#hes laying in his own blood as he watches the love of his life walk away | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

shoyudon · 4 months

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dad!choso is on my mind. he’d be the sweetest husband/father to-be. i just know he’d hold our hand the entire time and say things like “i wish i could take this pain away from you.”

𝐌𝐀𝐌𝐀'𝐒 𝐁𝐎𝐘 .ᐟ

keeping up with the choso family

starring. choso x fem! reader

heads up. pregnancy, giving birth, you're in you're 20s during shibuya (around nanami's age), all information are from research.

note. NONNIE, FIRST OF ALL YES. I HAVE SO MANY THOUGHTS ABOUT THIS??? i just know he'd cry during every one of these moments, i'm gonna sob, i miss him so much.

the first time choso met you, he didn't know you'd be his life companion. pushing aside at the fact that you both were enemies at first, being a jujutsu sorcerer assigned to shibuya wasn't really the best circumstances for first meetings — which practically didn't happen smoothly.

long story short, he actually hurts you with his blood manipulation. not enough to kill you, but enough to consider it a 'medical emergency'. he is really sorry about it though; when he saw you protect yuuji despite your injuries, he just knew he had to have you.

choso made it clear that he regretted hurting you — especially when his technique left a scar on your skin. specifically on your shoulder, and your lower abdomen. occasionally pressing his lips onto your scars, the vivid drawings of your stitches still embedded into your skin.

"'m sorry . . ." choso whispers out into your skin, burying his face into your stomach as you both lay down on the bed. once again, he was feeling apologetic for hurting you more than a year ago. every day after shibuya, he was busy apologizing to you for hurting you.

"cho, that was what . . ? more than a year ago? you need to stop apologizing, baby," raking your fingers through his hair, he sighs out in content, leaning his cheek onto your stomach — his arms draped around your thighs.

when he asks you to marry him, he subconsciously did it because he panicked. choso had it all planned for a whole month, and managed to ruin it in three minutes on the day he was going to propose to you because you were just so captivating, he just lost all senses of everything he practiced.

"please, marry me," choso blurts out, his mind going one hundred miles per second — he wasn't even sure if he was conscious at that point, "i love you so much and i can't think of my life without you, please marry me," he whispers, squeezing your hand gently.

choso actually got help from everyone on what to say and what to do, which all went down to drain when he decided to use his heart to propose to you. and it worked out well anyways, "seriously? i'm gonna cry," you fanned your eyes.

believe me when i said that choso was on the edge of his seat, waiting for your answer. when you exclaimed out a happy and tearful, "yes!", he could finally breathe out in relief, raising your hand up to his lips in happiness, slipping the ring he even forgot for a second.

choso actually told himself that he wouldn't cry during his own wedding. months before the reception — he finds himself watching wedding videos and happily kicking his feet at the sight of the groom crying, he believed he wouldn't, because he's seen you everyday. right? right?

wrong. the moment the tall doors opened and there you started walking down the aisle slowly, choso felt overwhelmed at the fact that he was getting married to you, and you were getting married to him. he swore if it wasn't for yuuji, he would be laying down in front of the whole guest list, crying on the ground.

he stood there, instinctively wiping his tears — that were never-ending, and god, you looked so beautiful that all he could see was you. choso felt like it was just you and him at that moment, no guest, no yuuji, just you.

after the ceremony, choso just wanted to go back home and if it weren't for you telling him to wait until everyone goes home, he'd technically kidnap his own wife and bring her back to their home. with a pout and a long face, he greets the guest with you, hand in yours like a little child who didn't get what they want.

"can we go back home now? my legs are killing me," he whispers, squeezing your hand, tugging you towards him, "jus' leave them, they're eating the night away . . ."

"let's wait until everyone goes home, okay?" you tell him. almost wanting to laugh at the sight of his fake offended gasp right after, choso didn't complain anyways — nodding his head as you tugged him towards a group of people to greet them.

when you both got home after a long day, choso immediately headed for the bedroom, tossing himself onto the bed, white shirt wrinkled and his tie messily pulled towards one side. eyelids half closed.

"cho, you know you have to shower before you sleep. you stink."

"mmm . . . wanna sleep," he moans out into the pillow, reaching his hand out to you in an attempt to bring you onto the bed, which did not work since you were too busy wiping off your makeup, "can't we just shower tomorrow? 'm so tired."

choso's never really thought about having kids. he didn't know how to take care of kids, nor how to react with kids. for some reason, the universe though — seemed to have bless him with a wave of "baby fever" one and a half year into the marriage. watching videos of random babies from all over the world doing baby things, and he felt his heart flutter at the sight.

that was when he knew, he wanted a family with you. technically, the two of you were already a family the moment you both got married — but he wanted an addition to your small family. a child.

he didn't really know how to break the fact that he wanted a baby with you, and so he tried subtle ways to do so. showing you baby videos, telling you how cute your kids would be, even pointing at baby shoes or onesies when you both go out.

by that point, you'd caught on to his little scheme, "why're you talking about kids a lot? baby shoes, baby onesies, baby videos, baby this, baby that," you informed him, threading your fingers through his hair as he laid his head on your lap.

