort. “He dragged it along my skin and then he gripped my hand and forced the base of my palm harder into it.” 

Your words get smaller and hushed, flexing your damaged hand. “...I think…that he wanted it to leave a scar. I bolted off before they could tie the cloth.” 

Johnny stands and brings you into a hug, a hand coming to the back of your head and pressing your skull gently to his chest. 

“Steamin’ bloody Jesus.” He breathes, and you slowly wind your own hands around his waist; melting into him without even knowing it. Johnny’s scent encompasses you like a blanket, and your very bones seem to sprout flowers from the marrow as your eyes get watery, held in such a way that most people only dream about. 

When the first silent tears fall he doesn’t make a big deal out of it—only holds you more firm and sighs into your scalp. 

“I don’t know what to do,” you whisper, honest and truthful. Could you run? Go to another fiefdom? How far would you even be able to make it? No food, no horse, no supplies. 

You’d be found out in no time. 

Johnny moves back, tilting his head down to you and grasping your face with a single hand. “We’ll figure it out, Little Lady. By my word, I’ll do what I can to make sure you’ll never go back to that bastard of a Lord again.” A hard thumb pushes back your tears and blue eyes soften on you. “Can you trust me?” 

Can and not do. 

Even the simple alleviation of pressure from a word makes you care for this man even more than you should. The simmering attraction to not only his appearance but his steadfast heart; indomitable morals. 

“You, Johnny?” You sniffle, a grin twitching your lips up as the blacksmith’s face goes hot. “Yes, I can trust you.” Actions enough from last night had proven that. 

Johnny huffs and lets the blush on his face spread along his neck, suddenly unable to look you in the eyes for too long before he has to clear his throat and gaze to the side. Not knowing what overtakes you, you lightly press your lips to his cheek—feeling the heat and the slight gasp that escapes his lips. 

You giggle as he grunts a thanks, awkwardly shuffling on his feet as you both continue to hold one another. His grip travels down to your back as he raises a brow, trying to push past his beginning stutter as he speaks. “I’d tell ya that if you do that again, I might just have a fainting spell, Miss.”

“A fainting spell,” you tease, “from a kiss, Blacksmith?” 

“Aye—especially if it’s from such a Bonnie woman like you, see.” You both laugh, faces burning up, as serious topics and tears fade into the past. 

As you had said, where any other man would have been different, Johnny Mactavish had proven himself to be right and true. Even if you’d been impossibly tired last night, the small sliver of fear had still remained that something might happen to you here; in the presence of one man in the middle of the woods. No such fear remains. 

Like a great Lord of old, Johnny had offered sanctuary from a man of cruel and horrible intentions. But perhaps he’d offered far more than that, with how he’s staring at you. 

Your laughs steadily die down to a pulsing silence, hands around one another and faces only a few inches away. It’s bizarre how fast this had happened—these feelings brimming in the cup of your heart. A bowl overflowing with care and affection; of something else that cannot be named for fear it’s only a simple infatuation. A twin flame of red-hot fire that could rival Johnny’s forge. 

“I…don’t want to overstep,” the man says, and your eyes are drawn to his lips as they move—a small scar you’d yet to notice living on his chin, a stain of lighter flesh. You swallow stiffly and dart your gaze back to his as you feel his heart pounding in his ribcage. It wasn’t a mystery to wonder if your own is doing the same. “Y’should tell me to stop, Dearie.”

“To stop what,” you pull the words from the depths of your throat. “What are you planning on doing, Johnny?” He shivers as you say his name as if put under a spell. 

“Are you sure you’re not a witch, now?” You stifle a confused laugh, furrowing your brows with amusement.

“What?” 

“One half-day is all it took for you to chain me to your will,” he grasps the bottom of your chin and angles your head up; you go willingly. His eyes search yours for any hesitation or flighty emotions. All he finds is wide awe. “Most would call that witchery, Little Lady.”

“Then it seems your will is easily broken, Blacksmith.”

“Perhaps it is,” Johnny smirks, his breath puffing out along your parted lips. Your body vibrates with anticipation of what was to come, hearing his voice lower to a deep rasp. “Haven’t ya heard…? Blacksmiths have a weakness for runaway brides.” 

“Is that so? I’ve never heard of such a thing.” 

“Suppose I’ll just have to show you.” His lips are firm and his body runs hot. 

Eyes fluttering shut, you sigh into him as his hands dig into your gifted cloak, meeting him with every pass. Low purrs of satisfaction echo from his chest and make you shiver, nose pressing into his lower cheek. Playfully, his teeth nip at your flesh and you gasp; eyes pulling back to stare half-lidded as blue sparks with mischief. 

You should stop this—but you were starved for honest affection. Companionship, even. Johnny by far wasn’t the worst to throw your lott in with and he might just be the best possible to fill that role. Life in this era is fast and harsh; it’s unfair. You had to make quick decisions without thinking of the possible consequences. 

So as you blink up at the man who watches you closely, you place your fingers on the side of his face and tilt his lips back to yours with a small smile. His hand at the curve of your spine twitches, sliding along the cloak in minute increments as Johnny’s heart hammers like his tools. 

It’s as if the forge was still around the two of you—air hot and the feeling sticking to your skin like a brand of sin and forbidden magnetism. He shouldn’t have kissed you, but the hypnosis of the hammer was in his head; its rhythm and striking slam. You drew him in as the anvil does the iron. 

In this moment of contentment, there is a fast sound of something in the air, something that rattles the two of you out of your tender embrace to gaze with contorted faces through the thin line of trees. Panting and open.

Through the foliage back to the homestead is the rapid movement of hooves and the baying of hounds. 

It strikes you like a knife, eyelids moving far back as Johnny’s head snaps to the noise with something growing in the back of his expression. Calls; shouts. You know who it is, who’s found you out. You’d never heard it until it was too late.

“Johnny,” your voice says, fearful with wild eyes. 

“Stay behind me,” he says, monotone with red lips. Shadows of horses and guards are near the house. You stare up at him in shock. A kiss is pressed to your forehead. “Nothin’ll happen to you.” His eyes dig past layers. 

There was no running from this. 

“Okay,” you whisper.

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@luuvbuzz, @emerald-valkyrie, @anna-banana27, @blueoorchid, @cryingnotcrying, @writeforfandoms, @homicidal-slvt, @jade-jax, @frazie99, @elmoees, @littlemisstrouble, @alpineswinter, @phoenixhalliwell, @idocarealot, @lavalleon, @facelessmemories, @h-leigh, @20forty9, @glitter-anon-asks, @emily-who-killed-a-man, @neelehksttr, @aeneanc, @escapefromrealitysm, @i-d-1-0-t, @pparcxysm, @hawkscanendme, @caramlizedtomatos, @konigsleftkidney, @sanfransolomitatm, @maelstrom007, @jemandderkeinenusernamenfindet, @pheobees, @glitterypirateduck, @uselsshuman, @fan-of-encouragement, @halfmoth-halfman, @ghostlythunderbird, @I-inkage, @pukbadger, @kopatych11, @0nceinabluem00n, @cocrorapop, @knightofsexyness, @abnormalgeil, @smallseastone, @jacegons, @330bpm-whiplash, @simon-rileys-housewife, @4-atsu, @tiredmetalenthusiast

#cod #cod x reader #cod x you #cod mw22 #call of duty #mw2 #mw2 2022 #x female reader #call of duty mw2 #call of duty mwii #call of duty x you #call of duty x reader #call of duty modern warfare #john soap mactavish #cod mw2 #cod mwii #johnny mactavish #johnny soap mactavish #johnny soap mctavish x reader #mw2 soap #soap mw2 #soap cod #soap mactavish x reader #soap x reader #soap x you #john mactavish x reader #johhny soap mactavish #mw2 x reader #mw2 fanfic #cod x female reader

[rollingsins]

In the name of Taylor Swift

summary: You have to break up with Vada. In the name of Taylor Swift.

pairing: vada cavell x fem!reader

warnings: pure fluff.

word count: 900 words.

a/n: maybe one of the dumber things I've written, but I was in a fluffy mood for bbg Vada. Inspired by tiktok.

“Baby,” You huff dramatically as Vada walks through the door to your bedroom, “I’m glad you’re here. We have to break up.” 

Vada halts. She blinks, her brown eyes widening as her entire face falls. Her hands fall limp by her sides. She’d arrived, not two minutes ago, while you were toiling in bed, thinking seriously. Clutching a twelve inch record in your hands and deciding some things just had to be done. 

“What?” She asks, sounding crestfallen, “But I got you flowers.”

She gestures to the stack of lilies she has in hand. She looks wounded, confused, hurt. Like a little puppy you’ve just kicked in the face. 

Immediately, you sit up, heart falling. 

“No, babe,” You retract, reaching out to her. She blinks back at you, eyes as wide as chocolate buttons, “I wasn’t being serious.  Not a real breakup. A fake breakup. A fake-up.” 

Now, she’s confused. Her eyebrows knit together as you watch as she tries to work it out. 

“A fakeup?” She repeats, blinking slowly, “Why?” 

You tilt your head back to reveal your latest purchase. A shiny, purple vinyl of Taylor Swift’s latest record. 

“Taylor Swift just released an album and I need to experience it in full.” You say, quite seriously. You are serious when it comes to Taylor Swift. You’d thought Vada would know this by now. 

Vada stares. 

Your lips purse into a coo as you pry the lilies from her hand. 

“You got me flowers?” You say, rubbing your hand over her cheek, “That’s so sweet.” 

She smiles, a little shy. 

“Yeah. The lilies you like.” She says, and then she frowns again, “But I’m confused. Why does Taylor Swift mean we have to fake break up?”

“Because I need to be sad, babe,” You explain as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world, “I need to feel pain the way she felt pain when she wrote these songs.”

“Doesn’t she have a nice song?” Vada asks, a little dubious. 

“No,” You say immediately, “I mean, yes, but I’m saving those ones for when we get back together.” 

“But we’re not apart.” Says Vada, still confused. 

You can’t resist. You lean down and press a kiss to the pout on her lips. 

“We are as of now.” You tell her. You exhale, close your eyes and try to think of Vada breaking up with you. A sharp pain flashes through your chest. You imagine her looking mournful as she does it. Stuttering over her words. Looking almost embarrassed as she tells you she never wants to see you again. 

It works, for a split second.

And then you open your eyes. 

She’s staring back at you, looking sweet as ever. Tilts her head like a confused puppy. 

“Say something mean,” You prompt.

She frowns. 

“No,” She says, “I don’t want to.”

“Babe,” You groan, “I need you to make me sad.” 

“I don’t want to make you sad,” She says. She leans into you and wraps her arms around your waist, snuggling into your chest, “I want you to be happy all the time.” 

You groan. In all your grand-scheming plans, you’d forgotten you were dating a literal ray of sunshine. A golden retriever of a girlfriend who’d never gotten mad at you, or said nasty things about you, or even had a bad thought about you in her life. 

But you need this. 

“Please?” You ask, smoothing down her dark hair to look into her eyes, “For me?” 

Vada frowns. She’d do anything you ask, this you know. And it's hardly a big ask. All she’d have to do is tell you she never wants to see you again and you’d cry and listen to ‘Last Kiss’ and pretend as if your entire world is crumbling. 

And then have vigorous make-up sex to ‘Sparks Fly’. A win-win, truly. A rollercoaster of emotions.  

You squeeze her shoulders in encouragement. 

“Okay,” Vada says, sounding resigned. Her eyebrows knit like she’s thinking hard, “I… don’t like your shoes.” 

At this, you snort. 

“You don’t like my shoes?” You ask, “That’s the meanest thing you could think of?” 

She looks up at you, pout still on her lips. 

“Yeah,” She says. She curls back into your chest, “Because you’re perfect and there’s nothing mean to say about you.”

She pauses. 

“And I actually do like your shoes,” She mumbles into your chest, “I’d steal them if we were the same size.” 

You sigh, wrapping your arm around her shoulders and lean down to kiss her head. 

“How am I supposed to listen to the album when you’re being so sweet?” You grumble. 

“We could listen to the nice songs together?” Vada pitches with a happy smile. And then her lips curl into a coy smile, “And then we could listen to the naughty songs and make out.” 

“There’s no naughty songs, babe, it’s Taylor Swift.” You say with a laugh. 

“Oh,” She looks a little disappointed, “Well, maybe we could make out to the sad songs and pretend like we just got back together?” 

You hum. 

Making out with Vada does sound a lot better than fake breaking up with her. She emphasizes her point with a kiss to your chest. 

“Fine.” You relent, leaning down to press your lips to hers. 

She sighs, happily, curling her hand against the back of your neck to pull you closer. 

“I hope you can rest easy knowing I’ll never experience the blood-curling pain Taylor Swift felt writing ‘Dear John’.” You grumble against her lips. 

She pulls back, a smile on her lips, “Good,” She says, “And you never will. I promise.”

#mine #fanfic #the fallout #vada cavell #vada cavell x femreader #vada cavell x you #vada cavell x reader #jenna ortega #jenna ortega x yn #jenna ortega x you #jenna ortega x reader

[starlessea2]

The Dawn Watch (Astarion)

Pairing: Astarion x Reader [Baldur's Gate 3]

Summary: As dawn breaks the morning after the tiefling party, you find a vampire basking in the sun. In the daylight, all of his pretty words start to unravel. (Act 1 spoilers).

A/N After a week of feverishly playing (and completing) BG3, here's my first Astarion writing. Part 1/3 of a WIP mini-series called the Sunlight Chronicles.

Masterlist

Sunlight was warm on your eyes. It coaxed them open and made you blink: once hard, twice fast. Your lids were heavy, yet you could hardly remember closing them in the first place. Neither could you recall dozing off in a pile of leaves. 

As you pressed yourself into the ground, the forest floor rustled beneath you. A cacophony of dried foliage and bark, made somewhat comfortable by the mossy overgrowth. It took you a moment to understand your surroundings.

The tiefling party had bustled on into the early hours. It was the first reprieve you’d allowed yourself since being plucked from Baldur’s Gate and thrust into this new adventure. But, perhaps you had overindulged… 

There was a fire in your belly still, laden with mead and lingerings of lust, and it had led you here: stark-naked and alone on the outskirts of camp. 

A chuckle sounded behind you. “I was starting to wonder whether I’d drank you dry.”

You sprung up to your elbows. Not alone, you suddenly remembered.

Your head whipped around, settling on the figure bathed in the light of the low sun. “But alas, you were just making good on that beauty sleep. Morning, pet.” 

Rubbing the bleariness from your eyes, you found Astarion. He was radiant. Rays of dawn had snuck through the trees, dappling between branches onto his pale skin. And his hair... Caught in that glow, it looked like leftover starlight. 

The only thing letting him down was his smile. It was utterly charming, as always. But it was more obvious in the daytime; that smile was well-practised.

“Umm, good morning,” you eventually croaked back.

Your eyes locked with Astarion's, too nervous to wander over his body. He noticed, of course, and so he paced before you—a small strut, hands on his hips to invite your appraisal.

You looked away. Even in the warmth of the sun, you could feel the man’s contribution to your cheeks. It incited a laugh from him. 

“Oh now don’t pretend to be coy, my sweet,” he said. “Not when there was hardly any of that last night.”

You turned your head; any liquid courage you’d gotten from the party had long since worn off. But now sober, Astarion made your heart ache. His falsity was clear as day. He uttered the words you so desperately wanted to hear, but delivered them on the back of a deceitful voice. 

A sigh escaped you; perhaps the only time he hadn’t lied was when he’d called you naive. 

Awaiting your reply, Astarion became indignant. "What?" he asked. "Disappointed at the lack of morning cuddle? If you ask nicely, perhaps I’ll come back to join—”

"No," you said. "I just..." His eyes watched your every move, red and calculating. You took a moment to collect yourself. "I'm surprised that you stayed at all," you admitted. "Didn't take you for the type." 

