#[ lies on the cold floor and cries ]

[nazorneku]

𝐇𝐎𝐖 𝐃𝐎 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐃𝐄𝐅𝐘 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐄𝐍𝐃 ?

made yourself immortal, but at what cost? the years pass. people come. people go. you've had people ask you from time to time if you regret it, if you regret making yourself able to reject death at every turn. you just blink, and ask them why they want to know. it always makes them turn away the conversation. that isn't to say you regret it. but sometimes, it's lonely. sometimes, knowing that you'll outlive the entire world, it's a weight on your shoulders. not to mention what you had to do in order to become this way. but you don't talk about that. all that people need to know is that at the end of the day, everything must end. you just made sure you'll see that everything does before you.

tagged by: im a thief and i regret what i did tagging: @litpyres (ssn or Beiluo), @oniriqe (moon moon), @endweapon , @corvicides / @ziyoue (Tsunotaro) , @zankokukami , @sorcerhul and anyone who has made more than one attempt at dying

[nicksolemnlyswears]

COMFORT ME, STAY WITH ME

pairing: aegon targaryen x targaryen!reader

word count: ~1.6k

warnings: spoilers for s2e2 of HoTD, mentions of murder and death of a child, surprisingly i thinks there isn't any cursing or smut, maybe next time ;) just good old sad aegon

a/n: this is my first time ever writing for HoTD or GoT for that matter. please be kind to me. i tried to use appropriate wording for the time period. i'm somewhat successful but i have work ahead of me to become a pro.

i felt so enraged when alicent walked out on her grieving son to go fuck around with cole. what the fuck is your problem? i always gave her the benefit of the doubt but this episode just proves what a terrible mother she is. i figured the only person fit to comfort my baby boy aegon is someone raised by rhaenyras gentle heart.

lowkey want to make a throuple out of reader, aegon, and helaena. readers gonna be a little psychologist lol. she'd hold their hands and force them to kumbaya haha but obviously they'd be like this cant work without you. maybe they'll follow aegon the conqueror and have her as a second wife but idk would anyone be interested in that? i'm rambling. enjoy!

Helaena’s Turn

STAY WITH US

The cold stone of the Red Keep kept you company as you strode through its halls. The breeze of the night offered you comfort and aided your mind to forget the terrible events that have plagued the Keep.

And yet, despite your energies being depleted, you can't seem to find rest. Loss weighs you down and spirals you into a depth of overbearing thoughts, making sleep a mere idea.

The Red Keep, the place you once called home, has become your prison. For weeks, you were not allowed out of your chambers, and for a short time afterward, a guard followed you wherever you went.

It has all changed, though. The death of the King's son has diverted all of the guard's forces to find the culprit. The priority is to search for the monster that gruesomely and cruelly decapitated a child while he slept rather than to watch over a harmless Princess who is simply not on their side.

As a result, you're now free to roam the castle, granted there are eyes all around. You wouldn't be able to step foot outside the castle if you tried, and any suspicious activity would immediately be reported to the Hand of the King.

For an unknown reason, your feet guide you to the King's chambers, where indiscernible, muffled sounds come from. You look around and find that the guard meant to protect the King is absent. It's worrisome. You stand in the middle of the stone hallway, your hands clasped, as you make a decision.

While your loyalty lies with the Blacks, you cannot stand and watch more of your family be killed, including the Usurper. Daemon has always been 'kind' in mentioning that your gentle heart will cause your death. You'd argue it's an honorable way to go.

You slip through the ajar door quietly, getting closer to the sound. There is destruction across the room. The Old Valyria model your grandfather worked on for most of his life is scattered on the floor, beyond salvation. Goblets and spilled wine, thrown in a fit of rage, decorate the walls.

It is only when a sharp gasp and a shuddering breath echo around the room that you recognize the sounds you heard outside. They are cries.

You release a breath of relief. No one is in danger, although it does not signify someone is not hurting. You peak further into the room and debate on your next course of action. If the mess inside the chambers and the lack of guards mean anything, it's that the King would like to be alone.

But you know Aegon. You grew up with him. He's not one to reach out for help until it's too late. You make a haste decision. Aegon will not grieve alone tonight.

You know what that's like. Your brother, Lucerys, was murdered not too long ago, and you had no choice but to mourn alone. The Hand of the King locked you in your chambers, afraid your temper would lead you to do something drastic. It's the most horrid thing you've ever endured.

How you wished for Rhaenyra, or anyone for that matter, to hold you while you cried. A maid would've sufficed, but no one was allowed entry into your chambers.

Aegon sits by the fireplace, his head hung low, as he cries for his dead son. It might not have looked like it, but Aegon deeply cared for the boy. He wished to be better than his father ever was, and he was succeeding.

Until two days ago.

You've witnessed firsthand the blanket of sorrow that has covered the Red Keep, spent many hours by Haelena's side, offering her your shoulder, and never realized the King would need the same.

Why is Aegon alone? He should not have to go through this by himself. You expected he would have surrounded himself with his men and countless bottles of wine or sought refuge in Helaena's arms since they shared the same grief.

A heartbreaking cry snaps you out of your thoughts—his whole body trembles from loss. Aegon gasps for air to aid his burning lungs, yet he can't control the tears that track down his cheeks and the raking breaths that course through his body and limit his breathing.

He does not know what to make of himself. His fingers shake as he fumbles with the ring on his finger—the one with the dragon crest. Aegon doesn't know what to make of himself. He's never endured this sort of loss.

His sobs are the ones of a man who lost a part of himself. Jaehaerys, his legacy, has gone too soon. Aegon spent time with the boy the morning before his death, doting on him like Viserys never did to him.

He's so lost in his grief that Aegon doesn't hear when you stumble upon a piece of cast from the model. Being careful with your steps, you reach Aegon's side and place a hand on his shoulder.

Alarmed, he turns to face the person who disturbs him, only to find you—you who have been keeping the Hightower siblings together despite belonging to the other side.

"Leave me be," he sniffs, staring back into the fire. He wonders if that's how his son's pyre looked earlier that day.

You kneel on the floor, settling between his legs to cup his cheeks in your palms. Wide, glossy lilac eyes stare back as they fill with more tears.

As his tears fall, you wipe them away. It's enough to make Aegon crumble in your arms, releasing louder cries and questions that will forever remain unanswered.

It's so easy to let go when you know someone is there to catch you.

Aegon fists your dress like a child would to its mother. You rub his back soothingly, holding him as tightly as you're able. You press a kiss to the side of his head, whispering calming words.

Aegon never wanted to be king, yet the moment he tries to fulfill his duty the moment he tries to be a proper king, he is rewarded by his son being brutally taken from him.

It's not a fair world. The Gods have never been kind to him, and he's afraid he'll only ever live a life of torment.

Now, more than ever, he doesn't want to be King. It is a mere reminder of how heavy the crown truly is. It's a shackle meant to keep him in place while others act upon his name while he pays for the consequences.

"Jaehaerys was a bright soul. I am sorry this has happened. You should've never had to experience this pain," you whisper in his ear. No parent should experience the death of their child. It is a sad reality the Targaryens have experienced all too well.

Aegon nods in agreement, and only when he's calm enough to speak does he tear himself away from your embrace. He instantly misses your warmth and the smell of roses in your hair.

"Why are you comforting me when you should be celebrating my demise?" His waterline is stained red, just like the tip of his nose, and he's never looked more innocent than in that moment.

You tilt your head sadly, that same emotion reflected in your eyes. "I do not celebrate the loss of innocents, especially one that has gone too soon. I also do not particularly like the notion of someone I hold dear grieving alone."

"You did," he sniffs. He remembers hearing your cries that night; the whole Red Keep could. You cried and screamed the entire night until you fell asleep from exhaustion and starvation.

Otto prohibited them from coming to you. Haelena tried, but he dismissed the idea with the false notion that you'd hurt her in your grief. Otto confuses you with your parentage. Unlike them, you're kind and gentle and wouldn't dare hurt anyone.

"Which is how I know I would never wish it upon my worst enemy." You brush your fingers through his blonde hair, tucking the messy strands behind his ears.

"Is that what I am to you? An enemy?" He asks, disgruntled.

"No," you answer immediately, your hands coming down to rest upon his chest. His breathing has calmed since you first saw him. "At least, not yet."

His lilac eyes bore into hers in search of the truth; shyly, you hold onto his gaze with nothing to hide except your intentions to help. Sighing, he closes his eyes and bumps his forehead against yours. Aegon will take what he can get. There's seemingly no one else to help him deal with his emotions.

"Stay," he pleads, holding onto the hand that's placed on his chest. This is the most at peace he's felt in a while. He wishes to savor it for a moment longer.

"For as long as you need, my King," you reply, closing your eyes.

"Aegon," he says. He refuses to be reminded of what lies outside his bed chambers. For just a moment, he wishes to simply be Aegon.

"Aegon," you respond, correcting yourself. He squeezes your hand appreciatively, tucking your head on his neck.

He keeps you in his arms until late hours in the night, recounting memories he shared with Jaehaerys. The pain is real and raw, and he won't be well for a long time, but for this night, Aegon will seek solace in your embrace, where he knows he won't be judged or be seen as a burden.

In your arms, he's not Aegon' the Magnanimous.' He's not seen as careless or reckless or the lesser child of Alicent Hightower.

He's Aegon.

helaena’s part has been posted! HELAENA’S TURN

Final part! STAY WITH US

that’s it! it’s sweet and short. i just wanted to have someone comfort aegon like he deserves. during that scene i wished i could jump into t he screen and hug him. it’s all so tragic.

i wish i could do the same with haelena. my girl needs to be coddled. fuck alicent. fuck otto. most importantly fuck criston cole.

if you enjoyed this one shot please don’t forget to like or comment and if you want more of it feel free to let me know! i don’t bite (unless you want me to)!

[risingode]

loml (loss of my life)

summary: in which ellie's only ever cried in front of you three times. yet the fourth is the most devastating of them all.

pairing: ellie williams x y/n

genre: angst

wc: 962

please comment or message letting me know your thoughts! it helps motivate me :)

once again inspired by taylor swfit :)

a/n: hello everyone! it has been quite a while since i have uploaded on here. i've had a lot of changes in my life since the last time i posted a writing of mine, primarily, i am now in my third (!!!) year of university. crazy to even think about tbh. anyways, i know i primarily write about jungkook from bts, but recently i was gifted a ps5 by my brother in law and the first game i bought was tlou part 2 remastered because i never quite got over the game, or more specifically, ellie williams lmaooooo. anyways pls enjoy this short little drabble, i am excited to get back into writing! and yes, i will keep writing for jungkook as well, i'm just mixing it up a bit!

Ellie Williams was an enigma to the world, and right now, her mystery is unfurling in the cruelest of ways. The room before you is a tapestry of shattered dreams, clothes scattered like discarded promises, each garment a silent witness to the betrayal unfolding before your eyes.

Your heart, once so full of trust and love, feels like it's disintegrating. A heart-shaped void appears on the floor beneath you, a grotesque reflection of the pain ripping through your chest. There, in the dim light, your fiancée lies entwined with another woman, their bodies a stark betrayal of the vows once promised to you.

It's almost absurd, the way a love that once made you feel invincible can crumble so easily, as if it was all a cruel joke. The sight is so surreal that you question its reality, your mind unable to reconcile the image before you with the life you thought you shared. Your feet are rooted to the ground, as if some invisible force has tethered you to this unbearable truth.

The diamond ring on your finger, once a symbol of unending love, now feels like a shackle, its weight a painful reminder of the promises that were so carelessly broken. You stand there, numb and hollow, the ache in your chest growing more insistent with every breath. 

Her voice is a faint murmur, drowned out by the protective haze your mind has wrapped around you, shielding you from the full weight of her betrayal. The woman who promised to stand by you for the rest of your life is now an almost surreal presence, a distant echo as the reality of the situation sinks in.

They scramble to untangle themselves from the bed—your bed. Clothes are hastily pulled on, and you feel a wave of nausea rise up, the bile surging before you can even hope to stop it. The force of the moment propels you into action, and you sprint through the house, your heart pounding with the realization that every corner holds a painful reminder of the life you built together.

The couch you assembled in your first apartment, the dishes you chose together, each one a piece of your shared dream, perfectly matching the white and royal blue of your kitchen. The kitchen where you cooked meals side by side, dancing to songs from artists you discovered together, 

“This one’s the song I want to walk down the aisle to,” you’d said, stirring the pasta as you both cooked together.

Ellie looked up from where she stood, buttering garlic bread. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you replied, smiling as you watched her. “Do you like it?”

Her eyes twinkled with that familiar warmth as she walked over to you, wrapping her arms around your waist. “I don’t care what song you walk down the aisle to,” her tender voice whispers into your ear, “as long as the person standing at the end of it is me.” 

The air is cold against your hot skin, a reminder of how real everything you just experienced was. You couldn’t seem to care, though, almost prying open the door to your poorly parked car. The silence of it deafening as you give yourself time to catch your breath, finally it was quiet. Still, the sounds of their shared moans and whimpers echoes in your mind. The silence doesn’t last long, a loud thump breaks you out of your dissociated trance. Your neck snaps towards your driver’s side window, Ellie’s tearful face is the sight you’re met with. You think back to all the times you’ve seen her cry before. You conclude it’s three. 

The first time was when she was drunk, confessing her feelings, afraid you didn’t feel the same. You had held her close, whispering reassurances. 

“Oh, Ellie, you’re silly to think I don’t like you too.”

The second was when you were rushed to the hospital after a fall at work. The memory is a blur of bright lights and pain, but Ellie’s tear-streaked face as she clung to you is vivid. 

“You scared me so bad, baby,” she had sobbed into your shoulder.

You had tried to lighten the moment, chuckling despite your discomfort. “I just have a mild concussion. The only thing I’m worried about is how I’m going to step back into that office without a bag over my head. I’m so embarrassed.” 

She pulls away to look at your pouting face, noticing a light purple bruise decorating your pretty eye. She frowns, leaning in to leave a kiss on it. “Shut up, you’re never leaving my side again.”

The third and only time you cried alongside her was the day she proposed, her hand shaking in your grasp as she got down on one knee. 

“You’re the love of my life, Y/N. I don’t care how many years pass, or how many hurdles we come across, I will always be there for you. I can’t imagine loving anyone as much as I love you, baby.” 

You’re choking on your tears, your hand feels almost numb at the tightening of her grip. You reach your empty hand up to your chest, willing your beating heart to still. 

“Will you marry me?” 

Now, in the cold car, you’re confronting the fourth time, a cruel twist of fate that you never anticipated would be this moment. You thought the tears would come on your wedding day, as you exchanged vows to love and cherish each other, for better or for worse. The irony makes you laugh, a broken, hollow sound, as you shift the car into reverse.

Ignoring the pleading sobs muffled by the glass, you drive away, each mile feeling like a mile further from the life you once knew and the promises that were so easily shattered.

[johnbrand]

Fathering Normality

“And then I just shoved it right in!”

