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dhampling · 2 months

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the sunwalker's gift gn!reader, 3.3k

“What is all of this in aid of, anyway?” He asks in a lazy drawl, seemingly unbothered. “The adventuring stuff. Do we have a destination yet?”

inspired by this ask where the reader finds a ring - after a lot of searching - that allows astarion to walk in the sun, and proposes with it. enjoy! wc: 3.3k cw: none. gn reader, fluff, all good stuff. no use of y/n. like one vague reference to sex. that's it. liberties taken with the idea of the sunwalker's gift.

Tardy.

“Here then, yes?”

A gentle dirt path carries to the town boundary, the marker one of dry wood and old brandish. Windows of amber; smoke rising to the stars, a biting chill settling on the ground as gateclose approaches.

You turn the map in hand to compare against the settlement before you.

“Think so.”

Astarion takes your arm in his, leaving the map hanging free in his wake.

It takes all the will you can muster not to take his hands in yours and spin him in some sleepy glee-bound whirl in the sheer ecstasy at the thought of what you have planned - instead pulling each other something ragged down the slope in a half-step, half-cant; giddy at the thought of Firewine by a fireplace as your breath clouds the air foggy past your heads.

You’re in a position where - maybe for the first time since the Netherbrain fell - you can see the end.

And it’s close. Ridiculously close.

You want nothing more than to drop and do it now. Knees muddied in the dew-thickened dirt clod and breeze heavy with frost under the big pale moon - teeth chittering, looking up to him;-

Gods. You can picture it. His eyes hooplike with uncertainty, the one last drip of doubt teetering on his tongue - is this some kind of cosmic joke? - a quiet whisper under his breath, a little tilt of his head. Hair rippling in the moonlight. A moment of mutability as he reconciles all you are, all you’ve become together. That there’s a future in which sincerity is all he knows moving forward.

No.

Before morning, for sure.

The gate welcomes you in one last waning breath as the guards head to their watch turrets until dawn, and it takes a minute to truly come to terms with civilization once more. Your eyes flit to each of the little flickering lanterns and candles in windows; to the railings adorned with browning vines and disused terracotta pots.

It’s been months since you and Astarion have been somewhat settled anywhere. Since the Absolute fell and you set off for adventures beyond anything you or he could ever imagine. Navigating the Underdark together, treading darkness above ground; wherever, it wasn’t of any real importance. You’d find lodging where you could, eat with whoever welcomed you; and you did it together.

Of course, your ulterior motive has managed to remain a secret. From clandestine discussions with the Society of Brilliance all the way back to the Gate; to fevered exploration in the deepest chasms of Sembia. Nights spent looking over the ferryboats on the Sea of Fallen Stars and discussing so many different futures the two of you could live.

He is completely disarmed and unsuspecting at your side. Radiant. Hopeful. The world is changed and he wants to see every bit he passes with eyes wide open to good fortune.

“A town called Tardy? Really?”

He sneers.

You shrug.

“It has a fun ring to it. Tardy.”

The word bounces on your tongue as you taste the mull-soak set between your teeth.

A wordless mission to stave off the chill now has you settled fireside in the closest inn with mulled Glowfire. The clock ticks and there’s lively chatter a little behind you in the main tavern room.

“The Scoundrel's Cellar, though. Now that’s a good name.’

He takes a small sip.

‘Why Tardy?”

You turn your head to him with a tight quirk of your upper lip.

“You’re asking me why?”

“Not really.’

Astarion looks at you and smiles.

‘It’s just… nice. To be able to talk at such leisure like this, I think.”

His cheeks are ruddied by the lashings of wind, the hint of a twinkle in his eyes as he reveres you. Hair a little unruly in the mop of curls atop his head but still unbelievably well-kempt for a man who's been on the road for months now. Lost wholly in his sheer exuberance, his joy in living despite the lack of a pulse. His chalice is close to his chest as he warms his hands.

You daren’t linger on your own appearance, thinking a silent prayer that the bathroom has a mirror.

It’s a long moment before you reply.

“Yes! Yes. Absolutely.”

He throws you a quizzical glance but the smile doesn’t leave his face as he shifts to look down at his drink.

“I sometimes picture having a fireplace, you know. How-’

A brief pause.

‘How nice it’d be to sit by it, on an evening like this. Home.”

Astarion stretches a palm outward to the flame and closes his eyes, basking in the scalding heat. Amber shades. Pallid skin a perfect canvas.

“What would you be doing, by the fire?” You query softly as you watch the gentle flickers of his hand, outstretched.

“I- I’m not sure.”

Something resembling a coy smile creeps onto his face, overrun by a timid quiet uncharacteristic of your long-term lover. You lean over to him and take his nimble fire-warm hand in your own. A small kiss planted firmly on the hot skin.

“Go on.’

The willing smile on your face as you egg him on, chin to palm. He tilts his head coquettishly.

‘What do you see in that beautiful head of yours? Because I can see it now - a sitting room full of tapestries and hangings; all of your design, of course. Patchwork blankets. Big comfy seats.”

“Ugh. Fine. Yes.’

Any ill-mannered jest fades almost immediately as he looks into your eyes and beams once more. He is safe here. He knows it.

‘I’m thinking big seats. Maybe-’

He brings his arms out wide.

‘Maybe this big? Possibly bigger? Somewhere to lounge, naturally.’

His hand finds yours in the low light once more, a tentative clutch as he maps out the vision in his head.

‘Soft carpets on stone floors. Incense - none of the dull stuff though, darling; only pure patchouli - and… and lanterns with glass of all colours, so the room glows with light constantly.”

“So we’ve set the scene. Then what?”

Astarion rolls his eyes at you fondly.

“And then… I don’t know. A little cat on the cushions. Books, papers scattered on the carpet as despite the fact we have those big comfy seats; I’m not seeing myself to be inclined to move Her Majesty.”

“After the cat at the Last Light?”

“The very same. But I want a girl cat. Boy cats feel… weird to me. Cats are girls.’

He grimaces and waves his chalice-hand.

‘Anyway. Her Majesty on the lounger, me on the floor. I’m drawing up patterns early into the morning. Big, thick shutters over the windows; but it doesn’t matter because the lantern light is so vivid, and you;-’

There’s a feather-soft look to him when he does look at you.

‘Oh, you.’

You become aware of him drawing small circles with his thumb, eyes unmoving; unblinking.

‘Always you. My love. Should you decide to join me in long-term domesticity-’

He plants a kiss on your hand as you did his. Your stomach is pure cream as you listen, nodding slowly with lids of honey.

‘Then you. Everywhere. Beside me on the carpet, laughing in that delicious way you do. Astride me in our bed -’

You smirk. He looks at you a little deviously.

‘Well, not just bed. Anywhere, really.”

“Is that what the loungers are for?”

A small grin.

“Maybe.’

You gesture for him to continue with a knowing grin.

‘Anyway. Yes. The future. Us. A townhouse somewhere in the Gate.” He sips slowly while pondering.

“What about younglings? You were fond of Yenna.”

The wine erupts down his pale chin in shock, eyes like saucers.

“I’m sorry?”

“Children.” You repeat, holding his gaze with firm affection.

He moves to laugh but there’s a wavering indecision in the way his brows crease.

“Is that even possible?”

“I don’t know. But if it is?”

He stops to think for a moment when the call for Grand High Lord Supreme General Admiral Ancunín - his favoured travelling name - comes from the frazzled barmaid at the front of house to signal your rooms are ready, and all discussion overruled by the fact you’re both bone-weary beyond belief.

As your hand moves to your pocket, you feel it.

Sequestered away in the little velvet box you bought from the Night Market months ago and kept for this.

Later.

Hours on and you’re settled. A small room with an adjoining washroom - modest, but surprisingly comfortable; and just as you’d hoped, there’s a balcony.

Astarion lounges on the bed with a large leatherbound book, looking fondly at you from time to time as you busy yourself with your recent findings, taking inventory and stashing bits away in their respectively labelled bags of holding.

“What is all of this in aid of, anyway?” He asks in a lazy drawl, seemingly unbothered.

“What?”

“This. The adventuring stuff. Do we have a destination yet?”

“No, not in particular.’ You turn to look at him over your shoulder.

‘Why? You’ve not been bothered before?”

“And I’m not now. But I am curious.’

He grins devilishly on the bed and flips the book closed, placing it next to him and sitting straight - legs crossed.

‘What’s the plan, lover?”

“Who says there’s a plan?”

He’s got you right where he wants you.

You feel yourself becoming giddy again - heart wholly aflutter. You’re aware that he’s attuned to the regular pitter-patter between your ribs and despite the conscious attempt to regulate yourself back to calm; you almost want him to find you out this way.

“Nothing. I’m just wondering where we’re - well, wandering. It’s beginning to feel a little aimless”

There’s a moment of silence, prolonged as you fiddle further with your trinkets.

“I-’

You reach for the box in your pocket and run a thumb over it reactively.

‘I’ll tell you later. I promise.”

He looks at you with a curious furrow, trying to eke out a little more information in the quiet din but you’re wise to it at this point in your relationship. You simply yield into his glance with a pleading smile.

“Okay. Okay. I’ll leave it with you. But I do expect answers!”

You heave a sigh of relief. He’s definitely picked up on it.

Once all of your spoils are packed away you take a trip downstairs to purchase more wine and request a bath to be drawn - after all, you’ve been on the road with rivers as your only source of cleanliness for gods know how long.

There are nerves. Of course there are nerves, small pins prickling from within and setting you ablaze with each new thought of him beside you for life, threads weaving a rich tableau life together. Lilting violins and piano sonatas. Finery for days. Some small townhouse, just as he’d described it downstairs.

But you found the thing you’d set out to find on your adventures. Where you head next is entirely up to the both of you.

Provided he says yes, that is.

You imagine the worst possible rejection he could give you - “No, darling. Let’s keep things as they are for now.” - and yet the thought of him calling you darling in that syrupy murmur is rousing enough to keep you afloat.

The bath is tepid, door open whilst Astarion watches from the bed between pages.

“More wine, love?”

“Please.”

Calm. Rain on the thatch roof.

He perches on the side of the washtub, one leg crossed over the other as he passes you a glass full of red. Hums absent-mindedly as he swirls the perfumed waters with a dainty hand.

Your mind drifts to the ring. How beautiful it’ll look in place.

He looks at you with that curious glint in his eye, and you roll your head to the back of the tub in an attempt at meek avoidance.

“Pretty.” He quips.

You laugh quietly.

“Hm?”

“You. Pretty. Hair all mussed like a siren. A vision.”

He lifts your wrist from the water and kisses the back of your hand a few times over, while you squirm in jest. He only retaliates by kissing you harder with a fiendish giggle.

“You’re one to talk.”

The lantern by the mirror lights the tips of his curls from behind. Angelic.

“Yes, I am beautiful. So are you. My darling.”

It must be late now. Maybe late enough.

As you lift from the water - assisted by your lover’s hand - and enrobe once more, you feel it.

Now.

Astarion begins his usual routine of light-proofing the room and blocking the shutters as the threat of sunrise looms on the horizon.

Well. Light.

The rain doesn’t show any sign of ceasing.

Nonetheless, you feel ready. A habit you can’t wait for him to break, checking the shutters for cracks.

“C’mere.”

He turns to you and looks you over.

“Hm?”

“Come here! Please! I’ve got something for you and it simply can’t wait any longer.”

The box is light in hand, soft. You’ve checked it multiple times for the ring and all is in place.

The way he steps to you is cautious. Catlike.

“Is this the thing? Is it finally time?’

You pull him in next to you on the edge of the bed, taking both hands in yours.

‘I can see that little box. Hopefully a trinket worth the hours of agony I’ve endured waiting for you to reveal your secrets.” He grins, pulling you in for a gentle kiss.

You don’t say anything, freeing one hand to take the box.

“This is-’

A sharp inhale.

‘This is it. Wherever we go from here, it’s mutually agreed. All of it. But this is what I’ve been looking for, hence my leadership skills taking forefront again.”

“Don’t tell me. It’s a Bracing Band!’

You shove him gently and he giggles, reinforcing his clutch on your hand.

‘Okay, okay. I’m done. Show me.”

He waggles his fingers around your palm and grins expectantly. Gods. You rip the bandage off and open the box to him.

He’s seen a picture of it before - it’s in one of his books, that’s where you got the initial idea - but you know he hasn’t read it or he’d onto you weeks ago.

And he doesn’t recognise it.

“I- What is this?”

A gentle whisper as his eyes run over the golden rays cast with aged enamel.

“A ring.’

Astarion’s death glare takes a new form, this time wholly inhibited by the uncertainty in his frozen hunch.

You stand and spin to a kneel on the floor in front of him.

‘A special ring. Really, really special; in fact.’

Plucking it from the velvet, you hover the band over his fingertip.

‘Firstly though. Marry me?”

You don’t think you’ve ever seen him so completely and utterly shocked.

Mouth firmly agape as red round eyes attempt to scan yours for any sign of deceit, jowls trembling a little in the yellow lantern glow. A small gulp as his lips meet once more.

“You picked an inn called The Scoundrel's Cellar, in a town called Tardy, in the middle of a thunderstorm; to propose marriage to me?”

“Had to be here, had to be now. Couldn’t wait any longer. You’ll understand in a minute, I promise.’

You rise a little to cup his jaw in hand, sinking into a chaste kiss.

‘Astarion Ancunín, will you marry me?”

“Gods!’

There’s a brief tremor as his lips wobble, then a practised breath as he speaks. One hand reaches for your flushed cheek to mirror the gesture.

‘Of course I will, you brute. Maybe you could’ve done with a better choice in ring, of course; but I can learn to love it, I’m sur-”

“You are beyond insufferable, Astarion. Kiss me right now.”

The immediately resulting kiss is brimming with yearning. A cup full to spilling as he takes the ring in your hand whilst you put it on him.

He hunches all the way over to meet you on raised knees, grabbing at body-warmed bedclothes for one another; tenderly, in peals of quiet laughter between breaths and silent shouts.

“Wait. I’m not done.’

He’s giddy now, too. Knee bouncing.

‘There’s a reason it had to be that ring.”

“It’s hideous, pet. Give me a reason to love it.”

You spin to your feet and to the furthest shutters, opening them a slight as he watches on in guarded curiosity with the biggest smile lingering on his face.

The first hint of light.

“C’mere.”

“You’re bossing me around an awful lot today, my darling betrothed.”

The weight of the moment is colossal, ocean deep. Despite his sheer joy he won’t come willingly. The burns from the dock the day the Absolute fell were molten for weeks and you still both have night terrors ringing loud with the sound of his agonising yells.

A gentle hand extends to him.

“The Sunwalker’s Gift.”

Then it clicks. Slowly. The final puzzle piece.

“No. Surely.”

“Yes.”

“It can’t be.”

“It had to be.”

“What if it isn’t?”

“Then we have a wedding to plan in the Underdark. But I wouldn’t traipse across the realms on just an inkling, you know.”

“I know you wouldn’t.”

“Well then.’

Your hand waits expectantly, fingers mimicking his waggle.

‘Just a finger. Please.”

He sits on the bed, spinning the ring mindlessly; before he looks at you with a resolute nod.

“I’ve trusted you with far worse, all things considered.”

Astarion approaches slowly and meets your hand, interlinking your ring fingers together and waiting for your word as you position yourself within the light.

“On three?”

Three arrives and nothing happens.

Hands raised, fingers lit in a single low beam of early light. Frozen.

“Astarion? All good?”

He moves your hands wholly into the light. Nothing. Twists the tangled fingers as if examining for damage. Rain careens into the window.

“I- Yes. Yes. All good.”

Dumbfounded.

You erupt into a bubbling grin, pulling him to the balcony doors and planting another soft kiss onto bewildered lips. Looking to the worn bronze handles with a brief head tilt.

A simple, overwhelmed nod. Brows knitted together in a milky daze, mouth slack. He looks like he’s going to collapse.

The doors edge open and you cautiously step to lead him by arm.

Nothing. Not a single sizzle, no cinders. Forearm, arm, body; head.

No tug on your hand as he races back indoors. No wretched cries of pain nor gasps of hurt.

It’s a few seconds before he speaks. The sun now burns bright enough to see the streets below with razor clarity.

“The rain. My- my hair-’

Barely above a whisper.

‘Looks perfect. As it always does.’

Your eyes don’t leave him. Not once. He’s completely floored, gazing into the middle distance mindlessly.

‘Love, sit.”

You gently tug an iron-wrought balconette chair over to him and help him to find purchase atop it amongst his overwhelm.

“I- I love you. Thank you.”

“Anything. Anything for you.”

He shakes from his haze once wet through, lightning on the horizon awakening the Astarion you recognise best. Closes his eyes with a soft smile.

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

His grip on your hand is vicelike, clutching it to his chest with zealous reverence.

“Then we’ll have to have a hot bath later. Right now though, I think a celebration is in order.”

You free yourself from his grasp for two moments, barreling back inside for the last of the wine and the large bedsheet. You place both chalices on the iron table and sit beside Astarion outside in fits of laughter whilst wrapping the sheet over both of your heads. He snatches your hand back and kisses it for an age. Devoted.

“To Tardy?”

He lifts his chalice in his free hand, and you do the same in yours.

“Tardy!”

#my writing #astarion x reader #astarion #astarion ancunin #baldurs gate astarion #bg3 #astarion x female reader #astarion x male reader #astarion x gn reader #astarion x tav #fluff #one shot #x reader

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charliemwrites · 4 months

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Girl rage, girl rage, girl rage!!

CW for Simon being a Jerk and a Creep, mentions of violence and murder, and kidnapping.

One time in high school, there was a boy that wouldn’t leave you alone. You gave him a million chances to knock it off, growing more and more hostile, snapping your teeth. The inappropriate touches in the hall, the lewd comments at lunch breaks, the fucking pictures. Nothing salacious, just long shots of you from afar, trying to go about your day.

One day he reached for your chest and you snapped two of his fingers. His parents wailed that you ruined his rugby career. You told them he should get better at football.

When you’re annoyed, you crack the knuckles of those same fingers on your own hand.

It’s the first thing you do when you wake up in a bare, grey basement, laid on a thin cot on the ground. Pop, pop. Recalibrating your foggy mind.

You don’t quite remember how you got here. Last clear thing is the bar. Doesn’t matter how you got here though, at least for the moment - just that you are here. And you don’t want to be.

You’re handcuffed, chain looped through an exposed pipe above your head. You clink it once, twice. Decide it’s fairly sturdy and take stock of everything else.

Your stomach is a bit tight with nausea - drug induced, you figure. Ugh. And your head aches, nothing a glass of water won’t fix.

But all your clothes are intact, no ache between your thighs or burgeoning bruises on your breasts. No shoes, though. Bummer, you liked those.

You crack the knuckles on your other hand; pop, pop.

You think of the scent of cheap whiskey, shattered glass, policemen wrapping you in a shock blanket. Remember your date chocking on his own vomit in a dark alley, then someone much bigger and stronger grabbing you as you tried to leave.

Hm.

The pipes are warm. You settle back against them and wait.

—

You don’t scream when Simon enters the basement. Don’t make a single peep. You shift against the pipes, tucking your feet under you as he approaches. Your eyes are so big, rounded as you peer up at him through your lashes.

“Such a smart girl,” he coos, “staying quiet for me. Or are you just that scared?”

You blink at him, the tiniest indent dimpling your bottom lip from your teeth. He crouches down in front of you, arms balanced on his knees. You’re curled up so small. He wants to bundle you in his lap, tuck you away.

“It’s alright, little one,” he soothes. “There’s no need to be scared.”

You twitch a bit, the metal cuffs clicking together. He flicks his eyes to them, sighs.

“Those are so that you don’t do something stupid,” he explains patiently. “Like you did earlier.”

A little furrow of confusion creases your brows. He exhales, amused despite himself. So precious, his girl. Like you can’t fathom why he would be upset with you.

“Going out with a strange man.”

He tuts, feels that black rage simmering again, same he felt when he realized you and that slime were no longer at the bar.

“He almost hurt you in that alley,” he reminds, “had he not been so drunk he tripped over his own fucking feet.”

He takes a second to breathe, fingers twitching. They feel too dry, too clean. He was so worried about getting you home that he had no time to bother taking care of that scum.

“I tried to let you have your fun, baby. I really did. But I can’t — I can’t anymore. The world is far too dangerous.” He brushes the backs of his fingers down your cheek, coos at the little shudder that runs through you. “And you’ve proven that you can’t take care of yourself.”

Your lips part. Shock, confusion, protest. It doesn’t matter, he’s more distracted feeling the soft give of your plush bottom lip beneath his thumb, bitten pink.

“It’s alright. You don’t have to worry about that anymore,” he soothes. “I’ll take care of you from now on.”

You squeeze your eyes shut, dropping your head to your arm. He hums.

“I know, sweet girl, I know. This is for the best, I promise.”

You sniffle a bit, blink wet eyes open. Wet your lips with the tip of your pretty pink tongue.

“What… what do I call you?” you ask, voice soft and raspy.

Oh, such a sweet thing. Such a sweet, clever girl. You’re going to be so, so good for him.

“Just Ghost for now, luv. Let me get you some water, you’ve earned it.”

—

You exhale slow and soft, counting every fourth heartbeat. If you don’t, you’ll start trying to break things. The smart money is on your bones giving before that stupid pipe. So. Breathing it is.

You’ve never felt out of control in anger. Everything is always so sharp and clear, you think and move with a precision you usually can’t coax from mind or body.

This… Ghost, though.

It was a pleasant surprise that he didn’t realize what you did in the alley. Too dark, perhaps. Too quiet. Perhaps he thought you were fleeing in fear.

It’s an advantage you can’t squander. He’s much bigger than you, much stronger. Carries himself with posture and purpose reminiscent of military or former military bearing. There’s a physicality to the way he moves that echos violence.

You know that you will only get one proper shot to escape. There is no point wasting it on shouting and cursing and snarling. Even if he did only consider it bluster and bark, it would plant seeds of doubt in his mind. Make him careful and conscious of any slip ups.

Sometimes, rabid animals appear friendly or docile. The virus gets a new victim close enough to turn and bite, spreading and infecting.

You run your tongue over your teeth, imagine the taste of blood if you’d bitten through his thumb like you wanted to. Inhale and exhale again, start the counter over.

Pause to resist another sneeze, blinking past watery eyes and sniffling it away. Christ, he couldn’t have at least cleaned the basement before chaining you up down here? Could barely focus on his ridiculous monologue through the allergies.

Not that you think you missed much; and you’re sure you’ll be hearing it again.

He’s just like every other man you’ve ever killed, you muse, settling in again. And it’ll be so, so sweet watching the blood bloom.

#cod #my writing #fanfiction #dark fic #reader fic #rabid reader #simon ghost riley #simon x reader #kidnapper ghost #ghost x reader

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little-diable · 5 months

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I'd rather be with you – Spencer Reid (smut)

I won't lie, I love a good enemies to lovers Spencer fic. Please like and reblog if you enjoyed reading this, your comments keep us writers motivated! Enjoy my loves. xxx

Summary: The reader and Spencer hate one another, at least in the moments where they're not tangled beneath the sheets.

Warnings: 18+, smut, unprotected sex, shower sex, oral (m), face fucking, bickering, love confession, enemies to lovers

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader (2.3k words)

Her necklace bounced off her naked chest with every thrust, with every moan leaving her as if it was her last. Her necklace bounced off her naked chest with every jerk of his hips, forcing his cock even deeper into her. Her necklace bounced off her naked chest with every call off her name, with every tug on the small pendant dangling between her breasts.

The necklace was a reminder, a reminder whenever Spencer’s eyes snapped down to it, momentarily distracted from the case they were working on – just for a second or two, though seconds too long for a man with a brain like Spencer‘s. She was his nemesis, the one that has taught him what it means to hate somebody, but yet, in the moments where he fucked her on the nearest surface, he couldn’t remember the hate she elicited inside of him.

“Spencer? Shit, I truly fucked your brains out last night, huh?” A dark chuckle left (y/n) as she leaned back against the table, arms crossed in front of her chest. A growl left the smart man, murmuring something under his breath she couldn’t pick up on. And yet her smirk didn’t waver, glued to her lips.

Before Spencer could reply with snarky words rolling off his tongue, Derek had stepped into the room that had been assigned to them. His eyes were focused on his phone, speaking to Penelope with a bright smile – a sight that left (y/n) fawning over the two. Whenever she watched Penelope and Derek interact, she felt some kind of hope burning inside of her, a kind of hope that left her praying that somebody will eventually treat her with this much love and respect.