His hand fell over his chest. "Oh, how you wound me! I try to do the gentlemanly thing, and yet you accuse me and look at me like that."

You cocked a brow. "Like what?"

Astarion let out an exasperated sigh. "Let’s just say it’s easier to know what you're thinking when your eyes are shut.” He made a face, mortifyingly reminiscent of one you’d likely pulled the night before, and your mouth fell ajar.

If you’d been wearing shoes, you would have hurled one at him. But embarassed and barefoot, you instead dug your palms into the soil, more than ready to depart.

Astarion was roused into action. "Oh come on, my dear," he said softly. He sunk to the floor beside you, coaxing you to stay. "All in good fun."

You deliberated for a moment, watching him in your peripheral. There was a smile on his face but it didn't quite reach his eyes. Somewhere in the depths of your mind, a pang of hurt made itself known. You quickly squashed it down, hoping Astarion had not noticed it in his.

Whatever feelings had bubbled over last night were absent this morning, you could just tell. Perhaps he no longer found you interesting now that he'd conquered you. Maybe he'd pursued you just to break your heart, or gods forbid, he'd been put off after sleeping with you—

“It’s just so warm.”

The words left Astarion, quiet as a whisper. But then his eyes widened and his lips formed a taut line—as though they'd never intended to let anything escape at all.

"What?" you started. But with one small glance at the man, you realised; he was talking about the sun.

For a moment, you watched him, basking in the glow like there was no place he'd rather be. You hummed in agreement. “I guess it’s something we all take for granted here.” 

He nodded. It became obvious then; he hadn’t stayed for you, but for the sunrise.  

“Astarion, I–”

He snapped his head. The look in his eyes cautioned you—told you the two of you weren’t that close. But something behind that almost dared you to try.

Against your better judgement, you proceeded. “You might have already guessed, but I’m no early riser." A chuckle instinctively followed. “I know Lae’zel told us not to question the shifts she allocated, but..." you paused, "who wants to take watch at the crack of dawn? Certainly not me.”

It was silent for a moment—save for the soft lilting of birds and the occasional breeze. Yet even then, the morning dawned so quiet that your breaths felt loud.

It took a few seconds for Astarion to reanimate, but when he did, it was with a smile. “Oh, my dear... If you’re struggling that badly, you could’ve just said." He sat up, readjusting to meet you straight on. “It’s not a bother swapping with you—if the night shift is more to your taste.”

Your heart felt warm. Truthfully, you liked the dawn watch, but you had a feeling it would be better appreciated by him. “That would be wonderful, thank you."

You had an inkling that Astarion recognised your ploy, but but if did, he wasn’t making a show of it. His hand wove its way into yours, and pressed it into forest bed. “My pleasure," he said. Then he leaned forward with a grin.

You anticipated a kiss, but he stopped before your neck, tracing the bloody bruise he'd bestowed with his lips—worrying last night's sore between his teeth. “It's the least I can do...”

As he mumbled against your skin, a shiver sparked through your shared connection.

“I’ll be more gentle next time." His breath fanned hot over your ear. “Both ways.”

You let out a gasp. "It's okay, we don’t have to—” The words ejected from you, all flustered and not at all how you pictured them.

Astarion offered a smirk in return, but it was accompanied by an expression you now recognised.

He thought you naive.

“Precious,” he said beneath his breath, before returning your crumpled dress to you. “Now come. We best not keep the others waiting.”

And so you followed his lead and quickly dressed: smoothing your hair and attempting to rid your cheeks of their flush.

If anyone asked, you'd say you were sun-kissed.

#astarion #astarion x reader #bg3 #astarion x tav #astarion x mc #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 fanfic #astarion fanfic #astarion romance #baldur's gate 3 fanfic #astarion fanfiction #astarion x you #bg3 fanfiction #fanfic #fanfiction #dnd

[highladyandromeda]

Shadows of the Heart

Part 2

Azriel x Fem!Reader

Summary: After years apart, Y/n returns to Velaris, bearing the weight of sacrifice and secrets from her past. Reunited with Rhysand and his Inner Circle, she navigates the complexities of rekindled friendships and unresolved tensions. 

WC: 1.7k

Warnings: mentions of blood, but nothing particularly graphic

[Prologue], [Part 1]

Another four days passed, a week having finished as Y/n continued to sleep. Madja checked in multiple times a day, but she didn’t find any other problems. 

“Apart from her loss of blood, her body’s naturally healing itself. And it even seems as though once Mor recovered, her magic was able to repair her wounds.”

Azriel observed how the deep cuts on her arm and leg closed to form thin raised scars, marveling at the process, and pushing back the discomfort of seeing her skin marred. 

“So why isn’t she awakening?” Rhys broached, having left his place by her bedside, only to convert the room next door into a temporary office, checking in every hour according to his shadows. 

“It’s most likely exhaustion.” Madja contemplated before continuing, “We’re still not sure of the magic she used to teleport herself and Morrigan here, but it was enough to take a toll on her body. Time is most likely what she required the most.”

Azriel nodded along, the images of the blood circle ingrained in his mind. The crimson runes were still left on the balcony, no one had the heart to ask the house or the stomach really, to wash them off. Rhys hadn’t said a word about it either, perhaps afraid that touching it could somehow affect Y/n’s recovery. 

On the dawn of the fifteenth day, as the first rays of sunlight spilled into the room, bathing it in a warm, golden hue, something shifted. Azriel, who had taken to keeping watch that morning, noticed the change first. The steady rhythm of Y/n's breathing altered and became deeper, more purposeful. Her fingers twitched and as Azriel crept closer, he could see her eyelashes flutter. 

Then, in a moment that seemed to suspend time itself, Y/n's eyes opened. The vividness of her gaze, a striking contrast to the pallor that had claimed her features for days, searched the room, disoriented yet aware.

As if sensing the shift in the air, Rhys appeared at the doorway, his presence commanding yet wreathed in silent anticipation. Feyre was close behind him, with Madja appearing along her side. Y/n’s gaze, clear yet clouded with confusion, swept across the room before settling on Rhys with a dawning recognition.

Rhys stepped forward, his voice a gentle anchor in the sea of confusion that likely swirled within her. "Y/n, you're safe. You're in the House of Wind, in Velaris."

"Rhys..." her voice was a whisper, fragile as the morning light, but it carried the weight of countless unspoken words. Azriel felt his shadows quiver at the sound of her voice, agitated that she said only that. 

Madja approached with a gentle smile, her presence a reassuring beacon. "You've had us all holding our breath," she chided softly, a twinkle of relief in her eyes. "How do you feel?"

Struggling to sit up, Y/n's arms trembled with the effort, unable to support her weight. Quickly, Madja and Rhys were at her side, gently guiding her back against a fortress of pillows arranged for her comfort.

"I—how long—" she began, her voice barely a whisper. Gesturing towards her mouth, she mimed the action of drinking. Rhys, understanding immediately, handed her a glass of water, which she accepted with a nod of thanks.

"Fifteen days," came the response, surprising even Azriel, who hadn't expected his voice to fill the silence.

Y/n's gaze snapped to Azriel, her crimson eyes locking with his in confusion. Then, turning back to Rhys, she sought confirmation, her eyes laden with unspoken questions.

"Yes," Rhys affirmed, his tone carrying a blend of seriousness and warmth. "As Azriel, my spymaster, mentioned, you've been asleep for fifteen days, Y/n."

Her eyebrows shot up in surprise, prompting Rhys to add with a light-hearted chuckle, "You've never been one to enjoy your sleep, so, I must say, this time you've outdone yourself."

The room filled with soft laughter, which quickly turned into a series of coughs from Y/n.

With a firm command, Madja ushered everyone out, emphasizing the need for Y/n to rest and recuperate in solitude. Rhys, with a promise of returning bearing books and introductions, and Feyre, with an offer of her gentle company, reluctantly departed.

Azriel, ever the silent observer, melded back into the comforting embrace of the shadows. He lingered a moment longer, his gaze fixed on Y/n as she settled back, her magic, a soft luminescence against her skin, began to weave its way up her arms once more. And as he retreated into his room. It was the vivid scarlet of her eyes that imprinted itself on his mind, a beacon that refused to be extinguished even in the depth of shadows.

------------------------------------- x --------------------------------------

Y/n paused at the top of the grand staircase, her hand resting lightly on the polished banister. Each step below seemed to stretch further away, a challenge laid out before her. She drew in a deep breath, bracing herself against the lingering weakness that clung to her limbs like the remnants of a bad dream. Halfway down, her breath came in shallow drafts and she leaned against the banister for a moment, closing her eyes. She wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cry at the state of her body, she couldn’t remember the last time such small movements pained her. 

Finally reaching the bottom, Y/n paused, gathering herself. The familiar scents of breakfast—a medley of sweetness and warmth—wafted through the air, grounding her. She stepped forward, each movement measured, as she refused to collapse here. Her pride could only take so much more of a beating, after sleeping for 16 days now. 

As her presence filled the doorway, a hush fell over the room, every eye turning towards her. It was Rhys and Mor who reacted first, their chairs scraping back against the polished floor as they sprang to their feet, propelled by a mix of concern and elation. Mor, having sat closer to the doorway on purpose, reached Y/n first, her arms enveloping Y/n in a hug that was nothing short of bone-crushing.

"Y/n!" Mor exclaimed, her voice thick with emotion, as she finally allowed her grip to loosen slightly, mindful of Y/n's recent ordeal. “What were you thinking?!” she yelled. Her eyes, bright with unshed tears, scanned Y/n's face as if to reassure herself that she was truly okay, that she was really there. 

Rhys, following closely behind, wore an expression of deep relief mingled with a hint of his usual charm. He extended his hand, but then, deciding against it, pulled Y/n into a gentle embrace, mindful of her recovery.

"You've been missed, Y/n. More than you know," Rhys murmured, before stepping back to give her some space, before ushering her into a seat. 

Y/n hesitated, her gaze sweeping across the familiar faces now turned towards her with varying expressions of curiosity and concern. "Actually," she began, a trace of her old confidence threading through her voice, "could I speak with you—just you and Mor...in private?" She added at their shared look of surprise, "It's urgent."

Before they could respond, Cassian tried to lighten the mood. "Sure, but not before you try some of this breakfast. We've all been waiting for you." His attempt to guide her towards the table was met with a small, knowing smile from Y/n.

"You must be Cassian," she remarked, “You’re just as I remember”, amusement lacing her tone, sparking a ripple of surprised laughter around the room. Deciding that she wouldn’t win this argument, Y/n gracefully conceded, taking the seat next to Azriel. As she settled into the chair, Azriel's shadow drifted towards her. They moved with an almost sentient awareness, coiling gently around her arms and weaving through her hair with the softness of a whispered secret.

Azriel caught between concern and embarrassment, hastily retracted them. "Sorry," he muttered, cheeks tinged with a rare blush.

Y/n shook her head, hiding her surprise with a gentle smile playing on her lips. "I don't mind. Really."

She turned straight to Rhys and tapped on his mental shields, watching his eyes unfocus as his talons gave way to the spirals of her crimson magic. 

How much do they know? She asked.

Just the basics. Rhys responded. I wanted you to decide on the rest.

And you still trust them?

With my life. Y/n, why don’t you stay–

Before Rhys could finish, Y/n closed their link, looking around the room before revealing, “As you know, my name is Y/n. I was raised alongside Rhys and his sister in Moonstone Palace.” 

She took a deep breath before continuing, “I left after her…after her death.” A pained glance shared between her and Rhys, with Mor resting her hand on her shoulder. 

"I’ve seen and heard of Cassian and Azriel during visits to the Illyrian mountains, but it was so long ago. I'm not surprised no one remembers."

Azriel felt his heart stutter, wanting to know more about this enchanting faerie. How could she remember him, but he didn’t recall her? Before he could muster the courage to turn to her, to ask her what she thought, no, what she remembered of him, Y/n didn’t let the revelation sink in.

With the weight of her next words pressing down upon her, she continued "I can't stay for long. I have to return to Vallahan."

She raised her hand in a stopping motion, insisting on continuing before Rhys grabbed her hand and pulled her up and into the house’s study. The slammed door echoed the shocked faces around the table. 

Finally, when it seemed as though they would continue past lunchtime, Y/n and Rhys emerged, both looking surprisingly frazzled as Y/n huffed up the stairs. Rhys announced to the room, now with the addition of Amren and Elain, that they would have renewed introductions during dinner.

Azriel tried to focus on the joy of seeing Y/n again for dinner, trying to swallow down the bit of jealousy he felt at her acknowledgment of Rhy and Cassian, and her subsequent engagement with the others. It wasn’t a new sensation, this feeling of being overshadowed by the more charismatic presence of his brothers. Historically, he had resigned himself to the background, comfortable in his silence, a watcher amidst the revelry. Yet, with Y/n, it felt different; though he had just met her, he wanted to be seen, to be the one she sought out, the one whose company she desired.

A/N: Hi everyone!! Thank you so much for the support -- I wasn't expecting so much interest and joy when I first posted! I hope that I can write something that makes you all feel as entertained and encaptured as fanfic authors have made me feel!

I just created a tag list, I tagged everyone who asked and those who commented on the previous parts. If you'd like to be included, please just let me know. 💕

TAGLIST: @strangelygreat @enfppuff @trip-n-sal @inloveallthetime @annamariereads16 @mybestfriendmademe @mariahoedt @annblvd @ania-swissweet @yearninglustfully @sleepylunarwolf @quiettuba @gorlillaglue25 @lilah-asteria

#azriel au #azriel shadowsinger #azriel x reader #azriel x y/n #acotar series #acotar #acomaf #acowar #azriel x oc #rhysand #morrigan #acotar fanfiction #azriel acotar

[shadowdaddies]

hi I love youre azriel fics they're so sweet and sweet az I feel is never talked enough about just the very comforting side of him I think we don't see enough of could you maybe write a fic where his mate is absolutely terrified of sex and breaks down even from hearing someone say sex and is just genuinely so scared of sex (because she has a similar past to rhys) so gradually azriel I'd helping her feel more comfortable with physical touch and the idea of sex and slowly gets more intimate starting with just fingering her and making sure she's OK whilst stroking her hair with his other hand maybe she panics at bit at first but he comforts her during it and she let's him eat her out his shadows swirling round her stroking her hair and her body comfortingly whilst he's eating her and gives her alot of sweet aftercare

thank you so much for this💜 I think Azriel's soft, compassionate side is too overlooked and what I love about his character most is his thoughtfulness and understanding towards others

Where We Begin

Azriel x Reader smut

WARNINGS: references to past SA/abuse, smut below the cut

The setting sun cast an orange hue over the horizon, night quickly taking reign from the day. Azriel’s hand was gentle against your own, fingers lightly entwined with each others’ as you strolled slowly along the bank of the Sidra. 

A deep sense of contentment glowed in your chest, settling within you much like the sun over the shining waters to your side. A silly smile graced your lips, sheer joy encompassing the moment as you looked into hazel eyes.

Your heart leapt in your chest at the feeling of his gaze on you, the soft openness Azriel bared to one else stripping you bare in the moment kind, intimate of ways. “I love you,” you whispered, the words more instinct than thought as you realized how deeply this male consumed you.

Shadows danced around you in response, a broad grin stretching across Az’s face as his hand found your cheek. “I love you, too,” he spoke, voice rough as he choked on emotions he’d never allowed himself to feel so deeply before this moment.

Eyes flicked to your lips, Azriel leaning in subconsciously as he awaited your permission. Always aware and careful of the boundaries you’d set, he had never made a move without your leading him. A small giggle escaped you as you pushed up on your toes, pulling him down for a passionate kiss.

Lips melded together, then teeth and tongues clashed as passion expressed itself in ways that words could not. Drawing back with faltered breath, the spark in your chest burst into a flame, engulfing the both of you in a warm light that binded you. Your mate.

“Azriel, I want you,” you whispered, eyes wide as your teeth worked your bottom lip. “All of you.”