"wan' a baby."

so when you broke the news that you were bearing his child, he cried. and by cry — i mean bawled out like a baby. clinging to you, overwhelmed at the fact that he was going to have a child with you, he was actually going to have a little family of his own.

just a few days after the news, he'd grown a lot more protective of your wellbeing. asking here and there about what you could and couldn't eat, or what might harm the growing baby inside you. searching here and there.

during your first trimester, more precisely, during your fifth week; the cravings began getting heavy and wonky. despite all that, choso still indulged in your cravings. hell, he even had to try some because he couldn't say no to you when you tried to share with him.

peanut butter and salmon sashimi, pickle juice with honey, cream cheese and fried chicken, ramen soup popsicles, bacon and toothpaste, milk and ramen seasoning, and more of those odd combinations. choso never did complain even once, if you wanted to eat something at three am, he'd run out and go find some no matter what — you were carrying his child, and he figured that was the least he could do for you.

"taste good, baby?" choso asks you, swiping his fingertips over the cream cheese spread on the corner of your lips.

nodding vigorously, you brought the half-eaten fried chicken messily dipped in the thick and white cream cheese spread — eyes shining brightly, as if asking him to try some with you. blinking in surprise, he took a bite. definitely a weird experience for him, and it was one of the oddest combination of food he had ever tried.

"'ts funny, but it's not bad," he swallowed after chewing the chicken a few times; reaching for the glass of water by the nightstand.

throughout your pregnancy, choso made sure to spoil you with a lot of things. the doll you looked at for a split second while the both of you ventured into the mall, the food he sees you browsing through his phone or your phone, tucking you in bed using the pillow he bought for pregnant women, and the feet massages for you everyday.

"where are you going?" choso asks, rubbing his eyes in exhaustion. the dark spots under his eyes were getting darker every time — it was obvious the changes in his life had made it, but choso was more than enlightened to do it for you.

"want to drink," you whisper, letting out a cute incoherent noise as you tried to roll off the mattress.

choso was quick to hold you back, tucking you inside the bundle of covers, "i'll get it for you, stay here, okay?" he whispers, hopping off the bed to fetch you a glass of water — choso didn't want to keep you waiting, running off to the kitchen and fetching you a glass of water topped with a lot of ice cubes; something he noticed you'd chew on a lot ever since you got pregnant.

"here you go," he walks back carefully, handing you the water, pinching the skin on your nap gently as he watches you gobble the water down, parting your lips to pop in an ice cube or two.

nearing your due date, specifically just a few days after the 37th week — the contractions started. it was the ninth month, and it was expected. choso heard your hushed whimpers in his sleep, he would probably guess it was at dawn, probably around four? he didn't even bother checking on the time because all he cared was you.

he was barely awake, kicking off the covers and helping you. ushering you to slowly breathe in and out, his hand rubbing soothing circles on the hollow of your back. choso figured that he wanted you and the unborn child to be safe, and so he decided to bring you to the hospital where the experts are.

choso was worried beyond anyone else; even you. constantly staying by your side, his hair disheveled; a few strands going the opposite way, and tangled with each other. he laid his head down on the mattress, by your hand. choso laid his hand on your belly, rubbing against the cloth gently to ease the pain from the contractions.

at the early stage of labor, you were feeling cramps and an intense backache — which choso helped you through. he was glad he brought you to the hospital because not long after, your water broke. and he was there to help you through it all, clutching onto your hand as if he was holding on for dear life.

everything that the doctors or the nurses do, he felt his heart beat a notch quicker than earlier. choso was afraid, and he wasn't really afraid to admit it — i mean, you're his wife and you were carrying his child. he didn't want anything to happen to the both of you.

choso heard the doctor explain to him about what was going to happen, but everything that came in from his left ear exits through his right. he could barely remember anything because through out the explanation, he was too busy caring for you throughout the contractions that had grew a bit more intense during your active labor.

he hated everything inside the delivery room. it smelt like blood — choso was used to blood. but he didn't like it when it came from you, his heart drumming against his chest as he felt your grip tightened on his hand. frankly, he could care less if he broke a few bones as long as you and the baby were both okay.

choso hated seeing you in pain, even while delivering his baby. he didn't blame the baby, of course; he just wishes he could do something and take away the pain from you, latching his lips onto your sweat painted forehead. salty. he could taste your sweat against his lips, and despite that, he still refused to move.