“I’ll talk to you later, babygirl.” Derek hung up the call before his eyes first found (y/n)’s and then Spencer’s, smirking at the two profilers. “Good to see that you didn’t kill one another while I was gone. Hotch wants you two to visit the unsub’s childhood home again.”

“But we’ve been there this morning?” Spencer cut into the conversation before (y/n) could ask the same question. An annoyed huff left her, very well knowing what he was trying to do, taking away the focus from the woman he couldn’t stand, the woman he had always detested, hated since the first case they had worked together.

“Hotch wants us to go through the photo albums again, maybe we’ve missed something, and why not send our two superbrains to go through the pictures. It’d take the rest of us way too long to do it.” (Y/n) had already reached for her jacket before Derek had finished his sentence, watching with amusement glistening in his eyes how Spencer followed her out of the room, probably already plotting over a new chance to finally murder her.

……

“Oh fuck, fuck, Spencer.” Her moans echoed through the foggy bathroom, back pressed against his front as he fucked her closer and closer to the edge. The warm water kept streaming down their bodies, washing away the reminders of the past day, of their arguments, and their bottled emotions.

His teeth left marks on the spot where her neck met her shoulders, drawing pained whines from (y/n). She couldn’t speak up, couldn’t remember how to speak, fully distracted by the feeling of his cock nudging her swollen spot with every thrust. She was putty in his hands, allowing him to do as he pleased. No matter the spiteful words she wanted to speak, riling him up even further, she kept quiet, not daring to push Spencer away when she was so very close to her release.

“Look at that, did I finally manage to shut you up?” His words were rough, dripping with a mean undertone that momentarily managed to rip her out of her state.

“Fuck you, Spencer, don’t act as if–” her rambling was cut short by the feeling of Spencer pulling away, leaving her empty. (Y/n) clumsily turned around in his grasp, staring up at the man with wide eyes, wondering what was about to happen.

“Onto your knees, it seems like you still haven’t learned your lesson.” She struggled to drop to her knees, holding onto him as the water kept cascading down his back. Spencer forced his cock into her mouth, making her choke on the air lingering inside her lungs. He fucked her mouth with moans clawing through him, sounds that left her swollen bundle of nerves pulsing.

Spencer had always been rough with her, taking the upper hand she claimed around their team, stealing his title of being smarter than them all. He had detested her from the start, jealous of the way she managed to interact with the team, how she seemed to know how to handle every situation, no matter her high IQ. Perhaps it truly was jealousy that had pushed him away, not understanding how someone with an IQ almost as high as his didn’t struggle to with simple interactions like he did, how she made it seem so effortlessly easy.

“You act as if you’re so much better, as if you don’t give a shit about me. But let me tell you something, doll,” a groan left Spencer as one of her hands found his cock, holding onto the part he hadn’t pushed down her throat just yet. “You are nothing special.”

Spencer was too far gone to pick up on the hurt expression tugging on her features, no longer focusing on the sounds he made, on the way his cock rested on her tongue, all she could focus on were his words, the spiteful insults. Her heart skipped a few beats, unsure how to react, not understanding what he was trying to tell her.

“They don’t see through your pathetic games, you’re nothing but an imposter, but trust me, I always win, every single game.” His cock twitched in her mouth, about to cum down her throat, about to force her to swallow his every drop. Perhaps she deserved being treated like this after the things she had said today, the way she had made fun of him - whatever it had been, (y/n) was now paying the price.

He came with a moan, head rolling back, hand gripping her hair. (Y/n) didn’t dare move, unable to stop thinking of the words he had spoken, of the insults he had thrown his way. She barely noticed how he pulled away, how he reached a hand out of her to take, pulling her back to her feet.

No further words were spoken between the two, she didn’t give him a chance to fuck her again, to push her over the edge. She left the shower before he could touch her again, quickly redressing herself to find her way to her hotel room.

……

The sound of somebody softly knocking on her door forced her eyes away from her book. She needed a few seconds to snap into motion, wondering who wanted to speak to her that late in the evening, wondering if it was Hotch to tell her that they had a breakthrough with their case. But the sight of Spencer waiting in front of her door left her frozen in her movements, looking at him with raised eyebrows and confusion swimming in her pupils.

“Can I?” (Y/n) stepped aside, allowing him to find his way into the room, walking towards the bed she had been laying on moments ago. They were engulfed by an uncomfortable silence, looking at one another to try and figure out what he was doing, why he had found his way to her.

“It’s late Spencer, what are you doing here?” Her voice had an unfamiliar undertone to it, urged on by the uncertainty she felt, still focusing on the angry words he had spoken earlier. He cleared his throat, gaze flickering down to his slender fingers, fumbling with them as his mind kept racing, trying to speak up, trying to say the words he struggled to speak out loud.

“I haven’t met many people who have an IQ that’s way above the ordinary, well, at least not normal people who aren’t killers. I am not used to feeling intimidated, but I am used to being the one people make fun of, I am used to feeling alone and to being the outsider. But it had never been like that with the team, they’ve accepted me and the way I am, I didn’t have to prove myself like I had been forced to do before meeting them. But then you joined the team, and suddenly I was once again back to being caught in a fight of proving myself. For the first time in years I no longer feel like I fit in.” His words made tears well up in her eyes, slowly sitting down next to the rambling man with her hand finding his warm one. (Y/n) squeezed his hand, encouraging Spencer to keep on speaking, to let go of the bottled up words he had tried to swallow down for the past months.

“Hating you is so much easier than accepting that you’re everything I’ve always wanted. Hating you is so much easier than forcing myself to accept that I don’t have any reason to be jealous of you, than accepting that you’re perfect for me. You’re everything I’ll never be.” A shaky breath left Spencer, once again allowing the thick silence to wrap itself around the two. She needed quite a few moments to speak up, to see through the information he had just dumped on her.

“I knew that there was some kind of jealousy that left you to treat me like that, and I guess I gave in, I played the game instead of trying to figure out why you acted like that. I am sorry that I make you feel like that, Spence. But fuck, you truly have nothing to be jealous of. You’re so much more than just a smart brain, and whoever won’t see that must be blind.” Their eyes met, making a small smile tug on Spencer’s lips before he titled his head down to softly kiss her. The gasp leaving (y/n) allowed him to deepen the kiss, hand letting go of hers to pull her into his lap.

“I am sorry for being such an asshole who is heavily crushing on you.” A laugh broke through (y/n) at his words, forehead falling against his.

“I am sorry for being such a bitch who is heavily crushing on you.” (Y/n) found herself being pushed down on the mattress, with Spencer laying half on her and half on the mattress, lips locked in a loving kiss. One of his hands started to wander, finding its way under her shirt, down to her panties.

“I owe you at least two orgasms, don’t I?” She couldn’t reply, interrupted by a moan as his fingers pushed her panties aside, finding her pulsing clit. Spencer moved his fingers just the way she needed him to, touching her like he had done numerous times before. Her heart was pounding, mind hazy and filled with lust, purely focusing on Spencer.

“I want to cum on your cock, fuck me again, please Spence.” He shuffled around, pulling her panties down before he freed his hard cock. Neither of them wanted to waste any time, set on properly fucking, needing to feel one another close. (Y/n) watched him spit into his hand, lubing himself up before he pushed into her.

(Y/n)’s moans spurred him on, arms finding their way around his neck, tugging him down for a greedy kiss. He fucked her ruthlessly, though without any anger guiding him, allowing his heart to finally give into the love he felt for her. No longer were they speaking hateful words, no longer were they set on making one another pay for their teasing, fucking like lovers for the first time.

“I love you, so fucking much.” His words left (y/n) gasping in surprise, eyes rolling back into her head the second his skilled fingers found her bundle of nerves. Her sounds made him feel as if he had ascended to heaven, engulfed by the sounds no human had ever been fortunate enough to hear. And even as she spoke the loving three words he had just spoken, Spencer couldn’t stop himself from staring down on her.

Spencer picked up his pace, fucking her into the mattress like a mad man, set on leaving marks that would stay for eternity, never fading, always renewed by his wandering fingers and lips. He marveled at (y/n), hoping that he’d never part from her again, he wouldn’t survive being away from her, needing her like a shot of insulin to save his heart.

“Fuck, feels so good.” His cock stretched her perfectly, forcing her walls to adjust as he kept pounding into her, not holding back with his lips pulled into a smirk and his eyes staring down on her. She clawed her fingernails into his skin, drawing blood from the marks she left, leaving Spencer torn between a hiss and a moan.

The second he added more strength to his touch, rubbing her clit faster than before, she gave in, tumbling over the edge without another warning. His name left her over and over again, guiding him through his own high. She felt him paint her walls white, heard him choke on his moans, saw him collapse on top of her.

And for the first time since they’ve started sleeping with one another, neither of them felt the need to escape, to hide away from the other.

#Spencer Reid smut #Spencer Reid x reader #criminal minds smut #Spencer Reid imagine

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gdjyho · 1 year

Text

❝ ecstasy ❞

- sypnosis ; jungkook fucks the reader completely dumb. you need him so bad. you can’t help it.

- paring ; jungkook x female reader [ established relationship].

- warnings ; pussy play, mentions of cheating, jungkook can’t make a choice, p in v [wrap it before you tap it] dick riding , dumbification, cum play, desperate reader, slight neck grabbing, mentions of hickies (?) , cum eating, nude pictures, dacriphyllia [ pleasure form tears], pure smut.

if u liked it let me know in the comments !!

✭✭✭

“ nmph! jungkook!” you whine on his cock as his tattooed hands find the smooth skin on your back. this action of his sends a shiver down your spine. the sweet symphony of moans and skin slapping laced together, filling the room.

jungkook looks up to admire the mess he’s made you into. he can’t help but smile as he looks down at you. the moment of intimacy he feels is short lived when jihyo comes to his mind. his girlfriend. his eyebrows knit together in confusion of his feelings. his mind is ages away.

he moves his hands along your figure, running his finger past your every curve. he finally makes his decision of which part of you he wants to play with next. he leans forwards taking your nipple into his mouth. you moan at this new, warm feeling against your sensitive bud. he pulls off, only a string of saliva from his plump pink lips connecting you two.

your stomach feels like it’s about to explode from the upcoming orgasm. it’s your third one tonight. the overstimulation is getting to you. the stream of praises continue to spill out of his mouth and right into your oblivious ears. your eyes sting with hot tears that begin to rush down your face.

wet lips swollen form sucking and kissing, they part to alert him of your state, but all that comes out is whines of his name. he’s fucked you dumb.

he looks up into your glossy eyes, cupping your face and carresing those pretty pink parted lips of yours. “ awhh, what have i done to you, pretty girl?” he mocks your state as if he doesn’t know. he does.you bite your lip to contain your sobs. “don’t cry, ive got you” he whispers, his words making clench around him.

feelings of pleasure and lust overtake your emotions. your head is foggy with too many thoughts to count. jungkook groans as his finds his way to your hair. he brings you close by your neck, which is covered in his love for you. he runs his hot tounge along it.

finally, your release comes along. it paints your pussy and his stomach in a milky tone. “ ready for me to fill you up?” he half says half moans. god, this man knew how fold you. he’s like a drug, you can’t seem to get enough.

he shoots his load, coaxing your walls with his thick cum. before it can make more of a mess, he swipes the bit that’s dripping off your clit and shoves his fingers into your mouth.

you gag on his fingers, strings of spit and cum mixed together pouring out form the side of your mouth. “ thankyou kookie” you pant, still sucking on the remains of your liquids whilst catching your breath.

he withdraws his fingers from your warm mouth, caressing your lips once more. he brings you off his cock. you look down at his pink slit, which is still oozing a little. he slips on his black breifs, walking towards the dark hallway. he turns back to see your head pop through one of his black shirts.

jungkook paces back to his bedside, grabbing his phone and pressing straight onto the little camera icon at the bottom of the screen. “ stay still baby”. he then grabs a handful of your ass, spreading your cheek and snapping a pic.

“ jungkook-ah! how many times have i told you” you playfully swat his hand away. he just flashes you that infamous toothy bunny smile and leaves the room.

he looks up at the ceiling, knowing he’d choose you in a heartbeat. he didn’t even have to think about it. he just knew. but what he didn’t know is how he was going to throw the whole plan of the future with jihyo away. once again, jungkook’s eyebrows knitted together at the thought of her, of it. the whole thing made him feel weird.

#bts #jungkook #jungkook smut #jungkook x reader #kpop #smutty #jungkook oneshot #bts x reader

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myadmiringmind · 1 year

Text

Days at Home | Peeta Mellark

Peeta Mellark Masterlist

Genre: Fluff

Summary: A simple life has never felt so sweet.

Pairing(s): Peeta Mellark x Fem!Wife!Reader

Warning(s): Children (some ppl don’t like them), food, non-sexual nudity

Note(s):

Can be read as AU or not

Established relationship

Peeta and reader have children

Reader is able to have children

Children call reader “Mom”

|PICTURES ARE NOT MINE|

———————————————

You blink, your brain foggy as you try to figure out your surroundings. But you're half asleep so it takes a couple of moments.

All you can see is darkness, then you pick up on the warmth beneath you. Immediately you know it’s Peeta. His chest rises and falls as he sleeps peacefully, his heartbeat steady and soothing, and his arm curled around you protectively, making sure to keep you close to him.

Peeta is always warm. It also doesn't hurt that it's fall. You snuggle up into him, your face going into his neck. Everything about him makes you feel at home.

Even though you try to fall back asleep you know it won’t happen. You savor the last few moments before you’ll push yourself out of bed.

But when you try to get up, Peeta’s arms tighten.

“What’s wrong, baby?” His voice is laced with sleep and you know he’s only half awake.

“I’m going to get a shower.” You answer quietly

“What?” He uses his other hand to rub his eyes.

“I’m going to get a shower.” You repeat

Peeta looks over at the curtains so that he can glance outside, “The sun isn’t up yet. We can sleep for a couple more hours.”

You shake your head, “I tried but I’m already awake. Go back to bed, honey.”

Peeta protests, “Can’t sleep without you.”

“You sure? It’s pretty early.” You say

Peeta’s nod is barely noticeable in the dark, “Maybe the shower will wake me up.”

With a kiss to your forehead you hear the bed creak, Peeta’s loud footsteps, and then the overhead light is turned on.

You flinch from the sudden brightness and hear Peeta chuckle, “Sorry, baby.” He sounds amused.

The sound of his heavy footsteps can be heard while you rub your eyes.

You feel the familiar roughness of Peeta’s hand tilt your head up so he can give you a loving kiss to your forehead.

“I’ll go start the shower.” He says before disappearing into the ensuite bathroom.

You use the little time alone to pick out a pair of jeans and a sweater you like, you lay it out next to the outfit that Peeta chose for himself the night before. You laugh quietly at seeing the simple white button up with tan pants, he barely gets cold in fall.

“Better hurry unless we want to waste all of the hot water, sweetheart.” Peeta teases from the bathroom door.

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

You and Peeta have been together for a little over ten years, so it’s only natural for the two of you to move in such a way that is familiar and routinely.

Peeta always lets you step into the shower first, he lets you soak under the warm water before it’s his turn. Then, he’ll pull you into his chest for a sweet hug, just letting the two of you bask into the warmth of each other. He’s constantly giving you kisses, on your shoulder, your neck, your face, or your face.

One time, you were running late for an event and had the misfortune of a quick shower. The usual intimacy the two of you shared was skipped over leaving the both of you feeling a little more uneasy.

In fact, it seemed to be the only thing driving Peeta’s mind as he would make little comments about his day not starting off right whenever given the chance.

It didn’t matter that you and Peeta were exhausted by the end of the day. The bath was still ran, and the two of you relaxed in there to make up for what you lost in the morning, even though both of you were on the verge of sleep.

Back in the present, Peeta’s hands rubbed up and down your back, making you shiver.

Your shower routine was done before you could savor it enough and Peeta was wrapping the soft towel around your body, effectively warming you up.

“We have a few hours until the kids are up, what’s on your mind?” Peeta asks, rubbing your arms for extra warmth.

“Food.” You answer

Peeta laugh echos in your bathroom and your eyes catch his grin through the mirror.

“Anything for you, sweetheart.”

———————————

Peeta is an expert in the kitchen.

You’re not bad, but it’s obvious which one of you is better. You can’t complain really, anything Peeta makes you love, maybe it’s because he’s grew up as a baker, maybe it’s because he puts his love into everything he does, or maybe it’s just because you adore him.

You can’t say that it was a quiet morning, with constant chatter between you two, laughs, and kisses, it wasn’t at all quiet.

While your breakfast is in the pan, Peeta puts on a record with music that had played at your wedding, he sways with you, grinning at each other even though you're moving too slow for the upbeat song.

“The little ones will be up soon.” You comment, seeing the time on the clock.

Peeta’s arms wrap themselves around your waist, his head on your shoulder, “Good, don’t want to have to reheat the food for them.”

It was the famous breakfast of fluffy chocolate chip pancakes, eggs, bacon, bread, and jam that you made from your fruit garden out back, and of course the bowls of fruit that you had picked freshly this morning.

“We should go wake them up then.” You said

You felt Peeta’s nod as he pulled you up the stairs.

—————————

Your eldest, was sleeping peacefully. You almost felt bad waking him up.

You moved to open the curtains letting natural light filter into his bedroom. You saw him stir at the sudden light.

“Hey bud, it’s time to wake up.” Peeta whispered, gently shaking him.

Your seven year old clutched his deer stuffed animal closer to his body.

You walked over, and sat on the edge so you could shake him.

“Rise and shine, honey.” You pressed a kiss to his cheek.

Slowly but surely, his eyes slowly opened.

“Dad?” He noticed you next, “Mom….is it time to get up already.” He mumbled

Peeta chuckled softly, “Yeah bud, we’ve got the whole day ahead.”

Your son only yawns in response.

“We made breakfast.” You offer, and your son pauses.

“What kind of breakfast?” He asks

“Pancakes, bacon, bread, jam, the whole feast.” Peeta answers

“Okay.” He pushes back the covers and stretches once he stands.

He gives Peeta a hug and a kiss first, then you bend down so he can give you one too.

“Let’s go wake up your sister.” You say, following your son out of his bedroom door with Peeta close behind you.

Your seven year old shuffles with his stuffed animal still in his arms. Your daughter's room isn’t far so it doesn’t take long before you’re standing outside her bedroom door.

Your son does a short courtesy knock before he opens up the door.

Like your eldests room, the curtains are drawn and the room is dark. Your son immediately goes to his sister's side while you make your way over to the curtains.

Like your son, your daughter scrunches her face when the light pours in. You laugh quietly at how similar they look.

Your son whispers his sister's name and shakes her a little roughly.

“Be a little gentler, bud.” Peeta advises

The boy listens and shakes her again.

Your daughter lets out a little whine at being woken up.

“It’s time to get up, there’s breakfast downstairs.” Your son says

Your daughter tears up a bit at the idea of getting up.

“Good morning, honey.” You say, coming up beside your son, and kneeling down.

Peeta sits on the edge of the bed and gives your daughter a kiss on the forehead. You move some of the hair out of her face.

“Don’t wanna get up.” Your four year old cries.

“But how else are you gonna eat pancakes?” You ask

She looks at you in thought, obviously debating her options.

Finally, she looks over at Peeta and raises her arms up, “Daddy!”

Peeta chuckles and lifts her up into his arms.

“Let's go get your little brother up.” Peeta says softly to the two of them.

This time Peeta is the first out of the room with your daughter in his arms, then your son, and with you following.

When you were just outside of your youngests room, you saw your daughter wiggle in Peeta’s arms. An obvious sign that she wanted down.

Your eldest once again gave a little knock on the bedroom door, and you even heard a happy giggle on the other side of the door.

“Come on, open it!” Your daughter urged her brother impatiently

“I am!” He responded

Peeta wrapped his arm around your waist and chuckled while you both watched them enter your youngests room.

Your one year old son was standing up in his crib with a happy smile on his face.

Your son and daughter ran over and said a chorus of good mornings.

You walked over and pulled your youngest out of his crib. Once you placed him on the ground he was given a couple hugs and kisses from his older siblings.

“Let’s go downstairs and eat bekfest!” Your daughter said, not quite pronouncing breakfast correctly.

“Hold my hand.” Your eldest offered his hand to his brother but the younger just walked a little past him.

“Doesn’t seem like he wants to hold your hand right now, but you can hold mine!” You grinned teasingly.

“I get to hold your hand all the time.” Your son countered

“I’ll hold your hand.” Peeta offered

“Who’s gonna hold my hand?” Your daughter cried

Peeta stooped down and picked her up with a little spin, causing her to giggle.

“I’ll hold you in one arm, and your mom’s hand in the other.” Peeta tickled her

“Sounds good to me.” You said walking over to the two blondes.

“Let us go down first mom and dad.” Your eldest said, finally getting your youngests to hold his hand.

“After you, bud.” Peeta encouraged

———————————

Breakfast was a blur of catering and attempted food fights. It only stopped when your seven year old declared he was going to get dressed and your daughter followed after him claiming that she wanted to get dressed too.

“I’d say that was a successful breakfast.” Peeta commented while eating a few pieces of fruit.

“I’m just glad they didn’t ask for cereal instead.” You laughed, taking the dirty dishes over to the sink. Since Peeta did most of the cooking you agreed to do most of the dishes.

“Mom!” Your daughter's voice cried

You were at the bottom of the stairs in a second, "What is it?”

“I can’t get this shirt on!” Her tiny lips wobbled from the top of the stairs.

“Okay, I can help, you want my help?” Your shoulders relaxed

Your daughter nodded.

“Everything okay?” Peeta asked, holding your youngest in his arms.

“Wardrobe malfunction.” You answered

Peeta nodded and went back into the kitchen.

“I don’t even like this shirt.” Your daughter commented

“You wanna pick out another one?” You asked

Your daughter nodded eagerly.

———————

You’d admit that you weren’t the most ecstatic at the idea of building a sandbox, the idea of having to clean all the sand off of them still gives you chills. However, it keeps them entertained and happy so you decide it’s worth it.

You and your husband laid on a picnic blanket, Peeta’s back against a tree and you in his arms. It had been decided that since you were already planning on spending most of the day outside, you might as well eat lunch outside.

Now, the picnic basket that’s used more than you would’ve ever imagined is closed, all its contents drained except for a few extra bottles of water.

With fall your flowers and trees were going dormant for the winter and you were already brainstorming flowers to plant in the spring.

“I’m thinking of Marigolds.” You comment

“Those are pretty.” Peeta says while stroking your hair.

“Do you think the kids will want to plant some?” You ask

Peeta shrugs, “I think they will, but you can ask.”

You let your gaze shift to the horizon and notice the sun going down.

“Should we bring them inside for dinner?” You ask quietly

“No. Let’s watch the sunset first.” He kisses your cheek

——————————

To no one's surprise your children were quite hungry. They ate so quickly you were worried they were going to choke.

After they were done they were already exhausted which made it quite the challenge to get them to take their baths.

Your daughter nearly fell asleep while you helped her change into her pajamas.

Then, without a single kiss she was out like a light.

Your sons waited patiently for their kisses though you could see your youngest fighting sleep. But, he was out like his sister after he got a goodnight kiss from you and Peeta.

Your eldest was the last to be tucked in, enjoying his hugs and kisses while the three of you chatted a little bit about how the day went.

One thing is for sure, they will be well rested by tomorrow.

As soon as you quietly closed the door to your eldests room, Peeta pulled you into a hug.

He purposely swayed the both of you a little, making you want to fall asleep in his arms. You had done your own share of running around today.

He pulled back with a kiss on your cheek but didn't remove his arms.

"I love you." He said quietly

"I love you too." You replied genuinely.

"Thank you." Peeta said, confusing you a little bit.

"For what?"

"For giving me a better life than I could've dreamed of, for allowing me to wake up next to you everyday, for loving me."

You kissed his cheek, "I couldn't not love you. I can't imagine another person who could make me as happy as you do, or make me feel as loved as you do."

Peeta's smile was so big and full of emotion that it made your heart soar, "I want to spend the rest of my life with you. No matter how short or long, I want to spend it with you."

"Well that's good because I also want to spend the rest of my life with you."

Peeta chuckled, "It's cute you think I'd ever let you go." He teased

"Just shut up and kiss me."

"Anything for you, sweetheart."