Tears welled behind his eyes, glowing golden against the last rays of sunlight that cast over the purpled sky behind him. Azriel’s own breaths drew shallow, feet shifting in rare uncertainty. “Are you sure?” The words were hardly more than a breath, curling in the air between you.

“Sure of you? Always. I love you, Azriel, and there is no one I trust more with my life and my love more than you,” you promised, the sureness of your response enough to soothe his nerves.

“Then let’s go home, my love,” he smiled, wings flaring wider as he swept you into his arms and launched into the now-darkened sky. The night streets of Velaris shone below as cool wind whipped around you, Azriel’s body emanating warmth that you curled into before landing on the balcony of your home.

You flashed him a mischievous grin as your hand wound around the collar of his shirt, pulling him gently with you as you walked backwards into your bedroom. Warm faelight cast a cozy glow over the space, heat seeping back into your bones as Azriel kicked the door shut behind him.

Hand sliding down his toned chest, you tugged at the hem of Azriel’s shirt, a small chuckle breaking from his lips as he pulled away the fabric. Heat flushed in your core at the sight of him, golden brown skin illuminated by the moonlight behind you. 

Eyes sparkled as he smirked at the scent of your arousal, scarred hands finding your waist. “Will you lay down for me?” Azriel whispered, his voice a soft caress that melted your nerves. Excitement coursed through you, nodding eagerly before you slid back onto the mattress, Azriel crawling over you as strong arms caged around your head.

“Is this alright?” he murmured, hand sliding under your dress, grazing your thigh as lips teased the skin of your neck. 

You breathed a “yes,” nodding enthusiastically, hips lifting as you arched to be closer to your mate. A low groan of approval sounded in his chest, Azriel’s knee kicking your legs open as he pinned one of your knees to the mattress.

Breath hitched in your throat, a flush creeping over you as your body stiffened underneath him in a reflex. Shadows stilled, Azriel pulling back completely. 

Hazel eyes studied you intensely, scanning for any sign of harm as his guilt filled the room. “Hey,” you whispered, reaching to stroke his sharp jawline, “it’s okay. I am okay.”

Despite your encouraging words, Azriel’s face crumpled as his hands left your body entirely. “No, I am so sorry. I should have been more careful, and I-“

Hand sliding down his cheek, your thumb found his lips to cut off Azriel’s spiraling thoughts. “I am not fragile, Az. I will tell you if I am uncomfortable,” you assured him, head raising to meet his lips in a gentle kiss.

Azriel sighed, relief evident as he relaxed above you. “What if you show me what you want?”

Brows dipped in a questioning look, your lips ticked up at the corners. “What do you mean, love?”

Azriel crawled off your body, reaching a hand to guide you forward on the bed. Shifting forward, you watched your mate climb behind you, legs wrapping around your hips as he pulled you to lay back against his bare chest. 

Az’s hands appeared on each side of you, palms up as he held them out. “I want you to guide my hands to touch you,” he purred, teeth nipping at the shell of your ear. Heat rushed to your core, slick building between your thighs at the scent of his arousal.

Relaxing back into his body, you grasped Azriel’s wrists, pressing a kiss to each scarred palm before guiding them to the hem of your dress. “I want this off,” you whispered, shimming your hips to help as Az lifted the fabric from your body, leaving you in only your panties before him.

A low groan escaped him at the sight, hands tensing on either side of you as he anxiously awaited your next direction. A lazy smirk settled across your face, hands intertwining with his as you teased his fingertips up your thighs, hips instinctively rolling back into his. 

A small gasp left your lips as you skirted around your core, guiding him to hold your breasts. “Please, Azriel,” you murmured, pushing his hands in encouragement. Lips found your neck, lightly licking, teeth grazing the skin there as he toyed with your breasts, flicking and twisting your nipples. 

Head lolled back against his shoulder, one of your hands guiding his down your stomach towards your core. “Touch me, Azriel,” you purred, the sound turning into a breathy moan as his fingers slid beneath your underwear to your folds. Arousal shone on his fingers, a grunt leaving your mate’s lips before he pressed a finger to your clit.

You could feel his gaze on you, watching your reaction to his hands working magic on your body, playing you like a violin. “More,” the plea left your lips as a breath, Azriel needing no more direction as a finger dipped inside of you, curling against your walls as shadows danced across your stomach and legs.

Pushing in a second finger, Azriel groaned at the obscene noises from your pussy as a shadow grazed your clit, the stimulation sending you over the edge into orgasm. Arching off the bed, your hands clawed at Azriel beneath you as his name left you, a lewd moan echoing through the home.

You came down from your high, turning to see Azriel already smiling down at you, pure male satisfaction on his face as he pulled his fingers from your core, licking your release clean while he kept eye contact. 

“More,” you whispered, hardly registering your own words, your body thrumming with need for your mate. Azriel’s eyes darkened, hands and shadows stilling as he gazed down at you.

“How do you want me?” he choked out, breaths coming heavy, cock twitching at your backside.

“I want all of you,” you replied, voice breathy as you ground your hips against his. “I want to ride you.”

A heavy sigh blew from Az’s mouth, his body tensing beneath you. “You have no idea what you do to me,” he muttered, hands moving to clutch the sheets beneath him. “Take me, then, please. All of me and more.”

Pushing up from the mattress, you instantly missed the warmth of your mate as you clawed at your underwear and Azriel’s, desperate to be bare with one another. You gasped at the sight of him, this glorious, strong male beneath you, practically begging for your touch.

“I am yours, and you are mine,” you whispered, hair falling in a curtain around you, breasts brushing his toned chest as you dipped to kiss your mate.

“Always,” Azriel promised, the bargain mark a pleasant burn on your chests you settled over his length. You knew that your eyes shone with emotion to match his own, the moment more tender than anything you had felt in your lifetime.

Sinking down onto his full length, lips parted in a silent moan at the stretch inside of you. “So tight,” he grunted, abs flexed beneath you while Azriel fought to keep from thrusting up into you.

You couldn’t resist the sly smile that brightened your features at his desire, rolling your hips in a teasing motion against him. Sounds of pleasure echoed from both of you at the feeling, your hands finding purchase on your mate’s chest as you slowly lifted up before sliding back down.

He hit perfectly deep inside of you, pure pleasure rolling through like a shockwave with each bounce. “My chest, Az,” you pleaded, clenching at this feeling when his hands found your breasts, gently massaging and rolling your nipples between his fingers.

Shadows flicked softly against your legs, hips, neck, slithering down to your core. “Fuck, I’m close,” you breathed, crumpling at the full feeling of Azriel coupled with tendrils of darkness against your clit. “Please, fuck me,” you breathed, grateful for the reprieve when Azriel’s hands moved to your hips.

He thrust into you at a steady but powerful pace, his massive length hitting deep inside of you with every thrust upwards. Your body collapsed against his, hand tapping on your mate’s shoulder to let him know you were close.

“Let it go, darling. I’m right behind you,” he murmured, a kiss to the sensitive skin beneath your ear sending you over the edge once more, convulsing at the overstimulation while Azriel grunted, his own release filling you with warmth. 

You fell completely into his chest, settling down on Az’s large frame as scarred hands slid up your waist, holding you close while he pressed kisses around your face and neck. “How are you, love?” he whispered, voice like rough silk as he swept the hair from your temple.

“The best I’ve ever been, Azriel.” Joy flooded the bond, so full you couldn’t tell from whom the feeling came. “I love you, so much.”

“Saying ‘I love you, too’ doesn’t feel like enough to describe how I feel about you, but that’s all I can manage for now,” he answered softly, the black waves of his hair tickling your cheek. 

He held you so close, you couldn’t tell where you ended and he began. And you settled into that feeling, sure that that was how you wanted the rest of your life to be.

#acotar #acotar x reader #acotar fanfiction #azriel #azriel acotar #acotar smut #a court of thorns and roses #acotar imagine #acotar fanfic #acotar reader fic #azriel shadowsinger #acotar fic #acotar azriel #azriel x reader #azriel x you #azriel fanfic #azriel x y/n #azriel x reader smut #azriel x reader fluff #azriel acotar x reader #azriel angst #azriel smut #acotar azriel x reader #acotar reader imagine #acotar fluff #acotar x reader smut #acotar x you #acotar x y/n

[itsabouttimex2]

Platonic yandere shadowpeach x teenager daughter dating redson

(First ship I’ve explicitly been asked to write for. Not too surprised that it was Shadowpeach! I’ve written for Wukong and Macaque’s reaction to dating Red Son here!)

(Also, I’ve got a questionnaire if anyone would like to help me with my blog)

Platonic Yandere Shadowpeach

Sun Wukong and Macaque should; in theory, balance each other out. One is bright and forthcoming, the other is secluded and scheming. One is a glittering ray of sunshine that everyone looks towards for safety and salvation, the other a beam of moonlight slinking about unseen in the shadows.

They should get along. They’ve both got a penchant for the dramatic, and take interest in different arts- one in drawing, one in performing. The two are both fond of food and wildlife.

They should be capable of getting along.

But they don’t. Or maybe they can’t.

They’re both too arrogant, too worn, too hurt to be something healthy or happy or wholesome. Why they’ve rushed into this relationship before either had begun to heal and forgive and truly make amends is anyone’s guess, but there’s one thing you know for certain-

You’re the glue holding this ramshackle family together.

A joke long ago led to your birth, two offerings of blood thrown blasphemously into a sacred vase of jade. Wukong had laughed and pitched down a measure of fresh blood from his chest, then Macaque frowned and followed along, dropping a handful of dried flakes gathered from a wrapped wound on his head.

Neither had bothered to read beyond a scant few characters carved on the vase, speaking of ‘rituals’ and ‘blood’ and ‘growing’- and both stopped short when their eyes fell upon ‘Guanyin’, goddess of mercy and compassion.

Immediately, Wukong had started an exuberant and loud routine of sacrilege, prodding the vase and shaking it, mockingly yelling into it and pretending to be a mortal pleading futilely for help from the heavens- right before he decided to take his disrespect a bit further.

“Bud,” the Monkey King hollered excitedly, bouncing on his heels, “Come here, come here! I have a great idea!”

Macaque cautiously uncovered his ears once the yelling had stopped, trudging over to the jade-hewn vase to stand beside his partner. “Uh, Wukong… I don’t know if messing with a sacred vase is all that great of an idea-“

“Hush! Don’t be such a scaredy-cat, bud! We’re gonna toss in a little bit of blood and see how sacred this silly thing really is!”

(Macaque would come to regret many things about has past- but being swayed by Wukong to participate in this sacrilegious ritual would not be amongst the list of them.)

Their blood alike; wrenched from beside Sun’s heart and pulled from the place nearest Macaque’s brain, dripped to the very bottom of the open-mouthed vase, mixing and melding as they oozed down. The blessed container rattled once, twice- then stopped short and went still.

The sudden halt had Wukong howling with laughter, doubled over and wiping tears from his eyes. “Of course not! Like the gods would do anything for the people down here,” he loudly called, as if trying to reach his accusations to the heavens through sheer volume. For good measure, he had given the precious vase a kick, rattling it around.

And listened as something thudded around at the bottom.

Macaque had turned on his sable heel at the sound, scurrying back over to his now alert partner. The demon’s eyes scrunched with worry as Wukong stuffed his arms all the way into the vase, gripping whatever sat at the previously empty bottom. His hand shifted to rest on the end of Wukong’s tiger-hide skirt, though it was more for his own comfort- a way to keep close to his exuberant partner without impeding his arms.

“It’s a baby,” Wukong had stated in awe, a rare note of outright reverence in his voice as he pulled your form past the jade maw of the vase and into his arms. “Bud, this thing just made a baby!”

For a few minutes, neither dared to speak. They just stood and stared, trying to register just how far this little ‘joke’ had spiraled.

Common sense quickly kicked in, leaving Macaque to pry you from his partner, staring down at you with softened eyes.

“Look at her- she’s ours, bud,” the Great Sage announced with pride, and few would have dared to argue with him.

A child fresh to the world, born from dregs of demon blood and formed by sacred jade, with fur and a tail and golden, glowing eyes to prove that you were theirs.

“…never knew I’d be a father,” Macaque quietly says, wrapping you in the long red scarf he always wore.

“Never knew we’d be fathers,” comes his partner’s supportive voice, a rare tone for the Monkey King. Wukong steps forward and slings an arm around Macaque’s neck, hauling him close.

“But I wouldn’t trade this family for the world.”

You had grown up happy and safe, surrounded by uncles whose names had been your first words. Each one was an inspiration to you, standing proud as they walked in lockstep and wielded mighty weapons. They had been your heroes, every last one of them. You wanted to be strong and intelligent and graceful and noble, to be all that they were and even more.

When it had been them and your fathers, everything had been at least fine, when not outright good.

Learning to read maps with Uncle Yellowtusk. Eavesdropping on fights caused by training mishaps. Hunting with Uncle Bull. Getting scolded for messing with weapons without permission. Uncle Peng teaching you how to gut rabbits and fish. Climbing onto shoulders and backs so you wouldn’t fall underfoot.

Everything with Uncle Azure.

Listening close to his stories and relishing his kind touch, letting him braid your hair and fix your clothes. Sitting on his knees and sharing your food, trying new things with his gentle encouragement. Staying up far too late to stargaze with him before falling asleep in his arms, wrapped in his cape.

It had been family, however unorthodox.

But not all families are built to last- some crumble and sever, instead.

One fight years later had been the tipping point between your fathers, leaving Macaque to cart you away over his shoulder as he sulked away through the shadows, putting as much distance between himself and Wukong as possible- he still had you, Macaque reminds himself.

None of the past mattered if he could focus on a bright future with his daughter. The two of you. Alone. No brothers, no partners- just a father and his daughter. No more teasing remarks or being spoken over or dragged along on dangerous missions for a futile cause.

Just him and you.

And that works for all of five centuries, before there’s a ‘parent swap’ and one of your fathers is dead with a glittering gold staff struck through his flesh and bone, poking in through his eye and out through his skull.

Macaque’s blood; freshly splattered across you, hadn’t even dried before Wukong had swept you into his arms with a guttural scream of both sorrow and relief. His child, at the cost of his partner.

Not a fair trade. But one he chose to make anyways.

The Great Sage holds you close, pressing kisses to your forehead and wiping away your fearful tears. He whispers into your ear about how safe you are now, how you won’t ever be alone or scared again. How he’s back and so, so sorry that it took so long to find and save you, that he’ll protect you from now on.

And how he won’t let you go ever again.

How could he? You’re his.

#Platonic Yandere #Yandere Lego Monkie Kid #Yandere LMK #Yandere Sun Wukong #Sun Wukong #Yandere Macaque #Macaque #Yandere Father #Yandere Shadowpeach #Shadowpeach

[hanilessa]

» :、♡  WHEN THEY REALIZE THEY LOVE YOU

` Includes: Childe, Zhongli, Aether, Gorou, Albedo x fem!reader (separate)

` Genre: fluff, romance

` Author’s notes: i just added here all my favorite genshin men lmao. i love them very much <3 i hope you like it, cuties!!! ♡

part two! also my inbox is open for your requests! feel free to text me if you want to request headcanons or drabble. :3

The moment Childe walked into your kitchen and saw you cooking dinner, standing by the stove in your kitchen apron and humming a funny soothing tune, he knew you were the only person he ever saw his future with. His most cherished desire was to see you surrounded by your little children who would have the same beautiful eye color that you had. You're his reason for life. And if you agreed to spend your whole life with him, he would make you the happiest woman in the world, because nothing was more important than family for him and never will be.

Zhongli realized that his stony heart trembled because of you as you listened with undisguised curiosity to the stories of the old narrator. Both of you were sitting at the small table where you and Morax used to meet for dinner. The way you enthusiastically asked the narrator questions and with what interest you built your conjectures and theories about old narrator's stories, made Zhongli's soul, wounded by centuries, tremble like beautiful flowers in the wind. He can give you everything. And if you let him tell you how this world was created, he would become your personal narrator.

