#the last time being he saw him inside a burning building

[callmelittlebuttercup]

Peace Offerings Pt.7

Pairing: Joel Miller x F!Reader

Series Summary: Joel makes a bad impression on the reader when he cuts in front of her at the radio station in the QZ. Abe, a father figure to her and an informant of Joel’s, informs her that the two have something in common: A brother in Wyoming. Joel reluctantly follows Abe’s wishes when he asks him to take the reader along to help find her brother too. As the journey goes on, she finds that despite his best efforts to make her think so, Joel isn’t a complete asshole, and maybe even a little… attractive?

Series Warnings: Slow burn, Age gap (reader is 34, Joel is 56), 18+ Minors DNI, Sexual Themes, Violence, Injuries (depictions of blood, bruising, broken bones), Cursing, Grumpy!Joel, Minimal depictions of reader's appearance (hair color/length.)

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Part Seven

I’d fallen asleep on the couch. Joel placing a mug of coffee onto the table beside me had been my sign to wake up. “What time is it?” I asked while wiping the sleep out of my eyes. “Early. We need to catch up on time.” He said. He was back to his rigid self. I guess last night had been too much for him. I sat up and stretched before taking a sip of the hot, stale liquid. It burned my tongue, but I played it cool. He dropped my backpack in front of me and slung his own over his shoulder. “Be ready in five.” He grunted and turned to walk out the front door. “Aye aye captain.” I mumbled under my breath as I reached for my boots. 

I nearly stumbled out onto the porch, and met Joel at the bottom of the stairs. “Ready.” I said. He stood up with a grunt and we began our trek. The air was beginning to get colder, and soon my sweatshirt wouldn’t be enough. I took stock of the clothing I had left in my bag, and even then, I still wouldn’t make it through the winter. “We should find somewhere for warm clothes.” I suggested. He nodded and replied, “Keep an eye out.” I plucked the map he had tucked into the side pocket of his backpack and opened it up. My eyes scanned the area, and if my eyes weren’t deceiving me, there was a shopping mall about 10 miles north. I relayed the information to Joel, and of course he grabbed the map from me, needing to confirm it for himself. I stood close to him, pointing to where I saw the mall. He nodded and folded up the map before handing it to me to shove back into the pocket. 

It took five hours, but we’d finally caught sight of the mall. After 5 hours of walking, my mind was fried, and I was even convinced the mall could have been a mirage. “You see that too right?” I asked Joel, my words slurring slightly. “Yup.” He answered. “Just making sure.” 

We closed the distance between us and the ginormous building. “This is going to be a bitch to clear.” I sighed. “Just keep it down.” Joel demanded as he pushed the door open with a creak. Memories of my childhood flooded back as I caught sight of the grand entryway to the abandoned mall. “Stay behind me.” He whispered as we entered the building cautiously. I kept my head on a swivel and kept up with Joel’s quickened pace. He stopped at the opening of what looked like a sporting goods store. I followed him inside, and once we deemed the area clear, we untensed and began to load any clothes we saw into our bags. I chose a wind breaker with a sherpa lining and a few sweaters to go underneath. Joel grabbed us each a pair of gloves and a hat. I’d wandered off to see if there was anything else of use, and was eyeing the picked over shoe racks when I felt the hair on the back of my neck stand up. I heard it before I saw it. The familiar raspy breath of an infected. I turned around and caught sight of the nasty thing. It came barreling forward but ran into a rack and sent it flying into me. It slammed against my torso and pinned me to the shoe display. I began to lose vision from the pain of my already cracked ribs being beaten even further. With the little strength I could muster, I pushed the rack off me and used it to keep the distance between the monster and I. It’s arms flailed over the side of the rack as it tried to get a hold of me, but I ducked and dodged each time. I prayed for Joel to find me since I didn’t have the time to take my eyes off of the infected to get my gun from the floor. I stood there fighting the creature as hard as I could all while trying not to collapse from the agony. I finally hurt a gunshot and the creature dropped to the floor. I let go of the rack and paused, ensuring that it was fully dead, and soon after Joel’s hand grabbed my arm and yanked me backwards. “We gotta get out of here. Go!” 

I ran as fast as I could behind Joel, and once he felt that we were far enough away from the mall, he slowed to a jog. “You promised you wouldn’t do that.” He breathed. “I know.” I gasped. “So what the fuck possessed you to?” He questioned, his voice gaining volume from growing anger. “I…I don’t know, I just wanted to see what else we could get.” I stuttered, feeling fear pulse through my abdomen. His dark eyes practically burned holes into me. He said nothing and turned to continue to walk along the path we’d fallen upon. 

About two hours later, we’d come upon a and cleared school to rest in for the night. He’d been silent, clearly angry at me for wandering away from him. I didn’t want to speak to him either. Even if his anger was because of the fact he cared about me, I hated being talked down to and treated like an irresponsible child. He sat across the grimy, dust filled teachers lounge and bore his eyes into me. I tried to ignore the pain across the right side of my stomach, but it got worse with each breath, and would soon be impossible to ignore. I needed to do something about it, but if Joel saw that I was hurt I would get another lecture. I sat still on the couch, picking at my fingernails to avoid eye contact. “I know you’re hurt.” He grumbled. My eyes shot up to him, “What? I’m fine.” I said defensively. “Then get up and twist to the side.” He demanded. I raised my eyebrows, continuing to act confused, “What the fuck are you on about, Joel? I’m fine, I’m just tired.” I insisted. He stood up and walked over, standing over me and studying my body with his eyes. “Don’t fuckin’ lie to me.” He said, his voice getting lower with impatience. I sighed, my side rippling with pain, and reluctantly sat up while stifling a grunt. I stood, causing Joel to take a step back. “Here’s your proof.” I said as I began to twist to the side. The pain was so bad the wind was knocked out of me and I stumbled backwards, my ass landing on the couch. Joel’s face remained unchanged except for a small glint in his eye. He clearly loved when I was wrong. 

I stared up at him angrily while catching my breath. “Lift up your shirt.” He said. I chucked, “Woah, Miller, take me out to dinner first.” He unsurprisingly did not laugh at my joke, and sat on the couch next to me, leaving about two feet between us. I rolled my eyes and lifted up my shirt while sucking air through my teeth. Joel’s eyes widened and his lips parted. “Wha-” I began to ask but my breath caught in my throat when I caught sight of the nasty multicolored bruise painted across the right side of my abdomen. “Must’ve broken a rib. A few ribs at least.” He said before absentmindedly moving his calloused fingers up to touch it. I jerked away and spat, “Don’t fucking touch it.” He quickly moved his hand away and muttered, “Sorry.” I pulled my shirt back down and sat back on the couch with a grunt. I looked at him, wondering what his next move would be. He stood up and walked to his backpack on the other side of the room, unzipped it, and pulled out a long-sleeved shirt. “Joel, don’t waste a perfectly good shirt, I’ll be fine.” I said, but he ignored me and I watched him as he ripped it and tied it to make a longer strip of fabric. 

When he was finished, he walked back over to me and gestured for me to stand again. I raised my shirt up for him again and he didn’t move. He cleared his throat and said “It’ll need to go under your shirt.” I nodded and reluctantly pulled my t-shirt off, leaving only my ratty bra to cover my breasts. He unraveled the fabric and began to wrap it around my torso a few times, then looped it over my opposite shoulder. I winced as he pulled it tighter before tying one last knot in the center of my chest. Pulling the fabric had forced our bodies closer together, the warmth of his breath brushing over my face. His head turned down, and his eyes bounced back and forth between my eyes and my lips, and I could have sworn he leaned in closer before pulling away quickly. Embarrassment flooded my cheeks as he took a step back and studied his work, making sure it was tied correctly. The tightness of the wrap pressed into the bruise causing a dull ache, but moving with it on felt much better than nothing. “Thanks.” I said quietly. He nodded and sat back down on the other couch, not thinking to look away as I put my shirt back on. 

“I told you to stay behind me. And now look at you.” He huffed after a minute of silence. “Oh save it, Joel.” I spat. He leaned forward on his knees, “There was no need for you to go and get yourself hurt. We agreed what I say goes, so you need to start actin’ like it.” His eyes were intense, he wasn’t fucking around. I only agreed to that sentiment so he would take me with him to find our brothers in Wyoming. I thought he knew that since I showcased my hardheadedness often. “We both lived, and I’ll be fine.” I said, wanting to end the conversation. “We’re staying here while you heal. Not getting back on the road until you can move correctly again. S’not safe.” I lifted my head off the couch to look at him, “You can’t be serious. My legs are fine! I can walk!” He pressed his lips together and shook his head, “You can’t move your upper body. You can’t fight.” He said. I rolled my eyes and let a puff of air leave my nose, “Staying here will only make the trip longer. I want to get to Wyoming, Joel.” He thought for a minute and then looked up at me, “We’ll get there faster if you take the time to rest.” He argued. I stood up and grabbed my backpack, stifling the grimaces as I gathered my things. “What’re you doing?” He asked, eyeing me as I moved around the room. “I’m getting on the road. Don’t need someone to hold me back.” I muttered as I began to walk towards the door of the lounge. Joel bolted to the door and stood blocking it. I stared daggers at him, “Move.” He shook his head side to side slowly. I pushed on his chest as hard as I could with both of my hands, “Fucking move, asshole!” I winced when he grabbed my arms and pushed me to the side, pinning my back against the wall beside the door. “I can’t let you do that.” He grunted, using his strength to hold me. I tried to struggle against his grip but my side was searing with pain. “You can. I’m a grown woman, Joel. I don’t need you to protect me like some guard dog. I’ll do just fine on my own.” I seethed, “Let go of me. Please I just want to get to my brother.” 

Tears of frustration pooled in my eyes. Joel’s hard gaze softened, and so did his grip. “You will. But you won’t get far with broken ribs. I’m trying to help you.” He said calmly. I looked at him through my tears. Took in his wild brown hair which was sprinkled with grey, his square jaw inhabited by a patchy beard, eyes the color of ground coffee, eyes that were pleading for me to stay. I didn’t know why, but I was beyond attracted to him. Sure, he was older, but what did that matter nowadays? In addition to his looks, his commanding and dark personality intrigued me. He clearly cared about me, but he had walls up. Hard, concrete walls that were going to take maximal effort to break down. But hell was I going to try because I’ve never said no to a challenge. 

“You want me to stay, huh?” I asked, blinking away my tears as a new idea popped into my head. “I don’t want you to get killed.” He said gruffly. I smirked slightly, “Then admit it.” I blurted. His face twisted into an expression that was confusion mixed with fear. He took a step back, letting his arms fall to his sides. “What?” He questioned. “Yeah, that’s right. If you want me to stay so badly, admit that you care about me.” I taunted as I walked towards him. He stumbled over his words, but I cut him off again, “C’mon, Joel, you’ve slaughtered people but you’re afraid to confess your feelings to a woman?” I chuckled. He stood staring at me. His chest rising and falling with his panicked breaths. He said nothing, and my heart fell slightly, but I kept my confident air. “Fine. See you in hell.” I said before turning to walk out of the door. Before my hand could touch the handle, I felt a calloused grip on the back of my neck. The hand pulled me backwards and I turned. I barely had time to process, and suddenly my lips were moving hungrily with Joel’s. 

Warmth and excitement spread through my stomach as his arms gently wrapped around my waist. His hands shakily held onto the small of my back, his fingers clenching into the fabric of my shirt when I let a small moan slip into his mouth. We lost ourselves in each other. Our hands explored places neither of us ever thought we’d touch. His strong hands moved cautiously up my waist and around my shoulders to settle into each crook of my neck. He used his body to push me backwards into the wall. My hands gripped his torso, pulling him closer, using anything but words to ask him for more. His tongue licked my bottom lip and I eagerly let him in. He tasted better than anything I’d imagined. Suddenly, he pulled away. “I can’t.” He grunted as he gently pushed his hands off of my hips and stalked away into the other room, leaving me with swollen lips, heavy breathing, confusion, and rejection. 

I sat on the couch staring at the ground and chewing on my fingernails. I felt embarrassed at how desperate I’d been for him, and for actually thinking he would open up to me. I dropped my head into my hands and let out a frustrated groan. His footsteps caused my head to snap up, and he stood in the doorway. His face was unreadable. “Joel,” I started to speak but he cut me off. “Don’t. It was a mistake. Won’t happen again. Now get some sleep. We’re getting back on the road in the morning.” He said as he laid down on the other couch. I nodded and laid back, turning away from him. My thoughts made sleep seem unreachable. His voice grounding out the word “mistake” over and over in my mind. Maybe he was right. Maybe it was all one huge mistake. Me leaving the QZ for my brother, Joel agreeing to take me with him. But it was too late now. We were so close to Wyoming. I decided I would suck it up, not enage with Joel unless I had to, and stick to his plans no matter what. I just needed to survive, and I would make it to Matthew. 

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Author's Note: Hi hi! We're finally getting some action in this part;) Also, I've had a request to start a tag list so please let me know if you'd like to be added!! I hope you enjoy <3

Next Part | Masterlist

#joel miller x reader #joel tlou #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fandom #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal x female reader #tlou #joel the last of us #the last of us fanfiction #tlou fanfiction #tlou hbo #the last of us #the last of us hbo #hbo tlou #slow burn #romance #enemies to lovers #the mandolarian #the mandalorian #star wars #forced proximity #forced proximity trope

[moonlesslights]

Miguel O’hara in Love

Headcanons.

━━━━━━ ✿ 🕷️ ❀ ━━━━━

A/N: I was really looking forward to write this, because I just can’t get this whole idea out of my head.

Warnings: Basically none, a little bit of angst maybe?, some smut references and depictions. Miguel being Miguel. Kinda obsessive (?)

This text is based in that frase of Joe Goldberg: “There’s not a line, in the world, that I wouldn’t cross for you”. So be prepared.

Enjoy, my loves. Every comment or request is welcomed! 🤍

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Miguel was curious of you from the very moment he met you. Such a unique presence among all the others.

You had been bitten just a month ago. And it was hard for you. He saw you struggle, falling over and over again, training till exhaustion, fighting to be on the level of the others.

And the worst part of it all, was the guilt coming to attack him with every side eye Jessica gave to him. “If you weren’t going to help her, you should have let her alone.” The woman had whispered while both of them looked at you fighting to climb another building. Miguel knew she was right. He was the one who insisted in bringing you immediately after they found you (only a couple of days after the bite), even when Jessica insisted to give you time for you to figure it out alone. Miguel wasn’t having it, and now… “She’s been at it for the whole morning.” The woman pursed her lips, shaking her head.

What Jessica didn’t quite know was that Miguel hadn’t left you alone all this time… He wasn’t good at talking, that was true. He wasn’t good at showing his support with words, but that didn’t mean he didn’t care.

You let out a pained groan when you finally plop on the concrete of the building’s rooftop. Every single muscle of your body aches and you can fell your heart pounding harshly against your ribcage, making it feel like every breath that makes it to your lungs it’s just a mere miracle.

The weight of the presence of someone standing beside you forces you to blink out of your thoughts. Tiredly, you look up, finding Miguel's mask glaring back at you with a deep frown you can make out of the way his eyes curve.

He holds a white little package on his right and he hands it to you before finally sitting down without making a single sound. It had all started like a little game between the two of you: You pretend you don’t see his figure hovering above a building while you train, or his silhouette watching you getting back to The Society place safely. You also pretend you don’t know it’s him who leaves bandages and painkillers over your bed every day with a little chocolate next to it. And he pretends he doesn’t know that you know.

You cross your legs and smile when you open the small box on your hands, smelling the sweet scent of warm and fresh food. You also take notice of how he changed one of the things he brought you last time, you didn’t have the heart to tell him, but you were sure now he definitely noticed you didn’t like it.

“Eat.” He orders and you are too tired to remark his tone of voice with a roll of your eyes. So you nod, bringing a big spoonful of pasta and vegetables to your mouth, thanking him with a big smile. Smile he doesn’t return. He never does anyway. But now it’s not like always. He’s pissed. “When was the last time you ate?”

You look straight ahead, avoiding his gaze. You swallow, slowly, feeling his eyes burning on the side of your head.

“Mhm… Not long ago, no.” You answer, mumbling while you get more food into your mouth. Miguel raises an eyebrow.

“Training this much without any nutriments won’t do anything good for you…”

“Training this much won’t do anything anyway.” You sigh, keeping then the fork between your lips. Miguel wishes to say something but he can’t find the words, he can’t order his thoughts inside his head to place them on his tongue and tell you just how much you have improved since the first day, so he gladly receives your bright eyes turning to him when you seem to remember: “But I finally climbed this building, see? Without using any web, only my spider fingers.”

The man nods at you waving playfully at him. The determination in your eyes even when your whole body wanted to give up, even when you know you’re still not close to go on a mission by yourself (or with anyone else), even when you probably couldn’t even sleep fine because of the sore bruises, the determination in your eyes didn’t flatter.

That made him feel something deep is his hands, a tingle he couldn’t control. And he hated it.

“Tomorrow at seven.” He sentences, standing on his feet again.

You frown, raising big eyes at him. The brightness in them when the weight of his words hit you destabilizes him.

“For real?”

“Yes.” He looks away. “If I don’t train you you’re not getting anywhere.”

His comment goes unnoticed for the excitement running all along your body.

“Ok.” You nod, trying to look professional but failing miserably.

He grunts in response, soon jumping off of the building and losing among all of the city chaos. In some minutes he would be back at the Society lobby. You… An hour. Give or take.

Training with Miguel was nothing but… Hell.

No, it actually wasn’t. You expected you could say that to make people thing you were having it hard, but he insisted on starting with the basics… basics that you already felt like being good at.

Still, climbing had become easier within the first week of training with him. The tips and advices he insisted you to follow helped you thinking of it more like a game than a must do.

Swinging was still a tricky one. You used to lose your balance when the demanded velocity was too much. Panic rushed over you, feeling like you would crash against a window or a fucking person, or another spider doing their own training.

“Trust your senses.” Miguel said to you every time you fell, and every time you death glared at him for that. He didn’t have one of the most important senses for spider people and he still managed to be better than anyone you could have known. You had them all, and they all seemed to be a mess when you tried to use them.

Soon enough, Miguel learned about a way to motivate you: Rewards. Most of the time was food, some others, the promise of letting you rest for more that five minutes was enough. For a week now, it had been a little bit different.

History. You loved it. And you changed any delicious and tasty food for hours listening to Miguel explaining everything about the multiverse and the tangled webs between all of you. He had told you about his first travels to other Earths at least three times, but you couldn’t seem to get tired.

You might not tell him how much his voice soothes you after a long day out, but it wasn’t necessary, he could see it. On the other hand, he definitely would never tell you how he glanced at you, completely asleep after another history session, memorizing every breath, every mole and freckle, counting every single one of your eyelashes like the stars on the sky above you.

No. You would never find out about that.

Today was supposed to be just like any other day: quiet, calm and premeditated. Nothing out of the routine you and Miguel had adopted for the past four weeks.

But with you, things were never that easy. Boredom was a dangerous thing for you, Miguel had learned it by now. The hard way. If something became not enough exciting for your restless self, you would look for that spark of adrenaline at any cost. It was part of your determination. Heart of a lion. He knew that. But it didn’t change the fact he would have to save you from breaking a few bones every once in a while.

“I’m sorry” You would say after he dropped you on the safe floor again. He would turn to look at you, fire running up his veins. Every time he wanted to yell at you, to snap and tell you it was the last time you do something like that. And every time he would sigh, pressing both finger on the bridge of his nose, finally grunting in a low voice:

“Desobedeciste deliberadamente.” A month was enough for you to know exactly what those words meant.

“I know.”

“You could have hurt yourself.”

“I know…” Then the bright eyes. Always the bright eyes. “But I have to try, I can’t depend on you forever. Getting hurt it’s just part of the way.”

He hated you were right. He lost count of how many broken ribs he got on his first years, of how many scars he still hides under his suit. Eventually, you would have to learn to stand up even if you’re bleeding. Even if you’re dying.

He is not mad at you for disobeying, that’s bullshit. He admired that of you, actually. You don’t act by fear, you do not fear him. You follow your heart even when you know you could get in trouble for it. No, he’s mad because every time he catches you before you hit the ground, all he can think about is that there’s going to be a moment where he won’t be there to do it. And the sound of your body crashing against the concrete, of your pain, would follow him till the darkest moments of the night, where he curses the day you’ll scream his name and he will be too far away to hear it.

“I want to change my reward for today.” You smile at him, both of your hands behind your back, making him suspicious of your teasing voice.

“You’re not going anywhere with Hobie.” He responds in a neutral voice, starting to walk in front of you.

You roll your eyes, shaking your head before getting in front of him and starting to walk backwards so you could keep facing him.

“It’s not that.” You insist. He doesn’t answer and you know that’s his way of telling you to go on. You sigh. “I want to see you without your mask.”

That makes him stop dead on his tracks. He tilts his head, questioning you with curious eyes. That’s all you wanted? No, you wanted that? Why?

Were you really that bored?

“I feel like everyone here has seen you at least one time, except for me. And it’s not fair.” You got a point on that. He spends most of his time training you, you share almost every meal together, he’s the last person you usually talk everyday because you’re too tired to do anything other than going to your room and sleep. You have spent entire days with him, you have cried and made a mess of yourself in front of his presence, and you didn’t even know his face.

You can deny the sting of irritation you get every time Hobie or Gwen, or any other come talking about what they said during the meeting before a mission, meetings where, you had learnt, Miguel used to take off his mask. Peter told you it wasn’t that big of a deal. You wanted to punch him.

“If that’s what you want.” Miguel crosses his arms, tilting his head at you. “Now go tra-…”

You were gone before he could even finish his sentence. He sees your figure going around the building he chose for this particular session. Your swinging had gotten better over the last weeks and the confidence you had in yourself had also been improving, showing your true strength for him to see.

Jessica insisted on you being ready to train at the top levels with the others inside The Society training center, or at least to try. But Miguel profusely refused. He had designed many of the levels to train there, he knew the damage they could cause to someone not prepared to face them.

He blame it on his sense of responsibility over you the fact that he denied any attempt to put you on an unnecessary risk, but deep down, he knew that from the moment he stepped in front of you while you cried for that death he knew all too well now, and then observed how you wiped your tears and showed him your fists, ready to fight him despite everything… He was fucked.

You were the little thing he decided to protect even if it costed his life. The little thing that trusted his claws to hold at her, that puts its life on the line without a second thought. It is not his fault to have never experienced anything like this, to don’t know what to do, to act like a fool, to refuse to lose it… How they cannot understand?

“Done.” You jump in front of him, getting him out of his thoughts.

He looks up, seeing all of the targets on the building covered by a good layer of web. Your precision could be better, but you’re getting at it.

He sighs. He turns to face you completely before ordering his nanotechnology to uncover his face. Dark wavy hair falls onto his temples, brown skin glimmers under the heavy sun above you, full lips press against each other and two cold brown eyes glare down at you.

When you don’t say anything, he raises an eyebrow at you.

“Is this what you wanted? Are you happy now?”

You nod without waiting for another question.

“I just wanted to see your eyes.” You answer confident, smiling softly at him.

It is enough to say he never wore his mask on around you ever again.

Miguel O'Hara isn’t good in what emotion management respects.

He knows it, but he doesn’t have the time or care to try to do something about it.

It wasn’t that big of a deal…

Yeah, it wasn’t that big of a deal until one specially busy morning where he couldn’t make it to your first training, he went on looking for you… And he couldn’t find you.