Luke grunted as he thrust forward, drawing a laugh out of his friend Colton. Luke had been recounting the entire night before to him, going over every detail. How it started as a boner, how that boner led him to a bar, how that bar led him to rubbing up against some girl, and how that girl led him to shooting multiple loads directly into her tight pussy.

“It was exhilarating!” Luke recalled, the natural masculinity giving his voice a gruff, dense texture. “And all I can think about now is…doing it again…and again!”

Luke thrusted once more, trying to relieve the pressure building up in his thick cock. Colton could not help but happily smile along with his friend, very familiar with the experience of breeding a woman himself. In fact, his girlfriend had recently found out she was pregnant. When Colton had first received the news, he had been ecstatic. When Luke had received the news from Colton days later, he had not been.

Just a week ago, Colton and Luke had been in the same positions; Luke dramatically recounting some tale while Colton laid back and listened. Although, that time had been more violent. “What do you mean she’s pregnant?” Luke cried. “What are you two going to do? You’re too young, neither of you have secured jobs. We all just barely graduated from college a few years ago!”

Argument after argument flew by, but eventually Colton could not handle it anymore. His friend was supposed to be supportive, happy for the couple as they were with the situation. Then a strange thought came to Colton’s head–maybe Luke would be more supportive if he was able to see his side of things. 

Colton had shot the bullet directly into Luke’s head without hesitation. There was no way his gay friend could have understood the joy of breeding, fertilizing, and bearing fruit other than by being converted to try it himself. Of course, Luke did not remember the sound of the gun firing, dropping to the floor, or his limp body being handed over to local enforcement. Colton did not even think Luke remembered the past version of himself. And now that Colton had met the new model, he hoped he would soon forget too.

Gay Luke had been fun. A little bit on the shorter, skinnier side, but still a ball of energy. He always had a theatrical flair, and he kept himself well-maintained, but he had commitment issues and terrible spending habits. This Straight Luke though, had nearly made the equally heterosexual Colton blush. He was now much taller, more muscular, with that ball of energy transformed into sheer masculine confidence. Luke still held that capacity to put on a performance, but now it was powerful and captivating. 

Colton had contacted Luke at the end of the incubation period, not knowing what to expect. Yet he would have never predicted the stacked body-builder in a plain, short-sleeved button-up and dirty jeans appearing at his door. Sure, there were some things Colton felt a little guilty about. Luke’s former luscious locks had thinned out and shortened into a tiny quiff afflicted by male pattern baldness. His hygiene had definitely taken a hit; Colton had smelt the new funk as soon as those massive shoes had come off at the door. But the conversion affected everyone differently, so because Luke appeared obliviously overjoyed with heterosexuality, Colton felt that he could be too.

“So I just started countin’ as I rammed in. ‘One, two,’” Luke continually thrusted to display his point. “And eventually, it had to be like on 15 or 16, I felt that first burst of ecstasy. After that I lost count, I just went into hyper-mode.”

Colton chuckled, getting up to grab us some beers. He tossed one to Luke.

“Thanks bro,” Luke cracked his cold one open. “By the way, what did you call me over for anyway?”

“Oh man, I thought I already told you,” Colton half-lied. “My girl’s pregnant: I’m gonna be a dad.”

Luke’s eyes lit up, “DUDE! That’s awesome! Congratulations!! God, if only I could be so lucky, right?” 

Colton cheered to that, smirking at the possibility. He had been right when he had chosen to father normality. Thanks to him, one could metaphorically say he would soon be fathering twice the amount of children as a result of Luke’s conversion.

[sleepingdead96]

Prepared for Anything Pt. 4

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, MasterPost

Danny folded his arms beneath his head where he lay on the desert floor. The sky blinked with stars and he was so happy he took a trip out of Gotham to do this. He liked Gotham, it felt kinda like home. But it didn’t have stars. It didn’t have the expanse of clear black pinpricked with dazzling, little lights and constellations.

It was handy being able to pop in and out of hemispheres any time he pleased.

“DANNY?!” 

Oh.

Danny rolled his head to the side to see a few violently shivering vigilantes coming around a scraggly, rocky outcrop. Robin, Red Hood, and a black and blue one Danny hadn’t encountered before, wrapped their arms around themselves tightly. They changed directions to walk towards him.                                                                                           

“Oh, hey guys.” Danny raised a hand to wave lazily at them and tucked it back in place. “What are y'all doing out here?” He asked amicably, though surmised they must be on some sort of mission. What a coincidence.

Hood and the one coloured like a bruise spluttered. “US?” Hood cried a little frenetically. As they got closer, Danny could see all their teeth were chattering and their lips were starting to turn blue. 

Oh. That wasn’t good. He had been sad Orphan wasn’t here. Maybe it was better that she wasn’t.

Hood and Robin stormed closer while Bruisy followed at a slower pace. “WHAT-T A-ARE YOU D-DOING OUT H-H-HERE?! H-HOW D-DID YOU GET OUT H-HERE?! I M-MEAN. . . .WHAT?!” Hood gestured his arms bewilderedly at him. “W-WERE T-TEN C-COUNTIRES A-AWAY F-F-FROM THE S-S-STATES!”

Danny stood up and reached under his t-shirt. “Here.” He handed Hood, Robin, and Bruisy large, reflective blankets, throwing Hood off from his rant.

“. . .wha. . .” Bruisy said. The vigilantes seemed slightly confused, but didn’t hesitate to unfold them and throw them around their shoulders.

“So?” Danny raised an eyebrow.

“Our p-plane w-wrecked.” Robin grumbled venomously.

“. . .and ex-exploded.” Hood added.

Danny hummed sympathetically. 

Robin opened his mouth again. “How are you—“

“Have you contacted. . um. . . your associates?” Danny wasn’t really sure what the vigilantes called each other or what their relations were like, but they acted like teammates. They should help each other out when things like this happened, right?

Bruise sighed. “N-no signal.” The man seemed particularly tired and out a little out of it. That really wasn’t good.

“A-and all the s-supers are o-off planet.”

“The what are where? Nevermind.” Danny waved his hand dismissively and reached over his shoulder. He ducked his head a little as he withdrew a three foot metal rod from the back of his shirt.

“Uhhhh. . .” Bruise said.

Danny pulled another rod from a sleeve and a third from his pant leg.

“H-how, dude, j-just. . .just w-why?” Hood said.

Danny didn’t answer and reached underneath the back of his shirt to pull out a fourth. He stuck them in the ground straight up, making a square.

“W-what are y-you d-doing?” Robin asked.

“Building a cell tower.” Danny said and reached into his other pant leg, taking out another rod. And another. From his pocket, he pulled out a screwdriver and some screws.

“. . .N-nothing a-about you makes-s s-sense.” Hood commented.

Danny snorted.

“Y-you’re n-n-not aff-ffected by the c-cold. W-why?” Robin’s eyes narrowed at him.

“Uhhhhh. . .” Danny attached more rods together and screwed some screws. “I, uh. . .I was working out. Warmed me up a lot.” He lied. He knew it was bad. He was still going to drive it into the ground if they questioned it. “And I haven’t been here that long.”

Danny fished a large spool of wire from his back pocket and a pair of pliers from the other.

Robin watched him do it. He stared at him for a long moment, his eyes narrowing further. “Meta-human.”

“Gesundheit.”

The reply seemed to take the vigilantes by surprise, but said nothing of it. They were too busy shivering and huddling on the ground, trying to warm up. At least they didn’t seem to be getting worse.

Danny pulled rod after rod from his clothes. He began to retrieve them from the dirt and sand before it became too many to say it was physically possible to have this many pieces on his person. He had to have limits somewhere. 

“. . .How d-did you k-know those w-were th-th-there!?” Hood said.

“Umm. . .I come here often. What if I got stranded and needed to call someone? Or I spotted a UFO and needed to make contact? I buried these in the sand so no one would steal ‘em.”

“. . . W-were in the m-middle of t-the d-desert. I d-don’t think you n-need to w-worry about th-that. . .”

“You found me, didn’t you?”

“. . .”

“. . .”

Dannykept attaching, and screwing, and wiring, and plier-ing, until he was finally at the top of a twenty-foot tower, and affixing transceivers to it. With the ectoplasm Danny infused into it, it should be powerful enough to work.

He had considered making them a jet, but that might take too long. This way they could get help from the nearest civilization while they waited for pick-up.

  Danny climbed back down.

Even with their masks, the baffled astonishment was clear on the vigilante’s faces. “What the heck. . .” Bruise said faintly.

Danny ignored him and flicked a switch. “Give it a go.” He encouraged the vigilantes who looked to be shaking a little less.

They shared doubtful glances and checked their tech. “It works!” Hood exclaimed and immediately sent out an S.O.S.

Danny made an offended noise and held a hand to his chest. “You doubted me?”

“Yes.” The three said in unison.

“It’s a cell tower.” Hood continued. “How do you even know how to build that?”

“Eh.” Danny shrugged. “You pick a few things up when your parents have a lab in their basement for you to play around in growing up.”

There was a long pause. 

“That is highly concerning and explains almost nothing.”

Danny’s brows furrowed.

“Seriously. How are you here?”

Danny shrugged again. “I walked.” It wasn’t a lie.

Despite explaining he had a way back to Gotham, the vigilantes wouldn’t leave without him. They slept most of the way back.

Tag List: @okami-love @whataspectaclebear @thomasdimensor @observerblock23 @stargazer-luna

[trulyumai]

care for me?

pairing: Messmer the Impaler / Wife! Reader

synopsis: exhausted, you try to stay up for the arrival of your husband. only he doesn’t come back the same man.

wk: 1.1k

warnings: mention of death, violence. mostly fluff

A/N: EJ come, water! (no seriously enjoy Messmer lovers) this was a request, thank you for the suggestion anonymous!

Enjoy!

It was so cold.

Dreary winds busted across the little home, invading the shack with freezing temperatures that nipped at one’s bones.

The girl of said residence could not battle such a feat alone; so she lay bundled up in many cottons and wools that cascaded her form just in front of the fire pit.

With her teeth clanking together, she drew in a particular large blanket that seemed to swallow her whole being.

She was trying— attempting, to stay away for her husbands arrival.

“He— he will be here soon,” giving herself words of comfort, little fingers smoothed over the skin of her arm.

Back and forth they went, seeking any form of warmth they could gather.

But, she was getting tired. It had been hours since his departure.

So, with a defeated huff, her lashes fluttered.

Eyes now shut, her form slumped against the wooden boards.

Maybe she could greet her doting husband upon the fields of dreams

Everything went wrong.

His mother… his own mother…

A cry, weak and low left Messmers lips as he shuddered in pain—agony.

Instead of telling the citizens, the people what had been done of the shadow lands of between, his mother lied.

She blamed the knight of flames for his part in the destruction. Blamed him for the plans, the deaths, the innocent lives gone—

“O, Mother!” Just outside the home, Messmer sat. His head tilted towards the ground in shame as his long nails twisted and pulled at his cheeks.

Blood seeped down almost instantly, yet he couldn’t find the energy to care.

Tears streamed down his face in waves, meeting the bloody patches along the way.

His nails tore and scratched at any skin that came in contact, only making his wounds worse.

“Does thou… not perceive mine own consciousness?” A yellowed Iris glanced forth upon the house.

His home.

Only now realizing he made it back, a shudder ran through him.

“Wife,” he whimpered. “Please… forgive me.”

Only the sound of wind greeted his ears, as his now bloody and weakened form pushed against the stone. Slowly making his way to the wooden door merely a foot away.

The flowers lay dormant, the fields around him lay bare and dead. Much like the lands he left behind his wake.

With bodies, upon bodies—

“Augh! No more!” With a slam, the door receded against his strength, banging out against the wall behind.

The ball of blankets jumped up in surprise, a head peeked out from the warm egg shaped cocoon the girl placed herself in.

Messmers eyes softened upon such a sight, he couldn’t help but let out a little smile seeing the girls attempt to warm herself.

“little wife,” he called. Already on his way to the girl sitting about the floor.

“husband!” she cried, reaching out her hands to signal for the man’s embrace.

He gladly accepted, sweeping her into his arms and cradling her head soothingly.

“I’ve missed you,” little sweet kisses dotted across his neck, to his jaw and up the face.

“What— what happened?” Her lips met with a red and open wound, to which the flame winced at.

He had forgotten about such a display.

“It’s nothing, dear wife,” big palms rubbed along her sides. “an accident, nothing more.”

Fear began to corrode his mind, it crumbled and tore at the seams of sanity.

People will come for him.

For his betrayal, his slaughter.

His wife— gods what has he done?

A hand pulled him back, it was soft and careful as it cradled the man’s left cheek.

“It’s okay,”

She didn’t know what was wrong, only that something was amiss.

For the man was troubled, that much was clear.

“I… listen closely, my heart.” Setting her upon the ground he looked down at her form, so much smaller than his own.

His back had to bend uncomfortably to meet her gaze but he ignored such pain.

Big palms surrounded her face, angling her eyes to meet with his.

“We need to go, does thou need anything before our leave?”

“Leave?” She shrieked. “This is our home… why would we leave so—“

“Please, please wife understand me so. I cannot dote on such a matter yet but please.” A desperate yellowed eye looked upon both of hers

“I will protect thee. With mine own blade, with mine own body. But we need to leave, most ardently”

Confused and somewhat scared, the girl could do nothing but nod her head. Even when he placed a mirage of kisses upon her, she did nothing but look upon the man.

Almost as if to study him— understand him.

Soon, she was lightly pushed into the direction of their room.

“Grab what thy can carry and need.” Messmer had said.

So she did.

She grabbed her favorite blanket, the one that had been with her since birth.

She grabbed her jewelry box that lay full of gifts from the knight.

And finally, she grabbed the last vials of homemade oils. Lavender scented, which always seemed to calm her husband down whenever it graced her soft skin.

Seeing his wife’s hands full, Messmer acted. Gently picking her up, the objects shifted about as a bridal style posture was given upon her.

Head now bumping with his armor with every movement, she decided to speak.

“Are you alright, husband?”

This was an opening.

A pristine opportunity to tell her of his forthcomings.

Of his tidings with his mother.

Of the burning lands.

Even of the soon to be castle that will be there home for god knows how long.

Messmer only looked down, peacefully admiring his wife so.

“Everything will be fine, my wife. Thou can sleep while the travel begins.”

He was a coward. Biting down upon his cheeks blood ran across his tongue, to the back of his throat.

Past all the lies and short comings, two thing stay true; he adored his wife

and he would do anything to protect her.

[sarawritestories]

I Died With Her

Eris Vanserra X Fem Reader

Summary: Beron discovers your mating bond...A cruel prophecy fulfilled.

Content Warning: Death of Main Character, Murder, Unnatural cruelty, Beron's demise.