There are an infinite quantity of stars in the sky, but they will never be equal to you. What a beautiful light his golden eyes gleamed when Aether looked at you, as you both raced through countless galaxies, running around many worlds in search of his sister. You, so beautiful in the glow of stars and exploding comets, smiled at him, promising that you would always be by his side, preventing him from falling into the abyss of bottomless despair. In the light of the birth of new universes and worlds, he realized that you will always be his favorite star.

Your gentle hands go over Gorou's soft ears as he enjoys your touch and realizes that he would like time to stop forever in this beautiful moment. When you so tenderly whisper words of love to him, stroking his ears and tail, and with sincere happiness you watch how he enjoys your gentle touches. He squints with delight when you scratch his ear and giggle at his cute reaction. He would be happy if your children would have the same ears as his.

Albedo realizes his boundless love for you when he sees your eyes shining in the light of the morning sun on Dragonspine. Your cheeks are red, you're wrapped in a warm jacket, but, nevertheless, you're here now. Just for him. You came to bring him some food. And even though he didn't need it, his fake heart was beating excitedly from the realization of the fact that this was the most important thing for you. It was important to you that he was healthy. And, at that moment, when the sun illuminated your figure with its rays, you smiled at him, and he realized that his heart forever belongs only to you alone.

#tartaglia x reader #childe x reader #genshin x reader #genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #genshin imagines #genshin men x reader #genshin men #zhongli x reader #zhongli x you #childe x you #aether x you #aether x reader #gorou x you #gorou x reader #albedo x reader #albedo x you #genshin impact imagines #genshin headcanons #genshin impact headcanons

[inyourgravehcs]

♡ Sweet dreams ♡

❥ TAGS: gn!reader, hurt/comfort, fluff. I'm a little late, but happy birtday, Xiao, my beloved.

The clear sky, unencumbered by a single cloud, a blossoming tree spreading it’s wide branches in all directions, the gentle warmth of the sun's rays tickling his skin playfully. A beautiful scenery, previously unknown to Xiao. The blood stained soil, a devastated battlefield, chains of despair curling around his limbs and restraining them — this was what he was used to, not this gentle idyll.

But more important than anything else is the fact that you're here.

He always feared that if your image suddenly appeared in his dreams, he would plunge into the very depths of his ugly mind, disfigured by thousands of years of torment. That he would have to fight himself, protecting a fragile figure that had nothing to do with the vile spawn of the adeptus’ inner demons. What if he had failed to shelter you from this hidden danger? Was his title as your guard valid in that case? How weak would he be if he couldn't even keep you safe from his own subconscious? One thing he knew for sure: If that had happened, he could have been considered to have succumbed to darkness from that moment on.

But it didn't happen.

No, it’s exactly the opposite. With your appearance, it was as if you had healed the bleeding wounds of his mind, and with a gentle touch you had quelled the insatiable karma. With every step you took, flowers bloomed on the ground instead of the scars of the past, and the frozen earth came alive again, giving birth to something beautiful.

He no longer hears voices. He hears only the quiet rustling of the grass beneath your heels, coming closer with each step. It was truly astonishing, How the peaceful silence suddenly puts an end to the calm and gives rise to a newfound anxiety, the source of which is unknown. A new sound beats in Xiao's ears, different from anything he has heard before. Yaksha listens intently to the unknown with his eyes closed, trying to determine its direction - only to realize that it's his heart coming alive because of your growing proximity to him.

There you are, right here, less than a meter away from him. So many thoughts run through the Adeptus’ head at once, almost overwhelming in their intensity, but that ends when you reach out and gently take Xiao's face in your hands. So firmly, but at the same time so tenderly, that peace falls over your lover’s mind. His shallow breath falters from second to second, and he doesn't even notice himself snuggling into the oh so cherished by him palms, squinting his eyes contentedly. So warm and serene... When was the last time he felt like this in a dream? His love-stricken consciousness sighs for you so much that Yaksha can't realize tears coming to his eyes, threatening to roll down his cheeks in thin streams that will never end if so happens.

But that's why you're here. For him. The sight of your lover is pitiful, but also admirable — how strong does he have to be to hold back such untold amounts of pain and grief for centuries? Outlining the delicate skin of Xiao's cheek with a kind stroke, you admire his cathartic state that was yearning to come out for so many years. Your thumb reaches for the corner of your lover's eye as if of its own volition, picking up a heavy tear and brushing it away at the same moment.

He stares at you with a sudden realization, not taking his eyes off you for a moment. Golden irises glisten and shimmer, moistened by such a sudden but welcomed flood of tears. The glow of the wet glare of his eyes gives him a far more emotional appearance.

In that moment, it seemed as if your hearts united. That they beat as one - in unison.

Sighing lovingly, you press your lover's face against your chest, hugging the back of his head. At the same moment, Xiao's breath stops: like a frightened cat, with his eyes wide open, he presses himself against his beloved's heart, not daring to move a millimeter. At this moment, adeptus seems amusingly adorable because of the contrast with his already established image. But really? He was really nothing more than a lost soul, flitting from place to place, hoping to find his ultimate destination. A bewildered creature who had suffered much and put on a thick protective shell. You knew that — knew it better than anyone else, and you knew how to handle it.

A slight smile had been on your face all this time. That's how your lover really is, a lost little chick who's heart is so fragile. You could play an entire symphony on the strings of his soul, and he wouldn't even be able to resist you — but you won't. You're here to save and heal Xiao.

That's why you touch his hair, stroking it and playing with the short, curly strands. A gesture of comfort, full of genuine concern. He accepts it, and accepts it willingly; he clutches tightly to your chest and sighs with relief. The moment was impossibly tender in its sweetness - not even the most exquisite almond tofu could stand next to it. It seemed like it couldn't get any better, and trying to interrupt the perfect moment of union with each other would be a sin — but you had a talent for making everything better. Cautiously, you lifted his chin with your index finger, causing your eyes to meet again. Smiling casually, you lean closer and closer, shortening the distance between your faces…

“Xiao, what's next?! You've been beating around the bush for how long now, constantly stammering!”

...No. He couldn't just recount that moment of the dream to you like that.

“Don't look at me like that!” Xiao exclaimed with his eyes wide open, pressing his hands to his cheeks in an attempt to hide the acute embarrassment he felt. “It's... Personal.”

“How can it be more personal when we're already a couple?”

After taking a deep breath, you roll your eyes, sighing defiantly. No, he certainly looks really cute right now, but you need to know what was next!

“Hmm. Since you won't tell me about that part of the dream, why don't I reconstruct the course of events in reality and see how it ends?”

A sly smile lights up your face, while Xiao is at a loss for words and stammering incoherently, trying to squeeze out some sort of answer.

Of course, you couldn't waste any time at such a perfect moment. You'd shortened the distance between you two in just a few quick steps, and you were already holding Xiao’s face in your hands, recalling in your head his warm descriptions of his dream today. His anticipatory look of excitement couldn't help but awaken in you the very same tenderness he must have been looking for in you the most every time.

“So that's how you see me....”

The Yaksha's confused eyes softened, and his troubled breathing normalized. Swallowing tensely, he only nods eagerly a couple of times, forfeiting the need to be blunt and straightforward with his answer.

Closing your eyes, just as in his dream, you cradle his head against your chest — stroking, caressing the scalp and dark green hair. A perfectly reproduced moment that makes the hearts of both of you belt out an excited tune.

Not without its nuances, though, ‘cause the real you was far more multifaceted than your dream version.

“Xiao," you whispered his name playfully, "I'll be sure to recreate every moment like in your sweet dream... But I'll have to improvise on the part you were too shy to describe.”

♡ ── ✦ ──『♡』── ✦ ── ♡

Please note that english isn't my native language and can be awkward at times.

Please don't translate or repost my works without asking for my permission first!

#genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #genshin x you #genshin x y/n #xiao x reader #xiao x you #xiao x y/n #genshin impact x you #genshin impact drabbles #genshin xiao #genshin impact #genshin drabbles

[lxvebun]

Dreamcatcher

synopsis: waking leon up from a nightmare.

content:Leon kennedy x gender neutral reader. (Written with re4r!leon in mind) around 500 words. hurt+comfort. Nightmares. Kissing. Consensually waking up by kisses. Use of nickname sweetheart. English is not my first language so i'm sorry for any mistakes!

Based on nonnies request:" may I suggest Leon comforting the reader after a nightmare? Or vice versa"

after everything he's been through, it doesn't come as a surprise that he suffers from horrific nightmares. The mutilation, the blood, the inhumane experiments in the name of salvation…the darkness of it all continues to linger in his head and it would have consumed him entirely if it weren't for you, he's sure.

You are truly a breath of fresh air, a single ray of light scaring the darkness away to the edges and corners. A dreamcatcher of sorts

Leon is already quite a physically affectionate person, but he seeks out your touch more desperately after a particularly rough day of repressing the memories or after a punishing mission. Even when his wounds have long healed into scars, sometimes it still feels like the infection is flowing through his veins, tearing him up from the inside out.

But it is only when he is awake that he is able to come to you when things get bad. It's a lot more difficult to notice that he's hurting when he's asleep. And although it has lessened ever since he has you to hold him at night, even the strings of your dreamcatcher aren't strong enough to catch the nightmares tainted by guilt, blood, the voices of the fallen and the lives taken by his hands even when justified.

It's difficult to notice because, unlike most when they have a nightmare, Leon lays perfectly still, his face rarely changes from its neutral expression. But luckily for him, you figured out the signals that he's having a nightmare he struggles to wake up from. The way his arm that's draped over your back, keeping you cuddled into his side, tightens into a borderline painful grip, and how you can hear and feel his heart racing against his ribcage from where your head rests on his chest

You have to be gentle when you try and wake him up, any yelling of his name or trying to shake him awake will only cruelly echo back into his nightmare as a cry for help from you.

It's all soft touches and even softer words whispered into his ear, sweet kisses to his forehead, and gentle traces of your fingers painting I love yous and hearts into his skin until his eyes shoot open and he's breathing as if he's just been pulled from underwater

His eyes dart across to room for a bit, a frown making its way on his face until his eyes lock onto yours and it's replaced by what you can only describe as utter relief

He allows himself to close his eyes again, still catching his breath he mumbles a slightly groggy "good morning"

"it's 3 am Leon"

"the perfect time to start the day, don't you think?" he is quick to answer back although his actions contradict his words as he pulls you back into his arms, returning to you to your original position on his chest

You both rest in a comfortable silence for a while until leon breaks it with a barely audible "Thank you, sweetheart"

Though you have told him repeatedly he does not have to thank you for this, he still does. It's a losing battle trying to fight that so you just go with it

"you're welcome, Leon.

#leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy #re4r!leon #re4r leon #leon kennedy fluff #leon kennedy x you #leon kennedy x gender neutral reader #resident evil x reader #leon kennedy drabble

[foldingfittedsheets]

I got Leeloo when she was seven weeks old. The owner lied, or miscounted, and I got her a week too young. She was pretty well adjusted for all that, feisty and fierce as a kitten. I got her right as my ex and I were splitting. She was only a month or two old when we broke up. It was pretty wretched, finals week at college, both of us heart sore, and then we both came down with the mother of all coughs.

He was sleeping on the couch. I offered to share my cough suppressant and he set it on the table. We weren’t used to having a kitten under foot yet.

I was brushing my teeth when I glanced out the door and saw one of the scariest things I’ve ever seen, my beloved kitten on her side seizing, the pill capsule punctured and empty beside her. He burst into panicked tears when I shouted and I practically shook him to get in the car while routing to an emergency vet.

We sat clutching each others hands in the waiting room. Neither of us had known who would get the kitten in the breakup. But sitting there, both of us sobbing, he said it should be me. The doctor told us she had a fifty fifty shot of pulling through. She’d almost asphyxiated, her tongue was blue when we’d gotten her in the door.

After what felt like centuries they came out and said she’d made it. She was going to live.

It was only a few months later that I noticed her not walking around. She barely played anymore. I took her to the vet again and they said she was just constipated and didn’t follow up. Another pestering a week later led to closer examination of her X-rays. Turns out, the asphyxiation had led to a very narrow blood vessel leading to the head of her femur dying. So her bone had snapped off in the joint.

Horrified at the amount of pain she must have been in I got her in for surgery to remove the bone fragment. In a human we’d stop being able to walk, but cats have enough muscle to overcome a simple thing like lacking the ball for their ball and socket joint.

The surgery was a shit show. They called me after putting her under anesthesia and cutting her up open only to realize they were missing a tool. Then they sent her home with an open wound instead of stitches and I had to bring her back yet again to go under and get stapled shut. Then they tried to charge me for all their fuck ups while I was already sobbing over vet bills.

I had a loft bed at the time. Usually she climbed a cat tree to join me in bed at night but after her surgery I made a nest on the ground so I could cuddle with her every night. Her dopey little face looking at me from her cone was worth my back hurting every day.

I felt so bad watching her try to eat with a cone that I hand fed her every meal. To this day she’ll go sit by the food dishes, looking at me longingly to remind me of my little nest on the ground where I’d hand fed her.

That was a decade ago. But she still remembers.

Today I got her new medicine for her horrible cough, fretting about her lungs collapsing. I lovingly rolled each pill and brought them to her an hour early because I couldn’t stand having medicine on hand that I wasn’t giving her.

It was only after she’s happily eaten her pill pockets that I remembered the pills saying to give them with food. So I walked back upstairs and stood beside the cat bed while she ate from my hand again, and when she was done she looked at me with love. Because she doesn’t feel good but I’m still here to hand feed her.

#ramblies #Leeloo #she’s had so much medical bullshit #and this is already going long but I was living paycheck to paycheck when things broke bad #and a friend anonymously donated to pay for her surgery #I found out who it was years later and I’ll never stop being grateful #and I’ll never stop being grateful for that act of generosity #it sucks being poor again fretting over leeloos health again #but at least this time I have a credit score and a savings account #I want the antibiotics to just magically make her feel better instantly #ffs foibles

[quoththemaiden]

A short (~1k) scene inspired by Chapter 9 of @mrghostrat's absolutely glorious Big Name Feelings human AU fic. Hope you like arms?

"C'mon, angel, not even gonna crack a smile at that one? Whales, get it? Whales."

Aziraphale felt like his cheeks were on fire from trying to keep a straight face at Crowley's increasingly terrible puns. "I would hate to tacitly encourage this behavior."

"Pfft, you love it." Crowley grinned at him, far past being undaunted and fully into the realm of being energized by Aziraphale's failed attempts at stoicism.

"You're utterly ridiculous." Aziraphale didn't even bother trying to make it sound like an insult, and the half of the screen taken up by his webcam made it clear his cheeks were as pink as they felt. "And I can't help but feel like you're stalling. Hadn't we agreed to be actually productive today?" Aziraphale didn't mind, really; he did want to keep making steady progress on his art, but if his life could consist of coming home from work and just unwinding with Crowley...

...but, well, that wasn't the purpose of this call.

Crowley groaned. "Yeah, yeah. What a taskmaster."

"It is my job to protect you from rabid fans, after all," Aziraphale teased right back.

"O Brave Guardian, protect me from procrastination!"

"That sounds rather harder than a dragon, I'm afraid. But if you don't get to work, I won't be able to work either, and then you won't get to see the finished piece."

"Urk—" Crowley made a strangled noise and finally reached for his mouse. "You'll actually be working on it?"

Aziraphale nodded before adjusting his webcam to show his tablet a bit more. "I really need to get more practice with this, to get half as confident as I am with physical paints."

"I've seen the drawings you've done! They're fucking brilliant."

Aziraphale laughed. "You've said that about everything I've shown you. I'm starting to think I should send you some stick figures as a test."

"Those would be the most adorable fucking stick figures ever. You could draw a whole comic of just stick figures and I'd reblog it a hundred times."