He went to your room, your favorite places; he went looking all around the city, praying to find you just jumping above some buildings. But you were nowhere to be found. And it wasn’t until one Peter took mercy on him that pointed the worst place to be pointed: The training center.

With his heart going a thousand miles per hour, he started to look for you inside the complex. And when he caught a glimpse of Jessica looking up with a proud smile, he knew exactly where you were.

“She’s doing even better than I could’ve imagined. You’re a great mentor, Miguel.”

“Why is she here?” He answered immediately. Jess raised an eyebrow at him, confused by the uneasiness on his voice.

“Does that really matter? Look at her, Miguel!” She pointed at you with her extended hand. “Aren’t you proud of her?”

Of course he was. But what he couldn’t stand was someone else messing and taking choices over the one and only thing he has. So instead of answering her question, he sentenced: “Don’t ever get close to her again.”

“Miguel…”

“You can mess around with any other, but there is a fucking line, Jess. You chose yours, and I respect them. Don’t mess with mine.”

When he finally appeared in front of you, you smiled brightly at him. He looked like any other day, completely unfazed and with a calmed expression you were so used to see by now.

“Time to call it a day, don’t you think?” He asked, raising an eyebrow. You were sweating, you arms were trembling and you could barely control your breath by now, and still… You shook your head.

“I want to try this level one last time.” He was ready to talk you out of it but your pleading eyes made him look down at Jess, who, with a single movement, made him understand what she was talking about.

“Fine, but I’ll be with you every step of the way, got it?” His frustration made you giggle when you nodded.

You didn’t make it till the end of the level, but you tried, and that was all that mattered to you. To Miguel, having been able to take you to the wall before you crashed against a crystal under you was the main thing that mattered.

It had been a whole experience, but it remained like that. Enough time at least for him to push his way of react behind him. Until something made it snap again.

His eyes fly to all of the cameras in front of him, fixing his pupils in whatever screen he could catch a glimpse of your suit.

The threat they were expecting for your first mission ended up being a lot more aggressive and capable than hoped. You and your partner had already received a few good hits by the time Miguel reached for the Call button.

“How are you?” Is the first thing you hear when you press ‘answer’.

“Never better.” You reply, smiling at the interface of your pretty boss clenching his jaw.

“Need help?”

You immediately shake your head. “Not at all, we’re managing just fine.” Your figure distorts while you swing around. Heavy steps following you up close. “I gotta go, Miguel. See you back at home.”

“No, wai-…” He widens his eyes, trying to reach you before you end the call. His fists tighten and his eyes close, fighting to keep himself calm.

But our man can’t catch a break, because as soon as his breath starts to get back to its normal speed, a camera showing on one of the screens burst out with a big clatter, forcing his eyes open only to see his worst fear take form in front of him.

You were struggling against the anomaly, kicking your feet in the air and trying desperately to get his hands off your neck. Your partner was nowhere to be seen. You appear to lose you patience when you stop fighting and instead shoot webs to the creature’s eyes. The anomaly maddens, and throws you against the next building on the street.

Miguel's eyes follow your body across two cameras, watching in horror the blood dripping from your mouth when you cough after the blow, struggling to get on your feet again.

His hands move quicker than he can process, bringing all the information about the Earth you were on for him to see.

“Miguel.” Jessica calls from behind.

“Where the hell did you send her?” He whispers, reading the screen displayed. “I told you she wasn’t ready to go.”

“Miguel, look.” She insists, this time with a more demanding voice.

But the man can’t think of anything else more than you bleeding. Alone and injured.

“You said it was an easy one.” He growls in a low and dangerous voice.

“I’m…”

“I told you she wasn’t ready!” He snaps, looking back at her. His fangs pinch on his lower lip, so hard he can feel a drop of scarlet liquid running down his chin.

And it’s not until Jess takes a step back and Lyla calls his name that he realizes the way his claws had ripped the metal in front of him.

And then… A call.

He blinks out of his trance, looking up at the screen with your name on it. He hits ‘answer’ and your dirty suit and scratched face make an appearance.

His red eyes relax at the sight, returning to those soft brown irises and dark pleased pupils reserved only for you. He hides his fangs and his claws are no longer nowhere to see. Just you. It was just you again. And you were okay.

“Miguel, look!” You smile at him, pointing the camera on your watch for him to see your partner finishing to tie up the anomaly. “We got it!”

“Yeah, yeah, I see.” He can’t help but let out a small glimpse of a smile over his lips, nodding at your excitement.

“Oh, you’re smiling. Wait for me to come back, I wanna see it in person.” And just like that, his smile is gone.

“Don’t take any longer. Both of you, come back as soon as possible.”

And with that, the call is ended once again, leaving him in a room with heavy air and thick silence. He jumps off of the platform, still glaring at Jessica in silence.

“You know that wasn’t right.” She whispers. “The way you’re acting it isn’t right, Miguel.”

He shakes his head, slowing his movements until he remains still just a few feet away from the entrance.

“You don’t know what it’s like.” He murmurs.

“Oh, now I don’t know?!” She opens her mouth with indignation, but Miguel doesn’t alter.

“It’s not like that and you know it.” He hisses. “I have lost everything in this world. I am utterly alone. And even between us, there a strings that doesn’t tangle. You have a husband and a soon to come baby, a family that awaits for you at home, but what do I have, Jess?”

The woman, for the first time, remains silent.

“I have her. I only have her.” He says. “Not a single thing in this world belongs to me but her. Everything else have been taken away from me, everything I once had has disappeared: my job, my life, my normal life. If she’s ripped from my hands, I have nothing left. And I cannot keep fighting for a life I don’t want to live. This is not only for her, Jess. If I lose her, I will tear the universe apart with my own hands.”

A single shiver ran down her spine, watching Miguel exiting the complex to find you arriving almost at the same moment.

She watched how his threat takes meaning when you wrap your arms around him and his eyes brighten at the sound of your laugh.

She knows that if they ever were to lose that light, the whole multiverse would dim with them.

Miguel wanted to own you.

He wasn’t good at hiding it.

His hands would come to your hips, grabbing your tights or caressing your waist under your clothes.

Your scent would drive him into his animalistic side at every given moment. Until the point he would have to step meters away from you during the meetings in order to keep himself from the smell of your hair and your soft skin.

But when he didn’t keep himself from you, he would come from behind you, embracing you with his whole body. His face would bury in the curve of your neck, sending shivers with his tongue coming out, tracing a single line till reaching your ear, where he would whisper what he wants, where he would ask you to let him touch you.

When you say yes, he would drop his head and sink your fingers on your tender skin, pressing his hips against your body when you throw your head back, allowing him to do as he wished so with you, to mark you as his as many times as he wanted.

“Miguel…” You sigh this time, feeling his hands clinging at your suit, desperate to touch your skin instead.

He had just returned from a mission that had kept him away from you three days. You had imagined he would’ve returned tired and ready to sleep for fifteen hours, but instead he took you straight into his bedroom and pushed you against the wall, where he now holds you still with both of his arms.

“Take it off.” He whispers, tugging again at your suit. He was being nice this time, and you thank him internally for that. You don’t have the strength to ask Lyla for another suit.

You complain with a happy humming, letting your body fully exposed before him except for your panties still covering your ass and pussy.

The man switches off his own suit, letting you see up close the tent under his boxers. His fingers grasp at your thighs, forcing your legs open for him. Two of his digits run along your folds over your panties for around ten seconds before he decides to tore away your undergarment and place his hand back at your sex.

You would have complained about his behavior but his fingers pressing down on your clit rip only a moan out of your throat. He plays with your sensitive bundle until you’re wet and seconds away from an orgasm he pretends to steal away when he stops his movements.

“No, please…” You cry out, your legs threatening to give up.

“Shhh, patience, mi amor, I’m not done yet.” With one hand he pushes you up, forcing you to wrap your legs around his neck for support before he starts eating you out like a starved man.

You tighten your tights around his head, almost screaming at your over sensitive pussy being stimulated even more, with his tongue pushing in and out for a while until he takes it to your clit again, sucking in, ripping another hard cry out of you. You are so close. And when he finally joins in two of his fingers to curve inside of you, it’s your end.

You scream his name, clenching around his digits, making him growl enough to feel the vibration running down your skin. He guides you through all of it until you finally seem to catch your breath again.

But then, he takes out his fingers and drops his boxes to the floor. His dick throbbed painfully, making him hiss when he stroke it a few times before pressing against you, chest to chest, and bottoming out all the way with a single thrust.

“Fuck, Miguel!” You throw your head back as he does the contrary, sinking his fangs into your skin, trying not to lose control.

“May I move?” He asks, breathing heavily on your skin.

You nod.

“Yes, yes, please move.” He groan in pleasure at your words, starting to move your hips in and down to match the rhythm of his.

You wrap your arms around his neck, moaning sweetly against his ear while he pick up the pace. Soon enough, only the sound of skin slapping on skin could be heard around you, with nothing but your moans and gasps indicating him where he had to thrust, and his deep growls showing you how close he was.

“Cum for me.” He says, pushing your back back to the wall with his hand around your neck, squeezing you under his fingers. “I wanna see you cum.” He demands, making of his pace nothing but a mess of thrusts.

He was so close, he just needed…

“Miguel!” Your eyes roll to the back of your head, letting out desperate whimpers when your legs tremble around him and your walls clench around his cock, sending him so high he has to bite you again to avoid a throaty moan escape from him.

You could barely begin to feel your toes again when you feel him tightening his grip around you before walking out to the bed.

He was ready for the next round.

…

Thank you so much for coming all this way!

PD: I know Miguel fangs have paralyzing venom but let’s just pretend he can choose when to use it and when don’t.

This might not be good but I had the idea of this thread of story and I just wanted to write it.

I hope you have at least enjoyed some of it.

Love y’all. Sending a lot of love. See ya. <3

PD2: I’m trying to work now on a Sub!Miguel thing. It may be still a couple of days from it, but I want to be good. And I haven’t decided if it would be just porn or porn with plot. So let me know!

PD3: I’ll be doing cleaning and correction between today and tomorrow.

#miguel ohara x y/n #miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel ohara #miguel o'hara x you #miguel o’hara #miguel o'hara imagine #miguel o'hara x y/n #miguel ohara x reader #miguel ohara x you #miguel o'hara fluff #miguel o'hara smut #miguel o’hara x reader #miguel ohara smut #miguel o’hara x you #miguel o’hara smut

[bangarangdarling]

blame the “hitting on your mom as a punishment” tiktok i just saw that literally blew my brain up. established because they’re disgustingly in love and because i say so

Eddie would normally consider himself pretty immune to the roar of arguing teenagers. Chaos surrounds their little Party. They’re not a quiet bunch when all together. It’s all shoving and yelling, giggling and roughhousing. Carpet-burned battle scars from the floor of Steve’s living room.

Lord knows Eddie himself wasn’t an inside-voice kind of person. He was certainly wont to standing on coffee tables and screeching demands for the remote when it was unjustly stolen away by villainous hands.

Eddie loved these people to death, and they were a lot of fucking fun to hang out with, it’s just this...this was an unreal level of noise. A normal sleepover night turned a little too rowdy, the adolescents celebrating the start of Summer with a bang.

Steve had already asked them to keep it down four times this evening. Nothing seemed to calm them. Not requests. Not threats of being sent home. Usually their Dungeon Master threatening their characters’ souls did the trick, but no go. 

Getting teenagers to listen? A feat more impossible than defeating creatures from an alternate universe. 

Dustin and Erica were in a bitching match about the best D&D class. Lucas and Mike had been fighting over movie choices for the last half hour. Eddie’s money was on the VHS player breaking before that, the constant mishandling and shoving of tapes had the poor thing practically smoking.

Will, ever the diplomat, was trying to be an impartial party when asked his movie opinions. Which, of course, caused more yelling. 

Max and El had been the only ones being semi-quiet, but that quickly ended when they followed through on their surprise attack pillow fight, pummeling the boys senseless and causing the already unbearable volume to kick into overdrive. Eddie could practically feel Steve’s migraine building, even from where the dude had retreated to the kitchen. Dinner had been pizza. Quick. Easy. Clean. Or, it would have been if it hadn’t had been for the food fight. Steve was still in there scrubbing cheese out of his parents’ tiled backsplash. Dishes clattered in the distance when the cacophony hit its crescendo. 

It was the proverbial straw. 

“Alright, that’s it! Hey. Come on, guys. Knock it off,”

Nothing. 

“HEY!”

He maybe overdid it that time, but the absolute ear-splitting boom of a yell he let out stopped the ruckus dead. 

Silence rang for a beat.

Huh. Maybe Eddie should try out incorporating that into his music. He honestly hadn’t known he could get to that range. 

The teenagers in the room stared at him, not cowed in the slightest, but curious enough to know what the hell Eddie’s problem was. Max was the first one to quirk an eyebrow at him.  “Geez, need attention much?” 

Eddie folded his arms to show he meant business. “Steve has asked you guys to tone it down. You’re waking the fucking dead. Why don’t you guys, like, actually go be good human beings and help him clean up your mess you all made in the kitchen, huh?” 

Lucas snorted. “Yeah, okay, mom. Why don’t you go help him, you guys will probably just make out in there, anyway.” 

It was a teasing comment. Meant to jokingly rib before getting back to doing whatever the hell they wanted to do.

But, see. That just gave him an idea. 

Never let it be said Eddie couldn’t be creative with his punishments. He was a DM after all. 

“Alllllllright. New plan. Listen up or suffer, ankle biters,” 

He really didn’t appreciate the snickers that brought about when he was trying to be intimidating. Rude. 

“You going to send us to our room or something? I’m real scared,” Erica’s scathing, dry wit was unparalleled, truly. 

“Nope. Better. It’s a new rule: You little shitheads give me attitude and don’t listen, I hit on your babysitter.”

It was silent for a minute, brains audibly computing that statement and coming up ERROR. Will hesitantly spoke up. 

“Uh, Eddie, I really don’t think that’s--”

“Yeah, what the fuck?” Mike interrupted. “Why would you beating up Steve hurt us? I mean, like, I guess it would emotionally, but that’s fucked up, man.” 

Eddie rolled his eyes, still smirking wickedly as his plan solidified.  “Oh, I don’t mean that kind of hitting, young Wheeler. Though, it may yet get physical--Hey, Steve?” He called out. The sink in the kitchen shut off after a second.

“Yeah?” 

“Can you come here?” 

The kids shuffled around on the floor warily as the other man walked into the living room. The energy had obviously shifted, it was probably an odd vibe to walk in to, but Eddie cut Steve off before he could ask any questions.

“You tired?”

“Uh, no. I’m fine--”

“It’s just you just keep on runnin’ through my mind constantly. I figured you’d be exhausted, sweetheart,” Eddie purred, the words cloyingly sweet and full of exaggerated charm. 

There was a countdown, three, two, one...

A collective groan let out. A few uncomfortable laughs.  “Dude, what the hell?” 

“You guys agreed not to be gross in front of us!”

“Oh, my god, can I actually get sick from how cheesy that was?” 

Eddie had to work at keeping in character when his very first line had pulled the intended reaction. He was already reaching forward to curl an arm around Steve, pulling him in in a slow, sultry attempt at being smooth. 

“What? Can’t I be sweet on my guy? You all will understand when you’re in love one day. Right, sugar?” 

Fake gags and retching sounds, too dramatic to be real protests, but still indignant and annoyed. Eddie was pretty sure Dustin slapped a hand over his eyes.

“Uh...yes?” Steve, who had previously looked like a car accident had happened directly in front of him, was catching on to the play. He eyed the disgruntled floor-children with a growing grin and let Eddie snuggle up to him.

God, his baby was so clever. He always knew what Eddie was thinking. 

Too busy having a non-verbal conversation with Steve on how to best annoy the kids, Eddie didn’t see Mike turning his attention back to the tv. He did, however, hear him telling the others to “Just ignore them, they’ll get all gushy and leave us alone.” 

Oh, Michael, Michael. Wrong move. 

“How you doing, babygirl?” Steve flushed, deep and red and--huh. Okay. Revisiting that one in the future. “You good? You need anything? Your head hurting, sweet thing? I can kiss it better,”  Eddie ducked forward to kiss Steve’s cheek. It was chaste, a sweet little thing...that Eddie made infinitely worse by the smacking, obnoxious kissy sounds he emulated there. The chorus of groans and protests started up again. He didn’t even pull his face away to call over to them. 

“I’m sorry, is that attitude? Am I hearing more attitude?”

“Dude, Eddie, noooo!” 

“Jesus, it’s like watching your parents make out, oh my god.” 

“You guys, let’s just go already,” 

“Yeah, I’ll take washing dishes over this,” 

The grossed out teenagers whooshed past them. Grumbling and glaring--except Eleven, who smiled up at them sweetly--leaving Steve and Eddie standing in the living room, still wrapped up together. 

It was too tempting then, with the kids safely out of range, for Eddie to resist the temptation to drop his kisses a little lower down Steve’s neck. To let them get a little less chaste. Just a little.

What can he say? He’s a weak man. 

“That was evil,” Steve hummed. His shoulders dropped, though, relaxing into Eddie’s hold, the closest thing they’ve had to quiet all night settling in. 

“Hey, I accomplished two things. Got them to chill out and I get the perk of feeling you up in the middle of sleepover night. It’s a win-win.” 

A crash and a muffled argument broke out in the kitchen before Steve could respond to that. 

The audible scuffling was cut off by Eddie calling out “Your ass looks great in these jeans tonight, Harrington!” 

The fierce whispers and shushing were enough to get both of the older boys cackling loudly. 

#Listen this is cheesy and poorly written but i HAD to #go find that tik tok because it was hilarious but also radiated love and healthy parenting #they called it 'gentle parenting with malicious intent' looooool #steddie #the party #my brain vomit

[sutorus]

imagine having a sleep over at megumis and toji decides to steal you away once he finally passes out 😮‍💨 his shirts and sweats probably have cigarettes burns in them

you gave me sm toji brain rot

-🫧 anon

we gave each other toji brainrot anon 🤝 kind of a part 2 to the kinktober toji fic

WARNINGS: 18+ MDNI. f! reader, unprotected, mild daddy kink, some anal play, degradation, toji being toji

you’re shifting on your feet, lips trapped between your teeth as you ring the doorbell. you’re early to the sleepover by a full hour.

you don’t know what you want to expect. if it’s toji, sitting on the couch, glass of some cheap shit on the armrest and hand tucked into his sweats.

or if it’s megumi, waiting at the door, bowl of popcorn by his hip and tv blasting because his dad isn’t home to scowl about the noise.

megumi does open the door. and toji does sit there.

and somehow, that’s the least likely, worst case scenario.

“hey,” megumi greets you, stepping aside to let you in.

toji doesn’t spare you a glance, so you let your eyes travel all over him. his bare feet propped up on the center table, his arm behind his head and fingers scratching his hair.

megumi notices you looking and — thankfully — only clicks his tongue, believing you’re just as irritated at his father’s presence as he is.

and are you? you’re unsure.

you don’t know how to face toji. you don’t know how to interact with him anymore, if you even should.

you sleep over at megumi’s house all the time, but right now you suddenly forgot how it even goes. do you take your shoes off at the genkan? do you leave your bag by the door?

you decide to just walk to megumi’s room wordlessly, taking the long way behind the couch as to not block toji’s view from the tv.

this doesn’t go unnoticed by either men.

megumi follows you inside, closing the door behind him and plopping down on his bed.

“so are we starting with the first movie?” he flips his laptop open. “it’s the best one, anyway.”

“uh, yeah, sure,” you sit down beside him hesitantly.

you’re just now noticing how much megumi and toji look alike and it’s freaking you out.

“what the fuck is wrong with you today?” blunt as always. blunt as toji.

“huh? dude, chill,” you lie down, placing the laptop on your lap. megumi eyes you suspiciously before lying down beside you. “i just didn’t sleep much last night.”

“right,” he says, skeptical but disinterested, and presses play.

every minute of the movie is torture — on the screen and in your head.

around the beginning of saw iii, megumi orders pizza. him, you and toji eat in silence.

complete silence. he doesn’t even look at you.

why isn’t he looking at you? you’re in your pajamas already. no bra. short shorts. you thought you’d both established that that worked on him.

toji wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and gets up, with a grunted clean up when you’re done.

it’s so frustrating, the total lack of attention, and you’re starting to get pent up. settling back down next to megumi to watch fucking saw iv and hear him question the viability of each trap drives you crazier by the minute.

when you finally tuck in for the night, you’re anything but relaxed.

what happened to “you have one more hole for me to wreck don’t you”? toji’s so full of shit, probably too drunk to even get it up tonight anyway.

it’s those angry thoughts that lull you to slumber, regret settling deep in your gut for having ever let that horrible man inside you.

not long after you fall asleep, however, you’re stirred awake, a soft, sake-soaked breeze blowing over your face.

you crack one eye open, no surprise in your gaze because who else could it be.

toji’s smirking, crouched down, eyes searching all over your sleeping form. it sends a chill down your spine.

what do you want, you mouth to him, anger persisting against the arousal already starting to build within you.

his grin grows wider, wilder. he gets up slowly and beckons with two fingers, and like the silly fucking slut you are, you follow.

you — not toji — make sure to gingerly close the door to megumi’s room before you turn around to face him. or rather, face his chest, the flimsy cloth littered with cigarette burns that covers those muscles you finally got to know so well.

“hello?” is all you can manage to say.

he loves your indignation, loves the brattiness, will love to fuck it out of you tonight, too.

“what, don’t want it?”

you roll your eyes.

“you had to wait until megumi’s right there to say you wanna do it?” your focus wavers as he runs his hands up and down your waist. “you couldn’t have pulled me aside before?”

toji presses his leer to the side of your throat, caging you in against the wall right by the door. you let out a soft moan, hands already reaching for his arms.

“had to make sure you two weren’t gettin’ it on,” he growls into the crock of your neck, making you grimace in disgust. “i don’t like to share my toys, y’know.”

“ew, he’s your son,” the irony in your statement isn’t lost on you, the person you should actually be ewing at.

you push him away and the feeling of his abs under your palms is enough to break any rest of resolve you had in you.

toji lets out a low, satisfied laugh, throwing his head back. “exactly why i worry.”

soon enough, and unsusprisingly, he has you bent over the kitchen island, pussy stretched out and dripping on his thick cock.

“shut the fuck up,” he keeps saying when you moan, only to fuck you harder and faster and deeper.

the furniture is digging into your belly, your forearms skidding on the top. you whine softly, angling your hips so he can hit that one spot inside you that makes you see stars.

“ohhh yeah, fuck back into me,” he grabs your hair and you let out a yelp, punished with a blow to your ass. still, you do as you’re told, the sounds of your skin slapping against his growing louder, quicker.

“t-touch me, touch me, make me cum,” you beg in a desperate whisper, head straining in his grip.

toji laughs, dragging his cock out of you slowly before plunging all the way back in.

“shut up, slut,” and god, why is that so hot to you, “last i checked you weren’t in a position to make demands.”

you whimper, trying to snake a hand down your clit to do it yourself.

suddenly, toji stops.

“ah, that reminds me,” he slowly, torturously slowly to make you feel every inch of him, pulls out of you completely. then he pokes your asshole with the head of his cock.

