#help dress him and then trace his scars while he rests and you can’t sleep?

[comfortless]

What dungeoneer!König wants vs what he gets:

SO TRUE. he just wants a pretty lady that can sew and cook, willing to put up with his nonsense without hissing at him at every turn!! knight!gf simply lives to bully him (she gets good sword practice that way) <3

At some point, he does ask her about her strange demeanor: “Why do you pretend?”

It’s said in a hushed whisper while they’re both fitted beneath a thin sheet at some weatherworn inn along their route, cozy and safe as every night since she took to sleeping at his side like a contented little kitten. He can’t help but want to poke at her when she’s so soft and weary (and her sword is on the far side of the room).

Not that he dislikes her with the sharp edges of her armor, the jostling of her chainmail and her expert swordswomanship— he just can not comprehend why a lady as lovely as she is would want to explore dark crypts full of monsters and bully him into dueling with her! She should be in fields of flowers, caressed by the wind, laughing soft into the mouth of her lover while he strips her of her gown…

She’s already toyed with the idea of courting him as a man would, stuffing flowers in the cuff links of his tunic and kneeling before him as if to offer her loyalty, her blade. It’s always when she finds herself keen on the idea of potentially taking him as her own that he finds a way to ruin the moment with blunt words or a too-eager hand.

“What do you mean?” She drags the words, sleep addled and dumbed down by a pint of mead from the tavern below.

“That you’re…” He pauses.

König isn’t stupid, he knows he’s jabbing at the dragon’s mouth, daring it to breathe fire the second he asks his lady knight things like this. She is what she is, and he’s given up on the hope of ever changing whichever tangled bowstring in her mind is making her this way. Though he would prefer her to be like the soft women he’s seen wearing silken bliauts, eyes shimmering as they shyly avert their gazes from him… She is something else entirely and that both fascinated and unnerves him.

“… not fragile,” he finishes, turning on his side to face her properly.

His little knight pinches her brow at that, throws the covering off of them both and rises to her knees to climb over him. She means to be intimidating, surely, but he can’t help the way his cock twitches in his pants at the sight of her downcast glare and the feel of her fingernails biting into the skin of his bare shoulders, actually thinking that her delicate form is enough to properly keep him pinned.

“I saved your life.” Ever since the gnoll, she’s been using it as leverage, punctuating her words by tracing over the scar with a light stroke of her thumb.

“Ja, but… do you not want to be more…”

“Ladylike?”

If she were, they would already have settled someplace softer; a roof above their heads where he sacrifices every shift of the sun feeding her from his palm and bringing home gifts that make her eyes shimmery and her heart fill to bursting. Every hour of the night squishing her beneath him and bringing her to beautiful ruin.

The concept only further confuses her when König nods his head, a trace of honeysuckle wafting up from his throat where she had pressed them into the collar of his shirt only earlier that day. It eases her, makes her less annoyed when she remembers that this brute is entirely hers, equally devoted even if he is more keen on fucking her in a dress than in the armor she covets.

She tells him a story when she finally retreats to her side of the thin, straw-stuffed mattress. It’s one he’s heard countless times in his own youth, of a knight she seemed to believe a hero. When she finishes, expecting some protest from him about how little girls should have never heard such tales, she’s only met with a silence that further bewilders her.

His stare is less perplexed and more loving, now. So much so, that she isn’t surprised when he pulls her closer with a gentle grasp to her forearm and rests his chin over her shoulder.

“You want to be a little hero then, hm?,” he whispers into her ear, a prideful smirk plastered across his face when he feels her shiver.

“Aren’t I already?” No matter how much cold steel she coats herself in, it could never smother out the gentleness of her laugh, and when she does giggle, he bites his lower lip hard enough to draw blood to keep the urge to squish her tits and toy with her at bay.

“Knights don’t find themselves in bed with beasts,” he rasps, daring to inch his hand further down to her hip.

“You believe that a lady would be more keen to?”

“A lady would want the beast to fuck her, ja?”

Poor König finds himself entirely blueballed once more when she squirms away from him, shooting a glare as cold as a winter storm in his direction before facing away with the blanket pulled taut over the both of them.

She’s only grateful that he can’t hear the beating of her heart or catch sight of the giddy little smile pulling at her lips. It’s not his stature or his prowess in battle that’s caged him up in her heart, only the way he makes her feel as though she truly is apart of some fairytale.

[rose-edith]

Just imagine kissing D’Artagnan like this:

•you’ve known for a little while that a mission is coming up and he has to go- he’ll be gone for weeks and it eats you up inside! But that’s what it is to be in love with a King’s Musketeer!

•you’ve spent days together, soaking up every morsel of your lover. And you’ve spent nights together too.

•he sneaked you in to the Garrison last night, the other Musketeers all knew of your blossoming love and had cleared out a room, setting it up with a comfy bed, lots of candles and the promise that they’ll see to it that you’re left entirely alone and undisturbed.

•the passion that night is drawn out. Every touch is a lingering one, every gasp is allowed to grow and flourish into a moan that can be released without fear of judgement or disturbance. Usually sex is playful or teasing with D’Artagnan, but this time it’s slow and sensual.

•you kiss every part of his body and commit the image and feel of it to memory…just in case, you hope beyond prayers that he will be safe, but he’s a Musketeer, and that’s dangerous territory. So you lather him in kisses.

•you take control and ride him, and he’s totally under your spell. The way he arches up into you, the way his hands can’t decide where to settle, so they skim all over your soft skin…he’s committing it all to memory too. And even though he’s desperate for you, he helps to make this last.

•but you know he needs to rest too, he has hard work ahead of him. So you hold him close, he’s the little spoon as he sleeps, though you can’t slip into slumber. Instead you trace his scars, kiss his shoulders and play lightly with his hair.

•and then in the morning he wakes up early- he’s a farmer, or at least he used to be, so he’s used to early starts. You get dressed first, and then you take the wet cloth from his hand and clean him.

•slowly you clean him, dry him, drop a few kisses on his skin; and get him dressed.

•you hold hands as you go down the stairs, his brother Musketeers have his horse ready and breakfast packed for a few hours time. They’re all ready to go, but they’re not rushing you two. They know the bittersweet sorrow of lovers parting.

•D’Artagnan turns to you when you’re on the steps and he’s on the ground, and the look he’s giving you, the way those big brown eyes are adoringly gazing into yours…you’re helpless to your own actions as you pull him gently in with a hand to his cheek. The kiss is breathtaking, your heart hammers and you pour every ounce of love into it.

•his lips are so soft, they’re intoxicating. Every kiss feels like the first; and you’re lost in it. It could’ve been minutes or it could’ve been hours, but eventually it had to come to an end. But both of you are reluctant to step back.

•letting him go is the hardest thing you’ve ever had to do. But you manage, with one final feeling of his heart under your palm he steps away and leaves.

•all you can do is watch as he and his brothers in arms leave, and wait for them to return, hopefully all in one piece.

(A little gift for @dreamerinthesun I hope you like it!)

[endeaavorr]

[18.23]

the third vibrate from your phone successfully prodded your eyes to wake. your left arm numb from the way you accidentally slept on it hurriedly reaches out to put your phone on silent, not wanting to wake him up. ah yes, him. you look at the dimmed screen of your phone, 5.00 am 8th of August.

your heart warms at the sight. you lean back to the mattress facing up, trying to stretch your body properly before starting up the day. you turn your head to the left and see his sleeping figure. the slow rise of his chest, the slight part of his lips, and the nasty scar, as shoto calls it, settling happily across the side of his face.

you don’t usually get to see this side of him, either because he doesn’t come home that night from work, or you’re too tired to pay attention, or the two of you passed out right after doing it. so you hit the snooze button once more and studies his face, your right hand now softly leaning on his broad chest, neat fingers tracing the outlines of his never aging face.

but the morning haze soon is replaced by your default mode. pulling enji’s cover to his chin to keep him warm, you get up to start preparing breakfast, you wanted to make it extra special for today.

for the last month the two of you has been, how do you say it, distant. you were taking extra shifts at your agency to afford this watch you wanted to give him on his birthday. even so, since you can’t tell him why he’s starting to come home to a cold empty house, it’s been quiet and rather uncomfortably awkward. you kinda feel bad in a way, so you’re determined to make today work.

you were so drowned in your thoughts, you didn’t even realize enji already woke up and finished his morning run.

“good morning, papa.” you greet him with your usual kind eyes.

“morning,”

he’s fresh out of the shower, wearing a sleeveless shirt and a lounge short, a small towel sitting on his damp hair. he sits on the tatami while you plate breakfast for the two of you. the air is dry and suddenly even the tatami is not that comfortable.

breakfast was quiet, it has always been quiet. but not like this, it’s normally filled with you clinging to his arm and playfully sneak your head under his arms right above his folded feet, facing him with a half closed sleepy smile.

you steal glances at him but he’s always looking down. just when you have the courage to break the silence, he says i enjoyed the food, and puts his dish in the sink.

“i’m staying out tonight, don’t wait up for me.”

you were only able to muster a ‘good luck at work, papa!’ before he’s gone again.

it’s 5pm. you just got home from enji’s agency, dropping of a set of suit you picked up from the launderer. reservation is at 8pm, you have three hours to call him about it and get ready yourself.

“hello,”

“ah papa ! are you busy now ?”

“yeah, i thought i told you this morning.”

it’s a lie, you asked his assistant and his schedule is empty from 5pm above.

“well, not according to your assistant apparently.”

it’s silent.

“well, i just dropped off something for you at the receptionist ! make sure to wear them, dinner’s at ___ at 8pm under my name, i’ll see you there papa ! i love you!”

“wait—“

you leaned to the wall behind you and press your phone to your chest in a relieved sigh. really, you’ve been living together literally your whole life, how are you still nervous like a preteen talking to their first crush ?

you shake your head mentally and start to get ready. in the mean time.. enji is dumbfounded. he’s just confused and the receptionists are grinning knowingly, which makes him even more, confused. good thing his office has a shower and a spare room though.

it’s 7pm. you apply some final touches of light make up. the two light honks from outside signals that your driver is here, ready to take you. the restaurant is pretty close from enji’s office, but it takes a good 25 min walk from the todoroki residence and you don’t wanna ruin your hair.

you get up and look at yourself in the mirror, you’re wearing a black designer dress that exposes your shoulders with a small purse on the right of your hand. you’re ready to go.

8 pm.

“ah, endeavor-san, how can i help you tonight ?”

the hostess welcomes enji with a polite smile.

“i have a reservation under my daughter’s name, todoroki y/n.”

“right this way, sir.”

enji follows the hostess to a more secluded table from the others, he notices it’s way quieter than the main dining hall, the view next to both of the seats are the wide view of city lights. the waiter serving them tonight introduces himself and hands him the menu, while pouring water from a sealed glass bottle to enji’s glass. he looks through some pages but then decided to just wait for you to order.

you arrive no later than five minutes after he did, welcomed by the same hostess, and immediately taken to your table.

“you look good, papa.”

“you too,”

he takes his time to scan over you, your neatly styled hair, your set of greenish ocean eyes that matches his, the scar on your left cheek that you wear proudly, and lastly the way he realizes again just how breathtaking you are.

on the other side, you feel your heart flutter. he looks really good. the slightly opened white shirt, the perfectly tailored navy suit, emphasizing his strong arms that has saved way too many lives, too many times.

enji was too busy staring at you he didn’t even bother taking a look at his menu. and by the time the waiter was ready to take his order, he just went with the classic i’ll have one of what she’s having.

“how’s your day, papa?” you started the conversation.

“it’s normal, busy.”

you place your right hand on top of his, thumb gently rubbing comforting strokes on his palm.

“i missed you, you know.”

“well, you’re the one who’s been away so much.”

you’re honestly a bit startled at his bluntness, he usually won’t do things like this. you get a bit shy and shifts your gaze from his to where your palms are lightly entangled.

“i’m sorry papa, i can’t help it, i needed extra shifts.”

“for what ? is it about money ? you know you can always ask me, right ? i don’t mind providing for you for the rest of my life as long as i get to come home to you, and not just a cold dead hall.”

you’re out of words, his brows is contorted, and the glint in his eyes shows something you guessed to be dissapointment ? guilt ?

“i’m sorry,” you say again, hands shyly squeezing his and the other toying with the ends of your skirt. your heart still goes on a marathon when it comes to him.

the dinner was nice, it’s slow paced and calm, just like how he likes it. the little tense you two had is now slowly melting away. opting to take a walk home instead, you walk hand in hand under the generous light of the moon.

enji took off his suit halfway and put it around you, keeping his right hand in his pocket while his other is entangled with your much smaller one. his shirt has now one more button open, sleeves rolled neatly three times as they rest proper on half of his arm.

you can’t stop smiling, butterflies going crazy in your stomach like a lovesick fool, that you maybe are. you don’t know if it’s from the wine, but he’s way more talkative right now, you’re making jokes here and there, laughing to yourself while gripping his hand tighter and hugging his arms with your other hand. he’s laughing a little too, not that he doesn’t appreciate it, that’s just how he is.

you’re waiting to cross the road at the last junction before you reach your home, the road is clean empty but the light is still red. the both of you don’t mind, he takes this chance to pull you tighter against him and breathe the always comforting natural scent of your hair.

your solace is interrupted by the ding of the crossing light turning green, but enji doesn’t let go, so you start walking slowly like that, pressed against each other, steps getting tangled making it hard to walk. the things you do for love.

it’s 11 pm.

he goes in first while you lock the front door and make sure all the lamps in the yard are on. he sits down and starts to take off his shoe, you quickly slipped of your heels and crouched between his legs to do it for him instead. your short dress riding up, displaying your already exposed milky thighs in its glory.

you can tell where he’s looking and feel the twitch of your insides from the yearning you’ve been holding back. he reaches out his right hand to caress your cheek. you lean to his rough hands and give him a faint smile before you push your body towards his in attempt of pinning him down, disguised by an innocent hug. your head resting on his chest while he supports himself with one arm and holds you back with the other. he face touches the bare skin of your neck and finds comfort there. pressing kisses that quickly turned wet.

you lift up your head and pulled his supporting hand towards you, making sure he’s fully laid on the wooden floor, arms caging his head, hazy eyes looking down on his meaningful orbs. it’s not long before you crash your lips together in a desperate kiss, your spit drooling down his chin, his stubble grazing the smooth well cared surface of your face.

you sit down on his crotch and he abruptly breaks the kiss with a groan, but you’re quick to grab his face and pull him in an even more passionate open mouthed kiss, his hands find the swell of your ass and guide them so you’re now grinding on his growing bulge too.

the mutual need to breathe forces both of you to break the kiss. foreheads now touching together, heavy ragged breath mixing, the intimacy making you dizzy. but the high wears off sooner than you thought and you can’t help but hide your reddened face to his neck, not wanting him to see you blush, hands clutching him tight as he sits back up holding you properly.

“let’s go take a bath, i’m sweaty.”

you can only offer a weak nod, still too embarrassed of what you just did. he hoists you up to his shoulder and carries you to the bathroom.

it’s so warm. you’re sitting between his legs leaning to him, his strong arms on your stomach protectively, body radiating comforting warmth to yours, making the both of you completely relaxed.

you almost let yourself fall asleep if not that you remember about his gift. so you get up first, telling him to enjoy the bath a little longer and go sprint to your room.

you quickly dried your hair and put on a set of babydoll you’ve been keeping for this day. it’s a simple white see through babydoll with soft lace that hangs prettily on your supple thighs. you put on your sleep robe and go to his room with a deep green paperbag on your right hand.

it’s 11.30 pm.

the futon is laid and you’re sitting above it on your knees, your gift hidden behind your figure.

enji comes out of the bathroom already in his sleepwear, a black set of loose shirt and a matching pants. his hands are still busy trying to dry his own hair until he looks up at the sight of you and pauses.

you pat the spot next to you, signaling him to sit there. he walks up to you and sit crossed legged in front of you. he can see the rather big paperbag behind you but decided not to say anything.

“what is it ?”

you opened your mouth in attempt to answer him but was left with nothing, so you just shoved the paperbag and places it in on the little space between the two of you, encouraging him to open it. he’s still not getting it and looks at you with genuinely asking eyes, but you’re too stubborn to meet his eyes and just keep looking at the walls to your right, peach blush already forming again.

“it’s for you,” you brave yourself to look at him in the eyes and finally say it, “happy birthday, papa.”

enji felt like his brain short circuited. but you ushered him to open your gift before he could say anything. you watch as his big hands fully envelop the big green box inside, the one your clumsy hands almost dropped.

he opend the box and stares at it for a while. it’s a platinum rolex day-date 40 from it’s 2021 men collection.

“this is expensive,” was the first respond he let out.

“we-well, that’s why i’d been taking extra shifts,” you sheepishly rub the back of your head. enji’s strong gaze didn’t waver.

“you didn’t have to—“

“but i want to !” you cut him,

“it’s just—“

you grab the pillow behind you and hide your face in it, finding it hard to speak to him eye to eye like this. “i love you, and sometimes i can’t help my feelings, i just thought, this is what people do to their loved ones.. you know,” you explain in a voice growing smaller than before, almost completely muffled by the pillow.

he lets out a sigh before repacking his gift, putting it back inside the paperbag and placing it on his side. you’re getting nervous.. is he mad ? did he not like it ? were you pushing it ?

all your silent doubt dies down as he pulled you close to his chest.

“i love you too, thank you.”

his voice runs beautifully through your ear, the sensation going straight to your heart. you ease up and holds him back.

“um, papa,”

“hn”

“i still have another gift,”

he pulls back and looks at you with a raised brow. you better not have unnecessarily give up you rest just to buy him a ‘gift’, it translates. both your hands come out in front of you in a waving motion to dismiss his half true accusation, but you struggled so much trying to pull out the right words.. you just let out a bashful sigh and unties the knot in front of your outer, before letting the dense fabric hit the floor, revealing the pretty babydoll sitting pretty and proper accentuating your pretty pretty curves.

he stills.

“do-does it look weird..?”

he scans over you for a while but your embarrassment made you thought he was looking at you in a weird way.

your cheeks are heating up, eyes glued to your thighs before you hear a rustle and suddenly your back is against the futon with one arm pinned above your head by his weight, and your other one is in his, you look at you favorite set of eyes that matches yours and the blue sky, he presses your hand to the side of is face and land a deep kiss on the innerside of your wrist, leaning against it while staring back at you.

it was a good birthday.

happy birthday todoroki enji, 8.8.21

[elriell]

Two Mates? Elriel & (El)ucien Theory.

These are just a few of my thoughts compiled together regarding having two mates, the signs and breadcrumbs Sarah has incorporated. If you know me you know am a Lucien fan so this is nothing hateful towards him and we will be looking at his place within it all as well, that being said this will have bond rejection/misalignment talk so if that is not your cup of tea I understand and you can skip this! As always I would love to hear everyones thoughts so long as we are all respectful ♡

Let's start by discussing the where the two ships align and parallel mates behaviour, and then we will discuss where their arc's veer from each other...

“TOUCH HER, SMELL HER, TASTE HER– THE INSTINCTS WERE A RUNNING RIVER.” (Lucien in ACOWAR about the mating bond.)

“Letting his scarred fingers touch her immaculate skin. Letting them brush the side of her throat, savoring the velvet-soft texture.”

“Azriel's fingers lingered at her nape, atop the first knob of her spine. Slowly, Elain pivoted into his touch. Until his palm lay flat against her neck.”

“They'd exchanged looks, the occasional brush of their fingers, but never this. Never blatant, unrestricted touching. ”

“He prayed she didn't peer down. Prayed she didn't understand the shift in his scent. ”

“Her arousal drifted up to him, and his eyes nearly rolled back in his head at the sweet scent. He'd beg on his knees for a chance to taste it. ”

“He needed to know what the skin of her neck tasted like. What those perfect lips tasted like.”

“This one moment, and maybe a taste, and that would be it.  

“Yes" Elain breathed, like she read the decision. Just this taste in the dead of the longest night of the year, where only the Mother might witness them. ”

Now you can easily parallel this to any of SJM's mates, like Feysand or Nessian. But for the sake of brevity I will leave you with the original link to the wonderful @suelky post where it was pointed out w/ Feysand quotes as well. [source]

Also "The instincts were a running river.” sounds a little like “Azriel’s Siphons guttered, the stones turning as dark and foreboding as the deepest sea."

The Bonus POV has a lot of typical "Mates" behaviours manifesting between Elain and Azriel, and it would make sense this would be a extreme POV shift as we have never been inside either of their heads before so we were bound to have a major learning curve, especially with Az who is so reserved with his emotions.

“But Lucien’s attention went right to the hallway toward the back, his nostrils flaring as he scented Elain’s direction. And who she’d gone with. A low snarl slipped out of him—”

“So you will leave Elain alone. If you need to fuck  someone, go to a pleasure hall and pay for it, but stay away from her."  Azriel snarled softly.”

There are countless main trio parallels but most of you are aware of which one is my favourite...

“Knelt on those stars and mountains inked on his knees. He would bow for no one and nothing— But his mate. His equal.”

“Her arousal drifted up to him, and his eyes nearly rolled back in his head at the sweet scent. He'd beg on his knees for a chance to taste it.”

"Every instinct in his body came roaring to the surface, so violent he had to choke them with a brutal grip or else he'd find himself on his knees, begging her for touch, for anything."

And on to where they go their separate ways from a textual perspective;

"Elain only shrank further into herself, no trace of that newfound boldness to be seen.”

“Rhys kissed the hollow of my collarbone, and my core went utterly molten. “My brave, bold, brilliant mate.”

“You can give everyone that I Will Slay My Enemies look—which is my favorite look, by the way. You can keep that sharpness I like so much, that boldness and fearlessness. I don’t want you to ever lose those things, to cage yourself.”

“And he had the nerve once his powers were back to shove me into a cage. The nerve to say I was no longer useful; I was to be cloistered for his peace of mind.”

“Remember that you are a wolf. And you cannot be caged.” He kissed my brow one more time, my blood thrumming and boiling in me, howling to draw blood.”

I think finding freedom and power from within is something that the books have emphasized through Feysand and Nessian's journey's. Which is so interesting considering Lucien and Elain are both feeling tied to each other, as if in a cage of sorts.

Elain herself has been stuffed in to a box of other peoples making throughout most of the series, it quite prevalent she might feel caged by their opinions of who she is.

"Maybe she was never given a chance to be that way." I whipped my head towards him. "You think I stifle her?" Rhys held up his hands. "Not you alone."

“Nesta had been right. It was like a prison, this place.” [Graysen's Manor]

“Shall I tend to my little garden forever?” When Nesta flinched, Elain said, “You can’t have it both ways. You cannot resent my decision to lead a small, quiet life while also refusing to let me do anything greater.”

“She ignored me, and saw Elain as barely more than a doll to dress up, but Nesta was hers. Our mother made sure we knew it. Or she just cared so little what we thought or did that she didn’t bother to hide it from us.”

And as for Lucien I think his duty and honour to her is what is caging him;

“I can’t stand to be in the same room as her for more than two minutes. I can’t stand to be in this court and have your mate pay for the very clothes on my back.”

“Why are you here?” Cassian asked, unable to help the sharpness. “Where’s Elain?”

“I am not always in this city to see my mate.” The last two words dripped with discomfort.”

“Why?” Not a flicker of emotion. “He is Elain’s mate.”

I waited. “It would be an invasion of her privacy to track him.”

Godbless Azriel for respecting Elain's privacy.

I think we would see/understand a lot more if we got a chance inside their heads but the one time we did see Lucien's POV we got a good glimpse at how he feels about his situation with Elain and it wasn't particularly positive and reminded me of Rhy's parents.

"She’d seen him not as a High Lord’s seventh son, but as a male. Had loved him without question, without hesitation. She had chosen him. Elain had been … thrown at him.”

“...to remember that she picked it. Picked me. That it’s not like my parents, shoved together.”

Not using the word cage per say but the implication isn't much better.

“You know them better than I do. But I will say that Lucien is loyal—fiercely so.”

“So is Azriel.”

I don't think the debate is really whether Lucien is deserving of her, or even Azriel for that matter, it is a question of who is actually right for her and vice-versa, who has she been consistently written to thrive and smile alongside. And that is Azriel.

Why does Sarah constantly put Azriel in the picture, from day DOT. She was screaming "hey look Azriel is here, and they would work magically together"

“And I think Elain—Elain would like it, too. Though she’d probably cling to Azriel, just to have some peace and quiet.” I smiled at the thought—at how handsome they would be together.”

There are several instances/evens that occur throughout the series that set both Elucien and Elriel's relationships apart, and I think it is highly intentional on Sarah's part...

“I said quietly, “We will get her back.” But Lucien was watching me warily. Too warily.”

“From the shadows near the entrance to the tent, Azriel said, as if in answer to some unspoken debate, “I’m getting her back.” Nesta slid her gaze to the shadowsinger. Azriel’s hazel eyes glowed golden in the shadows. Nesta said, “Then you will die.” Azriel only repeated, rage glazing that stare, “I’m getting her back.”