#the hunger games x reader #peeta mellark x wife #peeta mellark imagine #peeta mellark x reader #peeta mellark x you #peeta mellark fluff #peeta mellark #father Peeta mellark #the hunger games fluff #the hunger games imagine

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milswrites · 3 months

Text

Irreplaceable

~Azriel X Reader

Summary: While on a mission with Azriel, Y/N finds herself captured by the enemy. Will Azriel get to her in time to save her or must Y/N find another way out of this situation.

Warnings: Angst. Graphic descriptions of wounds. Mentions of torture. Violence. Minor character death. Badass MC with a happy ending though :).

Notes: Most definitely should have been two parts I’m sorry for the length <3

Your eyes flickered open slowly, lids struggling to lift fully as your head agonisingly throbbed in pain. Even through your blurred vision you could tell the surroundings were unfamiliar and there wasn’t much information to gain from them other than the fact you were locked in a cell and it was dark. Very dark. The only source of light being the dim flicker of candlelight that squeezed its way through the edges of the door before you, the shadow in your cell dancing in the soft glow that broke through.

Aching, you tried to move, twitching your fingers only to be met with an unsettling numbness that travelled up your arm. Forcing your eyes to open fully, sight becoming less foggy, you glanced to your side. Your eyes drifted from your shoulder and followed the length of your dirty, blood-stained arm to your hand. Your hand, which you had only now noticed was softly trembling, was a picture of horror. A large, rusted nail had found its home in the centre of your palm. Clearly the wound had been there a while as the blood down your arm and on the floor was cracked and dry, congealed around the base of the nail where it met the skin of your hand. Alarmed, your eyes snapped to the other side, head throbbing at the fast movement. Your other hand bore the same wound. Choking back a sob, you stilled your breathing, the anxiety-born shaking your body was doing was only causing you more pain in your hands. You were pinned to the wall like a piece of art. Like you were a trophy.

A sudden wave of panic flooded your system as you recalled how you ended up here in the first place, Azriel was with you on the mission where you had been knocked out and captured. Your wide, alarmed eyes scanned the room, there was no sign of him in here. No traces or makings on the floor that showed any sign of a struggle other than that of your own. Was he safe? Or was he trapped somewhere in this building in another cell? You wondered if he had managed to slip way and if he was looking for you, if he would come save you from entrapment and carry you back to Velaris where you would be safe. Cursing yourself, you shook the thoughts from your mind, you were disposable to him. A young, newly trained spy for the night court. Azriel wouldn’t risk his safety and the safety of his court to ensure your well-being.

You prayed to the mother that Azriel wasn’t in the same situation as you. Locked up in a separate cell. From the moment you met him, when he had saved you from the beating your father was gifting you in Hewn City, you knew you couldn’t just be friends with Azriel. Over the past year of training under him you would be a fool to deny that you had fallen under his spell, those feelings that sparked in you when you first laid eyes on him the day you met only grew and grew until they were a wildfire. The countless hours spent by his side working, training and travelling for your court did nothing but amplify your school-girl crush on the spymaster. But it would be ridiculous for you to assume you ever meant anything more to him than just another person to train. He had never shown much interest in you other than when it came to training and work. In fact most days he struggled to meet your eyes, mumbling the days tasks to you as he busied his gaze elsewhere. There was no way Azriel reciprocated your feelings. But it didn’t matter now. Now you were trapped and this cruel form of punishment bestowed upon you was surely a sign you would not be making it out of here alive.

~~~

Eyes stinging with tears, you brushed all thoughts of your unrequited love aside. Now was not the time to get distracted, all your energy had to be directed into finding a way out of this situation. If Azriel was here you had to make sure you wouldn’t do anything stupid that could end up unintentionally harming him in the process. But if he was here, and wasn’t too heavily injured, you’d both at least have a chance of fighting your way out of this.

If he wasn’t…you would have to attempt this alone and in your injured state. You could wait and see what they wanted from you, see if they kept you alive but the chances of them letting you go were slim to none. You could wait, hope Azriel got back to Velaris and told Rhysand of your capture, hope that they deemed your disposable life worth saving. You didn’t see the likelihood of either option.

No. You would have to try and find a way to discover if Azriel is here and if not it was up to you to ensure your safety. To try and work your way out of this cell in a place you don’t know, guarded by an unknown number of people. The odds were not in your favour.

By this point the tears were freely flowing down your cheeks, despite attempting to hold the sounds in, small sniffles and sorrowful whimpers forced their way out of your mouth. A small part of you wondered if it would be easier to just stay here, anything they were going to do to you already was surely better than what they would unleash upon you if you tried to escape. Head pounding, you awkwardly rested it on your shoulder, the weight of it causing you arm to shift downwards a small amount, your hand seizing with pain as the nail rubbed against the open wound once more.

You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to ignore the pain. Maybe it would be easy to just shut your eyes and pray for a swift death. Hope that if you close them and sleep you won’t have to open them again. As if replying to your thoughts, you felt a small tug in your chest, an unusual sensation that you wouldn’t have noticed if it wasn’t for the fact the lack of sound and light in your cell had made your senses very sensitive to even the smallest change. Hope bloomed in your chest, filling your body and soothing your thoughts of giving up. You would try. If it was fate that you were going to die here then at least you would go out fighting. At least you would die trying to stay alive, trying to get back to Azriel.

You weren’t sure how long you sat there since waking, coming up with scenario after scenario, plan after plan. The new sense of determination that coursed through you, prevented you from getting the rest your body so desperately craved. The pain in your hands had reduced, the unbearable stinging was replaced with a dull numbness, you weren’t sure whether that was because the wounds were actually getting better or because you had grown used to the pain. Certain that you’d have to remove the nails soon for fear of infection, you kept them in. You would play the role of their prisoner as long as you were unsure that Azriel was locked up here as well. Only when you found out he was safe would you risk removing the nails and escaping.

The screeching sound of a metal door opening in the distance broke the silence. It was the first sound you had heard that hadn’t been made by you. Your head raised quickly, ears twitching with anticipation as you tried to listen and gather what information you could. There was no speaking, but definitely the sound of multiple footsteps, gradually getting louder as they moved closer. Two? No, three pairs of feet. You were grateful for Azriel’s intense training that allowed you to come to this conclusion. Taking down one person in this situation would have been easy, even with the nails, but three? No you would bide your time. Their footsteps got louder and louder until they stopped. They had come to a halt outside your cell.

Unsure of how to handle this, you dropped your head to your shoulder again at the sound of rattling keys, softly grunting at the pain that flashed through your skull, your eyes snapped shut, pretending to still be unconscious.

The door slowly creaked open, only one pair of footsteps came into the cell, the other two people staying outside.

“I told you that you hit the bitch too hard”

It was difficult not to flinch at the gruffness of the man’s voice, but you managed to stay still, keep your breaths deep and eyes closed. He huffed, unsatisfied at your believed unconscious state, clearly having come to your cell hoping you’d be awake for him to torture some night court secrets from you. Hoping to stir you, you heard the scrape of his boot against the stone floor before you felt it collide against your ribs. Unwilling to give him the satisfaction of you waking for him only so he can undoubtedly prod and poke at you until he felt he had enough information, you lolled your head forward, hands tugging downwards against the nails. You bit back your cry of pain, hoping this action was enough for him to leave you be.

He nudged your leg with his foot a few times, body shaking but you continued to play your part. Until finally he released a disappointed sound and you heard his feet dragging towards the door.

“What did I say? The spymaster would have been the better choice than his pet, shame you let him get away.” And with that he exited your cell, you heard the sound of the lock clicking shut and the low mumble of the man say to his companion, “stay here, send for me when she wakes. Then we can try have some fun.” Muffled steps walked back towards where they originally came from. Two pairs. Only one man had stayed behind to watch the cell.

Now the cell was once again empty and you were in the safety of your own company you couldn’t help but let out a sigh of relief, eyes flicking to the door in realisation you’d have to be quiet now there was a guard outside. Azriel was safe, he hadn’t been captured. Resisting the urge to cry once more you now hardened your emotions. You had to find your opportunity, try and find a way out of this hell before the man came back and realised you were awake. You needed to get out of this cell and get far away from here, you had never learnt to winnow so you’ll have to run, perhaps if you’re lucky you’ll have some idea where you are and where you can go to.

But first you had to sort out the predicament you were in. The nails had to come out. By this point your panic was almost unbearable, this was going to hurt. Your deep shaky breaths doing nothing to quell the rising anxiety in your body. That odd tug you felt earlier in your chest once more showed itself but in your terrified state it just felt like your heart was trying to rip itself out of your body.

~~~

It must have taken an hour or more for you to calm yourself, steady your breathing and prepare yourself for the worse. Ideally you knew you should sleep, gain some energy back that you no doubt were going to need to aid in what you were about to do. However, rest wasn’t an option. You’d already wasted enough time in your panic, sure that if you waited any longer your captor would return.

In fear of being too loud and alerting the man stood outside you moved your head down and bit into the thick collar of the Illyrian leathers you wear for your missions. And you pulled. Starting with your left hand, you pulled it forward, teeth clenching onto the leathers hard. An uncomfortable mixture of sweat and tears streamed down your face as your wound that had healed around the nail broke open, hand flying forward and off of the nail lodged in the wall. One hand was free, now for the other.

Wanting to get it over with you gripped the nail in your right hand with your really released left one, blood streaming down your arm. Once more you pulled only this time you tugged at the nail itself. Mouth falling open in a silent scream, you managed to get it out of the wall and out of your hand. A bitter chuckle slipping from your lips, these idiots locked you in a cell with nails for weapons, even with the knowledge that you were trained by the spymaster himself.

With the wounds in your palms soaked in blood, you used a nail to tear at the bottom of your leathers. Ripping two strips of material from your top, you wrapped them around your hands, pulling the ends tight with your teeth to make sure they were secure. You weren’t sure how hard you would have to fight to make your way out of this.

Once your hands were wrapped you took the nail back into your hands, flipping it from either hand to test its weight and flexing your fingers to make sure that when you needed to use them the ache in your hands wouldn’t be a hindrance.

It was time. There was one man outside and all you needed to do was to get him to open the cell and kill him. Weighing out your options until you settled on the easiest, hoping he would fall for it and so you yelled out.

“Excuse me!…. Can-… can you please help me? I need a drink.”

You made sure to sound as weak and pathetic as you could, which honestly wasn’t hard considering the situation you were in. Listening, you heard him stand to attention, having not expected your voice. You take in his hesitant steps in the direction the rest of his friends went in, clearly wanting to go get them. Desperation spiking in you that this was your only chance, you tried again.

“Please! Just some water, it’s not like I can try anything anyways.”

A string of expletives followed. Then the sound of sloshing water. Standing where the door would open you braced yourself, nail in hand and stance wide. A click of the key turning. A grunt as the heavy metal door is forced open. Light glaring through the gap. And nothing. Your nail finding its home in his throat before he could live to make another sound, body slumping onto the floor of your cell, a pool of blood forming around him.

Checking him for weapons you grabbed his sword, it was too heavy but it was better than the nail so it would have to do, hopefully you wouldn’t need to use it. The last thing you grabbed were his keys to the cell from the door, tucking them into your pocket, unsure whether they will be needed in your escape.

Stepping out into the corridor you glanced around. There was only one way out and that was the way the men from earlier had left from. You steeled yourself and pushed forwards, walking down the cell corridor and opening the door. Met with yet another corridor on the other side, you picked a direction and walked that way, thanking the mother there was no one around and praying to the cauldron that no one would come.

The architecture was unfamiliar, you were definitely in unknown territory. The halls winded on and on, the more you walked the more stressed you became, sure that if you were to go through any more of them you were going to get caught. As if the mother had taken pity on your already situation and heard your silent pleas of despair the next corner you turned had an archway that led outside. Adrenaline coursed through you as you bolted to the arch, eyes squinting in the brightness of the sun.

Now out in the open you wildly scanned your surroundings, choosing the best pathway forward to ensure you had the best chance of escape possible. It was busy outside, stalls full of market goods, with people bustling about them. Afraid of being caught you hid your bloodied arms and sword behind your back but thankfully when you scanned over the crowd you didn’t lay eyes on anyone who looked like a threat.

Hesitating, you were lost on which direction to go in, until out the corner of your eye you caught a merchant’s horse and carriage, a large chest situated on the back. Perfect. Skillfully, you snuck past the crowd of people gathered together, all stretching their necks to look at something you couldn’t see, and you opened the chest. It was empty. At this point you were grinning widely, and you hopped into the chest, hands throbbing as you gripped the edge to haul yourself up into it before pulling the lid to, enclosing yourself in darkness.

You hadn’t been in the chest long when the owners had returned and thankfully they had not opened the chest and found you, bloodied and dirty hiding inside. The carriage pulled away and you have to admit you weren’t the most comfortable, already sore head banging against the wall of the chest with every bump in the road, but it was a whole lot better than being inside of that cell. You didn’t know where this carriage was heading to, but you would catch a lift as long as possible before you had to get out and gather your bearings. Exhaustion overwhelmed you as the adrenaline slowly dripped from your system and despite your best efforts to stay awake, you could stop your eyes drooping as sleep eventually caught up with you.

~~~

You woke up to an overwhelming bright light and a petrified scream. Startling, you sat up in shock and attempted to take in your surroundings, the lid of the chest had been opened and you were staring into the face of a horribly distressed woman who was clearly not expecting to find you inside.

“Shhhh… it’s ok, I’m sorry. I’m leaving” you tried to sooth her as you speedily hopped out of the chest, taking your sword with you. Turning in a circle you took note of the inn before you and the dense forest that surrounded the area.

Unfortunately, the sight of your blood-stained arms and the glint of your sharp edged sword did nothing to calm the merchant lady who was screaming bloody murder. You backed off, arms raised in surrender, eyes travelling to the group of angry men standing outside of an inn, whose attention had been caught by the wailing woman. You cursed, brain trying to come up with excuses you could give to get them off your back so you could be on your way but your stream of thoughts was interrupted by the ringing of bells that had started in the distance, presumably where you had just escaped from. Fuck. The carriage hadn’t taken you as far as you’d have hoped.

“They ringing those for you sweetheart?” One of the men asked, cracking his knuckles together after having seen the panic flash through your eyes over the sound of the bells, “we’d get a pretty penny for bringing you in if that’s the case.”

At this point you weren’t even going to stop and try talk your way out of this. Azriel had always said your tongue would get you killed one day. So you didn’t only thing you could think of. You ran. Bolting towards the forest behind you, you moved as quickly as you could, muscles burning after your limbs had been squeezed together in the chest for a little too long. Shouts broke out behind you and you knew that they had followed. The haunting sound of the bells still carried in the wind, a reminder of the place you had come from. A reminder of where you’ll be stuck at once more if you don’t get yourself out of this. That is if the brutes don’t bring you in dead.

You run and you run, throat squeezing in agony at every breath. But no matter how fast you could run it was no use, you could hear their jeers and taunts getting louder, voices turning gleeful as they realised there was no way you could get away. Adamant you weren’t going to get captured again after putting in all that effort of getting out you didn’t give up, flying through the trees until your feet dragged you to a halt. You were met with the rocky face of a cliff.

Survival instincts still being in control of your body, you grabbed the rocks, trying to pull yourself up the rocky feature in order to scramble to the top to get away from the brutes chasing you, but the flash of agony up that started in your damaged palms and flashed up your arms reminded you that you were injured. Your hands shot open at the burst of pain and you fell off the side of the cliff and onto the floor. Scrambling to your feet, you turned back round to face the forest and gripped your sword as tight as your hands allowed. No more running. You were going to have to fight your way out.

~~~

Snarling at the men as they approached did nothing to deter them, horrible grins plastered on their faces as they rounded in on you. Even if you weren’t as injured and exhausted as you were you were certain you still wouldn’t be able to take them all, not by yourself.

The boldest of the men, the one who had called you out outside of the inn, lunged forward, sword swinging towards you. You jumped backwards, reactions sluggish as the sword caught your arm and your back slammed against the rock face behind, a shout of pain came from your lips. Insistent on the fact you won’t go back to the cell, you clenched your jaw and advanced, raising your sword. You would die here sooner than being a captive of the men who took you again.

Azriel.

The memory of him flashed through your eyes. Tears of frustration falling down your cheeks at the thought of the man you were never able to have. Once more thankful that he hadn’t been captured with you, thankful that you wouldn’t see the disappointment on his face as he realised that even after all his training you were still too weak to fight your way out of this. His name, a final prayer on your lips as you hope that whoever he finds himself stuck with next does better than you had.

Then you fight. The world around a blur of swords, spears and limbs, unsure whether you were actually hitting anyone you swung your sword around you, parrying blows and kicking people back. The holes in your hands cracking open and bleeding once more, blood causing your grip to slip, unable to keep a firm hold on the hilt.

It only took one more move from your attackers and your sword went flying. Instinctively your hands shot to your leathers expecting to find your holsters for your daggers, only to remember they were stripped from you before you woke in your cell. You didn’t even have the nails that were lodged in your hands with you, both left in the cell you escaped from, one in the throat of one of your captors.

The hilt of one of the men’s sword caught you in the back. Weaponless, you fell to your knees in defeat before you closed your eyes. This was it. They would either kill you or take you back and there was nothing more you could do but shut your eyes as to avoid seeing the gleeful smiles of victory on their faces as they enact their final punishments. Your ears rang, their voices all blurred into one mass of yelling. The bells. All you could hear was the bells as you gripped your head, crying out and waiting for the death blow.

But it never came. You were aware of the change in atmosphere around you, maybe even aware of the screams that had began breaking out. But you stayed focussed on holding your head, fingers plunged into your ears as you sat on the floor, rocking backwards and forwards. The haunting sounds of the bells calling for your death lingered. It seemed as if they were getting louder and louder until they stopped altogether at the call of your name.

“Y/N”

Hands grabbed you. Pulling your hands from your head. A crack in their voice that must have been born from the realisation of the state your hands were in.

“Y/N can you hear me?”

It was Azriel. Still unable to open your eyes a you laughed. The mother worked in strange ways but you never could have predicted that death would arrive to you in the form of Azriel. Your final moments met with the soothing tones of his deep voice. And so with limbs like lead, body tired and unmoving you allowed yourself to drift off for the final time, a whisper upon your lips that was met with a cry.