“no,” you say in a panicked breath, trying to turn around in his grip. “no, no, not today, definitely not right now no—“

“shhh, fuck, be quiet,” he wraps his entire forearm around your throat and brings your body into his chest, nibbling at your jaw. “you’re gonna like it.”

“i don’t want to,” it’s one last attempt, the most honest one you have. toji likes fucking with you, flustering you, that much is obvious.

but is he seriously— and without any prep, too?—

he chuckles low in his throat, right into your ear.

“then ask me not to.”

he slides the tip back into your cunt and you relax a little, even moving your hips back and forth like hey! look how good my pussy is! can you just stay in it and not ruin my ass please!

“please don’t fuck my ass,” you try.

“hmm,” he hums, sliding his cockhead out. then back in. then back out.

“please, toji, don’t fuck my asshole tonight,” you clench around him, trying to take more of his length inside.

“not good enough, whore,” he slams all way back in, shoving your body into the sharp wood and making you wail. toji starts moving, fucking little noises out of you with every thrust. “say, ‘no please daddy not there, not my little asshole!’”

you let out a long, pitchy whine, clawing at the arm around your neck.

“do it or else,” toji gathers up some wetness at your entrance with your thumb and presses it to your asshole, rubbing little wet circles.

“fuck you, toj—ahh,” his finger slips inside and you clench down hard. “please! please daddy not there, not my—“

toji cackles, fucking you in earnest now, plowing every word and thought out of your brain. you’re grunting with the force of his thrusts, finding purchase in the edges of the kitchen island, knuckles turning white.

“such a good little girl, aren’t ya,” he says into the shell of your ear, snaking a hand around your hip to rub your puffy clit.

you throw your head back onto his shoulder, legs shaking in between his. “ahhh, fuck, d-daddy—“

your orgasm washes over you so forcefully that you feel like folding in two, going limp in toji’s grip as he chases his own.

he buries a few low, animalistic grunts into your hair before he’s filling up your cunt, aborted little thrusts pushing out staccato breaths from his lips.

he releases his grip on you, cock still spurting out the rest of his load.

once he pulls out, toji keeps feeding his cum into your pussy over and over, telling you to watch the floors before you have to limp your way to the bathroom to clean up.

you do the best you can without taking a shower, body so thoroughly exhausted that you don’t even know if you’d have the energy for one.

right now, all you want is to plop down on a soft surface and get some much needed sleep, feeling actually satisfied.

when you leave the bathroom, you’re faced with a groggy, disheveled megumi standing by his bedroom door.

your eyes quickly scan your surroundings.

toji is nowhere to be seen.

megumi’s eyes reveal nothing, none of the thoughts that might be going through his head right now.

as for you, there’s only one word bouncing around inside your skull:

fuck.

a/n sorry again

#✩.asks #✩.toji #✩.bsf’s dad!toji #toji smut #toji fushiguro smut #toji reader smut #toji x reader #toji fushiguro reader #toji x you #dilf toji #toji x female reader #✩.🫧 anon

[twistedwonderlandimaginesblog]

If it is okay, may I please request a headcannon of MC being found badly injured by Ace, Lilia, Trey, Floyd, and Jamil? I really love these characters so much! And angst, too.

Ace Trappola:

Ace had a hard time keeping the panic from showing on his face, hands hovering over you like he was afraid to touch you. What if he hurt you more? He’d never claimed to have a healing touch but even now he knows there’s not much worse he could do other than finishing the job, a thought that proceeds to make him sick to his stomach. There’s another feeling burning deep in his gut, a rage only held back by the initial shock of seeing you in such a state and trying to process what to do from there. Your safety was at the forefront of his mind, getting you straight to a person who can heal you, even if every other instinct of his wanted to get even with the person who hurt you first.

Floyd Leech:

Though Floyd is not your enemy, you can’t help but feel uneasy as he approached. He’s not really glaring at you but past you, like there was a general barking orders at him that he had no intention of following. He hadn’t said much since he found you, another oddity as he wasn’t generally the quietest. You don’t think he’s ever handle you so gently before as he scooped you up, changing his pace or repositioning you carefully each time you winced or whimpered in pain. The first thing on his mind was returning you to safety, but once you were… He asked with an eerie calmness if you could give details on your assailant, even if it was more than one person, because he fully intended to pay them all back double (and Sevens help whoever tried to stand in his way).

Jamil Viper:

Jamil hadn’t quite gathered himself together, priding himself on analyzing situations, on predicting outcomes, and yet your interference had always been a variable he forgot to account for. Just like in his life, he had never expected you to come crashing in nor had he expected you to make a home beside him. He thought you were crazy for seeing any value in a relationship with him but he supposed you had your uses, hiding behind the shadow of a manipulator despite how truly grateful he was for your presence. Now he’s confronted with that, life spitting in his face again, demanding that he beg on his hands and knees, grovel, to assure that you survived your injuries. He knew the basics of healing, knew how to clean wounds and to dress them properly, but he had to hope mentally you had the strength to pull through for him. He hoped you could hear him begging for forgiveness, a promise to treat your relationship more seriously if you just came back to him.

Lilia Vanrouge:

Lilia’s always been good at wearing a mask, showcasing a playful smirk or firing off witty flirtations in moments that don’t necessarily fit the mood. But he feels a bit of the façade crack when he sees you in such dire straits, clinging to the last bit of calm he possessed as it tried to slip right through his fingers. It’s not that he’s scared, his battlefield experience allowed him to determine your status with a quick glance, but he felt a deep-seated fury building inside him. He remembered being pulled away from someone important before in a drastic, life-changing moment, unable to protect—fight by their side as he was meant to, and it seemed that same crossroads was appearing before him again. He had been forced into one choice for the sake of Briar Valley before but there are no such forces present now. He kneeled by your side, making a serious face you’re not quite used to seeing on him as he promised he wouldn’t let the culprit touch a hair on your head ever again.

Trey Clover:

Trey is used to keeping his cool under any circumstance, having to be the level-headed vice dorm leader had brought him many days of experiencing pressure to assure emotions didn’t boil over. Yet none of that training matters now when he saw your blood-soaked clothes, his heart skipping a beat until he realized you were still breathing. He tried to talk to you, offering soothing words, promising he’d get you to someone who could help soon. There’s a bitter taste in his mouth as he knew he likely wouldn’t have the chance to get his hands on the person who hurt you, biting down on his lip so hard it began to bleed, but he couldn’t voice his frustrations now to a person who was in a much worse state than he was. And he didn’t think he ever would, letting his anger fester deep in his chest until he had a moment alone to dispel it.

#Twisted Wonderland #Disney Twisted Wonderland #TWST #Disney TWST #TWST Imagines #TWST x Reader #Twisted Wonderland x Reader #Ace Trappola #Lilia Vanrouge #Floyd Leech #Jamil Viper #Trey Clover #Ace Trappola x Reader #Lilia Vanrouge x Reader #Floyd Leech x Reader #Jamil Viper x Reader #Trey Clover x Reader

[vampiresbloodx]

Older!librarian!Wanda finally takes you out on a date after being too nervous and having that doubt that you don't actually even like her the way she thought you did, you two talk all the time whenever Wanda has a break on her shift, it's her favourite part of the day, just seeing you, smiling and laughing.

She was right about you being in college. It seems you're in your last year and still have no clue on what to do with your future. Wanda can see how much stress you're in with the finals coming up, it pains her to see you like this. She'd give you the whole universe if she could.

She doesn't know why she's so interested in you, these feelings are definitely not like anything she's already experienced. She was slightly confused herself, what she actually feels towards you, but what she does know is that it's love.

Wanda wants to hold you close to her, kiss you, make you happy, make you laugh, cry, and smile. She wants to see all of it. All of you. Every inch of you.

Maybe she's been reading too many romance books and sapphic fiction.

She just wants to wake up next to you, go to sleep with you every night.

And of course, there are other sinful things she wants to do that she finds herself thinking of when she's at work, in the shower, at home, it doesn't matter where, god, the sound of your voice, the way you look at her, ignites a flame inside her that she didn't know was even there.

Wanda grew up in a pretty Christian neighbourhood. It sucked. She was so used to tradition, how everything should be, not how she feels it should be.

Then you changed her mind on it all.

With one smile.

Wanda hasn't been on a date since.... Forever. Hell she doesn't even know who it was with. It probably was pretty bad then. She has been getting used to her phone so she can text you more and call you, just to hear you speak, when she asks you out, she was expecting a humiliating rejection, but when you smiled up at her, adorably so, you accepted.

"pick me up at 8?"

You said to her.

She nodded.

"see you then."

She watches you walk away, releasing a breath she didn't even know she was holding in.

Her hands were shaking, her heart hammering in her chest.

She felt like she was in highschool again.

Wanda had rushed home after her shift ended and she closed up the library for the night, she was panicking, unsure of what to wear and if she should bring wine or flowers, Wanda decided on both, and chocolate, but what if you were allergic? Dark chocolate. Or just roses.

She wore her best dress that made her feel young again, did her make up, and she felt good.

It was time to pick you up, she drove to your address that you had given her, it was a nice little apartment building she parked outside of and went to the door, pressing on the number of the button you told her to do.

"hello?"

There came your voice.

"hi, it's Wanda."

"oh hey! I'll be right down."

When she saw you, her mouth gaped open, her eyes widened, she felt so lucky, you looked gorgeous, you shy away from her gaze as she eyes you up and down, she steps closer, grabbing your hands as she kisses your knuckles.

A shiver went down your spine when you felt her lips, wanting to kiss her immediately.

"you look stunning."

Your cheeks burned.

"uh... Um, you look really beautiful too. Like really beautiful."

It was her turn to blush.

You chuckled, leaning in as you pressed a kiss to her cheek, her face practically turning red.

God you don't know what you're doing to her.

She took you out to a fancy restaurant, she saw your reaction and how surprised you looked, she chuckled, enjoying the way your eyes wondered all over the place.

"ms. Maximoff?" A guy at the counter greeted her, she nodded, smiling at him.

"your table is ready" he guided the two of you to a nice private era, with a candle lit.

Once he left you spoke up.

"damn, I was not expecting this. No one has ever taken me out to a restaurant!" You gushed.

She grinned, "how come? Anyone would feel lucky enough to show you off."

You bit down on your lip.

"keep flirting with me like that we won't even last till dinner."

She laughed, shaking her head.

-

The dinner went perfectly, and for a surprise, she took you back to the library, where you two first met, in that same spot.

"are we allowed to be here?" You asked in a whisper.

"hon, I practically run it."

"I know but what if we get caught!" You said, standing close to her.

"we won't" she says, unlocking the door.

You both entered as she locked the door from behind so no one else could get in, you two laughing as she brought you to the same spot she first saw you, you got quiet as you remembered it exactly, she smiled, caressing your cheek with her hand as she pressing her body against yours, your back hitting the book shelves.

"you look so pretty" she cooed, "god, I want to ruin you."

You whimpered, her eyes darkening at the sound as she leans in, kissing you on the lips, your hands coming up to wrap around her neck.

#wanda x reader #wanda x you #wanda maximoff fluff #wanda maximoff x reader #older!wanda #more librarian!wanda hehe #stuff i wrote

[writingstreetspirit]

One Breath, One Touch

Summary: A night out at Rita’s changes everything for the better

Pairing: Azriel x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Tension, reader is very shy, prolonged eye contact, kissing

Word count: 1.6k

A/N: It feels like it’s been forever since I last wrote a longer piece instead of headcanons, so here’s a Azriel piece. If you liked this, please like/comment/reblog/follow as it helps me and every other content creator out there. Thank you! 🫶🏻

—

Rita’s is full of people, not unusual as it was Saturday night. Drinking, laughing, dancing, and music fills up the building, a pleasant atmosphere of life all around you. A lot of handsome and beautiful things and people to look at, but there is only one person that’s grabbed your attention tonight.

You can tell he is watching you, because you can feel his stare in your soul. The Night Court's own Shadowsinger Azriel is just a few meters away, along with several others that are part of the Inner Circle, Cassian, Nesta, Mor, and Amren. They’re drinking and laughing, Mor and Cassian goofing along to the music.

While Azriel is there in the middle of the group, his focus seems to be entirely on you. His eyes are like whiskey, they glow in the light, and are dark in the shadows. He stands there, looking at you, waiting and watching.

You blush from the intense staring, not being able to hold the intense eye contact for more than a few seconds before having to look away, only to then return your eyes to him again, starting over the process.

This has become a routine over the years. While Velaris is not a small city, it is inevitable to run into all citizens at some point or another. Especially with you being a co-owner at the local bakery in the middle of town, you have had customers all over the Court visit to purchase freshly baked bread or sweet pastries.

That includes the Inner Circle, Feyre and Mor often visit for the delicious cupcakes, and oftentimes Azriel accompanies them, probably as a safety precaution with Feyre being with the High Lord of the Night Courts, Rhysand. The first ever time you meet the lovely High Lady you also saw Azriel.

It’s almost been four years to the day, and every time the door opened and Azriel stepped inside, your heart would race. You’d engage in small conversations, well, more like just a few words, but you’d think about those hazel eyes and dark hair for days until the next drop in.

He raises an eyebrow slightly. He leans back against the wall he’s against, and stares you down. You can sense some kind of tension like it’s something you can physically touch and see. You feel nervous, a fluttering in your stomach.

He stares at you for a while longer. When you're not expecting it, he walks away from his group and steps right up to you. His voice is low and rumbling. “Are you here alone?”

You blink slowly, feeling warmth traveling through your face. If you had a mirror to see yourself, you bet you’d be as red as a tomato. You admit in barely a whisper, “No, I came with a friend. Though I think they’ve left me for a male.”

The corner of his mouth curls down in a small frown, and he glances away from you for a split second before his eyes pierce into yours again. “She didn’t even say that she were leaving?”

You shook your head. It wasn’t the first time something like that has happened, and while it stung the first couple times, it didn’t bother you anymore.

“Would you like company? You seem lonely.” You gulp, looking away from Azriel’s intense eyes. Your cheeks are burning hot, and despite the thin dress and the slightly cool temperature you break out into a sweat. You croak, “Yes, I’d like that.”

His gaze returns to yours, Azriel’s eyes seem to pierce through you. He leans closer towards you, the a small smile forming on his lips. “Should I get us something to drink?”

“Okay,” You breathe out, your heart racing inside your chest. Azriel’s the most handsome male you’ve ever seen, and so…kind and caring. You find it hard to look at him without revealing all your personal thoughts and feelings about him. About how he’d been on your mind everyday since he first walk inside the bakery.

You can smell his scent, it is intoxicating, and it fills your mind with thoughts of him. He’s wearing that cologne that you’d sniffed out whenever he’s been near enough for years now. It’s good, fitting him perfectly. He is so close you could kiss him.

“What would you like to drink, sweetheart?” Azriel asks, and his low voice sends shivers down your spine. Your heart fluttered, he had called you sweetheart.

You don’t answer for a long moment. You’re sure that he’ll know what you’re thinking about if you answer him. Hell, he probably already knows. After all, he is a Spymaster, and a very skilled one at that. Finally you squeak out, “Surprise me.”

He smiles, then turns away to walk towards the bar. You breathe out shakily once your alone. Fuck, you think, I must look so dumb in front of him. He’s just being kind, he doesn’t like me like that. Just as you’d managed to gather yourself somewhat, he returns with to glasses in his hand. One’s a whisky, the other is…your favorite drink.

“I hope you like this one, I can get another for you if you don’t.” Azriel says, holding out the glass towards you. A shaking hand accept the glass, letting the cold drink cool your flushed skin. “Thank you. No, this is perfect actually.”

You sip the drink through the straw, a pleasant hum escaping your mouth at the pleasant taste. You miss the pleased smile forming on Azriel’s face as he takes a swing of the whisky.

“Have you had a pleasant evening, despite your friend leaving?” Azriel asked, and you look up from your drink to see that he’s already looking at you. You hum, nodding once. “I have. Have you? Had a pleasant evening, I mean?”

He chuckled, nodding to behind him where his very obviously family were still hanging out. “Indeed, but I think they’ve had more fun than me based on how much they’ve drank. Especially Cassian and Mor.”

You laugh softly, gazing down at your high heels clad feet bash fully. “Yes, it seems to be that case.”

Azriel studies you for a long while, waiting for you to look back up again. When you finally do he smiles that smile that you’d like to think was reserved just for you. Your hair has thankfully fallen in front of your face and you hope the strands hid the flush that spreads across cheeks.

“Though I can think of something else that would make this night impossible better than it already is.” Azriel spoke low, his voice barely louder than that you just managed to here him. You look at him questioning, curious as to what he was thinking.

He raises his hand, scarred fingers brushing strands of hair out of your face and tucks it behind your ear. He pauses, the space between you is electric and palpable. “Do you want to know what I’m thinking about right now?”

You want to say yes, tell me, I want to know everything single thing you’re thinking, no matter how small or seemingly unimportant, but you're too flustered to speak, so you nod instead.

He smiles slightly, it’s as if he already knew you’re tongue tied. His thumb traces your jawline, his touch sending a shiver down your spine. He whispers, “Y/N, I have been wanting to do this since the moment first I saw you.”

Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion, not knowing what Azriel is referring to, but before you could ask what he meant, his lips were pressed against your.

His touch is gentle, yet intense. Your heart is pounding out of your chest. You feel alive, your whole body is humming, electric. Azriels free hand is cupping your cheek tenderly, and you melt into his touch. Your hands creep up to his waist, gripping onto the fabric both to pull him impossibly closer and to keep your unsteady legs upright. Somewhere far in the back of your mind your hoping that you’re not spilling the drink all over the back of his shirt.

You don't want the kiss to end, but eventually it does. He pulls away slowly, as if he also didn’t want to leave your pillow soft lips. His hand fall away from your face, and you look up at him. Your breath rushes back to your lungs, and you are breathless.

Azriel stares back at you, you are both breathless. Eventually he speaks, his voice is low and rumbling. “You are the most beautiful person my eyes have ever laid upon.”

Your heart races, you have never felt like this before. Never been so enamored, felt so seen, both in and out, or so cherished by another. It’s exciting and terrifying at the same time. Please, a voice in your head said, don’t ever let this feeling go away. You pant, eyes unable to look away from his for even a second, “Really?

Azriel lowers his hand to touch your chin, to cup it in his and make you look him in the eyes. They are warm and soft, unlike his usual hard and closed off expression. His voice is low and rumbling, you can feel in your heart that he is telling the truth.

“I could look at you all day.” He tells you, “and it still wouldn’t be enough.”

You lean your flushed cheek into his hand, nuzzling into his warm skin. You smile up at him, at the male that had stolen your heart. The true words spill out of your mouth without any embarrassment or uncertainty. “You are too, Azriel. So very beautiful.”

He smiles back, and his touch is gentle as he strokes your cheek. All the tension and nervousness has melted away between you. Instead a warm, cozy feeling lingers between the two of you, the rest of the visitors in the bar just background noise.

“Will you take me home with you, Azriel?” You asked, looking deep into his eyes. Azriel lowers his hand from your chin, his eyes still locked on yours.

“Yes,” he says, his face shining with what you could only describe as pure joy. Wherever your newfound confidence came from, you thanked it greatly. He puts down his whisky on the table top beside you, and you follow with your own glass. “I will take you home with me if you desire it, sweetheart.”

“Then what are we waiting for?” You ask, a small playful smile breaking out across your face. Azriel chuckles low, slowly wrapping his strong arm tenderly around your waist and gently guides you along with him out of Rita’s and into the night breeze.

#writingstreetspirit #acotar #azriel #azriel x reader #azriel x you #azriel x female!reader #azriel imagine #azriel fanfic #azriel fluff #acotar bat boys #bat boys

[jadeylovesmarvelxo]

❤️

You're tired of hearing about Eddie's crushes, hiding your feelings for him. Sick of feeling second best, you decide to move on.

Beer, a pool, and a very handsome Steve Harrington happens. Eddie isn't so thrilled about the Steve part.

Just a lil two parter to get back into writing

Part one

Eventual Eddie Munson x Reader

Steve Harrington x Reader

Don't copy, reuse or repost my work

❤️

It was a rainy Tuesday when Eddie broke your heart. Unknowingly, but it was broken all the same.

He had came to the Hellfire table in a suspiciously good mood. Beaming smile, eyes shining with happiness.

Turns out he had ran into Jessie who was his newest crush, she was the coolest, most badass babe on the planet according to Eddie.

This had been repeated constantly for the last few weeks and usually you were able to smile politely, pretend you weren't dying inside hearing him talk about his dream girl.

It had been this way for a year now, through multiple crushes, a few hook ups and one near potential girlfriend for Eddie, so you could push yourself to be happy for him one more time right?

No, today it was like your heart finally had enough, a deep ache was building inside you and felt like all the pain was exploding inside of you all at once.

Tears pool in your eyes and you catch the sympathetic look that Dustin throws in your direction. It's enough to sober you up instantly.

You didn't want to constantly pine over Eddie when he didn't want you, it was agony being so completely smitten with someone who noticed every woman but you.

It was like something in you just snapped and you had enough.

"Hey princess, you okay?" Eddie's voice breaks through your reverie and you startle a little as he peers at you intently with his big brown eyes.

His hand is on yours and your whole body feels alight at just his slightest touch, it was getting harder and harder to hide your feelings, Eddie could be extremely perceptive when he wanted to be.

You needed to get over how you felt about him and soon, because you were sick of the constant heartache, second guessing yourself and feeling second best to Eddie's crushes.

Moving on would be a good thing. You couldn't take it if Eddie ever found out how you felt about him, embarrassment burns inside of you just thinking about his reaction, and how awkward Hellfire would be due to his rejection.

No, it was best for everyone if you found a way to get over Eddie.

❤️

Normally you didn't go to parties, especially not parties on a school night. However, there was a small part of you that wanted a change, to have some fun and let loose.

One of Jason's friends was throwing a party at his house, there was beer kegs, wine coolers and the biggest pool you had ever seen in your life.

Eddie was at the party to do his usual dealings, he catches your eye and looks stunned for a brief second.

"What are you doing here sweetheart? Parties aren't usually your thing?" you shrug and grab a bottle of beer.

"Just wanted a change of scenery I guess" it's then you notice that Jessie was also at the party and Eddie had noticed judging by the way his eyes light up.

Your heart sinks and you're about to make an escape until Eddie tugs on your hand.

"Hey, maybe you should stick close to me incase one of Jason's dipshit friends tries anything" you smile, touched at his protectiveness but you know deep down he'd rather be talking to Jessie than trailing after you all night.

"It's okay. I saw Robin by the pool so I'll go and chat to her for a bit" he's about to say something else but Jessie comes over and takes up all of his attention.

Yup, it's definitely your time to leave. There's no way you wanted to be around for Eddie making googly eyes at Jessie.

❤️

Between the pounding music, Eddie and Jessie and the fact you've lost Robin in the crowd, it was safe to say that the first hour of the party was a bust.

By the second hour you had gotten involved in a game of beer pong with Robin, Steve, Vickie and a few others.

At first you were kinda wary hanging out with Steve but you soon found out that he had changed so much from the King Steve of a few years ago.

He's kind, funny and kind, genuinely a good guy and him and Robin are like two peas in a pod. Platonic besties with a capital P she tells you and Vickie.

It's nice hanging out with them because everytime you see Jessie and Eddie together it needled at the ache in your heart.

Eddie joins in at one point but seems tense.

"Why are hanging out with Harrington?'' he hisses under his breath and you scowl.

"He's really nice" Eddie scoffs at this.