"wish i could jus' take away the pain away from you, y/n," he whispers — hearing your pained grunt, your eyes glazed with fresh tears. and he kissed them away, whispering sweet nothings into your ears.

telling you it was just a bit more until you could see your baby, how proud he is of you, how much he loves you, how much he wished he could take away your pain, everything he felt in his heart at that moment all poured out into hushed whispers.

when the first cry of your baby echoed inside the rowdy delivery room, choso cried. he looked down at you, cradling your face in his hands, singing out, "good job, good job. 'm so proud of you, i love you so much."

the baby's a beautiful baby boy.

choso didn't want to hold the baby first as much as he wanted to — he felt like you deserved to touch the baby first after risking your life to birth him. and so he told the nurse to let you at least see the baby first, he refused to carry his son until you, his wife, touched him first; whether using your hands or any part of your body.

he stared in awe when the baby's loud cry eventually stopped when the nurse brought him to you, letting you coo at your own newborn son. his tears freely dropping, rubbing circles onto the back of your hand.

when the nurse asked him to have skin-to-skin contact, choso was nervous. what if he dropped his son? what if his son doesn't like him? what if his son doesn't like the way his skin feels? so many out of the box questions that didn't need to be answered were roaming in his mind.

as he slowly cradled his son, he blinked back the second round of tears that had threatened to fall. the light blue beanie stuck to his son's head seeped with a few drops of tears, leaning down to press his lips onto the baby's skin a few times. introducing himself as the baby's father and how happy he is to be one,

daichi l/n. that's the baby's name — it meant great first son. the both of you felt that it was a suitable name for your first baby.

choso slept on the small couch inside the hospital room during your healing week, in the middle of both you and him was daichi's small basinet where he slept soundly. he made sure to knock himself awake every now and then to check after both you and daichi.

when the hospital permitted you to go home, you completely relied on choso on heavy things — which you didn't even have to ask, he was already doing it for you. daichi gets a bit fussy at night, and choso always tells you to go back to sleep and that he'd handle the baby.

"you know, you're really noisy, right? mama's really worried about you," he gently poked the baby's cheek with his thumb as he cradled the small bundle of life affectionately, singing out a lullaby he remembered you singing to him years ago.

choso never knew he had a knack on changing diapers until you were occupied, and he had to change daichi's diaper. turns out he was really good at it, and from that day on — he's also told you that he got it. your body was still sore from delivery, and so everything around the house was mostly done by choso under your watch.

although choso's been the one taking care of daichi, he could definitely see how much the baby's turning out to be a big mama's boy even at a few months old. he noticed how daichi would only let you burp him, or sometimes daichi would get fussy when he felt choso raising him up during early mornings until you had to do it.

he didn't care. he wasn't jealous, daichi's still his son and he was glad that daichi loved you a little more than him. he'd like it if his baby prioritizes you first before him.

being a father is a great wonder to him. daichi's first word being 'mama', and his first steps was done while he was sauntering clumsily towards you. choso is such a proud father.

growing up, daichi turned out to be a big mama's boy. but still he loved choso too. now daichi lets choso carries him during mornings, and he relies on choso when something scares him while clutching onto your hand, taking small steps to hide behind choso. using his own father as a shield for him and you.

"don't worry, baby. 's just a lion in the screen, dada will protect us," you scooped the boy into your arms, pointing at the screen where a lion and its cub are walking.

"mmm. dada will protect you both," choso chimes in, ruffling daichi's thin hair.

daichi grew up loving boxing. you didn't know how he knows about it, but at the very next second, he was pestering choso to teach him boxing. and choso dreaded this because what was his son going to do at four years of age in pre-school with boxing? was he going to use it on his teachers? or his friends?

"no . . . maybe when you're older," choso's always said that, patting daichi's head as he does.

daichi whined every single time, but managed to forget when he saw some people drawing on TV. choso once again being a victim of his own son's pleading for some drawing lessons. as a father, choso of course accompanied daichi during his draw sessions in the living room right after the kid comes back from pre-school.

sometimes choso would draw too, having a little competition with his own son. which daichi mostly won — but at the same time, choso never complained about his loss. he was always proud of daichi.

"look, look mama! this is you, this is daichi, and this is dada!" daichi announces, pointing at every aspect of his drawing, explaining to you.

and to the fridge the drawing goes.

when daichi graduated pre-school, choso again, cried. taking pictures using the camera he had asked you to teach him how beforehand, and the pictures weren't the nicest. most of them being a blur of daichi walking down the stage with his small cap, waving his little hand to the camera.

choso was so proud of his son, of you, of himself. looking back— he's realized how far he had come despite not having to expect all of this. a loving wife. a son. a family.

choso was just glad he had his own little family now with you and his son. although . . . he wouldn't mind having another addition to the small community.