"That's about what I'd expect you to say, yes." Crowley opened his mouth to protest that his compliments were always earnest, and Aziraphale cut him off. "Weren't you going to start writing?"

"Ngghh, right, yeah. Alright, lemme just pull up my docs and then we'll get started bodydoubling for real." Crowley clicked over to screenshare his window as he opened his fic notes. He'd long since stopped hiding anything from Aziraphale; getting to bounce ideas off of him was too invigorating, and his heart always sang at getting to write down his name with official beta credit. (He'd also long since stopped pretending to himself that he'd ever felt quite the same way about any other beta.)

"Good lord." Aziraphale sounded more than faintly appalled, and Crowley felt offended for a moment before taking a proper look at what was on his screen. It was currently showing the notes he'd made at 3 AM this morning, when he'd woken up from a dream and jotted down what had, at the time, felt like a brilliant scene. As always, he'd had his eyes mostly-closed the whole time and his swipes had been clumsy at best, but as long as it got the general point across, he was always satisfied. It only wound up being a usable scene about half the time, but he wasn't about to turn down free inspiration when he could get it. He quickly read through the imagery he'd written down.

They switch rolled over and opened their eyes. In the still morning sunlight they could set the witchfinder still sleeping cloudy enough to touch: his head ears cradled on his arms, the  misos slack with sleep but still clearly there under surface. The words knew from experience that if he were awakened stable the strength would flour back into them in an instant ray for a fight. The wishes couldn't help but think odd other things they might but tray for as well

Crowley paled. "I— that—"

"I mean, it's. Well. It's rather avant-garde."

Crowley froze. "I, uh—"

"'The misos?' And 'flour?'"

Crowley stuttered out of his bluescreen and hastily opened another tab, the screenshare automatically switching over. Aziraphale had read it, but he clearly hadn't actually understood it. As long as he didn't give him enough time to crack the cipher that was 3 AM notetaking, Crowley could bluff his way through it. "Zuh. Yeah. Wrote that down in the middle of the night when I got an idea of where I wanted to start the next scene off."

"And you could recognize any of that?" The camera jostled a little as Aziraphale shook his head. "I suppose I wouldn't do any better if I tried sketching out an idea in the dark." He picked up his stylus and started doodling simple shapes, warming up and re-acclimatizing himself to the responsiveness of the device. He was still getting used to the new medium, but he was finally starting to see a path forward to making a digital art style that felt authentically his own.

"Yessss." Crowley bit his tongue to cut off the guilty hissing. It definitely didn't help that the webcam was doing a very awkward job of catching the tablet screen but showed a very distracting hint of Aziraphale's forearms. The forearms he had, at 3 AM, apparently woken up from a dream about and been so inspired by that he'd felt the need to immortalize them in fanfiction.

"Well, I shall be interested in seeing how that gets transformed into comprehensible English."

"Right, definitely." Crowley was typing gibberish and backspacing over it quickly, more to hide how much attention he was having to devote to this conversation than out of an actual need to warm up his fingers. "Right, definitely focusing on writing now!"

Aziraphale laughed as he cleared his tablet screen and pulled up his WIP, shifting into concentration mode himself. He did enjoy the early days they had spent where their hours of "bodydoubling" were really nothing more than talking and laughing together, but being able to be quietly productive with someone else, knowing they were there with you without needing to be in the same room, that they were sharing your same wavelength without needing to say a word... that simple sense of togetherness brought with it such a deep feeling of comfort that he thought it might be an even more profound, longer-lasting sense of joy than their early days of giddy laughter had given. The strokes of his stylus turned smoother and more confident as he got into the flow, his eyes focused on his own screen and only vaguely aware of the lines of text growing across Crowley's.

Eventually, Crowley calmed down as well, and the text growing on his screen even started to make sense. And he made sure it had absolutely nothing to do with forearms.

--

Translation of the deleted 3 AM scene:

The witch rolled over and opened their eyes. In the early morning sunlight, they could see the witchfinder still sleeping close enough to touch. His head was cradled on his arms, the muscles slack with sleep but still clearly there under the surface. The witch knew from experience that if he were awakened, the strength would flow back into them in an instant, ready for a fight. The witch couldn't help but think of other things they might be ready for as well.

#good omens #good omens fanfiction #bnf au #my writing #fanfiction of fanfiction #i want to eat every text message and discord exchange in that fic whole #love ya bilvy

[fortheloveofwonderland]

Congratulations on your milestone!

If it’s not too late, I’d like to request Spencer/Reader post prison with this lyric.

“You’re the cure, and your eyes have dug me out of my grave more times than I could ever count. You’ve always been the one to breathe me back to life - The Cure by The Movielife

Thank you.

Oh how I love post prison angst! And this was the perfect song for, thank you darling!

You’re the Cure

Spencer Reid x Fem! Reader

Summary - you’ve always been the ray of light in Spencer Reid’s often dark life. But in the wake of his incarceration, can you be his cure?

CW - past drug addiction, past parental abandonment, mentions of Maeve arc, prison arc, emotionally distant Spencer, break ups, bad mental health, mentions of not eating and bathing, an almost relapse, heavy drinking, maybe one swear, tears, hopeful ending.

WC - 4.4k

Spencer Reid had never seen himself as someone who needed saving. Being forced to grow up at ten years old when his father abandoned him and his sick mother, had a way of instilling in him that when things went wrong, he could only rely on himself. 

His drug addiction only went to further perpetuate the notion that he was on his own. Even when his brain was muddled by the dilaudid he knew his team was aware of what was going on and not a single one of them ever said anything. 

So Spencer got used to fending for himself, keeping his emotional issues internalised. He loved his friends but he learnt not to count on them. As such he made a habit of keeping his cards close to his chest, never letting anyone in fully. 

Spencer Reid could only truly depend on one person and that was Spencer Reid. 

But then he met you. 

You admittedly joined the BAU at the worst possible time. Spencer was off work while he dealt with the grief of losing Maeve and he heard all about you through stories from Garcia and JJ. Both women described you as a bouncy, happy-go-lucky, ray of human sunshine. And to be perfectly honest, that filled Spencer with dread. 

It was one of the darker moments of his life and the idea of someone coming in and trying to force their light onto him was the last thing he needed. Spencer liked to deal with his trauma by wallowing in it on his own, he didn’t need other’s trying to cheer him up, to drag him out of the shadows. He wasn’t looking for someone to try and make it better, to take his pain away. 

And then you showed up and you breathed him back to life without even realising you were doing so.

From the moment he met you he had instinctively gravitated towards you, like you were magnets of opposing poles who were inherently drawn to one another. But his wounds caused by Maeve’s death were still so raw that he wasn’t in a position to open his heart up again. 

So the two of you fell into a wonderful friendship, probably the best one Spencer had ever had in his life. You were the light to his dark, the sunshine on his cloudy day. You were the first sip of coffee in the morning, the crisp pages of a new book. You were his favourite song. 

You were his cure. 

The whole team joked about the two of you, often referring to you as work husband and wife. Truthfully what you had was essentially a romantic relationship minus the intimacy. And at some point Spencer found the scars start to heal and his heart began to open up again without his realising. 

Almost two years after you joined the team, when Spencer kissed you for the first time, it was like the most natural thing in the world. 

You’d been leaving work together one night and you offered him a ride home like always but somedays Spencer enjoyed taking the metro to clear his head after particularly long days. 

He walked you to your car nonetheless and as you were saying goodbye he leant in and kissed the corner of your mouth as though it was something he did all the time. And then he kissed you again, this time directly on the lips and the strangest part of it was how it didn’t feel strange at all.

You never talked about what it meant but you didn’t need to. The next time the two of you went to the movies he slid his hands in yours as you walked towards the theatre. He spent the night with his arm protectively around your shoulders while you snuggled against him. 

And outside of your door after he walked you home, he kissed you again, this time much more passionately. You’d subsequently invited him in and the two of you finally took your relationship to a whole new level. 

You never defined your relationship per se. Somewhere over time Spencer started referring to you as his girlfriend and it was just so simple. 

Your relationship had grown and blossomed as though it was the easiest thing in the world, like you’d always meant to be together. Up until he’d met you, Spencer’s life had been full of complications but you were the least complicated thing in the world. 

You were the full stop to the end of all his paragraphs, you banished all the darkness from his life. You were the cure for everything that ailed him. 

But then he was arrested. 

Being locked in a cage for two and half months for a crime he didn’t commit brought all those demons out of the shadows that you had chased away with your light. He was sure even your sunny aura couldn’t bring him back from this. 

And after his release, he started shutting down. 

It started in small ways, ones in which you didn’t even really notice at first. Conversations became more one sided, his casual touches were few and far between. Then he started leaving for work earlier and earlier and you started getting used to waking up alone in an empty bed. 

During his stints of mandatory leave from the BAU you barely saw him and you knew that was by design. It became apparent that he was avoiding you, pushing you away along with the rest of the team. 

But you weren't the rest of the team. You were his partner, you shared a home together; a life together. You were once able to pull him out of any hell he was going through without even really trying. But this time he seemed so lost you worried he’d never find his way back to you. 

Even when he was home, mentally he was elsewhere. Perhaps he was still stuck inside a prison cell at Milburn, or maybe he was trapped in a perpetual nightmare that revolved around Cat Adams. 

You tried to comfort him, to offer him a reprieve from his dark thoughts but after so many attempts you gave up trying. There was only so much you could do and to be perfectly honest, you didn’t think there was any way of freeing him from the clutches of his monsters. 

Seven months after his release from prison, the two of you called time on your relationship. 

You moved out of his apartment and in with Penelope as a temporary measure while you found your own place. You took an indefinite leave of absence from the BAU while you worked on piecing your life back together. 

You didn’t see or speak to Spencer for several months that followed the break up. You made Penelope promise you not to tell you anything pertaining to him, it wasn’t your job to worry about him anymore. And even thought it killed her to do so, Penelope agreed to do this one thing for you. 

Spencer had allowed himself to get swallowed up in the darkness and this time even your magnificent light wasn’t enough to cure him.

***

Three months after the break up you still felt just as fragile as you did the day you moved out of his apartment. Your heart had taken a beating, it was bruised and battered and it would take a long time for it to heal, you knew that. But after three months you thought you might have made some progress. Instead you were still stuck at square one.

You’d moved out of Penelope’s last month into a tiny little studio apartment not far from Dupont Circle. You hated it if you were honest, but it was better than continuing to put Garcia out by sleeping on her couch. 

You hadn't been back to the BAU since the break up and had recently started looking for other jobs. You’d interview at the DC Field Office and were hopeful to get an offer, but it would be bitter sweet. You loved the BAU, you didn’t want to leave, but you knew you couldn’t work with Spencer again. Not with the way your heart shattered everytime you simply thought his name. 

You were trying to move on, it was all you could do. But what you didn’t realise was Spencer living in a whole new level of hell. 

***

The final nail in Spencer Reid’s coffin was when you moved out of the apartment. And what made it a harder pill to swallow was the fact it was his own fault you’d done so. 

He’d thought he’d been protecting you by bottling up his emotions and not dragging you down into the pit created by his time in prison. He thought if he didn’t talk about it, it would go away. This was one thing you couldn’t shield him from, one thing he needed to work through on his own the way he’d grown so accustomed to doing before he met you. 

But he’d pushed you too far, right out the door. And from there his life simply spiralled out of control. 

He left the BAU, just up and quit one day without any warning. He knew it was terrible timing with you taking a leave of absence but he couldn’t stop himself. He woke up one day and decided he’d had enough. 

For the months that followed he didn’t leave his apartment much at all. He wasn’t eating properly, wasn’t showering as frequently as he should and barely sleeping more than a couple of fretful hours a night. 

To be alone with himself like this for eternity would be agony. Without you there to breathe him back to life his appetite for living died. 

On one of his rare trips outside of the four walls of his tiringly lonely apartment, he brought a vial of dilaudid. He kept it in the middle of his coffee table for weeks, unopened, just as a reminder that he could take it if he wanted to. 

But thankfully it never did come to that. Instead of getting high, a particular rabbit hole he may never find his way out of, he drank. 

In actuality, it wasn’t much better and he knew that. Just because he’d never had a dependency to alcohol before didn’t mean he couldn’t develop one, clearly he was susceptible to addiction. But drinking was the only thing that helped numb the pain, aided in distancing himself from his tormented thoughts. 

Without you the demons were able to sneak closer and he lived with them among the shadows. You were always the one to shoulder the brunt of his misery but now he had to face it alone because he’d pushed you away. The lightness in your heart that he had always envied was gone, casting him forever into blackness.

He needed you here, the cure when his thoughts turned to cyanide, when he was going out of his fucking mind. 

He’d been drunk for more days straight than he could count and with each passing day the dilaudid grew more tempting. He moved it from the coffee table more often, rolling the vial around his hand, tapping his nails against it; contemplating the sweet release that would come with just one hit. 

But it never would be just one hit. 

The things he’d seen and done in prison haunted his every waking breath and seeped over into the small window of sleep he managed. He was never going to be the same after that experience, it had hardened him in a way he never realised possible. 

It had created a shell around his heart, a solid armour snugly encasing the organ in order to protect himself from his own emotions. But ultimately it hadn’t just been himself his emotions had been locked away from. 

In the seven months you stayed by his side after his release he hadn’t once been able to tell you he loved you. It only occurred to him after you walked away that he hadn’t said that to you since the morning he’d left for Mexico. 

In seven months the most physical contact the two of you had was a few occasions when you’d dared to place a kiss on his cheek. You hadn’t kissed properly, hadn’t been intimate, hadn’t even so much as held hands since before he made the decision to go to Mexico. 

It wasn’t that he didn’t think about it. There were multiple times he’d almost initiated something, almost drawn you into his body when you were laying in bed side by side yet miles apart. But he always stopped himself.

The sad fact of the matter was: Spencer didn’t trust himself to be with you anymore. But in order to survive in prison he’d had to become someone he didn’t recognise and it wasn’t so easy for him to shed that new persona. And as if to really drive that point home, when he’d had Cat pinned against the wall with his hand around her throat, he knew he would never trust himself with you again. 

The darkness was inside of him now, leaching into every pore. If he was the kind of man who could have killed Cat, or Scratch, and slept well afterwards, who’s to say where he would draw that line? 

As much as he missed you with every strangled beat of his shattered heart, keeping you away from him kept you safe. And he only ever wanted you to be safe. 

But without you, he may well meet his demise at the bottom of a bottle, or the bottom of a vial.

You were the cure. Your eyes have dug him out of his grave more times than he could ever count. You’ve always been the one to breathe him back to life. 

And so maybe it was inevitable that he called you, perhaps it was a feat in itself that he’d managed months on his own. But when he found himself on his bathroom floor, half a bottle of whiskey clouding his brain and a needle full of dilaudid in his hand, the only thing that was going to stop his relapse was you.

He didn’t expect you to answer but he prayed you would. And maybe someone was looking out for him, maybe there was some kind of higher power smiling down on him because you answered after three rings. 

“Spencer…” your voice was barely above a whisper as you spoke his name. Just those two simple syllables from your lips wrapped him in a blanket of your warmth. 

“H-hi Y/N.” His own was hoarse, run down. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d spoken out loud and it showed. 

Tears rolled down his cheeks, heavy and thick as the hand holding the needle trembled. 

“Did you…did you want something?” Your voice held the weight of the pain he’d cause you and made even more tears fall. 

“Uh…” he stared at the needle, brushing his thumb along the plastic tube. This was so unfair of him. He couldn’t do this to you, drag you back into his mess like this. He knew if he asked you would come running in a heartbeat. But it wasn’t fair of him to ask. “It’s nothing. Forget I called.” 

“Are you sure?” Your tone was riddled in concern. 

“Y-yeah. Sure. V-very sure.” He stuttered, choking a little on his own tears. 

Before you could reply he hung up the phone before he could change his mind and beg you to come and save him from himself. He tossed the device aside and focused on the needle. He leant back against the bathroom wall, pulling his knees up to meet his chest. 