Or we can look at both Solstice's and the clear differences in how their relationships are growing, and also how well one and other know each other.

“Tell me when you knew,” he demanded, his knee pressing into mine. “That Rhysand was your mate. Tell me when you stopped loving Tamlin and started loving him instead.”

“He left the rest unspoken. Because her mate was here, sleeping a level up. Because her mate had been in the family room and Azriel had needed to stay by the door the whole time because he couldn't stand the sight of it, the scent of their mating bond, and needed to have the option  of leaving if it became too much.  Elain's large brown eyes flickered, well aware of all that.”

&

“I want to see her. Just once. Just—to know.” “To know what?” He hitched my damp cloak higher around us. “If she is worth fighting for.”

“Azriel stiffened. “I know. I helped rescue Elain, after all.” Az hadn’t so much as hesitated before going into the heart of Hybern’s war-camp.”

GIFTS REFLECTING THEIR RELATIONSHIP MILE MARKS

“Az ran a hand through his dark hair. “Are we …” Unusual for him to stumble with words. “Are we supposed to get the sisters presents?”

“I handed Elain the small box with her name on it. Her smile faded as she opened it. “Enchanted gloves,” she read from the card. “That won’t tear or become too sweaty while gardening.” She set aside the box without looking at it for longer than a moment. And I wondered if she preferred to have torn and sweaty hands, if the dirt and cuts were proof of her labor. Her joy.”

“Don’t forget that gardening often results in something pretty, but it involves getting one’s hands dirty along the way.” “And torn up by thorns,” I mused,”

“I didn’t dare mention that if she had been wearing the enchanted gloves Lucien had gotten her last Solstice, nothing would have pierced them at all.”

“He and Lucien did not exchange gifts, though the male had brought a gift for Feyre and one for his mate, who barely thanked him after opening the pearl earrings. Cassian’s heart strained at the pain etching deep into Lucien’s face as he tried to hide his disappointment and longing."

Not only is she visibly uninterested which is painful to watch, it also highlights how little he knows about her. SJM is creating a visible gap in their dynamic.

“The golden necklace seemed ordinary -- its chain unremarkable, the amulet tiny enough that it could be dismissed as an everyday charm. It was a small, flat rose fashioned of stained glass, designed so that when held to the light, the true depth of the colors would become visible. A thing of secret, lovely beauty. “It's beautiful," she whispered, lifting it from the box. ”

“My Nesta. Elain shall wed for love and beauty, but you, my cunning little queen … You shall wed for conquest.”

“I painted flowers for Elain on her drawer,” I said, sawing and sawing. “Little roses and begonias and irises. And for Nesta … ”

“She plucked another figurine from the mantel: a rose carved from a dark sort of wood. She held it in her palm, its solid weight surprising, and traced a finger over one of the petals. “He made this one for Elain. Since it was winter and she missed the flowers.”

“Elain bit her lip and then smiled sheepishly. “It’s for the headaches everyone always gives you. Since you rub your temples so often.”

“I led her into the sitting room, where Cassian had a bottle of amber-colored liquor in each hand, Azriel was already rubbing his temples,”

“She hadn't bought her mate a present. But she'd gotten Azriel one last year -- a headache powder he kept on his nightstand at the House of Wind. Not to use, but just to look at. Which he'd done every night he’d slept there.”

“Azriel unwrapped the box, glancing at the card that merely said, You might find these useful at the House these days, and then opened the lid.  Two small, bean-shaped fabric blobs lay within. Elain murmured, "You put them in your ears, and they block any sound. With Nesta and Cassian living there with you...”

See yet again a very thoughtful and funny gift on her part. Now at it's core even just simply comparing their general reactions says a lot about the story Sarah is putting forward.

"Silence again. Then Azriel tipped his head back and laughed. I’d never heard such a sound, deep and joyous.”

“He chuckled, unable to suppress the impulse. "No wonder you didn't want me to open it in front of everyone."  

Elain’s mouth twitched into a smile. "Nesta wouldn't appreciate the joke.”

“Elain bit her lip and then smiled sheepishly."

"Cassian’s heart strained at the pain etching deep into Lucien’s face as he tried to hide his disappointment and longing."

“She hadn't bought her mate a present. "

The writing is nothing if not clear about the discomfort both Lucien and Elain feel in regards to each other, though they lay under different reasons.

We are given multiple incidents in which we are told about how mating bonds are not perfect and we are given clear examples of it repeatedly, about woman enduring out of obligation, and do not forget this is heavily discussed literally in regards to Elain and her circumstances.

“She’d been revealed as his mate, and endured the miserable union mostly from gratitude for her unharmed wings.”

“You said your mother and father were wrong for each other; Tamlin said his own parents were wrong for each other.” I peeled off my dressing robe. “So it can’t be a perfect system of matching. "

“She glowed with good health. Except … Her brown eyes were wary. Usually, that look was reserved for Lucien. The male was definitely in the family room,”

“Elain had already departed with Feyre, claiming she had to be up with the dawn to tend to an elderly faerie’s garden. Cassian didn’t exactly know why he suspected this wasn’t true. There had been some tightness in Elain’s face as she’d said it. Normally when she made such excuses, Lucien was around,”

“Elain, the wretch, had taken the seat between Feyre and Varian, about as far from Lucien as she could get.”

VS

“That smile grew, bright enough that it lit up even Azriel’s shadows across the room. “I would like to build a garden,” she declared. “After all of this … I think the world needs more gardens.”

“Then his gaze shifted to Elain, and though it was utterly neutral, something charged went through it. Between them. Elain’s breath caught slightly, and she gave him a shallow nod of greeting before brushing past, leading Nesta into the room.”

What if ”—I jerked my chin toward the window, to my sister and the shadowsinger in the garden—“that is what she needs? Is there no free will? What if Lucien wishes the union but she doesn’t?”

“Can you truly fly?” He set down his fork, blinking. I might have even called him self-conscious. He said, “Yes. Cassian and I hail from a race of faeries called Illyrians. We’re born hearing the song of the wind.” “That’s very beautiful,” she said. “Is it not—frightening, though? To fly so high?”

“ I couldn’t tell if she was looking at his blue Siphon or at his scarred skin beneath as she breathed, “Beautiful.” Color bloomed high on Azriel’s golden-brown cheeks, but he inclined his head in thanks and led my sister toward the back doors into the garden, sunlight bathing them.”

“This is Truth-Teller,” he told her softly. “I won’t be using it today—so I want you to.”

“Never, Rhys said from where he finished buckling on his own weapons against the side of the wagon. I have never once seen Azriel let another person touch that knife.”

The romantic subtext is there and has been for quite some time, they prove it book after book when SJM continues to grow their bond and nurture it whilst breaking her connection with Lucien further apart, and for what reason?

“A mating bond can be rejected,” Rhys said mildly, eyes flickering in the mirror as he drank in every inch of bare skin I had on display. “There is choice. And sometimes, yes—the bond picks poorly. Sometimes, the bond is nothing more than some… preordained guesswork at who will provide the strongest offspring. At its basest level, it’s perhaps only that. Some natural function, not an indication of true, paired souls.”

“Why not make them mates?” I mused. “Why Lucien?” [...]

“I’m serious.” I turned toward him and crossed my arms. “What decides it? Who decides it?” Rhys straightened his lapels before plucking an invisible piece of lint from them. “Fate, the Mother, the Cauldron’s swirling eddies …”

“What if the Cauldron was wrong?”

“Just this taste in the dead of the longest night of the year, where only the Mother might witness them.”

“The Cauldron chose three sisters. Tell me how it's possible that my two brothers are with two of those sisters, yet the third was given to another.”

It is remarkably interesting to me that we are told about what Rhys suspects/believes is responsible for mating bonds, paralleled alongside Azriel questioning it all, I also think it is abundantly clear from his answer to Feyre he doesn't truly know for sure.

We also have several lines of dialogue talking about the sisters and fate, their reason for entering the IC's life. Not only that but we get a glimpse at Azriel's personality and how despite the world (Rhys and the mating bond in general) telling him to despair, he still found it in him to have hope the Cauldron could be wrong.

This is so significant, and she has carefully woven his character throughout the series to make this incredibly plausible.

“If I had not met a shadowsinger, I would not have known that it is the family you make, not the one you are born into, that matters. I would not have known what it is to truly hope, even when the world tells you to despair.”

“And then he said to my sisters, “We have not known each other for long. But I have to believe that you were brought here, into our family, for a reason, too. And maybe today we’ll find out why.”

“All three sisters blessed by fate and gifted with powers to match your own.”

“Even after the bond is rejected, they see her as belonging to them. Sometimes they return to challenge the male she chooses for herself. Sometimes it ends in death. It is savage, and it is ugly, and it mercifully does not happen often, but …”

“Oh, I can, and I will. If Lucien finds out you're pursuing her, he has every right to defend their bond as he sees fit. Including invoking the Blood Duel.”

As you can see even back in ACOWAR she was weaving the web for Elriel's journey and an upcoming Blood Duel/The threat of one.

“Many mated pairs will try to make it work, believing the Cauldron selected them for a reason. Only years later will they realize that perhaps the pairing was not ideal in spirit.”

I think it is pretty clear from all the quotes above that Lucien is no her ideal spirit and vice-versa to be frank when you put it side by side his budding relationship with Vassa or hers with Azriel they are clearly very different.

“On the continent, there are territories that believe the females literally belong to their mate. But not here. Elain would have our full protection if she rejects the bond.”

“Azriel's hand slid up her neck, burying in her thick hair. Tilting her face the way he wanted it. Elain's mouth parted slightly, her eyes scanning his before fluttering shut.  Offer and permission.  He nearly groaned with relief and need as he lowered his head toward hers. ”

Elain is choosing Azriel, choosing their bond over the one assigned to her time and time again... Back to mating bonds;

“The ancient healer jerked her chin toward Lucien. “See what he can do. If anyone can sense if something is amiss, it’s a mate.”

“The mating bond. It is a bridge between souls.”

"She pointed at Lucien as she saw herself out. “Try sitting down with her. Just talking—sensing. See what you pick up. But don’t push.”

“Can you hear mine?” He wasn’t sure if she truly meant to address him, but he said, “No, lady. I cannot.”

Her too-thin shoulders seemed to curve inward. “No one ever does. No one ever looked—not really.”

"Azriel’s hazel eyes churned as he studied my sister, her too-thin body. And without a word, he winnowed away. Mor watched the space where he’d been standing long after he was gone.”

“Should we—does she need …?” “She doesn’t need anything,” Azriel answered without so much as looking at Lucien.

Elain was staring at the spymaster now—unblinkingly. “We’re the ones who need …” Azriel trailed off. “A seer,” he said, more to himself than us. “The Cauldron made you a seer.”

“It made sense, I supposed, that Azriel alone had listened to her. The male who heard things others could not … Perhaps he, too, had suffered as Elain had before he understood what gift he possessed.”

“But Azriel nodded. “You knew,” he said to Elain. “About the young queen turning into a crone.” Elain blinked and blinked, eyes clearing again. As if the understanding, our understanding … it freed her from whatever murky realm she’d been in.”

Are you telling me that Madja saying a mate would know, would sense whatever is going on with her, and as it turns out Azriel was the one to sense and uncover it is solely what, a coincidence? Also to emphasize what she said about "A bridge between souls..." Where else have we heard that terminology? The Truth-Teller scene.

“I saw the painting in my mind: the lovely fawn, blooming spring vibrant behind her. Standing before Death, shadows and terrors lurking over his shoulder. Light and dark, the space between their bodies a blend of the two. The only bridge of connection … that knife.”

Not to mention this scene is simply iconic for a multitude of reasons, how poetic Feyre describes them, the clear soulmates/ying-yang subtext and him giving her something he has given no other but that's another story.

Azriel has also been displaying some very protective fiercely so mating vibes towards her,

“Azriel stilled. “What happened to Elain?” Cassian waved a hand. “A fight with Nesta. Don’t bring it up,” he warned when Azriel’s eyes darkened. ”

“Cassian surveyed the shadows gathered around Az. “You all right?” His brother nodded. “Fine.” But shadows still swarmed him.”

“Nesta saw the blow land, like a physical impact, in Elain’s face, her posture. No one spoke, though shadows gathered in the corners of the room, like snakes preparing to strike.”

“Azriel’s Siphons guttered, the stones turning as dark and foreboding as the deepest sea. “Where did Lucien go.”

I think there are some mixed opinions on Lucien and whether he deserves her (and vice-versa in this fandom) but I don't think that is what this comes down too, they are both handling it in the way they think best/following their instincts.

Lucien is hurting throughout this process as well, but I think ultimately it is honor and loyalty binding him to her not any genuine emotion for her as a human being fae. I think realising they are not meant for each other and supporting each other developing true bonds with other people will be their journey. And it would be a completely fresh and new view of a mating bond.

Smaller pieces of dialogue that need little explaining and a rather oddly specific choice of words in the latest book that is meant to set up the next one in the series:

“You’d know if she’d died,” Azriel said, pausing his work and looking up at Cassian. He tapped his brother’s chest with a scarred hand. “Right here—you’d know, Cass.”

“Elain and Feyre—that was the new status of things. The bond Elain had chosen.”

"I'd never do such a thing. you must be thinking of your other mate."

Honestly? At this rate I have no doubt Elriel are endgame and everything within canon text spells that out but I truly believe he will be her second mate/the will form a bond via some circumstance that shall arise due to these little hints.

I would love to hear your thoughts and/or additions because I by all means didn't do a massive deep dive and there are most likely tons more examples to add but I didn't want it to become overwhelming to read!

Hope everyone has a spectacular and magical evening <3

[lonely-lost-soul]

Under the Floorboards (Pt. VI)

(Technoblade X Reader) Pt. I, Pt. II, Pt. III, Pt. IIII, Pt. V, Pt. VI, Pt. VII

    You had barely gotten any sleep that night, it was a shitty time to not sleep but you couldn’t control insomnia. Most nights it was Techno who was the insomniac, he would spend hours laying awake just staring at you waiting for the voices to quiet down for the night. He was in awe of your beauty and grace, and the nighttime moonlight only ever enhanced those features. You couldn’t help but understand what he was talking about as you stared at his features in the moonlight darkness of your room. His hair was out of its typical braid and framed his head like a pink halo, you felt his arms tighten around your waist as you tucked his hair behind his ear. The tension in his brow released feeling your touch brush against his skin and you smiled adoringly at the sight. His nose nuzzles up against your neck and your smile split into a wide grin, god he was so soft. You felt his fingers spread out against the small of your back and pull you flush against him, his breathing changed and you frowned. 

You didn’t expect anything less than the blood god to be a light sleeper. He always needed to be on his feet, ready for any attack. 

   “I didn’t mean to wake you,” your voice was barely above a whisper and he made a tired noise of confirmation. 

   “It’s okay,” He yawned and it echoed across the walls of the house like a lion’s roar. “It’s rare when you can’t sleep, what’s on your mind?” Technoblade shifted a little so he could get a good look at you in his arms, he could never get over how small you were in comparison to him. You flipped on your back much to his displeasure and dragged your hands down your face; a sigh came from your nose before you answered,

   “Thinking about tomorrow is all. Just nervous, typical stuff I think, I don’t trust Dream fully. He gives me bad vibes.” You said honestly, your (e/c) eyes staring up at the ceiling even from the angle Techno was looking at you he could tell they were sad. God, he wasn’t good at comforting people things like this made him feel like such a shitty person. 

   “I don’t trust him either. But, we have mutual goals and a mutual understanding both of which are hard to come by.” He explained briefly looking thoughtful, “the bottom line is this needs to happen. I don’t want you to worry because Phil and I will have your back no matter what, we look out for each other.” You flopped on top of him and he let out a grunt of displeasure,

   “I’m worried about you dummy.” 

   “Technoblade never dies baby what are you on about?” He let out a laugh as you rested your elbows on his chest, his hands found themselves on your back holding you close. He watched you roll your eyes dramatically and pinch at his ears, he clicked his tongue at you. “Keep pinching my ears like that and we’re gonna have to fight it out,” his lips twitched into a fond smile as you sat upon his hips holding up your fists. 

   “Then let’s fight cause I’m not gonna stop. They’re just too pinchable big guy. Your little piglin features are precious and I’m gonna dote over them.” His face burned red and he groaned loudly, his head landing against the pillows with a thump. 

   “It’s just the ears, teeth, and the height. You’re being gross.” 

   “Fuck you I’m being romantic.” 

   “Which is gross and cringe if you didn’t know.” 

   “Fine then I guess you won’t be getting any kisses from me for a long while.” 

   “Now hold on a minute let's talk about this like adults,” You laughed loudly and smirked at Techno’s attempts to keep cool about the situation. You leaned down and peppered his face with light kisses, he hummed pleasantly at the sensation. 

   “I’ll let it slide this time but watch your words.” Techno gave a sleepy nod of his head, and you smiled tenderly at the man. You shuffled around and curled up against his side, he adjusted himself to hold you close, “I love you Techno.” 