#jjk #jujutsu kaisen #fluff #jjk fluff #jujutsu kaisen fluff #choso #choso x reader #choso x female reader #choso x y/n #choso fluff #choso kamo #choso kamo fluff

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fae-of-prey · 11 days

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sugar plums ⏾ ˖ ࣪⊹

❥. ݁₊ inspired by this + me rewatching obx before the new season

❥. ݁₊ word count: 1138

❥. ݁₊ warnings: barry’s little sister reader (kinda naïve + v sheltered); w*rd cameron; brief mentions of murder as per canon events of the show; sorta dubcon kiss but reader doesn’t mind; i think that’s it? feel free to lmk if i missed any

❥. ݁₊ notes: this is v much baby’s first official fic so pls be nice to me:3 i also wanna thank my beautiful beautiful moots for supporting me + beta reading this for me, love y’all to death<333

rafe loves nighttime; it’s peaceful, quiet, it feels like he has the whole world to himself, and most of all you. he fights hard to keep you as blissfully ignorant and unaware as humanly possible, so you can sleep peacefully next to him. rafe can’t sleep tonight though, how could he? he’s haunted by the consequences of his own murderous actions. he lays awake watching you instead just to feel a tinge of pride from how well he’s kept you safe and happy despite everything. rafe always thought you were an angel, his angel, sent straight from the heavens just for him, and you‘ve never looked more heavenly at peace than you do now.

you’ve certainly come a long way from a drug dealer's little trailer park princess sister, busting your ass working at the country club hoping you’ll eventually save up enough to afford college someday, to spending your days living the kook life at tannyhill and being spoiled absolutely rotten. although your big brother was apprehensive at first to your courtship with the kook king himself given the fact that he knows rafe, he eventually came around to the idea; he even lets you live with rafe now for the most part, i mean you get to live in a mansion more comfortably than he’s ever been able to provide, so he had to be a little selfless. barry’s always been a little overprotective and very strict with you to keep you safe from the dangers of his lifestyle, but now so is rafe and he’s happy to be responsible enough to keep you out of trouble.

on the surface it seems like the most dangerous place you could be (well, right next to the dingy trailer of your drug dealer brother), but rafe promised your brother you’d be in good hands, a promise he fully intends to keep even if those hands are now covered in blood. all so you can sleep soundly in his arms dreaming of sugar plums, while rafe’s father pulls into the driveway with a dead body in the trunk.

‘rafe’ even his whisper startles his son and causes you to stir a little bit when he jumps, though he quickly rubs your arm with his thumb soothingly as he turns just slightly to face his father, careful not to wake you in the process ‘what? what is it?’ so eager to help, yet there’s a small part of him deep down dreading leaving the comfort of your presence for what he’s sure can’t be anything good. but ‘i need your help’ is still enough temptation from the devil for him to get out of bed and smear a kiss to your hairline before following his father out to the driveway ready to do anything for daddy’s approval.

sometime in the middle of rafe carrying gavin’s body to the druthers, you stir from your slumber, searching for rafe in the covers only to come up empty, prompting you to open your eyes in hopes you’ll have more luck with your sight, but he’s still nowhere to be found. you creep into the hallway ‘rafe?’ nothing but an echoing sense of unease. not just at rafe’s absence, but the feeling of trepidation in such a large house; you’re still not quite used to it from growing up in a tiny trailer (because despite rafe’s efforts, you’re still not quite a real kook just yet, and other kooks don’t shy away from making it clear behind rafe’s back). that and you can’t help the nagging sense that something is wrong.

you go downstairs for some water while you wait for rafe to come back from accessorizing a murder wherever he is. and as soon as you’ve finished filling your cup you turn around to see your boyfriend walking in suddenly scaring the hell out of you, you didn’t even hear him come in ‘hey baby, what’re you doin up?’ his voice still so raspy ‘i woke up without you, where’d you go?’ you pout, setting the glass down to wrap your arms around him but you still look up at him with those big doe eyes, and he can’t help but feel a familiar pitter patter in his heart at your clinginess; he quite literally just buried a body but less than a minute with you sends him right back to cloud 9 because fuck you’re the light of his goddamn life, and more than that you’re the only light in his goddamn life ‘just uh, had to help my dad with som‘in on the boat, nothin fancy. let’s getcha back to bed, yeah?’ you smile and nod before taking your water with you as he leads you back upstairs.

once you’re all settled in again, so does grim reality when rafe remembers he still has to find the gun in the drain ‘shit, i’m sorry baby, i gotta go take care of somethin else’ ‘what? more boat stuff?’ you’re joking but still he’s never been more grateful for your lack of knowledge on boats before ‘yeah, yeah, uh, i’ll be back soon as i can though okay?’ ‘okay’ you’re pouting again ‘aw c’mon don’t give me fuckin that look’ he starts rummaging around in his closet for some real clothes to wear just to avoid it ‘what look?’ you feign innocence ‘those fuckin bambi eyes you give me whenever you want somethin’ ‘i dunno whatchu mean’ ‘yeah sure you don’t, fuckin smartass’ you giggle at his grumbles, he comes back dressed for the day since it’s morning now and he still has to go find a murder weapon.

