#to be more accurate it's more stress+hurt/comfort

[assassinsblade]

Forget Me Not | 6

You are awaiting Azriel's return when chaos erupts.

WC: 6.4k

Warnings: TW: SA!!! Please do not read if this is triggering for you. Violence, death, blood, angst, feelings, and dare I finally say some fluff?

a/n: There will be one more part!

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 7

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Azriel never responded to your letter. You hadn't exactly expected him to, but you still couldn't help the pang of disappointment that settled in your gut when day after day went by in silence.

You hoped he was getting the healing he needed, the healing he deserved. The thought of your friend hurting because of your words had you itching to write another letter to him, but you knew to give him the time and space to map his feelings out. It would be better to say all you needed to in person anyway.

That didn't stop your heart from wandering each day though. You thought of his scarred hands and gentle touches. The way he had always been soft with you, as if he were nervous you would think him anything other than kind-hearted. The way his fingers would brush against the fabric of your shirt when passing by, letting you know he was there, letting you feel his presence, take in his scent, as he moved in your space.

You thought about the small smile he would give you during conversations both before and after the incident. The way his head would tip forward to show he was listening, the way his eyes twinkled with amusement at your storytelling, the curve of his lips as others laughed.

You thought of the times he had carried you to your room when you had fallen asleep on the couch, his comforting arms, his protective instinct as he locked your windows and pulled the covers over your chest and toes.

You thought of the heat that would rise to his cheeks when people would compliment him. The way the pink would dust his cheeks like a guide for your lipstick, his eyes averted and the subject quickly changed despite the passion he put into each and every one of his interests and talents.

You thought about his commitment and duty and strength. The way he held the weight of the entire court on his shoulders but still managed to make others laugh. The way he would suffer in silence, do the dirty work, but pretend like it was nothing to alleviate others' stress.

You thought about every bit of him, from the glow that surrounded his black hair against the backdrop of the sun to the way the grass curled around his feet, and you loved him with a fierceness that ached.

And you tried -- you tried so fucking hard -- to distract yourself from these thoughts in the days after you sent your letter.

You began training with Cassian again. He hadn't said anything despite how obvious your swollen and bloodshot eyes were, how your shoulders hung low with fatigue, the way your clothes were wrinkled against your thinning form.

He had given you kind eyes, though, and a soft smile that told you he was there should you need it. He often snuck bars of food into your training bag or left an "extra" tea out on the counter for you. You had even noticed him peeking his head into Azriel's room a few times at night to check on you, remaining quiet to not disturb your feigned sleep.

It wasn't until a week after Azriel had left that Cassian mentioned him again. You were strapping the weapons you had brought with you to training back in place when you felt his eyes on you. It was nearing eleven at night, and your entire body felt like it was going to fall to the floor underneath you. Your skin was slick with sweat, muscles burning, and your eyes felt (accurately) like your sleep had been fitful as of late.

Cassian was quiet until you finally met his eye and raised a brow, prompting him to break his silence. He nodded to the dagger strapped against your thigh. "I'm surprised Azriel has been letting you use that."

You looked at the dagger you had been using nightly when training, taking in its intimidating design and shrugging. "He didn't protest much. It's not Truthteller."

The dagger, in truth, had been helpful. Cassian not only helped you learn how to handle such a weapon better, but he did so in a safe space that allowed you to overcome any memories from that night surfacing. There were times when your movements and grip on the handle felt so similar to that cold moment in the alley, you would nearly throw the dagger from your hand in haste. But you were making progress, and those moments when blood tainted your vision were becoming few and far between.

Cassian continued moving throughout the space, putting equipment away and packing away his things. You could tell he was feigning being nonchalant from the way his hands fumbled and his eyes strayed away from your own.

"Truthteller isn't the only weapon Azriel has a special attachment to."

Your brows furrowed with confusion and curiosity. As much as you had come to care for Azriel, there were parts of his past he had always kept private. You knew some details regarding his history and what had made him into the male he was, but he rarely spoke to you about them.

He liked to portray the side of himself he could control, the side the victims of the Night Court did not get to see: his gentleness, his care for his family, his ability to bring joy to others. Never the past that haunts him or his actions that remind him of the evil in the world.

"Are you going to explain?" You decided on asking, mind already beginning to spin with thoughts of Azriel.

You were too tired for his vague comments, and really you just wanted to shower and curl back up in Azriel's bed. It was beginning to lose some of his scent and take on your own. You didn't know how low you would have to feel before you started digging through his closet and drawers for clothes of his wear and curl up in instead.

"Just-" he sighed, placing his towel in his bag. "That weapon holds a lot of weight to him. It's the one that was used against his brothers." His voice trailed off at the end with the secret.

His brothers. The males who had set fire to his hands. The males who had laughed as he screamed, who had treated him like a test subject, like less than an animal. The males who had enjoyed watching a young boy cry in pain, terror, fear, and confusion.

You swallowed back the horrid thoughts pushing their way into your mind. Flames licking up his scars, his hazel eyes drowning in tears. "He didn't tell me its history."

Cassian shrugged, turning to face you and crossing his arms over his chest. He was studying you. What for, you didn't know. "He just normally doesn't let that dagger out of his room. I've only ever seen it on him a few times."

Did Azriel give the weapon to you for the same reason he yielded it against his brothers? You remembered the placement of the dagger in your palms in his bedroom, the way the sharp edge faced his unguarded torso, as if he was standing at your mercy and vengeance, positioning his heart to be a target for your own pain.

Maybe he had seen your lashing out as inevitable, and he knew the very dagger he had used against his own brothers could also help you deal an angry blow in return. Did he know the dagger was going to be aimed at him eventually? Did he offer it, expecting that result?

You remembered the blood that fell from his bicep earlier this week.

"I noticed you've been sleeping in his room."

Cassian's voice was gentler this time as he interrupted your distracted thoughts, as if he was afraid his acknowledgement of what he had seen would spook you, cause you to shut down or leave. Instead, you just shifted your weight on your feet, trying to not look too embarrassed.

"Yeah. I don't know, it just seems to help. With the nightmares and stuff, I mean."

He continued to study you, and you felt yourself getting slightly uncomfortable and annoyed. He was obviously thinking something but was unwilling to say it, and you didn't exactly appreciate his quiet observations as if you were some sort of mystery or experiment to document hypotheses on.

"Just say it," you rolled your eyes.

"No."

"No?"

He gave you a half-smile, slinging his bag over his broad shoulder and taking a step toward the exit. "Some things aren't my place."

"Since when do you stay out of people's business, Cassian?" You scoffed.

"Since my brother-" He started, but suddenly his steps halted, body going rigid with tension. His eyes scanned the space rapidly, and within a moment his bag was dropped back onto the ground by his feet, and he was taking a step back toward you, eyes still tracking your dark surroundings.

Your breath hitched in your throat at his serious behavior. "Cassian, what is it?"

But he didn't respond. Instead, one of his hands reached for the knife on his belt, his other arm splaying out in front of you to get you to move back with him.

You followed his movements, stepping in tandem with him until you found yourself in the middle of the training ring once again. A breeze flowed up your arms and caressed the skin of your cheeks, causing shivers to run down your body and your hair to stand on edge.

Footsteps sounded from your right, and you whirled around in fear, gripping the dagger Azriel had given you with a tightness that hurt your knuckles. A shadowed figure was approaching, followed by four others. But you didn't have time to think of an approach before more footsteps sounded to your back and more appeared, their wings fading into the black sky behind them.

They were coming from all directions, all Illyrian males, all Illyrian warriors. Swords and shields glinted in the moonlight. Teeth sharp as they sneered.

"Cassian-" you whispered harshly.

"Gentlemen," Cassian interrupted, voice tight warning. "To what do we owe the pleasure?"

There were about fifty of them, all nearly double your size. Illyrian males were already prone to being larger, all over six feet in height with intimidating wingspans and muscles, and for once you didn't feel safe around the form you so often associated with Rhys, Cassian, and Azriel. Your fingers trembled.

Cassian still told taller than all of them, the general a fierce presence surrounded by enemies. He looked determined, but he did not look scared.

One of the males stepped forward from the crowd.

"My son was one of the many who died in the war with Hybern. One of the many who died because of you. Because of your half-breed high lord and his past-time of playing house with bastards." He looked to his companions standing in the shadows. "You all come here and condemn our way of life, of training, of breeding, and then punish us on the battlefield. We're not fighting for you anymore. We're fighting for ourselves."

You felt like you were in a fever dream. You hadn't even been in Velaris for that long, had never been around during the war nor seen the aftermath of the choices made. But you knew of Cassian and Azriel's power in the Illyrian war camps. You knew how Rhys tried to ban wing clipping, how they all enforced treating the females equally and fair, how the males were discriminatory toward others and often rageful and violent.

You wanted no part of this.

"No one is forcing you to fight on the front line." Cassian responded, barely flinching at the man's short speech. He was completely and utterly still, gauging each movement around the two of you. He was a strategist, and you could sense the gears in his mind turning.

"Maybe we want to fight. Maybe we are here to demand our rights back. Our superiority."

Cassian's hands twitched, his siphons gleaming. "I wouldn't do that if I were you."

His cold voice was nothing like the jovial male you had come to know. This was the Lord of Bloodshed ready to split the males in front of him in half, a warrior basking in the calm before blood would rain down around him.

"And why not?" The male laughed. "It is only you here. You and this pet. When we are done with you, we will go for that bastard shadowsinger. How do you think almighty Rhysand will feel about that? Both of his brothers put down like mutts? Think he will be willing to listen then?"

Rage swarmed in your veins, warming your skin until you felt your cheeks and ears turn red with heat. They would not touch you. They would not touch Cassian, and they sure as hell would not touch Azriel.

Cassian sighed, as if he were experiencing only a slight inconvenience. As if he had just been interrupted from a nap with a chore he couldn't put off any longer.

"Alright," is all he said, and then his strong arm was pushing you back and out of harms way, the harsh sound of weapons clashing ringing in your ears.

You spun quickly, trying to take in the chaotic space around you. Males were moving in all directions, and before you could think, you were throwing your dagger at the closest body you could find. The edge hacked into the center of his pale forehead, his body crumpling to the ground immediately.

Dodging another male grasping at you, you slid on your knees to collect your weapon, gathering up the fallen male's sword at the same time. It was heavy in your grip, but it was better than only having one weapon to arm yourself with.

"Come here, birdy." A voice cooed.

You vaguely registered red light flashing in the corner of your eye, the color flickering and absorbing in the sky. It lit up the armor of the Illyrians, and despite the pounding heart in your chest, despite not knowing if you would survive tonight, you found the sight beautiful.

You faced the male, his rotten teeth dirtying his smirk as he took you in. A few others joined him, forming a line in front of you. Raising the sword in your grasp, you held your chin up.

"Don't call me that."

They took their time observing you, as if you were a mouse in their game -- a treat they had hoped would be present at their meeting.

"Bad timing, girl. We don't have to hurt ya, though. Why don't you just come with us, yeah?"

The male to his left winked at you, and you felt your palms become damp with sweat. No, you would not be doing this again. You would not allow another male to put his hands on you again.

"I'd rather the Cauldron boil me alive."

And then you were swinging, the sword coming down with a mighty clang against the male's own. The resistance reverberated up your arm, through your bones, and you gritted your teeth at the pain. But you pushed forward, attempting to unbalance him with your steady stance.

The male to his right went in with a knife of his own, and you ducked out of the way, instead swinging low with your sword and slicing the legs of the male you had been up against. He cried out in anger and pain, and you couldn't help the smile that creeped onto your face at the noise. You wanted him to choke on that pain, on those cries.

As he fell and gripped his calves, you quickly made work of his throat, slashing through the skin in a swift movement, barely even taking the time to think before you flung the dagger with your other hand into the male to your right, the tip latching into his neck.

The last male roared, pushing you off your balance until you tripped and had to steady yourself, your sword pointed toward the ground.

He swung with his own, point aimed toward your chest, and you hurried to block the action. You had no armor to defend yourself, just your brief training and your will to live.

The male kept swinging, his strength and weight being thrown into each movement, pushing you back farther and farther. Each block you threw up only dug your feet deeper into the ground, only destabilized you, only made your arms sting with fatigue.

You were panting, grunting, trying to hold your own.

And then the male was half exploding away from you. Red light and energy threw his body from yours, sending him spiraling to the ground feet away. His armor looked melted, and you could only allow yourself a brief moment of relief before you searched for Cassian.

He was still fighting the other males. Plenty of other males, as the majority went straight for their target rather than you. Red surrounded him, his sword sparkling, dark hair gracefully blowing with each jab. He didn't even look winded. There were twenty males surrounding him, and about the same amount scattered on the ground limp and bloodied.

His movements were clean and precise. As if he were made to do this, his body glided in a beautiful dance that left males to drop before him. If blood had not been coating your vision, it would almost seem as if they were dropping to their knees in reverence.

You shook yourself out of your stupor, hefting up the sword and your dagger and moving forward again into the action.

You were steps away from another Illyrian, his brown eyes locking on your own, when blue blinded your vision.

Like lightning rocking the ground underneath you, a beam of cobalt shot from the sky, sending the earth trembling under your feet. The noise roared in your ears as you tried to keep your footing, blinking away from the bright light.

Your veins hummed, your skin tingled.

Because coming out of that bright blue light, eyes glowing like a god, was Azriel.

His wings were flared, taking up as much space as three Illyrians as he marched toward them, his towering form enough to make you want to fall to your knees in worship.

Light shone on his face, cutting his sharp cheekbones with the blue of his siphons. He looked angelic, and beautiful, and like the savior you dreamed about.

Your chest pulled you toward him, but your movements were halted by cold tendrils snaking around your wrists, pulling you backward.

You almost shouted, but then you realized as a grunt sounded in your ear what was happening. Azriel's shadows were back. They were back by your side and they were helping you. You could have wept with joy feeling the silky bands kissing your skin.

They pulled you out of the way of one of the Illyrians, his punch missing your head as you dodged. You didn't even have time to plunge the dagger toward his eye before the shadows were swarming the male, flowing into his nostrils, ears, mouth and eyes, until blood was flowing out of them, jaw hanging open and body going limp.

You gasped in shock as the male fell to your feet, choking and suffocating on his own internal bodily matter.

Trying not to gag, you pulled your gaze up to Cassian and Azriel fighting back to back. Flashes of red and blue lit up the sky, and you went to move closer, but the shadows held you back. They swarmed your ankles, your calves, and held you in place. Some lingering shadows skimmed the rest of your body, searching the open skin for wounds.

When the last of the males fell, the shadows released you, and you stumbled at the sudden freedom.

Then you were rushing toward your friends, sword falling from your fingertips to lay with the dead bodies in your haste. Cassian and Azriel were talking, but Azriel's body was turned toward you as if he was paying attention to you both at once -- and you supposed he was, what with his shadows monitoring your every movement and breath.

But then he couldn't focus on Cassian, couldn't say anything else, because you wouldn't let him. You didn't care if he shoved you off of him, you didn't care if he took both of your shoulders in his scarred hands and threw you to the ground, not as you flung yourself into his torso, the wind knocked out of your lungs with the force.

He caught himself with one step back, his arms going to catch you against him despite his shock. His body was tense with surprise, but you didn't care, not as you grasped his leathers, not as you breathed in the smell of him, not as you basked in the fact that Azriel was back after you were scared he would never see or talk to you again.

Your breath was shaky as you listened to his heartbeat underneath your ear. His arms tightened around you, and you felt as seconds ticked by before gentle fingers tangled in your hair hesitantly.

Still, he did not say a word.

You would take this moment, savor it, knowing it could be your last chance at any kind of intimacy, at any kind of care and love with Azriel before everything came crashing down again, before reality and all you had both said and done disrupted what could have been.

You could hear Cassian’s footsteps fading in the distance, but the sound was muffled as you attempted to get closer to the shadowsinger, gripping him tighter, burying your face deeper into his hard strong chest.

He was so warm against you, and the contrast of that heat against the cool shadows weaving around you had you nearly gasping.

Tears were in your eyes before you could control your emotions, knowing how embarrassing this was. You had pushed him away for months, made him crawl for your forgiveness, but as soon as you were the one to make a mistake, you couldn’t handle it. You were just so glad he was home. So glad he was here in front of you so you could apologize, and feel whole again with him near. You hadn’t realized how empty you felt with him gone-

“Are you okay?” His rough voice cracked above you, barely audible above the wind.

You nodded against him, trying to compose your feelings before reluctantly releasing him and taking a step back. His fingers trailed after you as if by instinct, and you cleared your throat in an attempt to distract yourself from touching him once again.

“I’m okay,” you reiterated, hands tangling together in nerves. He looked you up and down, brows furrowed as if he didn’t quite believe you, as if he needed to give you a thorough inspection. “Are you?”

“Fine,” he quietly spoke. And you could tell that he was. He didn’t even look like he broke a sweat going up against the remaining Illyrians, which made your worry for him even more embarrassing.

“I didn’t…” you swallowed, sorting through your jumbled thoughts. “What are you doing back?”

His gaze was soft but guarded. Your heart thumped in your chest painfully at the contrast to how he looked at you just a week or two ago. You had hurt him enough for those walls to go back up, and you also couldn’t ignore the hurt you had felt (even if you were trying your hardest to forget it).

Instead of answering your question, Azriel said, “We should talk. After I check in with Rhys.”

“Right.” You nodded, rubbing your palms on your pants, the fabric clinging to your thighs. “That’s probably more important.”

Azriel just looked at you though before muttering, “Not more important.”

You hated the tension, the uncertainty, and if not for the adrenaline in your veins, you were sure you would have started crying again.

“I’ll come find you after.”

You nodded, and he gave you a short one in return, sending his shadows to stay with your form once again. They twirled around you, as if to make up for their master’s lack of visible excitement, and you tried to let them warm the anxiety overwhelming you.

And then he was winnowing you back to the House of Wind, only allowing the darkness to envelop him again once you were secure behind its wards.

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You waited for Azriel all night.

The clock ticking on your wall seemed to mock you, and you wondered if he was already in his room hiding from you, or if he had decided to not return to you to talk after all.

You wouldn’t blame him for changing his mind, but the thought still caused your heart to twist in your chest. You had so much to say, so much to just let out into the open, that if he ended up not wanting to talk, you thought it would probably end up weighing you down to your grave.

Sighing, you wrapped a blanket around your bare shoulders to shield your nightgown-clad form from the cold, stepping out onto one of the balconies at the House of Wind. You couldn’t go lay in Azriel’s room, and you weren’t going to be able to rest in your own. So, you sat along the edge of the balcony, pulling your knees to your chest and wrapping the blanket tight as could be around you.

Shadows rested on your shoulders and by your hips, silently keeping watch around you. Their presence was calming as you looked over the night sky.

You remembered sitting in this exact spot months before, smiling to yourself as you compared your life in the Hewn City to where you had come here in Velaris. So much had changed then, and even more now.

You missed the ease of being around your friends and around Azriel. And it frustrated you, because you knew you would be happier with him around again, but you didn’t know what was right to do. What was correct?

Your heart ached for him even more now than it did months ago, as if a tether was pulling you to him, begging you to become one as it was always meant to be. And you knew that feeling of completion in your soul would finally come when you two could move forward again, but you didn’t even know what that meant, if it was possible, if he’d want that-

“You’re going to catch your death out here.”

Your head whipped around so quickly at his voice, you were surprised he didn’t laugh.

“Azriel,” you breathed.

“Why don’t we go inside?” He nodded to your bundled up form. He made no move to help you stand, instead keeping his hands shoved into his pockets, body held tight with tension.

You stood in a hurry, clutching the blanket to your shivering form before making your way over to his tall frame and past the open door.

He followed you quietly as you sat down on one of the couches, shutting the door behind you two. He didn’t immediately take a seat, instead watching as you got comfortable (as comfortable as you could be with all of the anxiety coursing through you), before walking around one of the chairs and lowering himself down into it. His elbows rested on his knees as he leaned forward, scarred hands clasped together and holding his attention.

He seemed much more unaffected than you. But you both had been affected by what had happened to you for months, and you understood he was probably exhausted, probably done putting energy into this situation, into you.

“I have so much I need to say.” You tried to sound confident, but your voice came out so insecure.

He only looked at you expectantly — not cold nor mean, but open and listening, his hazel eyes nonjudgemental.

“I want to tell you everything,” you started. “From before that night to what happened and how I was feeling after. But please, Azriel, please know I will never forgive myself for the words I spoke to you last week. I am so sorry. So so sorry. I meant none if it.”