“I’m ready”

~~~

Your pain had returned. The wounds on your palms so unbearable it drew a whine from your lips. Pain so intense it was clear you had somehow survived. You were in a bed, you could feel the soft sheets against your back and the weight of a blanket above you. The information did nothing to quell the fear inside you. Fear that when you opened your eyes you would be back with your captors. Your heart rate increased, the muscle thudding in your chest and you pressed your eyes together so hard it hurt.

“Hey…hey, don’t do that, it’s ok you’re safe”

Azriel’s voice broke through the silence. Your ever increasing heartbeat stilled. You were safe. You jumped upright, eyes snapping open. Azriel not expecting this fell backwards into his chair in shock before realising what was happening and was then rushing forward to steady you as you swayed from the fogginess that had found its home in your head.

“Woah careful now, it’s alright it’s just me. You’re home” his voice shaky as he moved his hands from where they were gripping either side of your shoulders, running them gently down your arms before they settled over your bandaged hands which were laid in front of you.

Brain frog still present, you just couldn’t put together how you got there. Azriel wasn’t with you when you were captured, “how… how did you-“

Already knowing the question being asked he promptly replied, “the second they took you I went straight back to Rhysand for help. It was hard ignoring the… the need to get you back as quickly as possible but I knew I’d be stupid to do it on my own,” he swallowed hard, as if the subject of your capture was a difficult one for him, “I tried to tell you we were coming, find out where you were I tried to tell you through…well I tried to tell you.”

He took in another deep breath, “ and then we found out where you were, only when we got there the bells were ringing and you were gone. We were too late, you’d gotten out on your own because you thought we weren’t coming,” at this point pearlescent tears were flowing down his cheeks, “I didn’t give up and I kept searching for you and when I finally found you and you were knelt before all those men covered in blood…I…I.”

Even though you were the one who had been captured and pinned to the wall, and chased down by a hoard of angry men, watching Azriel break down in front of you because he thought he had failed you had to be one of the worst things you’ve ever experienced.

“Azriel,” you croaked, throat dry from lack of water, “the only reason I’m here now is because of you. The thought of you is what kept me alive in that cell and it was your training which was the reason I was able to escape,” it was at this point that you were sobbing along with the spymaster, “and I know for damn certain that I definitely wouldn’t be here now if you hadn’t found me in those woods. So thank you Azriel, thank you for saving my life.”

You slowly lifted a shaking, bandaged hand to his cheek, thumb brushing away his tears, pain shooting up your arm at the action but you didn’t care. You only cared that this beautiful man before you hadn’t given up on you. That all the while you were captured he had been searching for you. Trying to get a message to you. That all the time in the cell you had spent thinking of him, he was thinking of you too.

His lips softly brushed over your bandage, right where the hole of your palm was stinging underneath. It was an intimate moment, your wrapped hand against his face was possibly the most you’d ever touched him aside from training.

Perhaps out of fear of that you weren’t worthy of Azriel, that he couldn’t possibly like you as much as you’ve grown to love him over the past year, you drew your hand away from his face, ending the moment. Agonisingly tearing your eyes away from his perfect face to settle them on your ruined hands which were now uncomfortably laid on your lap.

“So, uh. Did you find my replacement?” You asked nervously, dreading what he was going to say in response but knowing you’d rather get the pain of it over with sooner rather than later. Especially since the feel of your hand on his cheek had ignited that odd feeling in your chest.

For the second time since awakening, you had Azriel shocked, “r-replace you?”

“I failed right? I got captured and if it wasn’t for you I’d be dead right now. Surely you can see I wasn’t made for this, that I should just go back to my father-“

His eyes now full of fury, Azriel cut you off, “You Y/N L/N are irreplaceable,” he moved his body so he was sat at the edge of the bed, hands holding onto yours, “you are the strongest woman I know and there is no one, no one else, that I could wish to be at my side more than I wish for it to be you.” The rage in his eyes settled, morphing into an emotion you couldn’t quite put your finger on and he continued, “in the past year of being together you have changed me as a person more than I care to admit and I can not, no I will not, carry on living my life without you by my side. You are irreplaceable… because you are mine.”

That was all you had ever dreamed of hearing and you just couldn’t believe it was true. Azriel felt the same way for you as you did for him, and so in fear of it being a cruel dream made up by your conscious, or afraid he would come to his scenes and change his mind, you crashed your lips to his.

Mouths connecting in firey passion, you poured every ounce of love and affection you had locked away in your heart the past year into it, hoping Azriel would understand just how much he was yours as you were his. He groaned into the kiss, deepening it as he gripped your face in his hands. You were unsure what to do with your damaged hands, still placed in your lap, but that didn’t matter, nothing about this kiss was awkward or painful. It was as if his lips were made for you, fitting together with yours like it was the missing piece of a puzzle and every part of you wanted to jump right into whatever this was between you and explore every single part of it.

It was only when the two of you needed to breathe that you broke away from the kiss. Still tangled in a sweet embrace, you gazed into his eyes, now certain that unreadable emotion you had seen swimming in them earlier was love. And it was this realisation of his love that caused the tugging sensation, the one that had been occurring in your chest since you found yourself in that cell, to finally pull free. It dull knot that you hadn’t even known was there, morphed into a beautiful golden thread which linked you to Azriel.

Azriel who’s gorgeous smile bloomed at the sight of you realising you were looking into the eyes of your mate, the person created for you. Your equal. And as he began to litter kisses all over your face and neck he mumbled in your ear the sweetest words you have ever heard, “my beautiful, irreplaceable mate.”

#acotar #fanfic #acotar imagine #azriel imagine #azriel x reader #sarah j maas

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geopsych · 7 months

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As always when it’s foggy but sunny I saw fogbows in a few spots today but I’m posting two. I like that first picture because you can see how the fogbow continues into the valley as I stood on the hill. I guess like rainbows they must look like full circles if you see them from a plane. The second one is cool because you can see that dark line inside the arch.

If you’re ever in fairly thick fog as the sun is breaking through, face in the opposite direction from the sun and take some pictures or panoramas. Sometimes your camera sees the fogbow more clearly than you do. They’re way more common than people think.

#pennsylvania #landscape #fogbow #fog #october

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blingblong55 · 4 months

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Romancing in the dark -Vladimir Makarov

Based on a request:

https://www.instagram.com/reel/Cyvb7yJv__j/?igshid=MzRlODBiNWFlZA== this with makarov 🥹 ---- F!Reader, fluff, established!relationship, romance ---- A/N: this will be short…sorry

Vladimir has been away for months, hiding in different parts of the world all to keep you away from his dangerous life. And then, one evening he comes home. You were out running errands, so, he decided that he should shower and be ready for when you get home. The walls of the home, all filled with rich memories of you two, adorned with photos of moments that have all been well to remembered. His fingers touch the last painting in the hall.

It was the first of many pictures he prompted to take, you were a dream and it must be engraved in a photo. Vladimir smiles, faint laughs and nervous giggles all replay in his foggy mind. Your love was straight from a romance novel, the emotions, the way he felt like all love novels were written for you and because of you. If only you knew that you saved him from destruction, not of the tainted world but the destruction of himself. The way your hands wrapped around his, how his and your legs would be intertwined and mixed in the bedsheets, how your body fits his perfectly.

Damn the world for giving him someone to make him want to live to see the next day. Damn you for loving him and being so understanding and caring. Why must you appear in his life out of nowhere? Why must Shakespeare write you in poems and why must life bring you to him? Couldn't you be any less perfect? Couldn't you be more kind to his cold heart? Why must you make him feel anything other than hate, revenge and evil?

The door opens, keys thrown on the coffee table and as soon as he hears you, he rushes to the shared bedroom. Sitting by the edge is where you found him, smile at him as he finally saw you once more. "Ah, if it isn't my love." With excitement, you rush to his arms, wrapping your legs around him as he holds you close. Your lips meet his cheek, kissing it repeatedly and he closes his eyes, smile on him the whole time.

This moment, why can't he frame this?

His hold on you, fuck that hold was it heaven on earth. Rough hand holding the back of your neck as he nuzzles his face on your cheek. "My love, I missed you dearest," his voice soft. It had seemed long since he felt this way. "I love you," you whisper as you cup his face and continue to kiss it. All over, your kisses spread like fire and it warms him. "I love you best," he whispers back and kisses you tenderly.

Tags:

@strangepuppynightmare @liyanahelena @selarus @lonesome-doves @nate06633 @kielsegur @elvennn-fairy @johfaam0 @goldenmclaren @moonsua1 @rvivienner @frazie99 @viomast @saoirse06 @vampsquerade @alxexhearts @baldwinhearts

#makarov call of duty #makarov x reader #makarov cod #makarov x you #cod makarov #vladimir makarov #call of duty modern warfare 3 #mw2023 #vladimir makarov fluff #vladimir makarov x you #vladimir makarov cod #vladimir makarov x reader #cod mw3 #cod mwiii #modern warfare 3 #call of duty modern warfare #vladimir cod #makarov fluff #makarov x f!reader

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merakiui · 7 months

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his blueberry eyes (anagapesis in paradise).

yandere!azul ashengrotto x (female) reader cw: yandere, unhealthy behaviors/relationship, death/murder of reader, obsession, codependency, emotional manipulation, psychological abuse, mentions of self-harm/suicide attempt, brief mention of pregnancy + loss of baby, vague mentions of binge-eating/disordered eating, angst, characters written as 18+ note - the color blue haunts azul. // loosely based on clingy, codependent bf azul.

the prelude - forever lost in cerulean paradise.

Azul Ashengrotto, a man forever bound in burdensome blue, surfaces from the numbing sweetness of an all-consuming slumber and finds the tops of his hands are littered with deep, dark, desperate scratches. They’re furious and distinct, standing out like pearly teeth on black tile, spotting his pale, paper-thin skin like a child’s poor attempt at proper handwriting. Carefully, he runs a trembling finger over the length of one as it travels from ring finger to the delicate bone of his wrist. A wet laugh bubbles out of him, ink-stained and heartbreakingly pained. He wipes tar-colored saliva from the edge of his mouth, smearing it, and shudders through another laugh. The sound wavers as if caught in his esophagus, pronounced choked and raw.

“Ah… I did it again.”

He sits back on his haunches, small and scared like the squishy thing he once was all those years ago, and inhales a steadying breath. His vision, once narrowed so scarily slim, widens to encapsulate the rest of the sitting room, which is cast in a cool glow from the crystalline cityscape beyond. He spies his haunted reflection in the glass, his hair mussed and matted. From sweat, most likely. It’s unsightly, his unkempt, ugly appearance, but it’s him staring back.

Looking on with those bewitching blueberry eyes.

Swallowing thickly, he pushes a swoop of silver hair out of his face and whispers, “I fell asleep…again. Right. Again. That makes it—what is it now? Four times in a week? No, not quite… I fell asleep, but then I…”

His gaze slides from the windows to the floor. Lying sprawled and stiff, amidst shattered glass and crumpled, lemon-hued tulips, is the love of his life.

“Ah, I see now.” He runs two fingers over the injuries on his hand. His nose wrinkles once and then twice. His throat is set aflame, constricting like a python coiled around its prey. Blueberry eyes sink in a rising tide, overtaken by tears spotting a weary lash line. “My world… My angelfish…”

He forces himself to stand on rubbery legs. He stumbles once, reaches for the coffee table’s reliable support like a newborn grasping their mother’s outstretched finger, and peers at a shattered portrait splayed on the floor. It’s you on your wedding day, flashing a toothy grin at the camera, while he holds you close, an arm secured around your waist. Clinging to you like you were the only buoy in a rocky sea. Planting parasitic roots by way of attraction, and you were simply too blinded by the charms of shimmering, sparkling cheer to realize. So was he in that regard—struck dumb with a too-large love, unable to handle the full capacity of what it meant to fall into a sugary-sweet romance.

It’s a happy picture, one of many, but then the memories of the many elude him at this moment. He, the brilliant, benevolent actor, struggles to differentiate the real from the fake. What is a smile if not another foggy reflection of something far sadder? What is laughter if not the sounds of a hollowed sweetheart howling joyous tunes to placate?

His fingers curl around the wooden table. It’s too familiar and, as if having touched something hot, he jerks away. Azul turns his hands over, searching for imperfections he’s already found. Slowly, he pivots to confront the body.

“My darling angelfish, please wake up. It’s not… It’s not very nice of you to play pretend. We’ve been over this.” He shakes his head and steps around the overturned vase and puddle of flower-spotted water. He lowers to your height, offering a hand you don’t take. “Please, my love. I’m sorry for scaring you. I won’t do it again. I… I’m getting better, you see. I’m doing it for us. I want to get better. I promised I would, didn’t I? Aren’t I a man of my word?”

You remain there, eyes shut in blissful permanence. Azul sucks in a breath through grit teeth. You’re always so…difficult. Sometimes. Not always. And even when you act like this, he still cherishes you. But fighting is not something he loves, and he wants this feud to end sooner rather than later.

Azul Ashengrotto hates the sharp, bitter sides to his marriage.

“I can be patient,” he says, though it’s more of a consolation than a promise. “I’ll be patient. But, really, being vindictive will get you nowhere, my dear. Haven’t we been over this?”

Still, no matter what he says, you don’t stir.

He allows silence to fill the room to a suffocating degree.

One minute passes. Then two. He drums his fingers along a newly forming bruise on his arm.

Now it’s three.

Four.

Five.

It’s too quiet without your pretty voice filling the empty room, filling the hollow in his heart, filling the gaps in his brain to snuff any other self-destructive thoughts from pushing through.

“I love you,” he whispers, less forceful this time. “And… And I’m sorry. Truly, I mean it. I’ll never put my hands on you again. Never. And I’ll go back to therapy. I won’t skip my sessions. I’ll even take my meds!” A crooked smile stretches across his lips. “I promise. I won’t lie to you. I’ll leave the cooking to you. I won’t touch sharp objects. I’ll stop hiding knives from you. I’ll be honest from now on. So please…” His voice cracks, weak and raspy. “P-Please… Please don’t ignore me…”

Azul reaches out to you, fitting his trembling hand in yours. It’s cold. He brings it to his face, kisses the top of it, and then cradles it close. His shoulders shake, wracked with silent sobs.

It’s cold.

His breath hitches.

You’re cold.

“Angelfish, please…” He sniffles. The tears are already falling in thick, salty rivulets. He’s always been an ugly crier. “Please don’t leave me. Without you I…”

His untrimmed nails dig into your palm, and a great sob shudders through his body when he presses his thumb into your wrist to check your pulse.

It’s stopped.

He scrubs his face with his free hand. A fruitless effort. The tears won’t cease.

Without you, I’m nothing.

He gathers you, stiff, cold you, in his arms and holds you like you’re a treasured childhood plushy who’s lost its stuffing. His reflection blinks back at him, blueberry eyes awash in watery tragedy.

Without you, I’m all alone.

He spies the markings on your neck and his throat closes up. He grabs your face between both hands, searching it for any indication of life. A lie, surely. You’re just pretending. You’ve always done that, putting on acts to keep him and everyone else pleased. You, the best actor, knew him better than he knows himself. Because, in spite of the loose, fraying seams, you took them, poured remnants of your heart into each tear, and stitched them up until they were better again. You’ve sewn him anew when he thought all hope was lost.

So it’s impossible. A lie, definitely.

You’re a pretender, and he’s the captivated audience member. Soon you’ll open your beautiful eyes and shout, “I got you! You should have seen the look on your face!” And the cycle will repeat itself. He’ll pretend to be okay and you’ll follow along with a sweet smile, chopping vegetables with the same knife he used to threaten his own life days prior.

You can’t fool him.

Only you do. And you have.

He peels your eyelids open. Your listless stare pierces something in his brain, wires the circuitry correctly so that Point A and Point B can connect.

With a horrified gasp, Azul drops your limp corpse. Your head smacks against the floorboards, but you don’t groan in pain. Because there isn’t any pain to be felt. Because you’re not going to wake up. Because this is the final act and the curtain has closed on your skillful pretending.

Azul Ashengrotto, a man forever bound in burdensome blue, has lost the very person who once made him feel so whole.

the first vow - to have and to hold.

“We should make a baby.”

In the first month of being newlyweds, you’d told him that. He leaned over to nudge you with his hip while you painted swirling designs on a blank kitchen wall. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“I’m not opposed to it.”

You pulled away from your canvas and grinned. “Neither am I.”

“Sooo,” he encouraged, nodding, unable to curb the glee in his curling smile. “What? Should we make one?”

“Can we?”

“This conversation feels rather circular, my dear.”

“You’re circular.” You stuck your tongue out at him and dipped your brush in a bright blue. “I’m gonna paint an entire field of cornflowers on this wall.”

Azul hesitated at the sudden change in subject, considered the meaning of a cornflower, and snorted in amusement. He came up behind you and wrapped his arms around your waist. “If you want a baby, just say so and I’ll give you one.” He nosed your neck, humming into your skin. Sneaky hands slipped under your loose cotton T-shirt to cradle your stomach. “I once read a statistic that claimed marriage improves the outcome of a pregnancy. Shall we see if it’s true?”

You rested your free hand over his. “If you help me paint.”

“You know I’m no good at art.”

“Anyone can be an artist.”

“Angelfish—”

You shifted in his arms and held up a clean paintbrush. “Anyone, Zul. That includes you.”

He stared at the brush, frowning. “I’m nowhere near as good as you.”

“I’ll have none of that talk.” You rested your head against his chest and peered up at him through your lashes. A pleasant smile softened your face. “I don’t want this wall to be my masterpiece. I want it to be ours.”

“Yes… Yes, I’m aware. But even so—”

“The best things come in two, don’t they? Come on. You won’t know if you’ll enjoy something until you’ve tried it.”

“But I have, dear.”

“Not with me you haven’t.”

Azul laugh-scoffed. “Stubborn,” he chided, pinching your side and shaking his head in disbelief. One hand slid out from beneath your shirt to grasp the brush. “I suppose I can try. An entire field of cornflowers won’t paint itself now, will it?” He winked.

“That’s the spirit! I think blue suits this room, don’t you?”

“I’m struggling to see your vision, darling.”

“It’s a nice color. One of my favorites. And…” You turned in his arms to press your lips to his cheek. “Blue is you.”

He was smiling; he could feel it—the tug of toothy jubilance. “Is that right?”

“It is! I thought that the moment we met. If it weren’t for your pretty eyes, I don’t think I’d have approached you.”

“Ah, right. You thought they were rather lovely, didn’t you?” His hold on you tightened as he recalled the memory. “How did you say it? ‘Sir, I just had to come up to you to compliment your eyes! They’re the nicest shade of bewitching blueberry blue I’ve ever seen.’ You said it like that, yes? And it was the first time I’d ever heard such a strangely specific compliment. Normally, most go for the outfit or the hair.”

“But you liked it, didn’t you?” you say, singing the question like a pansophical siren.

“I did. I…really did. I still do, in fact.”

Your body shook with your laughter. “Then it’s not so strange after all.”

“Not in the slightest.”

His fingers brushed your navel, a fleeting touch that turned giggles into shivers. You put your brush to the wall, but no designs bloomed. He did much the same, meeting your brush halfway, bristles dipped in friendly yellow. Only after he’d marred the wall with it did he realize his error.

You always ruin everything, he thought, resenting his clumsy ways. Everything you’ve ever touched, you ruin.

“Ooh, yellow and blue. That’s pretty. Like sunflowers and cornflowers!”

“But I… Your blue—I completely tarnished it.” He couldn’t help it; the words rushed out.

“What? No way! I like it.”

“You’re just saying that.”

“No, it’s true. It adds something to the blue. Makes it come together, you know?”

Azul stared at the wall, his face scrunched with poorly veiled vitriol. “I fail to see how that logic tracks.”

You gathered both brushes and set them down on the countertop before turning fully in his arms. “Hey, it’s okay. We can paint over it if you want. But… Well, personally, I think we should keep it.”

“Why?” It came out hushed, a broken murmur.

“Because it’s like happiness amidst sadness.” Like the angel you’ve always been, you reached up to cradle his face between your warm, gentle hands. He melted in your hold, weak to the ways in which you often lifted him up. “Too much of anything in abnormal amounts is unhealthy, so we need happiness to balance the sadness. Plus, if this room was solely blue, I might go crazy.”

He wanted to reject your explanation, gripe and groan about how it was much too fluffy and foolish, but you were right. You have always been right with emotions, reading him well enough to pick apart his tells.

It’s your lips on his that brought him back to himself. He blinked when you separated.

“You’re not perfect. No one is. Not even me, and this wall definitely isn’t going to be perfect either. But it’ll be special because we made it. Because it’s a unique combination of us.”

Azul felt himself nodding along.

“So don’t worry. Sometimes mishaps like these are for the best. They help put things into perspective—to show us something we might not have seen before.”

“Like painting a new picture.”

“Exactly!” You squeezed his hand. “So no pity parties, got it? Not unless we’re going to throw one together and have snacks and tea.”

He exhaled shakily, reciprocating your affectionate touch. “Thank you, my love.”

You smiled so beautifully that he was compelled to enshroud you entirely and keep you with him in a cage of limbs. To ensure you’d never leave. To keep you backdropped by a work-in-progress wall forever.

And for the first two years of your new life with him, you remained in that cozy, quaint house, adding details to the wall when you could. The kitchen shaped itself nicely, embroidered in an array of blue hues, accompanied by sunny yellows and frilly whites. Every morning, you’d stand at the counter and cook, ever the early riser, and he’d drag himself in just after the sun had peaked in the sky; and together you would eat in front of that wall, tied together by the bright, beautiful wonders of young love.

Sometimes it was the yummy temptations of good food that brought you together. Other times it was each other, bodies pressed flush. Clothes wrinkling and coming off in heaps. Windows left open in the aftermath to bring in sweet spring breezes. Gathering each other and sitting in the bath, giggling about something silly. More kissing and touching; playful squeezing while washing the other. If Azul’s life had been a tragedy before, then this was certainly something far better. A new chapter in a new book with crisp, unturned pages, each one ripe and ready to receive love in loads.

You fell pregnant just as the changing winds ushered summer in, and suddenly that storybook blossomed considerably, pages stained with all things good. He had pinched himself before just to ensure this wasn’t a delusion or a dream, and finding that it was neither proved that there was indeed tenderness in his world. It was destiny that you two would meet by pure chance, fall for the other’s quirks and charms, and agree to a whirlwind marriage, so swept up in the authenticity of redamancy.

Azul thought his life couldn’t get any sweeter. A perfect wife, a perfect job, a perfect house, a perfect paradise built for two. It was a future he’d only ever fantasized about, an illusion he imagined to be forever out of his reach. But he had attained it, miraculously grasped it with both hands, and from here it would only be days and days of wonder and whimsy.

Thirty-one weeks into a perfect, pretty pregnancy, you fell again. Down the stairs, crumpled in a heap of limbs and broken promises. He stood at the top of the stairs, his chest heaving with the remnants of some animalistic emotion. You shattered like porcelain, a marionette cut free from her strings. The baby fell with you.

Then came the darkness: creeping, encroaching, all-consuming.

Then came the lies.

Then came the obsession with omniscience.

And all throughout it, you’d continue to imprison yourself in his eyes.

the second vow - to love and to cherish.

“You shouldn’t work so much.”

By the fourth year, he had told you that.

You looked up from your plate, which you’d spent most of dinner pushing the food around rather than actually eating. Meals carried out in this fashion, a cyclical routine you dreaded. Ever since he’d purchased a penthouse suite and moved you to the city, abandoning the life you had built in the tiny, two-story house with its friendly neighborhood of faces, your world became the sky: sad and cloudy. Always rainy. It was empty up there, and the luxuries he provided did nothing to fill the holes in your shattering heart.

You couldn’t paint any walls here, for they had already been colored in boring monochromes.

“But I like the coffee shop. Everyone’s really nice to me, and the hours are reasonable. I’m paid well, too.”

“It’s minimum wage, (Name).”

“Still…”

“I make enough to support the both of us.”

And it was true. He’d just opened the first branch of the Mostro franchise, an elegant, high-end eatery stuck right in the heart of the city. Money has never been an issue, not when he was so determined to see each of his dreams through to the very end. You were dragged along through the wild currents of those ambitions. Simple luxuries were no longer sleeping in on weekends or watching the sun rise and set in the garden. Now it was extreme excess and opulence, devouring you with designer brands.

“I’d rather not be home all day. It’s lonely.”

“Jade or Floyd can provide company should you need it.”

You stared at him, your mouth agape. “I don’t need babysitters. I’m an adult, Azul.”

“They wouldn’t babysit—” He sighed, shook his head, and pinched the bridge of his nose. “You’re welcome to accompany me to the office instead.”

“But I like my job. I like talking to customers and taking orders and making drinks. If I quit, I wouldn’t have anything else.”

“That’s not true. You’d have me.”

“The regulars would miss me. So would my coworkers.”

“Darling… Angelfish, I don’t quite care for them and I don’t think they care for you either. At the end of the day, all of you are working a dead-end job, putting up with nonsense from rude, impatient customers who never bother to tip despite having full pockets. You’re not working.” Azul smiled, his blueberry eyes ripe with a strange sort of light. “You’re surviving, and that’s not a quality of life you should shackle yourself to.”

You pushed food around on your plate, unconvinced. “I just don’t feel right about lazing around and doing nothing. It’s not very fair if you’re the one doing everything while I just sit back and reap the benefits.”

“Why not? I hardly mind. Besides, I enjoy spoiling you. You deserve this and so much more.” He made a sweeping gesture with his hand. “If I could, I’d package the world in a little box and give it to you, my dear.”

“We had that once and you broke it.”

His body stiffened, eyes flicking to your mouth. He couldn’t meet your eyes. He’s never been able to—not since that day. Neither of you can figure out whether it was intentional or an accident, or maybe it was something more: an intentional accident.

“P-Pardon?”

“I had the world and you broke it.” You set your fork and knife on your plate, perfectly vertical in accordance with proper etiquette. “Back at the old house.”

“Darling, you know we couldn’t stay… We were due for a change of scenery.”

Furiously, you opened your mouth, tears springing forth, but no words came. Instead, you clamped your jaw and stood from your chair, turning away from the table in a hurry.

“(Name), sweetheart, please wait!” He stood as well, nearly stumbling over himself as he moved to intercept you. “My love, you know I never meant for that to happen. If I could, I’d go back and I’d fix everything so that we’d never have to experience such sorrow again.”