   “Love you too princess.” He pecked your forehead before he closed his eyes and fell back into a light sleep. You took a deep breath and buried your face in his chest listening to the rhythmic beating of his heart, this time however you weren’t far behind him.

~~~

Technoblade was up as soon as the sun rose over the hills and spilled into your bedroom. He made sure to maneuver around you so that he wouldn’t wake you as soon as he sat up in bed. He stretched his arms behind his back until he heard the satisfying pop of his bones, he scratched at his head and tousled his pink hair. Techno wanted an early start, make sure everything they needed for the day was prepared and ready to go, he needed to brew a shit ton of potions. He also needed to make sure you had an appropriate set of armor, that’s not even mentioning the Withers he needed to gather. A lot to do and so little time to get it all done, he wanted to let you sleep as much as possible considering you didn’t sleep last night. He slid out of bed and grabbed his hairbrush, one thing he could attribute to meeting you was his hygiene habits. Techno always used to keep his hair in a braid and never touch it, it wasn’t until you had first run your hands through his hair that he realized how much of a problem that was. You were very nice about it but he could tell you were trying not to gag when he told you he couldn’t remember the last time it was unbraided. You assured him that was going to change and helped him nurse his hair back to life, whatever you did it was magical. His hair was just as soft as yours, healthy and shiny he couldn’t let you down by not taking care of it. However, since he was going into battle he threw his hair into a quick braid letting it fall over his shoulder before he majestically sat his crown on top of his head. 

Technoblade stared at himself in the mirror and traced his rough hands over the scars on his face and neck, he had no idea what the fuck you saw in him. Honestly, who cares though because by some miracle you love him for him and that’s all that matters. Technoblade continued to get dressed for the day and only stopped when you began to stir under the covers. He watched you sit up and give the cutest yawn he’s ever heard in his life his eyes softened considerably seeing you look around hazily for him. Spotting him you opened your arms and made grabby hands, he let out a deep chuckle and wrapped his arms around you. 

‘Simp. Stop spamming simp. He is a simp though, look at him melt. Shut up.’ 

   “Chat shut it...Morning Princess,” He kissed your lips softly and he felt you lazily kiss him back, still sluggish from sleep. 

   “Morning Bubs. Why didn’t you wake me up?” You complained from his arms only pulling away to look him in the eyes. He always thought you had the most gorgeous eyes, why was he feeling so lovey-dovey today? 

‘Cause, you could lose her today. Her lives are unknown. What if she only has one like Phil and has no idea and she dies? E.’ 

Those thoughts and ideas chilled him to the bone he swallowed thickly, “You sure I can’t change your mind about today?” He watched your brow furrow and you kissed your teeth,

   “No way. Till the end of the line remember?”

   “Oh, I remember. In that case,” Technoblade pulled you to your feet much to your surprise, “You come back to me uninjured, we get married.” He watched your jaw drop and your eyes widen to insane sizes. “If you want obviously, no pressure.” 

‘WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU. AWWWWW SO ROMANTIC! SIMP. SHE’S GOING TO SAY NO. LOSER. CRINGE. GUYS STOP HE’S BEING SWEET!’ 

He felt panic surge through him when you didn’t respond to him for a good few minutes, oh he fucked up. Technoblade never dies, more like Technoblade’s about to throw himself into lava three fucking times. 

   “Yes! Holy shit yes you idiot! Damn now that’s some motivation!” You laughed in disbelief and you bounced on your toes. Technoblade let out a breath of relief, he took a risk and it paid off, he was Technoblade after all so of course, it did. He wasn’t worried at all. You grabbed the fluff of his cape and pulled him down to kiss him passionately, his hands grabbed your hips and lifted you into the air. He knew it wasn’t official yet, as he said you had to come back okay, but that doesn’t mean they couldn’t celebrate at least a little bit early. He kissed down your face and listened as you giggled, he could tell your face was turning red by its heat, “Okay goober we gotta get ready. There are crimes we gotta commit and I still need to shower.”  

   “Nonsense you smell like lavender and’ all that other girly stuff.” Technoblade scoffed but pulled away as you requested. A smile fell across your face and he felt you poke his nose fondly, “I’ll be gathering potion materials, if you need me just holler.” On that note, he headed down the ladder to gather what he needed for the day. Phil would probably be joining momentarily and he’d put him on potion making duty and also give him a totem of undying. His stomach churned a little as he placed water bottles inside the brewing stands, his singular totem of undying. 

He had already decided he’d give it to Phil, if he didn’t he felt like it would be a betrayal of all the man had done for him in the past. 

Technoblade turned towards the window and saw Phil approaching his home from the sky, he opened the window and gave him a little wave. Phil smiled back at him and climbed the stairs to get inside the house, “Hello. Are you both ready for today?” Phil looked around seemingly trying to spot you, Technoblade pointed upstairs and he nodded in understanding. 

   “I wouldn’t say we’re ready exactly.” He let out a huff, “I’m trying to make triple the potions before Dream gets here, plus I wanna make sure (Y/N)’s weapons and armor are enchanted properly.” Phil hummed thoughtfully opening up some of Technoblade’s chests, only mentally gagging at the disorganization. 

   “I got your back brewing the potions, go double-check everything’s ready for (Y/N), I know you worry ‘bout her mate.” Techno had to turn away because he felt heat flare in his face, he heard Phil begin to snicker and he glowered. 

   “Imagine thinking I care about others, cringe.” 

   “Oh really? I’ll just go tell (Y/N) that then-”

   “Eh? No need to do that. I don’t appreciate being framed. Anyway, potions Phil, potions you need to focus on what’s important here.” Another laugh came from Phil as he rolled his eyes fondly at his friend. 

   “On it Techno.” 

Both men got to work brewing potions and double-checking weaponry, not just for you but for all of them. Well, all of you minus Dream the homeless man can fend for himself. In the meantime, Technoblade gave Phil his totem of undying just in case today went fucking wrong. 

   “Alright boys, what do you need me to do?” You announced climbing down the ladder, you had made sure your hair was out of the way so it wouldn’t be a distraction. Technoblade smiled as he watched the emerald he gave you those months ago bounce against your neck. 

   “Go make sure you have enough ender pearls and exp bottles for your armor. Is all your armor enchanted properly?” 

   “Obviously,” You rolled your eyes dramatically “as if you’d ever let me get away with subpar armor.” Technoblade held up his hands in defensively, 

   “Just making sure. You can’t blame me for wanting you protected.” 

   “Daw.”

   “Shut up Phil.” Technoblade watched a smile form across your face as you covered your mouth with your hand. He was just happy you were laughing, “grab your weapons lemme check them.” You nodded your head and kissed his cheek tenderly, he normally wasn’t one for PDA but Phil was a different story. You handed over your weapons to him and he looked over them, he started with your sword that was aptly titled The Wanderer’s Trade all the enchantments seemed to line up properly, he also double-checked your ax to see it lined up too. “Remember their shields go up you use your ax.” He watched as you nodded in response, you weren’t dumb he knew that but he couldn’t help but want to double-check strategies with you. 

   “I know you trained me well,” You hummed fondly, as he handed you back your ax. He watched as you twirled it in your hands, “Good ole’ Foster Mom won’t let me down.” Both Phil and Techno chuckled at your response, Technoblade gave you a loving pat on the head before sending you off to gather some more glowstone. The three of you spent the rest of the morning gathering supplies, and as the afternoon rolled around Technoblade felt himself grow more and more frantic as the time ticked closer to doomsday. He began to ramble a bit about needing to prepare things especially after Dream showed up early and announced they were going early into L’manberg. Dream explained that he was going to need about twenty minutes to prepare the TNT for the cannons, which meant (Y/N), Phil, and Technoblade himself needed to stall for that amount of time. 

That meant the Withers needed to be in play. 

Technoblade distributed Wither skulls and the soul sand between the three of you. 

He watched as you stared at the skull in your hands gently cradling it before putting it into your inventory. He hoped you were being honest and were okay with what was about to happen. 

   “Now we really have to go.” Dream tried to urge your little group to speed up and get this show on the road. Techno nodded his head and clicked his tongue against his teeth, 

   “Alright, first things first let we need to get the hound army.” He watched your entire face come alight, 

   “Hound army? You didn’t tell me we had puppies!” He felt you grip his arm with the enthusiasm of a child, he winced a little bit at your eagerness. Techno glanced at Dream who was just as unreadable as always with his mask but Techno could sense his patience with you running thin. 

   “I didn’t wanna tell you cause there’s a good chance we lose like all of them today.” He watched you deflate but nod in understanding, “so don’t get attached okay?” 

   “I won’t!” 

   “Let’s go. Time’s ticking.” Dream commanded tapping his boots on the floor, “Let’s get those dogs and get to L’manberg.” The four of you grabbed your weapons and headed down the steps of Technoblade’s house, hopefully, you all will come back to see it again. 

---

Phil walked by your side as Technoblade led all of you through the sewers, Dream was close to your boyfriend’s side almost like he was trying to memorize the proper twists and turns. However, something told you he already knew this place like the back of his hand. 

   “What’s on your mind?” Phil asked you to keep his voice low to not draw attention to yourselves. Smiling over at him you gave a thoughtful hum, 

   “Just the typical worries I suppose. Hoping we win and no one who we care about dies, like the kids you know. I know I can’t control you, Techno, or Dream but if it came down to it I won’t be able to hurt them.” The look you gave him was nothing less than vulnerable and it touched his heart with a soft sigh he responded to you, 

   “I know it’s not specifically in Techno or my agenda to slaughter Tommy and Tubbo. We just want to take down the corrupt government that’s poisoning its citizens. As long as it stands those kids can never be happy.”

   “I’m with you there. Hell, I don’t think Techno and I could date if we didn’t share those ideologies. They made a child president for Pete’s sake I mean no wonder it’s falling apart.” You took a deep breath and nudged the old man beside you. “Even so my priorities are with you and Technoblade. We’re all fucking coming home if I have any say in the matter,” Phil gave a laugh and smiled at you. 

   “That’s a fucking relief to hear. Wasn’t aware you could control death.”

   “Says the man with a totem of undying.” 

   “Guys we’re here,” Technoblade called standing beside a wall, he looked at all of you and opened the stone with his pickaxe. “Meet the hounds,” He mused leading you inside, you were trying desperately to keep your excitement at bay. 

   “Holy shit is it loud.” Dream commented with a disbelieving laugh hearing all the dogs bark in excitement upon seeing their master. Technoblade scratched a few of them behind the ears before commanding all of them to stand, it was insane. 

   “That’s so many dogs they’re gonna be so confused.” You commented, 

   “You know what you should do?” Dream mused, turning to look at you, “splash them with invisibility.” 

   “Already ahead of you,” Technoblade mused as Philza began to splash a good chunk of them. “They’re gonna be so confused it’s gonna be so funny. When they get hit by nothing, it’ll be like I have a forcefield.” 

   “Let's get to L’manberg and surprise them first.” Dream motioned for all of you to follow, and you did without hesitation. Technoblade took your hand and squeezed it tightly, he watched as Phil and Dream went on ahead and he turned to give you a soft kiss. 

   “Don’t die on me, okay princess? You get into trouble protecting yourself, run if you have to. I don’t give a shit I just want you alive.” Technoblade commanded you, even wagged a finger in front of your face. A finger you grabbed and pressed a soft kiss to, 

   “Same to you. I’ll see you on the other side.” Technoblade smiled adoringly at you and you both moved to catch up with Dream and Phil. You pulled out The Wanderer’s Trade and made sure Foster Mom, your ax, and the materials to craft your Withers were at the ready. 

    “(Y/N), Phil when I shoot fireworks into the sky start spawning the Withers. I’m going straight in with the hounds.” He watched both of you nod, Dream let out a hum of acknowledgment. 

   “Sounds good to me. Remember I shouldn’t need more than twenty minutes, I’ll send Technoblade the signal.” 

   “Yes sir.” You gave a teasing salute and no one else seemed amused by that except for the green man himself. 

   “I could get used to that.”

   “Get the fuck out of here you homeless Teletubby.” Techno almost snarled at the man, while the man in question flipped your boyfriend off. Even Phil could tell he had a sickening smirk spread across his face, whether he meant it or not if it bothered the three of you he was gonna continue with it. 

    “Phil, I’ll sneak over to the houses, you gonna stay in this general vicinity?” You quickly changed the subject, the man nodded in response. 

   “I’ll probably stay on top of the bee sanctuary, I figure two people in the air and one on the ground will be a good call.” You nodded taking one last glance at Technoblade before sneaking off to prepare the high ground. 

---

Technoblade sprinted right into the battle once everyone realized you all were there early. He felt the pressure begin to build in his head, as the voices began to buzz with excitement, they all demanded blood and vengeance. He wasn’t losing any lives today but that didn’t mean anyone else was, it was hilarious the moment he hit anyone his dogs would be at their heels tearing them apart. He stayed on top of everyone, he made sure to keep an eye on his hearts while slicing through his opponents. As they got distracted by his dogs he would come up behind them and drive his sword into their chest. His laughter echoed in the air as the names of the dead appeared in his head, he heard their pleading for a cease-fire and decided he didn’t give a single shit. Technoblade couldn’t find the energy to care for their pleas, even as his dogs began to thin rapidly. There was blood and there was pandemonium and he was living for it, sure there were a few close calls. Not that he would ever admit it, but Sapnap got him good in the shoulder and the back of the leg, almost leaving an opening for him to land a finishing blow. However, he recovered with no problem, he always did, obviously. 

Technoblade booked it away from the fighting and sent the firework rocket into the sky. Almost as soon as he did, he set up his own Wither. The entire battlefield glowed red, white, and blue and he watched people’s faces morph into absolute terror. He heard what sounded like Tommy let out a terrified scream, he had no idea what he was in for if he was afraid of one Wither. Then again, Tommy was the only one who knew about the vault so realistically he shouldn’t have been surprised. 

It was up to Phil and (Y/N) now. 

   “Is that Phil? What the hell?! He’s spawning a Wither!” Someone shouted and Technoblade’s face lit up in delight. He watched Phil send out his Withers before flying away as to not immediately get targeted by them. Technoblade turned his head towards the houses and saw you place your Withers down as well. He thought you looked gorgeous spawning in the Withers, it pulled him out of his blood lust just for a moment, the wicked smile on your face was stunning. He watched as you laughed tossing your hair back, the way it framed your face was remarkable, he thought you looked like Eris. 

An arrow that whizzed by his face and it snapped him out of his ogling, he turned back to rubble only to come face to face with Tommy and Tubbo. 

   “Technoblade! Stop this!” Tommy began to plead as they stood on the opposite end of the battlefield, he did pause to stare at the children. 

   “Please!” Tubbo begged from his side and Technoblade grit his teeth in frustration, after all this time they still didn’t understand his ideals or why he was so mad in the first place. 

   “You betrayed us Technoblade! You betrayed me! Just fucking stop this! Help us kill the Withers and stop Dream. All you’ve ever done is betray us, since we met you that’s all you’ve done. It all started with you killing Tubbo at the festival! Just stop this!-” He felt his blood turn to ice and he turned to face Tommy pointing his crossbow at the two boys. He watched Tubbo flinch and grab onto Tommy’s arm, clearly traumatized from the last time the weapon was pointed at him. Technoblade bared his teeth and felt his face begin to morph into that of a full pig, something that only happened when he was pissed to hell and losing control of himself. 

   “Remember when I was sitting there, alone, against the whole government -- and you and Wilbur just sat there on the sidelines and watched? Did you step in? Did you step in? Were you guys the ones that stepped in and said, "Don't worry, Technoblade, we know you're in a high-pressure situation, but we'd fight the world for you, Technoblade''? No! You guys watched. You know what I did, yesterday when you were surrounded by thirty people? When the whole world was against you? I walked in. I was willing to fight all of them for you, Tommy. I would've been there. That is the difference between us." The man roared his voice carrying over the battleground, catching the attention of a few others who were still trying to kill the Withers nearby. For a brief moment Tommy looked broken up by Technoblade’s words but he pushed it aside with a shake of his head. He was about to argue back when the faintest of hissing sounds came from above. Everyone turned towards the sky, a flash of lightning illuminated the scene above them, Dream was standing on top of the obsidian grid. Technoblade made sure to take a few steps away so he wasn’t right underneath the first bit of dropping TNT, 

   “No,” Tubbo’s voice wobbled “What’s he doing, he can't-” 

Almost like Tubbo predicted the outcome TNT began to rain down in the dead center of New L’manberg, the panicked shouts from the citizens only increased tenfold. The falling explosives spread out in the grid-like pattern Dream had created, making sure to hit every square inch of the once great country. 

   “Tubbo RUN!” Tommy grabbed his arm and pulled this best friends away just in time to not get injured by the first round of explosions that went off in the middle of town. Technoblade made quick work of dodging the falling pieces of TNT as he flew up onto the obsidian grid his Trident in hand. He watched gleefully as L’manberg was sent up in smoke, everything from the houses to whatever the fuck the L’mantree Dream mentioned was, was blown to shreds. Personally, Technoblade didn’t want Dream to stop until he saw bedrock at the bottom of the pit. He looked over and saw Phil smiling widely at him, the man gave him a clear thumbs-up spreading his wings wide. He could tell Phil was proud of him, he was proud of himself. 

   “Where’s (Y/N) mate?” He called out to him and the bliss he was feeling suddenly crumbled into pieces around him. Technooblade whipped around towards the last place he spotted his girlfriend, on top of the houses that were now blown to smithereens. He turned back towards Phil, panic in his eyes, Phil’s smile was immediately wiped off his face and he hopped down off the grid and into the rubble. Technoblade wasn’t far behind in his panicked searching, there was no sign of her anywhere and he was starting to lose his composure. Even as the TNT stopped falling around them and everyone began to head home (if they had one left to return to) he still couldn’t find her. That was until an unfamiliar voice called out to him, 

   “Mr. Technoblade!” The boy was half enderman and bordering on seven feet tall, he turned to face him and he swallowed thickly, “Miss (Y/N), she needs help!” Technoblade didn’t even respond he just let the Enderboy lead him to where she was, god please don’t be dead, please. The boy stood over her, wringing his hands nervously, a jacket was laid over her body and she was dragged far away from the wreckage. Technoblade froze as he watched the boy kneel and pull the jacket away, bandages were haphazardly tied around her waist and her breathing seems shallow. The half enderman looked up at him and swallowed thickly, “I found her under the rubble of my house.” 

   “I can handle it from here. Get out of here kid.” His voice was a low grumble and Ranboo hesitated for a moment before nodding, he knelt, picked up his other belongings, and headed off in the direction of the forest. Technoblade knelt beside you, his hands hovering over your injury, he felt his palms clam up as he opened and closed them. “You better not die on me princess, you promised,” he opened up the bandages on your waist, all things considered, the boy didn’t do that bad of a job patching you up. There weren't a lot of medical supplies on the battlefield so he did what he could with what he had, she must’ve gotten cut by a stray piece of metal as she fell, that’s what it looked like to him at least. Other than the jagged cut across her waist her ankle was twisted in a way that certainly wasn’t normal, his princess was beaten to hell. He swallowed thickly and began to rewrap her wound a bit more tightly so she didn’t bleed out, he felt a gust of wind beside him and he knew Phil was by his side. 

   “Fuck.” He murmured kneeling to set her ankle properly, the old man licked his lips before setting her ankle with a harsh tug. (Y’N)’s eyes shot open and she let out a shriek. “Sorry kid, sorry,” Her breathing went from shallow to heavy and frantic. Technoblade reached forward and grabbed your hand tight. 

   “Hey princess stay with me okay?” 

   “Bubs.” You whined painfully, “I guess I fucked up huh?” 

   “Only a lot,” Technoblade stated bluntly and watched as you let out a wheezing laugh that devolved into a cough. He frowned and took his other hand to card it through your hair, “Just take a deep breath we’ll get you home and all patched up.” 

   “Guess we aren’t getting married huh.”

   “Fucking what-” Phil choked his eyes blowing wide, jaw-dropping Techno’s face flushed red in response. 

   “Half dead and you still find a way to torture me.” You laughed again as Phil only shook his head in disbelief, 

   “That is so scuffed. Go take her home, she’s gonna need stitches and a splint for her leg. Make sure she gets home safe.” Phil placed his hand on Technoblade’s shoulder and squeezed it before kissing your forehead softly, “You’re gonna be fine.”

   “Obviously. Mr. Minecraft, would you expect anything less from me?” 

   “Nothing less,” He smiled fondly as Technoblade cradled you in his arms before hurrying away down the path. Phil stood up tall a frown evident on his features, he turned around to catch Raboo peaking out from behind the treeline. “Hey, Ranboo how’re you doing?”

   “Um. I’m alright. Fine, I’m fine, is (Y/N) going to be alright?” He stepped out from behind the tree patting his hands on his pants a bit nervously. Phil eyed the kid up and down for a moment and he cleared his throat, “I found her she was really, really bad.” 

   “She’s going to be just fine, Techno’s looking after her.” 

   “Good, good.” He nodded the tall mans shoulders seemed to relax and Phil couldn’t help but look at him with pity. 

   “Ranboo, do you have a place to stay?” 

   “Ugh...you know what no I don’t actually.” Phil smiled over at the boy and held out his hand, his multicolored eyes widened a little as he interlocked his hands with the father beside him.

. 

.

. 

: )

~~~

Thanks for reading guys! I think this is the longest chapter yet, let me know your thoughts, feelings and opinions! : ) 

[theeoriginals]

ok but sometime can i please get athena shaving stefan's face in the bathroom with him standing between her legs with big heart eyes and gentle touches

no cause let’s talk about it— this got out of hand but i love you for it @kimljn

“Hey, Stefan— what are you doing?”

Stefan stops, the straight blade halfway down his cheek and beginning to curve into the sharp lines of his jaw. His thick brows twitch as he meets Athena’s gaze in the reflection of the mirror, confusion flooding his green gaze. “I’m shaving,”

She looks at him, her own confusion widening her endless brown eyes. “I’ve never seen you shave before. I didn’t even know vampires could grow facial hair,”

Stefan huffs a short laugh and drags the razor down his jaw and his neck, creating a smooth, clean patch of skin in his wake. “I don’t, unless I let it go for a while. I am technically still in a 17 year old’s body so it’s not like I’m sprouting beards every week.”

She steps into the bathroom, her presence lacking the usual attention it demands with her high heels and expensive dresses. She’s dressed down, only slightly for bed. Her pajamas still match, deep blue and shiny silk, and it’s a ritual she’s never let go of that he can’t help but adore.

“Can I do it?”

Stefan stops again, his hand stilling where it was holding the razor beneath the steady stream of water from the sink. “You want to help me shave?”

She shrugs, eyes roaming his face with a curiosity he can’t quite put his finger on. “Why not?”

He stands for a moment, contemplating her words before he finally concedes— though they both knew it wasn’t much of a decision to tell her yes. He’d always tell her yes.

“Sure,” He turns, offering the razor to her as she crowds his space. He leans back against the counter, shifting his weight to it so she can stand between his legs with ease. “But be careful, it’s sharp—”

“Stefan, I play with knives for fun and I have been shaving since 8th grade. I know what I’m doing.”

He smiles at her stubbornness and nods silently, giving her any and all permission she may have needed still.

She taps the droplets of water off the razor into the sink basin and brings it up to his skin, shifting only slightly from the last place he’d gone over. Her brows furrow in pure concentration, her breathing slowing as she drags it down his skin, the slight noise filling the bathroom along with their steady pulses.

Stefan rests his hands on her hips, fingers digging into the soft material donning her body. His brows twitch slightly, and he flicks his fingers up underneath the elastic band of her silk sleep shorts, letting the pads of his fingertips rest on her bare skin.

His eyes don’t leave her face. He traces the fine ridges of her scar, thinking back to when they’d first met and it had been angry and irritated, just like her. A fresh wound just barely closed, and nowhere near healing. He roams the slope of her nose into the peaks of her Cupid’s bow, vividly recalling the sensation of her plush lips on his. In the morning when they wake, when they leave in separate vehicles, when they meet again in the halls at school, all the way to the end of the day when they crawl back in bed together. He can never get enough, in the sense that’s almost entirely obsessive.

His intense emotions are what led him to become a Ripper in his vampiric life, and for a long while he hated that part of himself, but now his obsession lies elsewhere. In the hands of a woman who plays with knives, and treats his wounded heart with the utmost gentility. He’s obsessed with the curves of her chest every time she breathes, the way her heart is always pounding steadily in his ears, his anchor to real life. Her warm brown eyes that turn black, and suck him into the drowning depths, never to surface again.

He wouldn’t trade it for the world. All of his mistakes, all of his past decisions brought him here, to a place where he feels unmatched warmth and love, and the utmost safety with his soulmate between his legs, cradling his face like he isn’t a killer, like he’s not a monster.

There’s nothing he can think of that made him deserving of her, but he’s never going to question that blessing.

“Stefan,”

He blinks, humming lowly in response as he tears his mind away from his trailing thoughts. He focuses on her lips as they form his name, curling around the letters in a way that makes his heart sing.

“I’m done,” She smiles victoriously and be mirrors the action proudly. “It’s not too bad, if I do say so myself,”

He hums again, fingers squeezing at her sides and making her help in surprise. “Thank you, sweetheart,”

She sets the razor down in the sink and turns the tap off, draping her arms around his shoulders so she can curl her fingers into his hair. “Next time, don’t shave without telling me,”

He huffs, looking at her oddly. “Why not?”

“Because I want to see how hot you are with scruff,” She shrugs, like the answer was obvious. “And because I wouldn’t mind doing it for you again.”

Narrowing his eyes at her, he thinks on her words for a prolonged moment, making her eventually mirror his suspicious stare mockingly. He pinches her skin again, making her startle and break her mocking stare to glare at him as he grins innocently at her.

“I should make you sleep on the couch for that,”

“But you won’t.”

She heaves a put upon sigh, throwing her head back dramatically. “No, I won’t. But you should make it up to me.”

“Oh? And how do you propose I do that?”

She drops her head back down, the glare on her face gone without a lingering trace and replaced with a heady look that sends a shot of heat through his stomach. “I have a few ideas,”

He stands upright, already backing her out of the bathroom into their bedroom. “Care to share?”

“I’d rather just show you,”

He smirks hungrily and she pulls him towards their bed with a grin. “Lead the way, sweetheart.”

[hypnomicimagines]

Trust [Vampire!Aohitsugi Samatoki]

“If you’re so hungry, why don’t you just take a bite of me?”

There was a certain type of aggression that vampires liked in their mates, human or otherwise, that pulled them in. Being teased with double-entendres seemed to be one of those necessities, knowing their partner wasn’t afraid of them seemed important, or at least it was to Samatoki. He might appear to be irritable but ever since you’d offered up your blood to him in a time of need, the vampire had done all that he could to make you comfortable with him. It helped that your relationship was already flirtatious but the trust that was built from allowing him to feed, on both of your parts, was what fully cemented you as Samatoki’s ‘one’.

You liked to tease him to the point Samatoki wondered if you really did get off to him biting you, not that the sensation was ever an unpleasant one. It left you feeling more sensitive than usual after the initial burning in the newly opened wound stopped, his tongue running over the new holes in your skin in appreciation. They always healed up beautifully but he liked that if he looked hard enough, he could see the tiny scars left behind. It marked you as belonging to a vampire, belonging to him, and your neck would be the first place any other vampire looked before attempting to take you as their own.

“What about right here?” Your finger traced along your thigh, watching with amusement as Samatoki’s eyes carefully followed your finger. He had never had a partner as explorative as you, who was so willing to mark their body in every place they possibly could. “If you’re really hungry we can just do my wrist since I know it’s one of the best spots, but…”

Your burning desire matched his own and one cold hand rested on your thigh, moving it away from your other so he could get between your legs. He liked the look of anticipation, how you were ready for both the pain and pleasure he was about to bring you. He kneaded the soft skin, sucking the area without puncturing before grazing his teeth as a warning. You reached down to grab his hand and his fingers laced with yours, squeezing as he broke through your skin and allowed your sweet blood to run over his tongue. You were only a little noise, letting out a little whimper at first before the only thing he could hear was your erratic breathing, your eyes squeezed shut and his hand released as you laid back on your pillow.

“…Thanks for the food.” He knew you thought it was just some stupid gimmick on his part but each time he drank from you he thanked you, even checking in to make sure you weren’t suffering any symptoms of blood loss.

At first, he hardly drank enough to even quench his thirst because he was so paranoid about hurting you, there had even been a time where he was on the brink of death and you appeared that he had almost drank you dry, the very thought that he could’ve killed you had him considering starving himself in repentance. That time had come and gone but it felt seared into Samatoki’s brain, a reminder that he needed to be careful with his thirst or you would be facing the consequences of trusting a terrible creature like him.

“You’re welcome.” Your smile is warm as you ushered him up, Samatoki licking the blood clean from his fangs before he obeyed your wishes. You were so beautiful and warm, he hadn’t felt a warmth like that in centuries, and he found himself just as addicted to this feeling as you were to his bites. He was hopeless when it came to you, resting his cheek against your chest as he listened to the sound of your beating heart.

Calm.

You trusted him.

You trusted him so much more than he trusted himself.

How could Samatoki ever thank you for all that you had done? How could he repay your kindness? How could he apologize for almost sending you to an early grave? Your relationship had gotten rocky but even so, you had stuck by his side, showed him a loyalty that few vampires received from non-vampire partners. Having a boyfriend like him used to be a trend, all the humans and other species alike wanting to show off their century old partner who dressed like they belonged in another era, but you had never been that way.

No, you had been content to stay inside and keep him company during the daylight hours.

Trust.

He trusted you too, didn’t he?

He had told you all about vampires, about some of their weakness, but not without some apprehension on his part. Samatoki had been worried about an enemy clan moving in on his territory, it had been the only reason he brought the subject up, but he realized all those methods applied to him as well. Would he be able to raise a hand to you if you came at him with a stake? With fire? One day you could simply decide to rise, open the curtains in his apartment, and permanently take him out of this world.

When he mentioned that last fought you responded with a confused, “Why does a vampire live in a place that has windows anyway?”

Samatoki had laughed.

It was hard to make him laugh.

As he laid in bed beside you now, listening to your heart, soaking in your warmth, breathing in all the things that made you so beautifully mortal, he wondered how long this would last.

“Stop thinking your angsty vampire thoughts, ‘Toki. You know I always just thought that was something they put in books, that whole broody vampire stereotype, and now I see those authors must’ve been very intimate with you cynical vamps.” He scoffed at your observation, wanting to tell you that all the fiction was practically bullshit and that anyone attempting to publish actual accurate knowledge on vampires would be killed on the spot, but he saved his speech.

You’d already heard it before.

“Are you gonna tell me what you’re thinking about?”

“Not tonight. Don’t you have to sleep for work?”

“Ugh.” You seemed disappointed at the reminder and he couldn’t blame you, he didn’t exactly what to leave this position either. “You’re right but it’s more fun to be with you at night. You have more energy.”

His brooding thoughts hadn’t left him quite in the mood to have sex however he had no qualms about taking care of your needs. He leaned up to capture your lips in a possessive kiss, teeth grazing your lower lip as his hands slid down your body. He felt you unintentionally tense under his cold touch as his slipped past your panties and he smirked, nipping at your ear and asking if you were even ready for his fingers let alone his dick. You nodded your head, turning to look at him with a stubborn pout, he loved when you looked at him like that.

Inside of you is even warmer than outside, a fact he thought about often while you were being intimate. It was almost like being burned with fire but a far more pleasant sensation once he was used to it. He knew his body temperature never changed but he always felt like he broke out into a sweat when he was inside you, like your warmth was somehow infectious even though it couldn’t be the case. He liked that feeling, it almost felt like he was human again, and being with you made any potential terrible thing just so much better.

“S-Samatoki,” You gasped out, his fingers carefully moving inside you, “If you keep being so rough I…”

“I told you to get to bed, didn’t I?” Samatoki kissed your neck and you moved your head to the side, a jolt of pleasure running through your body as you remembered the sensation of his bite. “We’re gonna make it quick so you can get some damn sleep, brat.”

“Me a brat?” You cried out again as he started to rub your clit, your hips bucking up to meet his fingers. “Have you seen how… How you act? When you don’t get your way…!”

“I always get my way.” Samatoki’s voice is akin to a growl, “Do I need to remind you what I am?”

“The love of my life?” You asked playfully, and while he had been setting a certain type of mood… He can’t say that didn’t resonate with him. He can’t say that didn’t go straight to his dick, twitching eagerly in his pants, now wanting to answer the calls of your moans. “W-Why’d you stop?”

“I’m going to fuck you into this mattress.” You’re surprised at the sudden mood swing as Samatoki removed his hand from your pants, now looming on top of you with a dark look in his eye. “You’ll be lucky if you can fuckin’ make it to work tomorrow.”