Your voice shook with your tears, and you immediately wiped them away before they became too obvious to the spy.

He was silent, and you felt that thing in your chest crack further.

“You are the most honorable and lovable person I have ever known. Any words indicating otherwise were spoken from a place of hurt and anger and are completely untrue. You give your safety up daily to protect others, you have done nothing but try to make life better for those that you can. You have a good heart and a kind soul, and you are a way better person than the world deserves — than I deserve.”

Azriel shook his head at your words. “You deserved more than what happened to you. Than what I did.”

“I think we both made mistakes.”

His silence unnerved you, and you found yourself scrambling. “I understand if you don’t forgive me, if you don’t want to be around me anymore. I can find another place to live in Velaris… or I can go back to the Hewn City-”

“Hewn City?”

“This is your home— has always been your home. I’ve only been here recently. I can go wherever you need me to.”

“I want you to stay here.”

Your eyes met his hazel ones, and you could see a crack in the walls he had built up, the panic and emotion seeping through.

“I don’t know what I’d do if you left.” The words came out like a confession, like he hadn’t actually intended you hear them.

“I don’t want to leave you,” you admitted. “I hate this.”

“I do, too.”

Your fingers gripped the blanket tighter around you, pulling it until it held you with makeshift protection.

“I had never been more afraid than I was that night,” you told him, not able to quite make eye contact while talking about this. “But it was worse because it was you who forgot me, who didn’t think of me.”

He flinched at your words, and you hurried to explain.

“I’ve been in love with you for so long, Azriel. I put expectations onto you that you didn’t even know were there. It was unfair of me to put myself above Elain, to demand your protection and your thoughts as if I was entitled to them.”

“You are entitled to them,” he said forcefully, pulling your eyes up to his own.

You shook your head, giving him a sad smile. “I know you care about me. You’re a loving person. But that doesn’t mean I can punish you for not loving me as much as I wish.”

“Stop, please.” He squeezed his eyes shut as if he was in physical pain.

You waited for him to collect himself, to sort through his thoughts and emotions. His jaw was clenched, his fingers trembling, and you found comfort in the evidence that you weren’t the only one feeling nervous and uncertain.

“I never want to hear you excuse what I did that night again. Do you understand?”

He took a deep breath at your silence before continuing. “You are not someone to be forgotten, to be left behind. I will do everything in my power to convince you of that until I am dust to this planet.”

Your eyes watered with his words, but you let him keep going, getting the words off his chest.

“And you are entitled to my protection and thoughts. You are entitled to every part of me. You are my mate, and I will thank the Cauldron every day for blessing me with you even if you do not return the sentiment nor want to act on it any longer.”

Mate.

He was your mate.

Holy gods.

You thought of the pull you always felt toward the shadowsinger, the comfort you felt in his arms, the soothing scent of his sheets and clothes. You thought of the way he always seemed to know what you needed, how you were hyperaware of his presence and touch, the feeling of incompletion when he was away.

“Azriel…”

“I’m not sure where we go from here. I know that I will beg for you, on my hands and knees, daily for the rest of my life. I know that I will do what I can to help you through any trauma I caused, to earn your trust back. I know that I have fallen in love with you in the past few months, even before that without realizing. But I also know that I have done you wrong, and that I cannot change the past nor the hurt you endured.”

Your lips trembled, and you tried your hardest to keep looking into his hazel eyes, but you could feel it. The bond, the pain centered in both your chest and his own. The love and care he felt traveling into you, lighting that hallow space up and filling it until you felt him.

“Will you forgive me for the terrible things I said?” You asked, matching his own vulnerability. “Will you allow me to convince you of your worth and heart?”

Something sparked in your chest at the words, and his hopeful brown green eyes met your own.

“You’re already forgiven.”

You could barely hold in a sob at his words, and then he was slowly moving toward you. He let you see each of his actions, as if he expected you to shove him away, to have him give you space like you had the last two months.

But as soon as his hands brushed back the hair from your face, cupping your jaw, you were lunging toward him. Your arms encircled his neck, gripping tight tight tight, bringing him as close to your body as you could. His hand cradled the back of your head to his neck, his own nose nuzzling into the side of you.

You could feel his tears wetting your skin, and you knew he could feel your own cries against him, but you didn’t care. You didn’t want to think about any more pain right now. Not about what happened months ago, not about what you said last week, not about Azriel’s week-long absence or the Illyrian revolt. All you could think about were his hands holding you.

“I love you,” you spoke into his neck. “I’ve always loved you.”

His fingers gripped you tighter, to the point of near bruising. And then he pulled back.

His lips brushed against your forehead, the soft gesture bringing more tears to your eyes.

“When I felt that fear go across the bond tonight, even through the walls I had put up, I thought I would be coming home to Cassian carrying you into this room bloody again. I thought I would be too late, again.”

But he had come for you. Even after everything you had thrown at him, he had been willing to put himself on the line for you and was still ready for your rejection.

You shook your head at him, your thumb brushing across his cheekbone. “I held my own pretty well actually.”

His eyes gleamed through the haunted look he had, a light of praise shining through, and then they were dropping to look at your lips.

Your skin warmed at the action, your mouth parting instinctually. His thumb brushed your bottom lip in admiration before his eyes moved back up to your own.

“We still have a lot to discuss.” His voice was quiet but rough, and you nearly clenched your thighs together at the sound.

He must have felt your body heat rising, the way you were tempted to squirm into his lap, to lean forward just a bit more, because his pupils dilated and his grip on you tightened ever so slightly.

“We have all the time now, right?” You asked hesitantly, his lips drawing you in as if you were in a trance. “And it’s late. It might be better to talk more once we get some rest.”

“Rest.” He repeated, his tongue testing out the word.

“I’ve been sleeping in your room,” you admitted, flushing with embarrassment. “Maybe we can both stay there tonight.”

“I’ll do anything you want.”

And you could hear the truth in the words, the desperation and vulnerability. If you told him to drop to his knees in front of you, he would do it. He would kiss the ground you walked on and look at you reverently while doing so.

So you led him to stand with you, dropping the blanket from your shoulders to fall back onto the couch, and grasped his hand with your own.

His eyes took in the light fabric hugging your body, and you watched them darken, his lashes fluttering and tongue wetting his lips.

“I want you,” you said.

The words were not necessarily ones of lust, but they were fueled in desire, in love and fire that had been suffocated for months. Letting them fall from your lips felt as cathartic as screaming.

“You have me,” Azriel said in return, his hand cupping your lower back and pulling you against him.

His body lined up with your own, but it wasn’t enough for you. You wanted to feel inside of him, you wanted to pull on that bond until it glowed a blinding gold across your vision. You wanted to feel his skin everywhere, curl your fingers into his hair, and tell him everything you had ever thought about him.

You have me too, you wanted to tell him. So take me.

And as his feet slowly started moving you both back toward his room, your heart skipped in your chest. His answering smile at the feeling had heat rising to your cheeks and an embarrassed giggle erupting.

Take me, you thought again. Make me yours.

He scooped you up into his arms and your mind emptied. No more pain, no more confusion, just you and Azriel and the thrum of love in your chest.

You have me. I’m yours.

#acotar x reader #azriel x reader #acotar fic #azriel x you #azriel angst

[autistichalsin]

One of the things that fascinates me about Halsin is how, as into sex as he is, he seems singularly focused on his partner's pleasure; he gets on his knees for them in his romance scene, but shows no sign of wanting them to return the favor.

And in fact, he is a lot better at giving advice than taking it. After flirting at the Tiefling party, Halsin tells the player not to worry about coming on too strong and that they were just seizing the moment, and yet, if the player rejects Halsin after he accidentally wildshapes, the next morning he apologizes for coming on too strong.

Whether that's just a hangup of his because he thinks he has to be the Best to make sure his lover won't leave him, or maybe some of it is a result of the Underdark, I'm not sure. But he definitely is harder on himself than others.

And I think that is one thing that would come out in his kinks; as much as he affirms that, for example, dom/sub fantasies are perfectly normal (like in that party banter to ascended Astarion, where his worry is specifically because the player is actually thralled) he seems like he has trouble affirming his own. For example, he shifts into bear form in the Drow brothel, but only does this when they express interest in his bear form; "we must give the people what they want, mustn't we?"

So it would be really interesting, then, for Halsin to have a really taboo kink/desire, and be absolutely terrified to tell his partner about it, terrified they'll think he's sick/a freak and leave him.

TW: Discussion of consensual non-consent, also known as rape fantasy or rapeplay, are under the cut. Read at your own risk.

So imagine Halsin having this fantasy. As a big guy he is used to being the dominant partner; no one has ever suspected he might like to bottom, or to be a submissive. The only time he's done such a thing was with his Drow captors. He knows he would like to give his submission willingly, and he does with his partner a few times, before expressing this particular kink.

One thing that gets horribly misunderstood is what makes one actually want CNC. It isn't that they actually want to get raped; it's the idea of having control forcibly taken so completely, while still being safe. Such people wouldn't enjoy a real assault. It's precisely because it comes from a trusted partner, who isn't actually hurting them, that people enjoy it.

So for Halsin, who always has to be in control, to want to explore his trauma where he was forced to lose control, and to experiment with elements from that in an entirely different scenario, where he can draw comfort from it, is something i could very much see him wanting. He would want to revisit those on his terms. He himself said that while under such endless stress from the Shadow Curse, he began to fantasize about his days with the Drow, viewing it as a safer place mentally. "Perhaps [the Shadow Curse] caused me to gild undeserving memories of my youth..." He is trying to work out his feelings towards when he lost control.

He clearly doesn't want to return to them; if a Lolth Drow threatens to sell him back to his captors, he snaps, "you would be unwise to attempt it, trust me. In any case, the house of my captors is long-extinct." Then he pauses and has a realization; realizing for the first time that they were captors, not hosts, and that captors was a more accurate term. Halsin is still processing parts of his trauma, after all this time, and admits that his current stresses caused him to struggle with this.

So he doesn't want to actually return to them, but in his head he constructed a fantasy version of them that was safer to engage with, where the violations he endured weren't real. And honestly, in his shoes, it's completely understandable how and why that happened.

So that makes the case for why he needs a safe place to explore himself, his fantasies, his fears, all of it.

The issue of course is that Halsin is self-sacrificing and, as noted above, doesn't seem to prioritize his wants as much as his partners'. If he ever did manage to speak about this, it would be, I think, after a great deal of guilt and maybe even self-loathing, thinking there must be something wrong with him for having these fantasies.

So imagine him with a partner who is happy to indulge him, who gets him to finally open up about his desires. Who affirms that he's allowed to have desires, to process his trauma however he needs; after all, any way of working through it is better than doing nothing like Halsin has been doing for centuries. This is him finally being willing to explore it, to see how it interacted with his own sexuality; of course his partner would never refuse him such a thing.

That is the core of the CNC fic I'm going to write; showing how Halsin's unique blend of traumas affect how and why he craves this in particular.

#halsin #halsin silverbough #bg3 #baldur's gate 3

[jamminvroomvroom]

here me out, friends and bennies with oscar, but you guys both secretly have feelings for each other, then a fight breaks out cause he gets jealous at a club or something, then an angsty fight breaks but it ends with smut or something 🤭

messy

OP81 x reader

ty for the request! big in my oscar feels atm <3 i don’t loveeee how this turned out but i think i wanna expand this trope with oscar at some point

warnings: minors dni! 18+! language, creepy man in the club, implied smut, alcohol, sl*t is used in a not sexy way, implied physical fight, minor angst, some fluff

you liked to pretend there was nothing going on, that the way he looked at you didn’t affect you and that you hadn’t gotten all dressed up for him.

your relationship with oscar was complicated, friends with a bit on the side when the stress of his job and life got a bit too much and you each needed the extra comfort.

oscar didn’t seem like the type to engage in this kind of thing, in fact you’d never even looked at him that way before, until the night he won the f2 championship and you’d taken a heated tumble into his bed. it didn’t happen again for a while, you’d both managed to keep the urge at bay, but when he woke up in the middle of the night to the alpine fiasco, you were the one he called. you were the one he flew out to bahrain at the beginning of the f1 season, and you were the one that occupied his bed on most race weekends.

it wasn’t a thing, or, to put it more accurately, you both pretended it wasn’t a thing. you viewed yourself as emotional support, stress relief, a very close friend. you viewed him as a person that you could easily fall in love with, but you couldn’t get into the habit of thinking like that.

nonetheless, there you were in a club somewhere in japan, looking far too good to act like you didn’t have a motive. lando had dragged you and some others out, a double podium in suzuka the perfect excuse for a messy night in a foreign city.

oscar may have been good at hiding just how elated he was, but you knew him better than the media did, and you knew exactly how ready he was to celebrate.

in the spirit of having a good time, you’d disappeared over to the bar, fully intending on starting the night off on a high. you were ordering a round of shots when it got messy. it just wasn’t the kind of messy you’d anticipated.

a hand on your waist lured you in, assuming it was oscar, considering how confident the touch was. you leaned into it, but the hand felt wrong, the mould of it against the curve of you waist was wrong.

“what’s a pretty thing like you doing here?” the mystery man slurred into your ear, making you shiver in all the wrong ways. the line was icky and the way you felt his breath hit the curve of your ear was just plain disgusting. he wasn’t oscar.

“not you, that’s for sure.” you mumbled, pulling away. the hand on the waist tightened and you panicked.

the next few seconds were a blur, a flash of indistinguishable words coming from the creep, oscar’s body between you and the man, lando stood assertively behind him. you couldn’t tell what was being said, the music too loud and the sick twist in your stomach too prominent to focus. all you caught was the delightful asshole calling you an “f1 groupie slut”, and that’s when everything slowed down.

oscar knocked him on his sorry arse, while lando tried to move you out of harms way. your best friend, who would never hurt a fly, as harmless as a person could be was furious, and you couldn’t keep up with his movements as he handled the situation. you caught lando guiding the less than impressed bouncers to the pathetic mess on the floor, while oscar turned to you.

“are you okay? i’m so sorry, did he hurt you?” he cupped your face, shocking you. pda was not his thing. you couldn’t help but lean into his touch, finally at ease.

“just… take me back to the hotel.” you sighed. the privilege of being an f1 driver, you supposed, was the way all he had to do was nod at the bouncers and they let him leave.

it was all too much, the unwanted attention, a new side of the usually monotonous f1 driver, the confusion. oscar had defended you like his life depended on it, like you were his to defend. it topped protecting a friend, he had been blind with rage until the guy was indisposed. oscar didn’t just do things like that, that’s what had shocked you more than anything.

you were in a daze when the fresh air hit you, getting into the car that pulled up. the ride back to the hotel was dead silent, the city lights being both a perfect distraction and a banging headache in the making. you couldn’t stop yourself from looking out the window, though, because if you did, you’d have to look down at his hand intertwined with yours, and you didn’t think you could face that quite yet.

you didn’t get it. were you falling for him? of course you were. but he’d never given even a smidgen of indication that he felt the same way, and now what? he was scrapping in clubs with drunken idiots? over you? it made no sense, you didn’t know how to make it make sense.

the car slowed and your door was being opened for you. you stepped out, finding your feet as you walked on shaky legs into the foyer. oscar’s hand found the small of your back and despite better judgment, you fell into step beside him. he was so familiar, so comforting, you knew you were too far gone.

the way he looked at you in the elevator was dangerous, like he was staring into your bare soul, like he wanted to take you apart and put you back together.

he stepped towards you in the enclosed space. you reached out for him meeting halfway and then it was blissful. his lips slotted over yours, fireworks, hands on your body, frantic. yours were in his hair, threading through his curtains, a symptom of too much time on the road without a haircut. you liked this look though, he looked older, more undone. your back was against the cold wall and you moaned when his lips hit your neck, marking you up for the first time ever. was he making a statement?

“oscar-“ you started, ready to open a can of worms and questions, but you were interrupted by the ‘ding!’ of the elevator. it seemed to break the trance you were in and you both shuffled out of the lift.

“i think i should go back to my room.” you said quietly.

“oh.” was all oscar could muster, not trying to hide his disappointment one bit.

“i’m just… oscar, i’m confused.” you averted eye contact, looking longingly down the hallway towards your room.

“about what? about us?” he sounded defensive.

“is there an us? i don’t even know what this is anymore.” you sighed.

“‘is there an us?’ are you joking?” the defensiveness progressed into a state of pissed off, another rarity for him.

“i’ve never seen that side of you before, we’ve never been like this before.” you pointed between the pair of you, the weight of the space seeming to heavy to bare.

“i couldn’t just let that guy freak you out, it scared the shit out of me watching someone make you that uncomfortable. the idea of someone getting into your space, touching you…” he trailed off.

“why? why do you care so much? because we sleep together? because you didn’t like that it wasn’t you touching me?” the frustration got too much and the words you’d been threatening to say for months came spilling out.

“because you’re too important to me! because you mean more to me than i can even begin to understand.” a raised voice that you couldn’t recall hearing hit your ears and your heart sped up, ringing in your ears.

“oscar, i’m scared.”

“of me?”

“of losing you. what we have now, well, it is what it is. but you’re my best friend and the idea of anything changing, as much as i want it too-“

“do you want me? do you?” his eyebrows furrowed and his voice wavered in a way that made your stomach drop.

your eyes betrayed you immediately and he was kissing you again, softer this time, passionately. the hotel corridor felt too exposed for such intimacy and he was leading you back to his room. the door shut and your clothes were gone, a trail of them formed from the entrance to the foot of his king sized bed.

everything about that night still lingered on your skin. his butter melting kisses, finger prints on your hips, the drag of his grown out hair tickling the delicate skin of your inner thighs. you’d made sure to leave your mark too, his thick neck bruised purple, the trace of your fingerprints right over his heart.

it was all permanent now, every kiss, touch, whisper of affection, and when you fell into bed with him, weekend after weekend, it was the bed that you shared. he was all yours and you were more than happy to let yourself fall in love.

#oscar piastri #oscar piastri blurb #oscar piastri fic #oscar piastri x you #oscar piastri x reader #f1 fic #f1 blurb #f1 drabble #oscar piastri drabble #f1 smut #oscar piastri smut #oscar piastri fluff #oscar piastri angst #f1 angst #request #drabble #blurb #my blurbs #my drabbles #drabbles #blurbs

[veronicawildest]

NAKSHATRA SERIES: OBSERVATION FROM DIFFERENT NAKSHATRAS (TERCERO)

If you're offended just block me. If you get it, you get it, if you don't, fuck off

PURVA PHALGUNI:

When you're in a Laziest competition and the opponent is Purva phalguni native: ☹️🙁🫤😰😰😨😞

They're the 2nd place for being cheesiest interms of being relationship and inlove (I will revealed the winner of this on the next observations)

I realized just I've been googling Sydney Sweeney that her fiance is 13 years much older than her. The Purva phalguni sun celebrities too as well:

Blake Lively (Purva phalguni moon) and Ryan Reynolds

Beyonce (Purva phalguni sun) and Jay Z

Mena Suvari ( Purva phalguni moon) married Richard Brinkmann on March 4, 2000, when she was 21 and he was 37

It's really a pattern and the Opposite sign of leo is aquarius which is saturn.

Purva phalguni love cars. Aside from Elon Musk, Sydney Sweeney has a tiktok account about repairing cars. She has Purva phalguni sun conjunct rahu (intensifying the energy of Purva phalguni)

The physiognomy of this nakshatra is that they have THICK and unruly eyebrows. (Brooke Shields, Taylor Hill) even that i known in my life has this trait

Certain Purva phalguni celebs talks about anxiety and stressed a lot. The lead singer of Twenty One Pilots, Tyler Joseph is a Purva phalguni moon and you can observe that his songs has a lot of topic about this certain extent. Doubt and Stressed are some of this.

They really love music and arts. Claire nakti specifically talk about performing arts but all kinds of arts related to pleasure. They really love it.

Don't let the laziness of this nakshatra fool you. If they have a goal they'll be great at focusing and getting the goal (Just give them a reason to give a F*** to get it but if they really don't care, they be lazy ass about it)

UTTARA PHALGUNI:

Connections are important to them (even if it's shallow at some extend you will observe them social climbing up way to the top)

Friends before hoes nakshatra (The girls of this nakshatra are more hoes into friends they love their partner more than friends tho)

The older partner one that i observe over purva phalguni girls earlier extend to this nakshatra. but for girls too.

Much funnier than you would expect and also not afraid to speak their minds even if someone is gonna get hurt by them. My classmate has this. If she is a celebrity, one second = cancelled!