‘cmere gimme a kiss fore i go’ ‘promise not to be gone long?’ you look up at him with those big doey eyes once again, you need to make him promise so you can sleep easy knowing he’ll be there when you wake up again, but rafe just sighs ‘ion know how long this is gonna take baby, i said i’ll be back as soon as i can, can’t make any promises okay?’ you’re still pouting at him so he rolls his eyes and grabs your face, squishing your cheeks, and kisses you himself, grumbling about how he has to do everything himself ‘just go back to sleep and i’ll see you later aight? promise’ ‘okay’ you huff in defeat ‘good girl, i love you’ ‘i love you too’ when you kiss him once more he has to refrain from kissing you again or else he’ll never leave the damn house.

eventually he manages to leave you and rides off on his motorcycle while you watch from the window. after he’s gone you flop back into bed sighing, maybe you can at least dream of him to keep you company while he’s out wondering how the hell he’s gonna explain this to your brother.

thank you for reading! if you enjoyed, likes / comments / reblogs of any support or feedback is the best way to show your appreciation, either way i’m so happy to have you here; i feel like there’s more i can explore with this so i’m down to write more of it if you guys want; but other than that i hope you have a lovely night, muah!

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rad-batson · 1 year

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The Batkids and The Arts (Feral Edition)

They’re all musical theatre nerds. Every single one of them. Bruce, Alfred, Dick, Cass, Jason, Steph, Tim, Duke, Damian. They go see Broadway shows together then don’t stop talking about it for like a week. It is the one bonding activity they will never pass up.

Jason and Steph once entered a ballroom dancing competition and won after some pompous rich kids insulted their moves during a gala. Since then, they’ve entered a competition every month or so just for fun. (And for the prize money :P)

Tim is an avid believer that Culinary Art is one of The Arts. (Can he cook? Absolutely not. It was Bernard that convinced him, but he stands by it.)

Duke talks through every single movie he watches. He always promises to be quiet at the beginning, but then he gets too excited and whispers commentary to the people around him. This habit has since bled into the entire family. They are no longer welcome at the local AMC.

Every single one of them is pretentious about something.

Dick is pretentious about any and all performance arts featured at the circus. Once, someone made a joke about going to “Clown School” and Dick screamed at them about how not even their pinky would have the privilege of being admitted into clown school.

Jason is pretentious about classic literature. They can no longer tell if his jokes and references to Shakespeare and Jane Austen are correct or if he’s just fucking with them.

Cass gets pretentious about martial arts being a performance art. She is also pretentious about ballet being a martial art. She could kill a man in fifth position without losing her balance, and that’s a fucking fact.

Stephanie is very good at acting pretentious about the arts. She absorbs everything she’s learned from the rest of the bat family’s interests then pretends to be pretentious about it to mock them while sneaking in just enough correct information so no one can call her out on it. (Her true interest is graphic design.)

Tim has no professional experience with photography, but he will be pretentious about it like he knows everything. (Bruce: Tim, why is there a filter on this evidence photo you took? Tim: I thought it looked nicer that way. Really makes the blood splatter pop.)

Duke isn’t exactly pretentious about writing, but he will lay down his life for the Oxford comma. (Bruce didn’t use it until Duke called the punctuation in his mission reports “insulting.” He now uses it.)

Damian is pretentious about studio art. If he ever hears his family or friends say, “I don’t get it,” at an art museum, he will make them look at it for five minutes as he explains in painstaking detail what’s so revolutionary about it.

The kids decided to take an improv class together once for their undercover work while Bruce and Alfred were out of town. It was so fun that they still play improv games when they’re bored.

Cass is secretly a metalhead.

Whenever one of the younger kids needs to write an English paper, they will just walk up to Jason, riddle off a dumb opinion about the book or poem they had to read, and record whatever Jason ends up lecturing them about. The most recent incident resulted in an award-winning paper about how the theory that William Shakespeare never wrote his own work is deeply rooted in classism.

Damian always has paint under his nails. It just never comes out.

Dick has personally taught everyone in the family how to do The Perfect Backflip. They all get a little ceremony once they’ve mastered it. There is cake.

Whenever Cass is standing around with nothing to do, she’ll practice her foot positions for ballet. The others always notice and follow her lead.

Jason: dramatically recites a poem in the living room Steph: starts beatboxing

Steph is always the first to find typos or continuity errors in a book, play, or movie. She doesn’t intend to; it’s just second nature to her. (She is now Duke’s official proofreader.)