"Preppy, rich, douchebag? he's seen dating total babes every few weeks." you stiffen.

"Of course so why would he be seen with me right?" you ask heatedly and his eyes widen.

"That's not what I meant... You're beautiful sweetheart..." yeah but just a friend you finish his sentence in your head.

"Just forget it Eddie, go back to Jessie" you hurry away from him and curse yourself for getting so upset.

Steve notices and asks if you want to hang out in the pool.

It's quieter outside than in the house, people are just lazing around lightly buzzed, lost in their own conversations.

Steve makes you laugh by jumping in the pool fully clothed, he lets out a yell when he hits the water.

"Fuck, its freezing" and you swear you hear Robin calling him a dingus. The thought makes you smile.

"So Munson huh?" Steve asks gently and your smile vanishes.

"Mmm, tonight was my big plan to get over him. Didn't work out so well" There's a brief moment of silence that's broken when Steve takes you by surprise and you're suddenly in the pool beside him, soaking wet and torn between laughter and exasperation.

"Steve!" you huff out and his answering smile tugs at your heart. There's also something you didn't expect, a spark.

He moves closer to you and it's like the two of you are magnets. Steve strokes your cheek and his lips meet yours.

It's nice, it's really really nice and you moan softly as Steve gently tugs at your lower lip, deepens the kiss and pulls you even closer.

Steve pulls away and you both exchange a secret, shy smile at the moment you had.

You kiss him again and this time it's a little more hot and heavy. Only this time when you come apart, you're not alone.

Eddie has just come outside. He's staring at you and Steve, his expression blank but you notice something stirring deep in his eyes, a flash of emotion that you can't place.

Then it's gone and he storms back inside..

🖤

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson angst #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington x you

[flowerandblood]

The Fall from the Heavens (19)

[ dark • Aemond x Strong • niece female ]

[ warnings: mention of sex, manipulation, angst ]

[ description: A cool distance turns into friendship and more when two children see that they can find refuge and understanding in each other. However, naïve dreams collide with the reality in which every event has consequences and what once could have been love becomes a dark, newly painful obsession. Angst, sexual tension, obsession, violence, madness, very dark Aemond. ]

The story in this series is an alternate reality from the oneshot Stay and love, leave and die, in which Aemond reads the letters his niece has sent to him over the years. They are the same characters and it shows what would have happened between them − I have changed the background story from their childhood slightly for the sake of the plot.

Characters & Series Moodboard

Lady Strong Moodboard

Lady Strong & Aemond Moodboard

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

Next chapters: Masterlist

_____

She didn't have a clue what made her feel an unpleasant constriction in her stomach when she saw the Iron Throne out of the corner of her eye. She stopped, looking at it, standing in the half-light in the distance of the great throne room, illuminated only by the light of the torches.

She thought with pain and bitterness that everything that had happened, everything they had had to sacrifice and fight for, was only because of someone being able to sit on it and declare themselves the only legitimate ruler.

Greed flowed through the veins of Targaryens as much as fire and blood, she thought with dismay.

Sunk in her thoughts, she headed for the throne room, thinking in the back of her mind that even if her father and mother agreed to come to an agreement to build a truce on the foundation of their marriage, if she did not bear her uncle a son, her husband's faction would surely begin plotting against her mother despite the agreement.

Even if her husband remained faithful to her, she could never fully trust him, be sure that he was on her side.

The perpetual thought of betrayal was destroying her from the inside.

She knew that in a matter of days her moon bleeding should begin and she knew what it would mean.

Disappointment and danger.

This was why, every morning for the last few days, before she had even had time to truly wake up, she had sunk her hand between her thighs, feeling her insides clench with fear and terror as she sensed the moisture under her fingers, which then turned out to her relief to be only her wetness mingled with her husband's spend.

It made her draw in a loud breath and smile, for a moment believing that maybe a miracle would happen.

That the gods by making his seed take root in her womb would also indicate to the kingdom that what they wanted to do met with their approval.

Later in the day, however, all it took was for her to feel a discomfort in her lower abdomen, a slight sting or pain, a wetness between her thighs and a cold sweat would fall over her again. She would then lose her appetite and although she ate her morning meal in the presence of her husband, she would later lie that she had eaten a second meal during his training and duties.

She was unable to swallow anything out of fear.

She had the feeling that later when he took her, already as her legitimate husband, something inside her broke, all her terror, her doubts and despair spilled out of her like a rushing river.

She was afraid of his reaction, afraid of his certainty that it was impossible for them not to have succeeded in begetting an heir even though her whole body screamed that it could have been different, that it could be months or years before it happened, and they did not have that much time.

His words, however, took her completely by surprise.

You need to calm down.

Come to terms as I do with whatever the will of the heavens decides.

She didn't know why she suddenly felt burning tears under her eyelids, why her lower lip began to tremble, why her throat squeezed so tightly at the wonderful thought that he understood that no matter how much she begged the gods for their mercy, she had no control over what would happen.

He let her know that whatever would come to pass, he would not blame her.

That he would consider it the will of the gods and not her failure.

She made love to him for the second time that night in his chamber, the embrace of his strong arms tighter than usual, the touch of his hands more tender, his lips finding hers again and again in sticky, greedy kisses as the deep thrusts of his hips forced his swollen manhood into her.

Even though she was a prisoner, she felt free, even though her enemy was taking her, she felt safe, even though some part of her thought it a betrayal, she loved him deeper than ever before.

Her lover.

Her husband.

Her friend.

She hadn't understood when she was still a child how important was the bond they had created then, the long hours they spent at night in conversation, in discussions, sometimes even arguments, after which, however, they always found each other again, realizing that they didn't have to agree on all issues.

She realised, lying with her face cuddled into his naked chest, holding her hand over his lazily beating heart, enveloped tightly in his arms with her legs entwined with his, that although at the time, in the context of their future marriage, what they were doing seemed unimportant, it appeared that it was in fact the foundation of everything that had happened between them many years later.

Had it not been for the trust and affection they had for each other then, they would not have been able to find their way in this reality that faced them now.

"I am truly fond of you, uncle." She said softly, sitting in one of the chairs in his chamber facing him, similarly engrossed in her reading, swinging her legs that did not reach the ground. She realised, looking at him out of the corner of her eye, that she had never told him this and she was not sure he had ever heard such words from anyone.

He lifted his gaze to her and furrowed his eyebrows, as if for a moment he did not understand what she had said; his face expressed consternation and embarrassment, as if he was unsure whether he should respond as a man to such a confession.

However, he apparently decided after a moment that since it was not an overwhelming confession of girlish deep love, but a simple expression of affection, he could also express his opinion on the matter.

"Well…I'm fond of you too." He replied cautiously and grunted, turning back to his book, pretending to concentrate on his reading with all his might – she could see the vein in his neck pulsing rapidly, betraying his excitement.

"What do you appreciate most about me? I, for one, value in you that you know so many things and always listen to me attentively. When I don't know something, you don't mock me but explain everything to me. I like it when you teach me and when you look at my embroidery, when you choose the ones you find most beautiful. I am very grateful then." She said quickly on one exhale, swallowing loudly, overjoyed that he had responded to her words, wanting to take advantage of this and convey to him as much as possible at once, which of course overwhelmed him as he did not look at her for a moment, pressing his lips into a thin line.

It seemed to her that he was trying to hold back a smile, but she didn't know why.

He did a lot of things she didn't understand and refrained from emotional statements or gestures, however, it didn't bother her.

That was just the way he was.

She heard him swallow hard, gathering up the courage to reply something, pretending to look at what he was reading, although she was sure his mind was just analysing everything she had told him carefully.

"Well. I must admit that I also appreciate in you that you never mock me and listen attentively to what I have to say. I am fond of your presence, simply put." He muttered, clearly feeling that he was drowning more and more with every word he spoke, settling back in his chair a little, lifting his book higher, not wanting her to look at his face any longer.

She smiled contentedly then, happy, and went back to her reading without disturbing him any further.

She remembered that day exactly, for when she had escaped to him as she did every night, hiding under his bedclothes, she had fallen asleep almost immediately, tired after her long day full of duties. He waited apparently for her to fall asleep, hoping she wouldn't feel it as his hand touched her cheek, as his lips pressed against hers in a warm, soft, tender kiss.

She didn't move or open her eyes, feeling the heat in her lower abdomen, her heart began to pound like mad with delight, for he had never kissed her first before, never kissed her like this before.

She thought of that night and that day as she watched him standing on the other side of the chamber in the morning, his servant helping him dress his black, leather tunic while her maid tied the bodice of her gown.

Their gazes met for a moment and she saw him sigh heavily, unhappy at the thought of what awaited them.

Borros Baratheon.

The Lord of Storm's End appeared in King's Landing at midday, accompanied by his son and his daughter, who it was agreed was to marry her husband. The King called a gathering in the throne room, at which she and her uncle were also to be present, to try to face the consequences of their somewhat joint decision together.

She and her husband stepped into a great hall with tall windows with seven-pointed stars through a side entrance. She swallowed loudly when she caught sight of the silhouette of a postured man, his beard, hair and thick black eyebrows furrowed in disapproval and rage at the sight of her, his lips clenched as much as his fists. Her gaze fled to the right, to the girl standing next to him.

Maris Baratheon lifted her chin higher at the sight of her, struggling to hide the expression of frustration and disappointment in her eyes, clearly hoping that the woman who had stolen her prince would be an ordinary and bland girl, standing in the shadow of her dragon husband.

She, however, had specifically ordered her servants to leave her hair loose, for although when she was a child its colour had driven her to despair, now she saw it as her advantage – her dark and shiny curls fall in gentle waves down her exposed back, accentuating her fair skin and bare shoulders.

Her gown was modest, black and matte, with floral ornaments embroidered in gold threads on her chest, her sleeves reaching all the way down to the ground.

Anyone looking at them from afar could have the impression that her choice of attire was no accident, even more so standing next to her husband clad in a black leather tunic.

They looked alike.

Their evidence of unity and intimacy, a wordless expression of their bond.

She wondered if she could see from a distance the previously red and now slightly purple bruise on her neck, a reminder of her husband's greedy lips, and if she was aware of what it meant.

She pressed her lips together at the thought, trying not to smile and provoke her.

Although she couldn't call her ugly or rejecting, there was something harsh in her facial expression and posture – her elaborate hairstyle with her hair slicked back was perhaps fashionable, but it didn't suit her beauty or her face shape. Her gown, though rich, did not emphasise her assets, whatever they might be.

She thought she wanted to look haughty, to show her that while she was a lady of a respectable house, she was a mere bastard, even if the child of a princess.

Everyone turned their gazes towards the main gates when one of the guards announced the King himself; her uncle stepped into the throne room confidently without bestowing even a single glance on Borros Baratheon, Aegon the Conqueror's crown shone on his head in the glare of light trickling through the stained glass filled windows.

She felt her heart pound like mad as her uncle took his place on the throne, her mother's throne, and she clenched her eyelids, reminding herself that he had extended a hand of truce and that if she wanted the matter of succession to end bloodlessly, she had to control herself and give him respect.

She glanced out of the corner of her eye at her husband and swallowed loudly, seeing that he stood upright like a stone, all tense, his hands clasped behind his back, his silhouette expressing the same passive aggression she had felt from him when she appeared in the Red Keep after many years.

He was prepared for battle.

He was prepared to kill.

"My Lords. We are gathered here today to address a sensitive matter. Lord Borros Baratheon and his house have suffered an insult and have come to demand justice. My Lord." Aegon nodded, extending his hand, with this gesture showing him that he was allowing him to speak.

Lord Baratheon walked closer to the throne, followed by his heir and his daughter, her gaze full of poison and rage still fixed on her.

She did not look away.

She had no intention of giving her satisfaction.

"I have come to demand that the honourable Prince Aemond keep his mother's word and marry my daughter, Maris, according to his choice. I witnessed his arrival and that he confirmed in my presence my arrangements with the crown. Yet word has reached me that the Prince has secretly married another woman in a barbaric ceremony." Borros growled, his voice tubular and hoarse, full of strength and determination. She swallowed hard, feeling a squeeze in her stomach, a shiver of discomfort ran down her spine at his words.

She glanced at her husband feeling him move beside her restlessly, enraged, his lips pressed into a thin line.

He tried to remain silent and not explode.

Aegon nodded at his words with understanding.

"I understand your bitterness, my Lord. Indeed, our mother forced my brother to comply with her will. However, in my presence and that of our entire family, our father, and your King to whom you vowed, during the supper before his death, announced his will to us.

He conveyed to us that he was keeping the betrothal between my brother and my niece in force, foreseeing the division that would occur in the kingdom once he left this world. After his death, my mother imprisoned my niece and ordered my brother to fly to Storm's End.

Therefore, as you understand, my Lord, the case substituted in this light clearly proves that his decision could not have been in force, for as far as I am aware, it is the King's decision, not the Queen's, which is the final one." Said Aegon with a lightness that shocked both her and her husband.

She could not believe how good a speechmaker he was, with what ease he played with facts and half-truths, creating a image in which, indeed, his brother was in a no-win situation and their nuptials were an act of honour and a fulfilment of their late father's will.

Lord Baratheon drew in a loud breath, furious, his face all red with emotion.

"Are we to accept this insult in silence, then? They did not marry in the presence of witnesses, they did not marry in the Sept, so their marriage is invalid. I demand justice for myself and my daughter." He hissed, Aegon raised his hand, ordering him to be silent.

"I understand the source of your anger, my Lord. However, you have a right not to know that last night my brother married my niece in the presence of myself and my wife before the Septon, who prepared the appropriate act, and their marriage is valid in the eyes of the realm.

I recognise, however, the injustice that has befallen you and my brother has decided to donate part of his annual income as a dowry for your daughter. In addition, you or your son, that I leave to you, will be granted a seat on the Small Council in place of my grandfather, whose decisions led to this…misfortune."

He said softly; Borros pressed his lips together at his words, looking at Aegon with piercing eyes, clearly not knowing himself what he thought of what he had heard.

He hesitated.

After a moment, however, a woman's voice echoed in the throne room.

"It is impossible, my King. No one will marry a woman who has already been touched by another man. The Prince has taken my maidenhood."

All gathered began to speak loudly, shocked by her words – she felt her heart leap into her throat, her stomach squeezed so tightly that she had trouble catching her breath.

She and Aegon looked at her uncle at the same moment, her husband standing as if stunned, his healthy eye wide open, his mouth parted in disbelief. After a moment, however, his shock was replaced by an expression of anger and fury, he took a step forward like a lion about to lash out at its prey.

"Lie." He growled, the voices of conversation and disbelief all around them even louder, the King twisted in his throne, completely not expecting this turn of events.

"How can we be sure that it was my brother who deprived you of your…virtue, my Lady?" He asked quickly, wanting to turn her confession against her, in case it appeared that her uncle was guilty, to accuse her of being able to be taken by any other man.

She lowered her gaze, breathing loudly through her mouth, feeling the cold sweat run down the back of her neck, her hands clenched on her womb quivering as much as her body.

No, he would never have done something like this.

He wouldn't deprive a woman of her maidenhood knowing he wouldn't marry her.

Was she sure of that?

Maybe he took her as his wife that night because he felt remorse after betraying her?

She felt tears of despair welling up under her eyelids at that thought, feeling that for a moment she was in the throne room with only her body, no longer seeing the proud look of Maris who grinned seeing the expression on her face.

"I ran after the Prince once he wanted to leave. He took me in one of the corridors of our fortress against my will." She said without a shadow of embarrassment, as if dragging him down behind her was more important to her than her own honour.

She wanted to become his wife, the Prince's wife at any cost.

"Maris, good gods…" Mumbled her father, looking at her in disbelief, all red with shame at her confession, shocked as the others by what had left her mouth, knowing full well that she was not telling the truth.

"Disgusting lies. I followed my nephew out the stronghold and returned to the Red Keep to fulfil my duty to my father that same night. It was not your maidenhood I took then, shameless woman." He growled, and she felt heat in her heart and a burst of pride at his words.

Even though he had used lie against lie − after all, she was no longer a maiden then − the way Lord Baratheon's daughter swallowed her saliva, the way her body shivered under the weight of his words made her lift her chin, looking at her with superiority.

Insolent whore.

Aegon raised his hands in the air, clearly amused by the situation, ordering everyone to remain silent.

"As I see it, opinions are divided on what happened. Lord Baratheon is a party. Is there anyone else who could confirm your version of events, my Lady?" He asked lightly; the girl looked at him breathing heavily, her hands clenched on her lower abdomen. Aegon looked to the side, directing his gaze to his brother.

"And you, brother, can anyone confirm your words?"

"My nephew." He answered without hesitation.

She swallowed hard, reminding herself that he had, after all, allowed her to meet her brother, and the king wasn't aware of it.

That he could be accused of treason, lose Aegon's support.

"We exchanged a few unpleasant sentences before I returned to King's Landing. Only a brief moment passed between the time he left and our conversation. Certainly not enough for even the most desperate man to possess a woman."

"Who will believe the words of a traitor? Was it not he who took away your eye, my Prince? Did he take something else from you along with it?" She asked mockingly, her father looked at her in horror, his lips forming a silent, warning 'enough'.

She heard her husband draw in his breath loudly, his knuckles clicking in his fingers as he squeezed them as hard as if he wanted to break them himself.

"You were there, my Lord. You know that she did not run after me, and even if she had, she would have gained nothing. I chose her because she was most different from my wife. Lest she might ever think that I could lust after your daughter." He replied with a cold, deep hiss that echoed through the throne room.

She felt a wave of delightful satisfaction run down her body, and though she knew her husband's cruel words might have cost them everything, the look of disbelief on Maris' face was more than worth it.

Did she really believe that he had chosen her because she was the most beautiful of her sisters?

That he could ever desire her when she, his childhood friend, his confidante and lover was by his side?

"I do not know what I saw." Borros replied, however, without his previous confidence, not looking at him or the King, apparently trying with his last strength to protect his and his daughter's honour. Her husband snorted at these words.

"Pathetic." He sneered quietly, not daring to say it out loud; it seemed to her that his whole figure was trembling.

He was furious.

"If I were your daughter, I would be wary of such far-fetched accusations without any evidence or witnesses, my Lord. Some might call it as treason." Aegon replied, spreading out comfortably on his throne.

She couldn't believe some part of her admired him for how he was playing with the situation while still keeping what was happening under control.

Lord of Storm's End did not respond to his words.

Aegon's words were the nail in the coffin of whatever plan Lord Baratheon's daughter had in her head, and after her humiliating outburst, Borros agreed to the terms set by the king himself and the amount of her dowry, which her uncle-husband would pay out of his purse.

She watched with satisfaction and an involuntary smile on her lips as Lord Baratheon and his daughter were forced to sign the terms of the agreement imposed on them by her uncle.

Borros left the throne room like a storm, furious, without even bowing to Aegon, to which he only responded with an amused expression on his face.

Maris didn't dare look at her anymore, her face pale, from a distance she could see how red her eyes were from tears.

She wished to be a princess in a beautiful castle.

She could be his Rhaenys, but she had no intention of allowing any Visenya into their lives.

Even if it was one night in ten, she couldn't bear the thought of having to share him.

Fortunately, her husband was as possessive as she was.

The smile disappeared from her face as she felt an unpleasant, familiar stinging sensation inside her lower abdomen.

She clamped her hand over her womb as something warm and sticky ran down her thigh, a whine of despair and pain stuck in her throat as she pressed her lips together.

She took a step backwards, revealing the stone floor under her feet, and noticed a few drops of crimson liquid on it.

She was bleeding.

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[iggy5055]

Yandere Whitebeard Pirates X Reader Part 1

Summary: after (Y/N)'s older brother is murdered in cold blood she traverses the cold mountains of her island in an attempt to escape, only to be saved by some unsuspecting heros.

Warnings: gun shot, death, pain, trauma, lying, frost bite, start of emotional manipulation

A shocking outcome on the poll but here you finally go and thank you for all your love and support and your amazing patients ❤️

_________________________

The cold bit into my skin as I do my best to remain awake. Despite being raised in such cold climates I found myself being caught unawares and unprepared. Trudging through the cold windy mountains with nothing on my feet. I couldn't feel my toes anymore, my feet starting to turn a nasty blue and black color.

My hair no longer blew in the wind, frozen to my skull along with my tears. I shiver violently as my body tries to warm me up.

Even from the mountain side I could see my village, in flames. With my vision blurry it almost looked like the sun was rising, but I knew I wasn't that lucky.

I try and make it to the other side of my island, hoping that I could find a way off it and away from all the carnage. It was definitely a rude awakening when I was suddenly shaken awake by my older brother, yanking me out of bed and trudging through the snow towards the mountains. With no explanation as to why, but once I was outside, seeing the fresh warm blood melting and staining what was once pristine white snow with cannonballs and bullets flying in any which way I understood why we didn't have time to put on our shoes.

Houses were burning to the ground as families screamed inside trying to find a way out. And for those who had made it out trying to stop the bleeding of loved ones.

Even only being outside for a few moments I could already feel myself shivering in my light sleeping clothes. My brother holding me tightly by my hand as he drags me around as fast as he can. Weaving thought small alleyways and streets trying to avoid whoever was attacking. It had been made clear to me it was pirates, despite living in the new world we didn't fall under any Emperors protection, and we fairly ever saw marines aside from the occasional ship doing to re-supply. If they ended up here they are almost always off course. we were very close to the calm belt and pretty close to the red line, hence we are pretty out of the way.

Being a small winter island in an out of the way corner of the world came with many benefits. We almost never saw pirates, our island wasn't anywhere on the way to the final island so there wasn't a point to coming here, and with the lack of pirates meant a blatant lack of Marines, we were never in danger so it was never needed. At least never needed until now.

Panting heavily from running around our small little village I could hear loud laughing, Suddenly my brother stopped just as we were about to leave an ally causing me to run into his back.

I gasped quietly as I stood behind him. I couldn't clearly make out what I was seeing, but from the sound of pained screams and cruel laughing I figured I didn't really want to know.

I hid my face in my brother's back avoiding whatever he was staring at. I could feel him start to shiver as he slowly crouched down, leading me down with him, but I knew he wasn't shivering from the cold, he was shivering from pure unbridled fear.

"(Y/N), we need to be quiet and we need to be fast. We have to sneak by them and get to the mountains, once we get past them we will be able to find a boat on the other side and run. Do you understand me?"

I quietly nodded into his back, wanting to avoid making any sound.

Slowly while still being crouched down we moved out of the dark alley. Despite the carnage now being clearly in my line of sight, I stare at the wall of the building we were crouching beside. The last thing I wanted to see was the deaths of my friends. The thought brought tears to my eyes.

"We're almost there, just a little more."

I try to quiet my sniffles, even if it is dark. The fires that have been spreading start to illuminate the village as if it were the sun, and the soft crunch of the snow under my feet that seemed louder than ever when we are trying to sneak around and be unnoticed.

"HEY!!!!!"

My brother whipped his head around looking behind up then down at me with panic all over his face and fear in his eyes.

"RUN!!"

We bolt off into the tree that surrounds the mountains, I turn back to look at who was chasing us and for a split second it looked like a girl with long half up hair in some kind of robe, pointing a gun at us.

Just as I turn back around and run with my brother I hear the shot of her pistol.

"ARGGGGGGGGH"

My brother screams as the bullet narrowly misses me and hits his left shoulder blade. He released my hand from his crushing grip as he collapsed on the ground, clutching his shoulder in pain.