He could hurt you like that. He could break you if he’s too rough, exhaust you with his immense stamina to the point you can hardly move, yet you knew he’d treat you as delicately as he ever did. His thrusts would be desperate and his fangs would constantly graze your skin, ready to puncture the second he wanted to without you having any say in it, yet you knew he would never do that. You knew he’d never drink from you without permission. You knew he’d never hurt you, that the intimacy of having sex was something that meant a great deal to Samatoki.

You trusted him.

And he would never break that trust.

[daryl-dixon-daydreams]

Words: 2,675 Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Reader Reader pronouns: she/her Era: Alexandria Warnings: Fear, disturbing imagery, language, sexuality, mentions of anxiety/panic attacks A/N: This is part of a series! Find the previous parts on the Masterlist! Summary: The group brainstorms ideas for taking on the Saviors, while Y/N and Daryl explore their new closeness.

Your name: submit What is this?

A few minutes later you were all strategizing in Jesus’s trailer. It was a full room, and you and Daryl hung out near the back, listening as Rick explained what had happened when The Saviors came to search Alexandria the previous night.

“We didn’t know. I didn’t know, if you were really out,” Rick said, looking to Daryl. “And they didn’t say anything about you,” he added, nodding in your direction. “I didn’t know what to think. I hoped you were out but I—” He shook his head. “They tore the place apart. Negan was there. But, obviously, they left empty handed.” He sighed heavily, staring down at the floor. “We came here because it’s time for us to start making plans. To fight this. To fight them. Especially now that Daryl and Y/N are safe. They don’t have any bargaining chips, nothing else to hold over our heads.”

“Hell yeah,” Daryl said, straightening up. “We’re ready.”

By the time the serious discussion was done, you were exhausted, but then everyone stayed gathered around eating and catching up, enjoying a brief moment of joy. The whole time, all Daryl could think about was that you were right next to him and he wasn’t touching you. He couldn’t stop thinking about your lips on his, the struck look on your face when he had finally gotten up the courage and grabbed you and kissed you back, the smile on your face, you straddling his lap... And he wanted to smooth his hands down your back, tangle his fingers in your hair again. It was sending warmth running through him and he couldn’t focus on anything else, despite how happy he was to hear that everyone back home was okay and how glad he was to see them.

You glanced at Daryl occasionally throughout the evening and he always seemed to be far away somewhere. You had no idea that it was because he was thinking about you.

“Goodnight,” you said, standing on the threshold of the trailer, Daryl waiting just outside. The Alexandrians had headed up to bed already in the main house.

Maggie smiled kindly and returned the goodnight, giving you one more hug. “See ya in the mornin’,” she said.

You met Daryl at the bottom of the steps and he nudged his nose up at you and started to lead the way back to the trailer you were sharing.

“You were quiet. That whole time,” you said. “Everything okay?”

He glanced back over at you and smiled, nodding. “Ya. Better even. I just—was thinking about somethin’ else. Couldn’t stop.”

“What’s that?”

He simply gave you a look and pulled open the door to your trailer, nudging you inside first. He shut the door behind him and locked it as he did each night. When he turned, you were standing there with an expectant smile on your face. “Hey,” you said, reaching out and lightly grabbing his sides. He thrilled at the contact. “I just want to make sure you’re alright. Really,” you said earnestly. “A lot has happened.”

Daryl’s blue eyes were downcast and you did see a shadow grow on his face as he thought about his time at the Sanctuary. But then he thought about you appearing in the growing light as you opened the door to his cell, and how you wrapped him up in your arms, and kissed his forehead and his cheek, despite how filthy and miserable he was. He nodded at you. “I know. ‘M fine. And we’re alright. Or, we’re gonna be, right?”

You nodded. “Yeah,” you agreed, smoothing your hands lightly up and down his sides and landing them on his hips.

He gave you a look and you quirked an eyebrow at him, not sure what it meant. “What?” you prodded him.

“Your hands on me,” he murmured, biting his bottom lip. He hesitated just a moment before he wrapped his arms around you a little shyly and tugged you into him. “You wanna know where I was that whole time?”

You smoothed a hand up his strong stomach and chest, resting it over his heart. He felt like he was paralyzed beneath your touch for a moment. You could feel his heartbeat under your fingers. “Mhm,” you said, a little starry-eyed.

His eyes studied your face. “I was right here. With my hands on you and your hands on me.”

You smiled up at the archer but couldn’t wait a moment longer. You stood on your toes and pressed your lips against his eagerly, which gave beneath yours softly. The intensity grew and you arched into him. You pulled his bottom lip in between your teeth and bit it gently, eliciting a growl from deep in his chest. He traced his fingers up your spine and tangled them in your hair, pulling you in against him and kissing you hungrily.

When you finally pulled back, you studied his face for a moment.

He smoothed his hands from your shoulders, down your arms. There was a somewhat uncertain look on his face.

“Hmm?” you asked, lifting a hand and running your fingers through his hair. He shut his eyes as it sent him tingling with goosebumps and electricity.

“What’s this all mean?” he asked.

Your eyes flitted between his. “What do you want it to mean?” you asked, pressing your palm against his chest again, a little nervous now awaiting his response.

Daryl thought for a moment. He knew what he wanted. He wanted you. All of you. To himself. He wanted to protect you, keep you safe, make you happy, take care of you. He wanted to fall asleep with you in his arms and wake up the same way. He wanted to be your home. But saying that was an entirely different matter. “I want… I just want ya to be mine,” he finally said.

“That’s what I want. And for you to be mine.” You smiled up at him softly.

He pressed his lips together as was his habit when he was nervous. He looked down at your hands and took them softly in his, smoothing his thumbs over your silky skin. “Already am. Have been for a good long while,” he admitted.

“You should have said something sooner,” you replied, biting your bottom lip.

“Ya should’ve too.” Daryl let his eyes drink you in and they inevitably fell on the bruise on your neck left by Negan. He immediately felt a rush of rage and you saw his eyes darken with it.

You looked away and pulled back slightly, but Daryl didn’t let you break contact with him completely. “Did he—what was he like with ya? Did he ever hit ya or—”

You stared vaguely downward, your eyes stinging a little with humiliated tears you tried to keep in. You shook your head.

Daryl’s exhale came out as part growl. “What he did is bad enough. Maybe worse. He treated ya like property.”

Your eyes were still downcast and Daryl took in the pout on your lips. “He always says it like you chose it. Like you had a choice. But the truth is you don’t. And you can’t say no to him, not really... You just comply with whatever he wants, out of fear or because you’re holding onto what you’re protecting. He has total control of you. He possesses you. And yet he smiles and acts charming like he didn’t blackmail you into being there.”

Daryl’s chest was swelling with rage again. “I know.” He tucked a strand of your hair behind your ear. “But he ain’t ever touchin’ ya again.” Daryl took in your downcast expression. “C’mon. C’mere.” He grabbed your hand and pulled you over toward the bed, sinking down on it, his back up against the headboard. “You’re safe,” he said softly. He gestured to you with a tilt of his chin and you sank down next to him, shutting your eyes as he folded you up against him, wrapping an arm around you, and smoothed his hand over your upper arm. His fingers found the scar some of The Saviors had left there during what felt like another lifetime, the one he had stitched for you not too long after you met. He traced it lightly.

“That time,” he said softly, “when ya got this. They tried to take ya back to him?”

You nodded.

“You were goin’ out there and huntin’ em on your own? Since Aaron brought you to Alexandria?”

“Even before then.”

“Christ, Y/N. Ya coulda told me. I woulda helped ya.”

You looked up at him. “I wasn’t ready to tell anyone what had happened to me yet. I was still burying it. But I think I’ve realized that—I never would have been ready. You’re never really ready to talk about something like that. And I didn’t want to pull anyone else into it, make them a target.”

Daryl sighed and you felt the expansion and sinking of his chest beside you. He rubbed a hand across the back of his neck. “Ya… ya, I know…” he said, thinking about his own scars, his own wounds. “C’mon. Let’s get some sleep now.”

You settled in against him more deeply and shut your eyes.

_ _ _ _ _ _

“Mmm, you know you always were my favorite, right?” Negan caressed your cheek and studied your face.

“I bet you say that to all your wives,” you retorted flatly.

This only made him chuckle and smile. “No. I really don’t. You know what I like about you?” he asked. His hands slid down your back to rest in the curve at the bottom of your spine. “You’re a badass. I could probably send you out to run any one of my outposts, be in charge of one of our serving settlements, and you’d run it almost as well3 as I could myself. And then you could come home and slip into a nice cocktail dress and a pair of high heels and you turn every head in the room. That’s rare. And gets me all warm and fuzzy in all the right places,” he said biting his bottom lip. He pressed his pelvis into you and you could easily feel the growing erection underneath his jeans.

“Yeah, well, you know I don’t like your process,” you said softly, looking away.

“I know. And that’s a goddamn shame. What a waste of your talents.” Negan leaned in and began kissing your neck. The stubble on his face was rough and it scratched your skin a little too hard as he pressed into you. His fingers wound into your hair and he tugged it to one side so he could nibble along your jaw toward your ear. “Now, I think tonight I want you to do something special for me,” he whispered gruffly into your ear. “Because I have had one hell of a day.”

You gasped yourself awake like you were emerging from frigid water, completely disoriented, and ready to fight. You felt hands on you as you tried to make sense of where you were in the darkness and you struggled against them violently, pushing away from the figure in front of you and toppling onto the ground. “Get off me! Fuck! What the fuck?! Stay the fuck away from me!” Still not knowing where you were, you scrambled backward in the darkness until your back hit a wall. Just then there was a tremendous noise and you heard the distinctive sound of a door busting open. The next second you were blinded as a light was turned on.

It was then that you snapped back into reality and remembered where you were. “Y/N!” Daryl was yelling your name, leaning over the edge of the bed toward you, his face desperate, frantic. “S’alright! You’re safe!”

Maggie and Sasha had busted in through the door and both were pointing guns in your direction, looking bewildered. Enid was standing behind them on the steps peering in with wide eyes.

“What’s goin’ on?” Maggie demanded.

Daryl snapped around to look at her. “Hey! Put the damn guns down!”

“What the hell happened?!” Sasha yelled.

Daryl climbed off the bed toward you and knelt down. “I said lower the goddamn guns!” he snapped again. He could see that you were trembling. This time Maggie and Sasha listened, finally realizing there was no real, material threat in the room. “Hey. Y/N. S’alright.” Daryl held a hand out toward you, palm out, hesitantly inching closer. “It’s just me. You’re alright…”

Your chest was heaving as you gulped in air. “It was—it was him. He was—” You squeezed your eyes shut. “Fuck,” you muttered, leaning your head back against the wall. “Fuck. I’m sorry… I’m sorry. Shit…” You covered your face with your hands and it was easy to see you shaking.

Maggie and Sasha exchanged a sad and concerned look. Enid touched Maggie on the sleeve. “Come on. Everything is alright. Daryl’s got this.” They retreated, closing the (now busted) door softly behind them.

You pressed your fingers to your closed eyes and tapped your head back against the wall again in frustration. “It felt so real. I—I thought I was back there. He was—” you broke off.

“C’mon. Get on up off the floor. C’mere,” Daryl said, holding his hand out to you. You accepted it and allowed him to pull you to your feet.

“Did I—did I hit you?” you asked him, studying his face, cupping it with your shaking hands.

“Nah.”

“Fuck,” you collapsed against him, burying your face against his chest. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

Daryl smoothed his hands over your back. You were still shaking slightly. “Quit that. Ya ain’t got anythin’ to be sorry for. I pulled a knife in the middle of the night the other day, remember?”

You pressed yourself flat against his chest.

“S’alright,” he soothed. “C’mon and sit down. Ya need anything?”

“Maybe a lobotomy,” you said wryly, sinking down on the edge of the bed.

“Nah. Just—takes a bit of time.”

You glanced over at Daryl and he could tell there was something specific on your mind that you were struggling with. “I—Do you think I should have done it?” you asked him.

He cocked his head in a question.

“Killed him.” You stared at Daryl and he could read the turmoil inside you. “After he would—” you felt sick and broke off for a moment. “When he would spend the night with me… he’d just be there. Next to me. Asleep. And I would sit there thinking about how I could do it. I could just end him. Do you think I should have? Maybe it would have stopped all of this.”

Daryl shook his head. “Nah. It wouldn’t have been enough. And it would have probably gotten ya killed. After bein’ there, seein’ what it’s like, what they’re like… It can’t just be him. It has to be more.”

You were grateful for his words and nodded, albeit a little hesitantly. You gently stroked the side of his face and gave him a small smile. He nudged his head back in the direction of the pillows and you nodded, climbing up the bed and flopping back down with a heavy sigh, trying to let go of the tension that had hold of you. Daryl laid right behind you, pressed against you with his arm draped over you, holding you tight. The steady cadence of his breathing and his weight made you feel safe, and you eventually fell asleep again and didn’t wake until the morning.

[astronomoney]

i lost the ask for this so i had to improvise

Request: Hi! Your fics are so fun to read!! And i was wondering if you could do 1 and 8 for the fluff prompts for Jason? Thank you you’re wonderful <3

Pairing: Jason Todd x reader

Prompts: Prompt list ☁︎1- "You look really cute in that sweatshirt." ☁︎8- "Your hair is really soft."

Summary: Jason Todd pays you a visit while you're recovering from a slight cold, and he brought you food!

Warnings: Like one curse word

A/n: babes you flatter me 🥰 also I head cannon that jason is a soft boi™️ and i will write him as such. you can't stop me. and you can’t convince me he doesn’t read shakespeare (Masterlist)

Word count: 1k

Tag list: @battlenix

Sick Days

Falling in love was never part of the plan. Neither was getting the flu but life just loves to throw curve balls your way. That's how you ended up laying in your dark room with dirty tissues spilling out of your trash can and your curtains drawn.

It had been nearly 3 days since you'd gotten sick so you were in the recovery stage but that didn't make your day any better. You hadn't had a proper night's sleep all week and despite feeling your fever breaking you were no closer to rest. You tossed and turned under your covers trying various different methods but nothing seemed to pull your mind into the depths of sleep.

It felt like you'd been laying there for an eternity. Looking over at your clock you realized that eternity had only actually been about 7 minutes. You groaned loudly and pulled the blanket over your head. That's when you heard a soft knocking coming from your window.

You flipped the blanket off your head and you looked towards the sound. It was only 3 o'clock in the afternoon so the sun was still shining through the thin curtains, showing the silhouette of your favorite person ever. You kicked the blanket off and tried to get out of your bed but tripped and landed on the floor with a thud.

"Fuck," you cursed, untangling yourself from the blanket. The wind was knocked out of you and you cough lightly before jumping up and rushing across the room. You opened the curtains with a wide smile plastered across your face.

There he was. Your very handsome, surprisingly romantic, and all around adorable boyfriend of 11 months dressed in a dark blue Superman hoodie (to spite Bruce no doubt) and holding a bag of your favorite food.

You pushed the window open letting a refreshing cool breeze into your otherwise warm room. The giddy smile on your face only spread when he ducked through the gap.

"But soft, what light through yonder window breaks?" He quoted, handing you the bag of food with a casual smirk adorning his features.

"Romeo oh Romeo, what would I do without you?" you took the bag and leaned up slightly to press a quick kiss on his cheek.

"Starve most likely," he shrugged, moving his hand to cup your chin and bring you in for a real kiss.

You stepped back and looked at the S design on his chest. "Wow the super logo? What's your dear old dad done this time?"

"Not everything I do is out of spite you know." He quipped.

"Well that's definitely a lie but whatever," you shot back, smirking. "I think you look really cute in that sweatshirt,"

Placing the take out bag on your desk you took a look inside. "How was the mission?" he'd been gone the past few days helping a friend of his with some evil psycho. You always worried about him when he went to face people like that but you knew the other heros would look out for him. Plus he promised he wouldn't be dying again anytime soon and he always kept his promises to you.

"Ugh boring," he sat at your desk chair and leaned his head back dramatically. "I was just a distraction because I had the loudest guns." He twisted side to side while you put the take out on the desk.

"Well that's what you get for throwing your silencers at Penguin," you laughed. When he first told you about his double life you didn't believe him but the more you thought about it the more it made sense. Late nights, mystery scars, not to mention the literal Red Hood suit.

"That was one time!" He defended kicking you lightly with fake offense in his voice.

You laughed and kicked him back before returning your attention to the bag. "The fact that it happened at all is still absolutely hilarious," You handed him his container and a plastic fork.

That's when you were reminded of your sickness. You sneezed 3 times in a row and Jason handed you a tissue. "You're such a disaster," he laughed at the expression you made inbetween sneezes.

"It's not funny! I've been sneezing non stop for 3 days! It's so annoying," you complained, opening the food and plopping on your bed. "Seriously, you'd think i'd have gotten better by now but no."

He laughed again and sat next to you. Wrapping his arms around your waist from behind he pulled you into him so your back was resting on his chest and his back was resting on your wall. "I'm surprised all your complaining hasn't fixed it yet." He set his food on the bedside table so he could eat and hold you at the same time.

You gasped and smacked his leg. "Asshole. I'm allowed to complain if i want to and you're the lucky bastard that gets to listen!"

"Oh yeah, so lucky," he joked, clearly trying to get a rise out of you and clearly succeeding.

After eating some and talking for a little while you put the half empty container on your table next to his much less full container. You leaned back into him and adjusted the blanket so it covered your legs. The steady rising and falling of his chest was calming. He was there, with you in that moment and you felt so strangely complete.

The two of you sat in silence for a few blissful minutes and somehow ended up laying down. You had reached your hand up to rest on his neck and you twirled a strand of his hair between your fingers.

"Your hair is really soft," You hummed, your eyes closed and you body relaxed. He hummed back and began tracing random shapes on your arm.

That was the first nap either of you had taken in a very long time. It was also the best nap either of you had taken in a very very long time.

[fandom-strumpet]

Some Help

Prompt: Y/N gets back from a fight, she hasn’t shown Klaus her wings yet so when she needs help getting shrapnel out of them she calls for Rebekah. Rebekah isn’t home so Klaus comes to answer Y/N’s cries for assistance.

Word Count: 1705

Pairing: Klaus x Reader

Warnings: Blood, Angst, Swearing, Non canon character

You had just gotten home early from Prom night. You got in a fight with a nasty witch and you managed to take the fight outside with no casualties. Unfortunately, he had one upped you and sent metal shrapnel flying at you. The wings managed to take the most of the blow so the rest of your body was relatively fine save a few cuts and deep colored bruises. Stumbling into your room, you headed for the bathroom where you stripped out of the dress clumsily. Blood spatters ruined the sea green chartruese gown. You felt weary, slipping into some pajama shorts and black crop top bra. Dragging your feet you set yourself down on the sofa in your room. Suddenly you made your wings appear as you sat up and studied them in the vanity. Blood streaked down the feathers, and you began plucking out all the pieces of metal. Wincing, the first piece came out and it gave a clank as you tossed it on the vanity counter. 20 minutes later you were starting to work in the areas closest to your shoulder blades which were near impossible. The amount of pain you were in had you sweating and feeling delirious. At this rate you were going to pass out if you didn’t have some help. 

“REBEKAAHH!” You yelled. You knew with her super hearing she would be able to hear you even in your weakened state. Silence.

“Rebekaaaaaah!” You groaned, leaning your forehead on the back of the sofa, your arms bracing you from collapse. Tears ran down your face and blurred the figure who knocked on the door.

“Rebekah?” You questioned.

“Not quite, love.” Answered a rich, honey accented voice.

Klaus. Your heart started racing, you couldn’t let him see you like this. He would think you were some kind of freak or monster. God I just need Rebekah.

“Where’s Bekah?” You rubbed your forehead.

“She’s still at the prom dance. What do you need?”

“Some help.” You sighed and Klaus went silent for a moment.

“Perhaps I could be of some assistance? Rebekah will be gone for a few more hours.”

You shook your head and groaned. I can’t last a few more hours.

“Y/N?”

Come in.”

Stepping in, Klaus gave an audible gasp at the sight. Here it comes. He’s going to say how horrific I look, what a beast I am. But no biting comments came, rather he was crossing over to you swiftly as he admired your beauty. His hands traced over your blood covered skin like he was afraid you would break any moment.

“Dear god, love. What happened to you?”

“Got in a fight with a witch and he put metal shards in my wings.” The hybrid growled hearing that.

“I need help getting the pieces out I can’t reach.”

“Alright, sit forward a bit darling.” He climbed onto the sofa behind you. His presence was a comfort, his heat and smell giving you a sense of security in the pain you were enduring. 

“Here we go,” he warned and pulled a piece out. You hissed and Klaus put one hand on your back to still you as he continued to gently pull little pieces out of the feathers. You groaned and shut your eyes tight as nausea overwhelmed you. 

“I’m sorry love, only one more to go.”

“It’s- AAAAAAAHHHGGG!”

Klaus had taken the opportunity to wrench out the largest piece near your shoulder blade where your wings joined your body. Tears streamed down your face as your scream filled the room. You made your wings vanish from sight, not able to bear another moment of Klaus’ view. Leaning back to collapse, Klaus cradled you in his arms as you sobbed. He planted a kiss on your forehead and softly apologized over and over for causing you so much pain. 

“Y/N, you need to take a shower.”

“I don’t think I have the energy to stand that long and I don’t think you’ll want to get in the shower with me.” 

Mentally Klaus countered your statement as he would like to but considering the circumstances it wouldn’t be the right time.

“Then I’ll help you to the bath.”

You nodded slightly. He was right, you needed to get all the excess blood off your body before you could fall asleep properly. Klaus went into the bathroom to start the bath while you got undressed. A few minutes later you walked into the bathroom to find a bathtub full of bubbles. The sight made you smile a bit, it was almost kid like to see all the foam. And it smelled like roses, oh heavens it looks amazing. Klaus turned and covered his eyes as you slipped out of the robe and into the sea of foam. 

“You’re good to turn around now.”

Klaus turned and smiled at you. You looked like such an angel sitting there in the tub. Your bare skin attracted him like no other but he had to stay focused on the task at hand. Getting you cleaned up. Klaus grabbed a sponge and started helping get the blood off your back.

“Love, I’m going to need you to show me your wings again.”

There was a silence as you processed his request.You didn’t like that he had to see your true form but he was right. You had to clean the wings and you couldn’t do it without some help. 

“Okay,” you said softly.

You focused your eyes on the suds as a whoosh sounded and your wings appeared. Klaus was speechless once again, his mind so wrapped up in you.

“This might hurt a bit.” Klaus warned. 

And he was right, your wings stung as the sponge made contact. Klause watched as a mixture of water and blood dripped from your feathers into the water, creating swirls. For the next half hour, Klaus remained by your side helping you wash off. Finally, once almost all the bubbles were gone, and Klaus deemed you clean, you were able to get out. Klaus gave you his arm in support so you could get out and he respectfully looked away to give you some sort of privacy, no matter how minute. 

“Do you need any help getting dressed?”

“Actually, yeah.” You blushed.

“Let me get you some pjs.”

“Middle drawer. You motioned with your head. In a flash, Klaus was back with your favorite graphic t shirt and comfy pj pants.

“I can get the bottoms, I just can’t quite get my arms high enough for the top.”

Klaus nodded in acknowledgement and turned around to let you get half dressed. He smiled a bit upon hearing the towel drop to the floor.

“Alright you can turn around now.”

Klaus turned to see your back facing him. You still felt shy about showing Klaus everything. A girl would normally dream about being stark naked with her crush but this just felt different. You felt so exposed in this weak moment. With your wings out of sight, Klaus could now see the already fading scars on your beautiful skin. He stepped forward and gently touched your back as if you would disappear if he wasn’t careful enough. He hadn’t realized how long he had stood there mesmerized by you until you cleared your throat.

“Um, Klaus?”

“Hmm?” He shook his head, his mind registering that he still held your shirt in his other hand. 

“You ok?”

“Yes, sweetheart. Apologies, I just got lost in your beauty for a moment.”

You laughed nervously and looked at the ground to hide your furious blush.

“Here,” Klaus said gently and brought the shirt over your head, sliding his hand down your arm. Goosebumps raised on your skin feeling his soft touch. He helped lift your arm and then tracing his fingers across your back he moved to the next arm. Pulling your shirt down slowly, it teased him and hid your body from him once again. You turned around to face Klaus and for a moment you stared deep into his eyes. He grinned at you, dimples appearing on his stubble covered cheeks. Leaning forward you wrapped your arms around his torso, taking in his warmth and calming scent. He hummed and you felt his chest vibrate. It made you smile and gave you butterflies rampaging around in your chest.

“Let’s get you to bed, love.” 

Stooping down he picked you up bridal style which made you gasp in surprise. Walking over and setting you down in bed, he covered you up with the soft blanket. He turned to leave before you stopped him.

“Klaus?” He turned around, his face poised in question.

“Will you stay with me?”