He reached for your hands, but you slapped them away and took a grand step back. “You knew we were at the top of the stairs. You knew, Azul. You knew it was wrong because you moved me away so no one could question it!”

His face contorted with offense, nose scrunching as if he had just smelled something foul. “I did not.”

“You did! You pushed me down those stairs and you watched me. Watched me cry and groan because it hurt and the baby was hurt. You watched and you waited because you knew.”

“I did not!” he said, louder this time, his face blue with rising frustration. “I was in shock, (Name). You can’t possibly expect me to jump into action when I was frozen stiff and horrified. And it was an accident. We’ve been over this before. I’ve apologized numerous times.”

“Sorry, but words aren’t gonna fix anything. See? I’ve said it and nothing’s changed. It’s not words that fix broken things, Azul. It’s action.”

You stomped out of the room in a huff, blinded with tears and rage. You weren’t sure if you were more frustrated with the circumstances or Azul himself, but it might have been the latter when he pursued, insistent like the worst kind of thorn. One that’s wedged itself so deep you couldn’t possibly pluck it free with your fingertips.

You’re not sure tweezers would work either, for the hold he has on you was and still is a nasty vise.

“I… (Name), love, darling, I’ll do better. I’m trying.”

Though he made these claims, he expressed them rather pathetically—his arms outstretched, palms up, as if to show you he was no longer a threat to your mental and physical well-being. His face was in poor shape; he was blue all over, flushed from the rush of emotions, his eyes much too small. He looked almost deranged in a desperate, animalistic way. As if someone was cutting him into meticulous slivers with a precision so painful it would leave him to bleed out for hours.

You inhaled a deep, shaky breath, freezing the red-hot anger for a moment. I have to be the bigger, better person. Fighting isn’t going to accomplish anything.

“Look, if you want to make a conscious effort to be better I’m all here for it. But you have to actually try, Azul.”

“I am—I… I will!”

“I’m serious.”

“As am I.”

“Then please let me do things for myself. Marriage is about fairness. It’s you and me. We have to work together. And if that’s you supporting us with your business and me working part-time for extra cash, then let it be that way. That’s togetherness, not forcing the twins to babysit me like I’m senile or convincing me to quit a job I enjoy doing. Money shouldn’t matter if we’re both making it and we both trust each other to be responsible about it. So, while I appreciate surprise purchases, I’d much rather we do things together like before. That’s more meaningful and priceless to me than materialistic ploys meant to win me over.”

He swallowed thickly. Blue bled into the rest of his scleras. You watched him gradually inflate with relief. “I… I understand. I’m sorry. Truly, I am…”

“Stop telling me that. Show me. Please. And mean it.” You held your hands out. Hesitating, he fidgeted on his feet before gingerly placing his palms in yours. They were ice-cold. “Every relationship has its faults. Ours is no different. I’m forgiving you for the past, but I’m not going to forget and I’m not giving you a free pass either. I want to trust you, Zul, and I want you to trust me.”

“I do…” he began, only to curb himself. “I… Well, you know I worry. I know you have good friends, but when you’re out so late… O-Or when you don’t text me back… I’m always worrying.”

“Don’t.” You smiled and squeezed his hands. “I can take care of myself.”

His face darkened at that, a slew of stormy emotions brewing behind blue eyes. “Still.”

“I don’t worry about you when you’re at work or flying out for business trips. I trust that you’ll be okay because you know what you’re doing.”

“That’s different… That’s—”

“I’m happy that you care so much, but I promise I’m always safe when I’m out. You know this.”

“Yes. But… Well…” He sighed and shook his head. “At the very least, please let one of the twins drive you to and from your destinations.”

You fixed your lips into a moue. “Azul.”

He squeezed his eyes shut, groaning softly. “Yes, I know how that sounds. I know.”

“I’m not asking you to change overnight. No one can. It takes time. Everything does. I understand that you worry, but I’ve proven to you more than once that I’m plenty capable on my own.”

“All right.” His eyes flicked open at that, and without warning he tugged you into his chest. The embrace was constrictive with an alarming tightness that seemed to mean: I can’t lose you, so I’ll never let go. He buried his face in your hair, clinging to you out of sheer need. “All right. From now on, let’s be together.”

You nodded, slow to reciprocate. “No more gloomy dinners?”

He shook with awkward laughter. “No more gloomy dinners.”

You thought you had it under control. You thought you could reel him in and sculpt him from the shards—take all of the hateful, broken parts he harbored and glue them whole. You thought it’d be safer to organize his medication with encouraging notes each morning in hopes that he wouldn’t neglect it. You thought you’d ease into discussions with a gentle approach, if only to avoid stoking the flames of something monstrous. If only to ensure neither of you would scream at each other until your voices were spent.

You thought you were making progress when he showed you all of the secret spaces in the penthouse, admitting to squirreling things away out of weakness, out of greed, out of some tangle of complicated feelings. The majority of his stash was comfort foods, each one more unhealthy than the last, accompanied with a tiny notebook he’d used to scribble calorie counts. The pages were brittle and stained when you flipped through them; he had been crying each time he documented the amounts. Pieces were beginning to fit themselves together. On days when he surpassed his recommended calorie intake, he hardly indulged in dinner, preferring to pick at his plate. Instead, he would feast on empty conversations with you and those would be enough to sustain him.

Throughout all of this, Azul kept his gaze firmly glued to the floor and tore at the skin near his nails. The tips of his ears were flushed blue with humiliation.

“I hate eating,” he muttered, tapping his foot in quick, anxious rhythms. “I hate it so much.”

“Azul,” you said, soft like linen, “do you really mean that?”

His eyes found yours, glossy and defeated. “I… I…” He shook his head, the truth spilling free like paint dripping from a slain canvas. His arms, trembling and twitching, rose to his face. “No, I don’t,” he wailed into his hands, the sound echoing in the hall. “I really, really don’t.”

You shut the diary. It’s because you love food so much that you hate it, you thought, pitying him and the self-deprecating notes he’d scribbled alongside columns of calculations. Because when you eat, you don’t want to stop. Because if you aren’t thinking about numbers, you enjoy it. It makes you happy. And you restrict yourself and this happiness because it hurts to have any more than the bare minimum. Because the bare minimum also hurts, but it feels better when you have less in your stomach so you can eat the rest in secret.

“Let’s start small,” you offered, placing your hand on his arm. He lowered it to reveal a snotty, teary face, blueberry eyes darting to and fro. “Let’s plan our meals together. If we know what we’re eating in advance, we can avoid falling into bad habits. And meal plans are a good way to budget.”

Wiping his nose with the back of his hand, he sniffled. “I’m…not opposed to the idea.”

You had it under control.

But then the knives would go missing, later turning up when it was most convenient. When he needed a clever way to get you to stay.

You had it under control.

But then you would forsake plans with friends and family in order to help him through another spiral.

You had it under control.

But then it felt like he was breaking himself into pieces nearly every day, at every hour, over the smallest of inconveniences. Working a minute too late. Eating dinner before he could get home to join you at the table. Going out on your own without supervision from Jade or Floyd.

You had it under control.

But then his shadow was stretching too far and too wide, swallowing you in a portrait of possession.

You had it under control.

But then that was at the cost of your sanity.

the third vow - till death do us part.

“Hypothetically speaking, if I were to die tomorrow, would you grieve me forever? Or would you simply get over it and remarry?”

By the sixth year, just a few hours ago, he’d asked you that.

You looked up at him from the notebook in your lap, where you’d been aimlessly scribbling in circles. The lines overlapped, ink blotting together in manic patterns. Originally, you were going to write a grocery list. But now all you had were jagged lines and not-quite-right geometry.

As if you had rehearsed it prior, you answered smoothly, albeit with an edge to your voice, “But you’re not going to die tomorrow.”

“I could.”

“You won’t.”

Azul slumped back against the sofa and pulled his knees into his chest. “Maybe not. I have a clean bill of health.”

Not mentally, you thought, morbidly wry.

“You shouldn’t sound so disappointed. It’s good to be healthy.”

“You won’t care for me as much if I’m healthy,” he mumbled, gazing out the window at the sparkling cityscape with those dull, dreary blueberry eyes of his. “I wish I was sick. Then I could take a week off from work and just…exist.”

You frowned at him from where you sat opposite in a comfortable chair. It was the only piece of furniture he took from the old house. For sentimental reasons, of course. Sometimes you thought it still smelled like home, even if the scent of home was so warped and far-off now.

“You’re the boss, aren’t you? If you need to rest, take some time off and recuperate.”

“I want to, but my schedule can’t afford any interruptions. Not now.”

“Don’t overwork yourself.”

“I’m not.”

The conversation flatlined, only to soon breathe again when he suddenly added, “We should go on a trip.”

“A trip?”

“New scenery would do us a world of good.”

“Oh. Um, okay. Where should we go?”

“Anywhere.”

“Anywhere is too broad. Plus, we’d have to plan it in advance. Make sure everything’s covered. Expenses and whatnot.”

Azul’s expression soured. “Ah. Right.” He hummed his contemplation, drumming his fingers along the sofa’s armrest. “We could go somewhere nearby. Hospital food sounds good.”

You speared him with a sharp, stern look. “Don’t joke about that.”

“I’m not!”

You set your notebook and pen on the coffee table, aware of his powdery hues tracking your every move. “Azul?”

“Mhm?”

Your heart wouldn’t stop pounding. Relentless, the sound skyrocketed into your eardrums and joined in chorus with rushing blood. But you had to tell him. You had to broach this subject. It had been gathering dust and cobwebs, aged by many tiresome years. You couldn’t do this anymore.

“Azul, I think—” You swallowed hard, your fingers curling up into tight fists. “I think we… I think we should get a divorce.”

His head snapped up from where it had previously rested on his knees. He stared at you for a long, silent time.

And then, sucking in a breath, he asked in a fragile, breathless whisper: “What?”

“Um… I… We…” Your chest heaved with your exhalation. “We’re not happy.”

“We are.” He blinked at you, owlish and unwilling to look past the gilded lie. Unable to stop playing pretend. “We’ve always been.”

“No… No, we haven’t. Azul, it’s—really, it’s so exhausting. I’m so tired.”

“Then let’s sleep.” He lowered his feet onto the floor, intending to stand.

“Mentally, Azul. I… Fuck, I’m so tired. I really can’t do this anymore.”

Color seeped from his eyes. His pupils widened and shrunk, and then a wobbly smile overtook his gaunt features. “Angelfish, that’s not a very pleasant joke…”

You could only offer him your most forlorn look, finally defeated after six years. Six years of pushing a stone up a hill, never to advance and never to succeed. This conversation was well overdue.

Azul rose to his feet, his apparent horror dawning. It molded his features into something wrong and fearsome. Something panicked and cornered. “Darling, you’re not serious about this, right? You… We’re just going through a bit of a rough patch, but we’re okay. I’m okay. Yesterday’s session went so well. I’m getting better. I… I’ve done all of this for you—for us! So we don’t need to do anything rash. We don’t need to get divorced. We just need to—”

“You’re not okay. Azul, I’ve tried so hard. I really have. I’ve done everything, but I just can’t keep exhausting the same tricks.” You heaved a dry, tearless sob. “I can’t keep doing this anymore. I want to go back to work, but I can’t because I never know if you’ll be okay on your own. I want to trust you, but I can’t. We’re not communicating. We’re just—we’re playing the same delusional game and it’s getting us nowhere. You and I both know we’re not working. We stopped working the day you pushed me down those stairs.”

He froze, his lip quivering. “Darling, please… Please don’t say that. You don’t mean that.”

“I want you to get better—genuinely get better—but I’m not the help you need.”

“That’s not true. You’re all I need—all I’ve ever needed. With you here, I’m whole. I’m happy. What was it you told me? That marriage is togetherness? That it’s you and me? So as long as we’re together—no matter what may come between us—we’ll always be happy. We have our disagreements, yes, but every relationship is like that. It’s normal, my dear. So please don’t say those things. I am better, and I’ll continue to be better until my final breath.”

“Azul, you’re not listening.” Now you were standing from your chair. “Togetherness is not this. This—” you gestured to yourself, to the way your clothes hung from your body, a size too large, before pointing at him— “isn’t healthy. We’re not healthy. Every day I’m with you is hell. I need a break as much as you do. We can’t keep doing this. Let’s save ourselves the insanity and misery, and let’s be sensible adults. A divorce is the only—”

“You’re wrong.”

The rest of your tirade stuck in your throat. “W-What?”

“Divorce is an expensive, lengthy process.” Azul stepped around the coffee table, his stare blank and haunted. Twin pools of the darkest ocean bored into your skull. “I can easily afford it, but it’s a price I’m not willing to pay.”

Despite what little confidence you had before, it’s all but diminished now. You shrunk away from him. “A-Azul, calm down. You… You’re scaring me.”

“Well, that’s nothing new now, is it?”

“Azul—”

“You want sensible adults? Very well. Let’s have an actual discussion instead of picking each other apart like this.” He peered down at you from where he stood, his head angled in such a way that his acknowledgement of you appeared contemptuous. “So sit back down in your chair and talk like a sensible, mature adult.”

Opening your mouth, you intended to respond. But the words wouldn’t come. They were lodged in your throat, coagulating with raw, rich fear.

“Well? I’m waiting.”

I can’t say anything, you thought, your body petrifying with every passing second. I’m scared…

“If you put just a little more thought into your brainless idea, you’ll find it’s quite…lacking. Divorce ruins our togetherness, splits us apart and condemns us to two different worlds. And if I’m no longer able to cross into your world—if you forbid it and leave my world—I’ll truly die. I refuse to let that happen. So, no, darling, we won’t be getting a divorce. I won’t agree to it.”

Perhaps it was the hopelessness in your heart that forced fresh tears from your ducts, or maybe it was the final straw in your weakening defenses, but the words came bursting out in a hurry.

“I don’t care anymore! I want you to die!”

You slapped your hands over your mouth. Azul stared at you, stupefied.

“I… I want to be rid of you,” you continued, your words muffled and distraught. “I’ve always thought… Always hoped you might just disappear one day and I’d finally know peace… Please, Azul. Let’s end this. I don’t want to be stuck in this cycle. I don’t even love you anymore. I’m just…done.”

“You don’t mean that…” He made a strange sound, a hybrid between a gasp and a laugh. “Y-You’re just saying that. You still love me. You don’t actually want me gone. You love me… R-Right? Please say you do. Please, angelfish. My love… Please…”

“You’re not well, Azul. I think… I think this is for the best.” You turned away from him. “I’m going to stay in a hotel tonight. Please take some time to calm down and then we’ll talk more in the morning. I… I’m sorry. I really do want you to get help, but I can’t be around you any longer than I already have. It’s draining. You’re draining.”

You took one step further and something inside him splintered.

His power was cut, a line between consciousness and reality severed.

You did not love him. You wanted a divorce. You did not love him. You wanted a divorce.

Did not love him. Divorce. Did not love him. Divorce.

Did not love did not love did not love did not love not love not love not love.

Divorce divorce divorce divorce divorce.

Not love not love not love.

All alone.

Alone like before.

Back to the disgusting creature he once was.

You were walking away, your back turned on him.

He was going to lose his world. It was slipping through his fingers, fleeting and frail.

He couldn’t lose his world, for it’s all he’s ever had.

Azul lunged, seizing your wrist and dragging you down.

Your scream was cut short when his hands clung to your throat.

From then on, everything was a blur.

Two blueberry eyes swallowed you whole, entrapping you in cerulean paradise.

the epilogue - there will never be two without you.

“They used to call me all manner of cruel things when I was a child,” Azul admits to the desolate quiet of his penthouse suite. “I was ridiculed every day. I couldn’t even recognize myself in the mirror. Isn’t that just terrible?” He leans against the sofa and exhales slowly, running a hand through his disheveled hair. “But then you told me I was pretty and suddenly the mirrors blinked back at me. Suddenly the world looked just a little wider and…brighter. So bright! The sea swallows so much color, my dear, and so you’ll never know just how vibrant the surface is to us merfolk.”

He deflates with a wet, wheezing laugh. “No one’s ever told me I was pretty. No one’s ever loved me. Not in the way that you did.” Sighing, he runs a hand down his face. Tears track his cheeks; his blueberry eyes exist in a field of splotchy red. “You were such an angel. To love a filthy, hideous thing like me… Only an angel could do that. Only an angel could look beyond every flaw of mine and love so gently.”

Azul lowers his arm and peers at the knife clutched tightly in his other hand. “I never deserved you. I’ve treated you so horribly. I—” He chokes on a rising sob and shakily lifts the blade to his wrist. It presses against his skin for a moment before he’s yanking it away.

“Fuck,” he spits, his voice trembling. “I… I can’t do it.”

You’re a coward, his inner critic berates. A cowardly, clumsy fool of an octopus.

Gritting his teeth, he steels himself and tries again. The blade digs deeper into his flesh, enough to draw the tiniest pinprick of blood. Pain flashes through his nerves, prey instincts firing off commands. He attempts to push past the curtain veiling his thoughts—Stop before you hurt yourself! Stop before you kill yourself!—but then he spies the blue rising to the surface, pooling under the blade, and he retreats immediately. Horrified, he discards the knife at once. It soars across the room in an imperfect arc before settling on the floor with a clatter, just inches from your body.

“Fuck,” he whispers, closing his hand around his wrist to halt the bleeding. “Fuck. Fuck!”

I really can’t bring myself to do it…

He throws his head back against the cushions, eyeing the ceiling. “I’ve done such an unforgivable thing to you and yet I… I can’t do it to myself. I just can’t.” He shuts his eyes, inhales deeply, and opens them again. “I so selfishly took your life, but I’m clinging to mine like a spineless loser.”

Azul lowers himself onto the floor, curling into a fetal position. He grips his wrist in a tighter hold. His glasses are somewhere in the room, likely cracked or worse. He can’t be bothered to seek them out.

“Did you ever believe in soulmates? Ah, what am I saying? Stupid… But I truly think we were soulmates. Perhaps not in this lifetime. But somewhere on a distant horizon…” He smiles dreamily, pressing his cheek against the cool floorboards. “I wonder if we’ll ever meet again. It’s a matter of luck and fate. Sea Witch below, I hate those odds.” Another noisy sob bubbles up in his throat. He shakes with the force of it, his throat raw and ruined. Another onslaught of tears pours from his eyes. “I was r-really happy that day you approached me. I was so happy… More… More happy than you’ll ever know. Thank you for looking at me and seeing me and opening your heart to me. I’m sorry I couldn’t cherish you more than this.”

He forces himself up onto his arms and then, as if just learning how to walk again, rises to his feet on wobbling legs to cross the slim distance to arrive at your body. Like a sinner on trial, he drops to his knees and gathers you in his arms as if you are his Madonna della Pietà.

“Without you, there is no world,” he murmurs, holding you close for a moment longer before lowering you to the floor. His tears dot your cheeks like somber rainfall. He reaches for the knife next, his mind made up. “Thank you for loving me. Sincerely. Truly. You’re the only one I’ll ever love. For that, I’m grateful. Because of you, I was able to know the taste of romance. And…” He hiccups through his bawling. “And it’s so very sweet.”

Blue blood spatters the floor, spilling from a messy gash in his abdomen. The knife is sharper than he thought.

Azul flops onto his stomach beside you, reaching out to run his fingers over your cheek. He inhales a weary breath and agony fills his lungs.

The world is dyed a brilliant, burdensome blue.

Azul Ashengrotto wakes in captivity. Bandaged, dressed in a plain gown, and cuffed to the bed, he is alive.

He moves his wrist, each of his senses filtering in at once. His other arm is turned over and pierced with an IV. Groggily, he lifts his gaze to the machines humming around him. Blue blood sits heavy in a bag, and he watches the liquid travel down, down, down through the tube. He blinks. His eyes are crusty. Has he been crying?

Assessing the handcuff once more, he turns up empty.

Why is he here?

Why does it hurt to move?

Why are there so many bandages around his stomach?

Most of all, where is his world?

What is this place?

It’s a hospital, yes, but why is he here? He has a clean bill of health.

Where is his world?

It’s when he starts actively struggling against the restraint, his breath coming in terrified huffs, that the nurses file in to tend to him. They check his vitals, run some harmless tests, ask him a few questions—it’s a lot all at once. He goes through the process as if stuck in sludge.

“My… My wife,” he croaks, unable to think of anything else. His heart tightens in his chest. “Where is she? What happened? Is she okay?”

Nervously, the nurses skirt around his questions until, eventually, he loses patience and tries to tear himself free from the bed that confines him.

“Where is she?!” he’s screaming, thrashing on the bed like he’s Frankenstein’s monster—a haunted reanimation shocked with electricity. “Answer me! Where is she?! She has to be here. Please… Please tell me she’s safe. I need to see her—need her here right now.”

They hurry out just as he curses at them.

“You can’t keep her away from me! She’s my wife—mine! If you lay a hand on her—”

A new face appears in the doorway; it’s a man dressed in striking attire. A police officer. Azul stares at him, his nostrils flaring wildly. For a short beat, they simply watch one another. Eventually, the officer nods towards a chair.

“May I?”

“What do you want?” He narrows his blueberry eyes, immediately suspicious.

“I’m here to have a chat with you. It’s about your wife. Is that okay?”

At the mention of you, Azul’s thoughts stall out. “Do you know where she is? Is… Is everything okay?”

The officer lowers into the chair and casually crosses one leg over the other. Casual in the friendly sense, Azul realizes. He really doesn’t like this man. Any longer here and he’ll start trying to build rapport.

“We’ll get there in a second. First, I’d like to introduce myself.” He goes through the motions; Azul is only half-listening, replying when it’s beneficial.

(Name). She’s safe, right? She must be. She has to be. Everything’s okay.

(Name). (Name). (Name). (Name). (Name). (Name). (Name).

Where are you? Do you realize how worried I am? Oh, this must be my fault. I did something foolish again.

I must have tried to hurt myself. Angelfish, please wait for me. I’ll be okay. You’re safe and so am I.

Safe. Yes. Right. Safe. Safe. Safe.

Safe… Right?

Right.

Right?

“Had your friends not called in, you wouldn’t be here right now.”

That brings Azul back to the world. He blinks at the officer, one eye at a time. “What?”

“You were on the verge of bleeding out.”

“Friends?” He’s slow on the uptake. “Jade and Floyd?”

The officer nods. Silence fills the space. Azul wonders when he’s going to open his mouth again.

“What about them?” he asks instead.

The officer frowns. “Do you not recall anything?”

Azul thinks long and hard about this. “I… I was having a discussion with my wife. It was something about a trip. No, not that. Um… Something…important. Something else, perhaps?” He shakes his head, unable to turn up anything useful. “I haven’t a clue. Why? Is something the matter? Where’s my wife?”

Silence is his only reply.

Somehow that tells him everything and nothing all at once.

Somehow he suspects it. His body knows. His fingers twitch with phantom spasms, curling inwards to cut off airflow. The puzzle is scrambled and the image is fuzzy, but he knows.

He knows because he’s already crying, and there’s only ever been one thing that can bring out the inner crybaby he despises so.

It’s always been you.

Azul Ashengrotto is the sole speck of blue in this white hospital room.

And he certainly feels it.

He’s right back where he began: alone and clumsy, an octopus out of water, viewing the cramped, compact, colorless world with his bewitching blueberry hues.

#yandere twst #yandere twst x reader #yandere twisted wonderland #yandere twisted wonderland x reader #yandere azul ashengrotto #yandere azul ashengrotto x reader #yandere azul x reader #yandere azul #tw: death #tw: murder #tw: self harm #tw: suicide

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4wkjun · 5 months

Text

slow down

WARNINGS: mention of alcohol, unprotected sex (use protection!), overstimulation, using of sex toys, oral sex (f!receiving), swearing, slight rough sex (clit slapping), creampie.

"tell me what it is you wanna know", yeonjun asked when he realized you were staring at him.

you had a couple of drinks and the loud music was confusing your thoughts, but all you could possibly think about was kissing your boyfriend until your lips fell off.

"i want you", you mumbled. yeonjun smiled and brought you closer to him by passing his arm over your shoulders.

"finish up the bottle then we'll go, babe", he whispered on your ear, pointing to your beer sitting on the table.

his tone made you feel hot, pressing your thighs together. you grabbed your bottle and chugged a good amount, desperate to leave that party.

"won't you have a little?", you asked yeonjun. he chuckled, seeing the redness because of the alcohol over your cheeks.

"no way."

it took you less than two minutes to actually finish the bottle. you got up and yeonjun excused the both of you, saying you weren't feeling good and needed to leave.

"jjun", you whined walking down the empty parking lot. "can't we do it in the car?"

he laughed, opening the passenger's door for you.

"i'm too phased", he groaned. "however, i still want to take my time with you, princess."

you pouted as he kissed your forehead. you got in the car, uncomfortable because of your wet panties.

"did you take something?", yeonjun asked as soon as he got inside of the car, laughing.

"what?"

"i don't know. why are you so turned on?"

"because of you", you said, looking at him with lust eyes. "gosh, i want you so bad", you whined, pressing your thighs together.

yeonjun felt his underwear tightened. he always pictured you sucking him while he drove, but tonight he wanted things to be about you. as he entered the highway, he laid his hand on your thigh.

"can't we pull over?", you whispered on his ear, leaning in to palm his cock over his jeans. "i'm so down if you're ready."

"sorry love, i'm planning on taking things real slow with you back home", he groaned. you squeezed his cock, whining at the feeling of him getting harder under your touch. "stop it, baby. we'll be home in five minutes, i'll make it up to you, hm?", he said, taking your hand off him.

you whined, leaning against your seat again. you couldn't stop about yeonjun pulling over right there to fuck you raw in the backseat. you could picture the windows getting foggy and the messy sounds of his cock entering your dripping cunt.

neither of you said anything during the drive home. as yeonjun pulled the car in the driveway, he looked at you with dark eyes.

"get inside, love. i'll take care of you."

you obeyed, rushing to the inside. yeonjun chuckled, locking the car and getting inside as calm as he could. he knew you were desperate for his cock, so he decided to torture you a little bit.

yeonjun found you in the bedroom, taking your shirt off. he scoffed.

"aw, why are you rushing things up? i thought i would have the honor to undress you as i wish", he said, his body slowly approaching yours.

you moaned as his lips found the soft skin of your neck. your fingertips pulled on his soft hair, making him groan against your skin.

"jjun, i need you", you whined again. "don't you need me?", you asked, you left hand hovering his hard dick.

"i'll show you if you let me", he groaned. his hands guided you as he walked towards the bed, pushing you in the middle of it.

yeonjun kissed your chest as his hands found the zipper of your jeans, pulling it down. his lips left a trace on your skin as he kissed your upper stomach, not even close to your still clothed tits. everytime he moved an inch, his eyes kept looking for yours, eager to see how you reacted to his touch. your chest was moving fast and your head felt heavy, just like yeonjun expected you to be.

as he pulled your jeans and your panties down, he smiled. you were completely wet, he could simply slip his cock into you and fuck you restlessly at that exact moment. however, he started to kiss your lower belly, right above your pussy.