I'm about to get down beside him and help before he yanks me in front of him.

"RUN (Y/N), DON'T LOOK BACK JUST RUN!!!!"

Tears pour down my cheeks as I feel my brother's warm blood stain the snow and touch my bare feet, warming them but sending a chill up my spine.

"no, I d-don't want to l-leave you."

My voice was choked with sobs, as I looked past him and saw the shooter calling over more of her crew.

"You need to go. Find the boat on the other side of the and run, don't stop till you find help."

"I can't"

I can't help the hiccups that come out as I beg for him to get up and come with me, to hold on and to run with me.

My heart was beating a mile a minute. I swear it was about to explode.

"Please (Y/N), I can't watch you die, run. Live for me, find peace for me."

His voice crashed as he banged me to run. I could slowly see that light fading from his eyes. The blood poured out of his shoulder like a waterfall, clearly it hit an artery. I sobbed loudly as I clung to him begging him not to leave me and to get up.

"HE'S DOWN, GRAB HER!!!"

I look up to see several of the pirates making their way over to me and my brother, the woman no longer pointing her guns but still holding them. Now she was accompanied by three clearly tall and muscular men, all coming out of the town and making their way over to us.

I looked down at my brother again, seeing his pale skin and his dark lifeless eyes grow cold as ice. I gently kissed his forehead with shaky lips before getting up and running as fast as I could, regardless of my gut reaching sobs and hiccups.

I could hear them chasing after me, yelling and telling me to stop. Once I was in the tree line I started to zig zag through the trees, trying to be as quiet as possible while also avoiding being shot. Once I was a ways up the ridge I looked back to see the flames of my home grow exponentially.

I no longer heard the yells of the pirates chasing me but I didn't want to risk it so I continued up the mountain, cold rocks and ice cutting into my souls. I was clearly making bloody footprints making it easy to follow but if I'm lucky I'll make it to the boats quickly, leaving no more trails to follow.

I continue hiking up the mountain shivering like a scared lamb, all alone with my consciousness beginning to fade. Black spots started to appear in my vision, fading and reappearing. Between my fading vision and the darkness of the woods at the dead of night I could feel myself fading bit by bit.

It couldn't have been more than a minute till I collapsed into the cold snow.

"N-no, I-I can't d-di-e h-here~"

My voice faded into a whisper as I black out unable to move any further. But before I had completely passed out I saw a great brilliant light of blue and gold. Maybe this was the end of me, I could feel my last tear fall, sad I couldn't fulfill my promise to my brother, I guess now I could apologize in person.

—————————————

Consciousness came to me slowly, my body felt numb, like pins and needles had appeared all over my body, my extremities especially. I tried to move, lifting my hand only for it to feel like they were trapped under boulders. I tried to open my eyes, only to shut them just as quickly from the brightness of the room I was in.

I groaned in pain, even just trying to move a little bit hurt. Warm tears moved down my cheeks. Small sobs escaped my horse throat. I felt something small hop up on my bed, I felt what seemed like a small paws brush on my thighs over and over. A quiet whine came from what I now assumed was a small dog.

On one hand I was glad I wasn't dead, but on the other hand I didn't know it was possible to be in this much pain. Through my small sobs I didn't hear the creak of a door opening or the gentle footsteps coming closer to the bed.

It wasn't until I heard the dog on my lap bark and growl a little at the new stranger I even noticed someone was in the room.

"Quit it Stefan."

It wasn't until I felt the bed dip from the man sitting down beside me that I tried to open my eyes to see who was there but it was all still too bright. Soft hiccups left my lips now as I cried and tried to speak to this stranger.

"Shhhh, pretty girl. it's ok."

The man above me gently cooed as he gently ran his fingers through my hair, giving my scalp a light massage. I tried to do what he suggested and took a deep breath, holding it for a second and letting it out again.

"There we go, atta girl~."

After a few more deep breaths I tried to open my eyes again, I did it slowly and kept my eyes squinted, I could make out tan skin and an orange, what I assumed to be a hat, on the man's head.

"Ohh, it's too bright isn't it, here, gimme a sec."

The weight was lifted off the bed and the dog gave another little bark at the man. I heard the sound of shades being drawn and the light shining through my eyelids diminishes.

The man walks over and sits beside me again. I felt his unusually warm hand being pressed to my cheek.

"Lets try opening those lovely eyes again, huh?"

I slowly started to open my eyes again, after a second of adjustment and waiting for my tears to slow I looked up to see a handsome man with a big grin looking down at me. Now that I could see him properly I saw his incredibly toned skin, skin that just so happened to not have a shirt on it. He had a dark red beaded necklace around his neck and an orange hat on top of soft black locks. Looking over to the paws on my legs I saw a little white dog with a crescent moon mustache.

Looking back over to the handsome young man I tried to ask him where I was and what had happened. The last thing I remember was seeing a bright light before passing out in the snow. But when I tried to speak all that came out was sad little whimpers that hurt.

More hot tears fell from my eyes at the pain, I tried to lift my hand up to my throat but it also wouldn't move.

"Ohhh, Shhhhhh sweet girl, it's ok, it's ok. Just breathe, I'm going to go get someone who can help you ok?

I nodded as much as I could as my head fell back onto the pillow as I closed my eyes again, trying to manage with the pain as much as I could. I could hear his footsteps walk out and the quiet latching of the door being shut again as I tried to comprehend what was happening and how I got here in the first place.

As the sobs left my body I faintly heard the dog the man before called Stefan whine a little as he crawled over to my face, licking away my tears for me.

After a few minutes I opened my eyes again when I heard footsteps outside my room before the door began to creak open. The shirtless man came back but this time he wasn't alone. Another man with blonde hair and an open button up shirt and a blue tattoo on his chest, a tattoo that I recognized. When the other man closed the door I saw the large purple tattoo on his back, the mark of Whitebeard. I was with pirates.

I began to thrash around as much as I could, which really wasn't much but it was enough to have Stefan jump off of the bed. My breathing was uneven as I started to hyperventilate as I tried to get up to run away. All I was really able to do was to push the blanket off of me a little before the blonde instructed the other man, who he called Ace to hold me down.

Ace ran over to me moving in behind me so I was leaning against his back as his two strong hands held onto my wrists. Having him move me into a sitting position was less than comfortable but it wasn't as bad as when I finally saw why I was in so much pain.

My fingers, toes and parts of my legs and arms were black and purple, a clear sign of serious frostbite. No wonder I was in so much pain. but what was I expecting? Passing out on a snowy mountain in your PJ's was bound to do some serious damage. Tears continued to fall as I 'thrashed' to get out of his grip.

I knew there was no point, my merger strength was nothing compared to a seasoned pirate, but there was no way I wouldn't try.

"Marco, do something!"

I saw 'Marco' walk over to me with a syringe filled with some kind of liquid, making me try and thrash around even more. As he got closer Ace pinned down one of my arms to the bed. I began shaking my head back and forth, begging them to stop.

"N-no please n-o."

I could nearly get the words out as I begged them not to do anything.

"Shhhhh, Baby Bird. You're ok. we aren't going to hurt you."

I couldn't help my body trembling as he motioned for Ace to hand him my arm.

"Deep breath Firefly, just take some deep breaths with me."

I could feel Ace's chest rise and fall as he took some deep breaths, encouraging me to do the same.

At first I refused, keeping my eyes trained on Marco and the syringe in his hand, waiting for him to stick me with it, wondering what it would do.

But after a minute or two of him staring calmly into my eyes, massaging my wrist with his hand I could help but calm down as Ace helped me breathe.

"There we go, Little Bird~. This is just gonna help you sleep a little so we can fix you up a little more."

Ace began to gently rock me back and forth in his arms as Marco managed my wrist, slowly bringing the syringe closer and closer.

Ace nudged my cheek with his, pushing my head to look away.

"It's ok Firefly, it's just gonna help you nap a little, you'll be up before supper.

—————————————

Waking up a second time was a lot less painful than before, if not a little more panicked, I was able to sit up by myself and when I looked down to see my hands. They were wrapped in bandages that went up most of my arms, the same bandages going up my legs. 

"Good to see ya finally up. Figured the dose Marco gave you wouldn't last too long, you musta just been really tired."

I gasp as I look to my right, seeing a tall man with brown hair, a goatee and wearing chef's clothes.

"The names Thatch, I'm Whitebeard's fourth division commander, I also just so happen to be the cook here on the Moby Dick."

My mouth hung open as I tried to figure something out to say, I couldn't help my trembling as another member of the Whitebeard Pirates sat in front of me. Talking to me as if we were friends. 

I looked down at my hands again, not knowing what to say to him. All I could do was fiddle with the bandages only for a warm hand to engulf both of mine, making me look back at Thatch.

"Better not, Marco would have my head if I let you take off your bandages. He did his best to heal you but couldn't heal all of it, your frostbite was super extensive. He applied some kind of cream all over the parts he couldn't fix right away before he applied the bandages."

I slowly nodded at him, trying to subtly pull my hands away from him. His one hand completely eclipses both of mine but he wouldn't let me go, just giving me a little smirk when I looked back up at him. 

"Come on Buttercup, we better get some food into ya, you can't heal with an empty belly."

Once he mentioned food I realized how hungry I actually was, not just hungry but really thirsty too. I nodded a little, keeping my head down as I tried to swing my legs over the edge of the bed to stand up only for Thatch to let go of my hands wrap his arm around my shoulders and one under my knees. 

I flinched a little as he hosted me into his arms, my back was fine but my legs throbbed with pain. 

He cringed a little at the sound I made when he picked me up.

"Sorry Buttercup, I know it hurts but trust me, having you walk right now would be a hundred times worse."

I begrudgingly nodded my head. As much as I didn't like being carried around if just being picked up hurt, I didn't want to know how much it would hurt to actually walk around. 

Thatch smiled down at me and started to walk to the door, the second he opened it after adjusting me a little I heard barking.

I looked down to see the little dog Stefan jumping up at me, his front paws resting on Thatches legs.

I could feel the rumble of Thatches chest as he laughed at the little dog's antics.

"We had to keep him out of your room because he kept trying to take your bandages off, he really doesn't like them for some reason. But he's been guarding your room ever since we kicked him out."

Thatch walked down the long corridor and up a large flight of stairs. Stefan follows close behind. As he walked up onto the main deck I squinted my eyes. Wherever we were was hot, even as the sun was setting it was still so warm, a sharp contrast from my home island. 

You could see nothing but sea from all angles, no land for miles most likely. The sun looked beautiful, reflecting the sun and the beautiful colors of the sky.

"Hey Firefly! You're awake!"

Ace jumped off the railing of the ship and ran over to us. I flinched back as he came closer and reached his hand out to touch me.

His face flashed with concern, looking over to Thatch.

"What did you expect, Fire Fist."

He rolled his eyes but before he could say anything someone cut him off.

"She's hurt, in a new place and surrounded by new people, slow it down Ace."

Thatch turned slightly and I was just able to see over his shoulder, Marco was walking over to us. 

Ace nodded sheepishly. Marco walked in front of me, hunching over a little so that we were face to face, not giving me a whole lot of breathing room considering his last statement. 

"How are you feeling, Baby Bird? Woozy, dizzy, nauseous?"

I tried to turn my face away, almost nuzzling into Thatches chest but Marco cupped my cheek with his hand, gently forcing me to look at him. He lifted his other hand to my cheek, slowly turning my head side to side ever so slightly. His eyes examined every inch of my face.

He raised his eyebrow a little, waiting for me to respond to his question. Thatch gave me a little nudge, silently encouraging me to answer him.

"I.... I feel f-fine."

My voice was barely above a whisper. Marco tilted his head at me, clearly waiting for me to say more. After a few more seconds of silence Thatch decided to speak up. 

"Come on Marco, like you said, she's scared. I bet she'll feel more talkative once she gets some food in her system."

He signed but nodded, backing up a little, releasing my cheeks from his palms after giving them a stroke with his thumbs.

Thatch smiled down at me as I curled into myself as much as I could while being left and without hurting myself too much. It was uncomfortable being so close to so many dangerous and world renowned pirates. 

Thatch flipped around, pushing a swinging down open with his back and walked down a small flight of stars and into a mess hall, but not before shooing Stefan away, saying no dogs were allowed. 

Looking around I could see the mess hall being completely empty. it made sense, with it being practically dark now everyone would have had dinner by now. 

I figured He would set me down on one of the many benches lining the long tables, but instead he flips around to open another set of doors and lead into a large, pristine kitchen. He gently sets me down on the counter top. 

I shivered at the cold counter that touched the part of my bare thighs that wasn't covered in bandages. Ace and Marco stepped into the kitchen not too long after us. Ace noticing the goosebumps that had spread all over my skin almost instantly.

"Well that just won't do."

He hopped up onto the counter with me and grabbed my waist, hoisting me to sit on his lap. I yelped loudly, making Thatch look over his shoulder from his cooking only to smirk and look back once he knew I was 'safe'. At least in his terms anyway. On my terms on the other hand, this felt less than safe. 

I adjusted myself in his lap a little but with his strong arms wrapped tightly around my stomach there wasn't much I could do. He rested his chin on my shoulder lightly. 

He felt warm, almost too warm, as if he had a fever. his body heat began to smother away the cold from the room. After a minute small flames appeared all over his arms. I screamed a bit, causing Marco who was leaning against the counter, staring at a clipboard I haven't noticed he had and Thatch was still making me dinner to look over at us. 

As I panic, screaming for him to let me go and try to get out of Ace's arms before I get burned I could hear Thatch laugh a little at my trying to get away. I didn't seem to understand what was so funny. One of his cremates had just erupted into flames with me held in a vice grip and he was laughing. If I wasn't so scared right now and badly injured I would try to smack him, pirate or not.

"Shhhhh, baby bird. You're ok. Calm down."

Marco was much more sympathetic to my fear. He stepped in front of me, holding my hands that had been trying to shove Ace's arms away from me, bringing my knuckles to his lips despite my harsh yanking. 

"L-Let me g-go!!!!"

Ace leaned his head up, pressing his lips into my ear and whispering softly. 

"It's ok Firefly, just calm down for a second. Focus on Marcos hands, on my voice."

After another second of panic I calmed down a little, thought it was less of me calming down and more of me losing what little stamina I still had.

Marco and Ace kept talking to me softly, coaxing me into relaxing as much as they could. 

"See Firefly? It's not burning you. We would never let that happen."

I whimpered softly as they both held me close, keeping me from thrashing around. But at this point I don't think I could even if I wanted to. After a few minutes of Marco coxing me to take some deep breaths, Ace spoke up again.

"Do you know what a Devil Fruit is Firefly?"

I nod stiffly. 

Thatch came to stand beside us. A plate of warm food in his hands. I stared at it longingly until Marco gripped my chin making me look at him again as Ace continued.

"Tell me what you know?"

After a few more deep breaths it was able to squeak out a reply. 

"They are magical fruits that give whoever eats them powers, but they can't swim anymore."

I could feel Ace nodding as Marco gave me a smile. 

"Anything else?"

I shake my head. While I knew what devil fruits where I was never interested enough to actually learn anything in detail. 

"Well Baby Bird, there are a lot of different kinds of Devil Fruits. Some give you powers, some let you turn into animals and some like Ace can control elements, even becoming them if he wanted too.

I look back down at Ace's arms, the little flames still there. 

"I can control the heat of my flames, Firefly. I could use them to burn my enemies, or warm up those I care about."

Ace lifted one of his hands and covered it completely in fire. Marco took one of my hands he was holding and placed it over Aces. I panicked for a second before I realized that the flame wasn't burning me. Just warming up my hand.

"See Buttercup, we wouldn't do anything to hurt you."

Thatch nudged Marco out of the way, causing him to let go of my hands, replacing them with a warm bowl of soup. 

"Now eat up, you can ask all the questions you want once you are done."

—————————————

Once I had finished eating, Thatch had taken the bowl and washed it, Marco taking his previous spot in front of me. I looked up at him. Not knowing what to do next.

He looks down at my arms and legs, before looking back into my eyes. 

"Before anything else I should check on your wounds and change your bandages. It's only been a few hours But I'd rather be safe than sorry."

I nodded at him, keeping my eyes down. As sweet as they all had been to me they were all more than a little intimidating. 

Marco huffed a soft sigh as he picked me up and started walking out of the kitchen much to Ace's displeasure. 

The second I was out of his arms the room seemed even colder than it was before,making the goosebumps coming back with a vengeance. Once Marco noticed he leaned down and whispered into my ear.

"We'll also find you some better clothes."

As warm as it was earlier the night came with an uncomfortable chill in the air especially out at sea. I nodded silently and nuzzled into him a little. As scared as I was, being surrounded by unknowns hasn't really hurt me yet and I didn't really have any option anyway.

Walking down a bunch of winding corridors we eventually end up in what I assumed was a med bay. It was really big all things considered. Not something I thought would have been on a ship but considering how big the ship was and how many crew members were aboard it made sense. 

Marco set my on a cot closest to what I assumed was his desk. Behind it being several cabinets that lined the entire wall. Some of the doors had locks on them, others didn't. He walked over to one of the cabinet doors and opened it pulling out a small canister and some more bandages. 

I nodded after a second. He smiled up at me before looking back to my leg focusing on the task in front of him.

He came over and knelt in front of me, taking one of my calves into his hand, looking up at me for permission. After all that had happened he didn't seem like the person to ask permission but I felt a little better knowing he wanted to make sure I was ok with his going any farther.

He slowly started to unwind the bandages, letting me see the damage again. In all fairness it looked much better than before but it still looked pretty nasty. 

He examined my calf for a second before his hands erupted in blur and gold flames making me scream for the umpteenth time today.

Marco looked at me sympathetically. 

"Its ok Baby Bird, I have a devil fruit too. It lets me heal any injury on myself, it lets me heal others but it doesn't work as well."

His voice was low and calm as he explained his abilities to me. 

"It was you."

Marco glanced up at me for a second before focusing on my leg again, humming a question an what I was talking about.

Tears fell down my cheeks onto my thighs Marco stood up immediately once he noticed, taking my cheeks in his hands. 

I shook my head as much as his hands would let me.

"What's wrong Baby Bird? What hurts?"

"On the mountain, before I passed out and when you put me to sleep."

I looked into his eyes, 

"I saw the same flames."

He smiled at me and pressed his forehead to mine.

"Yes Baby Bird, I was the one who found you."

A sob escaped my throat as I tried to compose myself, I needed answers.

"W-what happened?"

He sighs again. 

"You're Island had been attacked by Pirates, we had happened to be nearby when we saw flames in the distance. Once we got there it had been too late, the town was in flames with hundreds dead. We were fighting the pirates and looking for any survivors when I saw a trace of blood leading to the mountains, that's where I had found you collapsed in the snow"

I couldn't help the choked sob that came from me before I was finally able to say anything.

"Survivors?"

I couldn't stop my tears once he confirmed everyone else was dead.

Marco gave me a solemn look, before shaking his head.

"A-are you-u su-sure?"

I could barely get the words out through my sobs.

"I'm so sorry Baby Bird."

I collapsed into his arms, feeling him hold me tightly as I sobbed into his chest. Nearly unable to breath through my grief. 

"Don't worry Baby, we aren't going to let anything happen to you."

But little did I know about the horrifying smirk on his face. Or his plans for my future. 

#yandere #one piece #yandere x reader #yandere one piece #yandere one piece x reader #one piece x reader #whitebeard pirates #whitebeard pirates x reader #yandere Whitebeard Pirates x reader

[undercoverpena]

heyyyy! could I request Javier Peña for the #mmvalentinesevent with “I… thought I lost you” {14} and “Never do that again. Please” {15} from the injury prompts?? you do angst so well!

take me to yours

javier pena x f!reader (dea!agent)

warnings: reader gets injured, mention (brief) panic attack, post-injury panic. || wc: 3.8k || also, i’m dedicating this to @yeyinde who i know didn’t request this, but listens to me rant and rave about this man 🤍

A bead of sweat ran down his spine as time slowed to nothing.

It was the sound of her voice that made it. Birthed it. It doing a number of other things to him. His spine tensing as something twists. Sticking painfully into his abdomen—similar to the blade of a knife.

Hey, Javi. I’m real sorry to bother you, but something doesn’t feel right here. What? I don’t… I don’t know, it just doesn’t.

She never calls—not in the day. Not even when night kisses the city and he expects her.

Their conversations had started as fleeting. More said around breaths as hands explore fabric to unveil skin. Then they had grown into stolen moments, huddled in file rooms and down the side of buildings.

Now she had called him.

Not anyone else: him.

Anyone with you? No. I’m… I’m alone. Shit—my car. It won’t start. 

The sweat had begun building at the nape of his neck when Javi had heard her voice. A reaction flooding through him almost instantly—far too quickly.

Something he’d have to unpack later when he wasn’t under the watchful eye of Murphy or holding her voice in his hand. 

The bead had hung on for dear life, growing under the tension as he tapped Murphy, and stormed back to the car.  

I didn’t know who to call—and it’s you and me, right? Look— Fuck, Javi. I think they’ve seen me. Bonita—

Something strummed inside of him. It shifted, changed. All violent and unpredictable.

It played on his nerves and organs. It made his hand shake as he rammed the key into the hole, the engine roaring to life—ignoring the questionable stares from Murphy. 

All he focused on was the nervousness in her tone. 

The worry. 

The one he expects from others, but never from her. Not the woman who’d burned her lips against his, mixing tequila and whiskey as he pressed her back against brick; not the woman who raised her chin when someone talked down to her. 

The tone and the fact she’d called him.

I’m coming, Bonita. Alright?  What do I do, Javi? What do I do— Do not go into that house, Cariño. We’re coming, okay? We’re—

That same bead of sweat slid under his shirt collar when he saw the holes in her vehicle. The same ones he had heard being fired at her when the call went dead. How it had been accompanied by a gasp, the last noise he’d heard from her. 

The one which unlocked a fear he hadn’t known he even had for her.

His fingers gripped her truck door. His eyes taking in the phone discarded on the passenger side floor. A bullet firmly in the place keys once were. It lay in a pattern of shattered glass—all of the pieces twinkling under the bright sunlight. Appearing like stars which had fallen from the sky.

It was everywhere, shards that were dragged to the other door—the one half-open that Murphy stood at.

He can’t meet his eyes. Not yet.

Instead, he sweeps his gaze over the backseat does he spot her denim jacket. His stomach lurching.

He knows without thought it’s the same one she’d had on earlier. The one which had spent weeks hanging on the hook near his front door from a time when she’d “forgotten” it.

I’ll get it soon. Don’t worry, I’m not sneak moving in.

Now, it’s covered in the softest spray of drying red.

Complicated. That’s what she had said about them. When she’d been busy reapplying her lipstick in the bar’s bathroom. His fingers having zipped up his jeans, meeting her eyes in the dirty mirror. We’re complicated. You and me. 

He hadn’t argued then, and he didn’t now. 

The sweat had finally dripped. Followed by so much more. It all burning a path down under his shirt. 

His hand swipes across his jaw as he meets Murphy’s gaze—trying not to crack under it. Even as one thought loops continuously, almost making him fearful of even speaking:

Where is she, Murphy?

Images conjured, appearing one after the other. Her bent in odd places, her eyes devoid of life—her soul, her sparkle. 

The bead began its path down his shoulder blade until it finds a home at the base of his spine. Collecting with the others, his fingers brushing his hair back, following his partner's eyes to the house. The one with its door wide open, banging against the inside wall as the warm breezes swipes against it. 