“Of course.” he smiled and went to sit down in a plush chair.

“No, Klaus.” you lifted the covers and patted the bed, “With me.”

Klaus’ face broke out in a beaming smile and crawled into bed with you taking the covers up with him. You sat up slightly to let Klaus slip his arm around you and you hummed in content upon feeling him against you. You both rested in quiet comfort and peace until you broke the silence.

“Do you think I’m a monster?” You asked quietly.

Klaus pulled you in closer and tilted your chin up to meet his frowning face.“Not one bit, love. And don’t ever let anyone tell you that you are.”

Your face scrunched up and you could feel a silent tear roll down. Klaus rubbed his thumb over your cheek to whisk the lone tear away. “You are the most beautiful woman I have ever met, you are absolutely stunning. Sweetheart, you are a shining star that out glows all the others, you are a gift from the heavens. Your mere presence is as calming as the roaring tide of the sea. Your smile brings joy to all who witness it and your laugh is the most beautiful song that everyone wants to sing along to because it is so contagious.”

Another tear fell down your cheek, but this time from peace. You scoot closer to Klaus until your head was resting on his chest. You closed your eyes as he started to play with your hair.

“I love you, Niklaus Mikaelson,” you whispered.

And with that you were asleep. Klaus felt stunned and elated at your words. He ran his fingers through your wavy hair and placed a gentle kiss on your forehead. 

“And I love you, my sweet angel. Sleep well.”

You smiled in your sleep feeling his chest vibrate against you. 

@katherinesbtch @rome5683

[entishramblings]

It’s Not That Bad [Legolas X Reader]

A.N: I’m so sorry I have not been writing as often. I’ve had zero time. But anyWaYS...here is a fic that has been requested by someone who has always been into my writing so thank you for supporting me and here is a fic for you! Additionally, I did some research on herbs and stuff so I could make this at least a little accurate!

Request: @quilledinkpen — Hellooo i hope you're having a good day ^-^ I was wondering if I could request a Legolas x reader? Something like she's travelling with the fellowship and is kinda the unspoken "mom" of the group, like she's always doing her best to make sure everyone's safe, and reminding Pippin and Merry to be careful and stuff like that. Just an all-around motherly person lol (mainly to the Hobbits bc they're her babies but she looks after the other guys too) I think it'd be cute ^^ Thank you!

Pairing: Legolas X Reader

Summary: (Y/N), a healer, travels with the fellowship. She takes care of everyone and is basically “the mom friend.”

Word Count: 2, 510

Warnings: battle wounds that are kinda graphicish?

(gif not mine)

MASTERLIST

(Y/N) was a well known healer throughout all of Arda. Many traveled to her for treatment for life threatening ailments. But now, now it was her time to travel throughout the lands of Middle Earth in search of a salvation for all. A gruesome quest to destroy the evil ring of power had begun and someone well versed in natural apothecary was needed. (Y/N), of course, volunteered for this role for there was no one better suited than her. Besides, it was her duty to contribute to the survival of this world as she was one in it and relied heavily on what the earth produced. And if Sauron was to rule.....well, we all know where that would lead: no earth, no life, just darkness.

(Y/N) ruffled through her dark-brown leather satchel as she sifted through her healing herbs. Little pouches filled with athelas leaves, echinacea stalks, alder bark, valerian roots, and more piled inside the confinements of the fabric.

“Sam,” She called out. “Would you mind making hot tea for Frodo while I take care of Strider’s cut?”

The little hobbit ran over instantly and she passed him a couple pouches naming each one out loud, “Valerian root, dried chamomile pedals, and sycamore bark.” She then lowered her voice and leaned it, for it wasn’t anyone else’s business to hear. “It will help him sleep and deter the anxieties the ring bestows upon him.”

Sam nodded quickly and set to work as (Y/N) moved towards Aragorn who sat upon a large rock.

“Let me have a look.”

The dunedain rolled his eyes, “(Y/N), it is not that bad. Just a scratch.”

The young women sighed in annoyance and pulled up his sleeve to reveal a slash across his bicep. He was right—to an extent—it wasn’t terrible. He would not need stitches. However, it did need to be cleaned and wrapped for infections were nasty things.

(Y/N) started by pouring some alcohol over the wound; receiving a harsh hiss from the dunedain in response. She muttered a quick apology before continuing. The young woman ground athelas leaves into a fine paste and expertly smeared it onto the cut. She then unrolled gauze and placed it upon the wound. Lastly, she pulled white dressings from her satchel. She gingerly wrapped it around his arm, yet she was careful to still pull it taught as the goal was to keep the athelas paste in and bacteria out.

She stood up and brushed her hands off before placing them firmly on her hips. “See Strider, it takes only a couple minute.”

He grumbled at her comment but thanked her for the medical attention.

(Y/N) nodded quickly and went to check on the rest of the fellowship. She made her way to Boromir who was also sitting in rest. She put a gentle hand on his shoulder.

“Boromir, how are you doing? Any wounds?”

He seemed slightly startled at first for his mind had been elsewhere, but he looked up at her with a soft smile.

“I’m quite alright, My Lady.”

A light chuckled escaped her lips. “My friend, how many times must I tell you? It’s (Y/N), no lady of any sorts!”

He shook his head and grinned at her, “Well, my lady, I am doing quite fine.”

She let her eyes circle into the back of her head as the corner of her lip pulled into a smirk.

The healer turned and made her way to Gimli who was sharpening his axe.

“Gimli, I trust you are alright as I see you are already preparing for the next battle even though we just endured one.”

His gruff voice answered immediately, “Aye lassie! Those orcs can’t ensnare a dwarf that easily!!”

She laughed at his comment as Merry and Pippin came rushing up to her. As soon as she saw their faces she knew that the two mischievous hobbits wanted to claim her attention. She lowered herself down to their height as they flung themselves into her arms.

“Ahh my two hobbits! How did you fare in the battle?”

They pulled from her hug and began speaking at the same time.

“It was intensely scary but we were fierce!”

“Merry had hit one with a tree branch! It was quite magnificent!”

“Yes it was, I would have to admit! And Pip tripped another and he fell flat on his face!”

(Y/N) beamed at the two and giggled at their attempt to tell the story. As much as she was focused on caring for everyone, the hobbits cared for her—in another way that is. The four of them brought joy to her heart and glee to her spirit. Their innocence and appreciation of the simplest things brought happiness to her soul. They had offered her a welcomed visit to the shire at any time; telling her of the grand tour they would take her on. She had grown to look upon them as children for their smallness and way of perceiving life was similar so.

The two scampered off quickly, most likely to share their adrenaline filled story with Boromir, while (Y/N) did a final scan of the fellowship.

Her eyes soon rested on the elf. Legolas was off to a distance standing upon the rocky tundra. Something about his posture made her frown. His back was to her and his head seemed bowed, as if he was looking down at something. Furthermore, his one arm was pulled up at an awkward angle—strange, even for the elf. As the healer that she was, she was compelled to check on him.

(Y/N) weaved through the rocks until she was only a short distance from him.

“Legolas?” She questioned softly.

He immediately whipped around. His shirt fell to cover his form, but not before (Y/N) caught a glimpse of bright purple, red, and black. The young woman’s lips instantly parted in shock. She had seen many wounds in her life, on many people of many different races. However, it was not often that she had an elven patient with a wound like that. To state it simply, (Y/N) was worried—that looked bad, very bad. Legolas on the other hand was only flustered for he, an elf, had gotten snuck up on. He did not have great concern for the injury given that there were far more important things to worry about.

“Legolas,” (Y/N) stated firmly. “Lift your shirt.”

He sighed, “(Y/N), it’s not—“

She interrupted him, “Let me guess, ‘It’s not that bad?’” She shook her head, “You and Strider.”

She stepped forward and took the hem of his shirt in her hand. She cautiously lifted the fabric, not caring about the socially deemed scandalousness of the action—she was a healer after all.

(Y/N) sucked in a breath. A relatively large bruise stretched across his torso with a sizable cut in the center of it.

“By the Valar, Legolas!” She exclaimed with exasperation. “You should have come to me straight away!”

“(YN)—“

She cut him off again, “No. don’t ‘(Y/N)’ me. This is serious. It could be internal bleeding. I don’t care that you are an immortal elf, you can still die from this.”

The healer gently let her fingertips brush against his skin, tracing and examining the injury. He winced in pain at the contact and that did not escape (Y/N)’s attention.

“How did this happen exactly? I need every detail.”

Legolas groaned again when she grazed over the cut; and when he spoke it was with heavy breaths, “A harsh kick to the side into another orc....” (Y/N) hand pressed on the bleeding laceration and he hissed in pain before continuing to speak. “...who—who slashed downward.....with a jagged-edged blade that had a—a curved tip.

(Y/N) looked up at him with concern, his breathing was getting labored and that was not a good sign. Not a good sign at all.

“Alright, come on.” She ordered. The young woman practically dragged the reluctant elf back towards the group and pushed him down on a rock.

She knelt in front of him and, once again, ruffled through her satchel.

“Take your tunic off,” she commanded while pulling out various pouches and gauze dressings.

(Y/N) could feel all of the fellowships’ gazes on the two, which only intensified when Legolas removed his tunic. She could hear the hobbit’s hushed whispers and concerned tones for the wound was gruesome and ugly—probably the worst they have ever seen considering their simple lives.

Once she had all her supplies ready, she set to work.

(Y/N) was kneeling in-between Legolas’s legs while she studied the torn up, bloody, and bruised fresh for yet another time; it was imperative that she made a plan before starting.

During this examination, the young woman could not help but let her eyes wander across his chest and rippling muscles. The bends and curves of his form looked perfect against his pale complexion. He was incredibly toned and well built, even more so than humans. She would be lying if she said she wasn’t attracted to him.

Additionally, battle scars of various shapes and sizes littered his body—which was expected given he was over 2,000 years old. Here, she took a moment to study them for if one really looked at a warriors scars their fighting style would be revealed. Many stretched across his being—specifically on his ribcage, sides, pecs, and abs—it was clear that he was way more reckless than he would like people to think. He was fast with his moves, going for the quickest way to an oppenent’s death, but that often left him exposed. No wonder he ended up with this terrible bruising gash. He lived up to the Mirkwood elf expectation—less wise and more fierce.

As (Y/N) realized that her mind had wandered too far off task, she cleared her throat and reached for the flask of liquor.

“This will sting,” she stated before pouring it over the broken flesh. As expected, a loud groan escaped his lips and his fists clenched around nothingness.

Carefully she dabbed the area with a cloth. (Y/N) then threaded a needle and began to sew his skin back together. The elf was stiff as he clenched his jaw and flexed his muscles—a natural reflex in this kind of situation. She continued to pull his skin taught so their was no more breakthrough bleeding. It seemed that he had gotten used to the sensation as she went given he began to relax. Next, she made a paste for the wound, much like Strider’s. However, she decided to use more than athelas leaves because this cut was more severe than the Ranger’s. (Y/N) ground up echinacea stalks and mixed in alder bark to soothe inflammation and fight infection. Gently she applied the blended mixture into his torso. Lastly, she wound gauze and dressings around his midsection in order to keep everything in place.

Much time had past given stitches took long; luckily, the fellowships’ concerned glances faded.

(Y/N) stood up from her position and it was then when she released just how close the two were. She stood between his legs, their faces inches apart. If it was anyone else, she wouldn’t have cared for she often had to be in such proximities with others as she was a healer. But this wasn’t anyone else, it was him.

“You—you should be fine now,” (Y/N) whispered. She cleared her throat and stepped backwards. “I will have to check on it every day and redo the bandages. And I advise you: no sudden movements, and no lifting heavy objects—like the hobbits.”

Legolas cracked a smile at that last comment. “Thank you, (Y/N). I truly appreciate your skill.”

“That is what I’m here for, is it not?” She adverted her eyes and kept her hands busy by gathering her supplies for she feared her expression would betray her.

Legolas put his tunic back on as he spoke, “I suppose it is, but nethertheless I thank you.”

......

As the days went on she continued to check Legolas’s wound. (Y/N) tried to make it more private by dragging him off to the side or away from the group, given that she suspected it was uncomfortable for him to undress everyday in front of inquiring eyes (aka the hobbits).

It was dusk when she crouched down to examine it once again.

“It is healing nicely,” She said. “A lot faster than I suspected, but I suppose that is because you are elven.” Her nervousness caused her to continue speaking when she did not wish to do so. “I mainly treat men....and dwarves. It is not often that I have a wounded elf at my door. Do you know an elf named Feren? I recall he said he was of Mirkwood Kin. I treated him once years ago for a busted leg when he strayed into northern territories.”

A small smirk crossed Legolas’s face, “Ahh so you are the beautiful healer who patched him up so well?”

(Y/N) felt heat creep up her face, “I—I would not say that—“

“Nonsense! He spoke of your beauty and skill many times, and he was not mistaken. I am just surprised that I have been lucky enough to gaze upon you and have you heal me.”

These words made (Y/N)’s gauze wrapping motions falter. “It—it is my job, Legolas.”

“Yet you go beyond your assignment and duty everyday. I see how you take care of us all, especially the hobbits. You truly have a noble heart.”

(Y/N) smiled softly and spoke in a teasing tone, “Well I suppose you are right—all you boys would be lost without me.”

A deep chuckled hummed in Legolas’s chest and the healer joined in with a bright laugh.

The giggles settled soon enough and Legolas spoke, his sentence quite abrupt. “How would you feel about coming to Mirkwood and living there as a healer once the ring is destroyed?”

Shocked, (Y/N) stuttered. “I—I am unsure. I don’t know if—“

“(Y/N)...” He interrupted. “I do not wish for the end of this journey to be the end of our acquaintance.”

The young woman looked down, “As I agree, but—“

“(Y/N),” he whispered.

Something about his tone made her freeze.

Ever so gently, he lifted her chin to force her to look at him. His voice was quiet as he spoke, “I—I don’t think you understand what I am trying to convey.”

Oh....

Now she understood.

The healer glanced at his lips which hovered near her own before biting her bottom one and locking gazes with him. Legolas of course noticed this and waisted no time. He pressed his mouth against hers and she instantly responded. Her hands slid up his bare chest, careful to avoid the wound on his torso, and then tangled themselves in his blonde locks. His muscular arms wrapped around her waist tightly as he focused on the taste of mint tea and fresh honey. The two moved their lips in sync and the world around them melted away. Suddenly, there was no quest, no fellowship, no responsibilities—only the two of them and the thudding of their hearts.

.......

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Legolas tag: @dark-angel-is-back

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[krysalla-archive]

come away with me.

relationship: geralt of rivia x reader warning(s): my dumbassery... word count: 3k summary: geralt comes home to you after a four month separation

Winter is approaching fast. Nearly all the trees have shed their leaves and covered the grass and the cold chill has started to bite a little harder during the day and make the nights almost unbearable. The rain will start soon and you won’t have any more days where you can lay out beneath the sun without the fear of frostbite or rain. Only a few more days left like this. 

A shadow is cast over you, large and cold, heat seeping out from your body. You peek one eye open to look at who has interrupted your slice of heaven. Amber eyes peer down at you and sunlight catches on silver strands of hair. You smile. It’s been too long since you’ve seen his face. 

“Hello, dove.”

You close your eyes and hum, “Stand a little more to the left? You’re blocking the sun, darling.”

He scoffs. “Three months I haven’t seen you and that’s all you have to say?”

“Actually, my love, it’s been four months. And, yes, it’s one of the last days of sun for a while and I don’t want anything to spoil it. Not even my favorite Witcher.” You smirk up at him and pat the space to the right of you. You’ve been waiting patiently for this day. 

He follows your teasing order, crushing clovers and blades of grass beneath heavy boots and heavier steps. He sits next to you and groans when his knee pops. He’s getting old, you both are, but you’re the only one that will outwardly look it while he will stay the same for much longer than you. You mourned that fact once, just at the beginning, even though you were plagued with the question of what you meant to him. 

He leans over you. A blur of pink and white and he has a flower tucked into your hair. You smile. 

“A flower?”

“Peony, the merchant told me. Reminded me of you.” He grunts and lies by your side. 

“Careful, my dear Witcher. People might start to think you aren’t a soulless, unfeeling thing.”

He rolls his eyes at that, but you smile wider. You pluck the flower from behind your ear and twirl it between your fingers. It’s beautifully preserved. It must have cost a pretty penny since peonies only bloom in the spring and early summer and the preservation process is quite expensive to pay for. The simplest token and it makes your heart swell with love. 

“Where did you get it?”

“Azmar. Not long after I last saw you.”

“You carried this around with you all that time?”

You swell with love and joy at the thought. He kept you with him for four months. You lay your hand over your heart, flower tucked between your palm and your breast. “Tell me about your travels?”

He hums. Geralt runs his thumb over your knuckles. There isn’t much to tell and what he can tell you isn’t something that you should hear. His stories are gruff and short and more importantly, tell the whole truth. He would much rather you hear Jaskier’s version of events over the truth any day. He doesn’t want your perception of him to change. If you ever heard that thought come out of his mouth, you would be furious. 

“Please?” You cradle his cheek with your free hand and turn him to face you, “For me?”

His eyes glide over your face, drinking in your features greedily. He’s missed you, missed the warmth and love you preserve for him. Your smile, soft and curling gently, pulls him in. The kiss is brief and chaste even if he wants something more from it, but he can wait a little longer for that. “What do you want to hear?”

You brush your finger over the scar on his forehead and smile. “Everything.”

***

You lead him home. The tiny cottage stands stark against the heavy green of the trees that surround it, a beacon of peace from the world. As proud as you are of your family, you could not live with them. This cottage, stone white and green ivy crawling up the sides, is your own little paradise and you are more than happy to share that with Geralt.

Roach is already resting in the stable. He must have come here first and went looking for you when he found that you weren’t home. What a lovely thought. He knows he could have waited in the cottage for you, but he went out of his way to bring you back home.

You push the door open and begin to fret about the small clutter that's started to gather around the single room. The old, black cat looks up from his spot on the window sill, blinks lazily at you and turns his attention to Geralt. His tail swishes and he pushes himself up and with a hiss at the Witcher, he jumps out the window to lay in the flowerbeds instead. You click your tongue. He’s a skittish old thing. He doesn’t like unfamiliarity and Geralt’s easy coming and goings from your life puts the poor thing on edge. 

“Please, sit down, I’m sure you’re tired.” You pull out a chair from the table, swiping at dust that doesn’t exist. It’s always awkward the first few minutes he steps into your home like the cottage and yourself have forgotten that he isn’t a stranger. 

One, two steps and he’s able to wrap his fingers around your wrist, his lips quirked into a half smile. He gently (always gentle with you, no one else, because he’s all too aware of his strength and the last thing he wants is to hurt you) tugs you to him. He presses a quick kiss to your temple. 

He’s good for you, even if he thinks the opposite, he brings you down and grounds you when that worry begins to claw inside of your stomach. Geralt continues to kiss you, making his way down from your temple to your cheek, jaw and finally to your lips and it takes every ounce of strength to push away from him.

“We can do that later,” you tap a finger above his heart, “Dinner first.”

***

The sound of rain pattering on your roof wakes you. It’s not a horrible way to drift away from your dreams. It’s peaceful, you can’t hear the groans of the trees over the rain or the occasional pattering of coyotes feet tracing the perimeter of your fence in an attempt to break into your chicken coup. 

He’s staring at you, but it doesn’t make the hairs on the back of your neck stand up like it does when everyone else stares at you. You thought it odd once that you were able to trust him so wholeheartedly. You have never trusted someone like this, even your own family, but then again, he understands you in a way nobody else can. 

Fingers drift over your stomach, drawing patterns that you can’t decipher. It’s his own little language, you imagine, spelling out words of love, promises he can’t voice himself. You smile when his palm lays flat against your stomach, molding to the curve of it. No matter where his hands start, they always end there. 

“How long have you been up?” you croak. Drowsiness still hangs over your head. It’s so peaceful. “You should get some sleep, beloved. You need it.”

He makes a noncommittal noise and turns you in his arms to face him. “Not yet.”

He moves his hand to your thigh and hooks it over his hip. It’s nice being close to him. You peer over his shoulder to get a glance of the fire. It’s nowhere near being completely burned out but there’s a noticeable ash pile collecting. It’s only been a few hours by your estimation. It looks though that you didn’t put nearly enough to last through the night, but no matter, you have Geralt to keep you warm through the night. 

You push your face into his chest and breathe in. He smells like lavender and honey from the soap you gave him. His fingers brush over your spine and traces a loop onto your skin. 

“I have missed you.”

“It would be nice,” you brush a piece of white hair away from his face and push yourself away just the tiniest bit so you can look him in the eye, “to just lay here forever. We wouldn’t have to miss each other so often.”

There’s a flash of emotion in his eyes, something you can’t decipher, maybe sorrow or regret. He hums and you’re not sure if it’s in agreement or just to appease you. It takes everything in you to not smooth out the worry lines on his face. 

“Kiss me?” you don’t want to think, you just want him. It isn’t a surprise that he complies with your request, he would do just about anything for you.

His hand cups your cheek and he leads you to lay on your back. He hovers over you, careful of his weight and gentle when he comes to straddle one of your legs between his. The kiss is soft, but unwavering as he tries to convey how much he’s missed you. 

***

He reaches out for your warmth and wants nothing more than another hour in bed before the rooster calls, signaling the beginning of the day, but he finds empty sheets instead. He turns to face the room, blankets tangling his ankles, and catches you in the middle of dressing. You lay out the layers on the back of a chair. 

He watches your back fondly.

You startle when his hands come to rest over yours and his fingers begin working nimbly to help you dress.

“I can get it myself, Geralt. I’m a grown woman.” You huff and turn your glance over your shoulder at him. 

He grunts in acknowledgment but continues fastening the laces on your stay. Geralt’s seen you do this countless times before. All he wants to do is help. There’s enough on your plate already and it wouldn't hurt him to help with a few simple tasks.

“Where are you going, dove?” he moves your hair to the side and presses a line of kisses down the nape of your neck. 

“We are going to the river.”

You lean back against him, melting into his touch and he can’t help the swell of pride in his heart. This is his and although he is undeserving of it, he will call you his as long as you let him. More importantly, he is yours. He likes the way that sounds to him. Yours. 

***

The damp grass gives way to sand and rocks as you approach the riverbed. It’s peaceful today as it will be until the spring. Families and fisherman and hunters will be few and far between for the next four months. It’s your favorite time to visit with Geralt. There’s no prying eyes, no townsfolk looking for another piece of gossip to fuel them through the winter. You can just be. 

You sit side by side on a thick knitted blanket with a quilt wrapped around your shoulders. Geralt insists that he’s fine and maybe he is, you know that he does run warm and that he eases the chill of winter nights when he’s there to share your bed with you, but you still want him to have the simple comfort of the weight of a blanket wrapping him up tight. 

He’s looking at you, recommitting your face to memory. But he knows you well and can read you like an open book. Every small twitch on your face, the slight downturn of your lips, the small line between your brow deepening when you pull your eyebrows together in a worried or frantic thought, the stiffness of your shoulders when you plant your knuckles against the ground rather than your palms. 

Geralt gently grasps your chin, thumb pulling at your bottom lip for just a fleeting second before he remembered what he was going to ask. “What’s wrong, dove?”

“When will you leave?”

“Eager to get rid of me, are you?” Geralt chuckles and moves his hand down the delicate curve of your neck, tucks his hand under the blanket and over your shoulder, down your chest and finally settling at the curve of your hip. It’s a well worn path and comforting to him. He leans his cheek against yours and smiles when you squirm and whisper his name in gentle chiding. 

“No, never that.” You lay your hand over his and brush the other through his loosely tied back hair, tucking in strands that have fallen out of place. He’s always had such lovely hair, strands of pure silver and soft as silk. “I want to know how much time I have left with you.”

“Dove…” he sighs. Exhausted, hesitant, resigned. 

So it will be soon, maybe even tonight if you’re unlucky enough which always seems to be the case when it comes to him. Maybe it is selfish to want to have more time with him and foolish to want yourself to occupy his every thought and have him carry you in his heart wherever he goes. But love makes you foolish. 

He cradles the back of your head when he feels you pull away. Stay. 

“There’s a village in the south, Venzor, that has a problem with ghouls.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

“Tomorrow morning.”

Geralt looks at you, shifting to sit upright and angle himself toward you. The river's small waves lap at the sand and rocks, neither so much as moving under the force. Maybe if you dip your feet into the water and wade out to the current, the river could sweep you all the way to the end of the world. What a wonderful thought. It would be easier to go that way than by heartbreak. 

“Are you upset?” He questions, but he knows you better than you know yourself. He doesn’t need to ask the question. So he flounders for something to say, because as much as he likes to disguise himself with indifference and disinterest, he does care too much. “You could come away with me.”

An appeasement. 