Duke: So how’d you like the movie? Damian: I really loved the mise-en-scène, especially during the breakfast scene and that one shot near the end with the warehouse doors. Duke: *nods thoughtfully* Everyone Else Leaving the Theater: wtf is a meez on sen?

When Duke is finished writing something and wants to share it with his family, he’ll give it to Jason and Cass first.

Jason and Duke have frequent passionate arguments discussions about who is the best poet. Never bring up Dickinson, Poe, Shakespeare, Hughes, Plath, Wilde, Kipling, Sappho, or Angelou in their vicinity unless you want to start it up again.

Damian is surprisingly good at acting. Too good.

Dick knows your music taste before you do. He has a carefully curated playlist for every single family member, every possible combination of family members, and every possible mood at the ready.

They can and will correct anyone who mistakes Gothic architecture for Victorian or Gothic Revival and vice versa. (It’s really a Gotham thing.)

Tim: How dare you call The Grand Budapest Hotel the best prison break movie when it’s clearly The Shawshank Redemption! Jason: Well, as someone who’s BEEN TO PRISON, I think I should know! Dick: It’s clearly Chicken Run! You’re all just Chicken-ist. Duke: But what about Midnight Express?! That one’s so good! Steph: Has anyone mentioned Toy Story 3 yet? No? Damian, watching from the sidelines: I liked Escape from Alcatraz. Cass: Same.

There are several art pieces in the manor that have been positioned directly over top of bullet holes and other suspicious damages.

Damian and Duke made an animated short film once for the Gotham Film Festival. Dick and Cass were their models for the concept art. Tim did historical research. Jason helped Duke edit the storyboard, and Steph was the continuity supervisor. It was about a British super spy working for MI6 that saved the world in the late 70’s. It was titled Agent A.

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thefiery-phoenix · 5 months

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Hello! Is it ok if I request Yandere headcanons for Gitae kim? It’s ok if you’re not ok with it! Also just wanted to say that I really love all your Yandere content!

YANDERE GITAE KIM HEADCANONS

Freaking hell, he creeps me TF out but why does he look so good, it's just unfair

Please, for the sake of your own sanity, RUN. Just RUN. That's it. Or at least, run as much as you can since he'll end up finding you anyway since he's the leader of a freaking Cartel and the son of Gapryong Kim after all and is a complete sadistic beast in the form of a man. It's rare that he would ever develop feelings for someone and even if he does, he'll be too egoistic and arrogant and proud to admit it, he'll treat you more like a pet of some sort to be precise. But you're HIS little pet, that he loves in his own dark twisted way. It doesn't matter how you meet this deranged flesh eating cannibal here, the second he sets his eyes on you and his mouth curves upwards into a smirk, that's when you're a goner and you might as well just kiss goodbye to your life and freedom

It was a usual day for you and you were walking back to your house after a long tiring day. You put on some earphones and walked down the alleyway, humming to your favorite tunes feeling the cool breeze against your skin. You tried to ignore the men lurking in the alleyway with beer bottles and cigarettes strewn on the ground as they looked drunk and intoxicated while their lecherous gazes landed on you, leering at you and making all sorts of lewd perverse comments about your body that made your skin crawl. You put your head down and didn't want to get into some kind of confrontation which was the last thing you wanted, when one of them ended up grabbing you by your wrist and you screeched on top of your lungs and thrashed around for all you were worth, pleading with them to let you go as tears streamed down your cheeks and your neatly combed hair was now frizzled and became unkempt with a few of your hair strands falling into your face. One of the men ended up striking you hard across your face as you whimpered in pain and clutched at your now stinging cheek and trembled. Before one of them was about to tear off your shirt, in the blink of an eye, the man's hand was now on the ground leaking crimson as the man screamed in agony and fear and you felt your heart stop beating when your gaze landed on a raven haired guy with blood splattered across his well toned muscular chest and had a black leather jacket with a cruel smile etched on his face as he watched the man fall to the ground, whimpering at the sight of his severed hand

What the man did next would remain ingrained into your memory forever. The stranger with the axe swung his axe around and the head of the man who'd been tormenting you now lay on the ground, his crimson blood painting the gravel of the ground crimson as he cut off a chunk of his flesh and bit into it and tore through the meat like an apex predator. At this point you didn't know if you were safe even after being supposedly saved by this man in front of you as his eyes landed on your whimpering and trembling figure and he smirked sadistically. "Relax little girl, I'm not going to eat you...unless you want me to'' he spoke as his eyes surveyed across your features. You reminded him of a scared vulnerable little prey, a weak little lamb that he could take advantage of and the mere thought of it just excited him as his eyes glinted with malice. Before he could even say something else, your fear consumed you and you ended up blacking out and losing your consciousness. You were about to pummel straight to the ground before he grabbed you by your waist and held you in his arms as he let out a soft chuckle, amused that you fell for him already which did give him a bit of an ego boost