Word Count: 1.1k

A/N: Its short and angsty...and I may be persuaded to make a part two. I also apologize if this one is not my best. I'm in a slump but this

Eris’s blood ran cold as he entered the throne room. His brothers grinning in cruel delight. His father standing in front of a throne that he did not deserve. Beron’s hand threaded through the now tangled mess of your hair. Forcing you to look your mate in the eye while your knees dug into the concrete. Tears streamed down your face as you met Eris’s russet eyes. Memorizing every sharp angle of his beautiful face, every freckle that kissed his pale skin, try to remember the feeling of his soft, thick locks through your fingertips. Memorizing the sweet scent of the fall breeze, embers with a hint of cinnamon that brought you so much comfort. Your beautiful mate, best friend, love of your life.

If only you had had more time.

Eris was staring at you as well, memorizing your sweet doe eyes, the plump curve of your lips, your smile, the warmth of your skin against his. The things he may never get a chance to encounter again, your laugh, your soft snores as you laid on his lap, the way you would scrunch your nose when reading your book, or how your body eased and relaxed simply being near him. How you were his equal in every way and how his body sang in harmony with yours. Clearing his throat he placed his cool mask on, “What is the meaning of this?”

Beron’s smirk was cruel as he yanked your hair back causing you to yelp. “I found something that belonged to you. I must say the bitch was hard to find.” Eris snarled as Beron released his grip and kicked your back, your hands and knees preventing your face from colliding with the ornate flooring. “She is yours isn’t she, Boy?”

“I would never sully myself with a common whore.” Lies, lies. The words felt like ash against his tongue. You lifted your head only slightly, and the solitary wobble of your lower lip broke his façade. Eris met his father’s gaze with fury in his russet eyes and fire roaring through his veins.

“There he is. Eris the lover.” Beron taunted pressing his foot against your back forcing you down on the cold marble and you cried out. “I didn’t raise you to be a romantic.” Beron snarled.

“You didn’t raise me at all.” Eris retorted his lip curling upward.

Beron quirked, “I should have known. Well, it’s a good thing I handled that problem already.” The High Lord of Autumn clapped his hands forcing his weight down on you causing you to whimper in pain. You reached out for Eris, only for one of the guards to intentionally step on your delicate fingers and you bit back your scream. As the guard approached with the head of Eris’ mother detached from her body.

Eris felt the bile rise from his throat at the sight and he clutched at his chest.

“Eris, I want you to listen to me.” The Lady of Autumn held her son close to her bosom. Eris, barely six, snuggled close to the warm scent of his mother. “One day, you are going to find your mate.” She smiled and tucked a loose strand of his copper red hair behind his ear and the young fae leaned into his mother’s touch. “When you do. You need to promise me to take care of them. Love them with all your heart.” She gripped his chin, “You keep them away from your father. Run far away from here.”

Eris scrunched his face, “I don’t want a mate. I want to be with you forever.” He smiled up at his mother, He tilted his head as he watched his mother’s eyes line with silver. “Mama, why are you crying?”

She pressed her soft lips against his forehead, “I just love you so much, My little flame.” Leaning her head against the top of his, “You can be with me for as long as you want.”

“Get off me!” You shrieked bring Eris to the presence, flames licking his skins as two of his brothers grabbed a hold of you to keep you in place as Beron fetched for a blade and Eris’ flames banked out. Your eyes found his once more and she mouthed “I love you.”

He mouthed those three letters back and then bolted toward his father, but not before two of his younger brothers grabbed him and forced him on his knees. Tears began to form, blurring his vision, he desperately tried to blink away to memorize every crevice of your face. “Eris,” Your voice cracked, and Eris could feel your fear and love shot down the bond to him and he felt his heart breaking. “I will see you in the next life. Being your mate has been the greatest gift the cauldron could ever have granted me.” Eris let loose a broken sob. “Promise me. You will move on. You will find reasons to smile. Love freely. Remember that I loved you.”

Eris could barely see, his breathing shallowed as the pain flooded his entire body. “I love you, Little Flame. I’m so sorry.”

You smiled, “I’m not. Being loved by you was the closest thing I would get to The Mother. If I could do it over and never change a thing.” Tears streaked your perfect face and yet being the brave female, he knew you where you straightened your posture. And the last words Eris heard, your sweet voice echoing through the throne room. “Long Live the High Lord of The Autumn Court.” Her eyes drifted to Eris as the eldest Vanserra son watched his father approach. “Eris Vanserra.”

The sword sliced through the air and Eris’s scream thundered through the entire continent. Eris’s body moved on its own, consumed by rage and grief and the numbness that came with the bond deteriorating. In the manner of thirty seconds, Eris Vanserra had lost everything…

And then he saw red.

Refusing to look at the floor, not wanting to see your head detached from your body. He refused to think about the plans he had made with you, a wedding, a family, a life of freedom, a chance to run away. Gone. At the hands of the man who was laughing with his brothers about your demise.

No one disrespects his mate.

Eris had no memory of the events that occurred when he rose to his feet, but when he was done, the entire throne room was in flames, the screams of his brothers and his father drowned by the familiar crackling sound of his flames. Letting the throne room burn, he exited out into the forest, your headless body in his arms. Eris felt nothing, the gold thread that once shined bright, fell limp and became ash. As Eris buried your body in your favorite clearing, he knew one thing was certain.

Any kindness he held in his heart died with you.

Story Taglist:

General Tag: @milswrites @lady-of-tearshed @tsunami-of-tears @readychilledwine @ceoofyearning

@velariscalling @daycourtofficial @prythianpages @writingcroissant @itsswritten

@illyrianbitch @acotarxreader @pit-and-the-pen @nocasdatsgay @labyrinth-of-stories-and-stars

@ninthcircleofprythian @thelov3lybookworm @riddlesb1tch @lilah-asteria

@kylaisra @nickishadow139 @aelincaddel @nighttimemoonlover @demirunner

@marvelbros-oneshots @mybestfriendmademe @le

[badkitty3000]

Weak

Even Five Hargreeves is no stranger to temptation. He tries so hard to stay away. He wants to do the right thing for once in his life. If not for himself, then for her. But every man has his breaking point.

Five Hargreeves x Reader Smut

This one shot is an accompaniment to my other work "Addicted". This can be read on its own, but is a different side of the story, as told from Five's point of view.

My Master List Of Number Five Fanfiction

Weak:

I never meant to take it this far. I never meant to be cruel. That’s not who I am, or at least I didn’t think I was. I also thought I was strong and had will power. But I guess I was wrong about that, too. Because as much as I try to stay away, I don’t.

I know who I am and what I’m made of. The terrible things I’ve done. That’s not a secret and I’ve never lied to myself about that. My morals can’t even be called a gray area anymore; they’re more like an indistinct blur. But in this one tiny part of my soul, I was trying to be better. For her, at least.

I have failed miserably.

She knows what I am. When things got too comfortable and too familiar, I told her as a way to push her away and to scare her. It didn’t work, though. In fact, it had the opposite effect. She fucking loved it…and I didn’t know how to say no to that.

How could I say no when she was tearing at my clothes, practically panting with desire, and shoving her hand down my pants? All over a bloody stain on a shirt collar and the feel of my Glock against her skin. I’m sure there’s a way to resist that, but fuck if I know what it is. I’m not smart enough or strong enough to figure that one out.

I don’t particularly like all of the killing. But I’m pretty fucking good at it and someone has to do it, I suppose. I certainly never considered it sexy in any way. Then, after that first time, when she begged me to tell her all of the gruesome details, and I watched her skin start to flush and her pupils dilate…well, fuck, that put a new spin on everything.

I still don’t like it, that part hasn’t changed. I get no pleasure from pulling that trigger and watching their skull break open like a fucking pinata, spraying the contents of their brains all over the floor like the world’s worst party game. Now, however, there is a sick little spark that will ignite in me after it’s done. Because I know how it will turn her on.

And, fuck, I am weak.

That’s what this all boils down to. Weakness. For most people that meet me or know me in any way, weak is probably the last word they would use to describe me. Cold; bitter; sarcastic; asshole. Those adjectives are much more likely to be used. But weak? Doubtful.

I know the truth, though. Deep down, that is what I am. Because when you continue to break someone’s heart time and time again, just because you can’t control your own basic urges…that’s weakness. Pure and simple.

She has told me how much I’ve hurt her, and how much I am ruining her life. She has screamed and cried and told me all of the things I know I deserve to hear. She has called me an asshole more times than I can remember, and I have never disputed it. So, I stay away, like I know I should. Until she inevitably calls again. And I slip right back into it without another thought. Like the absolute fucking bastard that I am.

Weak.

Because even though I know it’s wrong and I’m slowly poisoning her with my selfishness, each time I think maybe it will be different. Maybe this time will be the time when I stay. When I will finally be the person I should be and really want to be.

All the way up until the early morning, I will convince myself that this is it. I’ve finally seen the light and I can be the man she deserves; it will be so easy. Because when it’s just the two of us, in our own little cocoon, hidden away from the outside world, the idea is magical. I would give anything to stay there, tucked away, fucking like animals until we’re both too exhausted to talk anymore. I want to stay there and listen to her voice, and her laugh, and feel her hands on my touch-starved body. And I think, yes, this is it. This is what I want.

Then morning comes and the spell is broken.

Once that first peek of dawn starts to light up the sky, all of my anxieties come rushing back, and I remember why I can’t stay. Morning brings back the real world, and with it all of its problems.

I will freeze up, practically paralyzed with fear, as she sleeps next to me, an arm draped over my chest. I will remember what kind of person I really am, and how that just doesn’t translate to boyfriend material. And it’s not just the little fact that I am a hired assassin, although that does put a slight snag in any future meetings with parents and the like.

It’s the mixing bowl of fucked up thoughts and feelings and history that lives inside my brain. Guilt. Regret. Sadness. Rage. Take your pick, none of them are great. And I can mask them for a night or two, while I’m pretending to be someone I’m not. But they will come back again, and that’s just not something anyone needs. Especially someone you care about.

So, I do the worst, shittiest thing in the world, and leave while she’s asleep. No kiss goodbye. No note. Not even a quick morning fuck. I grab my shit and leave in a flash of blue light, like the weak coward I am. Can’t even bother to use the god damn door.

I will stay away after that. At least for a while. I will ignore the incoming texts and voice mails that sometimes will follow, and sometimes don’t. I’ll pretend I don’t care about the lectures and pleas and rightly-deserved insults. But I do care. And that’s why I won’t answer.

A month might go past, maybe more. Just enough time for me to start thinking she really is done with me. Then the call will come through, late at night, and I won’t ignore it. Because, as we’ve determined…I am weak.

She is the only one, although I’ve never told her that and I bet she thinks she’s not. I’m not interested in anyone else. I don’t need anyone else. And when she stops calling for good, which one day I know will happen, that will be it. It’s either her or nobody. And it’s barely even her.

Our paths almost never cross outside of our little midnight meetings. After that first night when all of this started, I’ve never seen her anywhere else besides her apartment. I assume it’s because the types of bars and clubs I frequent are not anywhere a normal, sane person would want to spend their free evenings. But tonight, as fate would have it, I do see her. After I grab my drink off the cracked and peeling bar top and turn to look at the room behind me, I see her. And she’s not alone.

With my glass half way to my mouth, our eyes meet, and for a second neither of us move. It’s not a big place, so we aren’t that far away from one another. But it’s loud and crowded, and the guy is leaning in close to her ear, talking loudly to be heard over the constant bass thumping through the shitty speakers on the walls. Who the fuck is this guy?

It’s not fair, I know that. Believe me, I know that. And I try to give myself a stern talking-to inside my head. She is not yours. Not even remotely. You are an asshole and she deserves better. Leave her the fuck alone.

I take a drink. And then I see his hand disappear under the table, and I can see everything from where I’m standing. He’s squeezing her thigh, leaving his hand there to rest on her leg, rubbing his thumb across the bare skin that isn’t covered by her short skirt. A skirt I know I’ve had my face under before.

Fuck. I hate this guy.

In the thirty seconds that it takes for all of this to happen, she is watching me. Reading me. A faint smile plays on her lips and I know I’m caught. My thoughts must be written all over my face like a fucking billboard, and it’s too late to pretend I haven’t seen or that I don’t care. She’s got me.

If I were stronger, or a better person, I would leave. Pay my tab, collect my coat, and get the fuck out of there without another glance in her direction. Leave her be. Let her live her fucking life. But I am not. And I’m pissed.

My first instinct is to reach behind me, grab the Glock that’s hidden in the waistband of my pants and covered up by my suit jacket, and take care of this asshole right then and there. That would probably be the nicer thing to do, honestly. Then she’d finally see what a fucking psycho I am and that would end things once and for all. But I’m also not that stupid. Or that nice.

Instead, I stay and watch. I let her see me watching, too. I lean with my back against the bar, casually sipping my drink, and my eyes never leave her. I want her to know, even if it makes me more of a giant dick than I already am. I want her to know I am not pleased.

I have no idea who this guy is, and I don’t care. Maybe it’s their first date; maybe it’s their tenth. It doesn’t matter, I want him dead. And now that she knows that, because it’s pretty fucking obvious by the way I’m coiled like a cobra ready to strike right now, it’s quickly become a game. If she had feelings for him before, that seems to have been forgotten now. Because everything she is doing is for me.

Her eyes leave mine and she returns to what I can only imagine is a very dull conversation with the Neanderthal sitting next to her. She smiles and laughs, and moves her leg closer to his so that they are touching. She reaches up and fixes his hair, tucking a stray piece of it over his ear. She rests her chin on her hand and stares at him like he’s the most interesting person she’s ever encountered. And he’s eating this shit up; kicking his game up a notch with even more inane talk and rubbing her thigh up and down with his whole hand. He thinks she’s into him. Fucking dumbass.

That’s the only thing keeping me slightly calm at the moment. Knowing it’s all a play. She is a really good actress, I’ll give her that, but I’ve paid more attention to her than she realizes. I know her tells. I know the difference between her fake laugh and her real one. I can tell when she’s actively engaged in the conversation or she is just waiting for you to shut up. I know how she touches her face when she’s nervous and I know what she looks like when she wants to fuck you.

And, buddy…I got bad news for you.

The corner of my mouth lifts in an arrogant smirk as I take another drink. I shouldn’t be proud of this; I should be appalled. How dare I think I have any right to any of her little traits and quirks? I haven’t earned that. That kind of thing is reserved for boyfriends and husbands and people that can stand to stick around for more than a few hours.

When she runs her tongue over her lips in an obvious gesture meant only for me, I actually laugh out loud. Fuck, she knows what she’s doing. And it’s one hundred percent working.

As I order my second drink, feeling the calming buzz of the booze fill my brain, I start to care less and less. I don’t care if this is not fair. I don’t care that I’m being a complete and utter shit head. I don’t care if I’m weak. I’ll deal with all of that later.

I take out my phone and type out a quick text.

Enjoying yourself?

I watch as she glances to her phone on the table as it lights up. She picks it up, angling it away from Caveman Cliff, and reads it. It’s subtle, but I saw it. A brief twitch of her mouth and a quick flit of her eyes in my direction. I see her type out a quick reply and then she is back to him, completely enrapt in his droning.

Immensely, thank you

Not able to resist, I counter with:

Even I can tell from way over here that your panties are as dry as the desert

She holds in a smile as she responds back.