You both know the answer to this. No. He would never take you with him, it’s too dangerous for you out on the road when you don’t know how to defend yourself and the danger it would do to your reputation for people to know you are following a Witcher across the world. Besides, you’re selfish. You don’t want to give up your comfortable life here, you want Geralt to give up the danger and hang up his swords and strip away the armor and medallion and join you in your garden. Teach him how to tend to the vegetables and your flowers, teach him how to knead bread the way your mother taught you to. You want to give him a home, a place where he belongs and is loved instead of living on the road and reviled by the people who request his help. 

You want a normal life, one that he can share in. 

“I am upset. But as long as you come back to me, I will be okay.”

***

It’s quiet when you finally come back to your home. The entire walk back is filled with only the fading sounds of water and the rustling of dead leaves at you feet.

He will leave in the morning. He was gone for four months and you barely get to spend two full days with him. Your heart lurches at the idea of another moment without him, even a full day makes you dizzy with grief, but you understand it. He has a job, an obligation to the world. Geralt is a protector and you could not ask him to give that up, otherwise everything he went through to become a Witcher would be in vain. Still, it would be nice to live that fantasy that plays in your mind when your bed is cold and loneliness settles into your bones.

You cradle his face in your hands, swaying in your spot and his arms tighten around your waist. His forehead pressed against yours as you hum a little tune you heard from a bard whose lovelorn song had made your heart clench. It’s all you need to tether you for a while, these small stolen moments. Maybe one day you’ll both come to your senses and realize that this isn’t something that you can hold onto. You can imagine him saying that he’s stolen all chance of you for a normal life when you begin to wrinkle and your hair begins to match his. You’d do it all over again for him in a heartbeat. 

*** 

He wakes up earlier than he intended. The fire is starting to die and the black cat sits as close as it can to the fire, soaking up the warmth while it’s still alive.

You’re dead to the world at this point in the night. No matter how much he shifts on the mattress or how loud the coyotes get outside, you continue to dream. He hopes it’s happy, tranquil. An easy dream that will not make you wake with a fright and leave you unable to move until the fear subsides from your body. You told him once before that those dreams only happen when he’s not there and his presence, even to your subconscious, reminds you that you are safe when he is tucked in next to you. 

He pulls your hand to cup his cheek. Only a few more hours until he departs from home and goes back to living on the road and roughing it for an indeterminate amount of time. People become even less generous to him when winter rolls around. 

Perhaps he will return to you after this one job in Venzor and can come back to support you through the winter. He will have a warm bed and regular meals, no jostling from villagers or be casted out by the people he is trying to help. You will welcome him with open arms and invite him to hide away with you in the space you carved for yourself in the world. 

[otonymous]

Fever Dreams (MLQC Gavin - NSFW)

Description: Gavin lets you in on the contents of his wet dreams… Warnings: NSFW/18+:  Explicit/graphic language — reader discretion is advised.  Potential trigger warnings: mentions of IV lines, hospitals, minor injuries, brief mentions of trauma, Eli’s sense of impending doom, vaginal intercourse, profanity, masturbation Word Count: ~3K words (~15 mins of sweet, sweet hospital lovemaking 🤣) Author’s Notes: Close your eyes.  Imagine that Gavin is by your side — muscles flexed and lips so close they practically brush against the shell of your ear when he whispers the following:

“I hope you enjoy this fic, which was based on and inspired by Gavin’s Whispers/Biting The Ear (咬耳) ASMR from the CN server, beautifully translated by the incredibly talented and gracious @cheri-translates​.” 🤣

In all seriousness, I’m extending a massive THANK YOU to the sweet @cheri-translates​ for providing me with the awesome goods that literally left me breathless!  This fic would not have been possible without you! 💕 With that being said, hope you all enjoy it and happy reading! 🥰

👂🏼👂🏼👂🏼👂🏼👂🏼👂🏼👂🏼👂🏼👂🏼👂🏼👂🏼👂🏼👂🏼👂🏼👂🏼👂🏼👂🏼👂🏼👂🏼👂🏼👂🏼👂🏼👂🏼👂🏼👂🏼👂🏼👂🏼👂🏼👂🏼👂🏼👂🏼👂🏼👂🏼👂🏼👂🏼

It was easy to forget at times; that Gavin was made of flesh and bone like everyone else.

That lionhearted though he was, the man wasn’t invincible, no matter what he would have you believe: hiding winces behind smiles and brushing off bruises blooming blue like they were nothing at all.

It was little wonder then that when the phone rang that night, it was Eli’s voice on the other line.  And as you stood before the bathroom mirror, wrapped in nothing but a towel and watching the colour drain from your face, the stilted manner of his speech made it increasingly clear he was unused to delivering bad news.

“I’m gonna kill him when I see him,” Gavin swears under his breath, the hand with the IV drip attached pulling into a tight fist by his side.

Now you understood why.

“They’re making a fuss over nothing, keeping me in hospital for observation.  It’s just a few scratches.”

Amber eyes train in your direction, the earnestness in their tender depths melting the edge of the anger you felt at always being the last to know anytime your lover got hurt.  And when he tries to smile despite the bulky bandage plastered on his left cheek, your resistance falters.

“ ‘They’re making a fuss over nothing.’  I bet you’d say that even if you were missing a limb, Gavin Bai.”  

Suddenly exhausted by the anxiety that made you rush to the Special Task Force hospital upon receiving Eli’s call, you slump into the chair at his bedside, still annoyed but relived to find that he was well enough to laugh at your sarcasm.

“Hmm, I must be in a lot of trouble if you’re calling me by name like that.”  

Smirk spreading on that handsome face, his eyes take on a mischievous twinkle that makes him altogether impossible to resist.  You couldn’t help but think of that rough and tumble high school senior who threw furtive glances in your direction every time he walked past in the halls, lip cut and face bruised.  

“Come.  It’s too late to go home now and you can’t sleep on the chair like that.  Join me on the bed.”

Voice breaking through your reverie, Gavin holds out the hand that wasn’t hooked to the drip — large, strong and inviting.  You hesitate, fingers fiddling with the hem of your shirt as you look towards the door.  

“I-I really shouldn’t.  We’re in a hospital and there won’t be enough room for the two of us.  You, especially, need a good night’s sleep, being injured—”

Three dull pats sound in quick succession to interrupt you.  Turning your head, you see Gavin scooting to one side of the bed, hand beckoning towards the newly vacated space.  “The beds here are larger than the ones in your average hospital.  STF perk, I guess.  But if you insist on refusing then…I guess I’ll just have to accompany you in sleeping sitting up—”

Relenting with a click of the tongue, you snatch the pillow from his grasp just as he begins propping it up behind his back, sliding it beneath his head as you gingerly crawl in next to him.

“That’s my girl.”

Gavin’s whisper is electric in your ear, low and seductive in a way that made you question the innocence of his motives, wondering if he was already aware of the sensations his body pressed to the side of yours was eliciting.  His lips curve in a smile on your forehead, breath dancing hot across skin.  And when he reaches for you, the sight mesmerizes: long, tapered fingers smoothing slow along the strands of your hair.

“Eli must’ve called while you were still in the shower.  You didn’t even have time to dry your hair, did you?  Look at how wet it is.”

And though you were on the verge of telling him that it wasn’t only your hair that was wet, you thought better of it.  There was a heaviness in his tone, weighed down by the concern that inevitably arose every time Gavin thought you weren’t taking care of yourself: encouraging you with bites of the BBQ pork rice he brought in takeout containers whenever you skipped meals during late nights at the office, draping his jacket over your shoulders when you shook from the cold — having decided on form over function in a lightweight but pretty new dress worn especially to impress on date nights.

“Don’t worry, it’s almost dry anyway.”

“Hmm.”  Faint displeasure taints his acknowledgment, but you close your eyes to the furrow in his brows, unable to focus on anything other than the touch of his fingers on your skin — calloused tips tracing the line of your jaw to traipse over the chin until finally coming to rest on your lower lip.  He is so close you can feel the tail end of your exhalation being drawn into Gavin’s next breath when he says:

“I know I really scared you this time.  I’m sorry.  I was careless, but it won’t happen again.  Please don’t be mad, okay?”

Eyes opening to the sight of his, you study the specks of gold embossed in amber, beautifully familiar.  See your reflection in the dark pupils holding your face in loving regard.  Felt your heart chill at the thought of Gavin one day not returning home.  And when the sting of tears arrives to redden the tip of your nose, you turn away, unwilling to add to his burdens with your own.

“All I ask…is that you be open with me.  I know you want to protect me, Gavin.  You don’t want me to worry.  But it’s much worse to have to guess about whether or not you’re lying just to be kind.  I’m a grown woman and your partner, so please don’t handle me with kid gloves.  Let me take care of you too, sometimes.”

Staring at the patterns on the curtain drawn around the bed, you listen for the rhythm of his breath — slow and even in the ensuing silence and punctuated only by the intermittent beeps of machinery, the weight of your concerns slowly sinking in before he finally relents.

“Okay.  I won’t keep anything from you anymore.  I promise.  So please…could you let me just…”  

A hand wraps around your waist, grip firm yet gentle as he pulls you close beneath the thin sheet.  You feel his mouth on the nape of your neck, Gavin’s kisses falling hot and insistent between muffled words.

“…hold you, like this?”

Nodding, you bite your lip, barely suppressing a moan to feel his fingers crawl beneath your shirt; warming themselves on the soft skin of your belly, tracing circles about the navel.

“Seven days.  It’s been…hmm…seven days since I’ve last held you.  It’s too long.”

The last statement is breathed into the curve of your neck and shoulder, your boyfriend inhaling deeply as he buries his face into the space, the embrace around you tightening as if touch alone could communicate all the longing he wasn’t quite able to put into words.

“It was a difficult mission.  I couldn’t sleep.  And anytime I did, I would dream of you.  Always of you.  Want to know what we did?”

Cotton-mouthed, you resort to nodding again.

“Then be a good girl and turn around first.  I want…need to see you…that’s good.  In my dreams, we’d be together, just like this.  I’d have you in my arms, so close I could feel every inch of your body…how hot it is…just like now.  No, don’t move away.  I like it. I’ve got a fever, but I’m also feeling chilled.  I want your heat.”

Those amber eyes are dark now, half-lidded and veiled with lust — proof that Gavin’s increasingly shallow breathing was not an exaggeration.  It was a look you recognized; the expression his handsome face wore the moment he saw you again after a mission had kept him away for too long.  It typically resulted in entire weekends spent in bed, limbs entwined as Gavin made love to you over and over again.

Until you were boneless and spent.  

Until your lover was satisfied that he was thoroughly reacquainted with every curve of your body.

You reach for him: trembling fingers tracing the line of his brow, thumb circling the apple of his cheek.  Gavin closes his eyes, exhalation shaky as he nuzzles into your palm to lay a kiss on that, too.

“Your touch feels cool on my skin.”

“Oh!  I’m sorry—”

“No.  Don’t be.”  Fingers curling about the wrist that pulled back, Gavin gently guides your hand towards his forehead.  “It’s nice.  I like it.  But…my back is warm too.  Do you think you could help me lower the temperature there?”

Swallowing, you start to inch your hands towards the open back of his hospital gown.  Gavin softly groans to feel your fingers running along the ridge of his shoulder blades, caressing defined muscles and faded scars you had committed to memory long ago.

“Is this all right?”

Now his turn to nod, Gavin’s head drops back, accentuating the bob of his prominent Adam’s apple in that strong, thick neck.

“I’m...ah…also feeling hot here.”

Large palms fall over the back of your hands, guiding them over his rib cage until they find themselves on the hard muscles of Gavin’s abdomen.  Thighs pressing together beneath your skirt, you trace that defined V-line — touch featherlight in a way that draws out a shudder, goosebumps blooming across the expanse of Gavin’s skin.

Suddenly, you freeze to hear footsteps approaching in the hallway beyond the door.  And just when you start to pull away, Gavin stops you with a whisper:

“Don’t worry.  The nurse has already been in to check on me tonight.  They won’t be back again, unless…unless they see that my heart rate has become unusually high.”

He winks.

“Besides, if they find you here, I’ll just say that, um…I’m afraid of sleeping by myself in the dark.”

That smirk again.  You wonder at what point your boyfriend had become so cheeky, knowing just the right things to say to get his way.

“Could you help me?  I’m burning up…right here.”

Lower and lower, he guides your hands, leaving them to their own devices when they reach the waistband of his boxers.  Barely breathing, you watch as the expression on his face transforms from anticipation to euphoria the moment you slip past the elastic, fingers circling his hardened length with a loose grip.

“Officer, you weren’t lying!”

Gaze already heavy with want, the chuckle Gavin lets out in response has never sounded so sexy.  “It’s because I’m running a fever.  Or perhaps…it’s because I’m thinking of you.  Do you think we should…make it even hotter?”

You wet your lips, feeling Gavin twitch in your hand at the sight; feel the vein pulsing on the underside of that thick shaft as he continues to swell in size.  Firming up your grip, you begin to stroke in earnest, trying to maintain your rhythm despite the distraction of your own throbbing pussy, despite the way you grew increasingly wet to envision him sliding into your depths, satin panties clinging to the lines of your folds.

Smoothing your thumb over the liquid arousal beading at the tip of his cock, you draw wide, slick circles over velvet skin — paying especial attention to the ridge just below the swollen head because you loved how Gavin sounded when caught in the throes of ecstasy.  It pleased you to pleasure him — the man who never thought twice about putting you before himself.

Always so strong, always fearless, you loved to watch him fall apart.  Over you.  Beneath you.  In you.  Held in the palm of your hand or folded to your embrace.  You could feel the tension leaving his body — worn out and battered — each time he returned to your side from a mission, the trauma of all the things he couldn’t talk about seeping from every pore as you sought to show him love with the swing of your hips, the kisses you showered upon his sweat-soaked face.  With the normalcy only the simplicity of a home-cooked meal could restore.  “I love you,” he’d smile and say, amber eyes blinking once, twice…as if Gavin couldn’t quite believe you were real.  “I really do.”

“This is the first time someone has stayed with me in the hospital, let alone shared my hospital bed.” Gavin’s voice is low, thick with emotion in between shuddering gasps elicited by each tug along his length.  “Who would’ve thought that...even at a time like this…I’d be lucky enough not to be alone.”

“I’d never let you be lonely,” you say with a sudden vehemence that surprises even you.  “Never again.”

He smiles, gentle eyes glistening when his large hand approaches to cup your face.  Gavin touches you as if holding something of infinite importance, “Angel” falling from his lips in a soft utterance.

“I don’t think I can sleep tonight.  I don’t want to.  What about you?  Will you…stay up with me?…Help my fever break—”

You kiss him deeply, swallowing his words even as your tongue pushes past teeth to meet Gavin’s in reunion.  You had missed him; missed the way he tasted, the hint of mint that lingered in the breath you shared, as if your very lives were as entwined as your bodies in embrace.

To lose him was to lose yourself.  

And so, you give yourself over to the man who gave so much and asked for so little in return.

“Then I won’t sleep either.  I want to stay with you.”

Throwing one last glance at the door, you rise to your knees, skirt bunching at the waist as you straddle his hips.  Eyes wide, Gavin starts to move before you stop him, saying “Let me” as you push him back onto the bed before the IV line could pull taut.

You loved how Gavin looked at you, the artless way he wore his heart on his sleeve — showing in the pink of his cheeks, the blush creeping all the way to the tips of pierced ears.  It was a side of him only you were privy to; unguarded and unfiltered.  He watched you now, those amber eyes lit with a dark hunger to follow the motions of your hands: one pulling dampened panties aside as the other spreads glistening lips, guiding his cock along the length of your slit before you ease yourself onto his hard heat.  

Unable to stop the moan that escapes, you slide…lower and lower…until the flesh of your buttocks meets the muscular plane of his pelvis.  But the sensation continues — electricity spreading towards the very pit of the stomach to curl your spine, chest opening to receive all of his love.

Breathing barely controlled, Gavin bites hard on his lip in a bid to stay quiet, unwilling to attract the attention of curious staff.  “God, you feel so good.  I just…just want to move.”

“No, let me…let me be the one to take care of you this time.  Please.”

For the second time that night, Gavin relents, yielding to your exquisite torture even as he fought to leash the animal impulse that spurred him to rip free of the machinery and fuck you until the bed collapsed.  Hands clenching tight around the bedsheet, his knuckles grow white, as if the flimsy fabric were a lifeline keeping him from being swept away each time you lifted and lowered yourself onto him.

For everything about you drove him mad, from the tight, grinding circles you drew with your hips whenever he was fully sheathed, to the clenching embrace of your arousal-slicked walls that held him like no other, as if the entirety of you were created with him in mind.  Or, at least, it was a fantasy he harboured; to think that fate had a hand in ordaining you his sole queen, and him, forever your humble servant.

“Ahh, Gavin!…I…you’re so deep, I’m com—”

You don’t get to finish before your mind blanks.  All you could focus on was the sudden grip of Gavin’s hands on your hips and the shift of your weight forwards when his knees draw up, giving your lover the proper leverage to pound hard and fast into you from below until your arousal pools to drench those six-pack abs.

It nearly overwhelms you; the orgasm that makes you collapse onto Gavin’s chest, the contractions that hit like tidal waves moving through your body.  They spur him on, continuing to fuck you so hard the bed shook, each and every thrust hitting just the right, swollen spot to keep you elevated on that high.  And when you whisper

“I love you”

before your tongue extends to suck the lobe of his ear into your mouth, the tension building in the taut muscles of that perfect body breaks.  

You hear your name leave his lips in a deep moan, feel him leave a part of himself in the secret space between your legs.  Taste the salt of his sweat on kisses laid upon the pulse of his neck.  Waited for his racing heart to slow before telling yours it was okay to do the same.

And when his arms wrap tightly around your body, “I love you, too” returned with palpable affection, you let yourself fall into slumber…knowing that even in dreams, Gavin would meet you there.

👂🏼👂🏼👂🏼👂🏼👂🏼👂🏼👂🏼👂🏼👂🏼👂🏼👂🏼👂🏼👂🏼👂🏼👂🏼👂🏼👂🏼👂🏼👂🏼👂🏼👂🏼👂🏼👂🏼👂🏼👂🏼👂🏼👂🏼👂🏼👂🏼👂🏼👂🏼👂🏼👂🏼👂🏼👂🏼

Thank you so much for reading!  Check out more of my work here! 📚

[sirthisisa-wendys]

The Sacrifice Part 4: Geto Suguru x Fem!Reader

synopsis: close brushes with death are rarely escaped without a few scars.

wc: 1.9k

tw: none - fluff (jesus WHEN are we getting to the NSFW stuff?! Come ON, PLOT)

masterlist

“Now… pour the tea.”

Your hands drift from the saucer to the teapot, and you slowly pour the steaming liquid into the waiting cup. You wonder why Clymenestra has you doing this instead of writing today, but you don’t ask any questions as she makes you repeat the action over and over again. “Strong wrists make for better handwriting,” she announces on your fifth cup of tea. “And you, my dear, need stronger wrists.”

You curse at her mentally on your way back from the room they call the “library”: (l-i-b-r-a-r-y), and when you reach your room, you lay in your bed, wrists exhausted from the exercise. In the time you’d spent learning how to read and write, you’d read four stories with Geto: Mija, the Little Mermaid; The Empress' Nightingale; The Princess and The Pea; and your personal favorite, The Snow Queen.

What really drives your interest, though, are the intricate illustrations and sketches of the characters within the book. It’s almost as if they come to life when you look at them in this way and sometimes, you took the book from Geto just to examine the details and intricacies of each colored page. But he’d sweetly call you back to reality and help you read the next sentence and the next, until the story was over. You’d learned how to sound out words by their letters, like “under”, “jumping”, and “fire”. Some words were easier than others, but you feel like you’re getting the hang of it, albeit, slowly.

So when Geto comes to you a few hours after dinner, you feel brave enough to hold your hands out for the book.

“Can we read the story about the girl who lost her slipper tonight?”

“You mean Settareh? The Persian Cinderella?”

“Yes,” you whisper eagerly, flipping until you see the beautiful woman illustrated in a purple frock. You run your hands over the large letters and then smile to yourself, eyeing the page greedily. You’re so focused on this, in fact, that you barely register Geto sliding in behind you and placing his large arm on the pillows. When he points to the first words, you’re already murmuring them along with him: “Once upon a time…” Then you begin your practice, sounding out the words slowly and methodically, praying you wouldn’t miss any. But if you did, Geto would help you, sounding it out, then letting you try it.

Tonight, you’re stuck on the word “illuminate”.

“I… lum… eh-lum...in… Geto, a little help?” When you turn to face the Dragon God, you’re thoroughly surprised to see his eyes completely closed. His breath comes out in soft hissing sounds, and his hands rest on your thighs as his chest rises and falls evenly. You consider waking him for a moment, but instead, close the book and set it on your nightstand, pulling the covers up around the both of you. Unsure if you should lean into his chest or not (for comfort, you tell yourself), you instead choose to curl up on your side away from him and close your eyes.

And for the first night in many nights, you fall asleep quickly.

_____________________________________________________________

The sunlight that graces your face in the morning awakens you from a deep sleep, and for once, you feel well-rested. It’s only when you try to stretch that you notice the body still laying beside you, arms resting around your frame. When you look to see who it is, you’re shocked that it’s still the Dragon God, now with his face nuzzled into your neck. He groans, fingers twitching, but doesn’t wake, which you’re concerned about at first, but then a thought comes to you.

You start at the top of his head, where his inky, dark locks stem from, and then follow the bridge of his nose past his eyebrows and to his eyes, which are closed. Long lashes rest against his upper and lower lash line, and you can imagine the black irises beneath the lids where green veins run underneath the thin layer of skin. You trace the tip of his nose with your eyes, then down to his lips, where they meet in a thin, pinkish line. When they turn up into a small smile, you look back up into his eyes, which are open now.

You inhale sharply, then almost begin to stammer out a reply, but the Dragon God presses his fingers to your lips to stop you. His eyes blink slowly, then he removes his fingers one at a time before leaning his head down and ghosting his lips over yours. You’re in enough shock to stay still, but another part of you wants him - silently dares him - to finish what he started. You don’t know what you’re doing, but instinct takes over abruptly and you press your lips to him, hoping against all hope that he would take the lead in some respect.

“Y/n…” he whispers against your mouth before pressing his lips against yours again. When your hands come up to cradle his neck and his hands dip below the sheets to pull you closer, something inside of you lights up like a long-forgotten flame, burning you alive and quickly at that. Your mouth moves against his slowly, pressing but not forcing, seeking but not finding. But it doesn’t matter.

Who knew your first kiss would be with a god?

Your first kiss.

You break the seal between your lips immediately and sit up, and Geto hums curiously.

“What’s wrong?” he whispers, sitting up slowly and letting his hands touch your shoulders.

“I--” you break off, confused. What is this feeling in my chest? When you turn to look at his face, it seems he’s utterly lost, but the doors are thrown open by Cly before you can clarify your feelings.

“Your Holiness: His Omnipresence, Toji Fushiguro, is here.” Not a beat passes before Geto tosses off the covers and shoots to his feet.

“Clymenestra, hide her.” Geto leaves without another word, and you hear the words,

“Well, I’ll be damned!” from an unfamiliar voice before you’re hustled into the bathroom by Ariadne and Serena, with Helen not too far behind.

“His Holiness was not expecting His Omnipresence to arrive, was he?” Ariadne hisses while running bathwater in a massive tub.

“No,” Serena answers, stripping you out of your nightgown.

“Wait, who is this?” you wonder, looking around at the women frantically.

“Toji is the God of Death, and the God of Wind’s father,” Helen answers.

Don’t go blabbing your mouth to your stupid father, either.

“Who told?” Helen asks no one in particular, but you recall seeing the pink-haired youth the other day and groan inwardly. You’re already making a mess of things, and you aren’t even immortal yet. Voices are getting louder from the hallway, and the women around you begin to scramble.

“In, in!” Ariadne encourages you, and you step into the lukewarm bath, watching them strip to their undergarments and dunk their robes into the water with you. It appears as if they are pretending to wash their clothes - thus making a protective half-circle concealing you from sight - when the doors to the bathroom fly open, and you hear:

“Oh, shit. Sorry, ladies. Have you seen a little human female around here?” The women squeal, making a scene by clutching at themselves and bending over the tub (and you), and Geto yells,

“Toji, give the ladies some privacy!” The doors slam shut, and the three women return to normal, pulling their clothes out of the water and wringing them out. No one speaks until Ariadne whispers,

“This is why Geto turns us into immortals,” and then places her hands on her forehead, rubbing some phantom headache away. “Toji is always looking for something so he can kill it.”

_____________________________________________________________

With the fiasco behind you, you rest in the bed and attempt to close your eyes. But every time you close them, you hear Toji’s voice and your eyes fly open again, your heart beats faster, and you can feel thick fingers running over your skin. You fly out of your bed and into the corridor, where lamps light your way past the dining room and into the library, where you sit among the various volumes that you don’t even pretend to want to read. But there’s something about these books that makes you feel safe as if their words could protect you from a heinous creature such as Toji Fushiguro.