Now that I've mention that Nicki Minaj has this moon. No wonder why, Some would say her unhinged opinions on certain things is her manifestation at Jyestha, but i would disagree.

(Some unevolved) girls of this nakshatra are not so much girls girl. They don't claim to be one which is fine but you don't need to bring down others. (They doing it for their friends because of connections y'know shittalking)

The abbreviation of I of Uttara phalguni is INDEPENDENT

HASTA:

I underestimated how this nakshatra gets a lot of hate (some of them are understandable tho)

They're great friends tho. they're are f yapper (if they're comfortable at you)

I always observe them. They're like a sexy librarian (common sidereal virgos that i known have a glasses)

If you want a manipulation teacher who can teach you all kinds of manipulation techniques (I'm talking about drawing, forgery and tarots manipulation involving hands) Go to HASTA!!!!!

They're great mimicker and impersonator (not all are accurate but most of them are funny)

Witty nakshatra (they known how to banter)

Females with this nakshatra have MANY male friends.

They're fvcking horny. Don't let the hasta = nun, virgin fool you bruh

Chitra:

Major trolls!! What i mean to be troll is They like to play dumb even if they are not dumb (Extends to Mrigashira and Dhanistha) They're not DUMB.

They have a manipulation for cameras, If hasta excel at being at work or manipulation of paper involving hands, Chitra would excel at editing, photos and also jewels.

Catriona Gray (Miss Universe 2018) has Chitra moon. As you would see, she looks like Olivia Rodrigo (Chitra moon). Her iconic answer in M.U is Silver Lining and correlation of this nakshatra to jewels.

Most of the gay people that i known have this nakshatra

Kylie Jenner has Mars in Chitra conjunct her moon. That's why the influence of the body is very mars like nakshatra (Her sisters that have some Mars nakshatra/Sidereal mars sign have curvy BBL vibes are Kim Kardashian (Chitra sun) Khloe Kardashian (Dhanistha moon) and Kourtney Kardashian (Ashwini Sun))

SWATI

Others expect that Swati would be the Sweet side of the Libra compare to the other two (Libra side of Chitra and Vishakha), They're fvcking BLUNT!!!! They're also proud to be "Scorpios" just like Vishakha.

Common placement to have on Celebrities. Especially on states. The Celebrities we have on my home country is dominated by Mars nakshatra

In the past, I have a crush on this swati guy. First impression to him that he wasn't real (my mind is foggy remembering him, he's the first one I met to be that unique) even tho I spoke and everyday we talk on school (i didn't know vedic astrology when i met him) wasn't aware that i've been channeling this nakshatra and picking up the vibes of him. ( He loves to joke as well)

My interpretation and explanation of why Libra ( extends to Vishakha) are debilitated on this sign is the misguided aggression of this nakshatra. Some would argue that Magha and Purva phalguni have this too (Magha being cocky about it) but Libra are passive aggressive for some reason. They dont know how to properly assert themselves.

Swati are Physically attractive (you're lying if you found one ugly, or just a hater)

VISHAKHA:

I read on tumblr once, I forgot what her tumblr astrology name was but she mention that Vishakha and Cowboy correlation and I agree to this. Beyonce recently made this. In the past Miley Cyrus has Vishkaha moon and she made Jolene cover. Also, Owen Wilson famously play cowboys in his film.

I just don't know how to word this properly but Vishakha looks good (like goody two shoes good noy reffering to good looking) even if they're not (bad attitude).

If were talking about attractiveness of this nakshatra: i would say HOT, SEXY, SEDUCTIVE. Honestly, this nakshatra extends to femme fatale in my opinion.

They're fucking two face ( I know this is the symbol of Purva bhadraphada but Vishakha? Backstabbing if you're UNEVOLVED)

They great at fashion tho. If you want advice just go to Viskaha interms of beauty and fashion. They're great (among all nakshatra i considered them to be great at transforming other people, Claire nakti said this nakshatra was great for makeover so)

#astrology notes #astrology observations #vedic astro notes #vedic astro observations #vedic astrology #claire nakti #pick a card #sidereal astrology #vedic chart #purva phalguni #uttara phalguni #hasta nakshatra #chitra nakshatra #swati #swati nakshatra #Vishakha nakshatra #veronicawildest

[ghouljams]

i’m literally foaming at the mouth of the thought of Soap over Price’s knee. i feel faint, ill. you literally only have god tier takes

It's tricky because Price uses it as a reward more than a punishment. He tries it as a punishment once and Soap comes all over his fatigues. Price doesn't need to try a second time to know by the glassy look in his Sergeant's eye that the man is a masochist. Which is great because Price is a bit of a sadist... Calls Johnny into his office whenever he needs to relieve some stress, and Soap's done something particularly good, and tell him to lock the door as soon as Soap enters. Which Soap does, good little soldier that he is, already starting to get hard as he turns back to look at Price. Price pushes back from his desk, spreads his legs wide and pats his thigh.

It's a nice little ritual for the two of them. Soap settles himself over Price's lap, makes himself comfortable on his Captain's thick thighs, and lets Price slide his hand over the curve of his ass before he's roughly pulling his fatigues down. The rougher the better, if his belt pinches and it gets Price frustrated then good. Soap always tries to make it harder for him, so that when Price swears and finally gets the fabric bunched around his thighs the first slap is hard and stinging.

Never makes him count, just goes until it feels right. Broad hand snapping against Soap's skin, making sure he can feel every callous and scar, watching the Scot's skin start to turn red and his breathing growing heavy. Soap gets the full sting of Price's hand, no holding back, no softness, and Price packs a punch. The man is strong, his age hasn't aged him, and he puts the same blinding pain into every smack. He's quick about it too, and accurate. Price hits the same spot over and over, hits right at the crease of Soap's thighs, so that he can feel it when he pulls his pants up and walks out of the office.

And Soap. Oh Soap enjoys every lash, really he'd rather Price use his belt, but that's for leave. Soap flinches from the first five spanks, but after that, his body relaxes, and each sharp smack just sinks him lower and lower into that heady state. He drools on Price's thigh, his cock twitches and leaks against Price's pants, his eyes roll and he grinds his aching cock against his superior's thigh. They go until Price is ready to stop, and by then there's a significant wet spot on his pant leg.

It doesn't matter. Price pushes them down as soon as Soap is off his lap, pinning his sergeant to the desk and helping him shuck his pants. For all his brattiness, Soap is a very good boy preps himself well before he visits Price so that the man can slide his fat cock against his hole and push right in. And Price may not be as big as Ghost is, but that doesn't mean he doesn't stretch Soap out and fill him to the brim. Sinking his cock into his ass while Soap wraps his legs around Price's waist, tries to steady himself with the edge of the desk digging in to his poor abused thighs.

"You been a good boy for me?" Price asks, slapping Soap across the cheek when he nods his head, grabbing his face in one big hand. Soap opens his mouth to let Price spit on his tongue, lets the excess fluid drip onto the fingers pinching his cheeks together. "Course ya have been, no screw ups all week. Deserve this don'cha?" Another nod, another fat glob of spit on Soap's waiting tongue. The man moans, delirious with pain and pleasure as Price snaps his hips against him. Harsh thrusts without time to adjust. Masochist and Sadist rushing at each other like waves against a rocky shore.

Price gets to fuck his frustrations out, gets to fuck Soap like he's the reason the budget requests get sent back, and the personnel transfers are tied up in red tape. Soap gets the pant and whine like an animal, gets to be fucked so good it hurts and keeps hurting, gets a dry hand wrapped around his leaking cock, stroking him with a too tight fist so that he clenches tighter around Price and comes. So he milks his captain dry with tears streaming down his face. So Price can lick each salty trail off his cheek and murmur what a fucking whore he is.

Soap gets to sit on his knees next to Price's chair and get gentle fingers pet through his mohawk, while Price calls for Gaz or Ghost to come collect him before Price's meeting with Laswell takes a far too personal turn.

#soap mactavish #john soap mactavish #johnny mactavish #captain price mw2 #captain john price #captain price #john price #poly 141 #price x soap #soapprice #soap x price #mdni

[hyperactively-me]

ask from @redzscare

(king!ghost x princess!reader au) -- anger

i just wanna say oh my god, thank you for your inbox message with those two amazing and well thought out ideas!!!! i would also love to know your other ideas if you still have any :) and i know its been over a month since you requested, but i wanted to do your ideas justice! i decided to split them up into two separate pieces so that it can flow better in the story, but i have your first request in my "to be written" notes, and it will be posted in the future!!!! i hope you like it! the angst is immaculate and heart-wrenching. anyway, here is #2!!!

word count: ~3.6k

warnings: fighting/yelling, angst lots of angst/hurt (like A LOT, A TON, he's so mean, you've been warned), hurt/comfort, happy ending!!!

The past few weeks have been nothing but stressful for Kastron. A southern kingdom, for no clear reason, has been trying to infiltrate the borders of Kastron. As the tension between the two realms escalated, King Simon found himself ensnared in the web of political turmoil and military strategies, his every waking moment consumed by the threat looming at the kingdom's doorstep.

As the southern kingdom persisted in its attempts to breach Kastron’s defenses, Simon’s frustration grew. Kastron’s forces have been able to hold off the enemy for the past few weeks, but the battle was proving to get more difficult by the day. His days were spent in council meetings, devising counterstrategies, and restless nights plagued by the knowledge of impending conflict.

Throughout the past few weeks as Simon was extremely busy, you had taken to caring for more things around the castle. By no means was it an easy task. Your already busy schedules were now packed with more mundane, tedious tasks. You had to step into a few roles that Simon usually took care of, thrown into uncharted territory that you now had to know like the back of your hand. 

To say you were stressed was an understatement. To say that you felt secure in this new position would be a lie. Hell, even with your lessons, you were still slightly insecure about helping run a whole kingdom. The lessons were truly helpful, and you really were learning useful information, but to actually put this knowledge into practice proved to be more difficult than you thought; a learning curve, if you will. 

Every evening before you went to bed, you watched Simon with a heavy heart. Stress etched lines on his face, and the once affectionate bond between you strained under the weight of your responsibilities. 

The command room now had countless maps, scrolls, and military reports scattered across the tables, and you found yourself poring over them, trying to decipher strategies that seemed more like cryptic codes than plans for defense. The language of war was harsh, and its intricacies were not easily grasped. You also had to take care of more civilian matters, tending to disputes and other technicalities that arose when handling such matters. Managing the palace as well proved to be more difficult, although it was not as prioritized as other duties you had to upkeep. 

Simon, in his stress and preoccupation, had not noticed the added weight on your shoulders. The castle, usually filled with warmth, now echoed with the sounds of strategizing military personnel and the tension that gripped every corner.

One day, as you were immersed in the endless paperwork, a knock on the chamber door interrupted your thoughts. Simon, looking more fatigued than ever, stood at the threshold.

“I need these reports on the southern borders done by tomorrow morning. Make sure they’re accurate,” he said, his voice clipped and devoid of the usual tenderness. It echoed the commanding voice he reserved for his soldiers.

You take a breath. “I’m not sure I can have those ready for you by tomorrow Simon. Can’t you ask someone else to do them for me? I’m sure Price can—”

“Price is extremely busy devising strategies. He doesn’t have time for paperwork.” 

Simon's curt response echoed through the room, leaving you with a sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach. The weight of the responsibilities, the unrelenting pressure, and now Simon's growing impatience were pushing you to the brink.

“Simon, I'm doing my best,” you pleaded, looking up from the parchment strewn across the table. “I'm still learning, and there's just so much to handle.”

Simon's eyes flashed with frustration. “We don't have the luxury of time for you to ‘learn.’ We need results, and we need them now.”

The exhaustion etched on his face mirrored your own weariness. The kingdom's issues had taken its toll on both of you, driving a wedge between you.

“I’m just asking for your patience,” you implored, hoping for a flicker of understanding in his eyes.

His gaze remained unyielding. “I ask you to take care of things in my absence, to support me. And it seems even that is too much.”

“I'm sorry, but I'm trying my best,” you scoff.

Simon scoffs back, his expression a stern resolve. 

“I don't have time for apologies. I need solutions. Figure it out,” he said, turning on his heel and leaving the room without a backward glance.

Left alone, burdened by the weight of your responsibilities, an angry tear escapes the corner of your eye. The castle walls seem to close in on you, and with a swift motion, you brush the tear away, forcing your attention back to the task at hand.

. . .

It was an innocent mistake, a forgotten task that finally ignited Simon's brewing anger like a firecracker on the brink of explosion. 

As you stood before him, explaining the oversight, his eyes darkened with frustration.

“Are you even paying attention?" Simon's voice rose with frustration.

The storm within him erupted, and hurtful words spilled from his lips like daggers. "How could you be so careless?" he bellowed. "This is important, and you can't even handle the simplest tasks!"

"I'm sorry, Simon. I’ve been busy, but I'll fix it," you pleaded, trying to diffuse the growing storm.

"Fix it?" Simon scoffed, his anger unabated. "You're always making mistakes, aren't you? I don't know why I expected anything different from you. You’re just a fuckin’ spoiled little princess, just complaining about all the work she has to do. You’ve never seen a day of real work in your whole life, and the moment you have to do anything remotely helpful, you become useless.” 

You’re stunned into silence. It feels like your heart has fallen out of your chest, your throat constricting with anxiety. This isn’t the Simon you knew. 

"You can't possibly understand the pressure I'm under!” Simon's voice carried a harsh edge as he spoke, the strain evident in every word.

"I tried my best, Simon. I'm not used to this," you replied, hurt laced through your voice. The word useless echoes through your mind. How could he? 

"Your best isn't good enough. We can't afford mistakes," he snapped.

“We’re supposed to be a team," you responded gently, trying to bridge the growing chasm between you.

But Simon's patience had worn thin. “You can't even manage the affairs within the castle! How am I supposed to rely on you when you can't even handle the simplest tasks?”

"I'm sorry, Simon. I never wanted to let you down," you whispered, your voice barely audible amidst the tension.

"Let me down?" Simon laughed bitterly. "You were never lifting me up in the first place. Just a burden I have to carry alongside everythin’ else I have to worry about."

His words pierced through you like a million iron swords. The once warm and loving connection between you and Simon now felt frayed, hanging by the thinnest of threads. Your attempts to support him had become ammunition for his anger.

"Maybe you're right. Maybe I'm not cut out for this,” you admitted shortly, your shoulders slumping under the weight of defeat.

Simon's expression twisted with a mixture of frustration and exasperation. “That's the first sensible thing you've said.”

His cruel words struck a nerve, tearing down the foundations of trust and understanding that had defined your relationship. His words hung in the air like a bitter aftertaste. Hurt and frustration welled up within you, but you swallowed them and bottled them up, unwilling to add to Simon's burden.

The pain in your eyes did not escape Simon, but his frustration blinded him to the depth of his own words. In that moment, the man you loved seemed like a stranger, his anger, frustrations, and impatience casting a shadow over you.

With a heavy heart, you walk away, desperately holding back tears. It took everything within you to not let out an audible sob, clasping your hand over your mouth. You push open the door hastily, stumbling out into the hallway. You wipe your now falling tears off your cheeks with the back of your hand as you make your way to your old bedroom. 

The echoes of Simon's bitter words lingered in the corridor as you escaped into the dimly lit hallway. Desperation clawed at your chest, and with each step, the weight of his accusations pressed harder. Holding back sobs, you fumbled your way to the shared bedroom, seeking solace in the sanctuary you once knew.

Once inside, the room felt emptier than before, its warmth replaced by an icy chill. Closing the door behind you, you allowed a few silent tears to fall, the pain of Simon's harsh words cutting deep. As you glanced around the room, the memories of happier times haunted the corners. A sense of isolation settled in, and you felt like a stranger in the very place that used to bring comfort. Swallowing hard, you allow yourself to let it all out, crying into the empty bedroom. The resilient facade you had built over the weeks seemed to crumble in the face of his words.

The weight of the crown, both figuratively and literally, felt heavier than ever. With a shudder, you begin to remove the regalia that symbolized your responsibility as queen, a responsibility that had become increasingly difficult.

The empty now seemed like a cold, unwelcoming space. You curled up, hugging a pillow close to your chest, seeking any source of comfort. The room held a somber silence, a silence you haven’t heard since you were last in this room, before you had fallen in love with Simon. 

As sleep finally overcame you, the hope for a better tomorrow mingled with the ache of your strained relationship. 

. . .

Sleep had been elusive, and the echoes of Simon's bitter words reverberated in your mind. With a sigh, you rose from the solitude of your old bedroom, still haunted by the sense of isolation that clung to you.

He hadn’t even come looking for you. 

You had called a maid to help you get dressed in your room, but made her swear to not say anything about you being back in this room to the rest of the staff. You purposefully waited until after your usual breakfast time with Simon to get something to eat, strolling into the kitchen to request a small breakfast. 

After breakfast, you read through your schedule for the day. Today you were supposed to have defense lessons with Simon. Not going to happen. Taking a pen, you scratch it off your to-do list. 

With a sigh, you run through the rest of your plan for the day, mostly consisting of busy work and advising. 

The day unfolded in a haze of responsibilities, each task demanding your focus. Advising on matters of governance and managing the affairs of the kingdom became a refuge, a temporary escape from the emotional turmoil that threatened to swallow you whole.

Dinner that night came and went, and again you had refused to sit at the table with him. Instead, you chose to wait until after he was gone to eat. Sitting at the expansive table, you picked around at your food, taking small bites before you became nauseous with unease. 

This was the longest you’ve gone without Simon the whole time you’ve proclaimed your love for him, and it’s only been a day. After finishing your solitary meal, you made your way to your old bedroom yet again. The night pressed on, silent and unwavering, wrapping the castle in a cocoon of quiet melancholy. And so, you retired to your old bedroom, bracing yourself for another night of sleepless contemplation in the face of a relationship that seemed to be slipping through your fingers.

. . . 

Another agonizingly painful day had gone by of you avoiding Simon. The same evening, he had come to knock on your door.

He called your name from behind the door. His voice sounded gentle, yet strained. 

You stayed silent, unmoving from your curled up position on the bed. 

He persisted, knocking louder this time. 

“Go away,” you yell, fighting back more tears as your heartstrings were being tugged with every time he called your name. 

“‘M not going away until you come out,” his muffled voice filtered through from under the door.

“Yeah, well, I may as well rot away in here. Leave me alone, Ghost.” 

That shut him up immediately. You could hear his footsteps fade away in the distance. 

You sob into your pillow, burying your face in the fabric to muffle your cries. 

. . .

The next morning was rough. You were groggy, two nights of restless sleep taking a toll on you. Right before you entered the kitchen for breakfast you were stopped by Ghost. He had jumped in front of you out of nowhere, blocking you from entering the kitchen. 

“Dove, please—” he began. 

“Don’t call me that, get away from me–”

You try to sidestep him, looking at the ground as you attempt to move past him. 

“Just listen to me–” he grabs your shoulders firmly, forcing you to stay in place.

“Let go of me–” you shrug his hands off, yanking his wrists off your shoulders with a vice grip. He lets you shake him off you, but still moves to block you from entering the kitchen.

You sigh angrily, finally looking up at him with a death glare. 

“Oh, you finally need me for something, right? Is this what this is all about?” 

Simon's eyes held a mixture of concern and frustration. “I need to talk to you. Please, just listen to me.”

The coldness in your expression didn't waver. “Talk? Is this about another mistake I made, or perhaps you've found another fault in your ‘spoiled princess’?”

Simon winced at the reference to his hurtful words. “No, it's not about that. It's about us. I... I overreacted, and I said things I shouldn't have. I need you to understand the pressure I'm under.”

A bitter laugh escaped your lips. “Pressure? Yes, I understand. I've been picking up work and dealing with responsibilities I’m not prepared for. I understand pressure very well.”

Simon's jaw tightened, regret flashing in his eyes. "I know I've been distant, and I've let this problem consume me for the past few weeks. But, dove, we can work through this. I need you.”

Your anger flared. “Now you need me? When everything is falling apart? What about when I needed you? You were too busy berating me.” 

The word berating came out stressed, and a flare of emotions bubbled in your chest. You fought against tears threatening to spring from your eyes. 

Simon's expression softened, nothing but remorse in his eyes. "I fucked up. I should’ve never said those things to you. I was wrong, and I’m sorry. Please, let me make it right.”

You shake your head, taking a step back. 

“You can't just apologize and expect everything to go back to normal. Words have consequences.” A fat tear rolls down your cheek. “I’m not one of your soldiers you can order around.” 