Too bad you’re not going to find out

Honey, if that pussy of yours is even slightly wet, it’s only because you’re thinking of me bending you over that table you’re sitting at right now

I see her legs shift and she crosses one over the other, squeezing them together as a faint blush covers her cheeks.

And why would I be thinking that?

Because that dipshit you’re with isn’t going to give you what I know you want

I watch as she swallows and then glances at the idiot to her left that is oblivious to all of this, the poor bastard. Her response is short.

Fuck you

She puts her phone away to end this exchange, but I see the small smile she is trying to hide and the way she touches her hand to her face. I can see her chest expand as she sucks in a deep breath, biting at the inside of her cheek.

I give a short snort of satisfaction and put my phone back in my inside jacket pocket. I got what I wanted. I throw back the rest of my drink, leave a few dollars for a tip, and head for the door without another look in her direction. But I know she saw me leave.

As I wait there in the dark, I think about how awful I’m being; what a shit bag move this is. I’m using her, that’s what it boils down to. Using her for her warmth and her openness, and to temporarily calm my mind. Also, for her body and her touch. She sees something in me that isn’t there; or at least something I can’t see. But I can’t or won’t give her what she needs, and I’m also not letting her move on.

Fuck, I’m an asshole.

I hear their voices coming down the hall, the rattle of keys in her hand. As they near the door, I can hear her made up excuses. She’s tired; she had too much to drink; she has a headache. Maybe next time. She’ll call him tomorrow. Then she slips inside her darkened apartment and the door closes behind her.

I’m on her before she has a chance to turn the light on, pressing her against the door as she drops her keys on the floor. Since I’ve been waiting, the anticipation has already made me fully hard and I push my groin into her while I circle my hand lightly around her neck.

“What’s the matter, sweetheart? No love connection tonight?” I growl next to her ear.

She never even screams or fights back. She knew I would be there. But her hands grab my forearm and I hear her suck in a loud breath.

“I never knew you were the jealous type,” she smarts back.

 “Only when I see someone try to take what’s mine,” I hiss hotly against her neck, drawing my lips and then my tongue across her skin.

“I’m not your fucking property,” she snarls, but I can hear the break in her voice and she swallows hard against my hand.

I laugh cynically. “Well, then I can go and you can let him fuck you instead. Is that what you want?”

There’s a long pause and it’s just our loud breathing in the dark of the room. Then I feel her head move slowly from side to side.

“No,” she whispers.

As I crash my mouth onto hers, my hands in her hair and on her face, and down to her tits, she is reaching for the front of my pants. I had already removed my jacket and belt when I got there, as well as the pistol that I always carry with me. Our little act back at the bar was already enough foreplay and our bodies are screaming for each other.

Our hands can’t work fast enough as she is shoving my pants down my legs and tearing my shirt open while I rip her top off and yank her skirt up. My fingers are already pushing her panties to the side and entering her, sliding right in with no resistance.

I smile proudly against her neck. “I knew you were wet for me.”

As she moans and throws her head back, she is reaching down to stroke my cock, her warm hand tight and firm as she drags it slowly over my shaft.

My hips are already jerking into her and I want to be inside of her so badly I can’t think straight.

“Get these panties off so I can fuck you,” I snarl.

I pull my fingers out, pushing her underwear down roughly and she quickly steps out of them. With one pull of her hips into me, her arms clutching tightly to my shoulders, I lift her up and start fucking her against the door.

I tip my head back and groan loudly as she whines and pulls her legs tighter around my waist.

“Can he make you feel this good?” I ask between clenched teeth as I ram into her harder and the door rattles in its frame.

“No!” she cries out.

“Do you think about him when you’re alone and fingering yourself?”

Her moans are punctuated by the slamming of my body against hers and her fingers press deeper into my skin.

“No,” she breathes out. “No.”

“You think about me, don’t you?” I say with a sneer. When she doesn’t answer fast enough, I ask again, louder. “Don’t you?”

“Yes,” she whimpers pitifully, her nails digging sharply into my shoulder blades.

I can’t believe what I’m saying and what I’m doing. But she’s loving it and so I continue.

“I’m going to fuck you until you forget all about him, and then I’m going to fuck you some more. And if I ever see you with him again, I will kill him.”

“You wanted to kill him, didn’t you?” she asks, and that knowing smile starts to form as she closes her eyes and bites her lip. “When you saw him with me?”

“Fuck yes I did,” I groan loudly into her neck.

She’s almost there, I can tell. So am I, but I’m going to make her finish first. I pick up the pace, thrusting into her as hard as I can, her back and head slamming against the door, my fingers digging deeper into the flesh of her thighs and ass. I’m practically ripping into the side of her neck, latching on with my mouth and teeth, desperate to mark her as my own.

I listen as she repeats my name over and over in gasps and moans and I can’t hold back anymore.

“That’s it, sweetheart. You are all mine.”

She is falling apart in my arms, violently shaking against me as I penetrate her one last time, letting out a loud, guttural moan. I’m as deep inside of her as I can be, and I fill her up with so much cum, I know it will start sliding out; dripping down her legs and onto the floor. Somewhere deep inside, in the primordial part of my brain, I take satisfaction in knowing that it’s my seed, and only mine, that is coating her insides.

Once the last spasm has left my body, I let her down and she falls back against the door, breathing hard. Her bra is still on, but the straps have fallen down, and her skirt is bunched up around her waist. I look at the painful looking purple bruise I left on her neck, which is large enough and obvious enough that she won’t be able to cover it. Her eye makeup is smeared and her lips are swollen and red. She looks completely ravished. And then she starts to cry.

It’s because of me, I know it is. Because of the things I said and the things I did, and the way I needed her so desperately. She had been trying to break away from me and I reeled her back in. And I did it knowingly and deliberately, just to feed my ego and maybe not feel so alone. I could have found anyone for that. But, like the prick I am, I only wanted her.

“I’m sorry,” I say quietly, my lungs still working hard to get air in and out.

She just nods silently, wiping her face with her hand, and pulls down her skirt. She picks her shirt and underwear off the floor and heads to the bathroom without a word. I’m left standing there with a softening dick and my pants around my ankles.

Fuck.

I could leave now, while she’s in there, and maybe I should. That feels wrong, though. But then again, so does staying. I feel like shit and I’m so full of shame that I want to punch my fist through the wall. Instead, I zip my pants back up and walk over to her couch to wait. I turn on the table lamp and even though it’s dim, it feels blaringly bright and I have to squint my eyes.

When she comes out, she has changed into some soft shorts and a t-shirt. Her face is cleaned up and I assume her thighs and the area between them are too. She is no longer crying, but I can still see the tell-tale signs of red-rimmed eyes and flushed cheeks. I’m surprised when she comes and sits down next to me, laying her head on my shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” I say again, because I can’t think of anything better to say.

“I know. Me too,” she says and she leans her body against mine.

She has nothing to be sorry for and I’m not sure what to do, so I put my arm around her and hug her to me. I kiss her forehead and she closes her eyes. I don’t know why she’s letting me do this, but it feels good and I like it. Just like every other time, I tell myself that maybe this time will be different. I can do this; I can be that person. I don’t want to be that other jealous, callous, hurtful person. I don’t want to be the asshole.

“Just don’t go yet, ok?” she says quietly with her cheek resting against my chest.

I smooth her hair and run my hand down her back. I don’t want to go. She feels good and warm and soft against my tension-filled body. She feels right. I want to tell her all of that, too. I want to say I’m sorry a million times over and beg for her forgiveness. I want to wake up with her next to me every day.

“You’re so beautiful, you know that?” I murmur into her hair as I brush my chin across the top of her head.

“Don’t do that,” she pleads, her voice soft. “Please.”

I decide I’m going to tell her how I really feel. Before the night is over, I’ll come clean. And then I’ll stay. If she’ll still have me.

“You are, though. I mean it.”

She doesn’t respond, but sighs and nestles in, holding me around my waist. Fuck, I have craved this. More than the dirty talk and the biting and the ferocious fucking. I want this. I want her. And I’m going to tell her.

The rest of the night goes by in a blur. It’s there, on the tip of my tongue the whole time. All I have to do is say it. But I don’t.

We fuck again, rough and hard, on the couch and on the floor. I leave more marks on her chest, branding her as my own. I tell her she’s mine, and I make her scream my name again, but I don’t say what I really mean.

We fuck in her bed, while we’re both tired and slightly drunk. I pump lazily into her while she lies underneath me and moans softly. I kiss her lips and tell her how gorgeous she is, and it’s not a lie because she is. I worship her body, running my tongue over every part of it, tasting her skin and her delicious arousal. I can taste my own cum as I lick into her soft folds and inside her pussy that’s been stretched and abused by my cock several times over.

There are so many opportunities and I don’t take any of them. I let her fold her body into mine as I hold her in the dark and I can say it right now. It would be easy and it would be the truth.

I want to be with you.

I want to be yours.

I want you to be mine and mine alone.

I want to stay.

But I am weak, and so I don’t.

She sleeps against me and I listen to her rhythmic breathing while I lie there wide awake. I think about all of the things I should have said. Everything I should have done and should not have done. I hate myself for all of it.

When the sun creeps in, and the faintest light is leaking through the curtains and cutting through the safety of the darkness, it all comes crashing back. I remember why I can’t stay and why those words just wouldn’t come out. The reality of the real world is glaringly obvious in the light of day and I remember all of it.

The real world is filled with everyday things like jobs and homes and bills to pay. Coworkers and families that want to meet you. Graduation and birthday parties. Movie and dinner dates, holidays and vacations. Marriage. Children. Normalcy.

There’s just no way any of that would work. I can’t fit into that life, even though I want to. I think of all of the things holding me back and they keep piling up until they are crushing me and I feel like I can’t breathe.

I am an assassin. A killer. A murderer. I have seen the end of the world and survived the most horrific things. I have PTSD and crippling anxiety. There are nightmares and paranoia and episodes of manic rage. I am old and I am tired. There is nothing left of me and nothing left to give. I am not meant for normalcy.

As I slowly remove her arm from across my chest, she stirs but she doesn’t wake. I take a moment to look at her. Her mind isn’t betraying her with vivid dreams of the world collapsing around her in a fiery blaze or sprays of bullets piercing her body. She is at peace and I am envious of that.

I am not good for her, I know that. I need to go and stay gone. She deserves stability and happiness and a million other things I cannot give her. So, I will be the asshole that leaves in the morning before she wakes, just like I always do. She will hate me and curse me and cry for me. And I will stay away this time. I have to.

I chance it by leaning in and brushing my lips across her forehead. Her face wrinkles up and then relaxes again, but she doesn’t wake. I slip out of the bed and out of the room, following the trail of discarded clothes and put them back on one by one. Then I am gone in the same flash of light that allowed me to enter there in the first place. A convenient exit that I have misused way too many times.

Outside, the sun is bright and the world is waking up. I can feel my resolve growing stronger as the new day builds. That was it, I am done. It was awful and I shouldn’t have done it, but it’s over now and I will not be repeating it. I am a pillar of inner strength. That was the last time and she is finally free of me. I am doing the right thing.

My strength is impressive, both inside and out. But it is not impenetrable, especially when darkness falls and the world around me grows quiet. When I am alone with nothing but my thoughts, and I just need to feel something good again.

Everyone has a weakness.   

[r0ttenhearts]

as we’re meant to be

scaramouche x reader (high school au))

sypnosis: scaramouche reminisces on the last conversation he had with you

warnings: angst, no comfort, mean scara, mentions of drugs, nsfw themes mentioned

“stupid fucking girl.” scaramouche seethed, his hands pushing against your shoulders, back hitting the cool concrete wall behind you. you sat quietly under his gaze, his anger flickering in his eyes.

“you don’t want to talk now? hm?” cold fingers gripped your chin as you stared up at him blankly.

“there’s nothing to say.” you mumbled as he loosened his grip on you.

anxiety bubbled in the pit of scaramouche’s stomach. no, this wasn’t how it went. this didn’t happen. you didn’t react this way before:

scaramouche took a step back, staring at your? form.

“this isn’t what happened.”

“you’re right, it’s not.” you replied stoically.

memories of what really happened flashed in his mind. your tears, his angry words, the look of defeat you gave him as he left you sitting there.

“you love me? how fucking sad. i don’t even think about you.” scaramouche spat as you wept in front of him.

your fists were balling up the sundress you had decided to wear that hot summer day, gripping the soft fabric tightly beneath your fingers.

“i said i’d always wait for you scaramouche, i meant that. i know it’s not your thing to be close to people but, we’re different. we click, you even told me that yourself!” you cried out.

scaramouche grit his teeth, remembering the words he had told you when you were both on a substance and not completely yourselves.

“i lied. i don’t feel anything for you. you’re more of a pest, if anything.” he sneered.

“but you said-“

“STUPID fucking girl!” your back hit the wall so suddenly, you stared up at him in shock, and fear? it was an expression scaramouche had never seen before.

“you’re fucking nothing to me. everything we’ve had together was because i was using you, don’t you get that? i was bored. i didn’t feel anything, i didn’t mean anything i said. i only said it to get you on your knees.”

shame bubbled in the pit of your stomach as you remembered the things you had done with him. you had given him many of your firsts, while he was experienced.

as he shook your shoulders, rambling about how much he never felt anything for the intimate moments you shared, you felt something inside of you break.

like a glass table that was always on the verge of breaking. the glass had now shattered, every hope in it staying together was on the floor with the shards of glass.

something in you dulled, your expression now blank as tears rolled down your cheeks. you had made yourself ugly for a boy that never thought of holding you in a way he truly meant. you had ruined yourself for a boy that wouldn’t even hold your hand.

“you don’t want to talk now? hm?” cold fingers gripped your chin as you stared up at him blankly.

“you’re right.” you said stoically.

scaramouche scoffed, “i’m right? of course i know i’m right.”

“as we’re meant to be..” you mumbled.

“speak up!” scaramouche shouted, his nails now digging into your shoulders.

“i’ll leave you alone. let’s just go back to how we were meant to be. i’ll never speak to you again.”

scaramouche laughed loudly at this, his head thrown back as he cackled in front of you.

“we’ll see about that. i’m sure you’ll come running right back.” he spoke, his back now to you as he reached for his backpack that was previously discarded on the floor.

he left you sitting there in your sundress, only looking back once he was sure you couldn’t see him. that same expression was still on your face as you gently picked your bag up, walking the opposite way of his direction.

that would be the last time he ever saw you. and now you haunted his dreams. that white sundress, that conversation.

your face that seemed to distort more and more as the years went on. it had been five summers since he’d seen you. but sometimes he swore he saw you in passing.

taglist: @samarill @sakiimeo @astrolomona @dearsumire @saeism @shoheartluv @0kauy @lelemnh @aqualesha @msdevilis @linkookie197 @beriiov @xiaonscaraswife @foxlover1144 @gh0sts0up @darliingyu @magica-ren @scara6 @Maxineslair @jihyuniepark @atanukileaf @kenmabfasf @somatchajade

[readychilledwine]

Hey. It's me again. I was wondering if you could write something. Where reader is taking care of her younger siblings because her father who was a single dad had died due to some illness which she has now and it is going to kill her. The ic notices last minute. Az is just pissed because she is his wife and she made up a lie to break his heart. You can decided if there is a cure they found or not. Thanku. Hope you are doing well

I'm convinced you want me to break Azriel's (and my) heart, and I almost did it this time 👀👀👀👀

Losing Forever

Warnings - illness, mentions of death, heartbreak, losing a family member, angst with a happier ending than originally planned, mentions of medical procedures and blood. Ps- there's a little hint of Azris in there if you squint. 👀

A/n - I changed the ending of this two or three times, and I'm not 100% happy, but that's my inner perfectionist. I seriously considered something less happy, but I think I mentally care about Azriel having a happy ending way too much.

🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇

Madja stared at you in silence. "Where and how?" The healer finally said before pulling any books she could. "Y/n, where and how?"

She had confirmed your fear as you began to pick at the loose skin on your nails. "My father had written for me," you went into the story, the old healer looking at you every so often as she flipped through page after page.

The conclusion was the same. Illryian Fever. You had heard of it wiping whole camps clean. Incurable, deadly, and incredibly painful for the affected. "You cannot go home. You could pass this to Nyx, Rhys, Azriel, or Cassian if they get too close to you." You nodded. "I will keep looking, y/n, but I have to go tell the High Lord which camp it was spreading through and that you have it."

Your trip home had taken much longer than you and Azriel had believed it would. He crossed his arms over his chest as Madja sat across from Rhys. The healer's face was pale. Her hands shaking with nerves. "Not that I am unhappy to see you, old friend, but why are you here?" Rhys leaned back a brow raised.

They heard her throat clear before a pregnant pause came. "Illyrian fever struck the Snowfall Camp. At least 50 are dead, countless are infected." Azriel's heart froze, and Cassian looked at him.

Rhys swallowed thickly. "Why do you have this information before I do?" He prayed to the Mother that the answer they all knew was coming wouldn't be said. "Surely, if it was spreading, I would know by now."

Madja rose a brow at Rhysand before taking his hand in hers. "You know the answer to that question, High Lord. She's in the Halls of Healing. I will not allow her to come out here. I will not allow visitors until a shield is in place." Rhys closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose between two fingers. "I need anything you can get me regarding similar strands of illnesses if there will be a small chance of saving her."

Azriel felt Cassian grab him as his knees gave out. He felt his brother lowering him to the floor. He couldn't hear Rhys and Madja trying to talk to him. Every sound was muffled as if he was underwater, his heart rate was skyrocketing, his eyes wide with panic. The sound of his heartbeat increasing became a pounding drum. The noise was all he could focus on until your soft voice came into his mind.

Just a week, my love. Father said Luka, and he had simple colds. I will be right back to you. He rewatched the moment now, replaying the subtle things in your body language. The distant look in your eyes, the way you kissed him harder than you had for any other previous goodbye.

You knew, he realized, you knew, and you lied.

After countless hours spent hunched over books and chasing away sleep, Rhys had found a way for them to all see you. He kept a shield between you all, clutching Nyx tightly to him as he tried to reach you and cried for his favorite aunt.

It had been a week with no news regarding a cure, and your body was clearly tired of fighting. You had stopped eating 2 days ago, spending hours now in the throes of sleepless dreams and fevered nightmares. He had brought the heir to say goodbye, knowing from Madja's predictions, the progression, and years of experience you had until morning unless a miracle came.

Feyre was in the room with you. Holding your hand as she sobbed heavily into the bed. She could not pass the disease unless she made the choice to shift, and the wall Rhys was offering was too much for her. She needed to hold your hand to feel your soft palms one last time. But, it was too much for him as well. The sight of you like this was eating away at him. "Feyre, darling, please." She nodded, with one last kiss goodbye placed on your forehead.

Cassian and Nesta came next. Lady Death was held back by her husband, his hand resting on her swollen stomach. He took in your peaceful face, the countless medications being pumped into you to keep you comfortable. Ness unleashed a heartbreaking cry after they had spent almost an hour talking to you, hoping your mind wasn't lost enough that it could hear them still. Cassian took that as the cue, gently ushering his wife out of the room and into the large area Madja had set up for the Inner Circle to wait in.

It went on like that until they had all visited you. Elain and Lucien, then Mor, then Amren. Eris had even come, warming your room and sheets more as he watched you shiver. He walked back into the room, kissing Elain's temple to greet his sister in law before placing a supportive hand on Azriel's shoulder.

It was not every day someone felt the mating bond fading. Numbness had taken over the spymaster, along with anger, as he found letters confirming you knew what you were possibly walking into. But you had done it for your father. Your brother.

You had done it because they had no one else. Your mother was long gone, and your sisters married off to other camps. He did not rank high enough to garner attention from healers, your half brother was merely a child, and it would have been seen as survival of the fittest.

You had risked your life to ensure their last moments were comfortable, and now Azriel would pay that price.

"Azriel," Madja said softly, "if you want to say goodbye, you need to now." Eris and Lucien all but dragged the male to your room when he refused to move, shutting the door behind him and waiting in the hall.

Azriel felt ill as he took you in. This wasn't you. The sickly pale skin, the hallow cheeks, the lack of laughter and light. He felt a knot forming in his throat as he mindless stepped as close to you as he could before the shock of the barrier hit him.

He couldn't even hold your hand in your last moments. He sat in the chair slowly. "Why didn't you tell me?" His voice finally broke the heaviness of the room. "Why did you lie to me?" He felt tears damping his lashes before falling. "You are my mate, y/n. Why did you lie to me about this?"

He watched you, knowing he wouldn't get a response. "I'm fucking angry. I have to spent your last moments angry with you because of a choice you made. We could have sent healers, love," his voice cracked. "We could have sent anyone but you."

Azriel was openly weeping now. "You promised me forever, y/n. You promised me years of love, joy, and unconditional happiness." He knew you had not broken the latter of the 3. You had given Azriel countless memories. Countless moments of laughter, of warmth and love.

You had melted that icy part deep down in his soul that was slowly resolidifying as he accepted the loss and anger he felt. "You promised me forever, and you shit on it. You shit on me, on my feelings, our marriage, our bond." The coldness grew with each word. "Did you even actually love me, or was that a lie too?"

He knew deep down it wasn't and watched as your finger, the one with your wedding ring, twitched. Rhys entered the room calmly behind him. "She can fucking hear you, Azriel. She's awake," he chastised. "Do not let your last moments with her be moments of anger and self sabot-" Rhys froze, his eyes flicking to the doorway. Hope filled Rhysand's features. "Hold on, y/n. Just please keep fighting, sis."

Madja and Helion, followed by Thesan, ran into the room. Rhys pulled Azriel back and away, making room for the three of them to work. "Mother, fuck," Helion said softly as he took your hand. "This better work fast, Thesan."

The Lord of Dawn rolled his eyes. "I didn't exactly have countless illyrians lining up to test it, Helion. Especially not ones in this advanced of a condition." Azriel flinched as Thesan shoved something into the vein of your hand. A soft whimper of pain fell from your throat. "I know, lovely. I'm sorry. This might be very uncomfortable." He set a bag of clear glowing liquid on the rack. "Who's blood?"

"Mine," Helion immediately offered. "I don't want to risk you taking it home to your winged legion from potential blood contact."

Thesan's jaw twitched. "I don't know if you can handle another one, Hel."

"Use me." A calm cool voice said from the doorway. "I owe him a life debt. Use me." Thesan nodded, motioning for the owner of the voice to move closer.

Eris stepped forward and through the shield, taking the seat Helion had moved closer to you. The heir held your hand gently as Thesan tapped into his vein. "You might be here awhile, Eris." The heir nodded. "I also cannot promise you doing this will save her, but it's her best shot until Tarquin, Tamlin, or Kallias can get here. It works best with a high lord's blood."

Your breathing had evened out, and Azriel watched in silence as Thesan hooked one more needle to your opposite arm from Eris and into a different container. He back away along with Helion, watching as Eris's blood slowly began to travel the tubes and into you, and your own began to leave.

"There's a similar illness in the Peregryn and the Seraphim," Thesan began slowly. "Drakon and I figured this out many years ago. The contagion cannot survive high fae blood for some reason. We had figured Rhysand's father would have done the same, but it appears not considering the situation."

Rhys scoffed slightly. "You two give my father far too much credit on anything. Velaris is the best thing he created, with the exception of myself of course." The joke broke the tension. "How long until she's not contagious."

Helion motioned towards the bag. "The second that started pumping into her, she stopped. That is water from the fountain Amarantha tried to destroy under the mountain. It's sacred and all healing. We were hoping with how poorly she was doing it would prevent anything from progressing further."

Azriel felt the shield drop and ran to your open side. Taking a cold hand in his, feeling the weight of your ring. "This was successful in the camps. I apologize it took us so long to get here. Finding Illyrians willing to help us help them instead of accept death was-" Helion just shrugged, looking at Rhys. "You all are too stubborn for your own good. Eris, what do you want for food? You'll need it."

Rhys held his hand up. "I know where he likes to eat here. I will send you two food. I'm going to get everyone else out for a break, though. And to explain what's happening." He motioned for Thesan and Helion to come with him, squeezing Azriel's shoulder and shooting Eris one last look before shutting the door.

Silence fell between the two of them, both of their eyes locked on you. "If this saves her, you need to grovel and apologize immediately." Eris would not look at him. "I would have never said to my mate what you said to her on their deathbed."

Azriel nodded. "Why are you doing this?"

Eris finally looked up at him, before looking at you. "You came and saved me from that bitch of a queen and the deathless God, Azriel. She nursed me back to health and healed me after countless beating from my father. You are my friends, even if you do not acknowledge that. I care about you, Az." Eris paused, his eyes focused on the fire, starting it back up into a gentle blaze to heat the room again. "Besides, I quite enjoy your wife. She is wonderful. Even if you are a moody brute."

Azriel laughed lightly. Allowing silence to fall between the two of them again. His shadows appeared some time later with two books from thin air, taking one to Eris and dropping one in Azriel's lap. They then pushed side tables to the two males as Rhys sent them food.

Eris guffawed in awe as Azriel's shadows began to cut their steaks. "Is this your way of saying thank you, shadowsinger?" Azriel nodded. Opening his mouth while staring at Eris to allow his companions to feed him. "You're welcome, Azriel. She looks better already." And you did. Color had slightly returned to your face. Your lashes occasionally fluttered against your cheeks.

They welcomed in quiet again, finishing their meals and desserts before a soft knock came on the door almost an hour later. A shadow opened it, and Eris's face almost fell before he chuckled through his breath. "You are not the one I was expecting."

The scent of rain and fresh cut grass hit Azriel. Had this been a different circumstance, Azriel would have shielded you, protectrd you, but he knew there was only one way this male got in, and that sacrifice from Rhysand shocked him.

"My schedule clears easily these days." Tamlin placed a hand on Azriel's shoulder. "You look like shit, Azriel." The shadowsinger watched Thesan appear and began to unhook Eris.

The heir moved to the chair by Azriel, drinking the water a shadow had handed to him as the small puncture wound instantly healed. They watched as Thesan hooked Tamlin up to you. They watched as Tamlin's blood seemed to instantly make a huge difference. You had stopped shivering completely. Your body relaxed. You were even breathing deeper.

Thesan observed for a while. Watching as Rhys then sent Tamlin food, causing the two high lords to laugh. "Tarquin will be here by morning, and Kal will be here tomorrow afternoon. The Inner Circle is each going to take turns after you, with the exception of Rhysand. Feyre will sit in his place. Then Tarquin, Kal, then Helion and myself. I think it will take all of us since she was so advanced into the illness."

Tamlin nodded. "I apologize I was not here sooner."

Thesan shook his head. "Eris was more than enough to get her off the brink. Now, all you have to do is sit and stabilize her, and from there, we will heal her."

Thesan crossed his arms in front of his body, brows raised as he nodded to the plate in front of Tamlin. "I was informed not to leave until you ate a bite." Tamlin laughed as shadows copied their previous motions, cutting his steak like they had for Eris before holding a bite to his face.

Eris had fallen asleep, his head resting on Azriel's shoulder. Thesan grabbed a blanket, pulling it over the heir, and Azriel wrapped a wing around him on instinct as well.

"She's going to recover, Azriel," Thesan said. "Might want to start writing that apology letter. Rhys said her thoughts regarding you were not kind when she called for him. Something about stupid illyrian brutes and over egotistical bastards?"

Tamlin and Azriel laughed. Azriel didn't take his eyes off of you as you shakily raised a single finger to him. "So a fancy date, an apology letter, and a vacation. Noted, my love."

[cmncisspnandmore]

Not Coming Home

Pairings: Simon Riley X F!Reader, Plationic!141X F!reader

Warnings: hurt, Angst, Character Death.

The hardest thing John Price ever had to do was tell you that Ghosts has been killed in action.

When you pulled open the door, expecting to see Simon standing there with a smile on his face, only to be met by the solemn face of his captain. Your heart sank, your entire body going cold as he stepped into the room.

"I wish I was here with better news..." Price mumbles as he closes the door behind him.

Your entire body feels detached from your mind, like you're not really here. Not hearing the words that are coming from your husbands superior.

"I'm so sorry... Simon is dead.." Price stumbles out, his own words thick with emotion.

It was at that moment that the world seemed to stop spinning. Everything came to a screeching halt as you processed his words. There was screaming, but you didn't know where it was coming from. Who or what could be making that awful sound?

You sink down to the floor, and only as the door flies open, John MacTavish standing there, with his hand on his gun on his waist. You can barely see him through the blur of tears that cloud your vision. The telltale mohawk the only give away. His face is pale as he stares down at you with blue eyes wide with emotion. That's when you realize that the screaming is coming for you.

Hot tears stream down your cheeks as Price and Soap crouch in front of you. Their hands come out to touch you only for you to recoil from their touch. You shrink back against the wall, as if they were trying to hurt you.

Because they were. Not physically, or intentionally. But the comfort they tried to offer you hurt. Knowing that it would never be Simon who held you close when you cried again hurt. Knowing that they also lost a teammate hurt.

You aren't sure exactly how long you screamed for, huddled on the floor. Your knees pulled up to your chest as the two men who served alongside your husband kneeled in front of you. But eventually your voice gave out, leaving you with nothing but broken sobs in its place.

As morning grew into day, your tears eventually stopped. The silence that settled over the room was worse than the screaming. It felt fragile,like one small word and chaos would ensue again.

Johnny couldn't stand to listen to the sound of your sobs and screams. Each one felt like a knife twisting in his already mangled heart. He wanted to hold you, tell you that it would be okay but he couldn't. Because he didn't know if it ever would be. How could he tell you such sweet lies just to placate himself.

In truth you probably wouldn't ever be fully okay again. Even though you spent years preparing yourself for the possibility that SImon might not come home one day, you never thought it would happen. No one wanted that to come to fruition, but it did and now as Johnny and Price stare at the broken mess of a woman at their feet they don't know what to do. There aren't any magic words or miracles that would bring Simon back to you. 