"jjun, you don't have to", you said softly, trying to pull his head. he grabbed your hands, pinning them down on the mattress.

"coming down is all i ever do, babe", he smirked. still holding onto your hand and looking at your face, he laid his tongue flat on your clit. your breath got caught in your throat at the contact, your pussy involuntarily clenching.

yeonjun sucked and licked your clit like he never did. or maybe everything felt so intense because of the alcohol running in your veins, but it didn't matter since you were over the clouds in no time.

throwing your head back, you moaned loudly, not caring about the time or about the neighbors who may hear you. you let go of his hand and grabbed his hair, slightly pushing his head against your cunt. since you let go of his hands, he decided it would be a good idea to finger you.

after three years of relationship, yeonjun knew your body way too well. he knew how to make you cum in no time, so that's what he did. he curved his fingers over your sweet spot and started to stimulate it along with the oral. in literally fifteen seconds, you orgasm washed over you. he didn't even care about your grip on his hair or how loud you were - actually, he liked to know he could make your lose your cool -, he could only think of how much he wanted to fuck you.

as soon as you rode your high, yeonjun got up, licking his fingers in front of you. he smirked when he realized you were already a mess over the bed. he slowly undressed, knowing your eyes were following his moves.

"jjunnie, can i suck your cock?", you asked, your mouth watering at the sight of his hard dick hitting his stomach.

he hissed at your words. "i'm sorry, love. tonight is about you",

"crawl a little further on the bed, babe", he said, pumping his cock. you did, eager for him to finally fuck you. stroking his own cock, yeonjun opened your last drawer and grabbed your hitachi.

"what are you doing?", you asked, still a little short of breath.

"shh, i'm about to show you, baby. slow down", he answered, plugging your vibrator on the outlet.

you whined when you realized yeonjun was about to fuck you raw. but instead of getting his dick inside of you at once, he slid his cock over your pussy over and over again. you squirmed, your clit swollen from your previous orgasm.

"please, jjun", you moaned. "fuck me like i'm famous."

he chuckled. "as you wish, princess."

before you could say anything else, yeonjun slid his tip inside of you. he did it so slowly it was torturing for the both of you.

you grabbed the sheets everytime he moved inside of you. as he got balls deep, you felt him on your cervix.

"fuck, jjun", you moaned loud.

yeonjun smirked, getting himself out of you as slow as he got in. "you're so loud, my love", he say, picking the pace a little. "do you want all of the neighbors to know how much of a slut you are?", he asked, slapping your clit as he was fully in again.

you moaned even louder, head thrown back and toes curling. you shook your head, suddenly uncapable of speaking.

"hm, y/n? tell me, do you want everyone to know how much of a mess you are with your pussy full?", he slapped your clit again.

you could feel your second orgasm building up as he kept fucking you ridiculously slow while slapping your sensitive clit. you clenched hard around him, holding your breath.

"cat got your tongue?", he groaned, slapping your clit continuously.

it got unbearable, so you ended up cumming over him without a warning. yeonjun kept sliding in and out of you at an agonizing pace while overstimulating your clit.

"jjun, i can't", you said when his slapping turned into rubbing. he started to fuck you a little faster than he was, but still not how you wanted in the first place.

"oh, you can, baby. cum for me again, slut", he groaned, his tip hitting your cervix non-stop and his fingers caressing your super sensitive bud.

just like that, your third orgasm hit you. you couldn't help but to moan loud once again and try to hold his hand so he would stop. when he realized how bad your legs were shaking, he stopped rubbing your clit.

you finally took a deep breath, but whined right after when he gave you a particularly hard thrust. his thrusts became slow again, but harder then they were. with your eyes closed, you heard the buzzing noise from your vibrator.

"jjun, i can't", you whined, looking at him. yeonjun smirked, shaking his head.

"just one more, love", he whispered as he placed the vibrator on your clit.

you barely left a scream out when you felt the vibration over your clit. it was way too much for you, you started to drool with your eyes closed and frowned eyebrows. you tried to relax your pussy so you wouldn't cum again, but yeonjun started to fuck you as fast as he could - this time, searching for his own orgasm.

you held his arm, your whole body shaking. he leaned into you, pressing the vibrator with the weight of his own torso against you.

with a literal growl, yeonjun came when you clenched around his cock. feeling his warm seed inside of you, your fourth orgasm washed over you.

he slowly got off you when he finished riding his high, sighing at the sight of your pussy dripping his cum. he collected his sperm with his fingertips and fucked it back into your cunt, smiling at your squirms.

"you take my cum so well", he pleased, leaning over to kiss your cheeks. you didn't realize you actually cried a little until yeonjun used his thumb to wipe the tears off your face. he kissed your lips ever so softly, caressing your cheek. "you good?"

you nodded, lightheaded. he chuckled, kissing your cheek.

"come on, i'll give you a nice bath", he said softly.

"i can't take it anymore", you whined.

yeonjun laughed out loud, shaking his head.

"i actually ment a bath. come on, you'll relax and then we'll go to sleep", he explained, pecking your lips again. "let me take care of you, hm?"

you nodded. yeonjun took you to the bathroom in the bridal style. even though he said he would just help you to get clean, you got out of the bathroom a long time after, feeling more sore and dirty than when you got in the first place.

#Spotify #yeonjun #yeonjun smut #choi yeonjun #choi yeonjun smut #yeonjun au #yeonjun hard hours #yeonjun hard thoughts #txt smut #txt hard hours #txt hard thoughts

126 notes · View notes

iblameashley · 10 months

Text

Shattered

Civilian | Male | Gay

2,847 words Content: Minor warning for mention of panic attack. Mention of PTSD, Anger, Angst.

Follow up to I'm punny and you know it.

Simon ’Ghost’ Riley | Male/GN Reader

!!!SFW!!!

You walk into a war zone of Simon's making. Well, you actually kicked in a door to do it, but that's not the point. The man is not OK, and while you may not be able to help him, you can clean up the mess.

(Thanks to @loneghostwolf for permission to use this image)

It hadn't taken you very long to figure out 'Si' was in the military. Truth be told, you suspected it from the first time you met at the coffee shop. It was during your last appointment with him that it was confirmed. He was wearing a very tight tee and you could make out the outline of dog-tags as the cotton shirt hugged their form. Being respectful of his privacy, however, you said nothing.

You had six appointments under your belt with him over the course of four months. It was during this appointment that he told you he had a 'trip' coming up, and wasn't sure how long it was going to take. You nodded and said you understood. Simon also took the time to explain that the location was 'remote' and he likely wouldn't have much cell reception. “Well...” You pondered, “When you do have service, and if you're free, let me know and I'll send you a joke or a meme.” You offered.

His eyes seemed to soften at the offer, and you could swear there was a smile under his mask. He nodded firmly in agreement, and with that, you had a new contract with him while he was away.

*** + *** ++ *** + *** ++ *** + *** ++ *** + *** ++ *** + *** ++ *** + ***

The first two week were silent, and you went about both your day jobs and your side-gig as a friend-for-hire. You toiled away at paperwork and emails until your eyes burned red from dryness. Late nights turned into early mornings and you periodically checked your phone for a hint of life from Si.

It was nearly half way through week three when your phone dinged at an ungodly hour. You rolled over in bed and were blinded by the light from the screen. “Fuck.” You groan, shutting your eyes quickly. It was from Si.

SI: Have about three hours before I have to go back to work. I was promised jokes and memes.

“Fucking Christ, Si.” You huffed. “Gotta pull a joke out of my ass at..” You glanced at the clock in the upper corner of this cornea-destroying device. “four-forty-seven.”

You head flopped back on the pillow with a 'whump' and you clutched the phone at your chest. You had promised to do this for him, and he was on his 'trip'. It wasn't his fault you forgot time zones existed. So you pursed your lips and thought of a joke through the fogginess of your sleepy mind.

You: Why were the middle ages called the Dark Ages? You: Because there were too many Knights. SI: That's fucking terrible. You: You're welcome.

And that was the start of your on-again, off-again communication with Si as he was on his 'trip.'

*** + *** ++ *** + *** ++ *** + *** ++ *** + *** ++ *** + *** ++ *** + **

Six weeks in, you got another message from him. This time is was at least at a reasonable hour. The sun had cast the sky bright reds and pinks as it set, and you had been sitting on the balcony of your flat enjoying the cool breeze and downtime. Your workload had shifted and you had more free time. On top of that, one of your Friental clients was on vacation, so you felt like you could really relax.

The dinging and buzzing from your phone caught your attention. It was Si, again.

Si: Hit me. You: Coffee has a really rough time in my house... You: It gets mugged every day. Si: Hah.

Then another message the day after.

Si: Gotta make it quick, you around?

You were. You always were.

You: What did the socks say to the pants? You: Sup, britches. Si: Where the fuck do you get these?

A part of you pictured him laughing boisterously at your bad jokes, but deep down you knew that wasn't the case. He might huff out a low 'hah,' but Si, as far as you knew, was not a loud laughter. It would betray his broody lone-wolf persona. Still, you had a fond memory of the first time you did get a response from him. The light shove of his boot against your back.

And now that you thought about it, he broke the rules. No touching. You wondered if he had realized as well. You shook your head. No matter, the rules were really there for you.

*** + *** ++ *** + *** ++ *** + *** ++ *** + *** ++ *** + *** ++ *** + **

It was just over two months in when you got a notification from the app that 'Si' had requested another appointment. He had access to your calendar, so you opened it up and clicked accept. He had requested a visit from you in four days.

“Must be back home,” You said to yourself. There was a stupid smile plastered over your face. Si might be a big, quiet, moping tank of a man, but he was easy to handle. You knew what was expected with him, and he was fine with letting you babble at length about any and everything that crossed your mind. He never seemed annoyed or frustrated about your endless chatter. He would simply sit there and look at you with those unassuming brown eyes. He'd nod and grunt and give one word answers every once in a while, to remind you he really was listening. If anything, he took the pressure off you, allowing you to be yourself.

*** + *** ++ *** + *** ++ *** + *** ++ *** + *** ++ *** + *** ++ *** + **

You were not prepared for what you would find when you arrived at his flat. You stood at the door and knocked. No answer. You looked around the dimly lit hallway of the building and hummed to yourself anxiously.

'Maybe he forgot?' You mused. You foot tapped impatiently on the floor, and you kept shifting your weight from hip to hip. 'No. He wouldn't forget.' You reminded yourself. He was too structured for that. So you knocked again, harder. Still no answer. You knocked so hard the third time you sent spikes of pain up your knuckles.

“Si!” you yelled. “Are you home?” Your voice was raspy and filled with concern.

There was no response, but you did hear movement. Now your heart jumped to your throat. Was he hurt? Could he not respond for some reason? You mind flooded with the worst-case scenarios and you began to panic. Who do you call? Police? Maybe a neighbour would have a number for maintenance or the landlord. Your head shot back and forth, up one end of the hallway and down the other. You stared at the door, and finally your body reacted.

You hand reached for the doorknob and gave it a twist. To your surprise, it wasn't locked, which was unusual in itself. You couldn't imagine Si as comfortable enough to leave the door unlatched. But as you pushed it open, it caught on the chain of the upper lock and the door can to an abrupt halt. “Si?” you called in.

There was a grumbling, but no real response. “Fuck it.” You blurted out. You took a step back, sucked in a deep breath and aimed at the door. In one sharp movement, your foot connected with the door and snapped the chain from the frame. The swung open and crashed into the wall with a loud thud. You entered the flat timidly, and closed the door behind you.

Sitting at the kitchen table was Si, head in his hands and starting at the table, hunched over in a heap. You forgot how big this man was, even in this state. He was mask-less. You walked in and averted your gaze, you searched the flat frantically for his mask. It was then that you took in the disastrous state of the flat. There was garbage lying all over the place, dirty and broken dishes and even some furniture overturned and stung along the floor. Si had been home for a bit longer than you had assume, and it was not a good homecoming.

You located his mask frantically flung over the couch and you snatched it up quickly. You walked over to Si and shoved the mask under his face. “Put it on.” You remarked. “Please?” Your eyes were locked on the ceiling. He even managed to stain that.

You felt him pull the mask from your hand by the strap and you waited a few seconds before you dared to peek. He was masked, now.

Simon's face – well, his brows and eyes – were red and puffy, but he hadn't appeared to have been crying. His hair was a complete mess and his bloodshot eyes glared at you with emptiness, like he hadn't actually accepted you were here. “Better?” He asked in the most deadpanned tone you'd had heard from him.

“You look like shit, Si.” You declared before rubbing at the bridge of your nose. “Are you OK?” you muttered, knowing you were about to get the most useless of responses.

“No. Clearly, not.” he commented.

You took another look around the flat and noted all the work that had to be done. You gave an apathetic shrug and tip-toed over to the hallway closet to retrieve cleaning supplies. Carefully manoeuvring around the broken glass and ceramic that littered the floor like a mine-field. Something had set him off, an anxiety or panic attack maybe? PTSD? Didn't really matter to you, he couldn't stay like this. And since he wasn't going to offer up his feeling – his heart – for you one a plate, not that he had any left, you figured you could at least clean his home.

You started with the floors; sweeping up the fragments and remains of glassware and plates . You swept around his feet and took a bit of comfort that he was still wearing his boots. Under the table, around the fridge, and you double checked the base boards around the counter until you had a pile of his shattered property in a mound in his kitchen. Carefully you swept it into the dust-pan and placed it in a refuse bag before tossing it in one of his bins.

“What are you doing?” Simon finally remarked.

“Seems like you had a rough trip.” You declared. “I'm guessing you don't want to talk about, and that's fine. Its in our rules, after all.” You turned and beamed him a warm smile.

“You really care about my stupid rules at a time like this?” His voice was low and laced with annoyance and confusion.

“Its... kind of the foundation of our relationship, no?” You laughed. You balanced your chin on your hands, which were tenderly placed on the tip of the broom, and you wobbled it back and forth. “Something happened, and I'm not going to ask. But!” You explained. “I am going to get this place back in order because you don't live like this, and I'm not going to let you start. Isn't that what friends are for?” You shot him a wink.

“I pay you to be my friend.” The words carried an air of embarrassment and shame. Your heart ached at the sound.

You let out a frustrated breath and put the broom to the side. You turned your attention to the remaining dishes in the sink. The water rushed into the basin, splashing and bubbling as it embraced the dirty plated and utensils.

You reached into the got water and began scrubbing. The water sloshing and burbling under the movement of your hands. “I'd do it for free.” You finally admitted. You couldn't turn to look at him at first. The stack of wet, but clean dishes began to pile up in the other basin, and you could hear your heart in your ears. Feel your pulse beating, drumming, in every vein and artery.

“What?” He finally asked.

“I'd be your friend for free.” You nodded sharply at the wall in front of you. You bit at your lower lip, afraid you were breaking the rules of your contract. 'Was this too much? Too far?' you asked yourself as the silent moment moved forward.

“...why?” Simon finally choked out.

Your hands fell back into the sink, and your grip on the cutlery loosened. Your head dropped as you thought about your answer, knowing you were treading on thin ice. At least, you thought you were.

You cocked your head to the side to look at him. He was sitting at the table still, staring into the empty space between you two. His jaw worked tightly under his jaw as he ground at his teeth. You wondered if you had pissed him off, truly pissed him off.

“I... like you?” You whispered.

He snorted and shook his head. “That's the best fuckin' joke you've told yet, mate.”

You didn't really know how to respond to him. He was finally painting a picture of his self worth for you to view, and did it in so few words. Your heart sank deep into your belly as it dawn on you just how isolated his really must have been. Must be. “I mean it, Si. I'd be happy to just be your friend.”

His head dropped back down to the table. You finished the last of the forks and plopped them into the clean basin, dried your hands and pulled out your phone.

You opened up your messages and began typing.

You: What kind of music do windmills like? You: They're Metal fans.

His phone buzzed across the table and a moment later there was a gruff, hoarse chuckle. “Go fuck yourself.” He mumbled.

You: Why do Ghosts love elevators? You: Because they lift their spirits.

“Fuckin' hell.” He shook his head back and forth on the table. “I'm trying to be miserable here, can you fuck off?” You smiled at the disingenuous tone of his remark.

“Can't do it.” You shook your head and took a seat at the table.

“I won't push you to tell me whats going on, but...” You looked around at all the work still left to be done. “Can you give me something? Something to explain this?” You said waving your hands around the flat.

Simon just stared at you blankly.

“Mission go wrong?” You asked. Your words pushing at a boundary you weren't sure you had the right to touch.

His eyes widened as he took in the words that wormed their way to his brain.

“Mission? I was on a-”

You held up a hand and cut him off. Your heart was hurting at seeing this man in such a state. You didn't pity him by any means, but you wanted to reach out and let him know he could unload his burdens on you, even just a little.

“Dont.” You said curtly. “I've seen your tags.” Your fingers tapped at the table.

Simon rubbed at his eyes and let out a growl. He was most definitely annoyed with your line of questioning, but he also lacked the energy to put up a fight. He had spent the last several days having a tantrum, raging and destroying the remnants of his non-military life and wishing to sink the last of his soul into his persona. A persona he hadn't told you about.

But here you sat, staring at him with caring, concerned eyes and he couldn't understand why. He had never given you anything from this arrangement, it was entirely selfish on his part. But here you sat, your lips pursed and your fingers anxiously tapping the table.

“I failed.” He choked out. The words biting at his throat as his admission jumped from his lips. “I failed, and I got reprimanded.”

You nodded your head delicately. “Did you lose someone?” You asked.

Simon shook his head, but said nothing.

“Then it wasn't a complete failure, was it?” A smiled pulled at the corner of your lips.

Simon' hands fell to the table and he looked at you with shock. His masked puffed in and out as he breathed heavily into it.

“That's not the point.” He grunted.

You shrugged hard and stared at him. “Well... it is to me.” You fired back, a little more confrontational than you had intended. “You didn't lose anyone, and you came back home. Maybe its not a mission success, but its not a failure.”

Simon felt a crack in his armour at your comment. Like you had aimed perfectly at his heart and fired. It didn't shatter, he was too strong for that, but the impact of your words did damage. Damage he couldn't have prepared himself for. Someone cared that he came back. No one cared if he came back. He furrowed his brow, angry that your shot at him landed, but he couldn't bring himself to be truly mad at you. A piece of him lit up inside.

“Will you stay for dinner?” He finally asked.

You looked around at the kitchen and the few remaining dishes.

“We can order take away,” you chuckled. “My treat.”

Simon looked at you.

“My treat.” You reaffirmed.

Simon just nodded.

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blueberrypancakesworld · 2 months

Note

hellooooo!! may i request a poly! mayhem/black circle (dead is alive) x fem reader who is a mix of black metal/gothic but sweet and bit of a bimbo?? like all of them are hungover from a black circle party and she makes them breakfast and takes care of them and everything??? 🤍🩷

A shiny and sweet morning

warning : fluff, kissing, comfort

Info : Helllloooo dear anon of course you can request such a thing I hope you like this fluffy sweety thing and everyone have fun reading ;)

masterlist

Disclaimer : I don't want to glorify anything, it's about the actrs who play a role, not the real events

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

In Norway the mornings in winter were cold and foggy, in spring the sun hung behind the clouds and only in summer the morning was surprisingly bright and pleasantly warm.

A warmth from the sun's rays that came into the young woman's room, the chirping of birds and nature through her roommate's open, demolished window.

Slowly opening her eyes, she wiped the sleep from her eyes as she looked at the clock. ,,Well, let's make the boys something to eat," she mumbled and got out of bed.

She knew it was morning, knew that the boys had all been partying late into the night in the music store and had then found their way back here more badly than right. The smell of beer and grass, of smoke and fire hung in the house, but that would soon change.

The longer black fingernails with the slight silver glitter reached into her closet and picked out a dress, the puffy white underdress with frills was rounded off by the black, thinner outer dress and a belt with small bows.

Sitting back on the bed, she gently and carefully pulled up the white knee-high socks so as not to damage the thin material and tied her hair up in a bow, which was a little wild from sleep.

The sweet young woman, preoccupied in the darkness, walked out of her room and peeked into the hallway, seeing that most of the doors were closed or slightly open from not closing due to the drug and alcohol influence. ,,Like a bat" she mused with a grin as she saw Dead and Euronymous lying on the mattress and coffin with their heads propped up on the floor.

The two of them looked like two oversized bats because of the runny makeup but the picture was cute and she wanted to grin and make a mental note that she had to take a picture of it next time.

That as she walked on and the bunch of Faust, Occoltus and Varg had thrown themselves together on the beanbag, the youngest of the three had the odd disturbing thought and a hand to horrofilem them both with one hand in his arms she held tightly even in her sleep.

,,The iron maiden and her captives," she murmured jokingly and continued down the corridor, almost running over the two of them.

Hellhammer and Necrobutcher leaning against each other, ,,Two mad bears with a hangover," she joked, shaking her head lightly as she tried to escape the crack of the wood from the stairs and quickly made her way to the kitchen.

She was thankful to all her lovers that they were all fiddling in the music store and not here in the house she took care of besides her job as a reporter because she brought the good news to the "hip youngsters" as her boss always called it by giving news and updates on the band once a week and writing an article.

Which was sometimes a bit of a challenge, considering her fingernails and the way her breasts pressed against the keldi. But as it was now, she was coping with everything.

The little light in the kitchen was slightly amplified by the lamp, so she turned on the stove and took the things from the fridge.

,,Goodness gracious, we're almost out of everything," she muttered and took out the remaining eggs, a few slices of ham and sausage as well as fruit and salad.

She put what she wanted to cut up on a board and started cutting away the already moldy part while listening to the latest song from her band playing on the cassette.

Humming along, she swung through the kitchen as best she could, taking care of the scrambled eggs, the salad, the meat and the few cereals with milk.

She set out the plates and cutlery and decided to stop the coffee and not give the men any beer for the time being.

She didn't want another mess. Minutes passed and it had taken her about half an hour to do everything here.

A glance at the clock told her it was time to wake the boys. Pulling the small pocket mirror out of her clothes pocket, she pulled the shimmering, strawberry-scented lip gloss over her lips before she was ready to wake her pack.

Humming happily, she opened the windows in one room after the other, letting in fresh air and the house slowly began to smell of nature and coffee, of something tart that wasn't beer and dorgen.

,,Wake up, gentlemen of hell!" She shouted through the corridors as she knocked on Euronymous and Dead's door, brushing a few tangled strands of hair out of their faces, and the black-haired man's ,,Mhhh too soon" was met with a gentle kiss, causing him to rise slowly.

,,Thank you sweetie," the band founder murmured, letting his gaze wander over her and smiling slightly as he made his way downstairs.

She heard him on his way down, but the three of them fell over Hellhammer and Necrobutcher as they went crashing down the stairs and the sound of cursing filled the house. ,,Day?" she heard the soft voice of the blond who was suddenly standing behind her, his make-up still smudged.

,,Yes, Day... my little zombie," she said and briefly took his hand before she started to pull him behind her to get him to eat, which he didn't do very well anyway.

While the five of them were eating and she had given Hellhammer and Necrobutcher a cold pack, she went back upstairs to hell the last three.

,,Fresh coffee," she murmured and held out a cup to the three sitting on the beanbag, which slowly worked wonders.

Varg took the cup with just coffee, Faust the one with two sugars and Occultus the cup with more milk than coffee.

,,Thank you, darling," the three of them trilled and gave her a quick hug before they all gathered downstairs and the large group squeezed around the table.

She had a cheerful smile on her lips when she saw that the boys were enjoying their meal despite the headache they had all taken a pill for.

,,That's great," she heard from Occoltus, who scooped another heap of egg onto his plate, and a ,,You're the best mommy," from Hellhammer, who winked at her, knowing full well what he was alluding to.

But they all knew what the brown-haired one was getting at, but it didn't bother anyone, she was there for each of her sweeties and always would be. ,,Always happy for my little devils," she replied and sat down at the table before taking her first well-earned sip of coffee.

She was happy when she saw the many relieved faces and received her rewarding kisses.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

#lords of chaos movie #lords of chaos 2018 #loc black circle #black circle x reader #loc euronymous #loc dead #loc faust #loc occoltus #loc varg #loc hellhammer #loc necrobutcher #loc black circle x reader

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courtforshort15 · 1 year

Text

Late Night Confessions

Pairing: Matt Murdock x AFAB Reader (could be read as GN, though the first part of this series mentions the desire to carry Matt's children)

Word Count: 9,000

Summary: You’re not quite sure why Matt has been pulling away from you, but you know that it’s impossible to stay in a relationship when someone is hiding something. You’re devastated that it has come to this, but you figure it’s better to push away than be pushed away.

Warning: Annnnngst, but with a happy ending

This is the third installment of the Coffee Shop Woes Series, though it could probably be read as a standalone.

Part 1: Coffee Shop Woes

Part 2: First Date Jitters

Masterlist

You didn't really go to the coffee shop on Tuesdays anymore.

It felt too weird to go when you and Matt were on the outs like this. It felt too much like you were seeking him out, desperate to recreate mornings where you'd openly flirt and hold hands while waiting for your drinks together, Brittany pretending to gag and rolling her eyes in fake annoyance whenever Matt leaned over to brush his lips over your cheek.

It felt too much like searching for something you weren’t sure was meant to last.

And…it wasn't like you were really on the outs with him, when you thought about it. There hadn't been any sort of fight, nothing heavy and angry between the two of you, lapping at your skin while it flared to life and burned you from the inside out. It was just that he had been slowly slipping away; gone were the midday kisses when meeting for lunches, and the nights of him holding you while you slept in his bed. All the words and gestures of care and affection were growing fewer and further between, slowly fading from sight, sliding into a far off distance that even you couldn't see.