“Looking for something to read?” you hear from above you, and you look up, following the sound to a ladder poised at the end of the bookshelves. Geto stands atop it, sliding a book back into the highest shelf before sliding back down it. Watching him swiftly descend makes your heart leap a little, and you wonder why you’re just now noticing all of the ways he looks like he was sculpted by a master craftsman. His hair is tied up in a half-bun, and he’s dressed in a simple black and white shuhe and duanda, almost identical to Megumi’s.

“I can’t stop thinking about Toji,” you admit, and he frowns, coming closer to you and swiping two fingers from the right side of your chin to the left, then cupping your cheek in his hand.

“You have nothing to fear, y/n. Toji won’t harm you as long as you remain here in my realm.” You want to be reassured by the words - you really do. But it seems as if even Geto might have to bend to Toji’s will at some point. And you didn’t know if you’d personally be caught in the crossfire. “Please, don’t think about his intrusion.”

“Ariadne told me that Toji is the reason why you make them immortal.”

“She’s telling you the truth,” he affirms, nodding. “He almost didn’t leave today. I had to convince him he was mistaken multiple times.” Geto shakes his head, his hand drifting from your cheek to your thigh. “But when you learn how to read, it will all be rectified.”

“What if he finds me before then?” you breathe, and he takes your shaking hands, pressing tender kisses to your fingers rapidly.

“I won’t let him harm you. I will give you my word as my bond.” You feel a weight lift from your shoulders and sigh deeply. “Now, you should get some rest.” When he pulls you up from your seat and drags you along with him, you wonder where he’s taking you until you see a large wooden door decorated with images of dragons.

Geto pushes it open and reveals a bedroom massive enough to cover the entire city square. He points to his bed in the dim lighting and you crawl into the oversized behemoth, snuggling under a blanket that looks like someone's hand wove the animals, clouds, and nature-scapes into the fabric.

“You can sleep here whenever you desire.”

“But where will you sleep?” you ask, sitting up a little.

“I have a massive side of the bed to myself. Don’t worry, I’m sharing it, not bequeathing it.” When you’re satisfied, he pulls the covers around you, tucking you in properly, then presses a kiss to your forehead. “Sleep well, y/n.”

He sits at a desk as you burrow deeper into the covers, and as you fall asleep, you know you’ll spend every single night in the presence of the Dragon God from now on.

_____________________________________________________________

TAGLIST: @nostaren @sunfloweroranges @jibe-gajima @jotazinha @brownskinnedgirll @leanne-tamashi @vabybizzle @amaris9 @fuegy-fuegy @ambiguous-something @kontentious @missbonekitty @fyotituti @honouredsatoru @sandyscastle @flare-on @sasahime @ggotgame @just4readingfics

[t-o-m-hollands]

Chapter eight

Summery: Tom is part of the Firm, a fearless London gang. You knew each other as children, before everything changed. Now your paths cross again.

Pairing: Tom and female reader.

Themes: Mob!Tom, Peaky Blinders inspired, period piece – this is set in 1961, London.

Warnings: Violence, kidnapping, one hit to the head. Smut. I mean, it’s a mob!AU so generally just a lot of talking of murder, fighting and violence. THIS IS A +18 STORY. 

Word count: 5k. Sorry, but this is an eventful chapter so got a bit long. I didn’t want it to end in a cliffhanger so I sort of had to go on a bit

An absolute massive thank you to @plantlungs​ for being an amazing editor and for having the patient of a saint and correct all my misplaced commas and confused word choices. 

READ PREVIOUS CHAPTERS HERE

Recap of the story so far: Tom is part of and working himself up in the Firm; the feared London gang. Its leader is a certain Fabien Towner. After an attack on Harrison it’s clear that they have a traitor in their midst who is also working for the rival gang created by a man called Jack Flanagan. While Tom is trying to bring the attacker in for questioning he meets you; his old school love (and unfortunately for him, the daughter of the home secretary who has spent most of his career trying to put an end to organized crime).  After an interesting night where you end up as a witness for a murder Tom essentially has to kidnap you until he knows what to do with you. Ending up deciding to let you live, and in doing so risking his own life, he lies to Fabien about there being no witness to the crime.  

Some time later you and Tom meet again at the club Romantique, as Tom has gone there to negotiate with Jack Flanagan. You go home with Tom that night and the two of you begin an affair. Fabien, finding out about the affair and of who your father is, is delighted, thinking that he can use you as leverage to the home secretary.  

Not many days later Tom is attacked by Flanagan’s gang, and he flees to your house where you patch him up. He tells you of Fabien’s plan, and asks you to work with him in order to bring the traitor in – the only thing that can possibly distract the Firm’s leader from you. You agree to help him.  

***

All you have is your fire

And the place you need to reach

Don't you ever tame your demons

But always keep 'em on a leash

arsonist's lullaby - hozier

***

You wake with a kiss to your forehead. Opening your heavy eyelids, you’re met with a smile, and a pair of sparkling brown eyes.

“Morning” Tom says quietly. He’s sitting on the edge of the bed, already dressed for the day in his usual suit, hair fixed and the outlining of a gun showing underneath his suit jacket. 

“Good morning,” you respond, voice soft and full of sleep. Sitting up in the soft bed and pulling the sheets around you, you lean closer towards him. Gently you place your hand on his cheek, stroking his skin you feel the faint trace of stubble. He smells of his lemon and cedar soap and faintly of cigarettes. Pressing your lips softly against his other cheek, and then on his jawline,  you whisper against his skin, “Do you really have to go?”

You can tell he’s focusing on his breathing, and as you lean back his dark eyes, glossed over and pupils dilated, are focused on your lips. His own mouth is slightly opened, and he’s leaning in towards you. Just as he’s about to press his lips against yours he murmurs, “Afraid so, darling.” He leans back and winks at you, a devilish smile on his lips. 

“Don’t worry, angel, I’ll give you everything you want soon enough.”He stands up and moves towards the door. “I’ll be back before you know it, just doing some collecting today; shouldn’t be more than an hour. I’ll come back and we’ll have lunch, yeah?”

He’s leaned against the doorway, hands in suit pockets, the stolen Rolex on his wrist glistening in the early morning light coming in through the window. He’s all wicked smiles and dimples and his eyes are gleaming as he looks at you; sitting in the middle of the bed, white sheets pulled around you and hair loose, your skin kissed by the sun streaming in.

You smile back at him and letting go of the sheets you let them fall around you. Leaning back against your elbows you slowly spread your bent legs; looking at him all the while. He’s got his dark eyes fixated on where your spread legs meet. Slowly walking towards you, like a hunter approaching its prey. Reaching the bed he leans over it, grabs hold of your thighs, and pulls you towards him until he’s pressed up against your naked crotch. Leaning over you, hands resting on either side of your face, he whispers in a low voice against your lips, “Such a devious little temptress, aren’t you?”

He leans back and falls down on his knees. Kissing the soft inside of your thigh he bites the sensitive skin, leaving a wet and burning spot, he blows cold air on it and you shiver. He looks up at you, wicked smile in place and eyes sparkling with pleasure. “You could tempt a saint you know?” he says, voice thick with bewildered wonder as he presses his soft lips against your cunt, before licking up your slit, eagerly. “How’s a poor devil like me supposed to stand a chance?” 

***  

There’s a flickering light above your head and the hallway smells of something rotten. The dark medallion wallpaper and crimson-coloured carpet make it feel like the room is spinning slightly around you. 

You’re just about to carefully lock the door to Tom’s apartment, having decided to go home and change before lunch, when you hear a creaking on the floor behind you. Something like alarm bells go off in your head, and you turn around only to be hit with something heavy and sharp right by your mouth.   

A ringing in your ear, and the whole room seems to change perspective, turn on its side somehow. It takes you a second to realize that it isn’t the room that has fallen; it is you. Something above you moves, but you can’t see clearly, just the outlines of a blurred shadow coming closer and closer and a smell you can’t place but is stronger than the rotten smell of the hallway. And then a wet cloth covers your mouth.

Memories of when you were a child, swimming in the municipal pool, flash before your eyes and you can’t understand why.

Only, just before everything turns dark, does it hit you.  

Chloroform. 

*** 

The first thing your mind registers as you wake is a sore neck. A sore neck and a stinging nose and a back that feels uncomfortably stiff. You try to open your eyes but find the world just as dark as when you had them closed. Trying to move your hands you realize that they have been tied behind the uncomfortable chair you’ve been placed in.  

Panic rises like bile in your throat and you want to scream, but the sound refuses to leave your lips, as if the panic itself is blocking it from leaving. Trying to kick your legs you realize that they too have been bound.  

“She’s awake,” someone mutters behind you and you freeze, heart beating so hard in your chest that it’s hard to hear anything but the blood rushing through your system. “Go tell Jack,” the voice orders, and a pair of heavy footsteps move across the floor and soon a door opens and shuts.  

Laying all your focus on your breathing, trying not to hyperventilate, you try to keep in control of yourself, though you can feel sweat begin to form on your forehead. You feel hyper- aware of your own body, of the rope digging into the fragile skin of your wrists, of the hard chair underneath you, of your own mortality and the dangerous situation you are in. You had been in a situation like this before, in a now very familiar apartment in Mile’s End. But even though you had been frightened then, it is nothing compared to the terror that grips hold of you now.

Soon a door opens, and footsteps move across the floor again.  

“Now boys, is this the way you treat a lady?” A deep voice roars in an Irish brogue. “Have I taught you no manners?” The footsteps move closer and closer until they’re standing behind you.  

“You big lads so scared of a girl you need to tie her up?” You hear how the man fiddles with something, only to realise that he’s untying the rope around your legs. Soon you feel the rope loose; but you are too frightened to even try to move them out of their uncomfortable position.   

“Now unless you think this tied- up wench will overpower me, I suggest you get a fucking move on, yeah?”  the man continues, as he frees your wrists as well.  

No verbal answer follows, just the sound of a dozen of boots moving across the floor until eventually, the door shuts; leaving the room in silence apart from your ragged breaths and rabbit heart; pounding so hard in your chest you’re sure it’s clear for anyone to hear.   

Then there’s a sudden movement by your head and then – you can see again.   

Disoriented you blink into the light. The man, Jack you presume, pulls a chair across the floor, the scraping noise almost alarmingly loud to your panicked senses, and he sits down opposite you. Carefully you move your stiff hands from their position behind your back, slowly moving them to your front and placing them on your knees. 

“There we go,” Jack says in a low, gruff voice that tells of years of smoking.  

 He’s probably in his early fifties, with blond hair that has begun to turn white and a neatly trimmed beard. A long scar is etched across his cheek. Wearing a rather worn grey suit he’s leaned back in his chair, looking relaxed and comfortable; the very opposite to how you are feeling. There’s something both harmless and, at the same time, absolutely terrifying about him. He’s almost disarming in his lack of threats, his slow, low way of talking and the patient, curious way he’s looking at you. You can’t get a read of the man, and that frightens you.  

The room you’re in doesn’t help to make you feel more comfortable. It looks like an abandoned old apartment, wallpapers half torn down and a broken chandelier hanging from the ceiling. It’s dark outside the dirty window, and you wonder for how long you’ve been unconscious. An entire day must have passed since this morning.  

“Now girl, you and I are gonna have a little chat about an old friend of mine,” he starts. 

You don’t respond, waiting for him to reveal his hand before you make up your mind about how to play your cards with this unknown man. 

“Now, child,” he continues, “what do you know of Fabien Towner?” 

You’re taken aback at that. Somehow, subconsciously, you must have assumed that this kidnapping by this evident gangster had something to do with your father and his work as home secretary. That you had been picked out to provide information about a man you had never as much as laid eyes on had not occurred to you.  

“All I know is what’s written in the newspapers.” You answer, only somewhat truthfully, since Tom has told you a few things about the feared London mobster as well.  

“Sweetheart,” he chuckles, a deep, throaty sound, “do I look like the sort of man who reads the papers?” He’s smiling at you, though it seems malignant. You are reminded of a cat, playing with its food before it eats it. “I know better than to believe a word that's written in them,” he adds and grins, “after all, they write that I’m a bad man.”

“But alright then, let’s play that game,” he snaps, and the sudden change from almost playful to deadly serious has your heart faltering in your chest. “What do you know of a young mister Tom Holland, hm?” 

If your heart was faltering in your chest before, it positively stops beating now. Your first instinct is to deny your knowledge of Tom’s existence. To say you’ve never heard that name. But you must keep your head cold, be calm and clever. This man knows very well that you know who Tom is, you were after all attacked when leaving his apartment.  

“Not much,” you say, and your voice is frailer than you’d hoped. “He’s just a man I’ve been seeing”.  

Jack’s hard, blue eyes are fixed on yours. He observes you for a while before saying, “You seemed very cozy with him at Romantique. I’m the owner of that club, I damn well know who frequents it, and what they get up to in it.”

It hits you then, and you want to groan at how slow you’ve been. This is Jack, the Jack Flanagan, the owner of club Romantique and Fabien’s sworn enemy, who has infiltrated the Firm with a traitor. 

“Yes, I met Tom there, but I don’t know anything about Fabien Towner.”  

Jack keeps his intense eyes fixed on you, as if he’s trying to read any slight change in your face. He scratches the roughened skin of his scarred cheek almost absentmindedly. “Come on now, I know how young men work when they’re trying to impress a pretty girl. They boast about how big and bad and ballsy they are. He’s told you about his,” and there’s a slight pause and a wicked grin before he continues, “profession, I presume?”

“All I know is he’s part of the Firm,” you say and sniff, “do you think he’d tell me anything? I’m just some girl he fucks. I don’t think he cares at all about me.” Your voice breaks as you speak, and two tears fall down your cheeks as you lie. They aren’t hard to fabricate in your current state of mind. You need to make him believe that Tom would never spill any secrets to you, because if this man in front of you,; his entire aura shouting of danger, finds any hint of the secrets stuck in your throat he’s bound to beat them out of you. 

“Now that’s not a very nice thing to do,” Jack says in a low voice, and a smile spreads over his lips. “How would you like some revenge?” 

Fear holds such a hard grip on your heart then that you are sure it’s bound to stop beating altogether. “What do you mean?” you ask, trying to hide your terror.  

Jack smiles even wider, and something like a shiver moves up your spine. “You see,” he starts in his broad brogue, “old Fabien is not a man of many weaknesses. He’s a, well, I guess you can say a friend of mine. I know him well. I know what makes him tick.” He leans forward, resting his arms on his widespread legs, his intense eyes still fixed on yours. “Now I want him to stop ticking.”

Trying to swallow down the panic you answer in a cool voice, “and how could I possibly help with that?” 

“Like I said, Fabien is not a man of many weaknesses. But he’s got a blind spot when it comes to that lad. I’ve heard the rumours; the Devil’s Boy, that’s what they call him, and that’s the way Fabien sees him. I’ve met Tom, on the night you danced with him in my nightclub in fact. And he's brought up by the devil alright,” he pauses, a grim smile on his face. “In order to get to Fabien, I need to get to the boy. And that’s where you come in, miss. See, Tom is Fabien’s weakness, so I’m gonna need you to become Tom’s weakness.” 

“And how do you expect me to achieve that?” you ask, voice shaking slightly despite all your efforts to keep it under control. You feel like you’re trembling all over, like your very soul is rattling inside of you. Nothing seems real, nothing in this nightmarish scenario or in this strange room; nothing except for those bleak, intense eyes looking at you, and that low, gruff voice speaking of betrayal of the worst kind.  

“You’re a pretty little thing, aren’t you? Like a little bird. I’m sure you could convince him to stick around, to open up; to trust you. Then all this little bird needs to do is fly to me and sing her song, and I shall see to the rest, and you will have your revenge.” 

You feel ice-cold all over, as if the blood itself in your veins have frozen. “And what kind of song does the bird sing? What is it that you need to know from me?” 

“For now, I just need you to make him trust you. When the time is right, when everything is ready to be set in motion, I shall tell you the plan. What do you say?”  

You don’t know if he’s honestly offering you a choice or not, if he’d even let you live if you refused him, but slowly you nod your head, and the smile grows bigger on his face, and his cold, blue eyes sparkle.   

 “Good,” he says, and rises from his chair. “Now it’s time for this little bird to be set free.” 

*** 

Your legs feel unsteady and unsure underneath you as you make your way up the familiar steps to your house. You can hear the car that dropped you off drive away, but you don’t look back, you don’t ever want to look back again but it feels like you will spend the rest of your life looking over your shoulder after this. You feel heavy all over, every limb slowly moving forward underneath the weight, burdened with a terrible secret.   

Letting yourself in, you quietly make your way through the hall, wanting to avoid seeing anyone since that would mean you’d have to explain your split lip and your sore wrists. The skin of your lip pulses uncomfortably. You must have attained the injury this morning as you got attacked outside of Tom’s apartment. 

With quiet feet you move up the stairs to your bedroom, needing only to change your clothes and leave a message for your father to let him know you will be sleeping at a friend’s house for a night or two. You jot the message down in spidery letters, so unlike your normally neat handwriting; your hands refusing to collaborate with you as they keep shaking. You leave the message on your desk, knowing that Mason will find it later and pass the information on to your father. 

You fill the bathtub with water and scented oil, needing to wash the reminders of today off of you before you are ready to face Tom. Quickly ridding yourself out of your dirty dress, you step into the lukewarm water and start the process of scrubbing your skin clean. After having washed up, you change into another dress, feeling great relief in feeling the freshly washed fabric against your skin.

Looking at yourself in the mirror you cannot help but be taken aback at the sight. You have a split and swollen lip, your hair is a mess and your eyes seem bigger than normal; as if you are a frightened animal. Knowing there is nothing to do about the lip you try to smooth your hair, before giving up, deciding instead to pin it up into something a little more respectable.  

In your new dress and hair, you look a little more put together, though your eyes remain frightened.  

Packing a small bag with some essential clothes and hygiene products you creep out of the bedroom, closing the door quietly behind you. Your father’s voice booms out from the library, as he’s speaking on the telephone with someone. Passing the door on your tiptoes, as not to make a sound, a name caught your attention.  

“Yes, Fabien’s boy.” 

You stop dead in your tracks, listening carefully as your father goes on. “He’s been causing uproar in all the underworld. He set fire to a pub in Camden this afternoon, one of Flanagan’s places, and he’s been involved in a dozen fights all over the East End.”

Your breath hitches, but you force yourself to be quiet as your father keeps talking. “No, apparently he’s looking for some woman. A kidnapping they say.” Your father listens as the voice on the other side of the phone speaks before he keeps going. “Yes, of course, but if this means we have another gang war on our hands there needs to be readjustments. 

You walk away, as quickly and quietly as you can, and step back out into the night. Never have you been in such a hurry to find a taxi in your life.

*** 

After having paid the driver, you rush up to Tom’s apartment, all four stairs, never slowing for a moment. You’re not sure of what you’re about to meet in the apartment but as you push the door open and rush inside you are relieved to see the figure of a man standing there.

Only to soon realise that it is not Tom. 

The man is blond, and about the same age as Tom and dressed much the same in a dark suit. One of his arms is wrapped up in bandages. You recognize him as the man who came to pick Tom up the morning after you spent your first night at his place. A friend then, and not a foe. 

He stands up from the sofa when he sees you, and smiles, seemingly relieved. “Thank fuck,” he mutters, moving closer. Standing in front of you, impressive in his length and stature, he observes your wounded face with a frown. 

“Any other injuries?” He asks, voice collected but underneath his calm stature, you think you can sense a wave of anger. 

You shake your head, unsure of what to say. 

He nods, takes a gentle hand on your arm and leads your numb body to the sofa, gesturing for you to sit down. After you have done so he moves across the floor to the phone, his long legs taking wide strides. Dialing in a number he stands there, leaning against the wall, still observing you as he waits for the number to go through.

“Yeah, Harry? It’s Haz,” he says into the phone. “She’s here.”

There’s a loud voice on the other end of the line but you can’t make out what it is saying. “Yeah, yeah, well you need to let him know then, don’t you? Before he causes any more damage.” More silence as he listens to the other man. “No, apart from a split lip she’s unharmed,” and he looks over you again as he speaks, “she looks pretty fucking shaken though so get a fucking move on, yeah?” He hangs up. 

In your wild haze of suffocating numbness, it strikes you how unlike Tom this Haz is, despite your first confusion. His accent is polished and posh despite his attempts to hide it. His back is almost impossibly straight as he’s holding himself upright and his young face looks taut. You wonder how a young man like this ended up within the ranks of the Firm. 

He crouches down in front of you as you sit on the sofa, his knees bent until you are at eye level.  “Have you had anything to eat?” He asks in a soft voice that takes you with surprise. 

“No,” you mumble, only realizing now that it’s the case. But you’ve been so full of terror the entire day you’ve hardly even noticed. Haz has a frown on his face and a worried look in his eyes as he scans you over. 

“Alright,” he sighs and gets up, moving across the room to the kitchen. You keep your eyes ahead, fixated on faded wallpaper in front of you, as you hear clattering and muttered swears coming from the kitchen. 

Some while later Haz is back, a plate of sandwiches in one hand and a steaming mug of tea in the other. “Sorry,” he says, placing it down on the table in front of you, “fucker hasn’t got any milk.” 

You tell him you don’t mind, and thank him for his kindness, before tucking in. Only after having nearly devoured the first sandwich do you fully realize how hungry you’ve been. Haz sits down on the worn leather armchair, leaned forward and resting his elbows on his thighs, hands clasped in his lap. It is as if he’s ready to jump into action on the first sign of danger. He watches as you eat. 

“Hungry, ey?” He asks with a smile, as you swallow the last of your sandwich, reaching for the tea. 

“Famished,” you confess. 

For a few moments everything is silent in the darkened room, only lit up by the dim light coming from the kitchen. Outside you hear a car drive by. 

“How did he know of the abduction?” You ask in the end. 

Haz’s mouth tightens into a grimace, as if remembering something unpleasant. “The landlady saw as they carried you out to the car. She recognized you as Tom’s girl and let him know as soon as he came back.”

“How did he take it?” you ask, with reluctance. 

Haz looks away from you, avoids your eyes; the frown on his face growing deeper. “Let’s just say the boy’s got a talent for destruction when he puts his mind to it.”

“Where is he now?” 

“Well, last I heard he was,” he pauses, edits himself in the search for the right word, “he was interrogating someone in Hackney, trying to find a lead of where they took you,” he sighs. And then in a bitter tone, he adds, “I would have gone with him,” another sigh, “but out of combat, unfortunately. So I was put to stay here and wait to see if you’d return. Harry was placed in the pub, much to his indignation; ever the boy of action, while Fabien made Sam and a few others go after Tom. To try and reel him in a little.”

A bang, and then Tom comes crashing through the door. Harrison is on his feet, almost before you’ve registered the sound of the door slamming against the wall, gun in hand and aiming at the man in the hall. When he sees who it is he lowers the weapon and breathes out. 

Your eyes remain fixed on the man striding over to you. It’s like he’s unable to look away from you and as soon as you get within an arm's reach he pulls you towards him. With a hand carefully cupping your chin, he inspects your face, eyes glued to your split lip, a deep frown on his face. 

He turns to Harrison, who just nods at him; the taut frown relaxing and a smile pulling at his lips. “Alright, that’s me done for the night.”

“Harry’s sulking at the pub if you feel like cheering him up,” Tom tells him, still holding onto you. 

Harrison moves to the door, snorts loudly, and says in a voice that sounds done for, “You fucking Holland boys and your goddamn sulking.” And then he’s out, the door closing behind him.

Tom rests his forehead against yours, breathing slowly. “Hi,” he says, voice a quiet whisper. His fingers don’t stop stroking your cheek for a second. Then, “I’m so sorry you got dragged into this.” It’s a savage kind of remorse, real like a physical presence in the room. To think that on this very morning you had laid in bed, wordlessly tempting him into staying there with you for a while.

You should have stayed in that bed forever with him.  

“Is it not your fault,” you tell him, knowing that it’s useless, and true enough, he shakes his head at the idea. 

 A deep sigh escapes him, as if he’s letting out a breath he’s been holding for a long time. You breathe him in, the familiar lemon and cedar soap; the faint trace of smoke. 

“Tonight I’m going to take care of you,” he says, stroking your cheek with his long, ring- clad finger, “gonna make sure that you’re alright.” He presses his lips softly against your temple. “And tomorrow,” he continues, voice hardened steel now, “tomorrow I’m going to take care of him.”

 “No,” you say softly, looking at the floor.  

 Dead silence wills the room for several heartbeats. Then, voice bewildered, “What?”

 He’s leaning away from you, though his big hands are still covering your jawline, your throat. “You can’t go after him,” you say, taking a slow breath, staring at his shoes. Slowly you take in Tom’s appearance for the first time. When he had crashed into the apartment all your attention had been on his face, but now, now you see the state of him. The once white dress shirt he wore this morning is stained with blood and dirt and the sleeve on his jacket has a burn mark. 