Johnny stands next to you at Simons headstone, you had one placed even though he was cremated. You couldn't bring yourself to damning him to eternity in a pine box, not after everything he went through. You wipe a tear that trails down your cheek as Johnny wraps his arm around your shoulders. 

“He’d be proud of you ,” Soap whispers, his hand tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

“I hope so,” you whisper, wiping your eyes and sniffling. He gently grabs your face in his hands and brushes your stray tears from your cheeks. You give him a small half hearted smile as a small voice calls out to you.

“Mummy! Mummy! I found some pretty purple flowers for Daddies stone!” Your 4 year old daughter calls out as she runs towards you. Her blue dress swishing around her ankles, she stops in front of you and Soap. 

“Oh they’re beautiful, he’ll love them,” you smile crouching down in front of her as she thrusts the flowers into your face. You gently move them from in front of your face as 2 other figures come over the hill. John Price and Kyle Garrck, you give a small wave as they walk up. Your eyes flickering back down to your daughter as she looks at the flowers, gently stroking the petals. “Didn't we talk about running away from Uncle John and Uncle Kyle?”

“Yes mummy, I'm sorry,” she sighs, and looks behind you at the gravestone. “Can I give the flowers to Daddy now?” She looks up at you. 

“Of course Baby,” You smile softly as she grabs Soaps hand and drags him over to the stone.

“C’mon Uncle Soap, lift me up so i can put them on the tippy top! That way Daddy can see them all the way from heaven!”

[redflagshipwriter]

Nest Swap 6

masterpost

Mrs. Henderson was a lot friendlier with that explanation. He was grateful because that gave him a little space to think about escape plans. “You’re lucky I was here at all,” Mrs. Henderson chattered. “Goodness knows I’ll be out of town soon. My grandson is getting married this weekend, down in that shithole Metropolis.” She shut the window that he’d come in through, which looked a little difficult with her mace wedged in her armpit. 

It would probably be really nice if her walker had a ledge for storage on it, Tim thought. He let his eyes glaze over a little bit as he imagined how he would design it. He ended up following the retiree through her house to the wall that he knew connected with the other apartment. The door stuck out because it kind of looked like an outside door: sturdier than a door usually needs to be inside.

Mrs. Henderson optimistically tried the door that internally connected the duplex. It rattled a rejection. “He never used to keep this locked,” she lamented. She gave up with a sigh and put her mace back on the display case a few feet away. 

Tim hummed and bounced on his heels. He thought that made sense. If Jason wanted the neighbor man investigated, he probably had stuff to hide. Tim would lock out his neighbor, too. 

“That's too bad,” Tim lamented. He clasped his hands behind his back. “I guess I'll go back to my Mom.”

“Oh, nonsense.”

Tim froze. Mrs. Henderson started walking to her kitchen. . Her long robe dragged behind her about an inch on cold hardwood floors. “You can wait for a while with me.”

Oh. Oh, this wasn’t great.

On the one hand, he would get to see the sausage man if Mrs. Henderson let him wait with her. On the other hand, he was going to know that Tim had lied about being a relative, and he would probably say so.

Tim followed Mrs. Henderson a bit woodenly and climbed up onto the stool on autopilot as she leaned over to the sink. Heck. What did he do? He searched his mind for a reference he could rely on. He had nothing.

‘I’m not a very good vigilante,’ Tim thought sadly. He kicked his feet against the bars of the stool and then suddenly stopped when Mrs. Henderson glanced over at him. She flicked the red light on on her kettle. ‘I should have watched more spy movies.’

He made a silent promise to himself to study before he went into action again. He didn’t know how he was going to get out of this, but once he did, he was going to learn from it. A few minutes passed before Mrs. Henderson poured the hot water into mugs and then stirred something.

“Do you like marshmallows?” 

Tim blinked. Like, merengue? “I have sophisticated tastes,” he answered on autopilot. Then he wondered why she’d asked.

She laughed. “Me too.” She opened a bag and dumped a pile of sweets into the tea.

His brain shut down a little at the audacious display of dietary recklessness. “Thank you,” he said, and accepted the mug with both hands. He peered down and breathed in the sweet steam.

It was weirdly dark tea. And- really, really sweet-smelling. He sniffed it cautiously and then took a look at his hostess. 

“It’s hot,” she warned, and then took a cautious sip of her own.

Tim copied her out of well-bred reflex and instantly coughed. It was thick. Why was it thick? “What kind of tea is this?” His voice squeaked up high.

Mrs. Henderson snorted brown liquid out her nose and then cried out in pain. Tim startled but she kept laughing, hand pressed over her face.

“... It's not tea,” Tim said. He took another suspicious taste. Now that he wasn't expecting something else, he could identify chocolate. “Wow. My mom wouldn't give this to me.” He slurped up a marshmallow. Then he froze because Mrs. Henderson had put a hand over the top of his cup. 

“Do you have allergies?” Her dark eyes were serious underneath her eyeglasses. 

“Prawns,” Tim supplied. “That's all.” 

Mrs. Henderson took her hand away. “Ah. There's no prawns in there, so….” She pursed her lips. “Well, I was a scout when I was your age. I have to peddle sweets to show my pride.” 

“You what?” Tim leaned a little closer. 

She blinked at him and then took another sip of her chocolate. “You know, scouts? They sell cookies?” 

Wow. Tim hid his reaction to that. Were things really that bad in public schools? She'd been working at 9? That was brutal and unjust. Tim worried his lip between his teeth for a few moments before he decided that he really did have to say something.

“That seems unjust,” he said. Tim worried that it was a little rude to say so, but he didn't want people to think he approved of child labor.

She choked on her chocolate again.

A car door slammed on the other side of the building. When his hostess cleared her throat, there were tears in her eyes. She patted at Tim's hand. “You can come back anytime you want, honey,” she said, in a funny voice. “Your Uncle is home! That was his door. I'll walk you around.” 

Tim stood up. “No, I'm fine!” He chirped. His heart thudded in his chest. “Thank you so much!” He went to the door a lot faster than she could, pulled it open, and then felt bad. “The drink was really good,” he added, and then he hopped out and shut the door behind him.

“Oh. Hello.” A middle-aged man stood on the sidewalk outside of the duplex. He had a huge duffle bag over his shoulder and he was sort of leaning as if it was heavy. He eyed Tim and Mrs. Henderson’s door with a sort of sharp, calculating expression. “...Visiting my neighbor?”

Ah. His stomach wrenched.

Tim flashed a gala-ready smile up at the sausage guy, deploying maximum cuteness. “Yepp!” He chirped. “I’m her grandson.”

‘Don’t be suspicious,’ he chanted internally. ‘Don’t be suspicious, don’t be suspicious.’

Sausage man frowned a little. “...Not the one who is getting married?” he asked in a funny voice. “I thought she only had the one.” He eyed Tim a little harder. “And, not to be rude, but i would have assumed he’d also be Black.”

Oh. Heck. Jason’s bad guy was definitely getting suspicious of him. He needed to deflect, fast.

“I was joking!” Tim giggled. “You’re funny. No, I’m a scout selling cookies.” He straightened his posture to look like a child with stable employment. “Do you want some?”

“...Cookies?” he clarified. “Not popcorn?” 

“Definitely cookies,” said Tim, who had just learnt this fact today. “It’s okay, it’s confusing.”

Sausage man cocked his head to the side, opened his mouth, and then apparently thought better of whatever he’d been about to say. “Yes, actually, I love those cookies.” The man readjusted his duffle bag. “Do you have an order form?” He held out a hand expectantly.

Tim eyed it and resisted the urge to fling himself off the two concrete steps separating him from the lawn. “Not with me,” he bluffed. “What kind do you want?”

“You’re not going to just remember my order,” said the Sausage man, who was beginning to look genuinely irritated. He took a half a step closer. His heavy bag swung. Tim stole a glance down at it. Sausage man followed his gaze and then looked back at Tim. He narrowed his eyes and he smiled.

It did not feel like a nice smile. 

“Why don’t you come in?” he said, and put a hand on Tim’s shoulder. “No one is waiting for you, right?”

“My boyfriend is,” Tim lied immediately. It was kind of true. 

Sausage man snorted, because he didn’t know that Jason was going to kick his ass. “That’s probably alright,” he said, amused. He squeezed down on Tim’s shoulder a little. Tim tensed. He needed help, he needed an adult-

“There’s my mom!” Tim chirped. The man let go like he thought Tim was on fire. Tim took advantage of the moment and ducked under the Sausage man’s arm. His heart was pounding so hard. “I’ll see you later, bye!” He sprinted down the walkway and turned left onto the real sidewalk without slowing down. 

Haha, sucker. Janet wasn’t even there! And the guy just believed him when he said he saw his Mom? Ridiculous! She was probably in Peru or in a board meeting! He pumped his arms a little harder until he realized that he wasn’t being chased.

The sausage man didn’t chase after him or call out. When Tim stole a look backwards, he saw the door pulling shut.

“Whew,” said Tim, slowing down. “That went okay. Except I didn’t learn anything.”

…He could try again tomorrow.

[a-dauntless-daffodil]

Awlful, awful thought: A guilt-wracked Vaggie, trying to stay as quiet as possible in Charlie's bed as she cries herself to sleep. Wishing that she could bring up the courage and confess her sins to her girlfriend, who obviously deserves SO much better...

you put that thought back where it came from or SO HELP ME-

ugh, listen, i can see this horrible progression where at first it's Vaggie hiding (and failing but she doesn't know it) that she cries, and then it's Vaggie lying (a tiny little lie she thinks) about WHY she cries

them as strangers / new tentative friends and it took SO MUCH WRANGLING for Charlie just to get the dumpster woman to stay over with her while getting used to life with one eye instead of wandering off back onto hell's streets like Vaggie was ready to, and then getting her to use a couch instead of the floor, then finally the giant bed with a pillow propped between them

this is already a miracle enough, this is already more than she's ever gotten any other sinner to accept (and thank her for? and share a smile with her over it????)

so when she hears Vaggie's breath hitch in the middle of the night like she's hurt Charlie starts sitting up with her instinct to jump RIGHT INTO HELPING like usual- but Vaggie goes dead quiet the moment she moves and Charlie freezes, the sudden cold thought Vaggie doesn't WANT her to hear. Vaggie's been letting Charlie closer but maybe her not wanting Charlie to hear this (yet?) is part of why she's been so reluctant to stop sleeping in random corners of the house, and what if she packs up (metaphorically speaking, technically she has nothing) and leaves if Charlie spooks her now? Would Charlie ever find her again?

that's the first time Charlie lies awake listening to Vaggie cry softly to herself for half the night, pretending she doesn't hear it

it's not the last.

Because Vaggie ends up staying, with Charlie SPECIFICALLY, and it's a different kind of friendship than Charlie's used to- it's not Vaggie tolerating her ideas or her dreams or her wild bursts into song, it's Vaggie troubleshooting her ideas and agreeing with (!) her dreams (though she isn't as hopeful about it) (that's more than anyone has done since Lilith left-) and it's even Vaggie enjoying her silliness, joining in on a song with her,

a sad little song about a grown woman missing being close with her parents because having a friend like this is making her homesick for everything else she used to have-

but Vaggie doesn't roll her eye at the poor princess of hell she holds Charlie's hand when Charlie tears up, she just seems to like being around Charlie? even for the pity parties??? (Charlie for the love of all therapy i a m begging you go to THERAPY)

Vaggie is clearly missing something too though, and cries about it less often now- or

(a thought to keep Charlie awake all night when it comes to her)

is better at crying about it quietly so Charlie really doesn't hear her

and it's too much for Charlie to risk losing but it's also why Charlie rolls over that night, casual, casual, and pretends to be asleep as her hand drapes over that invisible line to just brush Vaggie's arm, and why she goes on pretending to sleep as Vaggie flinches, tenses, then lets out a breath and doesn't pull away.

it's the only way for Charlie to get any sleep now- making sure Vaggie won't feel completely alone, even if she won't let Charlie be there for her (Yet)

it's a short road from that to waking up snuggled together, because Charlie's a cuddle bug and Vaggie's surprisingly smug about being cuddled (by her), so Charlie's frantic pillow wall of privacy instantly falls the next night to laughter and a pillow fight, and their game of betting if they'll wake up in each others arms again also doesn't last long (because they always do) (this is NOT like friendships Charlie is used to) and soon Vaggie is hauling them both out of bed on her good days while groggy Charlie clings to her like a very stubborn blanket and

there's not much room for hiding tears like this. the lie comes out not long after.

Vaggie's bad days are things Charlie happily makes way too many sticky notes about: collecting Tired Vaggie or Grumpy Vaggie or Bumped Into Furniture One Too Many Times Needs To Go Beat Up The Nearest Dumpster With Her Spear Vaggie, or Vaggie Gluing Herself To The Nearest High Spot While She Broods (her small smile means more when it doesn't come out until Charlie's spent an hour sitting up there with her, chatting and pointing out landmarks like hell isn't that bad and everything can be okay)

and Charlie has bad days too (tries not to) (feels guilty about having them when she ISN'T even alone anymore) but lately her worst start with dried tears on the collar of her pajama shirt and Vaggie sounding a little bit more hoarse than usual in the morning

so it's not some, sudden nighttime feelings ambush. It's not Charlie waking up in the night to Vaggie crying and suddenly having the courage to pull her a little bit closer

it's Charlie having a bad day, afterwards, and Vaggie finding her hunched up in bed. (their bed)

It's Vaggie slipping quietly (worriedly) out of the shadows with a soft hey and are you okay? and getting hit with yes- no- does Vaggie know she can get up out of bed whenever she wants at night? she can wake Charlie up and leave and that's completely fine, if she wants to be alone for a bit, and then come back for snuggles after- or they can sleep separate or-

maybe it's the first time Vaggie reaches up to cup Charlie's cheek and ground her spiraling, maybe it's the first real jolt of fear Vaggie's felt since being eye-level with a sword. maybe not, but it gets her asking Charlie what the fuck are you talking about?

and then it's the truth-

Charlie can't stop thinking about Vaggie hiding her tears for her sake. it's fine if Vaggie doesn't trust Charlie with them- (yet) (someday?) (it's amazing Vaggie has put trust in Charlie at ALL)- but she should at least feel able to CRY when she wants to.

-and it's the lie.

Vaggie does trust Charlie. a small tiny lie that's mostly truth-

(she trusts Charlie is a good person) (she's scared of what that means) (she hasn't been a good person) (she isn't being one now)- she tells Charlie she cries because she misses her wings and the scars hurt and she hides it because there's nothing to be done about it, if they were coming back (for her) they would've by now (she DOESN'T want them to come for her she WOULDN'T leave if they did, if they offered-) (would she?) but they aren't so, (it's been too long) why waste her and Charlie's time being sad about it?

(how can she even still be SAD about it-)

I could hear Charlie whispering back something along the lines of, time with with you is never wasted, not to me. And, I want to be there with you, like you are when I need you.