The moment Simon sees the tear, knowing that he’s the cause of it, he comes crashing down. 

He drops to his knees in front of you, his eyes pleading with a desperate intensity. “I never meant to hurt you. I can't bear to see you cry, especially because of me. Please, give me a chance to make things right.”

You sniffle, wiping the tear away quickly. The raw vulnerability in his voice tugged at your heart, but you held onto the shards of your wounded pride. 

He reaches for you, holding your hips tightly in his grasp as he looks up at you from the floor. His hands on your hips sought reassurance, his eyes pleading for a chance at redemption. You fold your arms over your chest, hugging yourself tightly. 

“Please, love, please, I will do anything, I’ll prove to you every single day for the rest of my life that I can treat you the way you deserve. I don’t want to turn into my father.” 

His thumbs press into the flesh of your hips, his usual stoic demeanor crumbles, and in this moment of vulnerability, he’s laying bare his regrets. 

His father. His terrible, disgusting, abusive father. 

"You’re not turning into your father, Simon," you whispered, your voice carrying reassurance. "But you also can't treat me like that ever again. We're a team. But it's also not just about the words. It's about trust and understanding.”

He nods, swallowing thickly. 

"Please, dove," he implored, his voice choking with emotion. “I never meant to hurt you like this. I'm begging you, give me a chance to make things right. I can't stand to see you in pain.”

“I miss you,” he whispers, and you spot a few tears in the corners of his eyes. You’ve never seen him cry before. “I miss you, and I don’t deserve you. Not after what I did to you.” 

Your heart wavered, torn between the hurt he caused and the raw vulnerability he now displayed. The sight of Simon, a powerful and composed ruler, reduced to tears, spoke volumes about the depth of his regret.

As you looked down at him, a swirl of conflicting emotions clouded you. Part of you wanted to pull him into an embrace, to reassure him that things could get better. Yet, the wounds were still fresh, and trust can’t be easily mended. You swipe his tears away with the pad of your thumb. 

“Simon,” you began, your voice gentle but firm, "this isn't something that can be fixed overnight. It's going to take time."

He nodded vigorously, his tear-streaked face desperate for any glimmer of hope. "I'll do anything, dove. Anything to make it right.”

The sincerity in his voice resonated, and for a moment, you softened. “Simon, I need you to understand that we're in this together. We need to communicate and support each other.”

Simon nodded, a genuine determination in his eyes. "I promise you, I'll be there for you. No more takin’ out my frustrations on you, it will never happen again, so long as I live.” 

You sighed, the weight of the situation still heavy on your shoulders. “Actions speak louder than words.”

He nodded again, his gaze unwavering. "I'll prove it to you, every day."

Releasing your hips, Simon stood up, his eyes never leaving yours. The air between you held a mix of tension and tentative hope. 

“I love you, dove. I love you.”

He wipes his face clear of the tears, and you stand there, twisting your hands together. His hands brush over your upper arms, causing you to shiver slightly, but this time you don’t back away. You let him ever so slowly pull you in for a hug, and you reluctantly grasp on to his tunic. His arms pull you in tighter now, and he strokes your hair in reassurance. 

You breathe out the quietest, “I love you.”

. . .

A few weeks passed, and the castle, once shrouded in tension, began to regain its warmth. The scars of those horrendous three days were healing, and your relationship with Simon has strengthened more than ever. The air was lighter and you felt like a significant change had occurred between you and Simon. 

Simon had indeed lived up to his promise. He consistently showed effort in rebuilding trust. Small, thoughtful gestures became the norm—unexpected flowers, shared quiet moments, and the tenderness in his voice returned. The voice he has reserved only for you. You had moved back into his room after a while, sharing a bed again has never felt so good for you. Honestly, you were relieved. You didn’t have any doubt that Simon wouldn’t live up to his promises. 

The castle had transformed back into a sanctuary. The sounds of strategizing military personnel were replaced with the hum of everyday life. The warmth returned, and the tension that once gripped every corner dissipated like a distant memory.

The conflict in the south had been resolved after Kastron’s forces were successfully able to defend the border. Their motives were still unclear, but Simon had put it behind him. 

One evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, you found yourself in the garden. The air was crisp, and the fragrance of blooming flowers filled the space. Simon joined you, and together you strolled through the gardens, hand in hand.

“I missed this,” you smile, leaning into Simon’s side. 

Simon tightened his grip around you, his eyes softening as he looked at the vibrant hues of the sunset. "I missed this too."

The weight that once burdened your relationship had lifted, replaced by a renewed sense of connection and trust. The garden echoed with the shared laughter and whispered promises of your love, and it always will. 

Simon glanced down at you, a hint of playfulness in his eyes. “Do you remember the first time we walked through these gardens together?” he asked, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

You giggled, the memory surfacing in your mind. "How could I forget? You were trying to plant the most random assortment of seeds during the off-season.”

Simon laughed, a genuine sound that warmed your heart. “I was nervous. I wanted everything to be perfect.”

“And look at us now,” you said, gazing up at him. “Perfectly imperfect.”

He pressed a tender kiss to your forehead. “I love you, darlin.’”

The sincerity in his words made your heart flutter. “I promise to always be with you.”

The sun dipped lower, casting a warm glow over the castle and the garden. As you continued your leisurely stroll, the castle loomed in the distance, its turrets illuminated by the fading sunlight. 

The stars began to twinkle in the evening sky, and Simon pulled you closer. “Let's stay out a bit longer, yeah?”

“Mhm,” you nod, nuzzling against him. 

You take a beat.

“I love you, too,” you whisper. 

He strokes your waist, squeezing your flesh in his grip.

“I love you.”

- - - - -

(masterlist)

#simon ghost riley x reader #ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #simon ghost x you #simon ghost x reader #simon riley x you #simon ghost riley x you #simon “ghost” riley x reader #simon “ghost” riley x you #hyperactivelyme

[kaizokuniichan]

Attention Part 2 - Do Not Disturb

Pairing: Roronoa Zoro/AFAB Reader (referred to as she/her)/Trafalgar Law

Summary: Law ponders how he got hung up on you in the first place

CW: Dry humping

Note: I appreciate all of the positive responses on Part 1!

Next Chapters: Part 3, Part 4, Part 5

Also I’ve been trying to look at blueprints of the Sunny Go to paint a more accurate description of the ship but then I said fuck it, so it is what it is lmfao

(Divider by @cafekitsune Banner by @/eelnoise)

Word Count: 3.7k

MDNI; 18+ readers please

Law knew you were into Zoro, and he shouldn’t have cared, but he did. It was inappropriate, this infatuation he had for you. He was the Captain of a rival pirate crew, and you were a Strawhat. None of this should’ve even been a concern.

He also had to keep reminding himself that this close proximity to you was temporary. He’d soon be reunited with his crew in Zou, they’d head to Wano, and then there would be no time for any of this after that. All of this extra fluff was unnecessary and should be pushed aside. The happenings of you and your fellow crew member were none of his concern. So why was it bothering him when he’d see how easily you unfurled yourself around him? How easy it was for you to lean on him? How it took nothing for you to allow him to share in your warmth? Zoro had such easy access to you, such a head start in forming a space for himself in your life. Why did that bother Law so much?

Overhearing your flirtatious, easygoing banter from below the crow’s nest had dropped an iceberg in his gut, and lit a fire under his feet. Of course Zoro was what you wanted. He was ruggedly handsome, fiercely loyal, and exhibited an ever-growing strength that made people question how and why he was only second in command. It’s not that Law was insecure; he was very sure of himself, both intellectually and physically. And not that he particularly cared about what he looked like, although he did want to look good to you and for you. He just wished he’d been presented with an even playing field. Every odd was stacked against him.

You’d been a beacon of comfort for him during his stay on the Sunny. A true companion. You knew how to give him his space, always following his lead in how to navigate each other. You listened intently, never steamrolling his thoughts or ideas with your own. You knew the right things to say to make him think introspectively, rather than feel the need to offhandedly throw a snarky remark. Whenever he felt overstimulated by the sheer volume and lunacy of everyone around him, you’d seek him out and guide him away to settle down somewhere more quiet. You were…so refreshing.

Law could tell he was peeling back your layers as well. Your initial neutral expression was one of practiced indifference, eyes glazing over him as if your mind swam elsewhere. You weren’t as uptight as he was, but he could tell there was a part of you that was still holding yourself back, like you were afraid of becoming too comfortable.

Law enjoyed feeling like he was one of the few people with whom you shared the truest parts of yourself with. Sometimes you’d sit beside him, offering little nuggets of inner dialogue that drew him in, intent on listening and absorbing. Things like how difficult it was for you to trust because of your upbringing. How you held back so much of your rage because you didn’t want to hurt those around you. How thankful you were for finding family within your crew, and learning how to accept their love. Every breadcrumb you fed him helped to lower his guard. You’d give a little bit of yourself to him, and he’d give a little bit of himself to you in return.

The problem was he’d given too much of himself, and now he’d grown attached. Maybe it was the absence of stress fueled by his revenge. Maybe it was your calm and wistful eyes as you exchanged little anecdotes about your lives. Maybe, it was the heat from your thigh, pressed against his during mealtime, or the brush of your arm against his when you’d pass each other. Whatever it was, it was making him weak.

Exasperated with his mutinous thoughts, he decided to take a late night stroll to the library to pour over some medical texts. Smiling to himself, he was brought back to a conversation he’d had with you where you’d applauded him for his resilience in studying medicine and his desire to help people. He’d been so elated by your praise that he’d spent an embarrassingly long 20 minutes bragging about how he’d developed a multi-use vaccine for several different viral mutations. But you’d sat there attentive as ever, head resting in your palm, humoring him as he prattled on about a new vaccine study. Your eyes never wavered for a second, not even when you admitted that you had no idea what he was talking about. But that was ok, he was willing to teach you things. Lots of things. Many things.

As he passed the aquarium bar, his ears perked at the sounds of soft melodic music seeping through the cracks of the door. He knew it was you; you were the only one who would be playing music this time of night. Quickly making the decision to take advantage of the moment (he had to do something; that fire was still lit beneath his feet after all) he diverted his focus to the bar.

He actually quite enjoyed the aquarium bar. It gave him a sense of familiarity, being in a room partially submerged and visible sea creatures swimming past the glass. It would be the perfect setting for him to comfortably test the waters with you. If you responded well to his advances, well. What else could he do?

As he pushed open the door his eyes met with yours as you curled up under a thin blanket in a corner of the cushioned bench, book in hand.

“Sorry, room’s already occupied, but you can join me if you like. I promise I won’t disturb you.”

You sat up with a sleepy smile, letting the blanket fall to your lap. Law steeled his features, fighting against the distraction that was your rarely-worn glasses perched upon your nose, accentuating your freshly cleansed face. He’d forgotten how much he liked seeing you like this, soft and cozy, almost as if you were meant to be swaddled in his oversized clothes. You always looked pretty, but this time of night was when Law hoped to bump into you the most.

He should’ve known he’d find you awake somewhere at this time of night. Your insomnia was unrivaled, even compared to his. The first time you’d had a real conversation with him, it was around the fifth night he’d been on the ship, sometime around 3am when you’d walked in on him in the infirmary. Without missing a beat, he’d bluntly stated that you looked like you hadn’t slept in a week, to which you’d replied with a cool rebuttal that that seemed like an improvement since most of the time it could be longer than that. Interest mildly piqued, he’d invited you to come in and join him while he searched for an article that detailed the study of sleep aids. You’d sat quietly on the infirmary bed, knees up to your chest. He’d spent about 10 minutes rifling through various books until you interrupted his thoughts to ask how long he’d studied medicine.

“Since I was a child,” he’d replied in a clipped tone, halting any further discussion. He waited for you to pry, but you inquired no more about it.

“Well if it’s going to take a while to find what you’re looking for don’t worry about it. I don’t want to interrupt your studies from earlier.”

Law was nothing else if not a perfectionist, so leaving a patient untreated went against his very nature.

“Just give me a couple of days, I’ll find something for you.”

“Ok.” You’d replied, taking your leave without so much as a glance back.

Law had been utterly dumbfounded by the sterile encounter, surprised that someone as curt as you affiliated yourself with a crew like the Strawhats. You didn’t fear him, didn’t distrust him, didn’t hate him. You didn’t invade his space by being overly comfortable. You didn’t give off anything that suggested you formed any opinion of him or spared any thought of him at all. You’d just sought his help without feeling entitled to it.

A few days later he’d come to you with a medical sleep aid that he’d whipped up, and explained that it wouldn’t be a miracle cure but it would shorten the amount of days you’d go without sleep. You’d accepted it with a small thanks and turned to walk away before turning back around to address him.

“Heads up, the boys set off one of Usopp’s stink bombs outside the infirmary, so if you’re looking for a quiet place to stay tonight I suggest the library. I’ll be up there too but I won’t disturb you.”

I won’t disturb you. That was always your go to response to him. He should’ve known then that it would be different with you. With Robin, whom he’d found a quiet kinship with, it always felt like he was being observed. Law liked to observe, not be observed. Pick apart too much and he’d crack, too open and tender underneath.

With you it was more like the to and fro of the sea. You’d give a little and then pull back. Adapting to his energy and retreating when he’d had enough. He’d humor you and volley back little trinkets of himself, and in turn you’d open up a little more for him, sharing bits of yourself in exchange for what he offered you. As more time passed, those exchanges grew more hearty, rich with more substance beyond idle small talk.

Bringing himself back to the playful banter he’d overheard between you and Zoro, he felt himself deflate as he realized he’d been craving a place for himself with you that had already been filled by someone else. He didn’t hold any ill feelings towards Zoro, he just hated the feeling of something slipping away. Any good that came into his life he tended to hold on tightly to. But the bit of good he’d found in you he couldn’t even have, whether there was someone else for you or not.

Feeling restless with his thoughts he focused his attention back to you, still staring at him expectantly, awaiting his next move. You were always so patient with him, always waiting for him to respond in his own time.

Fuck the logistics of what he should and shouldn’t have. The competition of it all was more appealing anyway.

“It’s fine, you don’t bother me,” he muttered, closing the door softly behind him.

You settled back into your nest, still watching as he took a seat on the bench across from you, leaning Kikoku to the side.

“Did you want to use my blanket? Since your skin’s always so cold, probably because of that iron deficiency of yours.”

Law chuckled, shaking his head. You were always poking fun at the temperature of his skin during the brief moments you touched.

“I’ve told you before my iron levels are normal, I just run cool.”

You hummed in response, sitting back up.

“Actually, do you mind if I sit over there next to you? This vent is blowing directly on me.”

It was bullshit and he knew it. You were offering another crumb and he was fighting not to accept it. It was too tempting. Too risky. Too inappropriate. Too-

“Sure.”

Well, that fire had started nipping at his ankles after all.

You squeaked as you got up, shuffling over to him with your blanket draped over your shoulders like a cape. Taking notice of your tank top and sleep shorts he tutted.

“You know, there’s these things called pants if you ever want to try them. I heard they keep your legs warm.”

Huffing down next to him, you pulled your knees up to cross your legs.

“Ok prude. Do my legs offend you?”

Feeling the back of his neck heat, he turned to the side to place his hat down next to him.

“That’s not what I meant.”

He already felt like he’d said too much, giving you an opening to taunt him. He didn’t want you to think he was shaming you, but he also didn’t mean to make any reference to your body. No matter how alluring it was.

“Well lend me some of yours then. I’m sure I’d look good in them.”

Law stiffened, choking on his saliva as he forced the visual aside. Realizing you’d given him pause, you scooted back from his space and turned to your reading.

“I thought you favored a certain swordsman’s hoodie anyway,” he quipped, mouth curling into a playful smile.

Popping your head back up, a light gasp fell from your lips and you grinned, catching his lighthearted jab.

“Sometimes I require a variety of swordsmen clothes. Makes for an eclectic wardrobe.”

“Uh huh,” he quirked a brow, returning to his book.

Setting yours aside, you moved closer to him again, leaning on his un-bandaged arm.

“What are you reading about today, Doctor?”

The intoxicating scent of your hair, sweet and fruity from all of your oils and moisturizers, curled up into his nose and found purchase in his head. You were so close. It would take nothing for him to turn to you and-

“Flesh-eating bacteria.”

“Ew,” you recoiled, wrinkling your nose. Missing your warmth, Law spread his legs further so his thigh could press against yours.

“Nothing to worry about. I have a technique that can wipe out almost every one of those bacteria in an instant.”

Wrapping your hand around his arm, you looked up at him with mischief in your eyes.

“You know, I’d love to see all of your techniques,” you purred, leaning more against him.

This was it. You were toying with him now, and that settled it. Too much had been brewing between you, and you were both alone without any prying eyes so…

You startled at the snap of him shutting his book, shifting back again.

“I’m sorry, I took that too far. I said I wouldn’t disturb you-”

Leaning over you, he cut off your apologies with his hand cupping your cheek, easing into your space. So close he could see your pulse beat against your neck.

“What are you trying to do,” he murmured, the timber of his voice filled with smoke.

“Law I…I can’t help it. You make me feel like I’ve regained a part of myself. And you’ve helped me feel…more free.”

Free. Interesting choice of words considering he’d only just regained his own freedom.

“What about him?”

You nibbled your lip, searching for a response.

“Don’t worry about that right now. I’m here with you aren’t I?”

Law took note of the giant red flag waving in his face, but he was too drunk on you to care.

“Alright.”

Pulling your face closer, he clasped his lips with yours. A sigh settled in your chest as he caressed your cheek with his thumb.

You let the blanket slip from your shoulders to wrap your hands around the back of his neck.

The angle was odd since he was facing front and you were at his side, still cross-legged, so he moved his hand down to your waist, guiding you to straddle his lap. Taking off your glasses and placing them to the side, you fell more into the kiss as you tangled your fingers into his hair, whimpering as he gripped your waist tightly, molding you against him.

After savoring the softness of your lips, Law’s mouth journeyed down to your jaw, nibbling on the soft flesh. You chased his mouth to bring it back to yours, slipping your tongue into his mouth as you shifted to situate yourself more comfortably. He groaned as he entwined his tongue with yours, your breaths colliding. He soon parted from your lips to continue his journey down to your throat, giving you a possessive bite.

You rewarded him with a shameless moan, pressing your breasts against his chest as you rocked your hips against him. He slid his hands down to grip your ass, guiding you against his growing bulge.

”Mm. Just like that baby.”

“Law, fuck.”

He smirked, licking at the raw skin of where he’d just bitten you and began littering kisses along the other side of your throat.

“Fuck you’re so sweet,” he groaned, spreading his legs wider as you ground against him. The friction in his jeans became unbearable and you pouted as he shifted you back to unzip his pants, just enough to give his cock more room. And to minimize the layers of clothes between the two of you.

You straightened your back and stared between his legs, mouth hanging open. He tried to wipe the smirk from his face but failed. Law wasn’t really a humble man, though in this instance he did try to be. He knew what he was working with, and a sick satisfaction bloomed inside him knowing you were impressed.

“I didn’t tell you to stop,” he muttered, pulling you back to continue grinding on his clothed cock. Fuck, this was so much better. He could feel the heat from your core as you moved more firmly against him. Placing your arms on his shoulders, you dropped your head and whimpered, rolling your hips. Bringing one of his hands up from your waist, he tipped your head back to stare into your eyes.

“Keep your mouth on me too.”

Biting your lip, you crushed your mouth against his, winding your arms around his neck to press a palm onto the glass of the aquarium. The music you’d set still droned on, the melody of your moaning and whimpering accompanying it perfectly. Your pussy had grown wet enough that it now dampened his own underwear, and he knew he was going to lose his composure very soon. His arm wound around your middle tightened so fiercely he feared he might squeeze the life out of you. He couldn’t let you go even if he tried.

“Law, I think I-“

“Just use me, I’ll get you there.”

You placed both hands onto the glass, fully abandoning kissing him in lieu of rutting your hips against his, solely to get yourself off. He looked up to see your face, lips parted and a sheen of sweat dotting your forehead. You were beautiful. He slipped his hands beneath your shirt to cup your breasts, squeezing them and pinching your nipples to make you yelp.

“Shh, you’ve gotta be quiet. Just let go for me alright? Can you do that?”

You nosed your face into the crook of his neck, whining as you rocked your hips faster and clutched him tighter to your chest until you seized, stuttered gasps tumbling from your lips.