Tom pushes your face up to meet his eyes. Reluctantly your eyes follow. “And why can’t I do that?” he asks slowly, through gritted teeth. 

“Because I’m working for him now,” you say, forcing yourself to meet his eyes. For a moment he goes completely still and before he can react you keep going. “He is going after Fabien, he wants to bring him down. He thinks you are Fabien’s weakness, so he’s hired me to become your weakness. He wants to use you against Fabien, and use me against you. I told him yes.” 

Tom lets go of you, takes a step away from you, looks at you with big, wounded eyes. “What have you done?” he asks, sounding almost defeated. 

“I could play this to our advantage, we could -” but he interrupts you with a roar.

“Have you lost your fucking mind? You don’t know these men! You don’t understand what they’re capable of. They’d enjoy murdering you if it comes to that. Jack Flanagan’s the sort of man that would kill over an insult, do you have any fucking idea how badly he’d take a betrayal?” 

“Don’t you understand?” I am working for him now, just as the traitor does. I can find out who it is and once we know, Fabian will kill the traitor and once he is gone he can go after Jack with full force. We can play them against each other, don’t you get it?”

Tom is stunned silent for a moment, thinking over what you’ve said with a horrified expression on his face. “Does he know, does Jack know who your father is?”

You are silent for a long time, biting your lip in worry. “I don’t know. But I think so. I didn’t have to leave my name or address and they still knew where to drop me off.”

Tom looks pale. His eyes big and glossy as he looks at you, shoulders tense as he’s holding himself together. “I see,” he says, trying to remain calm, “so the two most dangerous men in London are aware of your relation to your father and are both more than capable at using that as leverage if needed.”

“Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that,” you whisper.

And he’s in front of you again, holding onto your face, his body pressed tightly against yours, and maybe it’s imagination, but you think you can feel the drumming of his heartbeat underneath his chest; can feel your heart drum back to the beat of his. He’s breathing hard, slowly in and out, and his strong body is rigid, every nerve tense. You know that he’s trying to calm himself down; trying to get a hold of himself and all his fear and anger. Can feel it radiating off his body in waves. 

“I can do this, I can play them against each other.” You don’t know why you are whispering, except that maybe you want to make something in this whole situation gentle, in any way you know how. 

“I don’t like this, angel,” he says, his voice also a whisper, as he breathes slowly through his nose. “I really fucking hate this.”

You know that the road you have begun walking is a dangerous one, no doubt full of menace and doom. But you have chosen your road. “I know,” you whisper back, “but it’s the best shot we’ve got.”

You know, as you stroke his cheek, that you would do anything for him. Because it turns out that you are made up of the kind of never yielding devotion that is bound to end in tragedy, but as you look into his sad, brown eyes, tender as they look at you, you wonder if he isn’t made of the same. 

[cagestark]

A Hole In the Head//8

Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four | Chapter Five | Chapter Six | Chapter Seven | Chapter Eight

-

About this: 4.5k. Smoking. Alcohol. Mention of wounds, healed (burns specifically). Masturbation. Threatening as foreplay. Typical winterspider stuff. Daddy kink.

-

Hours later finds Peter still staring upwards, only the ceiling blocks his view of the stars. Most nights he crawls into bed naked (or ends up that way thanks to his lover). It’s more comfortable that way, his sensitive skin against the high thread count sheets. But Peter doesn’t hold much hope that he’ll sleep at all tonight, so instead he dons one of Tony’s dress shirts pulled from the laundry basket, pressing his nose to smell the fading cologne whenever his heart starts racing. 

The bed is far too big for one man. Far too empty. 

Peter picks up his phone and opens a message to Bucky. Come lay with me. Even though it’s two in the morning, Bucky’s response is almost instant, a bullheaded, No, that Peter can almost hear in the man’s rasping, no-nonsense voice. 

No fucking, Peter promises. He sends the message, but his thumbs hesitate over the keyboard, fluttering anxiously before he decides that nothing ventured will mean nothing gained. I can’t sleep, he admits. Help distract me?

In a few moments, the bedroom door opens a fraction and Bucky’s figure is there. He’s wearing sweatpants and an undershirt, hair mussed like maybe he was laying in bed the next room over just like Peter. The sight of him makes Peter’s heart flit upwards to his throat. He’s much more aware of his own outfit: nothing but one of Tony’s shirts and the softest boxer-briefs. 

“No fucking,” Bucky mutters. 

Peter crosses his heart. 

The snort Bucky gives shows just how much he thinks of Peter’s promise. The armchair is still beside the bed where Bucky left it earlier. Peter had thought about pushing it back to the spot in the corner, but a part of him likes the new spot for it. It was a fond reminder of the man who had just sat it in hours before and who was there again now. Maybe it was time to redecorate—call it fengshui. 

Peter settles in amongst the blankets and sheets still smelling of Tony’s scent. With his lover miles away, this is the most contentment he can find. Against his will, he feels the sting of exhaustion at the back of his eyes, the tender ache relieved only for a moment when he blinks. 

“Can you believe I don’t know anything about you,” Peter says, resting one hand beneath his cheek on the pillow.

Bucky shrugs one shoulder—the one without the terrible scarring. “Not much to know.” 

“You’re the Winter Soldier,” Peter says with no small amount of awe in his voice. The way Bucky’s shoulders tense at the title isn’t lost on him, but by then the words are already tripping their way out of his mouth. “You must have plenty of stories you could tell—” 

“They aren’t bedtime stories.” 

Peter winces. Maybe Bucky has a point. “Then just tell me about Bucky Barnes. What’s your middle name?” 

The man’s mouth twitches, his eyes glinting in a way that makes Peter feel like the butt of a joke. All at once, the expression is neutral again as Bucky says: “Don’t worry about it.” 

“Oh man,” Peter says with vicious glee. “It must be awful, then.” 

“Terrible,” Bucky agrees. 

“What’s your favorite color?” 

“I don’t know.” 

“You don’t know? Pick one.” 

“Pick one for me.” 

Peter sighs. “That’s not how favorites work.” 

Bucky stares at him, solemn. “It’s not how I work, kid. I’m not that kind of man.” 

“Your favorite color is blue, now,” Peter says. “I’ve decided.” 

Bucky rolls his eyes in answer. 

“You said you lived in Russia. Were you born there?” 

“No.” 

When the man doesn’t elaborate, Peter presses. “Where were you born?” 

“The west.” 

“I’m sorry, the west? That’s not a satisfactory answer.”

“What do you want me to say?” Bucky asks. “I’m wanted internationally. Telling you anything about me could get me killed one day, or—” 

“Or?”

“Or it could get you killed,” he says, expression dark. “I have powerful enemies.” 

“Powerful allies, too,” Peter points out. “Not that I can imagine anyone ever getting one over on you.” 

“It’s happened before.” Bucky’s hand comes up to trace at his shoulder along the mottled scars that circle the shoulder joint. With the attention drawn to it, Peter allows himself to look. The skin is heavily textured, shiny pink in some lights and a dark purple in others. Fresh, he thinks. Maybe a few years old. During Tony’s employment, he thinks. “I’m human, kid.”

“Does it hurt?” Peter asks. 

Another one-armed shrug. 

“Is the person who did that—are they dead now?” A slow, mirthless smile stretches across Bucky’s face; an answer in itself. Peter finds himself mirroring it. “Good.”

Without a further thought, Peter throws the blankets off of his bare legs. Bucky’s eyes flicker over them: pale and soft with dark, sparse hair, gaze lingering on Peter’s glossy clear-polished toes. When Peter crawls towards that side of the bed, Bucky’s chin ducks down like he’s preparing for a physical attack, though the way his eyes shimmer like molten mercury makes Peter think it wouldn’t be altogether unwelcome. 

Peter opens the bedside drawer on Tony’s side of the bed. Tony’s personal handgun is gone, which makes it easy to rifle through the condoms and lube to find the half-empty tube of cream the older man had received from the dermatologist. 

“Come here,” Peter says, patting the bed. 

“Why?” Bucky asks, eyes narrowed at the tube in Peter’s hands. “No fucking.” 

“No fucking!” Peter says. It takes all the mental fortitude he has not to roll his eyes. Who could have imagined that an international assassin would be such a prude? “Tony—he’s got a scar too. They gave him this cream that he was supposed to rub on it three times a day to help the scar tissue break down and lighten, but he’s too fucking busy for that.” 

“And I’m not?”

“You’re with me two-thirds of the day,” Peter says, opening the tube. He squeezes out a generous amount of pale colored cream onto his fingers. “And I’ve got nothing better to do.” 

When Bucky makes no move to come to the bed, Peter lets his legs dangle over the edge, reaching out to where the man sits at the bedside, but before his fingers can come close to Bucky’s shoulder, the man flinches backwards, catching Peter’s wrist in a fierce grip. 

“Don’t,” Bucky rasps. “You don’t have to touch it.” 

“Is that what you’re worried about?” Peter scoffs. The grip around Peter’s wrist tightens to the point of pain before going slack again, Bucky’s thumb pressed against his pulse point which must be hammering. “When will you learn that there’s not a person in the world who could make me do something I didn’t want to do?” 

After a long moment, Bucky lets go. 

Gentle, Peter lets his fingers trace over the ring of scars. It lacks the clear edges of Tony’s stab wound; if Peter had to guess (which he doesn’t, he doesn’t have to think at all about what gave Bucky those scars, about how badly it must have hurt, about how long it must have taken him to heal), he would say that the scars look like burns. 

The scars don’t have the same texture as the surrounding skin, no softness, no stretch. Peter rubs the cream in with the utmost care, working hard not to cause any pain. He coaxes Bucky’s arm to shift so that he can reach the scars that extend towards his armpit and then stands, t-shirt touching his thighs to walk around the other side of the man and make sure every inch of tissue receives the same attention. 

“I hate this.” Bucky’s voice makes him jump, jerking him from where he’d become lost in his own thoughts and in the pleasant monotony. His hand freezes, but Bucky goes on: “I hate the way I am around you.”

“Nobody said you had to be such a hardass,” Peter says. He reaches out and gathers Bucky’s hair where it’s falling onto his shoulder and getting stuck in the cream. When his fingers brush the back of the man’s neck as he brushes the hair to the other side of his head, Bucky shivers. 

“That’s how I’m supposed to be,” Bucky rasps. “I hate how you make me so—” 

Bucky cuts himself off and Peter waits one endless moment before he prods the other man. “So?” 

“Weak.” 

Peter isn’t sure what to say. There’s a queasiness in his stomach. He remembers when things started to get serious with Tony, when his older lover had explained that affection was weakness. There’s a reason why cold men make it so far. When you fall in love with something, it becomes a part of you, an extension of you. Suddenly, you’re taking up more space in the world, Tony had said. The man had turned his hand into a makeshift gun, pressing the barrel of his pointer finger to his temple. Bigger targets are always easier to hit, sweet thing. 

He’d lifted a hand, shifting it between Tony’s finger and his head. Then, it had frightened Peter. Tony was right; love could be a liability. But after Beck, Peter knew that for people like them, that wasn’t true. Love could make him colder, braver, bolder. Strong. 

When he opens his mouth to tell Bucky that, he notices that the man’s head has slackened, body loose in the chair. One glance at his face shows that he has fallen asleep. 

-

Peter falls asleep himself, somehow. When he wakes he can see the dim signs of impending morning through the window, but the chair beside the bed is empty. He stretches, groaning with satisfaction before reaching for his phone on the nightstand to make sure that he hasn’t missed his morning Facetime with Tony. 

He has a handful of unread messages from the man, which is more than he fell asleep with hours ago. Smile stretching his face, Peter opens with one hand while the other reaches down to palm his morning wood (more out of habit than anything else). When he sees the wall of text sent, eyes skimming it quickly, he squeezes his erection tightly and hisses through his teeth. 

Fuck kid, Tony begins. I just finished that footage and I don’t think I’ve ever been so hard in my life. I’d kill to have been a fly on the wall, to hear whatever filth he was spewing in your ear. How did his cock feel pressed against you, honey? Looks like it felt good with the way you rutted against him like an animal. You looked like an absolute slut pinned underneath him and so desperate for whatever scraps he’d toss you. When I’m home, I want to see you suck him off and show him your gratitude properly, is that understood? 

If there’s any doubt how I feel about this, see the enclosed.

Next Tony sent a video. The thumbnail tells Peter everything: just a still of Tony’s shirtless torso. He clicks on it frantically and makes it full screen, mashing the button to turn up the volume. For being in his forties, Tony looks incredible. He’d worked hard with the physical therapists hired to come to the mansion after Beck, and it shows in the flat lines of his abs. Dark hair is smattered across his chest and then against below his belly-button. The scar at the center of his chest is dark with shadows from the dim lighting. 

Tony fiddles with the placement of the phone until it is propped up on what appears to be the desk of his hotel room. A glass rests just barely in view, drained. Tony sits back in his chair, the movement flexing the muscles in his core. Peter can only see him from nose to knee, but it’s more than enough. His dress pants are open, cock tenting his boxer-briefs obscenely. But he doesn’t touch it; instead, he takes a package of cigarettes from where they rest offscreen on the desk and expertly taps one free. Just the sight of his capable hands has Peter’s throat bobbing, the hand on his cock squeezing to the point of pain just to pace himself. 

Tony lights the cigarette with the lighter Peter bought him at the mall, and Peter swears he can feel the flame. 

“There’s no smoking in this room,” Tony says after the flame catches. “But with a sinful little thing like you at home, a fee is the least of my worries. I haven’t smoked cigarettes in over a decade, pumpkin. You see what you’re doing to me?” 

Holding the cigarette in his lips, Tony reaches down to work his cock free. The sight of it evokes a physical response, Peter’s mouth salivating, his throat tightening. Leisurely, Tony fists it while his other hand comes up to take the cigarette from his mouth, smoke rushing from his nose. 

“You can show this to him, if you feel so inclined. If you really think he’s interested.” The handsome, full mouth twists into a smirk. “You know I’m not shy. And if he’s going to have you, he’s going to have to get used to me, too. The things I’m going to have him do to you,” Tony sighs wistfully, shaking his head to clear the illusions. “You’ve got no idea what you’re in for. I’m going to take you apart, sweet thing, and he’s going to be the tool that does it for me.”

Peter can imagine. Beneath the sheets, he shimmies his underwear off and runs his fingers over his cock. All at once he remembers that he isn’t allowed to touch himself and his expression sours. On screen, Tony taps ash onto the desk. Peter hopes he has to pay a big fine. Huge, he thinks sulkily. 

But if Peter is anything, he is resourceful. Rolling into his stomach (kicking when his legs get all twisted up in the sheets), he presses a pillow down between his legs and groans at the pressure on his aching cock. It’s juvenile, but it will work, and if Tony didn’t want him to exploit loopholes in his orders, then he shouldn’t have left the loopholes in the first place. He turns his head until his cheek is pressed into the pillow, holding the phone inches from his face. 

Tony’s stamina and cool head always impress Peter. Surely it is something that comes from twenty more years of experience, but Tony always strokes his cock like he has all the time in the world, like he’s savoring the feeling of himself in his hand and cumming is secondary. His knees are spread wide, the perfect place for Peter to kneel between. 

Behind him, the door opens. 

He sucks in a breath, rolling onto his side to take in Bucky’s figure where he leans against the doorframe, eyes narrowed at Peter’s suspicious figure on the bed. Peter lets his back arch, emphasizing the obscene curve of his ass where he continues to rut against the pillow, leaking precum. 

“Jesus, kid, it isn’t even eight AM. What the fuck has you so worked up?” 

Peter grins. Holding up the phone, he says, “A gift. From Tony.” 

A muscle in Bucky’s jaw twitches as if he is clenching his teeth. The otherwise unimpressed look stays on his face until Peter adds: “He says it’s for you, too.” 

A normal person might react with interest, pleasure. Bucky looks as if he’s only been pushed a fraction closer to a murderous rampage. He stalks closer to the bed, boots silent against the floor. How a man with so much mass is so quiet, Peter will never know. “The fuck do you mean it’s for me?”

When he gets close enough, his eyes flit to the phone and there’s no hiding the widening of his gaze. His whole expression shudders as it struggles to return to a more neutral position, but it’s difficult when those pale eyes are glued to Tony’s tan hand where it leisurely jerks the impressive cock between his legs. Has Bucky always been this expressive, Peter wonders, or is Peter just getting better at reading the few expressions he has?

It was one thing to hear Tony’s sinful mouth yesterday on the phone, but it’s another thing entirely to be confronted with the image of it, the overt sexuality of the cigarette dangling from his lips, the way his head tilts back on screen as he draws closer to his orgasm. All this and Peter hasn’t taken his eyes off of Bucky’s face. On screen, Tony mutters, fuck kid, take it, and Bucky’s pupils dilate, and Peter is lost, the phone lax in his hand as he presses his face into the pillow until its hard to breathe, hips jerking through his orgasm.

He comes to in time to lift his head and watch Tony cum, all the muscles in his abdomen thrown into sharp definition as his hips jerk upwards into the tight circle of his fist, cum pale where it lands on his tan skin and the dark fabric of his dress pants. The groan he gives is music to Peter’s ears, one hand coming up to take the cigarette from his mouth so that he can pant properly. 

“Look what you fucking do to me,” Tony sighs smoke curling from his mouth. “And nobody here to clean me up. What a tragedy. Shakespearean proportions. Next time I cum, I’m doing it down your throat, sweet thing. Be good for Bucky. I love you.” 

He stands onscreen, tucking his softening cock back into his dress pants (though he leaves them undone as he reaches out and turns off the video). Peter dares to give Bucky a glance and finds him glaring at the phone. He waits to see what the other man might do, but eventually the phone screen goes dark and still Bucky stares, now at his own reflection. 

He drops the phone onto the bed with a quiet thud, fingers flexing and smoothing at his jeans as if he’s trying to wipe away a filthy touch. When he speaks again, it’s with a mixture of hostility and resignation that makes Peter shiver: “He knows.” 

“If you mean how obsessed you are with him, then he doesn’t. But to be fair,” says Peter, edging towards the far side of the bed just in case he decides to run for it. “You’re a little obvious.” 

“Obvious?” The word comes from Bucky’s mouth sounding like a curse. He shifts on instinct until he is between Peter and the one exit. Fucking assassins. “I’ve worked for him for eight years and he never caught on. Three weeks with you and now I’m fucked. What did you tell him?” 

“All I said was that I thought you had a hard-on for him!” Peter says. He pulls the blankets up, cocooning himself in soft cotton. A slip of dark fabric appears - his boxers, score! - so he works to tug them on instead. “He seemed shocked, but in a good way. Look, I don’t want to be presumptuous or anything, but I feel like this is a very natural progression given where we were heading. I don’t get why you’re freaking out.” 

“You don’t understand,” Bucky mutters. He breaks from standing between Peter and the door and chooses to sit in the chair Peter is beginning to think of as his. Slumped over, he looks like the picture of dejection. He mutters something under his breath but it doesn’t sound like English. 

With all the care of a man approaching a feral animal, Peter carefully slips off the bed (tugs up his boxers the rest of the way, even if there is cooling cum clinging to his well-trimmed pubes) and pads to the chair Bucky occupies. The carpet is soft and not uncomfortable to kneel on. When he tilts his head to rest it on Bucky’s jean-clad knee, the man flinches. After a long, still moment, he lets a hand come down to pat condescendingly at Peter’s head. 

Rolling his eyes, Peter says, “I don’t understand. Then tell me.” 

Bucky lets out a breath. He tugs on a lock of Peter’s hair until Peter turns, resting his chin on the man’s thigh to look up into his tired, uncertain face. “You want to know more about me? Tony is all that’s worth mentioning. This thing with you,” he begins. “It’s big. I’m not saying it isn’t. But this - thing - I’ve had for Tony? It’s been so long. I don’t know how to describe it. It’s formative. It made me.” 

“I still don’t get it.” 

“I’m still talking, aren’t I? Do I sound finished?” 

“Start from the beginning.” 

“You’re a bossy little shit,” Bucky mutters, flicking Peter between the eyes. “There’s going to be none of that when we’re fucking, you know that right?” 

Peter grins. “We’ll see. Quit stalling.” 

“About eight years ago, I reached the end of my rope. Lost my mind, a little. I convinced myself that I was being followed, that the people I worked for had put a hit out on me, and I ended up isolating myself in a tiny cabin - somewhere, don’t give me that fucking look, kid, be lucky I’m telling you this much. I was there for twenty days. Starving to death. Spiraling...then one day out of the fucking blue, Natasha called me.”

“Nat?” Peter asks, eyebrows raised. “You two knew each other?” 

Bucky nods and doesn’t deign to explain their relationship any further. “She called me to say she’d been stateside for three years, working for a man she couldn’t even name over the phone. She promised that if I ever wanted a change of scenery, I could catch a plane and there would be a job waiting for me.

“I thought it was a plot. Maybe she was in on it with the others, maybe they were just trying to lure me out. Maybe there was no job, maybe as soon as I stepped foot outside, they’d have my location confirmed and they’d send someone to kill me. The no food, no water just made me more paranoid. In the end, I told myself that even if it all was a plot - if I died trying to get out - it wouldn’t matter. Who’d fucking care if I died? Not anyone I worked for. Not Natasha. Not some boss in New York City. Least of all me. 

“So I caught a plane to New York, drank water out of the faucet in a bathroom at JFK International and met up with Nat. She took me to Le Cinq in downtown Manhattan, that fancy French place. Fuck, I must have looked like a nutcase walking in there, smelling like a homeless person, thin enough that a stiff enough wind could have carried me away. And there I was surrounded by all these white table clothes and maître d’s, luxury like I’d never been treated to. Then there was Tony, sitting alone at a table dressed in one of his suits but without the jacket. He stood up when he saw us coming, like some kind of gentleman in one of those old black and white movies. You know what he looks like. But it was more than that. He’s got a presence, and once I was in it, something inside me just - burst.  

“We’d never even fuckin’ met. Never even spoken. But I told him that my gun was his, my skills were his, my life was his, if he wanted it. We hadn’t even sat down yet. He asked me what did I want, and I said I didn’t know. Trust, maybe. Rest, but I didn’t fucking say that. And he just smiled and said, ‘well, how about a hamburger’?” 

“No,” Peter says, one hand clutching at his bare chest. “No, tell me you did not force Audric Ansel, head chef of Le Cinq, make you a fucking hamburger at the finest Parisian restaurant in the tri-state area. They don’t even have beef on the menu.” 

“I didn’t,” Bucky says. He reaches out and threads his fingers into Peter’s hair, pulling to coax him to rest his head back on the man’s thigh. Just that act of dominance alone starts a fire simmering low in Peter’s belly. “Tony did. Is that the only point you took from that story? Shows how fucking often I’ll open up to you.”

“Not the only point,” Peter says, eyes heavy lidded. He’d need a few more minutes to become hard again, but that doesn’t mean his cock doesn’t tingle with the threat of it. “I know now that you’re in love with him.” 

Peter feels viscerally when Bucky’s hand tightens in his hair, pulling at his scalp to the point of pain. He loosens them right away at the wince on Peter’s face, patting clumsily as if to soothe the ache he caused. 

“If you tell him,” Bucky warns. “I’ll make you regret it.” 

“Fuck, yes, threaten me again,” Peter groans lowly. He has to bite off the end of that sentence, the way the word daddy came so easily to his tongue. But the other man isn’t ready for that, hasn’t expressed any interest in it. Not to mention, maybe it makes him a sentimental fool, but Tony is the only man he’s ever called daddy, and it doesn’t feel right to pass the moniker along. Not without permission. Peter opens his mouth wide and plants his teeth into the muscular thigh that was resting beneath his cheek. When he pulls back, there is a shadow of the imprint in the denim. “It turns me on.” 

Bucky pulls his hair again, this time harsh and purposeful. Peter’s neck cracks, an unsettling sensation that makes him shiver. He leans down until his breath fans across Peter’s upturned face. “I mean it.” 

There is a real trace of fear that trickles down the back of Peter’s neck, but he leans into it. This is what he wanted. A dangerous man brings danger with him. His mouth opens to taunt Bucky more but the eyes - those pale, sea spray eyes - they are wild. Maybe frightened. It takes herculean effort to decide between egging the man on and comforting him. Well - it takes effort to choose what he knows to be right. 

“I’m joking,” Peter says, throat hoarse from how his neck is exposed. “I won’t tell him.” 

He’s left pinned under that fervent gaze for a few more endless seconds and then Bucky’s fist loosens. Brings him back down to rest his head where he had moments ago planted his cheek. Between Peter’s legs, he is throbbing. He can’t help but reach a hand down to palm at the tented fabric of his boxers. 

“None of that,” Bucky says sternly. “Jesus, how desperate are you? You came just fifteen minutes ago and you’re already thirsty for more. You’re going to learn some patience, kid, if it’s the last thing I do.”

“Good luck,” says Peter, breathless.