I won't say this is when they both went Oh or even when maybe someone leaned forward a little and someone else met them half way, they're the sort of couple where it could have happened a in a million different times and places and it doesn't really matter

but afterwards, when Vaggie cries at night she doesn't hide it anymore

(now she knows she can't) (she can't hurt Charlie like that)

so some nights she sobs quietly into Charlie's shoulder while Charlie rubs soothing circles into old scars and holds her tight and the sickness over the lie that turned out bigger than she thought almost makes it worse than crying alone

(almost) (not quite)

those are the nights where she dreams of a sword and torn off feathers. other nights, Vaggie shuts her one eye and refuses to let any tears fall

some nights she dreams of damning wings on her back and Charlie turning away from her

she can't face Charlie or her love on those nights.

so she doesn't let herself cry at all

[cowboydisaster]

could you write a fic about simon and a reader who is going through withdrawals? Sorry if that's not real specific, you can take it in what ever direction you please. Thank you

Hope

pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x fem! reader word count: 2k summary: Simon helps you get through withdrawals, offering you hope in the darkest point of your life. a/n: heed the warnings please!!!! I cried a good bit while writing this. You're never alone my friends, and there is always hope. Always. (p.s. there is a mention of wanting children in this fic, so keep that in mind. p.p.s why does tumblr destroy my image quality, it makes me sad.) warnings: opioid addiction, withdrawals, addiction, emetophobia, illness masterlist

"Si-Simon, I can't do this. I'm n-not strong enough." You whimper, clammy hands gripping onto his shirt with every pathetic ounce of strength that you can muster. Your voice is hoarse, throat thick with mucus and body covered in a stale cold sweat that soaks through your oversized t-shirt. Simon has never seen you so weak, so frail in his arms.

He's seen you take down men twice your size, clear rooms with more than ten enemies. You've faced countless opponents, broken through endless physical and mental barriers,  but in the end, the one thing you couldn't defeat was the pills. 

If you'd known you were trading your life away when you were handed the bottle, you never would have taken it in the first place. 

"For the pain." The doctor had said, "Just until this gunshot wound clears up."

Only it didn't. Before you even realized it, your body was already addicted. You craved the numbness that the damned capsules gave you, the release from the endless pain that singed your nerves day and night. You couldn't give them up. You tried– but the sickness that came when you stopped– you were sure it would kill you. 

Simon didn't know what to do. You lied, you kept him at a distance, never fully explaining to him what was going on. He didn't realize how bad it was. He tried not to pry, or to push you, but Simon put his foot down when he found you on the bathroom floor unconscious, a bottle of pills on the counter, half empty. His words reverberated in your ears, a harsh warning that he wouldn't watch you kill yourself. 

"You have to get clean, Y/N." He'd said from a place of love, but you couldn't help but crumble under his judgment, "I can't watch you do this to yourself anymore. You 'ave to sober up."

So here you are, a heap in Simon's lap, the both of you intertwined on the bathroom floor as you fight the overwhelming illness that accompanies withdrawals. Everything you've survived: loss, wounds, torture– it pales in comparison to the misery you're experiencing now. You refused to go to a detox center, not wanting to lose your position in the Task Force. You promised Simon that you'd let him drive you to the hospital if things got bad, but you want to do this at home. 

Bile rises from your stomach, lingering in the back of your throat as you gag. Immediately, Simon pulls your hair back into his fist, and helps to position you over the toilet. 

You dry heave, gagging on air as both of your cold hands grip the toilet bowl. Your wedding band glints in the dim bathroom light, bringing another layer of anguish to your already broken soul. 

He shouldn't have to deal with this. 

"Easy, love. Get it all out. I've got you." Simon coos as your stomach aches and flips, desperate to rid itself of any contents. Only you haven't been able to eat, so nothing comes up but painful bursts of air. You gasp and heave, collapsing back against Simon and erupting into loud sobs. Your bones ache as you fall onto his chest, and his hands hover over your form, unsure on how to hold you without shattering you even further. 

"I can't– I can't! Simon, please! Please. I'm going to die. M' gonna die–" You panic, "I'm not strong enough. You know that I'm not." You plead, begging for the substance that he has already flushed down the drain, your mind refuses to believe that it's actually gone. 

Simon's previously unbreakable heart manages to crack, and he wishes more than anything to carry the burden of your suffering. You're his wife, and it's his job to take the weight off your shoulders, but he can't do this for you. He can, however, be with you every step of the way. You showed him a new way of living, a way to do more than just survive. You've shown him love when he was undeserving of it. It's unbearable for him to see you, such a beam of light, in so much pain. 

"Look at me, baby. Look at me." Simon holds your face until your eyes meet his. Those chestnut colored irises hold your attention– the same ones you looked into as you read your vows, as you suffered pain, and loss, felt love and lust. They've watched after you through everything. 

"You can do this, yeah? You're the strongest person I know. Stronger than any other soldier in the Task Force, stronger than me. If anyone can beat this, it's you." Simon reassures. 

Your face crumples when you realize he's firm in his decision. You shake your head, clammy palms coming to rest against your face. 

"Please, Simon." You beg once again. Your body is trembling like a leaf held against the wind, cold wraps around your bones suffocatingly, squeezing every ounce of comfort from your being and leaving you high and dry. Pure, unadulterated suffering. 

"Come 'ere." Simon whispers, standing up from the tile floor and scooping you into his arms. He hooks his arms under your head and knees before carrying you into the bedroom. 

The soft bed dips under your shared weight as Simon lays down with you, his body wrapping around your own like a perfect puzzle piece. He pulls your back to his chest, letting you use his tattooed arm as a pillow. Your sobs quiet down to muffled whimpers as you shake lightly, wishing you could go back in time, solve this before it became a problem. 

Father time has never been merciful though, has he? 

"Blanket or no?" Simon asks. You nod your head quickly. 

"Yes, it's so cold. I'm so cold." Your teeth chatter lightly as you reiterate. Simon pulls the thick comforter over your forms, tucking it in around the edges as he adjusts behind you. 

An hour ago you were burning up, stripping off your clothes and sobbing at the heat clawing its way through your body like some sort of fiery plague. He'd put you in a cool bath, checking your temperature probably more often than what was necessary. 

You shake and writhe, whimpers and groans of agony slipping past your lips every once in a while. It's killing Simon to see you like this. Every ounce of light has drained from your eyes, the life has seeped from your pores, replaced with the lingering disease of addiction. He misses your laughter, your smile. It could light up a room. You've gotten the boys through many dark days. You were the sunshine of the Task Force. Failed missions, loss, heartache, no matter how bad things got, your optimism never ceased. Not until recently, anyhow. 

"We'll get there again." Simon tells himself like a mantra in his head,"She'll get better." 

He's personally seeing that you do. He won't allow you the pills to take hold of you, he'll fight. He's seen more soldiers die from pills than bullets. He won't let you meet that fate, he won't. 

He can't lose you. 

The room is covered with a calm silence, only the sound of your quick breathing to let him know you're still alive. Simon is quiet as well, and you drown in the silence, hoping for any kind of distraction to pull you away from your unending misery. You can feel yourself giving up, wanting nothing more than to slip into old habits. You slip your eyes shut, opening them only once a voice rumbles in your ear. 

"I was thinking… when you're better we'll get a bigger house." Simon quietly blurts out from behind you. 

A wrinkle forms in between your brows, and you crane your neck to look at him. You're sure he's trying to distract you, coming up with random conversation to keep your mind off of the present. When you look back, his gaze is far away, fixed on something on the far wall. A small smile graces his uncovered lips– he's been keeping the mask off at home recently, you've noticed. There is a light in his eyes, a light that you used to think would never grace the eyes of Simon Riley. 

"What? Why would we need a bigger house?" You ask with a small chuckle. He's succeeding in his distraction, you realize. 

His eyes flicker down to yours, hand gripping onto your waist as you turn towards him in curiosity. Your eyelids are heavy, another wave of exhaustion coming over you. 

"For the little ones." Simon responds.

He says it on a breath. He says it so plainly, so effortlessly, that tears immediately well in your eyes. He's never responded to your questions about children– usually shutting down or ignoring the topic wholly. Your lip wobbles, and he runs his thumb over the cracked skin. 

"Ch-children?" You ask, a new sense of hope filling your being. A new reason to fight– to get clean. Children. A family. 

"A girl, with your eyes…" Simon chuckles, "Probably with your attitude too." 

You laugh at that, tears slipping down your cheeks in landing on his hand that cups your face. 

"Maybe a boy. Hopefully he gets your features n' not my ugly mug." Simon huffs. 

"What changed…?" You ask, wincing as a wave of nausea pulses through your body. Simon's eyes go wide for a second, and his grip tightens on you, ready in an instant to carry you back into the bathroom if you need. The pain passes and you shake your head, signaling that you're okay. Immediately, he relaxes. It's quiet for a moment as Simon traces his thumb over your paper thin skin.

"A dog, a new house, babies, anything you want. I'll give you anything you want, just get better for me, baby." Simon pleads, a hint of vulnerability tracing his words. It's one of only a few times he's begged you. 

"I don't want a future without you in it. I want my wife. I want our kids terrorizing the place, I want to get old and retire the Force with you. Hell, I'd turn in my letter of resignation today if you asked, just please, fight for me, love."

The tears are falling freely now, you don't try to stop them. Guilt fills your being at the realization of everything you've put your husband through for the past few months. Through it all, he's never left your side. He's still here. Kissing closed your wounds, and promising to plant flowers in their place. 

A soft kiss is pressed to your forehead before amber eyes peek down at you through blonde eyelashes. You chew on your lip, a bad habit. 

Your resolve is set, and even though your body shrieks for the opposite, you'll get through this. You have to. 

You have Sunday mornings to look forward to, lazily pouring Simon a cup of tea in his favorite mug. You have a house to buy, with two bedrooms instead of one. Dragging Simon through the shops and picking out all the different onesies he'll let you bring home. You have walks through the park to go on. You have to pick up takeout on Simon's late nights at work. You have to sit on his desk while you share an entree and talk to him until he forgets about the paperwork he's supposed to be doing. So many little actions to go through, little memories to make. You can't give it up. You won't. 

There is so much to fight for, so much to hope for, all given to you by the man before you. Tears sting your eyes again as you finally speak up. 

"I promise you, Simon. I'll fight. For us, I will."

[bumblesimagines]

On the Mountain

Request: Yes or No

Summary: An injured songbird finds herself unable to fly for much longer but her luck seems neverending when she's found and nursed back to health.