Law’s legs were spread impossibly wide as he used that last dregs of his energy to grip your thighs and buck against you, giving you everything he had until he grunted and spilled, pressing his face into your shoulder and groaning through his release.

As you both came down, the sounds of the music stopped. Drinking in thick gulps of air, you and him remained still, collapsed against each other. With every passing second it became more apparent that the hole he’d dug for himself crumbled deeper and deeper. He’d crossed the line. If anyone on either side found out what they’d just done it’d be tacked onto the ever growing list of bullshit he’d have to deal with. He wasn’t scared of a fight, he just hated unnecessary conflict. How was he going to face everyone tomorrow?

“You’re gonna overthink yourself into a coma aren’t you?”

You finally sat up to question him, eyebrows furrowed.

“We shouldn’t have done that,” he sighed, still panting. Still wanting.

You fixed him with a hard stare, and he could see that you were fighting the urge to tell him off. He wilted as he fought the urge to pull you back as you removed yourself from his lap. Gathering up your blanket and book, you turned away and prepared to exit.

“Alright Law. Goodnight.”

There was that same curt tone you’d given him the first time you spoke. He hadn’t heard you speak to him like that in ages and it made him sink further. Your ability to give him his space, the thing he liked most about you, was the very thing that killed him in this very moment.

Buttoning his jeans back up and ignoring the mess he’d made in his boxers, he focused on your book and held out his hand.

“Room.”

As you turned back around, he’d already swapped places with your book, blocking your way to the door.

“Please.” he whispered, taking your face into his hands. When was the last time he’d said please for anything?

“Please, just be patient with me.”

Your eyes shined as you looked up at him, swirling with confusion and frustration.

“Law, I know this is fucked up,” you said, wrapping one of your hands around his, “and I know this puts you in a difficult position. I just. I just don’t care.”

He snorted as you shrugged nonchalantly, thumb rubbing against your lips as he turned you around and backed you against the door. You really were a pirate, carelessly moving to the beat of your own drum. You smiled against his thumb and gave it a peck.

“Just let me figure things out alright?”

“Ok.”

You gave him a wink and he stepped back to allow you to turn around and exit the room. He popped his head out into the hallway, watching you walk back to the women’s quarters. Just as you’d made it to the end of the hallway you collided into Zoro’s hard body, falling back from the force of the impact. He caught you around the waist, pulling you back up to hold you close to his chest. You stared at each other for a few beats before you burst into laughter, wrapping your arms around his middle and turning him around to continue walking with you. Your laughter could still be heard as the two of you rounded the corner, his arm still tightly around your waist.

Law’s mind was a maelstrom of conflicting emotions. He was so fucked.

#myfic #Roronoa Zoro x reader #Trafalgar Law x reader #zoro x reader #law x reader #roronoa zoro #Trafalgar law #attention series

[levmada]

Hey how are you feeling?

Im glad your requests are still open. Loved the answer to my last request so I hope you don’t mind me sending in another one?

Some cute hurt/comfort with taller gn reader and postwar Levi. After the ackermanbond is gone I imagine Levi getting really sick for the very first time. Fever and everything also adding the flashbacks to when his mom got sick. And reader ofc nursing him back to health and also comforting him 🧡

im so so so so so so SO sorry😭i took literal months with this sari... i wish i had a good excuse, but i hope you like this :(

i took a lot of inspo from this eruri fic from ao3. stress cannn cause flu-like symptoms, and i wanted this to be the outcome of all those years of suffering for levi finally catching up to him.

probably not medically accurate: it's not very clear what the nature of levi's knee injury. it's seen partially crushed, but it's not clear what medical technology marley has (especially w/ the last volume cover in mind). i'm functioning on my idea that levi can't get around without a wheelchair, but he does have range of motion, partly based on the health of the cartilage/joints/bone, but mostly based how painful it is. it's more complicated than that, but i wanted to add a disclaimer anyway.

(tldr this is the levi torture hour)

➥ pairing: postwar!Levi x taller!gn!reader

➥ about: Not even Levi is invulnerable, both after the war and back then, so it's stupid to be scared when he gets sick.

Until it isn't.

➥ c/w: sick fic, post-war Levi, delirium/nightmares, reverse hurt comfort, implied past csa, happy ending (promise), medical inaccuracies, nightmares, established relationship (married)

➥ wc: 5.3k

In the comfortable, quiet rays of mid-morning, you hum to yourself, and sip your mug of tea. You watch a white cardinal with red tips toddle on the windowsill on the other side of the glass. That’s rare.

It takes off.

You trace the rim of your mug, sighing slowly but heavily through your nose. It’s getting harder not to think about it.

You want to think that—now that you and Levi are retired (what an odd word…)—it’s reached that natural time to start sleeping better. Sleeping in, not out of an absurdly rare indulgence, but to relax.

It’s been nine months, not counting the few Levi was cooped-up in the hospital.

Even for him, relaxation shouldn’t be impossible after some point. In fact, he hasn’t shot awake just before dawn for a while, anticipating a reveille that won’t ring out.

But you fought beside him; your bad habits and your happiness wrestle over the reality of your new life too.

But…

You reach across the small wood table and hover your hand over the cup of tea you poured for him; decent, but not piping hot and steaming like earlier.

This will be a once in a lifetime opportunity: you get to coax Levi out of bed late in the morning.

You stand, bringing your arms behind your head to stretch just a little as you walk to the hall, down to the bedroom. The door is cracked like you left it.

Like a tired waterfall, the vast majority of the thick covers lay spilled haphazardly to the floor, so you’re surprised even before you take a look at Levi, who’s still curled up asleep, facing your way. That leaves his back to the light glowing through the curtains.

He kicked them off?

Like the sheets, his sweater is white; his trousers are dark, loose and cut (with his knee brace on underneath). With his arms tightly crossed like that, and the harsh crease sitting on his brow, he almost looks awake and stressed out.

“G’morning, ‘Vi…”

Importantly, his pallor, normally as pale as snow, glows pink. A few strands of black cling to his forehead.

You stride over with a bit of a frown that wasn’t as deep when you were feeling just plain impatient, and take a sit on the edge of the bed.

“Are you feeling sick, baby…?”

That crease deepens. He twitches awake. "M-Mm?"

Now that you’re close, you notice his breathing is a little labored. You touch your knuckles to his temple. Eyes barely crack open.

"Sweetheart, ‘Vi… You definitely have a fever..."

You comb his bangs off his damp forehead, and they close.

The heat radiating off his skin—you grimace a little.

Actually... have you ever seen Levi so much as under the weather? You can’t even remember.

He shifts slightly, as your strokes rouse him.

"Do you feel sick?" you ask for the second time.

"Huh? I'm fine..."

His eyes finally blink open, fluttering once or twice. But then, a shadow passes over his face that seems to disprove that assertion of his.

He shoves his elbow underneath himself and starts to lift himself up. "Stop—fretting. 'm fine."

He gets most of the way; he’s resting heavily on one arm when he grunts, then leans.

"Stop, sweetheart," you huff, and take him by the shoulder. "What hurts? Your head?"

Looking dazed, like he’s not all there, he lifts his bad hand to his temple and, with his ring and little finger, feels his temple.

“Don’t know…”

"Lay back down, you clearly need some rest—even if this is rare for you, okay?"

“What?” He looks perturbed with you. “Don’t be stupid. There’s too much t’do. N’ I’m fine,” he grumbles, blatantly lying.

"Levi..." you warn.

"I'm just... tired," he mumbles. He rubs his eye with his thumb. "Fuck. Fucking tired."

His strength starts to evaporate as his eyes slip closed.

In an instant—before he collapses—you thrust your arms around him, and lay him back down on his side slowly.

It doesn’t quite hit you until you maneuver his arm out from under him, and listen to his even but labored breathing for a bit of time.

You stare down, eyes wide. Are you scared?—Or anxious?

Well either way—it’s not until you stopped being at risk for a violent death day-in and day-out for years that you even realized you were constantly anxious.

It’s not a nice feeling.

It’s okay. Though. You rationalize. Not even Levi is impervious to everything, and certainly not now. It’s stupid to be surprised.

You feel his forehead with the back of your hand one more time, and kiss your teeth. Definitely a fever, but an exact number wouldn’t hurt.

The thermometer and other simple medicines are shoved in one of the high kitchen cabinets, a second thought when you both moved into this quaint little cabin in the woods (aside from his prescriptions). You didn’t even say it out loud, even. 

Now pinched between your fingers, you stand back and stutter on your feet, unsure of what else you need. You want to need something more helpful, but the need to go and check back on him is most powerful. 

A short ways down the hall, you pick up on the unbelievable yet unmistakable sound of… crying. Unrestrained, and yet, the kind of crying that steals breath. 

You expect to wake up as soon as you reach the bedroom—some disturbing but absurd dream.

But you don’t. He’s curled up where you left him, eyes closed but now gasping sharply through his teeth with tears glistening on his cheeks. One drips off his trembling chin.

You drop onto the edge of the bed immediately, and try to speak, but find yourself helplessly stuck at a complete loss as to where to even start.

“Why…” You card your fingers through his hair, to no reaction. He must be asleep, right?—But how, why?

“Hey, hey, c’mere,” you coo gently, sitting so as to swaddle his back and caress his head.

You make it all not sound like a question. “Everything’s okay. It’s okay, sweetheart… Wake up.”

His eyes tightly shut, and tears squeeze through. He croaks. “Can wake up.”

It takes a moment for you to register that he really meant to pronounce it as “can’t”.

“…You sound sorta freaked out, and you want to talk to Falco?—Is Levi alright??”

You silently curse Gabi for being so observant.

“Which place? I have the books, um, right here…!”

“No…” You swallow a little, and coil the bright red cord to the phone around and around your finger. You wish it was as simple as some tinnitus, or nerve pain. 

“No?” Gabi asks on a high lilt; a question within a question.

“I know. He never gets sick, which is why I want to talk to Falco. I appreciate you trying to help, but please hurry?”

“Oh yeah, okay!”

You peer over your shoulder from your place stood in the hall and rock on your heels nervously. The only space of time you could find where you could bear to leave him was when he was quiet.

Falco has matured so much, even over the past year, and you trust him with this. He’s training to be a doctor; being a soldier never suited him much anyway. Levi was the first to say so, as usual the perfect judge of character. 

You speak slowly and calmly to him, encouraged by his own composure.

“It sounds like a flu, just with that added symptom,” he’s thinking out loud. Thin pages turn. “Severe stress can cause flu-like symptoms sometimes… Especially when it’s prolonged. Does that sound like anything?” 

 “No. No way.” You shake your head, your brow pinched tightly. In fact you laugh. “Haven’t fought any Titans lately, at least.”

His voice lowers, thinking as he talks. “True, yeah. Especially for you guys, nothing could ever really compare, right?”

“You have no idea. Not with Levi.”

“We can talk about it another time, maybe,” you amend quickly. You know almost for certain that’s not going to happen.

Falco hums. “Anyway, if that’s the case, that would explain why it’s been so severe, with the sudden onset. But think of it like a fever he needs to sweat out,” he explains.

“Y-Yeah?”

“Yeah.” You hear the light smile in his voice. “Don’t be too far away, though. It’s easy to tell, you know.”

You smile to yourself.

Even if the Rumbling somehow started back up above your head, you’d rather die. 

You write on a little notepad—some scrawl verbatim—Falco’s directions and words of advice, the phone trapped between your ear and shoulder. Most of it is generic, for influenza of course, but you write. 

A blunt but dense thump sounds not so far away. You even flinch, but just as quickly let Falco know you’ll be right back.

In the bedroom, the pale blue duvet and sheets spilled onto the floor looks like a stiff waterfall being wrenched this way and that by Levi’s attempts to sit back up, like a puppet trying to pull its own strings. He grunts in what sounds like frustration, but you can’t know for sure as his bangs obscure his eyes. His hair all over is a downright wreck.

Gaping, you fall down beside him and hurry working off all the offending fabrics he’s twisted in. 

“Lee—…”

Your help lets his shaky hand hover over his knee, like he can’t be sure if it’s his. He’s breathing hard; it’s ten times shakier than his hand.

“Come here.”

He doesn’t so much as twitch, but he doesn’t resist either. Then, when something in him registers that you’re there, he leans into you like you’ve just brought the weight of the world off his shoulders. 

You tug the soft pantleg up, and sigh at what you see. The scarring, like a row of pink and purple mountains stabbed into his flesh, is more inflamed than usual, leg minutely trembling when you raise it.

He must’ve tried to stand up.

“Does it hurt very bad?”

Not even such an obvious question gets you a retort of any kind. He whines softly when you have to brace that area to lift him back up, but no more.

From the dull darkened blue cotton in the shape of a V in the center of his chest, and coming down from his underarms, he’s burning up; you need to get started just as soon as you’re finished with Falco. For now, you wipe his clammy temples and brush his bangs back. He’s looking at you, but he doesn’t seem to see.

“Levi…” You press on his round cheeks under your palms, grimacing at the heat pelting off his skin.

He moans softly, some relief softening his features. “Huh. Take m’jack-et. Yer cold.”

You shake your head even though he can’t see, as, sharply and without warning, tears appear and stab at your eyes. He’s not even wearing a jacket. 

“Be right back,” you manage. “Okay?”

You don’t really expect a response, and you don’t get one.

First thing’s first, he needs water. You feel stupid not thinking of that first. That was at the top of Falco’s directions. 

You catch Levi in a moment of relative quiet—not peace, but quiet—and cradle the back of his neck, unhinging his jaw with your other. Easy enough. You tip the glass and feed him water with the utmost care and precision. This is some act terribly intimate, a type of intimacy removed from hand-holding or sex entirely while managing to rank above them both. Over all these years, his life has been in your hands a few times, but feeding him pills—something for the fever and something for the pain—and working his shirt off for something fresh and loose-fitting feels more reverent even still. You put him in shorts and practically fortify his knee with a brace and pillows wrapped up with the belt of a housecoat so even if he rolls over, he won’t.

He chokes on a sob while you’re tucking a cold press behind his neck, forcing you to stop. His eyes squeeze shut.

“Levi?” you ask softly.

Either he’s having a nightmare, or he’s in pain, or, both. He tightens his crossed arms. His first movement in hours.

“What hurts? Falco said it might be your head.”

Another sob bursts from him. “S’head’s all over the wall, looked, it… sorry….”

He continues mumbling, but none of it sounds like words. 

"Levi, it's okay, it's okay. Okay, baby? S'okay," you murmur; on and on. The washcloth has gotten smushed between his shoulder and the pillow—you set that somewhere aside. Then you lean over, rubbing with your thumbs the tears off his glistening cheeks, and messy black strands off his forehead.

Sometimes you will catch a word, sometimes you won’t. You will almost wish you didn’t the times you do. Yet you feel sworn to make sense of every mumble, a pervasive, unbreakable, urge. You’re sworn to it.

That’s how the rest of the day goes. He’s never lucid enough to eat; only enough to mumble when he’s freezing, or when he’s burning.

After dusk has bled into the sunset, and night has set in, you sit and watch over Levi religiously. To be fair, you don’t have anything “better to do”, but you hardly ate. If he knew, he’d be in your ear grumbling or otherwise dragging you by it to the kitchen, but does it matter, when he can’t know?

No, you decided, with some fucked-up determination. You want him to bitch at you when he wakes up. Not shivering trapped in an uneasy sleep.

When it gets late, you, arduously but carefully, do what you can for his knee.. He moves too much.

You wipe his face and neck of sweat, and lay a fresh, ice-cold and wet folded washcloth on his forehead. The fever is slowly getting worse.

You dote on him, carding back his bangs, and murmuring and repeating all manners of comfort you can think of. It’s becoming obvious when he’s having a nightmare.

…Finally, as Falco suggested, you’ve kept him hydrated; fever reducers every few hours. 

All that's left to do then, is sleep. This realization makes you nauseous with worry.

Nonetheless, you squirm under the covers on your side, close beside him with your face tucked in his shoulder. You take a slow, deep breath. 

It’s so discomforting; Levi can’t fall asleep flat on his back, ever, and yet…

Your head shoots off his chest before you’ve registered you even woke up—gasping, and a guttural cry from below. It’s pitch black, too dark to see.

That explodes him into motion. He repels you backwards as you grapple for his shoulders, and like fists closed around your throat, as he resists your every attempt to stop him hurting himself, as he whimpers tiredly, as his bawling stabs the most tender place inside you—you feel sick.

“Levi—! Stop. Levi listen to me!”

You’re louder than him, but nothing—his eyes won't open—and your stomach swoops just then as he almost succeeds in jabbing his knee in your stomach, an extra hard punch combined with the brace. That cry is a sob of nothing but pain.

Enough. Finally you bite the bullet, you drop your full weight down on top of him, if it means he’ll finally stop. 

At first, you’re as steady as a boat on rough waters. A huff of relief slips out when his writhing grows sluggish, quickly.

He squirms mildly under you, breathing still stubbornly labored. “Get… off me.”

He tries to raise his arms from his sides, but can’t. 

“I’ll, fuckin’ kill you.”

You viciously shake your head. “It’s just a dream.”

Are you telling only him that?

“S’ get off, you can’t, s’nough hurts ‘er.”

“L-Lee…”

You strain to make him out, as he sobs weakly. “Leave me alone already...”

His name escapes you over again like a prayer in the heat of a battle. Your determination crumbles right into dust; you fall beside him and sit up, unsure of what to do besides take his hand. You can’t bring yourself to switch on the lamp.

“It’s going to be okay.” You squeeze.

He whimpers. “…Please.”

You can’t open your foolish mouth and tell him or yourself that it’s just a dream anymore.

Falco was more correct than you gave him credit for.

Falco also warned you that it would get worse before it got better.

With the hours that keep passing—which have stretched out into two days so far—he more and more mutters in his sleep, other times under his breath, but most times he’s incoherent.

But, it’s all come to fall under one topic. 

And just like that first night, it doesn’t quite make sense, but it doesn’t have to. 

You don’t want to think about it; you just want to take care of him. Your anxiety is constant, and sharp. If only he’d wake up; you talk to him as if he’s awake—but to no response whatsoever, like you don’t even exist.

Moments you’re forced to leave him are the worst—for you and for him. Most times when you come back, the washcloth meant to rest on his forehead has drooped and sagged beside his temple.

At any rate, the difference between fever and tears has gotten hard to tell.

You just can’t stop from shaking, and your throat is tight, but Falco remains adamant that the flu is what he said it is. 

A lamp is still glowing on your side in the late night. The air is cool, and it’s quiet, but a rare moment of “peace” makes the sounds of your shared breaths obnoxious.

Your heavy eyes sting; despite that, when they creep closed you feel yourself fading in seconds, with Levi’s head tucked under your chin, upon your chest. Seemingly, any covers are too stifling for him at the moment; pressed against your collarbones, you feel his forehead is hot again. 

You cradle gently the nape of his neck, idly rubbing the knot of bone at the base of his jaw. As if you’re doing anything to protect him from anything…

He mumbles, slurring, “Y’have t’come back…”

You’re not dizzy with the shock or the horror, but it’s worse almost, to be confronted with the full magnitude of a rueless, unceasing pain that is just as lonely in its magnitude as it is devastating.

You rub his back as he buries his face in your neck, sobbing like it takes all his energy to do so. “I’ll be faster.”

“I don’ know where t’go, what do I do now?” he babbles over your soft hushes. “Wait, next time I’ll get it right...”

“It’s okay, love, it’s okay.”

“I don’ know why I even…” 

Trailing off, he starts to whimper, and can’t go on. 

He doesn’t stop, it doesn’t, not for a second while—all you can do—is hold and console him even though he may not know it.

Until he exhausts himself. Drifts. into a light sleep.

For it to happen all over again. Seeping into his sleep like crude oil, the next stress-induced terror to force his breathing shaky, labored.

"...Need," he whimpers, the first word you’ve made out in a while.

Your stomach swoops, the thought that you can do anything to help directly. "What do you need, sweetheart?"

"Don't sell it. Don't sell it, I need it."

You deflate, jaw wobbling. "Sh, sh, it's okay,” you soothe. You reach for the tray on the bedside behind you, and, using the cold cloth, you dab the sweat from his blushing temple and neck.

"S'gonna take away from m...me." He starts to pant, continuing to mumble, crying, a complete melting away. Lamenting, abject.

"Shh... Shh..."

His arm loosely draped around your waist—which you’d put there—tightens its hold, but in drifting bursts, like he keeps slipping.

“Please.”

You inhale sharply. "Please?"

"Don'. Leave me."