You were so weak, so helpless and so fragile like a little doll that he would love to have in his grasp. He wonders how you'd react if you'd see him in his full glory while he beats up people and murders them on a usual day, you wouldn't even last a second without trembling and crying like the helpless little lamb that you were, which was cute in his opinion. "Looks like I'm takin' you home, eh?'' he said as he hoisted you over his shoulders like a sack of flour and fished out your ID to find your address and made his way to your house. You were quite surprised when you woke up the next day in your own bed and you felt your head was slightly groggy as you massaged your temples and sighed to yourself, secretly glad you were away from that cannibal. You made your way into the living room only to find the same guy napping on your couch, with blood still splattered over his chest as your eyes widened and your face paled and you let out a shrill screech of bloody murder. "Damn it woman...can't even let me nap after I saved you...'' grumbled the guy as he looked at you and his eyes narrowed slightly. He enjoyed watching you squirm and fidget nervously, he could see you were torn between trying to be a good host and thanking him for saving you yesterday to contemplating passing out again. "You know...I expect some sort of thanks from you little girl'' he said as he got up from your couch and strode over to you, his massive frame towering over your body as you gulped nervously

"I-I could give you money if you want...please don't kill me'' you whimpered. "Silly naive girl, who said I wanted your money...you're interesting...I'm keeping you with me'' he said with a smirk. You tried to make a run for it when he grabbed your hands and pinned your arms above your head and cooed at you condescendingly, "Well now that's just rude isn't it? You should thank your savior properly. Now don't make this hard for both of us...be a good little girl for your savior, would you?" he asked as he patted your cheek a few times and caressed your cheek as he lifted you in his arms yet again and you let out a nervous squeak. "Don't you think you should get to know me or something before you literally kidnap me?" you asked him as he looked at you with an amused smile on his face. "Plenty of time to do all that get to know you crap. I'm Gitae by the way since you're so insistent on introductions and crap and this isn't a kidnapping...I'm taking what's mine'' he said as he carried you out of your house

What he wants, he gets. That's it. He wasn't going to waste a single second without taking you back with him, of course, he could have kidnapped you in the night but the element of surprise was what made things more interesting for him. Your cute little reactions to whatever he did riled him up so much. No way was he going to let you go now. The next thing you knew, you were sitting in a black car with him next to you and a few other people who had tattoos as you couldn't believe what you'd gotten yourself into. You silently let tears stream down your face and you looked out the window. Gitae wrapped a black jacket around you since you were still in your night clothes as he wrapped an arm around you and pulled you closer to him. Don't get fooled by his actions though, he's as unpredictable as the weather

If you thought Samuel or Eugene were messed up psychopaths, allow me to introduce you all to the poster boy of being a RED BANNER. He's obsessive, manipulative and won't hesitate to literally gaslight you. While he won't physically hurt you, the same cannot be said to those around you unfortunately. He wants your attention on him, he wants you to cling to his arm like the helpless little doll that you are and look at him with those wide eyes of yours, being all pliant and dependent on him. Whenever you squirm when he touches you he just finds it so amusing and cute, he can't help but put you on his lap when he has his meetings with the men from his cartel while you have a pink collar around you pretty little neck that has HIS name on it so people will know you belong to him. As if those love bites and hickeys on your neck, thighs and arms aren't a testament of you being his. He likes marking you wherever he can, you're his property, HIS doll. Of course, anyone who looks at you for a moment too long or if their gaze wanders to a certain part of your body that belongs to him, he's just going to gouge their eyes out like knife cutting through a slab of butter. And then he'd kiss you on your soft kissable lips possessively and aggressively like a dying man needing air, running his hands over your body till you're literally gasping for breath, in front of everyone else to show those losers that they won't ever be able to have you as their minds are now ingrained with the dire consequences of laying their eyes on Gitae Kim's girl

Whatever hopes you have of escaping from him, it's best to get it out of your mind before he ends up killing and eating one of your dear loved ones right in front of you. You're his little pet, he won't tolerate any form of disobedience from you and he'll tell you how it's your fault they're dead and it's all because you dared to leave him. Your punishment is getting handcuffed to the bed till you're allowed to walk. It's best to just accept his advances towards you because there is no escaping from this deranged psycho at all...

#yandere gitae kim #yandere gitae kim x reader #yandere gitae kim scenarios #yandere gitae kim oneshots #yandere gitae kim headcanons #yandere gitae kim x reader scenarios #yandere lookism x reader #yandere lookism characters x reader #yandere lookism characters #yandere lookism #dark lookism characters x reader #dark lookism characters #dark lookism x reader #dark lookism #lookism headcanons #lookism x reader #lookism

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parkerslatte · 8 days

Text

Clouded | Part Two

Eris Vanserra x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 7.3k

Warnings: blood and injury. violence. near death experience. death and gore. scars.