Pronouns: He/Him/His, M!Reader

CW/TW: Typical Hunger Games warnings, mentions of the 10th Hunger Games, implied PTSD/PTSD induced nightmares, mentions of Coriolanus Snow

~~~

Her breathing came out in short, wheezy gasps, her trembling legs threatening to buckle and give out from underneath her with each step she took through the brush. Her lips quivered, whether from the pain or the cold clinging to her wet body, she couldn't quite tell but she knew she had to stop running eventually. Her legs stung from scrapes and cuts sustained from the branches and twigs of the bushes she'd ran through, the bottom of her skirt torn up and cold to the touch from rainwater. 

She had to keep going. She had to. He'd kill her otherwise. 

Through her blurry vision, she missed the log resting along the ground and tripped over it, her body tumbling to the ground and a shriek of pain leaving her lips. She clamped her teeth down on her bottom lip hard enough to draw blood, silencing herself and praying Coriolanus Snow had given up his hunt. Lucy Gray rolled over onto her back with a wince and a choked sob, her shaking hand lifting from her side and lifting to hover over her face, a droplet of blood splattering onto her cheek. 

It'd been stupid, she knew that well, to wait and see if her trap had worked. All her time in the meadow, all her time learning about snakes and how to avoid them had paid off nicely. She'd almost felt guilty, listening to his worried and desperate shouts, until she watched the concern crumple into fury faster than a lightning strike. The snake had been non-venomous, of course, just a mere distraction to keep him occupied while she debated what to do. He hadn't given her much time to think after putting a bullet in her side, though. 

Lucy Gray dropped her arm down onto the forest floor, her glassy eyes staring up at the sky above her. Each breath she took felt like fire coursing through her veins and she couldn't help but wonder if perhaps... it'd all been for nothing. The singing, the desperate measures to make money, surviving the Hunger Games, accepting Coriolanus into her life... leaving her friends and family behind. She wondered what they'd think, what they'd say when they figured out she'd fled... when Coriolanus returned without her. Would he lie to them? Claim she'd gone and left them behind to suffer in 12?

"Damn you, Coriolanus..." She exhaled shakily, her features contorting tightly together as the tears slipped freely from her eyes. 

Lucy Gray lied there, on the forest floor, weeping until her body gave into exhaustion, weeping for death to come quick and be more merciful than her lover had been.

Back in the godforsaken arena where she stood on the pile of fallen debris from the rebel bombings, the ground around her covered in a sea of colorful slithering snakes that almost resembled waves. She stood there, paralyzed and motionless, her eyes flickering about to ensure none of the lethal creatures slipped toward her. They'd liked her during the Games, curled around her as if seeking out her warmth rather than her death, but her heart still pumped with fear. 

"Songbird," A voice wailed, one she recognized to have once been filled with malice. Her head whirled around, eyes wide and breath catching in her throat at the sight of Carol near the edge with her arm extended out toward her pleadingly. The young girl sunk deeper and deeper into the sea of snakes, desperate wails and cries for Lucy Gray to help her falling for her lips. Lucy Gray remained frozen despite every inch of her wanting to spring into action and drag the poor girl out, forced to watch her disappear beneath scaled bodies. 

A wheezy cough came from her left and she spun her head around toward the source of the noise, a quiet whimper leaving her at the sight of Dill sitting by the edge with her back turned toward her. Another cough tore through her frail body, leaving her breathless and heaving. Lucy Gray's legs gave out from underneath her, her ruffled dress sprawling out around her like a halo. Her eyes refused to tear away from Dill, only watering with tears that fell as Dill shifted to face her, mouth bloodied from the poisoned water she'd drank. The water Lucy Gray had poisoned. 

"I'm sorry." Lucy Gray whispered, her shoulders shaking with hiccups and sobs. She hadn't meant to kill her, truly she hadn't. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry... I'm- I'm so sorry." She sobbed, her body leaning forward and hands entangling themselves in her hair. She continued weeping apologies, continued begging for forgiveness until she had no tears left. 

A slither of color caught her eye, her head lifting to search the sea of constantly moving snakes, their colors shimmering with the dim sunlight pouring in. Her breath hitched again, her heart threatening to hammer out of her chest when a pure white-scaled snake slithered out from underneath the bodies and made a direct line toward her.

Coriolanus. 

She barely had time to scream before the snake flashed its fangs and lunged for her. 

With a frightened gasp, Lucy Gray shot upright, her chest rising and falling rapidly with quick breaths. Her eyes darted around the unfamiliar room, taking in the wooden walls with paintings perched on them and the wooden floor. The only thing she recognized was her bag draped over the chair by the desk, the same bag she'd taken when she and Coriolanus planned to leave 12. Lucy Gray's brows furrowed and only furrowed further when she looked down at herself, noticing the baggy shirt she wore that she certainly hadn't packed. 

The wound, she remembered sharply and fumbled with the shirt before tugging it up and near her ribs. She blinked down at the bandages wrapped just above her hip, her fingers tracing over them curiously. Someone had found her, taken her into the room, changed her, and cared for her injury... but who? Had the Covey figured out what Coriolanus had done and searched for her? Had the violent man himself done it after a change of heart? Even if he had, she needed to leave.

Pushing the covers off her bare legs, Lucy Gray planted her feet firmly on the floor and stood up, only to plop back down when her legs wobbled. "Come on, don't fail me now." She murmured, slowly rising from the bed and extending her arms out to balance herself. Her legs wobbled and shook but nevertheless, she took a step forward and immediately stumbled right into the desk. Progress was progress, she supposed, and stumbled toward the window like a baby deer learning to walk. 

Lucy Gray braced herself against the wall and took in a breath, allowing herself a moment to gather her bearings before she peeked out the window. Her eyes locked on the figure crouched down by what appeared to be a garden, gloved hands tugging out carrots from the soil and tossing them into a basket nearby. She squinted, trying to make out their bowed head to see if she recognized them but the shadow casted over their face only blocked their features. 

Perhaps against her better judgment, she headed toward the door, still staggering but each step helped her get reacquainted with walking again. Opening the door and stepping out, she found herself in a short hallway with two doors near each other and one at the end of the hallway. More paintings hung on the wall, along with strung-up plants and leaves in what looked like small hand-made baskets. When the hallway opened up to a bigger space, she noticed a quaint kitchen on one side and a living room on the other. It all appeared homey and inviting, many things seeming to be crafted by hand with love and care. 

She spared glances around on her way to the front door, searching for pictures or anything that could inform her of the residents' identity but she found nothing. She reached the front door and looked down at her bare feet, her gaze drifting to the big boots by the door. Lucy Gray pursed her lips and then shrugged, sticking her feet into the boots and tying the laces as hard as possible so they wouldn't slip off before she stepped outside. 

Lucy Gray half-expected the hustle and bustle of 12's workers and distant machinery to fill her ears but all she heard were bugs, birds, and the occasional rustling of tree branches brushing together with the breeze. All around her were trees, tall and towering over the cabin but no signs of any nearby homes that could plant her on the outskirts of 12. She took a deep inhale of the fresh air and stepped off the porch, making her way around the cabin to the side where the garden was. 

"Hello, stranger!" She greeted, likely sounding too cheery for someone who'd been shot and left for dead. The person - her savior, she assumed - paused, his head turning to peer over his shoulder at her. He stared at her in confusion for a beat before seeming to recognize her with her.. out of place attire. He peeled the gloves off his hands and tossed them into the basket along with the vegetables, rising up to his full height and perching the basket against his hip. 

"You should be dead." He stated, carefully stepping over rows of soil. "But you're not."

"That's hardly any way to greet someone, friend." Lucy Gray laughed, swallowing down the chill that threatened to slip down her spine. Coriolanus almost killed her, after everything he'd done to help her win. "I'm Lucy Gray Baird! May I have the pleasure of knowin' your name or should I refer to you as 'my hero', hm?" 

His head tilted, likely rethinking his decision to help her. "(Y/N)." 

"(Y/N)... I like the ring of it." Lucy Gray smiled brightly, blinking when he side-stepped around her and headed toward the porch, hardly sparing a glance over at her. She followed him, careful not to trip over the heavy foots weighing her legs down, and mimicked his movements of kicking the bottoms free of dirt. "Now, could you possibly tell me where I am?" She asked, shuffling after him into the cabin once more.

"The forest." He answered simply.

"Well, I guessed as much. Anywhere specifically?"

"North, some miles off the coast. Close to Districts 12 and 3." (Y/N) told her, setting the basket on the counter and beginning to wash the vegetables he'd picked free of dirt. Lucy Gray ripped a paper towel from the holder and dried them as she listened, her actions garnering her a glance. "You've been out of it for a few days. I found you, or- well, I heard you and Thistle tracked you down. It looked like you'd been out of it for almost an hour, I'd guess. Your wound was getting infected by the time I brought you back here. You've woken up here and there, long enough to get some food in your stomach, but that fever you had until yesterday morning kept making you pass out."

"A few days..." Lucy Gray repeated quietly. Coriolanus had likely presumed her dead, then. And the Covey, too. She swallowed thickly at the thought of them mourning or searching for her and let out a soft sigh. "I assume taking care of half-dead girls isn't exactly your normal day-to-day?" 

"Depends. We've had a couple people fleeing the Districts come here seeking shelter or in need of food, mostly 12 and 6 but sometimes 3, too. Sometimes they come with cuts and scrapes or wounds from Peacekeepers. Once they have what they need, Mom or I will take them further up north to the settlements around there. The closest one is District 13 but they're still working toward repairing what was damaged during their war and primarily live underground." 

"District 13? Wasn't it bombed?"

"Humans have a terrible knack for somehow managing to stay alive despite circumstances." (Y/N) shrugged, tucking the basket away underneath the sink and retrieving a pot. He filled it with water and set it over the stove, lighting a match and using it to get a flame started beneath the pot. 

"Thank you for helping me, (Y/N). I hope I can return the favor someday." 

"You can return it now by taking a bath and helping me start dinner. Mom's visiting 13 to trade with them and should be back before sundown just about when the stew will be finished." (Y/N) told her, the corner of his lip quirking. "I'll get a towel and some clothes for you."

Lucy Gray grinned and straightened her shoulders, giving him a nod. "Anythin' for my hero." She laughed at his eye roll and followed him to the bathroom, feeling a weight lifted from her shoulders at the realization she was fine; safe and far away from Coriolanus Snow.

[gxthicwxrm]

Hi! Can I request an Alicent's innocent daughter who pregnant dark!Daemon's child? I'm really curious about how the relationship between Daemon X Reader in this story will develop! Maybe reader was on the way to tell Dae she was pregnant again only to hear a conversation that Daemon was just using her (he really isn’t but Rhaenyra making sure she hears) she leaves and takes her son, and Daemon realises who he really loves and switches to the Greens! Plot twist, a Happy Ending please filled with much SMUT and Otto dies and a little flirt scene with Aegon or Aemond to make Dae jealous hehe.

My Mother's Daughter

Pairing: Daemon Targaryen x Hightower!Reader

Summary: When Daemon says something he regrets, will their secret relationship survive?

Warning: cursing, angst, pregnancy, secret relationship, potential part 2

Thank you so much for requesting. This fic has no smut, but I hope you can enjoy it all the same. Please leave feedback!!

HoTD Masterlist - Full Masterlist

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With feet sweeping across the cold, hard floor, you practically fly down the corridor as the previous encounter replays in your head.

"Yes, milady. You are with child." The nurse aide confirmed after you asked a second time. 

Smiling joyously, you begin to speed up around a corner when you stop short as you crash into your younger brother, Aemond, and your mother, Queen Alicent. 

"Oh, my dear! What is the rush you almost needed to trample your poor mother?" She jokes as she takes you in her arms, preventing you from tipping over. Your smile quickly fades as your brother analyzes your stance, making you stand straighter. 

"I-I was running to tell Helaena about this book I just found. It was just magnificent! I thought we could, uhm go to the garden to read together." The lies drip from your tongue like poison. You hated lying to your family, but they would never accept Daemon or his child. Your mother gives a gentle smile as she brushes a lock of hair from your forehead before placing a light peck. 

"Well, don't let me stop you." She urges you on while Aemond 'hmm' in response before they both turn down the hall. Once no longer in hearing range, you take off again and stop once you meet Daemon's chambers. Hesitant, you go to knock when the door creaks open, making you fling yourself to the side with your back against the wall. Muffled voices leak out of the cracked door. Closing your eyes to brace yourself, anyone leaving the room would indeed spot you as they exit the room, but they never do.

"I would never wed her. She is nothing more to me than a common w-whore." You hear Daemon say—the man you love. The father of your unborn child is saying such an awful thing about you. It was unbelievable and devastating. Tears fall on your face while you grip your stomach as a hollow feeling grows in your chest. 

"Are you sure?" Rhaenyra Targaryen, Daemon's niece and your sister by marriage, asks her uncle. There was a hesitant silence until Daemon shattered it.

"I could never love her. She is just a hole to fill." With that, you flee down the hall as sobs forces through your lips. Tears flow down your cheeks endlessly as you find your room and begin to open the door but stop when you glance at your older brother Aegon's door. 

Aegon has always been your closest sibling due to your age. You always felt safe telling him your worries. He wasn't like Aemomd, who would be quick to duel anyone who hurt you rather than hearing your cries and holding you, and you never wanted to burden Helaena, whose worries remain overlooked. You and Aegon were like human diaries to each other. He was the only person who knew of your relationship with Daemon, your uncle. You knew Aegon was not a good man by any chance, but he was a good brother to you when needed. 

With a light knock, the door opens. You fall into Aegon's arms when you see your brother's face. Without question, he wraps them around you, pulling you into the room before closing the door behind the both of you. Immediately, he takes you to the fireplace, where you always vent to each other.

He gives you space to gather yourself as he grabs you and himself blankets and pillows, then sits across from you. After a few deep breaths, you tell him what you heard. Despite trusting your brother, you withhold your pregnancy in retelling the conversation. Once you have finished, Aegon pulls you into his arms again and presses a light kiss to the top of your head, similar to your mother earlier. 

"I can make Sunfyre eat him if you wish me to do so." Aegon breaks the silence, causing a laugh to leave you as you pull from him, swatting his arm while you shake your head. Before you could retort, a loud commotion came from the corridor. 

---

Daemon's POV - earlier 

Rhaenyra stands before Daemon, fire blazing behind her blue orbs.

"How will Queen Alicent react when she finds out her daughter is sleeping with you? What will you say when her guards have a blade to your throat?" She threatens.

"I don't know what you are talking about, niece." He bites back, and images of Y/N's body flash through his mind. Blinking rapidly, he tries to push the memories away.

"The guards saw you leaving her bed chambers on multiple occasions, uncle." She spits the words like a dragon spits fire. Harsh and unyielding. She will be the end of his relationship with Y/N if she pushes harder

He has to stop Rhaenyra.

"It doesn't mean anything to me. It is just some fun." He tries to shrink the words off as if they don't turn his stomach. Analyzing her face, she isn't convinced quite yet.

"Do you love her? Do you plan to wed her? Fill her with your children?" Her icy words hit him as he realizes he never thought that far. He knows he wants her in his life until the end, but he's never told her that, which makes his following words more painful. 

"I would never wed her. She is nothing more to me than a common w-whore." Bile starts to burn its way up his chest as his chest tightens. He can tell Rhaenyra isn't letting it go but offers nothing. 

"Are you sure?" At this moment, he sees her confidence fade from the future Queen as insecurities fill her eyes. But his words are for his future wife's safety, not Rhaenyra's ego.

"I could never love her. She is just a hole to fill." With that, Rhaenyra nods before she kisses Daemon's cheek. Outside the room, he can hear someone crying before it's gone, echoing slightly down the hall. Looking at Rhaenyra, she has a devilish smile. 

"No." Dread fills Daemon's heart as he realizes what his niece has done and pushes her away. Running out of his room and down the hall, he tries to catch up with you when he practically smashes into the Queen and her father, Otto Hightower.

"Now, Daemon, what is this?" Alicent asks, rolling her eyes at the Targaryen. Otto silently sneers beside his daughter. He would be snarky and make remarks any other time, but Daemon was on a mission. Daemon had to get to Y/N. He didn't know how, but he knew Y/N heard what he said, and he had to undo it. Pushing past the two, he keeps going towards Y/N's room, leaving Otto yelling obscenities and Alicent for guards. Before he can reach her door, he gets tackled by Otto, who Sir Cole and other guards follow. Quickly catching himself, Daemon turns, pulling a blade from his hip, and holds the knife to Otto's throat. 

"I've been itching to do this for years." Daemon chuckles as he applies pressure to the blade, a small bead of blood dripping down the older man's neck. 

---

Y/Ns POV - Present

"Daemon?" Your voice breaks through his anger as he turns to you. Aegon had opened the door to reveal Daemon with a knife to your grandsire's neck. 

"Daemon, what are you doing?" You say, moving towards the two men with Aegon following shortly behind her. Damon immediately drops the knife turning to face her, but before he can move, four guards rush him and attempt to arrest Daemon. He tries to fight back as the guards push him to the ground, holding a blade to his face. Screaming, you beg your mother and grandfather to stop this.

"Mother, please! Please, stop this. They are hurting him. I love him, please, Mother." Your declaration shocks her as she wonders when this could have happened, but her eldest daughter's fear breaks her heart.

"Enough." The Queen's voice is firm as she addresses her guards, who abruptly stop their actions. 

Daemon falls to the floor, and you go to his side. Helping him up, you take him to your room while everyone empties the hall. Aegon helps you sit Daemon on your bed before leaving with a nod to you. 

Silence fills the room while you gather cloth and a basin with water. A gash across his cheek from the sharpened blade begins to bleed. Wiping it clean, you see it is nothing more than a scratch, so you put the gauze away and sit the basin to the side. 

"Am I just a whore to you?" Your words confirm Daemon's suspicions. "Am I just a game to you?"

"No. I swear I didn't mean anything I said. Rhaenyra threatened to tell your mother about us if she knew you meant something to me." Daemon explains as he cups your hands. Tears pool in his eyes as he begs you to believe him. His words bring relief but stop you.

"Do I?" You ask, making the blonde looks up with furrowed brows.

"What?" The confused man asked. With a smirk, you pull yourself into his lap, wrapping yourself around him. 

"Do I mean something to you, Daemon?" Your question hits him, but he collects himself as he thinks.

"You mean so much to me, Y/N. I would give up my life, my honor, my family, my dragon for you. You are worth everything to me." He confesses as he cups your cheek as his other arm wraps around your waist.

"Good, because I am pregnant with our child, Daemon. We will have a family if you want to be a part of it." You smile as his eyes widen. His arm grips you as he jumps up from the bed, his strength holding you in his arms while he twirls around, hollering. He sets you down and has your jaw as he kisses you deeply.

"I love you, Y/N Targaryen. I want this family, and I want you as my wife." He declares, making you pull him into another kiss.

"I want you as my husband." You mumble into the kiss before he holds you to his chest. 

"I am so sorry for the things I had said. I felt sick even saying them, but I wanted to protect you." He whispers into your hair. 

"I forgive you. Your words hurt badly, but I know they had no truth. But now Mother knows about us; soon, everyone else will." You say into his chest.

"Good. Everyone will know not to fuck with us." He says darkly, making you laugh as you look up at him, admiring his beauty.

"Oh, and next time I find my wife alone with Aegon Targaryen again, he and I will have a problem to resolve. Targaryens have a reputation." He jokes as you roll your eyes. This man was the father of your child, your husband.