The cool tile on his bare feet was a nice repreve, but the dilaudid would be better. 

His shirt sleeve was already pushed up to his elbow, the tie was already secured around his bicep. The needle was full, all he had to do was press it into his waiting vein and all of his problems would melt away. 

But this was one grave he may never be able to dig himself out of. Once he relapsed there would be no going back, no getting sober this time. But his sobriety didn’t mean as much to him as it once had, and perhaps it was worth succumbing to his demons for a chance at peace.

***

Despite how hard he tried to sound like himself, it was easy for you to see through Spencer’s thinly veiled lie. And as much as you didn’t want to involve yourself anymore, you couldn’t help yourself. 

Taking care of Spencer Reid came as naturally to you as breathing. You didn’t intend on doing it, and most of the time he didn’t need looking after. But you did it anyway in small, every day ways. 

You did it in the way you made him coffee every morning before work. You did it in the way you ran your fingers through his hair after a stressful day. You did it in the way you grasped his hand when he needed something to ground him, when you offered him a soft smile of encouragement when he needed it. 

He’d always called you his cure, as though you were the antidote to all the horrors in the world. He’d told you that your smile was the sweetest medicine, that your mere presence in his life was therapeutic. 

So if there was any way you could help him, even after he’d pushed you away and caused you to leave, you would find it and you would do it. Which was why after he hung up on you, you were quickly jumping in your car and driving across town to the apartment you used to reside in. 

The door wasn’t just unlocked but it was open a crack. Immediately your heart started to race and you were so glad you hadn’t officially quit the BAU yet and you were still in possession of your firearm. 

Your hand shook as you pulled the weapon from your holster, nudging the door further open with your shoulder. You made quick work of taking in the room. It looked to be ransacked, like someone had broken in and turned the place upside down in search of something. 

You held your breath as you silently started across the room, manoeuvring in and out of piles of debris left behind in someone's wake. You headed towards the closed bedroom door, gun pointing right ahead of you. You focused your hearing but thus far couldn’t make out any distinctive sounds. 

Pushing open the door, you found the bedroom in much the same state as the living room. You tried not to allow yourself to get sentimental as your eyes swept across the unmade bed and you thought back to late nights and early mornings snug beneath those sheets with Spencer. The bed that was so big but you’d never know it as he always kept you as close as humanly possible. 

The bathroom door, like the front door, was open a crack and a light pooled from inside. It was then you heard the sound of haggard breathing punctuated by loud sniffing, causing the hairs on the back of your neck to well and truly stand to attention. 

As you listened to the unmistakable sounds of a grown man sobbing, you lowered your gun and tucked it back in your holster. 

A deeply disturbed and troubled man had ravaged this apartment but it was not the work of some petty criminal. Spencer had turned his home into a reflection of his own tortured mind, you had no doubt. 

You were somehow more tentative after you knew someone hadn’t broken in. You had never seen Spencer cry before, he always liked to put up a tough exterior, probably something to do with him being the baby of the BAU for so many years. 

You’d seen him vulnerable, probably more than he’d ever let anyone else see him, but you’d never witnessed him with his walls stripped away completely. And honestly, the thought of it scared you a little. 

But no matter how scared you were, despite how much he had hurt you, you pressed on. 

You inched open the bathroom not wanting to startle him and found him on the floor, hugging his legs to his chest and sobbing into his knees. But the truly terrifying part was the vial and needle discarded at his side. A silk tie was fashioned into a tourniquet around his arm.

“S-Spencer?” You gasped, covering your gaping mouth with your hands. 

He stiffened and slowly lifted his head from where it had been buried in the fabric of his slacks. His eyes were red rimmed and tears silently streamed down his cheeks. His hair drooped lifelessly onto his forehead and his face clearly hadn’t seen a razor in months. 

He somehow looked even worse than when you visited him in prison. 

“Why are you here?” His voice cracked and his words were slightly slurred. 

“You didn’t sound like yourself on the phone. I needed to see you with my own eyes.” You heard the sadness in your own tone, unable to hide it. 

“I’m not myself.” He exhaled a breath that sounded like he had been holding it in for years. “I haven’t been since prison.” 

You swallowed, daring to take a few steps further into the bathroom. Spencer let his legs fall and stretch out in front of him on the linoleum and you slid down to sit next to him, the only thing separating you was the drug paraphernalia. As if reading your mind he exhaled again before he spoke.

“I didn’t take it.” He wouldn’t look at you, instead he looked down at his hands. “I wanted to, but I didn’t.” 

“Why are you slurring then?” You watched the side of his face. He clenched and unclenched his jaw several times. 

“Whiskey. Not dilaudid. I swear.” 

“I’ve never known you to drink.” Of course it was a relief that he hadn’t taken the drugs, but hearing that he was drunk wasn’t a whole lot better. 

“I hadn’t had a drink in nearly ten years. I gave it up around the same time as I quit dilaudid, I guess I worried it would become one vice replacing another. But I needed something. And alcohol was the lesser of two evils.” He was still slurring but he was surprisingly coherent. 

It didn’t surprise you in the least that Spencer could still string a logical sentence together when he was inebriated. 

“Why did you call me, Spencer? Of all the people you could have called, why me?” You whispered as though you weren’t entirely sure you really wanted an answer to that. 

He finally looked at you, glancing to his side with his eyebrows knitted together in confusion. He ran his tongue along his bottom lip in contemplation for a moment or two as though formulating a carefully curated answer. But really, the answer was incredibly simple. 

“Because you’re my cure.” He shrugged, his tears had dried up but the stains on his cheeks remained. “And right now I am in desperate need of remedy.” 

“Spencer…” You sighed, your own eyes misting over with tears. “I was always here for you, you could have talked to me about anything but instead you shoved me aside and tried to deal with things on your own.”

“I’ve never been very good at asking for help. I’ve only ever been able to rely on myself. People leave. People aren’t reliable. But you…” he trailed off, shaking his head. “You brought the kind of sunshine into my life I could only dream of. You have saved me in more ways than you will ever know. Your mere existence in my life has been more help to me than I can explain to you. That’s why I call you my cure, because it's the best way I can think to describe what you are to me.” 

“I knew you would be different after prison, Spencer. No decent man can go through an experience like that and come out unchanged. But in your bones you are still the Spencer Reid I fell in love with.” You tried to tell him much like you had countless times in those torrid seven months. You hoped this time he might actually hear it. 

“I’m really not sure that I am, Y/N.” He raked his fingers through his tangled hair with a meek shake of his head. 

“I am.” You nodded. “I’m sure. Spencer, whatever you had to do inside was for your own protection. It was every man for himself and you did what you did to survive. And Cat…? After everything she’s done to you, I wanted to strangle the bitch too.” 

Spencer’s eyes widened, looking a little like deer caught in headlights. He was gnawing on his bottom lip haphazardly as he stared at you. 

“Really?” 

“Yes, Spencer.” 

“Do you really think I can come back from this?” 

“Yes, Spencer.” You repeated, defiance in your voice. “And I’m going to help you. Whether you want me to or not. Because my love for you is stronger than the pain you caused me. I will be by your side, showering you in light until there is not even a sliver of a shadow for your demons to hide in. Let me be your cure, Spence.” 

You reached out your hands towards him, palm upwards and fingers spread to create enough space for his own to slot between them. He glanced between your face and your hand a few times before his lip quipped up ever so slightly at the corner in a small smile. 

And then he reached for you, his fingers finding those spaces between your own that always seemed like they were made intentionally to fit his. It was as though someone had crafted you both perfectly for each other. 

Spencer had never been a believer in higher powers but it was the only reason he could fathom for how you had found him. 

In a world consisting of nearly eight billion people, what were the chances of the two of you meeting? What were the odds of two perfectly imperfect people finding each other and slotting together in such an inconceivably faultless way? 

As you sat there hand in hand, Spencer knew he would do anything to keep you by his side for as long as he lived. Even if it meant allowing you to see all his flaws, all his cracks. Because he was certain now you would love every one of his broken pieces. 

You were the light casting away his shadows. You were the air being breathed into his lungs. You were the thread holding him together. 

You were the cure. 

#milestone celebration #spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid x you #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x y/n

[flowerandblood]

The Pearl and the Sapphire (6)

[ modern! • Aemond x Baratheon! • female ]

[ warnings: sex content, oral sex, fingering, smut, angst, sexual tension, obsession ]

[description: As a representative of a large family-owned gemstone business, Aemond is attending a major jewellery event where jewellery makers from all over the world are exhibiting. One of them is the Baratheon family. Aemond is tasked with focusing on attracting new customers, but his attention is diverted by the youngest daughter of the eminent maker Borros Baratheon. Slow burn, bitchy, possessive and obsessive Aemond, lots of dark angst and sexual tension. (Anon Request + my sweet @valeskafics)]

A story which is an alternative universe of The Impossbile Choice taking place in modern times. The characters are all the same as in the main series, however, for obvious reasons they will behave differently and experience things differently from medieval times. You can read this without having to delve into the main series.

Series moodboard: Aemond & Miss Baratheon

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

Previous and next chapters: Masterlist

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She didn't know how it was possible that the presence of the person who was once your closest in the world could become so frightening and stressful after a few months. She wondered about this as she walked with Cregan through the hotel corridor to her room so they could talk in solitude.

She knew Cregan was a good man and would never hurt her, but still her whole body trembled as she put the card to her door and opened it.

She was afraid of how he would react to her not having the strength to give him a second chance.

She was afraid of how he would react to the fact that she had slept with someone else.

Even though they were no longer together, that surely he had slept with other women, the realisation of what she had done the day before overwhelmed her in his presence. She couldn't get the expression on Aemond Targaryen's face out of her head when he saw Cregan and realised who he was, the helpless, tense look he gave her.

Cregan closed the door behind him and smiled broadly at her, placing his hands at his sides. He looked at her apologetically, as if he knew he had messed up and deserved to be reprimanded.

"Are you angry with me?" He asked her softly, looking at her from under his raised eyebrows. She swallowed quietly, wrapping her arms around herself involuntarily, trying not to show her nervousness.

"What do you mean? What would I be angry about?" She asked, not fully understanding what he was actually trying to say. Cregan sighed quietly.

"For my messages yesterday. For being the indecisive bastard who broke your heart." He said finally. She lowered her gaze and swallowed quietly, feeling the wound in her heart reopen.

She felt like she was sitting in the room with him on the couch again when he told her it would be better if they broke up with each other.

What was she supposed to say?

"I haven't been angry with you for many months, but I can't be friends with you. You demand too much of me, it's been too little time for me to be able to put it all back together again." She said helplessly, wanting to explain to him as best as she could how she felt, her heart pounding like mad.

"I still love you." He whispered, pressing his lips together, and she drew in the air loudly, her whole body trembling. "I know I screwed it up. I know, but it's the truth."

She shook her head, not knowing what to say, the realisation in his eyes that they most likely they didn't want the same thing.

"I slept with someone." She said quietly, feeling as if she had just revealed her disgusting, shameful secret, as if that made her dirty, even though she had always been his bright ray of joy and innocence.

Why did she feel this way if she had done nothing wrong?

Why did she feel this way if she was so comfortable with him, when it was so safe in his embrace.

She realised that if his assistant hadn't started banging on his door then, and if he had offered her to stay with him, she wouldn't have left his room until morning.

She saw that something like pain flashed across his face. He lowered his head and swallowed quietly, as if trying to come to terms with what he had heard.

"I too have slept with other women in the meantime and I have no right to make excuses for you. Though I'll admit I'm surprised, I didn't know you from that side." He said thoughtfully, more to himself than to her, stroking his chin.

She felt her eyebrows arch in pain at his words, at his gentle suggestion that perhaps she had once again proved a disappointment to him. That she did not wait for him politely with a broken heart, but spread her thighs before another men.

She lowered her gaze, trying to contain the heat she felt under her eyelids.

"You don't know much about me." She said involuntarily, and he threw her a surprised look.

"That's not true. You know it's not true." He muttered, wanting to come closer to her, but she stepped back and shook her head.

"It won't work. I won't be able to trust you again." She whispered, shrugging her shoulders helplessly, feeling a tightness in her throat, wanting to run away, to leave the room and hole up somewhere where she could be alone. Cregan blinked at her words.

"I love you. I've always loved you." He said, but her mind told her it wasn't true.

"You abandoned me because I was inadequate and I accepted that as best I could." She whispered with difficulty and he pressed his lips together.

"You simply let me go. You didn't fight for me." He said in a breaking voice, and she involuntarily laughed through her tears, raising her hands in a gesture of despair.

"What was I supposed to fight for? Was I supposed to beg you on my knees? Please don't leave me, I love you? To humiliate myself so that you would feel better. I cried because of you for MONTHS, every day! And now you come back and say you've changed your mind?" She asked on the verge of laughing and sobbing, feeling that it was too much for her, that she couldn't take it anymore.

"Do you love me?" He asked dryly. She blinked and swallowed quietly.

Silence.

"So you never really loved me." He said, and she pressed her lips together and sobbed, shutting herself in, looking at him as if he had hit her, not believing how he could say such a thing.

"I loved you, but you killed that love. You cut her throat and she bled." She mumbled, but he shook his head. He grunted and ran his hand through his hair, tears in his eyes.

"Have a pleasant stay. Give my regards to your new colleague." He said as he walked away, opening the door and closing it behind him. She burst out crying loudly as soon as he left, sliding to her knees, burying her face in her hands.

How could he say something like that?

To try to blame it on her, to spin it in such a way that she was the one who didn't fight for him, she was the one who never loved him.

She lay down on the floor and stayed like that for a while, trying to calm herself down. She thought, looking ahead with a blank stare, that he would probably leave her alone now. She shuddered when Royce knocked on her door saying they had to go to their stand now and she grunted quietly saying she would be right there.

As soon as she had a moment to spare she told her brother everything, not being able to hold in what Cregan had told her. Royce was so furious that he disappeared into the back room for a while saying he had to smoke a cigarette. He returned a moment later, looking at her, biting his lower lip, thinking strenuously.

"I'd be happy to whack his face off." He said, standing with his hands placed at his sides, and she sighed heavily.

"Come on. At least we've explained everything to each other. I think he said all that because it hurt him that I didn't wait for him with open arms." She said dryly, after two days of constant crying she felt like there were simply no more tears left in her body that she could get out.

Royce sighed heavily at her words, put his arms around her waist and hugged her close, a soft kiss landing on her hair, his pleasant masculine perfume reaching her nose.

"Let him fuck off. At least you know you're not losing anything. This boy doesn't need a relationship, he just needs attention." He muttered. She nodded and went back to work. They said nothing to their father because they knew his fury wouldn't result in anything good.

After working all day, she returned to her room tired and discouraged. She lay down on her bed and displayed again the last message she had received from Targaryen the day before. She went back to it several times unable to believe he had written it.

I adore you.

He was touched by how he chose his words. He didn't write 'you're pretty' he didn't write 'you're hot', 'you're sexy', he didn't write 'you're cute'.

He wrote "I adore you".

There was something warm and tender in that expression, just like in his touch, in his kisses, in his hands when he was deep inside her.

His expression that for some reason he had a weakness for her. She had to admit to herself with surprise that he evoked similar feelings in her. Even though his everyday demeanour was aloof, cold and sometimes downright creepy, when it came to intimacy she felt safe with him, as if she had known him for years.

She wondered how his day was going.

She knew he must have said something to Alys, she also saw that he had argued with his grandfather and was all tense when she spoke to him outside the hotel. She felt remorse for leaving him like that just when he opened up. She pressed her lips together and with a pounding heart started to write a message.

She smiled involuntarily when she saw that he displayed it almost instantly, and after a moment his answer appeared. She pressed her lips together seeing his question, she thought he wanted to continue their conversation.

Seeing his last answer she felt a tightening in her stomach and regret. She got an idea from which she felt embarrassed, but then thought she didn't care anymore.