"I won't leave," you swiftly promise. "I won't leave, I won’t.”

He cries in his sleep for so many names that aren’t alive anymore.

Don’t go. Don’t go.

Wake up, Momma.

Wait... Just wait.

That wasn’t the worst point. Not even hunched, taken-over by so much stress and pain until he gagged was the worst point. None of what he had already said combined could amount to the last night.

You snap awake on your stomach at some blurry unknown instance, acutely aware you’ve slept like shit.

Did you even, only blink?—No. The most faintest shade of grey weakly gives your bedroom the suggestion of texture and shadow, but—your arms are empty. You reach over blindly, but the side where Levi should lay is empty and cold.

A pit bursts open in your stomach, filled with bright panic. 

You lurch up and shove off the covers, breathing hard. 

Where could he be??

If he was feeling better, then you would've woken up a while ago, because he would've told you. Not just... 

He can’t be far.

You shiver. 

On your feet, you cross the room in a few strides, and frown as you pull open the bedroom door. It's never left closed at night this time of year; it gets about ten degrees colder without the insulation. (But the chill pressing to the bottoms of your feet, you barely even noticed.)

"Levi!?"

The switch on the wall is right within reach, which lights up the hall. You look right and almost jump back; you might’ve tripped over him if you hadn’t looked first.

He sits hugging his legs—tightly folded against his chest, Levi, why?—there right outside the white doorframe. Shivering, glossy face red with fever, and most certainly in agony by now with all the abuse done to his knee, you’re not sure if he even notices you. Not from this angle.

You fall down on your knees. “Levi? Look, I’m here. Talk to me, please, okay?”

His bloodshot eyes are cracked open, staring ahead, but seemingly seeing nothing. Between the tears, you can’t tell if this is good or bad. 

"Levi..." You take his shoulder in an attempt to nudge his attention towards you. “Look at me. Please.”

He was already tense. His head turns, mostly looking at you sideways—emphasis on his pale eye—but looking at you nonetheless. Good.

"What's wrong?"

His brow knits together.

“C’mere.” You lean forward and card his damp bangs back to feel his forehead. The whole time, he just looks at you passively.

“Better... But this cold won’t help in the end. Medicine is in the bedroom, so...”

You huff very softly to yourself. “…You need more bedrest. I don’t know why you even came out here. Why didn’t you wake me up?”

He blinks.

“Let’s go back to bed,” you insist then, under your breath. 

Some clarity crosses his dark eyes, his voice then a cracked brittle rasp.  “…Not the bed.” 

His gaze sort of drifts away from you. 

You thought he was through with that habit. Confused, you ask, “Why not?”

“It’s ruined. It was always disgusting, but… this is worse.”

“I’ll change the sheets then. I know, it’s not—”

“You can’t do anything,” he says, tucking his chin to his chest, intent eyes focused somewhere down. “Corpse smell doesn’t come outta anything, it just smells worse the longer you leave it. It gets colder n’ heavier, then the smell, it attracts bugs. There’s a fluid,” he says quietly. Casually. “And then it shrinks. Getting eaten’s all the same. But I think that way’s worse.”

What can you even say to that?

“I won’t do th-at to you…” His brow furrows sharply, gripping his sleeves—you see now—with bright white knuckles. Even sitting up, he’s almost curled up into a ball.

You talk quickly, before the full gravity of all this can reach you. 

“You won’t do anything,” you insist. “How about the sofa? Would the sofa be okay?”

“I can’ go to sleep,” he hisses. “I won’t wake up.”

“That’s not true. Why do you even say that??"

"I'm sick."

"Yeah, but it’s not bad-sick!”

You regret the moment you raise your voice. That almost innocent passivity he exuded is crushed by complete and utter detachment. 

“…Denial doesn't help. Don’t be stupid. Don't even—shouldn’ touch me. It’ll end worse fer you.”

You tremble minutely, stewing in silence while in panicked, rapid-fire fashion, you rifle through explanations. He sounds so serious. And he's nothing but.

You know that Levi’s mother died from sickness. He’s called out for her, a lot.

In nightmares… A nightmare?

You guess that’s where it all started for him, as he always slips into a warm voice and delicate eyes those rare moments he does tell you about her. Being sick then, being sick with you here… It all clicks into place.

Okay. Fuck…

The real monster of it all is the fever—making him unglued like this.

You rub the bridge of your nose, swallowing thickly. Okay. 

A firm calm settles over you; for once, Levi is scared. That means you won’t be.

“Levi…” you console.

You reach out to his shoulder, only to flinch when he flinches before a push knocks into your chest. It sends you falling into your backside with an injured grunt.

Instantly, intrinsically, you know it’s going to bruise; all his strength, one hand.

Your eyes pop open to his own—uncannily—wide with his lips twisting into a grimace. 

Putting his eyes ahead again, he sucks in a choked breath and slumps. “Sorry, I thought you were… Sorry.” He gasps. “I’m sorry.”

You get back up on your knees, slowly, and settle down beside him without hesitation. You’re more frantic than ever to close this icy chasm-like space.

“It’s okay.”

He shakes his head as sharp and as fast as his rattling breaths. “I thought you were him. I don’t get it… it just kept hap-happening… Fucking…”

You see him still searching for the words to explain.

“It’s okay. It’s all okay.” 

The warmth in your voice is genuine. When it shakes, you just hate that he’s suffering with nothing you can do to lift it all away, like blood by steam. 

He grips his hair, having made himself as small as possible again. “I’m—s-sorry.”

“Shh…”

Slowly until now, you’ve been leaning in, and now you firmly rest your hand on his back, rubbing in long, consoling motions. This seems to help.

You stay like this while his breathing shudders through tears. It’ll only hurt you both to bring force into it again; either way, any way, it’s not his fault. You don’t know what he meant… but why would it be the man who came and chose to look after him?

“Sorry…”

Everything you see if one ruddy cheek and his temple glistens with either tears or sweat, and his eyes look painful.

“Look at me. Baby.”

An order seems familiar. He does.

“You trust me, don’t you?”

He understands slowly, but you know the answer. After a time, he blinks, and nods.

“Stay still, please.” You kiss his temple. 

“…Sure.”

One arm around his back, the other scooped under his knees, you lift him up into your arms with not too much difficulty. He goes tense, but leans into your chest nonetheless.

“It’s going to be okay,” you murmur as you walk. You want desperately to ask about his leg, but this feels too fragile, like if you bring up physical pain then the whims of the fever will take him back over. 

He’s trembling all over, it seems, before you lay him back down in bed, and once you do he clutches a bit of your blouse at the collar with a grip that confirms for you that he’s not letting go. You sit beside him with his waist pushed against the side of your thigh.

“I’m sorry, it’s all my fault,” he croaks out softly, staring at your sleeve which he now grips. “I wasn’t fast ‘nuff. I hesitated n’ it got ‘em killed for nothing after made the same mistake… Sorry i-was my damn pride…”

You let him talk, rather mumble. When there’s a lull, you rest your palms on his hot cheeks. Better than the last time you felt them. His eyes instantly flutter in relief.

It’s surprisingly easy to give him water, then the fever reducer. Meanwhile, he’s clearly fighting the weight of exhaustion pressing down on his eyelids.

“Don’t make me sleep…”

“I’m not. I’ll just stay by your side. Then”—you cup his cheek—“I’ll do it again.”

He hardly grunts, eyes closing.

You won’t sleep, and you can’t sleep (if there’s even a difference). In fact, you’ll bring in one of the kitchen chairs and sit by him with a novel; you’ll read by candlelight, with a handkerchief hanging like a tarp from the lampshade so maybe he can rest easy.

Being that the flu is a release of stress… He’s getting better. He’s getting better.

Hour-by-hour, more or less (but mostly less), you snap awake at the tiniest stirring from your husband beside you. Maybe mumbling a ghostly snatch of a word; mostly sniffling. It takes you half an hour to drift off again.

This unforgiving cycle obnoxiously persists until morning sunlight poking your sleeping mind wakes you. Suddenly, again. You see him.

It’s a mystery, how long, but Levi is gazing at you softly with bloodshot, but, maybe aware eye. You feel better when he glances away, like every time—if, not when—you catch him staring. Your legs are tangled slightly, his slow breaths brush your cheek.

"Baby," you murmur. "You’re awake?”

He looks annoyed. “No, I’m sleeping with my eyes open.”

“How do you feel? Be honest," you quickly add. You drape your arm around his waist.

He frowns at your tone. "...Like my head got hit with a sledgehammer.”

You say nothing.

His voice gets softer and gentler. “I don’t remember… And you look like shit. What happened?”

“What’s the last thing you remember?”

“…So I’m going to be wrong,” he surmises, looking away. “I slept in too late.” 

He goes to rub his eye, and sniffs. The distress marring his expression grows. 

“It’s been a couple days, but it’s alright,” you say. You’re quick to explain as the realization seems to come over Levi that he hasn’t had a proper bath in that length of time.

Though, it’s hard to explain. It’s even harder to wrap your mind around the fact that he doesn’t remember how he’d cried, and—insinuated, what he did. What horrors he spoke of. 

You finish. Behind a thinly-veiled straight face, he stares into your eyes with the quiet accusation that you haven’t told the whole story. 

“It… was… bad,” you bear to admit. “That’s why I look like shit.”

The self-loathing that falls over his expression like a deathly shroud is instant. He looks away, glaring at nothing, but before he can think anything, you squirm much closer, tighten your hold, and kiss his chin.

“It’s not your fault. And if I had to, I’d do it all over again. So don’t start.”

He watches you for a beat, as if searching for some exaggeration, but soon looks resigned to the truth in your vow. At this long-awaited point in your lives, with some legwork to say the least, you’re relieved to know you’ve finally got it beaten into his head that you love him, whether he agrees or not.

You watch him swallow, and many emotions cross his eyes as he mulls your words over. 

“I don’t like that it’s just a flash for me,” he resolves.

“I know. But we can… talk about it?”

Honestly you’re shocked the words left your mouth. Levi also stares at you like you just spoke a foreign language. It’s pathetic, as he would say, sure, but—people like you and him don’t just talk about things like that which fueled those nightmares of his.

He looks away, considering. Finally, he brings hand up to yours, nestled deep under the covers. Your fingers clasp gently, foreheads brushing. His silvery blue eyes calmly watch yours. That’s his answer.

It’s so different, and not so comfortable right now, but you believe, now, that’s okay.

Levi masterlist | main masterlist

#levi x reader #levi ackerman x reader #levi ackerman fluff #levi ackerman x you #levi x you #levi x y/n #levi ackerman x y/n #levi ackerman oneshot #levi ackerman angst #aot oneshots #aot fanfiction #captain levi x reader #captain levi x you #captain levi fanfiction

[biceratops7]

Victor nikiforov and empathy:

Following my fifth (?) rewatch I found yet another reason to be completely in love with Yuri on Ice, and that is Victor being a wonderfully accurate and non-demonized example of someone with low empathy. Seriously as someone who’s autistic and can’t relate to the influx of “actually we’re all super in tune to other’s feelings and have the MOST empathy!”, watch these scenes because this is what it’s like.

This line at first seems to be Yakov thinking that Victor is arrogant, but Yakov knows him extremely well. He knows that Victor has a hard time viscerally placing himself in another’s shoes, and that’s a major obstacle as a coach.

Victor has trouble understanding what to do in situations that are highly emotional for Yuuri. Instead of being able to directly consider things through Yuuri’s perspective, we see him rely pretty often on environment cues, behavioral cause and affect, or straightforward commands.

He gets his habit of scolding yuri after a routine from Yakov because that’s what he’s familiar with. It’s not something Yuuri responds to particularly well, but it’s only when Victor pays attention to how others react when Yuuri finishes skating that he changes tactic. Victor sees how the crowd is going wild at the (Japan nationals) and it’s only then it occurs to him that Yuuri’s confidence may be jeopardized if he chooses that moment to criticize his performance. This is something he likely would’ve realized much sooner if he could share Yuuri’s stress easier instead of merely observing that it’s happening.

Then later on in episode 7, we get to the scene that actually inspired this post.

At first Victor approached the situation almost like an experiment, trying out cause and effect to disastrous results. When you have a much lower threshold for being able to experience another’s feelings second hand, it’s difficult not to think of other’s negative emotions simply as problems that need to be solved. Problem: Yuuri won’t perform well because he’s too anxious, he will only be MORE upset if he loses, and Victor has already tried to reduce his anxiety to no avail. Idea for solution: raise the stakes and see if increased pressure can replace his nerves with resolve, causing a good performance. Afterward, Yuuri will be proud of himself and happy again. Execute plan, observe results, adjust accordingly. When comfort doesn’t come naturally, this tends to be kind of the default. From experience it comes from a genuine place of caring even when it backfires (and it actually doesn’t at times), basically trying to actually fix the thing upsetting your loved one instead of play acting feelings you don’t get.

… however Yuuri was COMPLETELY within his rights yelling at Victor because regardless of intent he picked the worst thing on planet earth to say in that exact moment. I mean I’ve had my fair share of “oh crap someone is upset and it’s my responsibility” fails but my fuck-

He’s shown to be pretty shit at comforting Yuri/ detached emotionally from the situation, but he is neither coldly unbothered nor strategically hiding it. It may appear callous to bluntly say “I don’t know how to help you” to a loved one who’s crying, but as someone who’s been there, that’s an insanely vulnerable thing to admit. “I don’t feel your pain, I don’t get it. But I love you, and just because I’m not feeling it myself doesn’t mean I don’t care that you’re hurting.”

When Yuri finally just straight up tells Victor what to do, he is relieved and simply does it. Things are different between them after this episode because Yuuri finds the power to communicate his needs clearly and effectively. Victor doesn’t speak “subtlety” well. Yakov and Yurio both speak their mind to him directly regardless of if it’s polite, Which is quite telling because they’re the two characters he has the longest history with. It shows us the kind of communication style Victor is accustomed to and needs to navigate interpersonal relationships.

I’m not making a statement that Victor is autistic or even disordered per say. I feel his unusual circumstances provide enough explanation, but I really do see that he consistently struggles with empathy in the same way I do. He’s probably the only character I’ve been able to see that aspect of myself in with scenes that aren’t played for jokes.

#yuri on ice #yoi #victor nikiforov #yuri katsuki #victuri #biceratops #meta #analysis #empathy #low empathy #affective empathy

[luveline]

hi jade! :-) have you written any tasm!peter x pregnant!reader blurbs? (if not, you should write one where he finds out reader is pregnant and is very anxious about it pls pls plssss <3)

hi upon reflection i can't tell if you wanted reader to be anxious or peter so sry if I chose wrong ha!! ty for requesting!! —tasm!peter comforts freshly pregnant!reader when she worries <3 1.6k

You missed your period two weeks ago, and you'd been excited, you and Peter both had, but your pregnancy test gave a negative. It might've been slightly too early at the time to take one, reflecting back. Or maybe you should've taken a more accurate test.

Because it's been two weeks since then, and the pregnancy test in your hand is positive. You got one of the fancy ones after a strange feeling while standing in the pharmacy, staring at different boxes. It's a digital test that cost too much money, and it says loud and proud: Pregnant 3+. 

You're more than three weeks pregnant. If you think about it, you're likely four weeks along, just a week before the heartbeat could begin. 

And of course, you really want to be pregnant, you and Peter are newlywed but long in love, you'd been trying for this and that negative test upset you at the time, but this is a different kind of upset. You're suddenly and deeply worried. Your heart rate starts to climb. 

"Hey?" Peter calls, a room away but hearing so brilliant he may as well have his ear to your chest. He doesn't usually listen to you and especially when you're in the bathroom, but his spidey sense alerts him to stuff like this, panic out of the ordinary, potential danger. "What's wrong?" 

"I think you'll have to come in here," you say gently. 

"Yeah, I'm coming." 

Bedsprings creak. There's a low step up into the ensuite, and you'd left the door open. Within seconds he's standing in the doorway, frowning at you where you're perched on the lip of the bath. 

He sees the pregnancy test, sees your pinched brows, and assumes the wrong thing. "Hey, sweetheart. It's alright. You don't mind trying again, do you?" he asks, teasing lightly. "Sometimes it takes time, you know? You've been trying all those things to make it stick. I read that stressing out can actually prevent–" 

"No, Pete," you say, turning the stick to show him. You smile despite your nerves. 

He takes the test. His hands start to shake, his excitement like a shot of adrenaline, but he looks between the test and your fear and he tries to hide it from you. "You're not happy?" he asks. 

Peter doesn't put down the test. With his empty hand, he takes your face into a warm palm. 

"I– I–" You have the jitters, and your stomach hurts, and everything that was scary about pregnancy didn't seem to matter when you were trying because it was gonna be your baby, his baby. "I don't know what's wrong, I thought I knew how I felt, it's not that I don't want this." 

"Woah…" His hand smooths down to your shoulder. "Can I give you a hug?"

You hurt your arm trying to pull him in, yanking it up weird with the swiftness of it as you grab his back. Peter hugs your head to his abdomen with less force. 

"It's okay," he says, leaning down to kiss your temple. 

"Sorry–" 

"No, don't be! You don't have to feel one way about it, just don't panic. I got you." 

"Not panicking, I just– I'm pregnant." 

"You are," he says, giving you another kiss. He can't seem to hold any of it back then, his grip on you tightening, his kiss turning to a handful. "I love you. I love you so much. I promise whatever it is that's freaking you out is something we can take care of." 

"I want it," you promise. 

"I'm glad," he says, turning your head up, kissing you on the lips. You catch a glance of his glassy eyes. "I'm so happy." 

If Peter thought you weren't pleased about all this you know he'd pull it back, but he's happy enough to calm the anxiety. At least, enough to calm your racing heart. Dread stays at the pit of your stomach next to joy. It's much louder. 

"I think I'm really scared about everything changing," you say, voice like you're being squeezed. 

"Sweetheart." Peter pets your shoulders. "Me and you need to go lie down, I think."

"Where's the test?" you ask. You want to look again, to be sure. 

He takes it from his pocket and passes it back. You have no idea when he put it away. You stare at the tiny digital screen, 3+. 

Peter basically carries you to the bed with his impressive and annoying strength like you don't weigh a thing. He fluffs the pillows, pulls back the sheets, and tucks them over your curled up body with infinite care. "You want something to drink?" 

"I don't want to cry," you say instead of answering, feeling the hot sting of tears as it builds behind your eyes. "I want to be happier, I promise, I am happy." 

Peter sits down next to you. He puts his head next to yours on the pillow, so when he talks, the exhale of his words kisses your face, "You know, I'm like, going crazy right now. I'm so fucking happy I don't think I could explain it to you, I want to be the dad to your baby, I want to live here with you forever and have kids and dogs and sit on the big porch with you at the end of the day while they run around in the grass, but–" He laughs bashfully, his eyes slipping closed as his nose tip touches yours. "But I want what you want, you know? If you're not ready for a baby like you thought, that's not a crime. We can wait. I can wait as long as you need me to." 

"No… Peter, I do, I'm just– I'm pregnant." You said that already, but you failed to explain. You try again. "I'm worried about being pregnant, I– I already feel sick. That's why I went to get the test, and I'm scared of how hard this is going to be. I still want this, though. I swear, I want it." 

"You don't have to worry," he says, though he opens his eyes, and leans back. "I know it's going to be really hard and that there's gonna be moments where you feel like shit and want it to be over, but I'm gonna be with you that entire time. I'll do literally anything you need or want me to do. I'll stand on my head," —you start to cry, rare and fat tears— "I'll make this as easy as possible on you. If worrying about how hard it is is what's stopping you from being excited, then you can put all that weight on me. Trust me to worry about it for you." 

He wipes your cheeks with his hand, index finger ghosting the delicate skin under your eye. 

"You promise you're gonna look after me?" you ask, already knowing the answer. 

"I swear on my life." He doesn't seem offended that you need reassurance, hugging you, his hand sliding up and down your side and nudging your shirt with each stroke. 

"Okay," you say, taking a deep breath. "Okay." 

The excitement comes slowly at first like a puncture, but it weasels out, and you rub your eyes with a wet sounding laugh. 

"Happy?" he asks. 

You laugh louder. "Really happy, Pete." 

He laughs with you and hugs you flush to his front, your stomachs touching, your hearts separated by fat, muscle, and little else. He hugs you so hard you swear you can feel his heartbeat. 

"Whoo!" he shouts, your loser. Ecstatic. "Shit, baby, you're gonna have a baby!"

"We," you amend. 