You still talked sometimes; late night phone calls to tell you he was thinking of you, good morning texts and random afternoon office stop-bys to bring you a treat from your favorite bakery.

But it wasn't enough.

You didn't know where you stood with him anymore. His smile that you loved so much was charming when aimed your way, his eyes crinkling at the corners when you made him laugh. But those had slowly started disappearing too, and all that was left were a few sweet photos on your phone that stung every time you looked at them.

You changed your home screen back to some generic picture of a flower the fifth time he canceled a date last minute.

A gray, dismal Monday evening found you at his office after asking if you could swing by for a few minutes. He had told you haltingly that he still had a mountain of work to finish, but you insisted, and he reluctantly agreed. The stilted and somewhat awkward conversation was enough to strengthen your resolve, spine straightening, and it forced a sense of coldness into your heart and mind, one that you'd need in order to follow through with a step you really didn't want to take.

The office he shared with Foggy and Karen was dark, which wouldn't have been unsurprising to any other person given that he had no use for the lights. It's just…you had gotten used to the way he made sure to turn them on when he knew you were coming over, excited and breathless at the thought of having you in his space. But this time it was if no thought or consideration for your arrival had passed through his head, and with a quiet sigh, you flicked them on yourself. Matt was at his desk, face tilted down as he ran his fingers over a file, and his head jerked up when the front door shut behind you.

Maybe he had already forgotten you were coming over, as if you were some vague distraction he would have to face and hopefully get rid of quickly, and the idea was sharp and stabbing, leaving pieces of your skin hanging lifelessly from the wounds.

He stood up as you made your way further into the office, and the smile he sent you was beautiful, as always. But for some reason it held an edge to it, something borderline frustrated, and he wasn't as good at hiding it as he probably thought he was.

Had you not spent the last five months spending every possible moment with him, the smile might have fooled you. But as it were, the smile was almost hurtful to look at, even as you sent one his way in return. You were grateful he couldn't see the way it was extremely strained, dry lips stretching over teeth, cracked more from the bitterness of the situation rather than from the cool weather of fall.

"Hey, sweetheart," he said as he stepped around his desk, placing the papers he'd had in his hand on another stack of files. He met you at the entrance to his office, pulling you gently in, one hand finding your shoulder, the other your cheek as he leaned in to press a kiss on it. You loved the way his lips felt on your skin, the slight rasp of his stubble brushing against it enticingly. You couldn't help but lean into it, a quiet sigh leaving your mouth.

"Hey, Matt," you greeted him as you pulled away. You took a full step back, bringing yourself just slightly out of his reach, and grimaced at the way his smile dropped ever so slightly. "Busy day?"

He ran his hand through his hair, shrugging. "No more than usual, I guess. Trial starts next week, and I still feel like there's so much to work through."

You made a sound that was sympathetic, all too aware of the case he'd been working on the past few weeks. It was a large case, large enough to make you pause when thinking about his lack of attention lately, but something was still off, and it was a feeling you couldn’t ignore as much as you wanted to. You had been wanting to talk about it with him, but he hadn’t given you a chance, hadn’t spent enough time with you lately for you to even bring it up, and now it just felt like a lost cause.

"Seems like it's been taking up most of your time, amongst other things."

Matt sighed, and if he picked up on the inflection of the word other, he didn’t say anything. Instead, he rolled his neck lightly before rubbing at his eyes, having obviously removed his glasses at some point in the evening. The sleeves on his shirt were rolled to his elbows, his tie loosened, and while the look had always driven you crazy, it made your throat briefly close up in pain. He looked so stressed, hair messy and eyes tired, but it didn't keep the fact that the distance had slowly been killing you from the inside.

Your heart ached just looking at him, but you knew you needed to push forward. It wasn't just his work schedule that seemed to be creating this chasm between you: he was hiding something, of that you were sure, and you'd been with far too many men who were hiding something to know it was usually best to cut and run before it got worse, before the pain managed to tear you from the inside out. It’s what you did, what you always did; push people away, desperate to keep yourself from the ways they might hurt you when you felt like things were going south, and it was a habit you couldn’t keep from falling into at this moment with him.

It was a habit that had kept you from many heartaches, though you were positive you weren't going to walk away from this unscathed, regardless.

"Is there a reason why you needed to come by?" He asked, and you couldn't help but narrow your eyes at the the tone that sounded a little too short for your liking. "You sounded like it was pretty urgent."

"Yeah, there's a reason," you said, preparing to rip yourself in two, hands clenching at your side, skin straining and tightening over your knuckles, knuckles that were somewhat bruised from the other night when you’d slammed your fist against your door in frustration when he had canceled dinner again. Matt’s head tilted slightly, as if we could sense the motion, but he didn’t say anything. "I think we should talk."

Matt's eyebrows rose. "Talk? Right now?"

"Yeah," you shrugged, the movement slow and reluctant, the collar of your jacket lightly brushing against your jaw as your shoulders lifted. "It's not something that can wait, I don't think."

"Sweetheart, I wasn't kidding when I said I have a ton to do for this case," he said with a sigh, placing his hands on his hips. "Can I call you later?"

You shifted on your feet, eyes landing on the random lamp sitting in the corner of his office, reluctant to look at him. It was an old lamp, likely found used on some sort of online posting by Karen, and you were grateful that the swirling design that littered across was enough to draw your attention away for just a brief moment.

"No, it's best we do this now."

"Look, we're having dinner tomorrow night, right? We can go to the restaurant on 51st, we can get that bottle of wine you like, and I promise you'll have my undivided attention," he replied, and the way he was attempting to bargain, attempting to push you off to the side as if he had way more important things to do than talk with you, made you feel weird. Since when did he feel like he needed to bribe you to do what he wanted? "I know it's been a little bit since we've had some time together, but I just really need to finish this portion tonight."

Your laugh almost sounded bitter as it echoed throughout the office. "A little bit? I've barely seen you in three weeks."

He froze before opening his mouth to object, lips quickly tilting into a frown. "That's not true. We went to lunch at that Chinese restaurant down the street the other day."

"Yes, but that was three weeks ago."

He faltered again, jaw dropping slightly. "I–how is that possible?" He asked, sounding vaguely incredulous. "There's no way it's been that long."

"Yeah, well, I guess maybe time flies when you're avoiding me?"

His eyebrows rose again. "Avoiding you? I'm not–"

"That's what it feels like," you told him, trying to keep your voice as blank as possible. You could cry later, there was no need to embarrass yourself with tears. You hadn’t ever cried in front of him, and now was not the time to start, not when you were trying to do what was best for you. "I barely hear from you. You always tell me you're too busy for something these days. I saw you three weeks ago, sure. But in the last month you've canceled on me like five times."

Matt looked surprised, face twisting in something that was beginning to look like guilt. "Sweetheart–"

"And like…I get you're busy, but you can't possibly be that busy 100% of the time. At some point you've got to have some time for me, right?"

"I'm so s–"

"So obviously something is happening outside of work that you won't tell me about."

He took a brusque step forward, hands reaching for you again, but you sidestepped, pulling yourself away from him, unwilling to let him touch you. His face dropped, and you cringed at the look for hurt that was already spreading.

"Nothing is happening outside of work," he said carefully, each word seeming to be practiced and well-controlled, as if it were a lie that he had told a million times before. Who knows, maybe it was. "I promise. This case…it's draining."

You swallowed dryly, eyes once more flickering to the lamp in the corner, desperate to control yourself enough to push forward. "I don't believe that. I'm sorry."

Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed the way his face paled, and you continued to look away for a moment longer before your eyes landed back on his face. "What are you saying, then? If you don't believe me, then what do you want me to do?"

The breath you took seemed far too shallow, the sound too hoarse, and didn’t actually get you the amount of oxygen you had been needing to help calm you down. He started to take another step towards you, but you shook your head, pushing out a hand to make sure he kept his distance. "I'm saying that this isn't working for me."

Matt's body came to an immediate stop, his mouth dropping in alarm. "What?"

"You heard me," you told him, playing with a thread that had poked loose on the edge of your jacket. "This isn't…working. Not for me, at least."

Matt's mouth opened and shut a few times before he spoke, the words almost too quiet for you to hear. "I don't understand."

You shrugged again, hand finally falling back down to your side. You tried to avoid looking at him, avoid looking at the crestfallen downtown of his mouth and eyes. This beautiful man was wilting before your eyes, and your heart was echoing the movement, sliding downwards and landing on the ground with a quiet thunk that still managed to ring in your ears.

"I just…I don't really ever see you anymore. We talk sometimes, but not like we used to. I felt like I had to force you to allow me to come over, which is a super shitty feeling to have," you said almost helplessly. The words were starting to catch in your throat. "To be honest, it's started to feel like you want the relationship to end but you're just too nervous to say the words yourself."

His mouth dropped again in surprise. The lighting in the office was bright enough for you to be able to see the way his chest rose and fell rapidly as if he was struggling to catch his breath. "You think I want to end things? Sweetheart–"

His continued use of his word for you, the word that slipped out of his mouth more often than your name, wrapped up in affection and adoration, finally succeeded in causing you to flinch. He’d said it enough times this evening alone, and each time it fell from his lips, your heart squeezed just a little bit harder, but hearing the pleading tone that had slipped into his voice was almost enough to give in to him and throw yourself into his arms.

You ruthlessly shoved the flickering feeling of wanting him to hold you down to the ground, and opened your mouth to reply. "Something is going on, and I don't know what it is, and even now you're lying to my face saying there isn't."

"What could possibly be going on? What do you think is happening? I still don't understand why you think this."

"I'm not sure," you admitted to him honestly. "I know we're not really official, or whatever that means these days, and I know we’ve kept this casual so far, but I thought maybe we had something. Maybe I was wrong."

He looked like he had been slapped. "What do you mean, not really official? It’s never been anything but serious for me. What else did you think this was?"

You shrugged again, your shoulders rising and falling jerkily. "I'm not really sure, to be honest. We never really said anything about it. So I guess it would make sense if you were keeping your options open, I guess."

"My options op–"

"And like…if that's the case, there's really nothing else to say, right? I haven’t really gotten the feeling from you that you've wanted this to be serious, not with the way you've been dodging my invites for dinner or rushing to end our phone calls. If you're seeing someone else, just let me know."

"I am not seeing anyone else!" He exploded suddenly, picking up his feet from where they had seemed glued to the floor, and started pacing the office, his hurt temporarily taking a back seat and anger replacing it at the wheel. "How could you even say that?"

You lowered your eyes. "I've been down this road too many times before, Matt. I may not know what's going on with you, but I do know what it feels like when I've been given the slip, and that's exactly how I've been feeling the past few weeks."

"I promise I'm not giving you the slip," he said, a hint of desperation making a brief appearance in his voice. "Please believe me."

"Maybe you're not. But it doesn't change the fact that we've been dating for five months and that these past few weeks have made me feel even more lonely than before we met." Your eyes darted back up to look at him, taking in the way his face had lost any remaining color he’d had. "If you can't tell me what's truly been going on, then I don't want to sit around and just hope that one day you'll let me in."

He looked ready to tear his hair out, and you couldn't tell if it was from anger or frustration or sadness. Perhaps it was all three, merging together into something explosive. "Jesus, what do you want from me?"

You jerked back as if you'd been struck, your turn to almost be startled into silence. "I just wanted you to be honest. I just wanted you to tell me the truth, regardless of what it was. But all you've been doing is trying to gaslight me."

“But–”

“I don’t…I can’t do this, Matt. Not with someone who keeps themselves so far away from me,” you mumbled, a stray tear heating your cheek on its way down. You hastily wiped it away. “Whatever it is that you’re hiding, I hope it’s worth it.”

You turned on your foot, making your way to the door, but were stopped by a sudden hand wrapping itself around your wrist.

"I'm so sorry I've made you feel this way," he whispered, though you refused to turn around. "I never meant for that. Please don't go. I'll be better for you, I promise."

You shuddered, closing your eyes briefly, before you shook your hand out of his grasp. "I wish I believed that."

You left his office without another glance back, your mangled heart still bleeding and shattered at his feet.

----------

A few miserable days later found you making your way up to the roof of your building, blanket in one hand, red solo cup in the other, with a large box of cheap wine under your arm. Your standards weren't very high, especially when it came to nursing a broken heart, so the least expensive item at the liquor store would work just fine.

Prying open the roof door, you forced your way out of the building, a wince marring your face when you accidentally stubbed your toe on the brick someone had set aside as a way to hold the door open. Despite the way your toe throbbed, you wedged the brick into place with your foot, unwilling to accidentally get locked outside.

The rooftop was empty of people, which was what you'd expected and hoped for. No one ever came up here, it seemed. It wasn't a great location, nothing to see around you except for other run-down and ugly buildings, old brick surrounding you on all sides. There was an ashtray on a ledge a few feet away, but other than the occasional smoker, the roof rarely saw any action.

On a night like tonight, eyes still stinging and red from a brief session of tears in your shower, the rooftop was perfect.

The ledge you sat on was cold, the brick rough and scratchy, even through your sweatpants. You weren’t surprised at the chill, given the fact it was early October, but you were still mildly uncomfortable when the cold immediately began to seep in. With a brief shiver, you set the box of wine and cup next to you, curling the old blanket around your legs, glad you had worn a hoodie over your t-shirt as the breeze drifted lightly by.

You lifted the cup to your lips, having given yourself a heavy pour of the cheap red wine, and took a large gulp. It didn't taste awful, but it certainly wasn't great, the acid of the liquid seeming to burn you from the inside out as it slid down your throat and settled in your stomach.

Dejected, a sense of hurt settling so deeply inside you that you weren't sure would go away anytime soon, you sat there on the rooftop, wishing you could coldly shove your heartbreak aside as ruthlessly as fall did to summer.

Matt…had been perfect. Everything you were positive you wanted, everything you could see yourself with for the rest of your life. Those first four months had been thrilling and beautiful and heated while somehow still soothing and calming. He took you apart every single night with his words and his cock, then built you back up by holding you in his arms while you slept.

It had been so easy, embarrassingly easy, to fall in love with him.

Such was your lot in life, you supposed. Forever feeling too much for a person who seemed to feel too little.

Maybe he had similar feelings of affection, maybe he had been honest when he said this relationship had never been anything but serious, but you couldn't build something with such a heavy, obvious lie in the middle. You deserved better.

So there you sat…bundled up against the cold weather of fall, plastic cup full of cheap wine that tasted worse and worse by the second, your bruised and battered heart laying at the feet of a man who probably didn't even want it.

It sucked.

You were so involved in your own misery that you didn't notice right away that you were no longer alone on the rooftop until a quiet thump shattered the comparative silence, standing out sharply against the occasional laughter that rang out from the streets below. You whipped your head towards the sound, heart rate increasing exponentially when you noticed a dark figure now standing near the edge. You moved to stand up, weary of the man who had suddenly appeared on the rooftop.

Squinting your eyes, it didn’t take long to figure out who had joined you. You'd seen the sharp silhouette far too many times to count on a TV screen or newspaper article. You weren't a New York native, having only lived in the city for a short amount of time, but there was no mistaking who it was.

The black form of the devil walked slowly towards you, each step appearing to be calculated down to the exact inch of movement, hands raised slightly in some sort of sign that he meant no harm. Despite the abrupt pounding of your heart, you couldn't find it in you to move away, and neither did you necessarily feel the need to.

The people of Hell's Kitchen tended to sing his praises. Perhaps not always his methods of intimidation and violence, but they were resolute in the fact that he had saved far more than he had hurt. Many people felt safer knowing he was prowling the neighborhood for those who would do it harm.

You supposed you’d have to trust the people of the neighborhood for now, and so, with a heavy sigh, you sat back down.

"I'm not here to hurt you," the man's voice rang out, and despite the near-whisper, you heard it loud and clear.

Your response was quick and almost disinterested in its tone. "I know."

"You do?" The voice almost sounded confused, as if he hadn't expected the response. The alcohol buzzing through your veins helped numb any anxiety you might have felt in the situation.

You nodded, raising your cup back to your mouth and taking another long sip. "Daredevil doesn't hurt innocent people. We all know that." The taste of the wine lingered on your lips and tongue, and you shuddered at the taste, the sharp sting of the liquid sliding into your stomach. "And seeing as the most heinous thing I've got on my record is an awful speeding ticket I received from going way too fast in a construction zone, I doubt I'm on any list of criminals you're trying to track down."

The shadow moved closer, and though the rooftop was pretty dark, you could see the way his head was tilted slightly, shoulders broad and tense as he observed you. You stayed where you were, unafraid but still cautious, eyeing him curiously as he took a few steps forward.

"Are you okay?"

The question struck you as funny for some reason, and you snorted gracelessly, the sound almost bitter as it sounded across the rooftop. "I'm up here in ratty clothing and drinking wine out of a plastic cup on a Friday night. I'm definitely not great."

The man looked like he grimaced, the expression seemingly sad, though you couldn't quite tell if you were reading the expression correctly in the limited lighting on the rooftop. It was probably just your imagination that someone would care enough to be sad for you.

You assumed a man like him was used to experiencing a certain level of sadness himself, having seen and experienced the darkness housed in the people living in Hell's Kitchen, more so than anyone else had. You supposed he wasn't as immune to the anger and desperation that reeked from the city's pores as the news portrayed him to be.

The neighborhood seemed to label him as cold and uncaring, calculating and intentional about the violence he inflicted. But staring at him now, you could see the lingering fire that rested underneath the devil's dark clothing, even as he stood calmly in front of you.

"I can go if you want. I didn't mean to intrude."

Eyeing him with vague interest, you shrugged your shoulders apathetically. "I don't care either way. I won't be here much longer, and I don't own the roof. Stay as long as you want."

The man settled onto another ledge, some old AC unit that obviously wasn't on this time of year, approximately fifteen feet in front of you. He crossed his ankles in front of him, hands resting on the AC unit on the outside of his thighs to balance his weight, face aimed in your direction. The skin of the lower half of his face was a stark contrast to the black he was wearing, and it stood out sharply, even in the dark.

"Long night?" You asked suddenly, lowering your gaze and watching as you swirled the wine in your cup, deep red sloshing against the sides. You could only imagine the way the liquid was staining your lips with every sip you took, as if this innocuous liquid was also trying to place its red, sharp mark on you the way one Matthew Murdock had.

The man lifted his shoulders and dropped them. "It's just getting started. Yours?" The tone of his voice seemed familiar, but it was too dark and raspy to be anyone you knew, so you shoved the thought aside.

"I guess," you said with a sigh. You pulled your legs up and folded them underneath you. "Mostly came up here because it sounded less depressing than drinking in my apartment alone. Figured fresh air is somewhat healthy, right? Not that New York has what one might consider to be fresh air."

His mouth dipped further down and settled into a frown that had become more obvious than just a few minutes before. "Do you drink by yourself a lot?"

Your lips twisted into a wry grin before you took another sip. "Recently, yeah. It's never really been much of a habit before."

"Are you…are you sure you’re okay?"

You let out a loud laugh at the question, and the man seemed to be startled by it if the way he rocked back slightly was any indication. "Is Daredevil doing wellness checks these days?" You asked with another laugh that was close to being described as bitter.

The man in front of you didn't deserve anger at such a simple question, but you couldn't bring yourself to care much. You were sad and angry and hurt, and unfortunately this man was receiving the brunt of everything that was blazing inside of you. "I haven't been in the city for very long, but I thought you would have better things to do than talk with random drunk women on their rooftops."

He shook his head. "I do whatever people need me to do."

You laughed again, and you couldn't tell if it was sarcastic or genuine, too buzzed to determine the motive behind the sound. "I think you should find someone who actually needs help. There are better uses of your time."

"Something tells me I'm right where I need you to be."

"Okay, man," you said with a shrug of your shoulders. Tiredness suddenly slunk into your skin, and you decided to lean into the exhaustion, rather than fight it. After all, sleeping was far more preferable than drinking shitty wine and having a pity party. "I'm going to head down to bed anyway, so enjoy the rooftop."

"I hope you're not leaving because of me," the man rushed out, abruptly rising from his spot, his face looking mildly alarmed from what you could see in the dark.

You shook your head with a sigh. "I'm not," you replied honestly, standing up and folding your blanket. After taking the the last sip of wine in your cup, you tossed it in a nearby trash can. You picked up the box of wine that was far lighter than it had been when you’d walked up the stairs with it, already wincing at the hangover that was bound to set in tomorrow morning based on how much you had consumed.

"I'm going back downstairs because I'm sad and drunk and I'm ready to go to bed. It was nice meeting you."

Turning quickly on your heel, you were already halfway to the door when your name rang out across the open air, and you heard it as clearly as if it had been said by someone standing next to you.

Head whipping around instantly, you opened your mouth in surprise. "How did you–"

But the words died on your lips, because the way your name had been said was unique, each letter and each syllable carefully crafted by the mouth it left, and there was only one person who said it exactly like that, only one person whose voice you had all but memorized since the moment you saw him in the coffee shop.

But…it didn't make sense.

The vigilante stood a few feet closer now, arm still lightly outstretched as if he had been reaching to pull you back into him, and you couldn't help but notice the knuckles that seemed to be perpetually split, the very same knuckles that had ran themselves down your cheek on more than one occasion. He had stepped further into the small light the open doorway offered, and sure enough, there was no way that mouth belonged to anyone else.

It was parted in surprise, red lips you'd spent so much time beneath still forming your name, and your breath caught in your throat.

His voice, in his desperation to make you stay, no longer sounded so raspy and on edge. It had shifted rapidly into the one you were so used to hearing, and you found yourself reeling at the thought that you had completely shoved the familiarity of it aside just minutes earlier.

He stood facing you silently, the only sound ringing out across the roof coming from the people and cars below, and it was clear he was as surprised at the calling out of your name as you were.

You cleared your throat loudly, hands starting to tremble at your sides. You shoved the items you were holding back onto the ledge you had just vacated, unable to hold the weight when your world had just been rocked almost violently. "Take off the mask, Matt."

Leaning his weight on his back foot, he swayed ever so slightly away from you. "I don't–"

"Take it off!" The words that tore from your lips were shrill, a direct result of the alcohol surging through your system and the panic that was rapidly rising.

Without another word, his hands reached up and yanked his mask off, dark hair simultaneously slick with sweat and sticking to his forehead while also standing up slightly in the back. His face was pale, and even in the dark, you could see a cut that was bleeding sluggishly at his hairline and a bruise rapidly forming on his cheekbone.

You had noticed the random bruises and scars on his body, steadily mapping every inch of his skin with the gentle press of your fingertips during your months together, but he had somehow crafted reasonable excuses for the marks that littered his flesh. Upon the sudden realization of what was actually happening, you felt incredibly stupid.

While your mind continued to race and put together every single puzzle piece and clue you'd received over the past few months, never knowing they'd fit to form a picture like this, Matt stood frozen in front of you, eyes darting rapidly around the rooftop.

"You're…Daredevil." It wasn't a question. There was no denying that the man in front of you was the infamous Man in the Mask, broad shoulders and muscled thighs poured into dark fabric with thick gloves wrapped in ropes around his hands. They were the same shoulders you placed your weight on when you rode him, the same thighs that slammed against the back of yours when he fucked you from behind.

You didn't understand.

Matt licked his lips as he always did when he was nervous. "Yes."

"How?"

"I have…abilities."

"That seems to be the most bullshit oversimplified phrase I've ever heard come out of your mouth."

He flushed, looking deeply uncomfortable, but you weren't about to let this go, so you looked at him expectantly and demanded an answer again when he was quiet for longer than a few moments.

"I...uh, it's hard to explain."

"Try me," you said with the crossing of your arms over your chest. You widened your stance as if you were physically preparing yourself for what was to come.

"When I lost my sight, things changed. I was suddenly able to–”

“Are you saying the two are related?” You asked in some type of disbelief, mouth dropping open as you cut him off before he really began. “Losing your sight and…gaining whatever abilities you have that allow you to run around like a goddamn ninja and beat the shit out of people?”

His chest expanded in what you assumed was a deep breath. “I…yes. I guess that’s one way of putting it.”

You shook your head in disbelief. “I still don’t get how it’s correlated.”

A small smirk settled on his face, and your eyes narrowed at the expression. “Don't interrupt me and maybe I'll get a chance to explain it.”

You sniffed and tilted your head up in a motion of defiance, though you knew he was right. “That’s fair.”

“Like I was saying,” he said, clearing his throat, hand tightening on the mask held in his grip. “I lost my sight, and things just happened. I don’t know how, I don't know why. But suddenly everything else was just…more. More than I could process. Too much was coming in and I–”