She needed someone to confide in, to tell someone about how she felt and at the same time was ready to offer him the same so that he could let go of what was weighing on him.

Sometimes it was better to confide in a stranger than someone close.

She pressed her lips together, wondering if he would refuse, if he would say they shouldn't and make her unable to look him in the face out of shame for the rest of their stay.

She couldn't believe the simple squeal of delight that came out of her mouth, some strange joy spilling over her heart, as if her best friend was about to come over to her place to gossip and watch silly comedy shows.

Knowing he was due to come she decided to tidy up her room a bit, throwing away the empty food wrappers and disposable cups strewn everywhere. She buried the scattered clothes in her suitcase and began to wonder if she should change.

She decided that she wouldn't.

She jumped up when she heard the sound of a notification and ran to her phone seeing that she had received a new message from him.

She giggled under her breath as she read his message and wrote him back quickly after looking at all the products in the picture.

He displayed her message and did not write back again. She waited for him impatiently excited and happy, although she didn't know for what reason. She felt it was their secret, a secret relationship between two complete strangers. She shuddered when, five minutes before time, she heard a quiet knock on the door.

She liked the fact that he was never late.

She got up lightly from her bed and opened the door, greeting him with a wide, happy smile. He lifted up a plastic bag full of cans. She laughed and said he was meeting the conditions and could come in. She closed the door behind him and took the bag from him, placing it on a desk standing against the wall.

Her room, unlike his, was a regular hotel room with a bathroom and a space with a bed, wardrobe, desk and a few chairs. He hung his leather jacket on a hanger and pulled off his shoes, staying in just a black tight T-shirt, black trousers and socks.

Meanwhile, while she put some of the beers in the small fridge he began to look around, seeing the gowns she had sewn hanging on the hangers covered with a special foil. He lifted it slightly to see the fabric up close and looked at the hand sewn details. She approached him, opening one beer for him, handing him a can.

"Just don't spill it, these gowns are worth more than you might think." She said amused, and he threw her a puzzled look.

"Why do you say that? They're works of art. They should be in a museum." He said it so seriously that she blinked and fell silent, embarrassed, lowering her gaze. She thought those were very kind words.

"Thank you." She said softly, and he hummed under his breath, lowering the foil back down.

"How long does it take you to sew and decorate one such dress?" He asked taking a sip of beer, looking at her intently. She scratched her head at his question.

"It depends. The one I wore during the show I sewed for two months working on it every day." She said calmly and swallowed quietly at the memory of what he had told her the day before.

Already during the show I was wondering how to get you into my bed.

She glanced at him and saw that he was looking at her intensely as if he knew what she was thinking about. A lecherous grin appeared on his face and she blushed as she lowered her head, feeling that she was burning under his gaze. She felt embarrassed as the space between her thighs pulsed, his scent filling her lungs again.

"How did your conversation go?" He asked finally, clearly wanting to take pity on her.

She opened her can with a loud pssst and sighed heavily, moving towards her bed, sitting down with her legs crossed. Encouraged by the gesture of her hand, he walked over to her bed and sat on the other side of it, facing her, leaning his head against the backrest.

She sighed quietly.

"I told him that… that I slept with someone." She said with difficulty, unable to look at him, fiddling with the can in her hands. "Of course I didn't tell him it was you. He said that obviously he had no right to be angry because we weren't together, but that he didn't know me from that side, as if I had disappointed him again. I don't know why even though he had never harboured any demands on me I often felt that I didn't live up to his expectations."

She said uncertainly, taking a sip from her can. She glanced at him and saw that he was looking at her intently, involuntarily turning his beer in his hands. He lowered his gaze as if considering whether he could say what was pressing against his lips.

"Did he force you to do something?" He asked finally, and she felt a tightening in her heart as she began to think about it.

He never forced her to do anything, he always understood her barriers, however, she suddenly realised the way he phrased sentences. She remembered one situation after which she had felt bad for a very long time, and Cregan had to reassure her for days that he was definitely not angry with her and that he understood.

She wasn't sure if she should talk about such things and felt embarrassed, so she didn't answer anything for a long time. She saw that his hand movements had stopped and his body tensed.

"You can tell me if he hurt you." He said quietly and she glanced at him frightened and shook her head quickly.

"No. No, it's not about that, I… uh…" She pressed her lips together and stroked the back of her neck in a gesture of discomfort, feeling her hands tremble. "…I'm not sure you want to hear about it."

"I want to."

She looked at him surprised at how coolly and confidently he said it. He was looking at her so intensely that she felt uncomfortable, something unsettling in his gaze. She swallowed loudly.

"He has always been understanding and affectionate to me in every aspect of my life. Also when it comes to intimacy, but… once when… um, he said that we could try something different… that I could try to please him, it-it scared me, because…" She swallowed hard, clenching her fingers tightly on the can, that memory suddenly painfully clear to her.

"…because I don't know, I felt there was something humiliating about when a men makes you suddenly kneel down in front of him, I didn't want to do it, I didn't feel ready… I… and he said that he also satisfies me like that to make me feel good, only I never asked him to do it. I wouldn't make him do it if he told me he was uncomfortable with it." She choked out shaking her head, feeling a tightening in her stomach and throat, feeling ashamed.

"I-I felt so ungrateful, like…like I was just taking and he was always giving, like as if I was denying him something he had earned…" She mumbled, and his ice-cold tone interrupted her in mid-sentence.

"Did you do it?"

She looked at him, horrified, his face pale, his jaw clenched, every muscle in his body tense, his fingers clenched on the tin he held so tightly that it bent.

"…no." She said quietly, in shame. She saw him swallow loudly, his gaze softening.

"Good." He said, taking a deep gulp of beer, letting out the air loudly as if he'd been holding it for a few seconds, staring blankly ahead. "Fucking piece of shit."

She lowered her gaze, embarrassed by her confession and how he reacted to it. The fact that he was angry, the fact that he somehow cared. For some reason she felt relieved. She swallowed quietly, looking at him uncertainly.

"What about Alys?" She asked, twisting in her seat, and he froze in mid-motion, just lifting the can to his lips again. He smiled, but it was a disturbing smile to say the least, one that didn't reach his eyes, cold, cruel, empty.

"Fucking whore has been informing on me to the press for years." He muttered, taking a deep sip of beer, licking his lips with his tongue. "She tried to record my confession on her phone that I slept with you. To give your name."

He said coolly and calmly, and she felt her lower lip part in disbelief, her heart starting to pound like crazy, pain spilling over her chest.

She was unable to get the words out.

She remembered that article she had read and wondered if it was from his assistant that this journalist got all the information she had written about.

She thought it was inhuman, cruel, horrible.

"Of course I haven't said anything to her, my lawyers are already dealing with her. I won't let any tabloid write about you." He said, shaking some fuzz off her duvet, looking at his hand thoughtfully. "She's been recording me for years. How we talk about business and my family. How we fuck. She's hedged her bets in case we break up."

She looked at him feeling her body simply freeze, what he was saying was beyond her understanding. She shook her head not knowing how to put her thoughts into words, what to say.

"God. This is horrible. How can you live with the idea of doing something like that to another human being, waking up next to them and falling asleep knowing you're hurting them?" She asked in a trembling voice looking at him with her eyes wide open, not understanding completely how she had been able to pretend for so many years. "How can you not feel remorse after something like that?"

She felt a cold shiver run down the back of her neck when she heard him chuckle low, taking a deep sip of beer again. He wasn't looking at her.

"You know what's most amusing? My grandfather knew about it from the very beginning."

She shook her head, feeling as if her heart had stopped beating for a moment. She smiled as if her body was trying to take it as a joke.

"…what?"

"He said he warned me, and I drove her everywhere on company money. He thought I might need a cold shower like that. My grandfather always had interesting reasons for educating us, you know?" He said, raising his eyebrows in amusement, looking at her in a way that made her press her lips together.

She felt that he had fallen into something, some void of hopelessness, nothingness, that he was not the same person she had met yesterday. He was defending himself from what had happened by closing himself in even deeper.

Her trembling hands traveled involuntarily up and down her can, her body shivering. She didn't know what was happening to her, she couldn't take her eyes off him.

"You didn't deserve this."

His smile disappeared from his face at her words. He glanced at her, his gaze blank, almost frustrated.

"You're quick to pass judgement for someone who's known me one day."

She felt pain at his words, felt that he had pushed her away, that he had let her know that she was approaching a boundary he didn't want her to cross. She set her beer down on the nightstand and moved closer to him. He flinched and tensed all over, not knowing what she was going to do. She sat close to him but didn't touch him, looking straight at his face.

"I've never felt most beautiful in his eyes. Craved for. I had the feeling that the reason he was with me was because he was comfortable that way. He used to say that everything seemed so easy with me, but now I'm not sure if that was a compliment. I'm not sure if I loved him or the thought that I could be important to someone, that someone had chosen me and not one of my older sisters, more mature and feminine than me. I felt wonderful at the thought that seeing them all he had chosen me, as if I were the prettiest apple in the market. Sometimes, in the months after we parted, I thought that for all that, God was punishing me for my vanity." She whispered, smiling with difficulty, holding back tears that were again rising at the corners of her eyes.

She had never said this to anyone.

Not even to Royce.

He looked her straight in the eye, his brow furrowed as if in worry, and they did not speak to each other for a long moment. She saw him swallow with difficulty, as if he was gathering himself to get out of himself what was cramming down his throat.

"You are the most beautiful girl I have ever seen. I craved you from the first moment I saw you."

She felt her whole body convulse at his words, her lips parted, a tear falling from her eye, her gaze all misty.

His beautiful words spoken so softly and calmly caused her pain.

She didn't know when her mouth found his, when his hand set his beer down on the floor while his free hand grabbed her neck and pulled her closer, their lips almost devouring each other, forming a mixture of teeth, tongues and soft, moist fleshy texture.

There was something kinky and perverse about these kisses, a shameless desire and thirst for physical closeness, fulfilment.

She didn't shy away when his hands undid the braces from her dungarees, pulling them off her with difficulty, leaving her in a white turtleneck and panties.

He grabbed her hip and forced her to sit on top of him with her arms around him, and she did so embarrassingly willingly, looking down at him with dreamy eyes, her soft lips returned to his, a quiet sigh escaping from his throat.

She stroked his face and hair with her hands, her fingers tender and gentle, wanting to give him the feeling that she really desired him, that he really aroused her affection, that she would not hurt him.

She let his hands squeeze her buttocks, pushing her closer, letting her feel what was happening inside his trousers, their lips sucking and licking with a lingering, wet click.

He looked at her with a hazy gaze, breathing unevenly as her small hands slid down to the button of his trousers, undoing it, his trembling hands stroking her thighs.

"Do you want this?" She asked quietly before grabbing his boxers, wanting to let him wonder if he really wished for it. He licked his lips at her question.

"I've wanted it from the moment I crossed the threshold of your room."

She kissed him again, a loud, satisfied murmur escaping his lips. His hands gripped her white turtleneck, throwing her only one questioning glance before he lifted it up, pulling it over her shoulders. He swallowed loudly when he realised she wasn't wearing a bra underneath, looking at her breasts for a moment.

She sighed loudly as he hugged his face to the space between her breasts placing wet, sticky kisses on her skin, she kissed his hair, sliding his boxers down a little, wanting to get to what was underneath them.

He helped her by twisting around, grabbing the material with her, reaching quickly into his pocket for a condom. She stopped his hand, looking at him uncertainly, breathing quietly.

"Can I feel you? Just for a moment. I'm clean." She said and saw that he threw her a shocked look.

He swallowed with difficulty and after a moment he nodded, unable to get a word out. She lifted herself quickly, his hands helping her slide the material of her panties off her legs.

She grasped his face in her hands and kissed him, lowering herself onto him, his hand holding his member so that she could reach it. They both moaned embarrassingly loudly as his tip slid into her sticky, hot, fleshy structure.

"− fuck − fuck −" He gasped, watching in disbelief as his cock sank slowly into her, her walls clamping down on him greedily.

"Shh…" She whispered tenderly, kissing his forehead, sinking against him fully, his hands roaming all over her body unable to decide where he wanted to touch her most. She sighed feeling how wonderfully he filled her, how he pulsed inside her in desire.

She rested one hand on his shoulder, rising slowly and falling back against him with a loud, sticky click of her moisture, her lips parted in an accelerated breath, both of them beginning to pant.

"− oh God −" She sighed, horrified at how pleasurable this was, how wonderful it was to feel him so much, so intimately.

He pressed his lips to her soft breast and began to suck it, licking her nipple, embarrassed by how loudly he was breathing, how much pleasure it gave him, her insides hot and wet just for him. She mewled feeling it, pressing his face closer to her flesh.

"− just a moment longer −" She mumbled involuntarily speeding up, rubbing herself with his member where she felt the most pleasure, feeling waves of heat each time she sank back against him, his fingers tightening on her hips forcing her to let him deeper inside her, his tip hitting her back wall again and again making her let out helpless, quiet moans.

He surprised her when he suddenly took her cheeks in his hand and kissed her greedily, his tongue invading between her lips just as brutally as his cock began to move inside her. She knew they shouldn't be doing this, that it was foolish, but they both knew, their foreheads touching, looking at each other, that they wouldn't be able to stop.

"− I'll take it out before I come, okay? − feels so fucking good −" He breathed out between the entwining of their tongues and lips, and she mewled at his words, feeling that her fulfilment was approaching, that she would come from the mere movement of his member at the angle he was moving inside her now.

"− yes − please − you will fuck me all night, won't you? − please, say that you will −" She sobbed, surprised and ashamed at her own shameless words.

He groaned low, speeding up, their hands roaming over their bodies and faces, his hand clenched tightly in her hair as his hips impaled her on his manhood with a sticky splat of flesh against flesh.

"− I will − you know I fuckin will −" He growled low and she came at his words, surprising him and herself, she pressed her forehead against his panting and sobbing loudly, her body quivering in fulfillment, his lips brushing hers wanting to reassure her, to soothe her.

"− so good − oh, fuck −" He exhaled and slid out of her quickly, squeezing himself a few times with his hand, his translucent, slightly whitish semen spilling straight onto her naked stomach. He rested his forehead between her breasts panting and groaning helplessly, she hugged him back kissing his hair.

"− I'm sorry −" He whispered quietly and she kissed his head again at his words, stroking his neck with her hand.

"− it's okay now − it's all right −"

He sighed at her words as if in relief, she felt his body relax, his arms hugging her waist loosely, his hands trailing down her spine. He swallowed loudly and kissed her sternum before asking her question.

"− do you want me to leave? −"

She smiled under her breath, embracing him tenderly, stroking his hair with a slow motion, her cheek nestled against the top of his head.

"No."

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Taglist 1

@its-actually-minicika @notnormalthings-blog @nikstrange @zenka69 @bellaisasleep @k-y-r-a-1 @g-cf2020 @melsunshine @opheliaas-stuff @chainsawsangel @iiamthehybrid @tinykryptonitewerewolf @namoreno @malfoytargaryen @qyburnsghost @aemondsdelight @persephonerinyes @fan-goddess @sweethoneyblossom1 @watercolorskyy @astral-blossoms @randomdragonfires @apollonshootafar @padfooteyes @darylandbethfanforever9 @fudge13 @snh96 @rwdkarla @echos-muses @ipostwhtifeel @letmeloveyouuuu @yentroucnagol @valeskafics @tempt-ress @ahristata @menaosama @queenofshinigamis @dark-night-sky-99 @kate-to-the-ki @travelingmypassion @summerposie @thetrueblackheart

#aemond fic #aemond fanfiction #aemond targaryen #aemond x oc #hotd aemond #aemond x fem!reader #ewan mitchell #ewan mitchell fanfic #modern dark aemond #dark aemond #dark aemond targaryen #modern aemond smut #aemond smut #aemond targaryen smut #aegon smut #hotd smut #aegon angst #aemond targeryen angst #aemond targaryen angst #aemond angst #hotd angst #modern aemond #dark modern aemond #aemond hotd #prince aemond #aemond #aemond one eye #aemond fanfic #hotd fanfiction #hotd fanfic

[enterwittyjokehere]

The stuff of dreams

[Syzoth (reptile mk1) x Afab reader smut]

⚠️ Warnings:

[No pronouns used]

[Heavy smut 18+ only]

[Somnophilia, (cnc play)]

Rays of golden sunlight shone through the blinds, covering the windows in your eathrealm apartment. You turned over, adjusting the strong arm laying over you protectively, turning over to see a zatarian was scary the first few times.