"Yes, we!" he agrees, pulling away, taking your face into his hand as he had but with half the concern and twice the excitement. "This is awesome. Let me give you the world's biggest kiss and then we'll go celebrate, okay? We'll have a really great dinner and I'm gonna treat you to whatever you want, alright? Some pyjamas from Uniqlo." He beams as he adds, "We need to go to the pharmacy. You need prenatal vitamins." 

"Forget vitamins. We're gonna have to stop eating take out every Friday," you say. 

"Do we really need to?" he asks, playfully whining. 

"Maybe. I'm definitely gonna need to eat more salad. And the vitamins might be a good idea, actually." 

Peter smiles. He kisses you rather gently considering what he promised, not the world's biggest but maybe the world's most loving. He pulls away, kisses you again like he can't help it. He does that twice, before crawling backward off of the bed to find you both clothes to wear. 

"Come on, my pregnant sweetheart. You're finally eating for two, maybe you'll actually be able to keep up with me now." 

You giggle and wipe the last of your worried tears away. "Sure, if I were having octuplets." 

"We'll find out," he says, tossing a pair of pants at your feet. "Come on! Or… take your time. I guess I have to get used to you being slow." 

"I'm not that pregnant."  

Peter leaps across the sheets to give you another kiss. You shriek with laughter, kissed until your cheeks are aflame and you're a thousand times more happy than you are anxious. 

#tasm peter parker #tasm peter x reader #tasm peter parker imagine #tasm peter parker x you #tasm peter parker x reader #tasm x reader #peter parker x reader #tasm!spiderman x reader #tasm!peter x reader #tasm!peter imagine #tasm!peter parker #tasm!peter parker x reader #tasm! peter parker x reader #spiderman x reader #peter parker oneshot #peter parker blurb #peter parker imagine #peter parker x you #peter parker x y/n #spiderman x you #spiderman fanfiction

[melanthaeunomia]

Helloo!! This is 💫 anon! (Since you said we could give ourselves emoji names if we choose to stay anonymous) I saw that your requests are open!! (Btw, I loved your latest fic!) Would you write a Jason Grace x reader, where Jason has like a horrible day, he just feels super insecure, and he just breaks down into the reader's arms, and the reader comforts him and makes him feel better? It could be fluffy and angsty mixed if you want!

Unseen Leader, Seen by You

A/N: hello dear!! Thank you so much for requesting this 💫, and yes you can have emoji names if you want to stay anon. I tried my best to write this, but angst does not come naturally to Me, for I am a sucker for fluff, so hopefully I did good! Thank you again and I hope I did not disappoint! Fair warning English is not my first language, so please excuse any grammar and spelling mistakes, still I hope you enjoy! (not proofread) sorry if this is a bit short! I’m not sure if this is what you meant but jshghj

Content: Jason grace x Reader (Reverse comfort), established relationship

Warnings: Angst, Fluff, comfort (not book accurate? Or maybe idk)

Word count: 1.3k

Requests!⚜️ Riordan Verse masterlist⚜️

It had been a busy week at camp. Jason felt more vulnerable than ever, With all the pressure of being and trying to be a good leader and be a good example, plus the added stress from the disruptive campers getting into pointless fights, his patience and temper had started to alarm you, he always seemed so distressed, fidgeting his hand whenever he appeared to be anxious, you understood why.

He had always been a nice guy, helping campers with what ever they needed, it is his duty after all, the problem was that he could never say no to their requests, feeling obligated to assist them in their journey. You’re not saying that helping is a bad thing, you just thought he needed time to relax, it would help him not be so tense all the time, You tried to talk to him about it, but he quickly shrugged it off, acting like it wasn’t a big deal, and that he can handle it no worries. What's worse is that You were the only one who could see he was struggling, even his own friends didn’t think anything of it, which just made him dismiss the subject because he thought it wasn't important. Suppressing his feelings till he is unable to. And eventually gave in and went to speak with the person he felt most at comfortable with.

He let out a deep breath, wondering if this was a mistake. He didn't want to bother you, what if you were doing something important, and he interrupted then you get mad at him?, what if he’s just making a big deal about this, but it’s all nonsense, and he’s just acting selfish and, sensitive?, what if you dismissed him saying that it’s not that big of a deal?. His overthinking, got worse slowing down his steps as he reached your cabin. He lifted his hand near the door, hesitating before finally knocking.

You had just gotten out of the shower, wearing an old shirt you stole from Jason a long time ago, You gently patted your damp hair with a dry towel trying to get the remainders of the water off, You were about to do your skin care, but then you heard gentle knocks on your door. You twisted the door knob open, a loud screeching can be heard from the floor board beneath as the door glided through. Furthermore, you saw Jason, fidgeting with the rings on his finger, looking down on the ground, refusing to look at you. “Hey…” He finally spoke glancing up at you with misty eyes, and you couldn’t help but frown, seeing the state he is in hurts your soul. You placed a hand up his cheek lightly stroking it “Hi” you whispered back, His cold hands gently squeezing your wrist as you caressed his cheek. Calloused hand wrapped around your waist as he pulled you into a tight hug. He Really needed this. For a moment there was a comfortable silence, you could hear faint whimpers from him, You stroked his hair kissing the top of his head. In your arms, He felt safe, wanted, free from his duties and obligations. “You want to go inside Love?” You suggested, as it was getting colder outside, you received a subtle nod from him before pulling him in your cabin and shutting the door behind you

“Are you okay?” you sat on your bed patting the empty space next to you, He reluctantly walked over, before sitting beside you, a deep sigh leaving him “I-I’m not sure…” he sobbed resting his head on your chest as he listened to the gentle beating of your heart, that made it difficult to resist the urge to take a nap, but he didn’t want to trouble you further. He felt so miserable, and you hated the fact you can’t do anything to help him. You wrapped your arm around him, kissing the top of his head “wanna talk about it?” you suggested, though you already know the reason why he acted like this, Jason let out a sniff, and hesitated, he felt like he was bothering you with his problems, he didn't want to burden you. You caressed his hair, not wanting to press more on the issue if he didn't feel comfortable opening up. “I-...” he stuttered not knowing how to phrase his emotions, he sighed and finally spoke “It’s nothing… i-its just things have been off lately, I don't know why but—” Tears started creeping up his eyes, slowly falling down your shirt, as your hold of him gently tightened “—I’m feeling so much pressure, even though I know there's nothing to worry about. I-i’m just feeling lost...” Jason wept feeling a hand underneath his chin making him look up at you as you wiped the tears in his cheeks away “shh... It's okay, You’re okay…”, he felt so pathetic, crying like this feeling himself be so vulnerable. But he also knew you were the one person that wouldn’t judge him.

Jason felt relieved, in your arms. He let out a small sob as he buried his face on your chest, His breathing and yours in sync, almost therapeutic. “None of my efforts are good enough… I try, I really do. To be a good leader, helping everyone… But it feels like I’m just letting everyone down...” He forced the words out, It was hard for him to open up, bottled up emotions finally spilling out. You frowned hearing what he said “Listen…” He looked up at you with moist eyes, “You are a good leader. You’re not letting anyone down okay?, You may not be perfect, but almost everyone in camp looks up at you, they admire you with or without your mistakes.” He froze at your words, a faint smile in his face, the tears lingered in his eyes despite your attempts on removing them. Still, he didn’t –couldn’t– fully believe you, he felt weak… could you blame him? “I just want everything to be perfect for everyone…” He tried to push negative thoughts away, although they kept taunting him. “No one expects you to be perfect love, You’re already the best leader there is, You’re allowed to make mistakes.” you kissed the top of his head softly humming “I’m average at best” he forced a laugh, Trying to brighten up the mood, but you knew all too well when he started fidgeting on his fingers again, You softly intertwined his hand with yours, stroking it gently, “Average?, You give and help everyone around you, even if you aren't obligated to. You have no right to call yourself average when you work 24/7 just to help people.” You were so fed up with everyone that took advantage of him.

He softly smiled, bringing your hand up to his face a drop of tear fell down and brushed your hand, as he placed a soft kiss on it, a blush on your cheeks appeared, Your words felt like magic to him, he felt so grateful to have you by his side “Do you really think so?..” His breath hitched, still uncertain of your words, but he knew it was all genuine “I know so” You were so confident on your reply, and his lips curled up into a smile, It had been a while since someone praised him for his ability to lead, it felt as if a burden has been lifted off his shoulders, he kept an eye contact, wiping his own tears away. He wrapped an arm around your waist while and rested his head at the crook of your neck “Thank you…” he let out an exhale as his head rested against you, He felt himself grow tired, yet he didn’t wanna fall asleep just yet, not when he has the company of someone like you that appreciate him for more than his worth, someone whom he loves more than himself...

Requests are open!⚜️ Main Masterlist⚜️

@melanthaeunomia

Sorry if its too short! Requests are open!

#fanfiction #percy jackson #luke castellan #pjo #ao3 fanfic #pjo fandom #ao3 writer #leo valdez #jason grace #jason grace x reader #thalia grace #camp half blood #camp jupiter #clarrise pjo #pjo tv show #pjo x reader #percy pjo #the heroes of olympus #piper mclean #percy and annabeth #stoll brothers #grover underwood #clarrise la rue #percy series #writer problems #percy and grover #pjo series #ao3 author #percy jackon and the olympians #oracle of delphi

[iveriee]

hiii!! how are you lovely? id like to request a tom riddle x soft!hufflepuff reader? reader has seen him as her best friend since first year but then she over hears him talking about how he does not care for her :( so now he just wonders why she’s no longer “clingy” or sweet to him. hurt&comfort, angsty ish, i just want a grovelling riddle 🫠🫠

★;ANSWER: Of course! I'm doing well, Thank you for asking. I apologise if this is not to your liking.

★;CATEGORY: Angst.

★;PAIRING: Tom Riddle x Gn!Hufflepuff!Reader

★;SUMMARY: in which.. he repents his actions.

★;PS: This fic contains severe mentions of toxicity and a slight implication of death and violence. If anything of the sort makes you disheartened, then i would suggest you not to read this. As I mentioned, I have been quite stressed due to my examinations and Henceforth the quality of this fic may be a bit lower than expected. I attempt my very best to improve my writing. Once again, English is NOT my first language and hence, feel free to correct any grammatical incorrections. Writing non-yandere fics is quite strange for me and i apologise if I have accidentally made him into a yandere. I'm aware you mentioned a Fem!Reader, however I'll be doing a Gn!reader as to be more inclusive!Of course I had to use 'perhaps', 'henceforth' and 'quite'. And of course, i had to make Abraxas Malfoy an utter jerk.as it's a headcanon of mine that the Malfoys are all jerks.

Perhaps they presume us not to cling to others—to adhere to the cinders of a strained candle, of a relationship that ceased to live. To cater to it's ghost, it's bones. With one ray of aspiration, that the other would return. Yet you did. You had ever since that day. That evocative day in the Great Hall. That day when you ventured to befriend Riddle. That day when you shelved your sorrow as if it was a gruelling test you so utterly detested. And perhaps, you always would do so. Whether it was inadequate or purposeful, you paid heed to him. For six years, you had done so now. Yet none of your amiability ushered reciprocation from him. None. You'd praise his talents. You'd jest with him. You'd attempt to find solace in his ignorance. Of course, that was, not possible. You were human after all. Perhaps, it was due to you being a Hufflepuff? Perhaps it was as he did not how to convey his feelings? Perhaps, you utterly and desperately desired to invent an excuse for his behaviour.

And Henceforth, one abominable day, when your potion transformed indictable, far off the path of the accurate instructions—You tilted your gaze downwards. The mortification was quite too much for you. The air smeared you, resulting in quivering. A mere reach for your quill felt like a distinguished task. To mix lumber to the fire, An awful act happened. Which, of course, had to include him. Prying your ears, you examined. To distinguish the start, Riddle was frowning at the sight of your dismay(perhaps, not your dismay..).. If you had, perhaps, attempted to tell anyone that, they'd blaze into laughter. Of course, he did not look any less appealing, even whilst frowning. (If you knew the correct reasoning, that is)

However, of course, somebody had to destroy such a thing and that git was indeed Abraxas Malfoy. Perhaps, he ought to diminish the tension. And Henceforth Malfoy cast a repulsed look...at you..perhaps? "[Last Name] is a scatterbrain." He spoke to Riddle. "I think you're acquainted with them, My lord?" Imbecile you concluded to yourself, scowling. Yet the act that cast the most anticipation was Riddle's response. Your heart blazed. Sweat grazed your cheeks. Would, he, perhaps, come to your defence? It was juvenile,a foolish reassurance, the concluding luminosity of your life. Perhaps he cared. The mere wonder of it made you smile. (albeit somewhat slight)

If Tom concealed his feelings, then, perhaps he was quite proficient at it because his thoughts were utterly and completely inscrutable. Your frame began quivering. You steadied your gaze and examined him, with a surge of internal reassurance. "If that is,perhaps, what you believe to be true, then I must say, I do not care for [Last Name] and nor do i have no intention of paying heed to them." He stated firmly, causing Malfoy to flinch. "They are merely a classmate and a stranger to me."

Engulfed. That was the stature of your luminosity. Engulfed by him and the vicious wave that was sorrow(certainly a wave you'd never get over of). Tears plunged your cheeks before you could make of it and your lips closed on eachother. Restraining your palm against your mouth, you quivered. No, this had to have been another formidable nightmare of yours—it had to have been. He could not have been so...cruel. He had to have considered you as an acquaintance, at the very least . You loved him. You indeed did. With all your heart. Ever since the day you first gazed upon him. And yet, this was the conclusion, the answer to your persistent affection? You had splurged years in the aspiration that he'd...care. You were, sincerely and utterly pitiable. Life was an anguished tale. And, of course, you were the one having to suffer it.

And henceforth, this very abominable day, you quit your attempts to gain heed and he began his.

[★]

Perhaps nobody at Hogwarts with an orderly mind would have ever believed that Tom Riddle yearned after a mere Hufflepuff . Neither would the Hufflepuff in interrogation. Of course, he displayed no clues of mourning. On the budding days, he discovered no need for your juvenile affection. It was otherworldly to even wonder that he would require you. You brought no assistance to him and he regarded you as a 'mere nuisance.' Yet as herbage mutated copper—honed and gnawing, plunging onto the vicious month of October, The Hogwarts castle glinted with eerie ginger and blazing green, the act of ignorance from you towards him became...perplexing.. to say the very least.

It felt vacant. He felt vacant. As much as Riddle cherished his pride, He was almost wounded by your actions.You no longer bothered to praise him tenderly or adhere onto him. You no longer attempted to even gaze at him. However, as he had reassured himself quite alot of times, he had no requirement for you. And so henceforth, he persisted with life, excelling and being applauded like every other common day. Yet, you cannot merely plunge sorrow by detaining it. And perhaps, it shall make the matters worse when it rises, sizzling up to the surface to swamp you.

That sorrow certainly rose early.

And assisted with a broth of envy and guilt.(though, of course, he would never admit so) You had, at last—created proper friendships with amiable people, unlike, a very certain somebody whom you, precisely, despised now. To examine you speak to others, to see you content;considerate, sympathetic (Not with him, of course) slashed him with envy so utterly disdainful. In an instant's heed, He began to covet you, to crave you. He ought to have your affection once again. To possess your sweet, agreeable praise again. To have you clutch onto him. To fluster you, and—And perhaps, even kill to do so. Of course, the victims' identities were quite evident. Perhaps, it was merely amusement he required from you. Or perhaps, he may have, though quite unlikely, fallen in love.

And so henceforth, one agreeable day, when you had attempted to plod to the Black Lake—only to be approached by him. You felt satisfaction and hatred as you utterly refused to gaze at him.Your reasoning,being,the way he gazed upon you. You felt a rooting inclination to speak, yet, of course, you did not, allowing him to begin this clutter of a 'conversation'. (you could swear to Merlin that you had examined sorrow in his eyes!). The silence stirred distant. He spoke. "Greetings, [Name]." It felt as though you had, perhaps, heard the most astonishing wonder in the world. "I aspire that you are doing well?" You scowled at such a cloyed question. "I suppose i should get to the point, shouldn't it? Indeed, I would like to apologize for my behaviour. As you are aware Malfoy is—"

"An imbecile, yes." You responded curtly, frowning at the mere sight of him. He was,perhaps, too bewitching for you to be furious at. "Quit the Formalities, Riddle..."

"Is that so?" He questioned, inching quite near, smiling viciously. "In mere words, i would be honoured to rekindle our.. friendship." His smile diminished and his handsome face reeked of vulnerability. It was equivalent to viewing lime skies. Your heart ached to embrace him, to weep onto his chest, to allow him to comfort you—Yet, you could not fulfill it. You had dignity. And yet, you had love. Towards him. And perhaps, you always would. Tears boiled once more, and you gazed at him. He embraced you, and you had what you had so potently ached for. His hands cupped your cheeks as he smiled at you and you returned the act, though in tears. Joyful tears. Perhaps, he even shed a tear himself. (though unlikely). He pressed his lips onto yours and so did you. Profoundly. "Repentance, perhaps, inched us nearer, didn't it, love?"

#harry potter fanfiction #harry potter #hp fandom #tom marvolo riddle #tom riddle #tom riddle x reader #angst #sad #happy ending #regret #tom riddle angst #fanfic #tom riddle x Hufflepuff reader #wizarding world #hp fanfic #voldemort

[going-to-ikea-for-the-fries]

You're feeling ill: COD headcanons

[MY MASTERLIST]

Rating: G Words: 600~ Pairing: none tags: SFW!, fluff, gn!reader, recovering from sickness, comfort. a/n: I'm feeling **so** sick (have a migraine) and decided to write these while waiting for my sleep aids to kick in.

Ghost: He's very caretaking-oriented and less so comforting. Clogged nose? He gets you a nasal spray and tissues. Hungry? Have some soup. Nauseous? Tea and saltines. Migraine? Turns off the lights and tells you to sleep. It sucks if you wanna cuddle and bask in his warmth because he will make you have the bed all for yourself so you can get better. Nonetheless, he's very efficient at taking care of you.

Price: This man is chronically sick. Not a day goes by where he's not nauseous or got a headache. (He joked about it in MW3, but frankly sounds accurate considering his high-stress job). This means that his perspective is a bit skewed. Will probably ask you "Are you sick enough that it's affecting your ability to work/study?" and when you say yes, will make sure to get you to bed and put a few meds, tissues, water bottles within your reach. Probably won't cuddle or coddle you, but will check in on you periodically and tuck you into bed with forehead kisses and words of encouragement.

Soap: (Is probably the reason you're sick in the first place) Will be miserable with you in bed. Everytime you sniffle or complain, he'll be right there with you, holding you close and grumbling "I ken, bonnie lass" in your ear. Will likely be all over you, hesitant to leave your side for longer than to get you things you need. Doesn't mind that you're sweaty/feverish/weak, he's rubbing himself on you like a puppy that's trying to lick you better.

Gaz: The man is a saint. He'll wrap his arms around you and kiss your forehead and rock you a little bit side to side until you fall asleep on top of him. Won't even complain about your bad breath when you have to mouthbreathe because of your clogged nose. Won't complain when you need to be away because you're overheating. Won't complain when you need all the lights off or the room to be cold either.

Alejandro: Remembers all the home remedies his mama used to use when he was little. 7Up for upset tummies, Caldo de Pollo for colds, loads of herbal tea, and Vicks VapoRub for literally any and every ailment. Will also hold you close, probably sit by your side and hold your hand and kiss the back of it while you groggily complain about how bad you feel.

Rodolfo: Also uses home remedies ^ but is a lot more likely to rush off to the pharmacy (even if it's the middle of the night!) to get you actual medication, especially when you're complaining about something specific like a headache or sore muscles. Will bathe you if you have a fever and feel gross and sweaty. Will spoon you from behind and play with your hair until you doze off.

Graves: Will let you groan and huff about how sick you feel. Probably teases you a bit when your voice gets nasally or hoarse, but will proceed to take care of you. Also whenever you get light-headed, he finds it to be hilarious. He parks you on the living room couch with blankets and pillows, tells you to tell him what you need and gets it for you. Also purposely makes you take copious amounts of Nyquil to knock you out.

König: Subscribes to the German (yes, I know he's Austrian) way of thinking that fresh air (and water) fixes everything!. Your head hurts? "Here, drink Wasser". You have a fever? "You need Lüften, I will open the window". You have cramps/nausea? "You need fresh air. Let's go for a walk. It will make you teel better." He means well and, granted, most of it works!! But my God, man, you don't want to go for a 3km hike when you feel like you're going to vomit.