"Let me guess," you cut him off again, ignoring the look of exasperation he sent you as your voice rang out over his. "It heightened your other senses, right? Isn't that the expectation, that other senses somehow slightly make up for the lack of sight?”

“That’s generally not how it actually happens when people lose their–”

You couldn’t help but groan in something bordering annoyance as you spoke over him again. “I didn’t mean literally. I meant that people learn to lean on their sense of hearing more, so naturally they just tend to listen and focus on their surroundings better. I feel like that's just…common sense, really. "

"Yes," he replied slowly, blank eyes out of focus as his head tilted in your direction, looking vaguely frustrated at the constant interruptions. "But it's more than that."

Your eyes narrowed further, even while your head shifted closer in curiosity. "How so?"

He ran his hand through his hair. "My sense of hearing is beyond that of what you might…expect, I guess. I can hear things from a few blocks away. I can hear through walls, through buildings. I can hear your heartbeat."

You raised your eyebrows in alarm, taking a step back and raising your hand over the left side of your chest, as if to cover the muscle in question. "My heartbeat?"

He took another step forward, gradually closing the distance between you that you kept creating. You didn't pull back further. "Yes, and it's pounding, but not in fear. Perhaps anxiety? Nervousness. Like part of you wants to run, but the other part knows you need to stay and hear me out."

You moved your weight to your other foot, every bit as anxious as he'd said you were, beginning to catch on that he knew far more about your reactions and motions than you thought he did. "Do you do that a lot? Listen to my heartbeat?"

Matt smiled faintly, and you couldn’t help but be momentarily settled by it. "It's become one of my favorite sounds, actually."

Flushing, you cleared your throat, refusing to let it charm you, this idea that the sound of life pounding through your veins was something that might be important to him. "What else? I'm guessing there's more."

"I can pick up the shifts in movement because of the air it displaces," he replied, gesturing towards your face. "I can tell by the heat in your cheeks that you're blushing because I can sometimes tell the difference in temperatures if I’m within close range, almost like–"

"Like some sort of thermal detector."

Matt shrugged half-heartedly. "I…sure, I guess? Not really, but we can go with that. It usually only happens when the heat or cold is extreme, and it doesn’t form an image, it’s just...there."

"And you're able to use some of that to guide you around?"

He lifted his shoulders in a deep inhale, before letting the air out rapidly in a sharp exhale. "It's a little more complicated than that. My sense of smell is…intense, too. I can smell the sandwich you had for lunch, or can sometimes even taste coffee off of your lips, regardless of whether or not you had a cup today or two days ago."

You shifted your weight again, the feeling of awkward still lingering on your skin. "Is that all?"

"Basically," he replied with a sigh. A random car horn sang out sharply across the rooftop, and you didn't miss the way his mouth twisted into a slight grimace at the noise. "It all forms some sort of idea in my head of what’s going on around me, something that allows me to shift focus and move quickly, pick up on things people don't usually think about or notice."

You nodded as if you understood, but you really didn’t. "And…the fighting? Where did you learn that?"

Matt lowered his head slightly, as if this was the harder topic to discuss. "I had a mentor at one point, pretty early on. He helped me focus on things around me, helped me hone my senses. And while he was teaching me those things, he also taught me some of the…skills you've probably seen on the news."

You smiled slightly, because yes, of course you’d seen some things on the news, but it left your face half a second after it appeared. Images of a man, lithe and powerful and dangerous, prowling through the city, full of fury and the need to enact his will on those who would harm others. "Yeah, I've seen a few things here and there. It’s…intense stuff.”

Huffing a quiet laugh, he shook his head lightly. "I kept up with the training, even once he left. Just never stopped practicing. Came in handy later on, I guess," he said with a self-deprecating grin.

"And…this is the thing you've been hiding, right?" you whispered, voice suddenly softer than it had been all night, playing with the hem of your shirt, a nervous habit of yours. "All those times I asked what was going on, only for you to lie repeatedly that nothing was wrong."

Matt looked extremely pained, face twisted in a grimace and hands twitching at his side, but he didn't hesitate. "Yes."

"And it's why you've seemed so tired and stressed and unable to spend time with me."

He lowered his head in what appeared to be a level of shame. "Things have been ramping up on the streets and I...I needed time to figure some things out with that, see what was going on, what I needed to do, and I didn't realize how wrapped up I got in it until you were walking away. I didn't mean to avoid you, or hurt you. I never wanted you to feel that way. I'm so sorry, sweetheart."

You took a deep, shaky breath, the sound rattling in your chest, nodding in understanding as you did so, wordlessly accepting the apology even as the reminder of being temporarily moved to the side continued to sting. "I guess I get it. I mean…this is a huge secret of yours, right? What you do, no matter your good intentions, could send you to prison the rest of your life. Makes sense that you wouldn't just…share this with someone until you knew you could trust them, right?"

His jaw dropped. "You think I didn't tell you because I don't trust you?"

"Clearly not," you said with a loud sigh. Your eyes briefly shifted to stare at a few random bricks on the building next store for the sole purpose of trying to reign in the sense of sadness that you felt was seeping out of your skin. "It sucks, but I get it, I think. We've only been dating for a few months. Not nearly long enough to trust someone with a secret like…this."

"That's not at all why I didn't say anything."

"Then why?" You shot back in question, shifting your eyes back to him and the defensive way he was standing. "Was it because you really were giving me the slip? No use in telling someone when you're not planning on sticking around, right?"

Matt finally took a few steps forward until he stood in front of you, lips still tilted in a sharp frown. "Stop putting words in my mouth."

You looked up at him. "I mean, you're not really giving me much to go on, Matt. What else am I supposed to think?"

Blank eyes darted over your face, red mouth parted, and a brief flicker of want rushed suddenly through you, one that you were unable to fight it off, even with the tension still flowing through your body. When was the last time he had kissed you? "I didn't tell you because you deserved better."

"Ah," you said, unable to keep the hurt that flooded over the single syllable that fell out of your mouth. "The classic you deserve better than me speech."

“You do deserve better.”

“I think that I get to be the one to decide that, Matt,” you responded with another helpless shrug of your shoulders. “Don’t I? I’m a grown adult, I get to decide what’s best for me. Not you.”

“But–”

“No,” you cut him off with a shake of your head. “If you want to do the thing where you push me away because you think you’re doing the right thing by letting me go, then I guess I can’t stop you. I’m old enough to know that forcing someone to stay just ends up being more hurtful in the end. But…if you…if…”

Matt took another hesitant step forward, even while your feet remained glued to the concrete of the roof. “If I what?”

“If you decide that you’re willing to…be more open about things, then ok.”

He looked absolutely flabbergasted, eyes wide, jaw going slack, as if he couldn’t understand or process the simple words you had just said. “Ok? What does ok mean?”

“It means that I’m ok with this.”

“You’re ok with what? You’re okay with me being Daredevil? You’re not mad?”

A laugh that was bordering the territory of bitter left your mouth. “I mean, yes, of course I’m mad." You didn't miss the way he grimaced just the tiniest amount, but you continued anyway. "But not about this, not about you being Daredevil. Just the lie. And like…even while I’m mad, I still somehow get it? It’s not an easy secret to let go of, something that could send you to prison. I wish you would have said something sooner, but I get why you didn’t.”

Matt continued to look like he couldn’t believe what he was hearing, and it struck you that maybe he didn’t.

“You’re…I can’t…”

“It’s fine, Matt. Honestly.”

“But–”

At last you took a step forward, determining it was your turn to close the distance that still remained, and you couldn’t help but notice the way he tracked your movement. Had he always done that? How had you not noticed the way he always seemed to know exactly where you were without you saying anything?

"I'm thinking that based on your reaction right now, you weren’t expecting me to…react favorably," you said with a shuddering breath. “Am I right?”

His jerky nod was enough to answer your question, and it seemed like he had temporarily lost the ability to speak. With a sigh, you reached up to push a lock of hair off of his forehead from where sweat had pressed it into his skin. Matt didn’t move an inch, but his breathing did hitch, and it was enough to crack your heart, just a little.

“And I’m guessing that other people haven’t reacted well in the past either.”

Matt shook his head, and when he opened his mouth to respond, the words were dry and cracked. “No. Not at all.”

“Because of the lying?”

He shuddered, his eyes closing briefly. “That, and they didn’t always agree with my…methods of justice.”

“Got it,” you said quietly, hand lowering slightly so that you could run a finger over his cheekbone. “Foggy and Karen?” His responding nod was confirmation, and your mouth tilted down slightly at the corners. “I’m sure it was a shock for them.”

“Yes,” he croaked out, fingers twitching at his sides as if he was resisting the urge to either flee or pull you into him. “But they were right to have some issues with it. It’s not an easy thing to hear.”

“It’s not,” you told him honestly, wincing when he flinched. Your finger traced over his cheekbone in something that was supposed to be soothing, though you’re not quite sure if you succeeded. It didn’t quite hit the mark on soothing you, either, as you still felt a lump forming in your throat. “But I’m not going to judge you or hate you for it, if this is what you feel you need to do.”

His eyes fluttered shut again, a deep shuddering breath pouring from his lips. “It is.”

“Ok. Then it’s ok.”

"Just like that?"

You sniffled as you nodded your head, tears suddenly welling back up, and you lifted your arm to rub lightly at your nose gracelessly. His head tilted to the side, no doubt aware of the tears that had gathered briefly, if his explanation of his…abilities was anything to go by.

"Will you…will you tell me what’s going through your head, sweetheart?" He asked softly, the words barely floating over the sound of the wind sifting by. "Will you talk to me? Please?"

You kicked at a small pebble that was an inch or so to the right of your foot, arms wrapping tighter around yourself. With a sigh, you opened your mouth and revealed a large insecurity that had been resting in your head these past few weeks, the thought that had been skillfully and ruthlessly gnawing at your skull.

You couldn't help the brief watery laugh that bubbled up. "Daredevil things aside, I honestly thought you were seeing someone else, and I think the idea of that is way more hurtful than you hiding this from me."

There was a low moan that rose from Matt's chest, and the sound was one of something akin to anguish. Before you could even take another breath, he was pulling you into him, one hand wrapped around the small of your back, the other pressing your head against his shoulder. You could do nothing but wrap yourself around him in return.

A heavy, solid press of his lips to your forehead was all it took for a few tears to escape, and he was pulling his head away before they could slide more than an inch down your cheek. Calloused fingers wiped them away, the touch soft but the purpose weighted, and it wasn’t long before he was pressing his forehead to yours.

“There hasn’t been anyone else, not since you. Not since the first time I held your hand in mine,” he whispered, the words caressing your face as they spilled out. “Do you remember that? On our first date?”

You nodded your head. “Yes, I remember.”

“Your hand fit so perfectly in mine, and now it’s like nothing else feels right if I’m not touching you,” he said, and you sniffed again, closing your eyes before more tears could force their way down your face, though you knew he’d wipe them away the second they started drying on your skin. “I promise, sweetheart, I promise that it’s just you. I think it's always going to be you. And I’m not perfect, and this won’t be perfect, not with the life I have, but there’s no one else who has the hold on me like you do.”

There was a tiny hiccup that escaped your mouth as you tried to stop tearing up, though you weren’t quite as successful as you would have liked. “Promise?”

Matt was apparently already done with not holding you to him because there was only a split second between the word that left his lips and the movement that pulled you to him. “Promise.”

The weather didn’t seem quite as cold up here as it had when you first stepped outside, not with the inferno of Matthew Murdock pressed against your front. With his arms wrapped around you and body positioned so that it was taking the brunt of the wind, you felt like you could stay trapped up there forever, despite the chill of the nighttime October air. You weren’t quite sure how long he held you, but it simultaneously felt like forever and no time at all before he pulled away again, hands still resting at your sides.

You sent him a questioning look, but before you could actually say something, he parted his mouth as if to speak. He opened and closed it a few times, seeming to have difficulty with what he wanted to say, so you let him formulate the words without trying to interrupt this time.

The breath he took was deep, his chest pressing into yours slightly. "You haven't asked me if I'm really blind," he said quietly, and the way his fingers twitched despite their hold on you told you how serious the topic was for him, how reluctant he was to bring it up.

Ah.

Eyes raked over his face in consideration. "I know you are," you responded simply with a roll of your shoulders.

His head tilted to the side, face questioning and curious. "How? It's something everyone asks when they find out I can do what I can do."

Your heart ached in your chest, and you couldn't help the swell of pain that flowed up through you, hurt on his behalf. No wonder he kept things to himself, no wonder he expected people to pull or push away from him. Lifting your hand, you ran it gently down the side of his face, watching as he leaned into it. "Because even just standing here, telling me everything, you still won't meet my eyes. And it's not because you don't want to, but because you can't."

Matt took in another deep breath, closing his eyes as the hand settled at your waist shook for a moment. He nodded, the movement causing your hand to shift slightly, and you used the opportunity to wrap it around the back of his neck to angle his head down so that his forehead could press against yours.

"That's an old wound isn't it, Matt?" You questioned quietly, unsurprised when he nodded again, though this time the movement seemed to be more hesitant. "People accusing you of hiding a very real disability because they can't understand these abilities."

He shuddered again, swaying more heavily into you this time, and you'd bear his weight gladly, if it meant he was still yours like this.

"I'm sorry people have asked that," you whispered, moving your head from his so that you could rest it on his shoulder instead. With a quiet exhale, he pulled you in tighter, fully wrapping himself around you. The chill of the fall weather ceased to exist when he held you to him the way he was now.

"Don't be," he said, the words pressed lightly into your hair. "I think it's a…reasonable thing to ask."

You found yourself shaking your head. "Maybe if asked by people who don't know you. But not by people who have been in your life for a while."

“I…yeah,” he mumbled softly in your ear, his breath fanning lightly across your cheek. “It wasn’t great to hear, but I guess it is what it is.”

Reaching up, your hand settled against the heart that was thumping underneath the skin and muscle of his chest, and you wondered briefly what it might sound like if you had the hearing he did. You were sure, without a doubt, that it would be one of your favorite sounds in the world, too.

“You deserve better than that, Matt. And I’m sorry.”

A quiet laugh shook you from where you rested against him. “Am I going to get my own you deserve better speech?”

Your own quiet laugh copied his. “Shut up.” You moved to pull further away from him, but he pulled you quickly back in, hands tugging at your sides. His face was serious, despite the laugh that had left his lips just moments before. Leaning forward, he placed his mouth against yours softly before lifting his head to press it into your forehead.

"I was never going to stay away, sweetheart," he said as a hand tangled lightly in your hair. "I just…needed some time to figure out how to say what I needed to say. Please tell me you believe me."

It was your turn to nod, and you did so gently, letting out a quiet sigh when his lips found yours again, the kiss soft and light and unrushed. No words were needed for him to understand that you believed him. He kissed you like he had all the time in the world to make you his, though you both knew, with one hundred percent certainty, that you already were.

He offered himself up to you completely, finally tearing himself open and sharing with you his most trusted, his most dangerous secret, and you weren't exactly surprised when you realized with sudden clarity that you’d never be able to offer anything but your whole self in return.

With a smile, the first real one to settle across your face in what felt like weeks, you tugged on his hand and pulled him with you down the stairs and into your apartment, desperate to feel him pressed as tightly against you as he could be, knowing you’d never be able to let him go again.

#daredevil #matt murdock #human disaster matt murdock #marvel #matt murdock x reader #matt murdock x you #matt murdock fanfiction #daredevil x fem reader #daredevil x afab reader #matt murdock x afab reader #daredevil x reader #daredevil x you #daredevil fanfiction

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daisys-reality · 10 months

Text

[ ᴘɪᴄᴋ ᴀ ᴘɪᴄᴛᴜʀᴇ ʀᴇᴀᴅɪɴɢ ]

What is the missing piece?

Here is another pac reading focused on your reality shifting / manifestation journey !! I hope you find some useful advice/words in here! I wish you all the best 💛 If you like to read more pac readings from me, feel free to check out my masterlist ! (Also, for your information, I don't own any of these cool pics, I just edited them a little.)

:: pile one

seven of cups, queen of cups, (the world)

Hello my dear pile one. You currently seem to be or feel like you’re underwater…in the depths of the ocean. You’re losing your sense of orientation, the pressure is getting higher, pitch black darkness around you, everything seems to be uncertain - is that light in the distance a prey or a predator? You may be faced with a lot of choices but you’re not sure what will benefit you and what not. Not only the pressure might rise but also the desperation, your inner world gets messier and messier. But being overly cold or overly dependent on something is not the solution. You’ve started to bottle up more and more feelings, ignoring everything and getting lost in daydreaming, - things that give you quick pleasure but sadly nothing long-lasting.

I asked what the missing piece for you on this journey is to reach your goal/desire and I got the Queen of Cups. She is someone who is warmhearted and emotionally secure. She is in tune with the emotions of herself (and others). She has this motherly vibe around her and is supportive of herself and her growth and honors her authentic self. The type of person that values the intangible over the material things in life. Someone leading their life with a strong intuition. No judgment here. The QoC welcomes everything with open arms and provides guidance and emotional support. That’s what you need to work towards in your last steps. Be the queen of cups towards yourself. Work through your emotional insecurities. Feel those feelings and don’t ignore them. Guide yourself compassionately through these dark waters. Don’t be too hard on yourself. Calm yourself and your inner world down, give yourself a hug every now and then, okay? You’ve come so far already. All this confusion might have made yourself feel like you’re back to zero and everything was for nothing but that is not true. If I had to ‘rate’ how far you are on your journey (but don’t take this too seriously, it's a general reading!), I would say 7+ out of 10. You know, this ‘dark foggy’ part of your journey is like the darkness before dawn. I’ve got the world card as confirmation for this. All your work will be paid off and you’ll feel a sense of closure soon once this cycle has come to an end. You will start seeing the big picture and where you’re standing in the world around you. It will all make sense soon.

:: pile two

the hermit, the high priestess

Hello my dear pile two. Let’s see where you are right now…You seem to be in a period of introspection and self discovery - nice! I see you evaluating how things are going and whether or not to change direction - for example if you’re working on reality shifting, I see contemplating on your script and what you really want to experience and what not. You’re trying to look inward, researching, planning carefully (I wanna say scripting carefully lol). You might have been in this withdrawn kinda hermit mood for some time already. You took some time to soul search for your true desires - which is a really good thing! You might have also deepened your relationship with spirituality overall and meditated etc. (I felt the need to say that you’re doing so well!)

I asked what the missing piece for you on this journey is to reach your goal/desire and I got the High Priestess. Very interesting... in this tarot deck I own, the High Priestess is represented by a white owl emerging from the pitch black background while holding a scroll with its feet. It’s the scroll of knowledge. The HP is the ruler of the unconscious and beckons us to pass through the veil and look inward - which you’re kinda doing already! But there is a slight difference between the HP and the Hermit (which represents where you are rn). I believe with the Hermit you entered this pitch black space, looked inward, mentally planned a lot etc. Your approach was more practical in a sense and you were very cautious (intense scripting lol). You found out new things and gathered knowledge, right? So, you have captured this scroll of knowledge. Now, you need to leave this darkness with this scroll like the owl did. You need to get a bit more abstract so to say because the HP is more linked to one’s intuition. The HP has a deep connection with her inner core and has all the necessary knowledge within, she just needs to access it through her intuition - so with her, everything becomes more intuitive! You will leave this practical planning mode more and more and start listening to your inner voice - just acting intuitively. It might not make much ‘sense’, it’ll just happen in a mysterious way - just like your desire (your shift, lucid dream, manifestation,...) will manifest randomly soon I think. Also, you’re asked to pay more attention to your dreams and instincts in this upcoming period. You’re accessing your unconscious potential more and more. Another thing I got, specifically for my shifters, was to stop comparing realities because it leads to you spiraling in negativity (which I think you’re already aware of). As I rated how far pile one is on their journey, I will do so too for you, pile two (but don’t take this too seriously, it's a general reading!), … out of 10, you would probably be at 9 but really close to the 10!!! like for some it’s like 9,9999 lmao. Wow, you’ve got this, pile two! You’re super duper close :’)

:: pile three

ten of swords, the magician

Hello my dear pile three. Right now, I see you feeling like you’ve reached rock bottom, down on your knees. :( It seems like you feel like you recently experienced a crushing ‘failure’ or you felt majorly betrayed or backstabbed by someone …or something? By the universe? Right now might feel like a disaster to you… there are some repressed feelings building up like anger, frustration…which seems to push you more and more closer to the edge… are you feeling like you snap soon or that you’re losing it completely? I’m so sorry dear that you’re feeling this way but you’re asked to be mindful of not making yourself into a martyr because of this.

I asked what the missing piece for you on this journey is to reach your goal/desire and I got the Magician. The Magician card talks all about willpower. He already has all the things to achieve his goals - ambition, skills and resources! He just needs to utilize those things to create what he wants in life! You might feel like you're back to zero or that everything has been in vain but this is not true!! The 10 of Swords card (which represents where you are rn) might not be the most happy or comfortable situation to be in but it is a 10 and 10s in tarot always represent the completion of a lesson and the beginning of a new cycle/journey in some way - both physical and spiritual. You know what this means? You’ve learned your lessons and you’re completing this cycle, you’re close to the end! What you’re experiencing is like a ‘purge’ - you’ve gained the necessary knowledge, you’ve experienced many changes of perspective which might have made you question yourself a lot but it was for the learning process. Now, you’re releasing everything from this journey that attached itself to you which you won’t need anymore on this new upcoming journey… feelings of resentment, hopelessness, self doubt etc. This right now is the ending and that’s why it feels so shitty. Take your time and don’t rush this process, your feelings are legitimate. Let these wounds heal and move on… Move on from the 10 of Swords to the Magician. Gain your willpower back. You won’t need to hold back anymore, be in charge of your life and your reality. Take action and concentrate on your desire/your goal and be creative with it. Realize that you’re not powerless! And you’re not lacking clarity! You will know exactly what you want I can assure you. You are in charge and you will succeed. All the signs are saying so. As I rated the progress of the other piles as well, I will rate how far you are on your journey to your goal/desires (but don’t take this too seriously, it's a general reading)… and damn I got 9/10 for you guys!! You are close to the finish line! Please don’t undermine what you’ve been through and how far you’ve come just because right now feels like a disaster to you. You’ve done so well. Work through your feelings and don’t forget to pat yourself on your shoulder every now and then, okay? You’ve got this. :)

:: pile four

king of wands, the high priestess

Hello my dear pile four. Currently, your position or situation is represented by the King of Wands. He is the king of the fire element, he is a natural born leader and a visionary who can change the world. He is very much focused on his goals and lives his life with ambition and intent. You’re very eager to reach this goal you have in mind. You might be very active, trying out many methods and just being bold in your approach. You have a vision and you just wanna take control of the situation. In this mood, you’ve probably already overcome many challenges and made major progress!

I asked what the missing piece for you on this journey is to reach your goal/desire and I got the High Priestess similar to pile two. However, yours and pile two’s current standpoints are different. While pile two needs to progress from their practical (planning) approach to a more intuitive approach; you guys (pile four) need to progress from your overly action-oriented approach to a more ‘passive’ approach so to say. The High Priestess talks about intuition, higher power, hidden mysteries, the subconscious mind and the inner voice. She teaches us that the world is not always as it seems and that more profound influences are often at play. It is time to be still so you can tune in to your intuition. The HP has a deep connection with her inner core and has all the necessary knowledge within, she just needs to access it through her intuition. Slow down, meditate and visualize. Listen to your inner voice. Solutions to your current issues won’t come through excessive thinking or rationalizing, but by tapping into and trusting your intuition. Look at areas in your life that may be out of balance or lacking ‘flow’ and ease. Be assured you’re on the right path. The more you listen, the more you will flow. Balance yourself. Feel, rather than think. Collaborate, rather than compete. Trust your divine feminine energy, even if the masculine energy around you may appear to be stronger. You’ve been in the King of Wands (very masculine) energy up until now and you’ve made great progress but only so far. From here on, you need to be more in the High Priestess (very feminine) energy. Your intuition, your instincts and even your dreams may guide you now in the right direction. Calm your inner fire a little down, connect to your inner core and work through any repressed feelings. As I rated the progress of the other piles as well, I will rate how far you are on your journey to your goal/desires (but don’t take this too seriously, it's a general reading!)… I’d say ca. 3- 4 out of 10 but don’t let this discourage you! Most of you guys might still be in the beginning phase or it just hasn't been long since you’re decided on engaging yourself with these things. I feel like some of you will soon make major progress in a short amount of time though. I also feel like a minor part of you guys are actually quite far but it is just… idk 5-10 % of pile three. Either way, don’t take the numbers too much to heart, please focus more on the advice. You’ve got this. I believe in you. :)

#shifting #shifting realities #pac #pick a picture #pick a pile #loassumption #void state #pick a card #manifestation #tarot #free tarot reading #shifting advice #pac reading

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