However, now you recognized a face you adored in any form. You smiled, laying on your side, watching Syzoth's chest rise and fall as he breathed.

He mumbled, though, you couldn't understand what he was saying. You stared up at his face the sunlight framed it like a halo, his grip on your arm tightened for a second. He began to mumble again, this time you swore he said your name.

You were taken aback for a second, what was he dreaming of?

Should you wake him?

Once more, his reptilian hand gripped your waist tightly, pulling you closer to him. His clawed hand dug into your soft flesh, tearing into it. You let out a pained cry as tears filled your eyes, blinking them out. You pryed his hand away, moving out of the bed going into the bathroom to look at your wound.

It wasn't like you weren't used to pain and blood, you did participate in the mortal kombat tournament. Syzoth just didn't have kontrol over his strength in his current state, although, you could never blame him.

You cleaned the wound and bandaged it up, moving back to the bed you took your place laying beside your lover. Moving under his arm, waking him slightly, "baby?"

"I'm right here, my love." You said putting your warm hand to his cold face.

"Elder Gods, you feel good." He spoke, snuggling deeper into you. His knee found its place between your legs, one hand beneath your neck, the other resting over your waist, just barely brushing your butt.

You laughed, as your rhythmic breathing lulled him back asleep. He continued to have vivid dreams however, you could tell because he was still speaking and moving in his sleep.

His knee had traveled up to where, at certain points, it would rub against you, making your breath hitch. Your heart beating fast and your cl*t throbbed for his attention, you imagined that playing with yourself, while it may help, would probably only sustain you until he woke up.

You were going to attempt it anyway, focusing on your lovers labored breathing, you moved your hand to you thighs. Rubbing the inside of them first, you glanced at Syzoth sleeping peacefully.

Was this wrong?

Getting off to your sleeping lover?

Possibly, although you knew he wouldn't mind, Syzoth adored watching you play with yourself. He loved the sounds you would make, warming yourself up for him, you did it quite a bit. Only ever because, he was the biggest man you'd been with, so you needed foreplay for him.

You stuck two fingers in and pumped them in and out, letting out small noises of pleasure. Once again, Syzoth jerked his knee, pushing your fingers deep into you. Letting out a much louder sound, you covered your mouth as your breathing calmed down.

"Baby, please." He pleaded in his sleep.

"I'm trying, Sy." You mumbled, rubbing your forgotten cl*t.

Pretty soon you were bucking your hips trying to get any friction you could get. As your climax grew close you looked over at Syzoth, his parted lips, his peaceful face, he also looked so close. His breath ragged from the dream that plagued his rest, he jerked his knee. You continued to buck your hips, basically grinding on his knee, you removed your hand. Riding Syzoth's knee, you through your head back, moaning loudly.

"Syzoth." You moaned out, "Oh Gods yes."

You continued to move but your movement was twitchy and sporadic as your climax inched closer. Your moans got caught in your throat, being choked out as pleasure sounds, the grip of Syzoth's hand tightened and his arm stretched out past you. His eyes fluttered open, and the realization of what you were doing caught up with you.

"Syzoth?" You called out, he looked at you. You were flustered red from your ears to your cheeks. Your hair was a mess and you were breathing sloppily, you were perfect, "syzoth, I'm so sorry."

He was confused at first, "..."

"I was trying to get myself off, but in your sleep you were moving and talking and-" you paused, "I hate that i would abuse your trust like this."

Syzoth felt the dampness on his thigh, as well as your warm thighs incasing it, he smiled, "baby, you have done nothing wrong."

"You don't have a problem with what I did?" You asked, Syzoth responded with a chuckle.

"Of course not, no different from me thinking about you, it's an honor, my darling." He let out a wispy laugh.

"I just thought-"

Syzoth's quickly glanced at you, taking his human shape, you had forgotten that he slept in the buff. A blush covered your face, syzoth pushed his face into your neck, his split tongue tracing your sensitive spots.

His now smaller hand found your waist again, pulling you closer, you winced, Syzoth lifted away from your neck. He gave you a quizzical look, he rubbed the bandage you had stuck on the cut from earlier.

"When did this happen?" He asked, fiddling with the small bandage.

"Earlier while you were asleep, you just grabbed me." You said, "it's fine, you'll just have to be careful."

"Baby, I'm sorry... shall we continue... carefully?" He mused against your flesh, biting and sucking on the tender areas.

You continued to move against his leg, until your lover removed it, placing his hands around your waist. He sat you on top of him, he pumped his cock in his hands, his eyes intently watching you.

"Ready?" He asked, breathing heavily.

"Always, Syzoth." You cooed, his features over taken by a hint of green.

You moved over him, hovering as he lined himself up with you. You lowered yourself on to him slowly, stretching yourself out slowly, you sat c*ckwarming him for a second or two.

Both of you fighting at the urge to gather more friction, finally you moved. You moved your hips in circles and up and down, bouncing all over him, making sure that he hit every spot he could. You were a mess, drool ran down your face, tears leaked from your eyes, your hands in your hair, tugging to give you pleasure.

"I am so lucky." Syzoth breathed in between moans and pants.

"Likewise, my love." You said leaning down to peck his lips.

You continued to bounce, the skin slapping filled the room, the only thing to distract from it would be you and your lovers sweet noises. You reached your climax, constricting around Syzoth, clenching and unclenching. Making him grab onto the sheets on the bed, he groaned and as always he began to flicker in and out of sight, he couldn't control his powers when he orgasmed.

You had always thought it was a cute quirk, his orgasms being so strong they affected his abilities. You had not only come to enjoy it, but to expect it, it was a tell tell sign he had gotten off.

Although what you were not expecting was for Syzoth to grow within you, you felt as his already large c*ck grow, longer and thicker. The skin got rougher, but it didn't hurt as badly as you had anticipated. It pushed you through your climax, your eyes rolling back, and struggled moans escaped your throat as you and Syzoth came together.

#reptile mortal kombat fanfic #mk1 reptile #reptile #reptile mortal kombat #reptile x reader #syzoth x reader smut #syzoth x you #syzoth #syzoth x reader #syzoth mortal kombat #syzoth smut #mortal kombat smut #mortal kombat #x reader #queer author #kinktober #somnophilia #cncplay

[hawkeyetrained]

Run. Get to Stiles.

Pairing: Stiles Stilinski x Hale sister!reader

Other characters: Noah Stilinski, Derek Hale

Warnings: Hunters?, blood, gun shot wounds, fear, let me know if I missed something

Summary: Hunters catch her off guard and she has to run for her life

Word Count: 1,955

Run. That was the only thing screaming out in my mind. Run or you’re going to die. Run or they are going to chain you up and torture you for information on your pack. Run or others might die.

Get to Stiles. Get to Derek. Get to Scott. Those were the next statements playing as I pushed myself as fast as I could through the woods. Get to Chris, or anyone.

Blood trickled from a wound on my shoulder, coating my jacket and soaking into the cotton of my shirt. Thank god the bullet that tore through my skin was normal, a simple hollow point that had hit and expanded into my skin, making sure my healing wouldn’t start with the offensive metal still lodged in my body.

The sky was pitch black, the moon shrouded out by dense clouds that blocked any possible light. If I didn’t have my heightened senses, I surely would have been running in circles and tripping on roots. Branches from trees were barely blocked by my hands as I ran, keeping any from scratching my face so I could focus on getting away.

“This way!” I heard a voice shout, probably looking at the messy footprints and blood drops from where I had just been a moment ago.

BANG

A scream ripped it’s way through my lungs as another bullet lodged itself into my leg, this one searing more than the last. My steps fumbled and I crashed down a drop off in the woods, tumbling my way through fallen leaves and over huge stones that sliced into my jacket, hands, and head. The bottom came all too quickly, stopping me in my place almost instantly and knocking the breath from my lungs.

I pushed back my messy hair from my face and pulled myself back onto my feet, eyes flashing as I tried to figure out what way town was. Lights flickered at the top of the hill I had just fallen down, and without thinking I just headed off in the direction that would take me away from them.

Dawn had to be approaching. My legs ached and my lungs burned from running for hours. My head swirling with everything I was telling myself. Run. Don’t stop, run. Get to Stiles, get to Derek, get to someone.

Street. You’re running on a paved road. You’re back in the city and the sun is coming up. Go, run, Stiles isn’t too far away. Get to him and call Derek. That’s his house. There’s his car, and his dads. Scream. Wake him up. Draw attention.

“Stiles!” My voice was no where near as loud as I wanted it to be. Exhaustion and the burning in my lungs from running taking its toll. My skin had to be pale in color by now. My jeans and shoes clinging to my body from the blood that never seemed to stop pouring from my wounds, hair sticking to my head from my sweat dripping down. “Stiles!” Again, I called out for the boy who was always at my side.

His front door opened and out came the sheriff followed closely by his son. “Y/N?” Stiles voice called from the front step. “Oh my god.” His dad had made it to the bottom of the driveway, stood with his hand on his hip, his gun, as he watched the road and woods behind me as I slammed into the chest of his son. My arms wrapped around Stiles, clinging to the boy as tightly as I could while trying to calm my racing heart.

“I can’t-I can’t run anymore.” One of his arms held my waist to him while the other rested on the back of my head, helping me realize I was finally safe.

Soft golden rays of sunlight began to strike through the dark sky, giving light to just how bad a condition I was actually in to the two Stilinski men.

“Honey, what were you running from?” Noah turned from the woods to look at me

“Hunters.” My voice shook as exhaustion began to seep into my body. “So many. Never seen them before.”

“I got you now.” Stiles hugged me tighter, brushing his fingers through my hair.

“You’re hurt.” Noah noticed the blood soaking nearly everything I wore. “Bad.”

I shook my head. “Jus’ need the bullets removed. I’ll be fine.” My arms wrapped tighter to Stiles, eyes dropping closed as I finally got my breathing under control. “Need help.”

“I got you now. We’re gonna help you. You’re safe sweetheart.” Stiles pressed a kiss to the side of my head before unwrapping one of his arms and helping me into his room upstairs. “Umm, ok. I’m gonna go grab the first aid kit, and some clothes you can change into. Give me a sec, ok?”

I nodded at him before he took off for the things he needed. I took this time to start pulling my blood soaked clothes off to make pulling the metal from my skin easier. My shoes and jeans were the first things to go, being tossed into the corner of his room that held an empty laundry basket. The jacket was a bit harder to pull off with how badly my shoulder burned as I pulled the fabric away.

“Woah woah.” Stiles threw his supplies down on the bed and helped pull the jacket off my arms when he saw the pain in my eyes. “Let me help.” His hands were gentle to trail up my sides and bring the cotton over my head, leaving me in my bra and underwear, both slightly red stained in a few spots. “You wanna lay down for me? So I can get the bullets out?”

A hum escaped my lips as I crawled into his bed and rested my head on his soft pillows. I could feel his hands shake and hear his breathing pick up when he caught sight of my wounds and all the blood that covered my skin. “Hey, I’ll be ok. Wanna grab your dad to get the bullets out?”

“No.” He denied, fingers of one hand resting gently on the inner side of my thigh to turn my leg towards him. “I can do this.”

“I know you can.” I reassured him. “Take a deep breath.” He did, then moved the tweezers into the small hole in my leg. I gasped in pain as he moved the metal around a little, apologies falling from his mouth as he worked. As quickly as the pain started, it was over and the bullet was pulled from my leg.

“Ok. I got one.” He pressed a handful of gauze to my wound to stop some of the blood from running down my skin. “Got one more to go. You’re doing great.”

“So are you.” A small smile crossed my lips as I caught a glimpse of his shoulders relaxing and his hands staying steady. “This one’ll be a little harder. I could feel it trying to heal around the bullet so it might need more force.”

“I-yeah, ok.” Stiles took another deep breath as he slid up the side of his bed to get a better look at the wound on my shoulder. “Take a deep breath sweetheart.” He was the one telling me to calm my heart rate now.

Just like the last wound, it burned just as much if not more. My hands fisted into his sheets as he dug for the bullet, my mind pleading with my claws to stay away and my eyes to not glow from the pain.

Stiles fingers slipped on the tweezers and pressed into my skin, a growl rumbling in my chest from the pain and remaining fear from running all night. “Sorry, I’m so sorry.” Finally he pulled the bullet out and pressed another mass of gauze to my skin, a sigh leaving my lungs as the healing finally started pulling my skin back together. “I got it. You’re gonna be ok.”

“Thank you.” I smiled tiredly to him. “Can you call Derek? I gotta warn him and I’m sure he’s worried sick.”

“Yeah. I’ll call him. You wanna take a shower?” He pulled his phone from his pants pocket. “You’re kinda covered in blood.”

I took a quick shower, blood running down the drain and being replaced with the smell is Stiles from his few products now coating my skin. His hoodie and sweatpants were sat on the counter when I stepped out, allowing me to change and bush my hair before I joined the Stilinskis in their living room.

Just as I sat down, the front door slammed open. Both Stilinski men jumped from their seats and turned towards the door looking ready to fight off any possible hunters, only for my brother Derek to be stood in the threshold.

“Oh my god.” He mumbled, rushing towards me and pulling me into his arms. “I’ve been looking all over for you.” His hands pulled my face to look at his, his bright blue wolf eyes staring into my golden ones. “What happened?”

“Hunters.” I stated, pulling away and sitting back beside Stiles, his hand coming to rest on my thigh as I pulled my legs up and into my chest, practically curling into his side. “Found me as I was leaving work. Pretty much ran through the woods all night.”

“Are you hurt?” He questioned, sitting to Noah’s side.

“Not anymore. Stiles pulled the bullets from me. Saved my life.” I smiled up at the boy I was hopelessly in love with.

“I can’t thank you enough Stiles.” It was one of the few times I had seen my brother look a little helpless. Knowing Stiles was able to save my life lifted a weight even he didn’t know was on his shoulders.

“I’d do anything for her. You all know that.”

“We need to warn the others, about these hunters in the woods. I don’t know how they are doing it, but I didn’t hear them come up behind me or even smell them before the bullet hit my shoulder. I thought they did something at first, put something in the air, but they managed to completely surprise me.” My hands wrapped around the one Stiles had on my leg, my head resting against his shoulder. “I can’t take anyone else dying. Not after everything we’ve been through.”

Losing each member of the packs ripped at my heart until it was a shredded mess in my chest. That is until Stiles came to my side and mended the tears. Sure, he had been there from the start, just like I had, but we only just realized how in love with each other we were when he was possessed last year.

“I’ll get the word out to the pack, let everyone know to not be alone and to keep an eye out for absolutely anything.” Derek had his phone in his hand already. “No one goes anywhere without someone else with them.”

“They need to know about the surprise part. Can’t be cautious if they don’t know I couldn’t hear the hunters attack.” Stiles gripped me a little tighter. “Can I stay here for a little while? I really don’t wanna be too far from you at the moment.” My eyes glanced up at Stiles.

“Of course.” He looked to his dad and then Derek. “You can stay as long as you want.” I cuddled into his side tighter. “We’ll protect you.”

It may not be easy, this fight against the people who know of us and are scared of us. But I knew one thing, as long as I had the pack, my bother, and Stiles, we’d be able to handle anything.

@thetallassgirl @hallecarey1 @bellabadacadabra

#teen wolf imagine #teen wolf #stiles stilinski #stiles stilinksi imagine #stiles stilinksi x reader