The one he told her not to go in. He takes a breath. 

The two of them fall into a line—one practised and drilled into them from training. One the two of them do countless times as Murphy gestures and he follows.

Javi is too busy trying to banish the thoughts which threaten to boil him over. The ones where his mind conjures her in positions he’ll never be able to forget; holes in her he’ll never be able to fix. 

It takes more than one breath, but two, until he feels a semblance of calmness washing over him. 

It’s quiet, eerily so. Each time their sole hits a loose floorboard, they expect a sea of bullets. Ones which never come.

Not as they clear the hallway, moving into a room with matted chairs and dead bodies. Alcohol, copper and cigarettes staining the air, all sliding past the hair in his nose into his throat. 

He should be thankful she’s not amongst them. But, he’s not. Not as he sees scarlet red spreading across the rickety wooden floor, some even with handprints, some of it even on the walls.

That same pain twists in his stomach. The silence between the two agents remaining, thick and uncomfortable. A mist falling, something churning in him that he fears Murphy can feel too. 

I’m coming, Bonita. 

He meets Murphy’s eyes. The two swap the same hopeful sentiment: the blood won’t be hers.

The tip of his boot kicks at one of the men, and his heel slides the gun from the second—content they’re both bathing in their own blood. All very much disposed of, taken care of.

He’s set to move, to follow Murphy when Javi sees a third gun, one that’s like theirs. A dread ballooning, growing so large it almost consumes him.

“She could still—“

“Let’s clear the rooms.”

He doesn’t mean to snap—didn’t mean to spit the words at him like poison.

It’s just… his breath is all mattered and clinging to his throat. A thing inside of him unfurling. It spreads itself through him. It tries to drag him into darkness, tries to make the corners of his eyes see speckles of red. 

The cracks in his walls widen as he begins to unravel. All of the well-kept emotions suddenly not remaining in their cage, escaping in bursts from him until they’re all out, hammering away at his bones. 

It’s Murphy who suggests they split, taking the next few rooms. Be quicker to find her, won’t it?

He doesn’t argue—can’t, argue. Swallowing the thickness which is doubling with each passing moment. 

The shell of the house whistles in its emptiness as Javi scans for beautiful eyes and a kind smile.

He tries not to feel anything when he doesn’t. Tries not to linger on the fact that as every second pass, the likeness of him hearing her voice grows thinner. It burns into him, twisting something in his stomach as the first room he clears is spared of death. 

Gratitude—glee—almost escaping with a sigh as he moves to the second. 

The second is the sight of disaster, but he’s not sure of what kind or magnitude. 

The stench hits him first. The smell of torture, cigarettes and sex. The matted mattress in the corner is stained with things he only casts his eyes over, the body in the centre of the room demanding his attention. 

He spots several body-shaped holes in the plaster, ones he hates the realisation that they match her height and frame. He sees the smallest amount of drying blood on what hasn’t crumbled to the ground from the force, the contrast of the once-magnolia plaster stark against the dark floorboards. 

The man in the centre is more than dead. The hole in his neck had stopped leaking at some point, having begun to congeal against the floor and the man’s shoulder. More holes in his chest, stomach and thigh follow a similar pattern. 

Javi spots the knife—the culprit of what had done the damage. It’s lodged in the decaying skirting board on the opposite wall, likely kicked there through fury and fear. 

His mind sinks into itself. It pulled open drawers he’d rather keep closed, yanking out past reports and horrid tales, seeing it like a horrid mirage playing out across the dust and debris. A part of him having already carved out space for her, and yet—

She may not be around to fill it. 

We’re complicated. You and me.

Protocol recounts in the back of his head.

His fingers twitch at his side, needing to be busy.

He should go to the car, and call ahead. He should check out the wallets of the deceased, and see if they’ve done damage against Escobar—she’s done damage.

Javi does none of that.

Instead, he puts the safety on and sheathes his gun in the back of his jeans, fingertips sliding against his thumb as he stares at the dead man in the centre of the floor. 

He waits. His teeth return to peeling the skin from his lip. Suddenly busy recalling the ways he could have kept her safe. The main one being he shouldn’t have allowed her to leave his bed. His hand should have slid over her hip, slid his thigh between hers and married his lips to hers until they both forgot about alarm clocks and responsibilities.

The sight of her this morning is what he wants back. The way her eyes had smiled more than her lips. That her palm had pressed against his cheek, laughing at something he’d said. 

It’s why he doesn’t leave the room now. Not wanting to stumble across her bent in a broken way and devoid of any life behind her eyes.

Needing, almost praying, for Murphy’s voice to carry through the house. 

That tone—that particular voice which said she was breathing, that she hadn’t been taken from him too. 

“Javi?!”

His boots sound on the floorboards before his name has stopped echoing around the emptiness. Eyes taking in Murphy, him leaning against a doorframe, gun in his bulletproof, hands over his arms. He shoots a look, one that earns him a jut of his head.

“I’ll call ahead. Give you both a minute.”

“Yeah, sure. T-Thanks, Murphy.”

He pats him as he passes—his partner. The one who likely knows too much, but Javi suddenly cares that much about.

His focus on the room. The one with no scent. The room where the plaster is peeling and the floorboards groan under his soles.

Occasionally, speckled shimmers of sunlight dance over the room from the hole-bitten curtains. The cracked window blowing a warm breeze, sliding over the cobwebs and the creatures that likely hide inside the walls.

He sidesteps around the slanted wardrobe, eyes finding her in the corner—spine pressed against two walls. She looks so small, so unlike the person he’d bid goodbye to this morning.

Her knees to her chest, arms around her calves, chin resting. But, it’s her eyes he focuses on. How they’re blurred, lost—that she’s fractured and withered at the edges.

Her clothes splattered in red, splotches on her skin. None of it bothering her, she’s being haunted by a moment they’ve not let go of.

“Bonita?”

She blinks. It’s quick, the way she banishes her thoughts as she drinks him in.

Realisation dawning, covering her face and body language as though he’s the sun at the start of a new day.

Javi is slow as he coming down in front of her, knees protesting as he does so. Her shaky smile growing, wearily placed joy spreading across her features.  

“H-Hey, Peña—you came? I know. I know you said you would-d, but… I’m glad you did. Really glad. Didn’t know if you’d find me. Anyone would find-d me. You know? You do, know. I know—”

He cups her chin, swiping his thumb under it as she swallows. “Hey, look at me. There she is… Bonita, you’re in shock, ok—”

“I am?” 

It’s forced nature not meeting her eyes, choosing to nod instead. His eyes assess the cut above her head, noticing how it’s become tacky—somewhat healing in various shades of red and black. He turns her face, surprised she allows him to, watching her eyes slide from him to the space behind him. 

The minutes before their arrival trying to steal her from him, almost doing so until her palm plastered around his wrist, surprising him. 

“Had to sit down… just for a minute. So tired, and then I couldn’t… I couldn’t get up—“

“Cariño…” His thumb strokes her cheek, the one blooming in the bluest shades of a rainbow. “Hey, keep those eyes on me.” 

His hand tilts her face, spotting the slight swelling around her eye, her gaze blurring, altering. 

“You should see the other guy.” 

“I did. All three of them. You did good.” 

She swallows and it looks like it was harder to do than he cares to think about. “I-I did?” 

“You did, Bonita.”

Her eyes close, a second longer than they have been as her chest tries to rise and fall. “I channelled m-my inner P-Peña. What would P-Peña do? And h-he’d make sure they never g-got up-p… especially when…”

He should let go of her chin, and drop his hand back to his lap. He doesn’t. Just stares instead, taking in the flecks of her one good eye and the way her breath seems to be coming back to her. 

She places her hand on his arm. “I’m okay.” 

“You are.”

Biting the inside of her lip. “They’d spotted me.”

His heart slows, and almost stops. Just for a moment—so brief he could have ignored it, but he doesn’t. “I heard, Cariño.”

Not sure if he’ll ever be able to drink away the sound.  

“Thought… not him—not Escobar. But, someone… y’know? Important. That we could tick off. Red cross over their face. You know? You know, of course you do. But, I don’t think they was. Important, I mean?” Her lip trembles, the size of it sprouting the same as her eye. Tears welling up, sitting in her eyes as she furiously doesn’t let them fall. “Even for the way they… they really wanted to hur—kill me.” 

It drops, his stomach. Practically almost falls out of his ass into the floorboards.

We’re complicated. You and me. 

The fear he’d managed to stifle, darts through him again like wildfire. Scorching all the parts of him, fanning its vine-like fingers through him, tangling around organs as it flexes and tightens, making it hard to breathe. 

He acknowledges what it means—what she means to him.

He does.

Javi knows she isn’t just someone who has kept his bed warm or been there when he’s needed to fuck his frustration out; she’s not someone who he just looks for around the building. She’s—

“Where’s Murphy?” 

Her breathing suddenly difficult—challenging. Her hand slides under her blouse, eyes dilating, blurring before his eyes all over again.

All he can think is she shouldn’t have been here alone. Shouldn’t have been asked to come here without someone like him, like Murphy. 

“He’s outside. You good to walk?” 

She nods, just about. 

His brain latching, furiously clutching to the fact she’s alive—breathing.

He hadn’t lost her—she hadn’t been taken from him. Not yet. Something he hadn’t allowed himself to believe could be true when he’d seen her truck. When they’d walked in and heard nothing—not even the wheezes of someone’s last breath. 

You like her. He thinks. You like her, you like her, you like her. 

She’s taken to the ambulance the moment they exit the building.

It allowed him a horrid moment to take in the tips in her jeans, the way her once white blouse was stained to ruin. How she limped, ever so slightly—something he hadn’t noticed from near carrying her against him out of the building.

As soon as she was taken from him, he hated how far away she was. His hands lighting a cigarette, and then another. Able to speak clearly to those who asked him things.

But, it didn’t quiet his thoughts or calm his frayed edges. 

“Carrillo says he can handle the rest, you coming?”

There’s a look in Murphy’s eyes as he asks—all-knowing and cocky. He hates it—despises it. It feeling like a test.

Javi wants to roll it up and shove it down his partner’s neck. 

“Um, no. Think I’ll stick around here.”

Nodding, Murphy casts his cigarette down. “I called it.”

“No, you fucking didn’t.”

“Did. Look after her, yeah?”

He jostles under the slap of Murphy’s hand on his back, half-rolling his eyes as he tries to ignore the frustration building. The fact all of it, his feelings, are rising to the surface in thick bubbles. And he’s not able to keep a lid on it. Not the way he feels or how much he’s showing it. 

Me and you.

He lets his eyes find her again. 

Having tried not to let her out of his sight the moment the medic had taken her from him. She’d searched for him too, having been examined by the shut doors—desperately looking for him, calming when she seated at the edge of the ambulance having found him. She soothed him too, stopped the storm from taking over and rendering him more useless than he feels. 

It’s why he waits, and spends far too long avoiding going over until her head turns and shifts. The sight of it making him worry, panic.

Then he follows her line of sight, seeing the sheet-covered bodies, and his legs cut through the people and trucks until he’s standing before her. 

It pulls her back to him. Her eyes landing on him. An easier smile able to spread over her lips as she leans her head against the inside of the vehicle. 

“You causing trouble?” 

“Me? No. I leave that to you, Peña.” 

He placed his hand on his hip, foot up on the ambulance's step as she watches him. Takes him in as he does her.

The bruising has developed, spreading in thick shades which shouldn’t have ever touched her skin, never mind had the chance to blossom out over it. 

“You gotta go to the hospital?” 

Slowly, she leans her head against the side of the vehicle. “No. But, I can’t be alone, so I suggested this guy called Javier could keep an eye on me. Just has to make sure I don’t faint or pass out, vomit and something else, I kinda stopped listening.”

“Cariño.”

Her tongue sweeps out over her lips. “What? You don’t want to keep an eye on me, Javi?” 

More than fucking anything. 

Never wants to let her out of his sight again, if he could. Wants to press her body against his until no space remains, letting her breath fan out over his face and her heartbeat pelt against his ribs. 

“Javi…?”

Lifting his head, he meets her eyes. A more detailed conversation happens in the stare, one with words that fall with ease. Each is perfectly articulated, chosen and spoken which makes all of this easy. Not that she’s easy—not that the two of them are either. 

We’re complicated. You and me. 

They are complicated and messy, and brilliant. He knows it—feels it even. How complex it is that she even managed to get under his layers, weave herself into his life to the point he’s not sure if he could breathe as easily without her. 

He knows, on some distant level, he felt it more before today. That it had begun festering months ago, blooming into something sweeter and nicer than he’d ever allowed himself to have only once—if ever. 

“I… thought I lost you…”  

Slowly, her grin drops. Her lips spread out into a line—either in surprise at his confession, or at the truth of it. His words remaining, hanging, settling between them—not dancing up into the sky. 

Even as he heard them, he didn’t regret them. Even if it widened the gap in his carefully curated walls.

It takes a lot to render her silent, he’s learnt that. He’s found ways, but never with words. So, watching her mouth open and close is a sight to behold—somewhat waiting for a trophy he’s never sure will come. 

“Who’d annoy you if I went and died, Peña?”

“Knowing you, Bonita? You’d find some way to fuckin’ haunt me.”

It’s low, but it’s there—her laugh. It brushes through the air to his ears, both of them tuning in for it, needing it. It settles a part of him—one which hadn’t believed she was out of the woods. Somewhat expecting at any moment for her eyes to roll back into her head and her soul be whisked from him, without him having much say in it. 

“Javi… I should thank you. For coming for me.” 

It takes all of his self-control to not let the words he feels slide out. Seeing something in her eyes too. Something hidden, stuffed down. Something likely akin to how he’s feeling. 

“You called me, Cariño. I’ll always come.”

Her lips slide into a smile, one softer, more genuine, and his heart skips a beat at the sight of it. “Because it’s you and me, right?”

His chest tightens. A thought growing, mouldering—that he doesn’t deserve her, isn’t good enough. It rises like a tide, filling his throat as he watches her lean forward, easing herself down from the vehicle. He tries to force how he feels back down, swallowing back everything and anything—

And then her palm brushes his cheek, soft and innocent. 

“You’re coming to mine.” 

She bites the inside of her mouth, lips pulling tight, nodding firmly. “Okay.”

He rolls his head on his neck, dragging his tongue over his bottom lip as he shifts his weight. “Never… never do that again,” he whispers, just for her. “Please?”

“What?”

He finds her smirking. Knowingly. “Scare me. I—I can’t… I don’t think I can lose you.”

She moves closer, letting him see the pale strips against her wound—the one that the medic likely fought to stick on. He notices the flecks in her eyes again, almost sees the reflection of himself in how wide and beautiful they are. 

“Take me to yours, Javi.”

Nodding, he swipes his thumb across his bottom lip. 

#mmvalentinesevent #mm valentines event #javier peña x reader #javier peña #javier peña narcos #javi peña x reader #javi peña x you #javi pena #javier peña x you #narcos x reader #javier pena x reader #javier pena x you #javi pena x reader #narcos javier x reader #narcos javier #pedro pascal x reader

[mirohlayo]

ALWAYS | CL16

inspired by the song always - daniel caesar

( charles and you broke up 6 months ago. but no matter what, he'll still love you forever. )

warning : sad, angst, heartbreaking (i'm sorry for that 💔)

word count : 1.7k

!! english not my first language !!

it still hurts. time passes but the memories remains. they remain profoundly anchored in his heart, in his head, and every day he hopes these tender and precious memories will never fade away.

maybe he's wrong for thinking like that. maybe he's wrong for losing his head over you.

maybe if time elapses rapidly, maybe if enough time passes, he will see you again. and you both will laugh together, heart fulfills with joy, never forgetting how much you were made for each other.

and he knows deep inside that he can't deny it. that there'll always be, no matter what happens, a place for you by his side, this same place that you sorrowfully left six months ago. this place will always be reserved for you, because he promised it to you, because he finally knows nobody will never occupy it the way you did.

laboriously lying down on his bed, charles closes his eyes. the moon softly shines in the nocturnal sky, skimming his hollow cheekbones. the light dimly illuminates his dark circles under his eyes, as if it had been an eternity since he last tasted a peaceful sleep.

it's night. and for those last six months, he found comfort in nighttime. because there is this quiet atmosphere, not a single noise disturbs him, apart from the unremitting sounds of the cars' motors which turn around his monaco building. he feels alone there, and that perfectly contrasts with this sensation you caused him since your departure. he terribly feels abandoned, lost and alone. like the moon is neglected among the billions of stars behind her.

and he closes his eyes. he wants to sleep. he wants to dream. he wants to dream about her, maybe to forget or maybe to remember. but he definitely doesn't do it on purpose, sometimes he dreams about you. because maybe that's what the night is for : arrange to meet the ones we love.

because he truly loved you. genuinely and profoundly. he fell very hard for you. and that since he first laid eyes on you. his heart rose when he saw you, his cheeks became hot when you smiled to him. his eyes were full of love and affection. it was as if he laid eyes on the most beautiful thing. and it was you.

his heart, his soul never stopped to love you. his body burns of love and desire for you, and all his being beg you to come back to him, to tell him everything will settle. because his poor heart awfully suffers, and every day he dies a little more remembering why you're no longer his anymore.

he loves you infinitely. never no one has ever been able to fill him with so much passion. he knows he truly loves you, from deep inside. he loves you for a thousand and one reasons, but mainly for the one he doesn't understand.

pretty lady. he liked to call you like this, even though sometimes you thought it was silly. but he knew you actually loved this surname, so he never missed an occasion to make you feel special.

so with his pretty lady, he used to walk down the streets. hand in hand, maybe shared earphones, and above all your love for each other. you walked slowly in monaco's streets, until he begged you to let him buy you a gift. buying you anything, as long as you were happy, it was the main thing. even though his bank account was empty afterward. but it was okay.

and he still remembers the fussing, the fighting, the fucking and the lying. most of the time, it was you getting mad at him for buying expensive stuff for your simple person. but sometimes, it was more an underlying and painful reason. but you always ended up reconciled, because neither could stay apart for too long. it was like that.

except last time, there wasn't a reconciliation. you left each other, teared apart and frightfully hurt. none returned to the other. and that haunt charles for way too long now.

maybe he's wrong for thinking like that. maybe he's wrong for losing his head over you.

he's fed up. he opens his eyes, and in just a fraction of a second, he's already dressed in a coat and in a scarf. he needs to get some air, he needs to think about something else.

was it by going to the cafe you always went to that he would really think of something other than you? no, certainly not. but he needs it, it's stronger than him. he pushes the door and immediately orders a warm drink.

and then he takes a sit in a secluded corner. he doesn't want to be seen, but from his spot, he can catch sight of every person present. a waiter comes to bring him his drink. he thanks him with a fragile smile. it's been a long time since he smiled brightly, like he always did with only you.

he takes one sip. two sips. it's warm, and it comforts him. because it reminds him of the soothing warmth you gave him when you used to hold him tight. and it comforts him as much as it grieves him. and the deeper the sorrow digs into his being, the more joy he will be able to contain.

and maybe this joy finally weaves in his heart. this joy which suddenly explodes at the view in front of him. he can't believe it. you push the cafe's door, a silly smile on your lips as a deep laugh echoes in the air. soon, charles' happiness transforms in bitterness and pain.

he knows it. he knows it dawn well. you moved on. you're no longer his anymore. you don't belong with him anymore. but with this new man who seems to fill you with happiness like he did with you before. his heart squeezes when you take the hand of your new boyfriend, dragging him to a table not far from charles' one.

you look so happy. your big smile warms his heart, but it cools down instantly when he remembers your smile isn't meant for him. no, it will never be intended for him again. and it hurts him terribly.

the same waiter brings you your drink, which you obviously had to share with the man that charles already hates with all his being. but on the one hand, he couldn't stop your man being better than him. he must accept his fate, he must accept that this man is the new chapter of your life. and that he only remains as a page that you have difficultly turned.

but he doesn't want. he still wants to have hope. he still wants to hold onto you, because he tells himself maybe one day everything will return to the way it was before. he prays for this day to comes, whatever fate does.

so he just doesn't care. he doesn't care if you're with somebody else. because he'll give you time and space to hopefully bring you back. he still hopes every day, because he wants you to know he's just not a phase. and that he never was one.

so, it's selfish, but he disregards the man who is sitting in front of you and back to him. he has a perfect view on your face. and he imagines only you and him, on a date, face to face. he imagines that the smile glues to your face is addressed to him, that all the sentences that come out of your mouth give him the impression that he is your confidant again. even if it's not the reality.

because one of the hardest battles we fight in life is the fight between the mind that knows the truth and the heart that refuses to accept it.

the more he looks at you, the more you pleasantly disconcert him. the more he closed his eyes, the more he missed you. and it wasn't good. it became suffocating. so he had to leave. leave the café, but not you. even though he knows he'll never have a second chance, he'll continue to hold onto you and to love you.

you had left to the bathroom. so he took the opportunity to leave the place. and leaving something behind for you.

you come back to your table, excusing yourself to your boyfriend for taking too much time. you keep talking with him, but the waiter just now approaches you. he points to a table lost at the back of the cafe, a cup of coffee still left on it and, a gray scarf.

a scarf which you perfectly recognize. gray and soft. made by cotton. a scarf you offered to your first love, the one you loved dearly for one year, the one you haven't seen since six months now.

"the man who was sitting here left. but he said this scarf was for you." the waiter says to you before getting back to the counter. you gently thanks him, and you try to avoid the questioning look of your boyfriend.

you desperately look to see if he's still here, if he's still present in the cafe. or in the street. because either you can't deny it, a piece of your heart still beats for charles. but nothing, nobody's around.

and meanwhile, charles leaves the street corner where the cafe is located. he returns to his apartment, alone again and perhaps even more hurt than before.

he left his scarf - no scratch that - he left you his scarf. maybe he did it on purpose to abandon a part of you, to pass on to you what belongs to you. to start forgetting about you. or just merely for you to remember him for ever, that every time you'll see this scarf his face will appears in your mind, and you'll be able to smell his cologne.

he thinks about you once again. in your pretty coat, your pretty hairstyle, and of course this man by your side. peacefully drinking your hot drink. he curses himself for not being the one to share your hot chocolate. your favorite drink that he knows you ordered tonight.

but it's okay. he knows it, he deny it.

it's all fine, you'll always be his. forever and ever, always.

always, you can count on him sure as the stars in the sky. always, you can count on him as sure that the sun will rise. always, his love for you ain't going nowhere.

always, he will be here.

for you. forever.

#f1 imagine #f1 x reader #f1 fanfic #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc #charles leclerc x you #cl16 x reader #cl16 #cl16 imagine #cl16 x you #charles leclerc fanfic

[bubbles-for-all-of-us]

Out of reasons to love you

requested: Reader realizes that her and Az are mates, but she also knows that Az has feelings for Elain. She made him choose (without him knowing about the bonds). He chose Elain and reader breaks/rejects the bonds. The potential angst this could have omg.

a/n I apologize in advance🫂

Azriel x reader

warnings:pain more pain, blood and did I mention pain?

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Love. What a ravishing thing it can be. One to lift the fallen ones and encourage them to go the distance they never imagined. A power to build. To create. Cherish and worship. Songs, books, and paintings all have a hint of love in them because the inspirational power of it extends itself beyond this world. Yet not enough attention is given to what happens when love isn't answered. When it's crushed under one's feet. Ripped out of one's chest.