#ikea writes 💚 #cod fanfic #headcanon #simon ghost riley #captain john price #john soap mactavish #kyle gaz garrick #alejandro vargas #rodolfo parra #phillip graves #könig #feeling sick #sickness

[msbarrybeeson]

Don’t | Donnie X Reader

A/N: This was so lovely to write. In my opinion, Donnie would be the most challenging of the four brothers. I think there are specifics to his behavior and personality, so trying to accurately replicate it does take some time. Apologies for any out-of-characterness from Donnie. Remember that constructive criticism is always appreciated, especially for characters, and enjoy! 

Requested: @sunnyselks 

Summary: You were wounded from protecting Donnie. When you were waving off his demands to treat you, he had to take it into his own hands to tend to you.

Genre: Hurt-Comfort

Reader: Second POV. Gender-neutral pronouns if any.

Pairing: Rise!Donnie X Reader

Warnings: Mentions of blood, needles, cuts. Argument over each other’s safety.

Word Count: ~1060

~

“Don, I’m fine.”

“Oh, sure, tell me that while your clothes are soaked in blood!” Donnie yelled. “Take off your shirt, (Name), or I’m not letting you leave the grounds of this room.”

“Donnie,” you stressed, clutching the wound on your arm. 

“(Name), don’t.”

You turned away from him, about to leave his room despite his warning. “It’s a minor injury, I’m perfectly fi—.”

Suddenly, small chips leeched onto your arm, catching you off-guard. They unfolded into wrist binds, where you realized this was his way of forcing you to stay put.

“Don!” you grunted, as the binds pulled you toward facing a wall. “Are you serious!?”

“As Galileo is about his heliocentric model.” Donnie took a binder clip from one of his desk drawers. “You leave me no choice, (Name).” As soon as the turtle lifted your shirt up from behind, chills ran over your skin from the cold air hitting the other cut on your back. He wrapped the hem over your collar, then proceeded to clip it.

“I could’ve done this myself or gone to a hospital,” you muttered.

Donnie scoffed. “And let them force you to pay expensive bills as your last resort when you have me? I thought you knew better than that.” He cleaned the blood around your wound with a wet paper towel before applying an alcohol wipe to disinfect.

“You know full well you can’t stitch your own back either. You wouldn’t want to risk inquiring your parental guardians for help in the end and being forced to give a whole explanation.”

“...”

From the corner of your eyes, you could see Donnie picking up a needle. The thought of it puncturing you made you shudder. There were vaccinations and blood tests, but they never changed your tension with needles.

You wanted to get this over with— the suspense was only making you more vulnerable.

“Are you going to inject the needle, Donnie—?” Your nails immediately dug into your palm as pain struck. "Argh..!" You winced badly.

“Don’t move,” he paused, “if that wasn’t obvious enough.”

“Easier said than done when I'm not used to having my skin pricked—!” You seethed, “Urgh.. couldn’t you have numbed it?”

“What, with lidocaine?” Donnie replied monotonously. “No, because you wouldn’t learn and would try to save me again—,” he pricked the needle the fourth time, “even though you are a human who could’ve gotten killed— God—why in the name of logic did you do that, (Name)!?”

“I did it to protect you!” you argued.

“Don’t you dare ignore the fact that you could’ve gotten killed!”

“I am capable of my own safety.”

“Scoffs. Think common sense, (Name). You’re a human,” he reminded, the anger in his voice showing. “I’m a mutant turtle; I have the biological features to defend myself!”

“You’re a soft-shelled turtle.”

Donnie stopped moving the needle. "Really, assuming that my soft-shell automatically makes me vulnerable? Are you trying to tell me I’m unable to protect myself because of that, (Name)?”

He frowned. “I have my technology— my intelligence to accommodate, so don’t put yourself in danger whenever the hell possible and let me handle myself. End of discussion.”

You wanted to slam your fists. As he was about to add another stitch, your body shook.

“They destroyed your battle shell!” Anguish scratching your voice. “Just because you're a mutant or because you have your military-grade tech, doesn't mean you won't get murdered, crushed!

God, don’t take it the wrong way. I’m not trying to assume or belittle neither you nor your tech. All I'm concerned about is keeping you alive!”

“...”

“You weakened your voice. “If me getting injured means you’d be okay, then that’s enough for me.”

Donnie’s breath hitched.

..You knew your turtle wasn’t great at apologizing, but his silence told you everything. He didn’t make a snarky or sarcastic remark.. instead, he listened.

���..I’m sorry.”

“I know. But don’t put yourself down.. I never once thought you're supposed to be perfectly strong or invulnerable. That applies to everyone all the same. Flaws happen, whether we're fine with it or not.”

You turned your head to look at Donnie. Something was still bothering him.

“But I’ll try not to scare you again if that makes you feel better.” The tension left his face, and he proceeded to finish the last few stitches.

It was all calm and quiet until he dragged his cold finger lightly over the stitched-up wound. You shuddered.

“You keep flinching so much.”

“You’re one to talk, you’re sensitive to touch as much as I am, if not so much more.”

“No, no, not that. I find it interesting, because.. I don’t see you reacting so violently when April stitched up the other cut on your back. You know, from falling off the table.” As Donnie applied a cotton pad and tape to cover your wound, he looked up to meet your eyes.  

But you quickly faced away to the other direction.

Donnie leaned the same way, one of his brows raised.

And you avoided eye-contact yet again.

.

.

.

Ah.

“You’re flustered.”

“What?” The red rushing to your ears.

“Flustered,” he repeated. “Its definition being ‘agitated, confused, ruffled—.’”

“No, I meant: how am I flustered?”

Donnie dragged his finger along your skin again. You felt your face heat up.

“You’re flustered from having your back exposed to me.”

“I’m not.” You sensed his ego returning.

“Tell that to my lie-detector and we’ll see how that goes.”

“You have a polygraph?”

“Of course not,” Donnie actually scoffed. “We all know polygraphs are never accurate enough to be trusted.” He unclipped your shirt and released the binds on your wrists.

You groaned, rubbing your aching hands. “You had me binded to a wall, and lifted my shirt to stitch my cut— so of course— I would feel exposed.. and flustered.” You sat in your turtle's desk chair.

“Yes, exactly, I did that to treat you." He crossed his arms. "And I find that hypocritical, considering you exposed yourself and your whereabouts on the Internet."

You gave him a look, before holding your knees to your chest. There was a change in expression as you whispered, "..Thanks."

Donnie stood awkwardly, rubbing his arm once he heard you and finding sincerity on your face. The soft-shelled turtle stepped closer to you and slowly wrapped his arms around your shoulders.

"Hey, I thought you don't like this intimate stuff," you joked.

Now Donnie himself became flustered. “Don’t, (Name).”

#rottmnt #rottmnt donnie #rottmnt donnie x reader #rottmnt donatello #rise of the tmnt #rise of teenage mutant ninja turtles #teenage mutant ninja turtles #tmnt #rottmnt x reader #reader insert #imagine #fan fiction

[wintersoldiersoul]

Hi.

Saw you are taking requests.

I got shingles the weekend close to my birthday, i confuse it with allergy because i am allergic to basically anything and then on my 24th birthday i got that it was actually shingles, doctor told me that my immune system went down and that is why i got it. Before that i was under so much stress because of work that i developed burn out and had to quit my job (literally spent months, weeks of my life visiting the emergency ward because i kept getting sick due to stress and burn out) probably that Triggered the shingles.

Could you write something with Bucky in which the reader suffers similar sh**? I just need comfort from my fave character 😭

If you dont feel comfortable is fine, i understand 😁

KUDOS!

I'm so sorry you went through that! I hope you are much better now. I tried to make this as medically accurate as possible (I texted my friend in med school LOL) but I am definitely not a doctor so if some stuff isn't accurate, just pretend it is.

You threw your hair up into a ponytail to get it out of your face. Hours slumped over at your desk weren't doing any favors. You grabbed the energy drink and chugged it to prevent your eyes from closing. You were almost done with this assignment. Just a little bit longer, you told yourself. 

Working full time and being a grad student was taking a toll on you. You spent every day from 9-5 in your office and every night from 6-10 in classes. You crammed homework in anywhere you could, which often meant staying up most of the night. It was approaching 4am, now. 

The office door creaked open and Bucky strolled in, sleep still filling his eyes. “Baby,” he sighed. “Come to bed.” He had woken up and the bed was cold without you beside him. He walked over to you, kissing your forehead.

“Can’t,” you mumbled without looking up from your computer.

“You gotta get some sleep, darlin’.”

You sneezed, still typing away. “I’m fi-” your words were interrupted by another sneeze.

Bucky stood, looking at you with a stern expression. “Well look at that. You’re getting sick.” 

You waved your hand. “No, I’m not. It’s just allergies,” you said, sniffling. “You know this time of year is bad.” The past few months, you had been sick on and off multiple times. A cold, a small fever, you were sick more than you weren’t. 

“Honey, please just get some sleep. You haven’t slept in days.” He was practically begging. He knew how much stress you were under and getting no sleep wasn’t going to help. He was extremely worried about you.

“Just give me 10 more minutes, okay?” You compromised.

“Fine. But I’m sitting right here and setting a timer. The second it goes off, I’m carrying you to bed.”

He did exactly that, throwing you over his shoulder when you didn’t get up immediately at the ring of his phone. Despite the intense amounts of caffeine you had consumed, you fell asleep the second your head hit the pillow.

Bucky woke up before you the next morning, smiling at your sleeping form. Your hair was sprawled over your face and he gently pushed it away to kiss your cheek. But as soon as he moved the strands, he noticed that your cheeks were flushed. He put the back of his flesh hand on your skin. Heat radiated off of your face before he even touched you. You were definitely sick.

He got up, being careful not to wake you. He left the bedroom returning a few minutes later with water, Advil, and a thermometer. You groaned as your alarm rang, sending shooting pains into your skull. You groaned, opening your eyes. You felt like absolute shit. Your whole body ached, your throat was on fire, and even your skin hurt.

“You’re sick.” Bucky stated, as if he was informing you.

“Yeah, I can tell,” you retorted, wincing at the pain in every cell of your body. He smiled softly, brushing your hair behind your ears. 

“I got you some water and Advil. Can I take your temperature, doll?”

You nodded and he put the thermometer under your tongue. He looked it, eyes widening. “Shit baby, that’s not good. Your temp is 102.8. How do you feel?”

“Horrible,” you pouted.

He sighed. “I’m not surprised. That’s a really high fever, baby. I think we should go to the doctor.”

You groaned, not wanting to move. You felt so horrible that the thought of having to get up and out of bed was a nightmare. You felt like you couldn’t stay awake, eyes closing no matter how hard you tried to keep them open. “Can’t move,” you whispered, coughing slightly. “My whole body hurts so much. Just wanna sleep.”

Bucky didn’t know what to do. In his mind, sickness meant calling a doctor. He had spent so many years worrying about Steve back in the 40s, sitting with him while he got looked at. He still wasn’t used to how things were today. The google search he did on his phone told him that if your fever went above 103, to take you to the hospital. In his opinion, you were close enough that he wanted to rush you there right now, but he could see how exhausted you were.

“Alright, rest for now. But if it gets worse we’re going to the hospital.” You didn’t even hear him as you had already fallen back to sleep.

You woke up in a daze, cold sweat clinging to your body. You were shivering aggressively, shaking the entire bed. “Babe?” Bucky said, noticing you were awake. “You cold?”

You nodded, teeth chattering. He quickly grabbed you another blanket, wrapping you up like a burrito. He wrapped his arms around you, hoping that his body heat would help, too. One of the major perks of dating a super soldier was that the chances of getting him sick were very slim. He held you as close as possible, trying to keep you warm. “Oh, honey,” he whispered, voice dripping with sympathy.

 “Can you take your temperature again for me?” He asked after your shivering had subsided a little bit. You put the thermometer back in your mouth, waiting for the beep. Bucky took it from you, heart stopping as he looked. “I know you don’t wanna move, but we gotta go to the ER. You’re at 103.6. That’s really really bad.”

You groaned. You felt so horrible, his words barely even registered in your mind. He picked you up and carried you to the car, whispering words of encouragement along the way. You closed your eyes again, finding it physically impossible to stay awake. Bucky held your hand the entire car ride before picking you up and carrying you into the ER. He let you sleep as you waited, positioning your head on his shoulder. He constantly watched you to make sure you were still breathing. He didn’t wanna wake you until he absolutely had to.

When you were finally called in, he shook you gently. “Can you walk?” He asked. You weakly nodded and he helped you to your feet letting you lean on his body as you went to the exam room.

The doctor hooked you up to an IV immediately to hydrate your sick body as they examined you.

“How have you been sleeping?” She asked you.

“Um, not great,” you answered, voice sounding raspy. “I’ve been under a lot of stress.”

“She hasn’t slept in a week,” Bucky interjected. “She’s been getting sick a lot these past few months since she started grad school.”

The doctor nodded. “Okay that’s very good to know.” She proceeded to ask you a few more questions and then said, “Did you have chicken-pox as a kid?”

You nodded. “Yeah. When I was 5.”

She carefully rolled up your shirt, revealing a rash on your side. “It looks like you have shingles. The stress you’ve been under seems to have weakened your immune system which is why you’ve been getting sick so much. It makes sense that with all of that the virus would come back now.”

Bucky held your hand. He was relieved that you had a diagnosis but of course he was terrified. Back in his time, that would have been a death sentence. “Is she gonna be okay?”

“I’ll be fine, Buck,” you answered. 

“Yes,” the doctor agreed. “We’re gonna keep her here for at least tonight because your fever is so high. But you will be okay.”

Bucky exhaled. “Oh, thank god.”

“Can I go to sleep now?” You asked the doctor. You were so exhausted.

“Yes. I’ll let you rest,” she smiled before leaving the room.

“I’m so sorry you feel so shitty,” Bucky said, holding your hand. “Will this make you take it easy?”

“I don’t know what I can do to change anything,” you said with tear filled eyes. “Literally the only time I have to get things done is in the middle of the night.”

He looked into your eyes. He wanted to help you so badly that his heart ached. He wanted you to be happy and healthy. “What if you quit your job?” He suggested. “You only took this as a temporary thing anyway. I know you don’t wanna stay there when you’re done with school.”

“I can’t not have a job, Bucky,” you argued.

“Baby,” he looked in your eyes. “Do you have any clue how much the Avengers pay me?” He smirked. “Trust me, you don’t need a job.” You opened your mouth to argue, ready to tell him that you didn’t need his money. “I know you’re your own person and you can make your own money. And one day, with that brain, you will make so much all on your own. But baby, you’re drowning. You’ve been sick more days than not the past few months. Please, let me take care of you. Just for a bit. I’d never tell you what to do and if you really wanna stay, you can. But you’re killing yourself, darling. And I can’t just sit back and watch as it happens. Just think about it. Please.”

You lazily smiled. “Okay. I’ll think about it. But not right now. Right now, I need to sleep.”

He stroked your hair and kissed your forehead. “Go to sleep, my love. I’ll be right here when you wake up.” 

#sebastian stan #bucky barnes #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes imagine #bucky x y/n #bucky x reader #marvel imagine #bucky barnes fanfiction #james bucky barnes #marvel #james bucky buchanan barnes #bucky fluff #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #winter soldier #james buchanan barnes #bucky #the winter soldier #bucky x sick reader #sick fic #bucky fanfic #bucky x you #catws #bucky barnes fanfic #captain america #bucky barnes comfort

[steezywrites]

Punishment

Peeta X Y/N

————————————————————————

“If he went after Katniss-“

“You aren’t Katniss.” My fathers grey eyes were bloodshot, the withdrawal and stress evident in every too visible vein. I didn’t miss the slight shake of his hands as he placed them on my shoulders, and tried to fight the anxious shakes that were threatening my hands as well.

“But-“

“We need to at least try. Maybe he’ll listen to you.” My father sounded desperate, and I didn’t blame him. Peeta had been a beamed of light for all of us, and now whatever had happened shrouded him in a darkness that had wrapped it’s hands around Katniss’ throat and nearly killed her. If the Capitol could turn him against Katniss if all people, I highly doubt he’ll be happy to see me. While I haven’t been the mascot for the rebellion like Katniss, it would be useful for the Capitol to make him hate me too. I was tied pretty directly to his time in the Hunger Games, being his mentors daughter and all. I couldn’t even count how many times Peeta had run over to my father and I’s house a all hours, eyes still clouded over by whatever nightmare had resulted in him screaming himself awake. The number of times I had sat next to him in front of our fireplace in silence, drinking hot cocoa with my hand wrapped I’m his in an attempt to comfort rose to the surface of my mind, along with a very specific night of body heat but I pushed that one as far away as I could. It wasn’t the right time to think of Peeta that way.

Finally I sighed and nodded. My father let go of my shoulders and led me towards the medical units. The impossibly sterile and bright white halls of the medical unit made me nauseous. Such a stark difference in the environment and what I knew laid behind the door we were approaching. I had seen him once through a one way glass, and nearly puked.

I heard him before I saw him. He was yelling something, both anger and desperation bounced off the stark white walls in a haunting echo. The sound caused me to pick up pace, I nearly ran to the door I knew he was strapped down behind. The yelling hadn’t stopped until I threw his door open. His head snapped towards me fast enough it just have hurt, his big blue eyes surrounded by shadows stopped me in my tracks as they searched me for something. The light in them kept switching between recognition and caution, like I was some plant he knew he’d seen before but couldn’t remember if it was poisonous or not.

“Peeta, Y/n wanted to see you. She’s been worried.” A voice came through some sort of speaker in the room, a doctor I’m guessing. Peeta nodded, eyes still not leaving me. I wanted to run up to him, hug him and tell him everything was okay now but the memory of the bruises on Katniss’ neck kept my feet firmly planted. I knew him and Katniss weren’t actually lovers, it was all for show and Peeta had told me many many times that he and I weren’t the same as he and Katniss, but they were still closer than most-shared trauma does that to you- and he had tried to kill her. It only made me more cautious as to what sort of reaction I would cause. If he tries to kill the person he had spent two Games trying to keep alive, what would he try to do to me?

“You look lovely.”

His voice broke the silence. His tone and the words didn’t quite match up, as it was quite blunt and more of an observation than a compliment, but it thawed a bit of the ice on my feet.

“Thank you, Peeta.” I gulped.

“You’re scared of me.” The same blunt tone escaped his mouth.

“No, not exactly. What do you remember about me?”

He looked down and blinked rapidly before looking back up at me and seemingly at loss for words. Does he not remember anything?

“Some…things.” His voice was now the cautious one. I took a step forward.

“Tell me. I’ll tell you if they’re accurate or if I remember them differently.”

“You’re Haymitch’s daughter. You live next door to me in the Victors square.”

I nodded.

“I go to your house when I have nightmares.”

I nodded.

“And we’re…”

I took another step forward.

My movement seemed to surprise him, and he blinked quickly again before the faintest blush touched his cheeks.

“What are we exactly?” He asked, eyes no longer meeting mine.

“We didn’t get the chance to really figure that out.” I breathed. This almost felt like talking to the old Peeta, but the air was too fragile.

“Katniss and I… but I thought…”

“You and Katniss put on a hell of a show. To survive. She’s your best friend.” I knew I had started to push a boundary. His eyes had darkened, face contorting in anger and confusion.

“No she..I loved her and she…She used me!”

I flinched. His anger wasn’t as painful as the certainty in his voice was. I loved her stabbed me in the gut as it echoed in the empty, too large room.

Someone must have yanked me out of the room, because I was suddenly in the hall way, staring at Peeta though the one way glass as he thrashed against his restraints, cursing Katniss’ name and screaming about mutts and monsters. I couldn’t take my eyes off of him until a shaky hand on my shoulder turned me towards them. My fathers grey eyes only took a glance at my face before pulling me into a hug.

“It isn’t real Y/n. The Capital messed with his head. This is-“

“This is my punishment isn’t it?”

He let go of me. An anger I never felt began to bubble in my throat. The stab wounds in my gut began to burn as I stared back into my fathers eyes and tears began to flood mine.

“This is my punishment! For being your daughter! For loving Peeta! For being in the way of the stupid, fake star-crossed lover’s bullshit! That wasn’t even my decision! That was you and Peeta! And now me and Katniss get to pay for it!”

I stormed out of the medical unit, everything too blurry to see exactly where I was going.

#fanfic #fanfiction #y/n #peeta mellark #the hunger games peeta #peeta x reader #mockingjay #angst