You met Azriel when you two were still little. You happen to live next door to his father's house. And screams, even if muffled, didn't go unnoticed by you. You'd slithered out of bed one night, holding a teddy bear in one hand as you climbed down the ivy tree through the window.

That was the first time you saw what happened down in the basement. What horrible things Azriel's father, stepmother, and stepbrothers did. The torture behind the cry you have listened to for weeks now. You ran away the first night, but you couldn't stop thinking about it no matter what you did. So you went back.

Azriel was crying quietly in the corner, his burnt hands trembling. That was all it took for the fear of being caught to vanish. Maybe being so empathetic was going to be your downfall, but the boy looked like he could use some help, and you weren't about to leave him alone. And the moment Azriel turned to you, once he heard you knocking on the little dirt window, everything changed.

Your tiny frame allowed you to squeeze through the open window so you could make your way in and out of the basement. Azriel didn't talk much at first, but you didn't blame him. So you did the talking at the beginning. Bringing him food your mother made, sweets, and tonics for the bruises. Sat by his side in silence. Then, once the burns had healed, you took hold of his hand and held it in yours. Although one thing Azriel was the most thankful for was you massaging and moving his wings. Wings he couldn't use to fly with. Wings, he couldn't even stretch in that horrible place since the basement was way too small for it. If not for you, he would have lost all feeling in them.

Sent by Mother herself. His ray of sunshine. That's what he called you. Azriel feared that you would vanish and walk out on him, but that never happened. No matter what was to come, in one way or another, you found your way back to him. Even the night you two got caught and his father walked in on you cleaning the new cuts he had left on his son's body, you didn't back away.

You stood firmly in front of Azriel, throwing a bottle of tonic at his head as the male inched to move closer. Even if it did nothing, you fought till the moment you were in his grip. Trashing around like a wild animal. That was the night Azriel moved to fight himself. The sight of his father's hands on you. Gripping your body tightly made him roar out in anger, and with a vicious pull, he ripped one of the chains off his hands.

He didn't get to reach you, but it was enough to prove a point. That you had saved that last piece of his soul. That you had managed to keep the fire inside him alive. Shielding it from anything and everything that imposed a threat of putting it out.

That was the night when they brought out the torches again. The night they made you watch as they dipped Azriel's hands in the flames. You cried for Azriel. Azriel cried out of the agony he was in. And you two cried for that last bit of hope you secretly wished for, and it got answered. As two Illyrian soldiers broke through the doors.

They tried to separate you from each other, but it was pointless. The moment the warriors unclasped the chains, even with trembling legs, Azriel stepped closer to you. You didn't have enough strength to hold him up, but you still managed to break his fall just a little. Even with unimaginable pain. Until the moment he went unconscious. He clung to you as if all of his world was made out of you. And even coldhearted warriors didn't find enough strength in themselves to pull the two of you apart. So to the camps, you went.

The first couple of weeks were torturous. They didn't let Azriel heal properly. You tried to fight that decision, but your eagerness only resulted in you earning a harsh slap. So you went on behind their backs. Slipping out at night to find herbs and making different mixtures yourself, as you saw your mother do, all in hopes of keeping infection away from your friend's hands. You warmed each other up during those cold nights, never letting go of one another unless it was necessary.

Things changed when Rhysand came around alongside Cassian. And with that, of course, Rhys's mother, who took both of you in since she appeared to know Azriel's birth mother.

Azriel was beyond protective of you when he brought you alongside him to the house, which the boys were now supposed to share. He kept you behind him, glaring at the other two boys the moment they tried to peek behind Azriel's wings to see you. You were his and his only. The only good thing that had happened to him ever since he entered this world. And on that jealous side of him, he didn't want to share you with anyone else, especially not other males. At times, Azriel didn't realize what all of this meant. Too young to pick and find the meaning of his feelings.

Yet that happiness didn't last long. And that small chunk of time you two used to spend together every day was ripped away from you. When the teenage horniness kicked in and Rhysand's mother wasn't around, it seemed like they would let loose completely. They started to bring females in almost every night. Females who were way older than you and whose bodies had already matured. They looked at you with pity, but you pretended that you didn't see it. You laughed off Cassian, who wiggled his eyebrows every time he tried to sneak in a new female in. Ignored Rhys when he was being clumsy. But it was Azriel's moans that brushed your heart every time you heard them. You were happy for him regardless. Since you never allowed yourself the thought of him loving you. Friends. Perhaps siblings, but never lovers. So the more those nights appeared, the more you found yourself slipping out of the house and sitting outside the camp borders till the sun started rising in the sky.

After endless females came his first-ever love. Love for Rhysand's sister. You still consider it your first true heartbreak. That was the first girl he talked to you about. You and her were great friends, especially since you never really had female friends, and Azriel saw that as an opportunity to understand how her mind worked.

Morgan was next in line. It was clear to you that she had no interest in Azriel, but he seemed oblivious. Oblivious to the point where, for weeks, he ignored you. Convinced that the reason why Mor wasn't giving him a chance was that she thought that you and Azriel were together. So you stepped away like you always did. Stepped away because your love for Azriel was way stronger. Meaning that you were willing to hurt yourself to ensure that he was happy.

The day Azriel found out that Cassian took Mor's maidenhead was the first time you saw him seriously mad about something. So openly mad that he had moved to beat Cassian up. Your attempts to separate them were pointless, but you tended to the bruises afterward without a single complaint.

You wondered what was wrong with you that he didn't see it. Didn't see you. Acting out of a wimp you kissed him that night. You hoped your body and the sounds you made would make him finally see what was right in front of him. Yet this only made the situation worse. The bond had snapped for you that night, and you clung to Azriel like all your life depended on it, but the moment you two caught your breaths, Azriel walked away.

You had never told him that that was your first time. That you were glad that it was him. That's how you always wanted it to be. Gods, and most importantly, you didn't tell him anything about the bond.

When Elain came around, the last drops of wishful thinking vanished in an instant. Azriel was infatuated with her. Even if you tried to be discreet while being around them, you didn't need to hear it to know what was happening inside his heart. He still seek you out when he was hurt and needed comfort, but he never stayed long enough to warm your bed. In all honesty, he only did this when there was no one else who wanted to warm his bed.

And gods know you tried to give him a hint. You tried to tell him that you loved him. That you two were bound by a bond of all things. The bond he so desperately wanted to find. But if, after so many years, he had no clue about it, what realistic chance did you stand?

You were sitting in your room with a cup of tea warming your hands as the doors to your bedroom opened and Azriel walked in. You didn't need to study him long to see that he must have faced some sort of trouble since his face was bruised. The shadow singer simply sat down on one of the chairs before moving to undo his leathers, but you didn't move.

"I think the end of an arrow is still in my shoulder," he said, voice calm as he spoke. This was a typical thing for you two. He found comfort in your presence, and you found comfort in knowing that he was well, but you didn't move an inch this time. "Y/N," Azriel said, trying to get your attention, but all you did was stare at the wall in front of you.

"What am I to you?", Azriel let out a muffled laugh, scanning your frame. You knew that he was silently questioning your timing in bringing this question up. You had voiced your feelings once to him. You told him that you felt mistreated and neglected by him, but that changed nothing.

"Can we deal with the arrow first and then talk about this?", "No, we can't," you turned your back to him, "We can't because I'm tired of being your rag doll. I have feelings too, you know." Your eyes were stinging already, and you hated yourself for being this emotional.

"Why are you treating me like this, Azriel? Can't you see how I feel about you?", your eyes desperately searched for any glimpse of understanding, anything that would make you realize how he felt. But he only ran a hand through his hair. "Are you going to help me with this or do I need to find someone else to help me?" Those words pierced right through your heart, and you felt your bottom lip trembling. Azriel lingered for a moment before he walked out of your room, slamming the door.

Sleep didn't find you all night long, and with the early morning light, you made your way out of the house. "What a pleasant surprise!", the day court was gleaming with light, but it only made you sulk more. The smile on Helion's face not helping the case much as well. "I need your help," you stated blandly. You two had worked together for some time when Rhys assigned you to conduct several kinds of research in one of Helion's libraries.

"Ask away," he said sheepishly, tilting his head to the side, "How do I get rid of a bond and don't give me that stupid bullshit." You knew you were in no position to order him around but secretly hoped that those couple of times you had slept with him would give you the answer you needed.

"You can reject...," you gave the high lord a disappointed look, "I don't want to reject it; I want to break it."

Helion knew about your bond with Azriel. Knew that none of the sweet words you spoke to him meant anything. That they were all for the shadow singer, "Hun, you can get yourself killed", "Does it look to you like I care?", you knew that you looked a mess. You were sure your face was dull, eyes sunken in and puffy from all the crying, "You can help me, or I'll do it myself".

Drawing shapes on the marble floor felt wrong in a way. But you didn't stop; the book of spells that Helion gave you was firmly clenched in the other hand. You had collected all that you needed. One thing that represented you. One thing to ground you. One thing to break the bond. And one thing you had lost. All you needed now was a drop of Azriel's blood, and everything would be complete. You knew that all of them were having dinner upstairs. So with a dagger firmly held in your hands, you made your way up.

You shouldn't have stopped to look at them all. That was a mistake. You didn't need to ask or hear it. It was enough to see the way Azriel sat next to Elain, his eyes never leaving her, to know that she was the one that he chose. One of many that had replaced you.

"Y/N, dear, how nice of you to join us." Rhys's voice made you jump slightly, but you managed to smile as you walked inside. Cassian gave you a sad look, brushing his fingers along your upper arm as you walked past him as if he were trying to support you, noticing the lack of life in your features, "Not for long," you mutter under your breath. Swiftly cutting Azriel's arm, followed by your fingers, which brush alongside his blood. And then you're off, running out of the dining room and down the stairs. Cutting your palm while you're at it. A breath of relief when you see the wooden door. Stepping between the white lines and quickly pressing your hands to the still empty places. Closing your eyes, you started mumbling the spell Helion told you to memorize.

You could hear the doors being opened and voices filling the space. Azriel was quick to try and reach for you, but Rhys stops him instantly: "You can't cross that." That's when his eyes took in the sight in front of him and his heart broke a little. But some mystical breeze killed the lights of all the candles before the circle you sat in started to glow.

"What are you doing, YN?", Azriel asks, trying to step closer, but his brothers kept holding onto him. You lifted your eyes to look at him, and it was like he had seen you for the first time like he finally could read the pain inside you.

"I'm letting you go," Azriel shook his head, still unsure about what you were on about. Din not understand till the sharpest pain ripped through his chest, sending him down to his knees.

"I gave you everything. I tried to be everything for you, but I was never good enough," you cried out, blood slowly starting to run out of your eyes as you gazed at him.

"But I ran out of reasons to love you, Azriel, and you refused to get to know me, so I'm letting you go," you continued to mumble the rest of the spell. Azriel's screams ripped through the room, and Rhys could only do so much to take some of the pain away.

"Don't Y/N, I... Don't break it", Rhys mumbled now caught on to what was happening, "Break?", Azriel asked through painful breaths, "You knew? Y/N...".

A bitter laugh escapes your lips as your body begins to shake, "Almost five hundred, and you're only figuring it out now", you said sadly.

The thread between you starts to glow. Now visible for everyone to see. Azriel wailed again, and this time your painful screams joined him. And the light began to dim before cracks appeared throughout the thread. Your eyes meet Azriel's, and it felt like you have finally seen him after years of searching for a man you had fallen for.

But then an unimaginable silence filled the room. The silence that sands your hands up so you could cover your ears as blood seeped out of them. Silence, with the sound of a needle falling. Like a drop of water hitting the surface. The bond broke. Shattering into a million pieces. The holler that left Azriel's chest sent the whole place trembling, and then the silence returned. Azriel's body gave up, sending him to the floor. Not even Cassian and Rhys managed to hold him up. His breaths were uneven and his body shaking, but he still turned his head to look at you.

You. Who was laying in the pool of your own blood. You who he could no longer feel. You were the one who had taken his heart. You who he hurt because he had loved you too deeply. You who had died because Azriel was too afraid to admit that it had always been you. It's been you ever since you jumped into that little basement and offered him your teddy bear. You.

--------

All acotar writing: @brekkershadowsinger @cityofidek

#azriel x reader #rhys x reader #cassian x reader #acotar imagine #azriel x you #acotar x reader

[dazaiandhislovelybandages]

My Girl {Dabi}

A/n: okay so I am not really a fan when it comes to civilian reader mostly because I enjoy writing and reading villain reader (and I also ADORE writing the reader being a member of the Zoldyck family) but I feel like this will work way better with a civilian reader so there you go

SANTA IS HERE WITH PART 2

Pairing: Dabi (Touya Todoroki) x f!civilian!reader

Trigger Warnings: mentions of Dabi's scars

It was funny. It was very funny. Living next to a member of the League. Oh it was hilarious. Was it a nice experience? As far as you knew, Dabi rarely slept to his apartment. Was it a hideout? Did he pay any rent? Had he actually bought it for fun? There was no one to answer your questions though something inside you said that he didn't have the money to pay rent, let alone buy the whole apartment.

And since he rarely stayed in his apartment, you also saw him very little. In fact, you had only bumped onto each other exactly two times, and both times you pretended you had no idea who he was. Had you managed to fool him? He had never knocked on your door so the most probable answer was yes.

However, there had been a few times, always late at night when you would catch him sitting at his balcony. He only had one chair there, not even a table and he would always sit, his legs on the railings. Sometimes there would also be a cat on his lap, its fur matching the colour of his hair.

That was how it was. Sometimes you'd see him, sometimes you wouldn't and even though the walls in both of your apartments were thin like paper, not once had you heard him make any noise.

Not once until... that night.

You knew Dabi was spending the night in his apartment. You had heard the front door open and then close. And mere moments later, you could see the light of his balcony from your bed. Not thinking much of it, you got out of bed, wanting to close the balcony door when you heard someone tapping on your railings. Wanting to stay safe and most importantly alive, you decided to ignore it.

"Come on, love." Not having heard his voice before, you couldn't help but be surprised by how deep it was. "Don't be afraid of me, you know I'd never hurt you."

What actually made you walk to your balcony that day was his audacity. "Last time I checked... you are wanted?"

He was unbothered, petting the cat on his lap while looking straight ahead at the busy city.

"I am. That doesn't say much." You watch as he lets out a sigh, making a move to stand up. The cat quickly understands that and jumps off his lap before proudly walking inside his apartment. Dabi on the other hand, stands up, leaning over with his scarred hands on the railings, the only barrier between his side of the balcony and yours. "Oh come on now..." He grins as he sees you taking a step away from him. "Don't tell me you didn't expect that." He chuckled, tilting his head to the side slightly.

If it wasn't so cold outside and if you were stupid you would have actually stayed there to chat. But you were shivering from the low temperature and as much as you were trying to hide it, it was painfully obvious.

Rolling your eyes, you turned around to head inside but Dabi quickly caught your hand, making you turn to face him. "You're not that naive, are you?" His grip on your wrist was surprisingly gentle and his hand was warm, exactly what you needed. "Tell me you expected that, love." His grin only widened when he saw you looking at his hand on your wrist.

"Are you drunk? What should I have expected? You talking to me?"

He let go of your hand with a sigh before sitting back down on his chair. "Way to kill the fun." He mumbled. "I am bored, entertain me."

"I'd rather not, go burn a building or something."

"Shigaraki says I do that too often, plus..." He chuckled, lifting his right arm and you watched in terror as whatever had been holding his scarred skin together with his 'normal' skin was simply not there anymore, leaving some of the skin of his palm loose.

"I have..." You stopped yourself, you knew you would regret this later. "I have bandages..."

"Bring a stapler."

You blindly obeyed, heading back inside to take the stapler from your desk but before you could even walk back outside, Dabi was already in your bedroom, sitting on your bed.

Patching him up was... silenlt. Mostly from your side because there were a few moments when he would wince. It was far more disgusting than you had originally imagined but soon enough you got used to it, not lifting your eyes from the palm of his hand even though you could feel his eyes on you.

"You do an awfully good job..." He pulled his hand from yours to examine it. "I might burn some more buildings just to feel my girl patching me up again."

His laugh was cute. You had to give him that.

You cleared your throat, making him look at you again. "I'm not your girl."

"As far as I am concerned, you are." He paused and stood up. "Since you moan my name every night and all."

#dabi x reader #dabi #dabi bnha x reader #dabi bnha #touya x reader #touya #touya todoroki x reader #touya todoroki #writing #anime and manga #anime #manga #bnha #bnha dabi x reader #bnha dabi #bnha x reader #boku no hero academia dabi #boku no hero academia dabi x reader #boku no hero academia #dabi mha

[sprout-fics]

Hellebore

(Simon "Ghost" Riley x F!Medic "Fix" Reader)

Part Five of Snowblind

Rating: PG-13 Wordcount: 5.5k Tags: Slow Burn, Found Family, Taskforce 141, Team Dynamics, Reunions, Fluff, Slow Build, Team Bonding, Jealous Ghost, Protective Ghost, Soft Ghost, Crushes Warnings: None A/N: (See Ao3 for full author's notes)

It’s a snowy Tuesday night in November when you come back to the team.

Ghost and the others arrive at the group’s usual haunt well before you do, and Price chuffs a little amused sound when he reads your message about being held up because of a baggage issue upon arrival. It’s not a worry. The team is in no rush. It just so happens that Laswell is chasing leads following the team’s most recent deployment, which means the task force has a rare week of tranquility between grueling deployments.

The pub is lively in the way only local places are- filled with familiar faces of neighbors and friends from the next town over. There’s no soldiers here besides themselves, and Ghost prefers it that way. Most of the younger gents from base tend to frequent the rowdier, louder bars- getting into brawls that spill out onto the streets and singing drunkenly along to the radio. The pub owner here refuses to entertain that type of behavior. Fortunately for the team, Price knows the fellow, and as a result the five of you are allowed an almost private sanctuary well away from the riotous demeanor of the younger recruits in their spare time.

It’s the perfect place to welcome you back into the fold.

It’s been three and a half long months.

Three and a half months of deployments, of irregular schedules, of sleeping in mice infested safe houses or camped out on desert bluffs. Evil never sleeps, Ghost had been told once when he was a younger man, and it meant neither did the 141. In the weeks they weren’t on mission, buried deep behind enemy lines or radio dark, the team had been training new troops to assist them on assignment. It had been a long, slow grind, one Ghost was accustomed too. Yet he, like the others, was grateful for a well deserved reprieve- even if it meant tackling the paperwork leftover from their time away from base.

He did notice, however, the silence in between him and the other three men on the team. Ghost often found himself checking his six, feeling the phantom absence of someone who was supposed to be in front of him. At least once a week he would step into a room with the others and pause, feeling the instinctual twinge of something missing- a presence that he’d never realized had ingrained itself into his awareness.

He noticed it in the way Soap seemed to come bother him more often these days, needing a listening ear, someone to impishly pester when Gaz tired of him. Ghost took note of the way Gaz hesitated on a fifth MRE pack when distributing food on mission. He saw it in the way Price turned just as he did, mouth halfway open to speak to someone who wasn’t there before remembering himself.

In the silence, the shadow of you lingered in them all.

Ghost remembered. He remembered from the first second he had last seen you- the way that your eyes had found his from your hospital bed as he’d lingered in the doorway. He remembered from the strangled call of his name he couldn’t answer, and the deafening boom of your voice as your chest emptied itself at Price, screaming for a recognition you would never give yourself. He remembered the uncomfortable squirming sensation in his stomach, like earthworms digging through graveyard dirt as he tried to absolve himself of the regret for letting you go without saying so much as a goodbye.

“There’s our lady of the hour!” Soap crows as you finally step inside from the winter chill, shrugging off a small smattering of flurries from your jacket. Ghost blinks under his mask as he takes you in, noticing instantly the way the coloring of your face has improved since your gaunt appearance trapped in his memory, the way you’ve added a little bit of weight that speaks of a good diet. Your hair is longer than he remembers, but as you turn your eyes to him he feels a recognition simmer to the surface.

It’s still you.

Simon is the last to rise with the others, hovering back as Soap and Gaz quickly embrace you, smothering you with their larger frames. You instantly return the gesture with a pleased laugh, eyes glimmering. Soap makes a point to squeeze you just a little too tight, and Simon feels an inward curl of amusement as you bat at the Scot’s back, wheezing for reprieve.

“You look good, Fix.” Price offers, quieter than the two sergeants, and something shines in your gaze as you turn towards the captain with a murmur of thanks. Simon observes the look in Price’s eyes as the captain smiles down at you. There’s trust there, in the same way he holds for the rest of his team. The ever-present sternness is gentled, somehow, eyes forever focused but gaze warm in a way that speaks of fondness.

Then you turn to Ghost.

“Fix.” He offers, and despite the curtness there’s a relief there that he allows to bleed through into his voice.

“Long time no see, LT.” You tell him, grinning ear to ear, and Ghost feels the remainder of...something tug distantly in his chest, long forgotten but not yet erased.

It’s gone before he can question it as Gaz tugs you over towards the group’s usual table and Price enlists Ghost’s help in ferrying a round of drinks back towards the booth. Soap distributes them easily, knowing each of the team’s preferences by heart. A whiskey neat for Price and Ghost each, a Guinness for him, a rum and coke for Gaz, and something suspiciously colorful and fruity for you. Ghost watches as Soap teases your choice of beverage, going so far as to taste it and make a face that has you shoving playfully at his shoulder.

“They didn’t push you out of the plane then.” Ghost offers when you turn to him expectantly, leg crossed and one arm slung around the corner of the booth comfortably.

Soaps rolls his eyes. “What Ghost means is that he’s happy to see you, hen.” The Scot supplies, and you only grin.

“You’re the one that oversaw my HALO training, Ghost. Pretty sure it was you that pushed me out of an airplane.”

Ghost shrugs. “You survived.”

You laugh, and once more that strange flickering feeling flutters in Ghost’s chest.

He studiously ignores it, instead opting to observe you as you turn to chatter to Price. There’s a weariness to your shoulders that speaks of jet-lag, and your clothes are slightly rumpled from being contained to your duffle for the long flight, but your smile is warm and your eyes are bright as you laugh at something Gaz says.

The conversation goes on, and Soap gets up for several long minutes, only to arrive back with several carefully balanced plates of snacks that are quickly set upon by the table. Ghost refrains, watching instead as you devour the food in front of you, adding something about how the military plane you were on didn’t have first class service.

“Getting spoiled back in the states, eh?” Soap nudges you.

You pause. Something flickers in your gaze. It’s gone before the others can notice, but Ghost pauses, mulling over the flash of whatever it was in his mind’s eye.

He’s seen that look before.

Ghost observes you idly as the rest of the team focuses on you, blinking slowly and letting his thoughts churn like the slow, amber haze of the whiskey in his tumbler. If you notice his unwavering stare you give no indication, and it allows Ghost to dip into the recesses of his mind, consider the woman before him now, trying to find the thread of memory that speaks of the something he saw for briefest of moments when you were confronted with the thought of home.

So, he starts from the beginning.

It had been two months before the Nepal mission, the one with the proximity of your freezing form forming a memory that itches under Ghost’s skin. He’d been surprised at first at Price’s introduction of you to the team, biting down on a comment of why Laswell would send a goddamn rookie out into the field alongside trained killers with years of experience. He’d withheld the comment, focusing instead on Price’s approval and Laswell’s recommendation, both of which lent weight to his respect for someone who he couldn’t help but think looked so young.

It’d been the eyes he noticed first.

Ghost knows the eyes of soldiers who have killed, and knows that something bright dies inside them at the act of taking a life. He’s spent enough years in the military to discern those who kill enemies, and those who kill for sport. Yet your eyes, facing forward, as if gazing expectantly into an unknown future, were somehow neither of those things. It was a strange paradox, one Ghost chalked immediately up to inexperience and naivety. He’d been half right of course, though neither of those things were any fault of your own. As a medic you’d seen less active combat than some of your comrades, but it didn’t extinguish the impressive set of skills that came with your file. A well- trained sniper, skilled in intelligence analysis, used to operating in areas of high conflict under less than ideal conditions. A note from Laswell stated you’d not only helped save the survivors of a suicide attack on Camp Lemonnier, but had been able to parse clues about the specifics of the attack in the process. Young, promising, with a very good career in the CIA ahead of you should you choose to pursue it.

Yet there was something about your eyes Ghost couldn’t shake in the weeks following meeting you. It wasn’t the lingering innocence there that would soon change, nor was it the focus and drive he had witnessed in your stare. Instead, Ghost wondered if, in your expectant and ready stare into the future, if you had ever dared to look behind you.

As if you couldn’t stand the thought of your own shadow.

Ghost couldn’t help but wonder what was hiding there, the things you refused to speak of.

He wondered, distantly, if they somehow mirrored his own.

Ghost had watched you adjust to your new surroundings with determination yet trepidation- straddling an aleatory balance between pure ambition and fatalistic doubt in your own abilities and self worth. Ghost watched you catalog your own mistakes, swallow down the acrid, bitter taste of failure and replace it with a resolve so deep it cracked at the marrow of your bones. You never complained, never tried to avoid the tasks before you, never expressed an inch of doubt in the team- only in yourself.

Ghost fully expected it to break you, the pressure of your own expectations on top of the crushing weight of responsibility that came with your new assignment to the 141. He’d watched you from afar with an admitted amount of disdain for the first few weeks you had settled in, waiting for the breakdown that would have you confess you weren’t cut out for this, that you were leaving. Yet you refused to speak of your doubts for a single moment, as if voicing your own fears was a failure in of itself. Instead you buried it deep inside, allowing the earth underneath your feet to drag you down with the force of gravity, swallowing you whole in hopes the blinding pressure would someday yield not broken bones, but diamond dust.

There was a small amount of sympathy Ghost held for you, reminded in some ways of the once wounded thing he was long ago, after the thing he’d long since tried to forget. Grave dirt filling his mouth and choking his airway, and the thing that had crawled out from hell had been broken just as well. Yet where you held sorrow, grief, for the secrets inside you, Simon held only fury for the things of which he was robbed.

Why you weren’t furious, blazing bright for all to see, remains a mystery in of itself.

Tightly coiled, shoulders tense, fists clenched at your sides as you’d raised yourself from the dirt of the sparring ring in the glorious temperance of mid September. Dirt under your fingernails, shoulders shaking, and in your eyes then too there had been grief. Ghost had put you on your back again and again on purpose, he’ll admit that. A test to see if you’d stay down after being tossed there one too many times by him- the man you looked towards in the thick of gunfire, of battle, as if he was somehow your northern star that you could align yourself with when you didn’t trust yourself.

Yet bruised, scuffed, you’d stood again with those same eyes. Looking forward instead of inward, a righteous fury tamed only by the reflexive disbelief in yourself.

He couldn’t stand it.

If you could see, if only you could see the things you were capable of, the things Ghost knew you could accomplish, then the shadow you refused to look at wouldn’t nip at your heels and send you hurtling into catastrophic, paralyzing doubt. Maybe you wouldn’t look to Ghost to find the way forward and instead trust yourself to forge ahead without the guidance of your team- emblazoning a trail ahead for them to follow.

If only you could see yourself in the way Ghost saw you.

Never your failures. Never anything else but you.

Just you.

Ghost had allowed you the victory of winning the match in hopes it would bolster your confidence, chip away at the thing inside you that festered doubt like a macabre bloom rotting inside the hollow of your chest. He’d hoped it would have been enough to allow you to see your worth for what it is.

For a while, it seemed it had. You trusted yourself more often, listened to your own intuition, didn’t hesitate as much in the field. Though you still looked to Ghost, your eyes had shifted from the gaze of someone who looked to the future in anticipation of the worst, and into that of a soldier learning to shape the future to your will. Ghost could see the way the team, who had long since adopted you as one of their own, watched your slow journey with pride, remaining by your side if you were to fall.

Would they, if only you would have allowed yourself to be caught.

Catch you he did, as he’d watched your legs crumple beneath your wounded figure, arms cradling you even as you protested his attention to the injury you’d tried to conceal. Biting down all complaints in your paralytic fear of failure, compressing down until you’d shaken and trembled in his arms- begging him to look away from the thing you saw yourself as.

“I didn’t want you to see.”

Him, who had been able to see you since the very beginning.

By all accounts, that should have been the end of it. Terminated from the task force due to pure negligence- an inoperable failure by the soldier designated as their medic. Price had been ready to do so, as he sat by your bedside in the hospital, eyes heavy as they rested on your comatose form.

“We can’t do this to her, Simon.” He’d murmured to his lieutenant, hovering near the door, arms crossed and observing the ashen pallor of your face with a bitter, sour sort of emotion he couldn’t quite place.

Simon listening silently, eyes focused entirely on you. Your shallow breathing had become ingrained in his memories twice now. The first in Venezuela, when a bullet had pierced you through and Simon himself had handed you to the medics with a small, scant prayer to a God he stopped believing in long ago.

Not this one. Not yet.

You’d fought then, pulled through despite the blood, the gore, the desperate lack of air your injury had rendered you. Constantly fighting despite your doubts, trying to claw your way out of a grave of your own design even as earth tumbled downwards onto your striving form.

“She’s doing it to herself.” Ghost told his friend and captain, and Price had looked at him for the first time, suddenly seeing the thing Ghost had witnessed all this time.

Right he had been, for as he stood outside the hospital room listening to Price’s conversation with you, the blazing fury Simon felt inside himself had spilled from your lips as well.

“I HAVE EVERYTHING TO PROVE!!”

Hiding behind the excuse of trying to appease them because you hated yourself, trying to prove your worth to the team even though you were just trying to find reasons to justify your own existence to your fractured soul.

There had been a moment after Soap and Gaz had arrived back to Price and Ghost, despondent and despairing at your rejection, where Ghost had considered the possibility that this time you would stay down.

Yet, in some ways a miracle, and in some way entirely expected, here you are.

Ghost allows himself to take in all the tiny details as you preoccupy yourself with showing off photos to Gaz on your phone. The sergeant crowds in close, and on your other side Soap cranes his head to see properly, complaining about the lack of attention until you reveal the photos to him as well. You’re smiling in a way Ghost has never seen before, and it makes something inside his stomach flip in that strange, foreign sort of flutter he can’t understand.

“Do you want to see, LT?” You ask, and Ghost blinks, nods mutely as he leans in to look at a landscape picture of autumn colors from Virginia. You look at him expectantly, and it takes effort for Ghost to not blink in surprise at the new, glimmering light in your eyes. Honest, yes, focused, but...happy.

He nods again silently, offering a little hum, and it seems to be enough for you as you lean across the table to show Price as well. The captain says something Ghost doesn’t make out beyond the odd thump of his heartbeat in his ears.

That flutter again. The one that makes his chest go strangely warm and tight.

Maybe he’s finally developing a heart murmur. Wouldn’t surprise him, given his line of work.

Yet the more he dwells on it, the more he realizes this isn’t the first time this sort of reaction has happened. No, as Ghost considers, he can recall a dozen different instances of something vaguely similar- an unnamed sort of self consciousness that began from the moment he met your eyes for the first time.

In training, when you’d looked at him after that first successful HALO-jump, hair wild, eyes wide, chest heaving with exhilaration but pride showing through for the first time he’d ever seen it. You’d looked to him for praise at your perfect performance, and Ghost had scarcely managed a ‘That’ll do’ before turning away from you with his chest clenching oddly.

In the field, propped alongside him flat against a rooftop staring through your rifle scope. Completely still, unmoving, scarcely breathing as you’d watched the target from a distance, not even flinching when Ghost instructed you to drop him. A single shot, and the slow exhale you’d released told multitudes of your own uncertainty at succeeding.

In a dim safehouse, where you’d dressed after your shower but your hair had clung damp to your exposed shoulders- an odd sort of sight that Ghost felt almost voyeuristic in witnessing. Vulnerable as you’d tugged a jacket over your sports bra, not seeming to notice the gaze trained on the sloping panes of your back.

Back at base, with your exhausted form crumpling into your bunk without even bothering to remove your gear. Ghost, who should have ignored you, chose instead to methodically remove your knee braces, your helmet, vest, your boots as you’d slept unaware. He’d meant to chew you out for not checking in your gear before falling asleep, but he never got the chance.

When you’d stood beside him after the sparring match, gazing towards the future as you were informed of your next assignment, Ghost had watched those eyes once more alight with something that pulled dangerously inside him. When he’d landed a hand on your shoulder, had offered a rare instance of praise, the strangeness inside him only grew warmer by the way your expression had changed into that of pride.

In Nepal, in the midnight darkness, when your trembling voice had whispered to him in the dark, only to grow pliant in his arms as his rumbling voice had echoed the truth he’d kept tightly concealed since the moment you first turned your gaze on him.

“I see you. Just you.”

Just you.

Ghost realizes he’s been silent for some time in his musings, which garners him a few sideways glances from the rest of the team. When Soap huffs a laugh and spouts some sort of Scottish gibberish, Ghost levels a look at him and reminds him with a small “English, MacTavish.” Which makes the Scot grumble further until you nudge an arm into his side.

“Tired?” Price murmurs, leaning imperceptibly closer to Ghost to question him in a tone the others can’t hear, and Ghost shrugs noncommittally. He could say yes as a means of covering his vaguely odd behavior, but then he’d hear some sort of remark from Price about sleeping properly- of which he doesn’t need a reminder.

“Blackball.” Gaz states solidly as he stands from the table a minute or so later.

“Pass.” Ghost states blandly, and adjusts in the space Gaz has left, spreading his legs wider so he’s more comfortable. Gaz shoots him an almost pouting look, and Ghost only blinks blankly back at him, to which the sergeant shrugs and looks at you.

“I’m rusty.” You confess sheepishly under his gaze, and before you can say anything else Soap is slinging an arm around your shoulders.

“We’ll teach ya.” The Scot offers, and Ghost can tell from the slight sway in his balance as he rises that the Scot is pleasantly tipsy- surprising, given his tolerance.

The three of you shuffle off towards the back end of the pub, and in your absence Price rises with a small groan from his chair.

“I’ll be heading out then.” He announces, gathering himself before placing a card down on the table. “My treat. Keep an eye on them, won’t you Simon?”

Ghost shoots his captain a withering look.

“No promises.” He tells him after a long pause, but he knows just by looking at Price’s smug expression that the captain knows it’s a lie. His second in command, asshole by design yet unable to not watch the six of his teammates.

“If you say so.” Price calls over his shoulder, and Ghost watches as he shrugs on his coat, the door chiming as he steps into the coming snow.

Ghost huffs, turns his attention towards the back of the pub where the younger trio has wandered off. Gaz, with his seemingly endless charm and amicability, has managed to snag the lone pool table out from under one of the other parties, who instead wander past Ghost towards the bar in search of another round. In their wake, Soap rambles the game’s rules to you, demonstrating his long reach with one of the billiard sticks as you nod studiously. There’s a slight scrunch to your brow that speaks of focus.

Loathe as he is to admit it, it’s...disarmingly charming.

He needs another drink.

Rather than rising for the bar, however, Ghost abandons the table and makes for the toilet. It’s only after he’s washing his hands that he pauses, looks up to the mirror placed on the wall and into his reflection.

He chose a simple balaclava tonight, dark eye paint not entirely smudged away from his time on base earlier. Yet it’s gone enough that he can make out the blonde of his eyelashes, the rims of his eyes that speak of pale skin.

Once there’d been a man there, in the mirror. Not much older than you, he thinks. Proud, arrogant, but dedicated and loyal to his duty.

Innocent, unknowing of the things that were to become of him.

Distantly, Simon wonders if maybe one day you’ll wear a mask too.

and silently, he realizes you already do.

Yet the thing hiding underneath your smile, your laughter, the blazing look in your eyes is not the shell of a broken man who has lost everything but has chosen to soldier on for the sake of doing something worth fighting for. No, the thing beneath your mask strives to claw out from the grave of grief you’ve found yourself in, dirt caught under your fingernails and voice choked of air as you fight to become the person you present yourself as. As someone who is free. Happy.

Like watching hellebore unfurl from the frost of a snowy mountain you can never seem to find the summit of.

and Ghost watches from below as the ascending shadow of you eclipses the rising sun.

When he makes his way back to the main room he finds the pub has begun to empty, the late hour beckoning folks home, and the incoming snowstorm hurrying those left behind. Gaz and Soap seem to pay the worsening weather no mind, if the clack of billiard balls is any indication. They talk in comfortable, slurring words, and Ghost distantly wonders if they’ll be hungover tomorrow. Maybe he should have them oversee the rookie drills. Just to be an ass about it.

Yet Ghost instantly notices you’ve wandered from the pool table back towards the bar, perched on a barstool and chatting to some young fellow beside you as the bartender makes more drinks.

Ghost feels his eyes narrow.

The bloke seems younger than you by a spring and then some, confident in the way of men his age. He seems to be doing most of the talking, and while to an outsider it may seem friendly enough, Ghost notices the way the man’s eyes dip to your lips as you politely smile and sip your drink, listening to him make small talk.

Ghost observes your eyes, the ease of your shoulders. You don’t seem uncomfortable, not with the way you smile back at him as Ghost passes behind you back in the direction of the booth. The fellow you’re talking to briefly glances over his shoulder, and does a double take at the skull mask wearing shadow behind his back before turning his attention back to you. Yet there’s a rigidity to his spine now, the sensation that he’s being watched.

Which, he shouldn’t be really. Ghost isn’t entirely sure himself why he’s observing the scene so closely, and even makes a point to tear his gaze away and pull out his phone for a bit. Yet he can’t stop the odd itchiness under his skin, the same instinct he has on the field. Sidelong glances at the bar reveal your conversation partner leaning in, his voice dipping an octave, how he barks a laugh at something you say.

You don’t seem to notice the gent’s clear interest in you, and that makes Ghost’s awareness itch with an odd sensation he can’t completely place. For his credit, the fellow doesn’t set off actual alarm bells in Ghost’s acutely tuned threat perception. In any other context, Ghost wouldn’t spare him a second glance. Yet now, with the way he tilts his head at you and smiles as you talk, Simon feels an odd discomfort brewing in the center of his stomach, like an inky pool of emotion he shouldn’t allow himself.

He should leave well enough alone.

Instead, he surprises himself by rising from his chair and trying to not stalk over to the bar so much as ease by catching your conversation partner’s eyes and murmuring something about an ID dropped in the bathroom.

The man pales, and Simon isn’t entirely sure if he truly believes the lie, or is simply intimidated by the hulking masked soldier grumbling at him. Either way he excuses himself, and Ghost makes a point to lean down into your ear as you watch him vanish.

“He’s bad news.” Ghost lies through his teeth.

You blink, gaze up at him in surprise with parted lips. “You really think so? He seemed nice.”

Ghost is silent, trying to ignore how that pit in his stomach seems to ease with the man’s absence. You seem to take his silence for an affirmation, nodding to yourself and sighing.

“I guess I should probably clear out before he comes back then.” You remark, finishing the remainder of your drink and catching Soap’s eye to gesture your exit. Soap makes a pout, but gives you a thumbs up.

“I’ll see you back at base, Ghost.” You tell him, easing off your stool and swaying only slightly. “Don’t stay out too late, it’s bad for your health.”

Says the woman that works alongside trained killers. Ghost thinks wryly.

Yet before you can make it five steps, Ghost surprises himself again.

“I’ll drive you back.”

You pause, blink at him, before a smile crawls across your face and you nod eagerly.

“Won’t leave me to the elements?” You ask, and Ghost wonders if you too are thinking of your shivering form caught in his arms in Nepal.

“No.” He responds quietly, sliding Price’s card across the bar to clear the team’s tab before following you out into the snow.

The bloke from before rounds the corner to the toilet just as Ghost hovers on the threshold, waiting for you to shrug on your jacket just outside. Ghost catches a single glimpse of recognition, of realization in the man’s eyes before the door jingles behind the two of you as it closes.

Ghost tries to ignore what this clearly looks like. What it actually is.

Snowflakes chase you into the car as you sidle into the passenger seat, catching on your hair. You shiver a little and tuck your jacket tighter around you.

“You should wear something warmer next time.” He finds himself saying over the start of the engine, and you offer him a bemused look.

“Looking out for me, Ghost?”

More than you know.

Yet Ghost doesn’t offer anything, shrugging noncommittally and turning on the radio to fill the silence. Cheery Christmas music instantly echoes through the tinny speakers and Simon reflexively shuts it off as soon as it starts, before the bitter taste of memory can poison his mouth. He expects you to call him on it, but instead you huff, shake your head.

“It’s not even Thanksgiving back in the states yet.” You complain. “I swear they start earlier every year.”

Simon hums as he turns onto the road. “Holiday plans?” He asks mildly, and notices the way you stiffen out of the corner of his eye.

That grief again.

“Probably some mice infested safehouse in a far corner of the world.” You reply after a beat. “Away in a manger and all that.”

That startles a snort from him. You turn to Ghost at the sound, eyes wide.

“You laughed.” You observe in awe, and Ghost gives you a momentary glance before shaking his head.

“Did not.”

“You did!”

“Had a snowflake in my nose.”

“Under the mask?”

“Mm.”

You huff, slumping in your seat a bit, but when Ghost glances at you out of the corner of his eye, he can see you smiling.

The silence lapses, fortunately, and Ghost is relieved to find you don’t try to fill the void. Instead you watch the snowy road ahead with drooping eyes, head nodding with the weight of a long journey and energetic evening. Eventually, he watches your eyes shutter close, and feels himself relaxing in response.

It would be frustrating, how much you trust him. Trusting him to get you back safe, to fall asleep beside him, believing him when he chases off a man with pure intentions only for the transgression of getting too close. You trust him to watch your six, to keep you alive, to drag you to safety. You trust him enough to push you out of airplanes only so he can catch you.

If it were anyone else, Ghost would be furious at you for being so blindingly accepting of them. Yet Ghost, in his seemingly infinite selfishness, soaks it in like the warmth of a rising sun. Like he himself emerges gingerly from the frost.

The lights of the town go by quietly, and in the lingering sound of festive lullabies Ghost is reminded of things passed- of the deadly cold and the searing heat of flames. He’s reminded of the grief he recognizes in your own eyes, wondering silently how it is you’ve found the strength to accomplish it despite it all and to keep smiling.

Silently, in the frost of his own heart, Simon tucks away a quiet warmth that’s begun to unfurl.

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#simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley x you #simon ghost x reader #Simon ghost riley x oc #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley x ofc #reader insert #cod x reader #fic: shadow and bone #oc: fix #fic: snowblind

[cat-mentality]

Sad QSMP headcannons that have like half a toenail in canon.

The French version:

Baghera cries very silently, like someone who is used to having to keep quiet.

She also has a very high pain tolerance and she didn't understand why until recently.

When Pomme disappeared Baghera was terrified that the Federation had something to do with that, terrified that her little girl would be at the hands of the people who made her and hurt her so badly.

As much as she wants to hate the Federation for having hurt her, at the same time she can't and that makes everything so much worse.

Baghera doesn't have wings. But she does have two scars on her back where no feathers have ever grown.

Antoine was not prepared to actually get attached to any of the French, or even to Pomme. He knows he is in too deep, has too much to lose if he cuts ties with the Federation, and yet it twists something inside of him when he thinks about their possible reactions, especially Etoiles. For the first time in a very long existence he understands what friendship is, knows what it feels like instead of just watching others experience it, and is very aware that he will lose it all.

That is why Antoine was so pissed off at Osito for being careless with the picture, the earlier they discover about his true past, the earlier he will lose them.

If the Federation truly had Pomme he would have burned it all down himself just to bring her back.

The first time Cucurucho saw Antoine angry was after the torture session nearly killed Pierre for good. No one knows who was more shocked by his display, Cucurucho or Antoine himself.

Pierre continues to trouble sleeping and constant nightmares when he does, he can't remember the last time he managed to truly rest without waking up in a cold sweat or screaming, he is always on the verge of passing out and even when he does crash he still has nightmares.

He refuses to acknowledge it or even talk about it, hides his exhaustion with everything he has, pushes people away just to make sure they wouldn't realize there is something wrong, too afraid they will see a weakness to be exploited.

Pierre hates being alone as much as he craves it- He likes being by himself working on his machines and keeping his secrets close to his chest, but at the same time when he is alone is when the dark thoughts take over

He will, on occasion, not exactly seek to get himself hurt but not exactly avoid it either- If he can feel pain it means that there is something human in him doesn't it?

But Pierre hates dying and he will avoid and lash out when put into such a situation. He fears what will wake up, if it will still be him.

Sometimes Kameto look at the rest of the Islanders and he wonders what his own life could have been, what sort of bonds he could have forged with people, if the Federation didn't come for him first.

Etoiles does not know what his worth is if not as a warrior.

He is not smart like the others, he doesn't build pretty buildings or incredible machines, he doesn't know how to do anything but fight. And if he can't fight, if he can't protect the people he cares about, then why is he still around?

War is everything Etoiles really knows. By the time he reached his late teens and was released from the battlefield he had seen more combat than some people in their old age, everything he knew how to do was to fight, he had nowhere to go, knew no one, had nothing.

He was never able to settle down for too long or even to truly build himself a home, Etoiles knew so very little about the world that he just decided he would explore it. Some people in the army talked about things they missed, things they thought worth fighting for, and Etoiles wanted to understand that feeling of fighting for anything but his own survival.

To this day he still feel more comfortable fighting than he ever does doing anything else.

None of them ever had families.

The concept of family was something Antoine learned by watching other species and for a very long time it was not something he truly understood or could relate. It was only after the plane crash and Pomme that it hit him that maybe he can understand this thing now.

Baghera always thought she was just an orphan with amnesia. She had very little memories of her young years and none of them involved other people, just her and a room, so for a long time she believed she was alone in the world. Even now she struggles with that emptiness, especially now that she knows that the Federation may be the closest thing to family that she will ever have.

Etoiles had parents once. He knows he did, but he cannot remember their faces or even their voices most of the time. He was still just a small child when they came for him and sent him to war.

Pierre was always alone. He had parents but they could as well be ghosts haunting their home, he hardly could see glimpses of them from time to time, all he ever truly had were his machines.

#enough happiness it's sad bitch o'clock #im just here to bring the mood down and peace out #qsmp #qsmp headcanons #qsmp baghera #qsmp etoiles #qsmp antoine #qsmp aypierre #i hate all of those people and their fucking depressing lores #i hope they get hugs and hot cocoa #im just dumping my thoughts out because i need to focus on other things #i may do one of those for the others but idk yet #i have like 50 hc for one character and like 0 for others lmao #and i feel genuinely bad for not including everyone #so fuck me i guess