Summary: After collapsing in her garden and revealing something he never thought he would, Eris is left fighting for his life once more, unable to heal his wounds. Y/N asks for help in the most unlikely of places.

A Court of Thorns and Roses Masterlist

Part One || Part Two

•••

Y/N stared at the wall in front of her, unable to stop her racing heart. It had taken her a while to drag Eris from her front garden back into her house, laying him atop of her bed comfortably. She hadn’t left his bedside since. That had been seven hours ago.

The revelation that Eris was her mate had shocked her to the core. Y/N never thought she had a mate— never thought she was deserving of that kind of love. But it made sense in her mind now. Why she had been so drawn to Eris. Why the thought of him crossed her mind so often despite how he treated her. Even when she loved him once upon a time, she always craved his touch and to be in his presence.

As he lay on the bed in front of her, Y/N slowly moved her hand to clasp his. Just the feeling of his hand in hers sent her senses into overdrive. She craved more.

There was a pressure deep within her that she tried to pull on, force it to snap. No matter how hard she tried, Y/N couldn’t force it. Perhaps if she could then she could help him, save him.

The rise and fall of his chest seemed to become shallower the more Y/N looked at him. She wasn’t sure what else she could do.

Tears sprung to Y/N’s eyes. She didn’t love Eris anymore, that love had long been buried beneath centuries of displeasure, hatred and annoyance. But since discovering the scars on his back from the torture he endured at the hand of his own father, Y/N felt her walls crumble the smallest amount.

For over five hundred years, Y/N was led to believe that Eris despised the ground she walked on. Believed that the love they once shared was fake and one sided. But everything Eris did, everything that he ever said was for a reason. To protect her.

Y/N brought Eris’s hand up to her mouth and pressed a soft kiss against his knuckles.

“Why didn’t you ever tell me?” Y/N whispered against his skin. “You stupid male.” She let out a long shaky breath. “And now…you are basically lying on your deathbed. Please wake up.”

Y/N watched as his chest moved in shallow breaths. She had cleaned all of the blood away. If it weren’t for the wounds on his sides it would look as if he were sleeping peacefully. Y/N could only wish he was.

***

Another three hours had passed and Y/N still hadn’t left Eris’s side. Her hand was still clasped in his. Her hand was now hot and sweaty but she didn’t care. Feeling his skin, feeling the slight warmth still within it eased her.

“Eris, please wake up,” Y/N begged. “I have so much to say to you.”

Eris didn’t respond. There wasn’t even a flutter of his eyelid. Y/N sighed.

“If I leave you to get a drink, you won’t die on me will you? Because I will bring you back and kill you myself if you do,” Y/N said with a defeated sigh. “I don’t know how to help you myself. I wish I knew how.”

With a quick glance toward her small desk situated in the corner of the room, an idea formed in Y/N’s mind. It was a long shot but she would do anything to help Eris right now.

She spared one glance at Eris and shuffled to the desk and picked up a piece of parchment and a quill and began to write.

***

Two days had passed since Y/N sent her letter and she heard no word in response. There was a crushing disappointment on her shoulders. Eris had shown no signs of waking any time soon. And what made everything worse was the gash in his side was not healing the way it should. Veins spread out and Y/N just knew that it was an infection.

She had used nearly all of her money on salves and potions to try and heal it but all of her attempts were futile. Nothing worked.

As Y/N moved to the living room, she noticed a small movement out of the corner of her eye. Her head snapped in the direction. There was nothing there. Y/N sighed and closed her eyes. She had been alone for too long to the point where she was seeing things.

Y/N picked up her discarded glass and brought it into her kitchen area. She placed it on the counter and leant against it and let her head fall. The weight falling upon her shoulders made her want to collapse and never stand back up.

“Y/N L/N,” a deep voice sounded through her house.

Startled, Y/N lifted her head and fumbled around for a knife and held it in front of her. Standing before her was a winged male, shadows swarmed around his shoulders, blocking out all the light from her small window.

“Who are you?” Y/N asked, the knife in her hand shaking.

“You sent a letter,” the male said, his voice smooth.

The hand holding the arm faltered. “You’re from the Night Court.”

There was a ghost of a smile on the male’s face. “Isn’t it obvious.”

Y/N let out a breath and placed the knife back on the countertop. “You could have knocked on my door like a normal person.”

“I could have done that but I needed to make sure that everything you said in your letter was genuine,” the male said. “My name is Azriel.”

“Y/N,” she said, lifting her hand for a handshake.

Azriel seemed to hesitate for a brief moment before clasping his hand in hers. Y/N shook it firmly. “So you read my letter? About Eris?”

“I wouldn’t be here if we didn’t,” Azriel said. “Although it wasn’t the letter we expected from Autumn.”

Y/N frowned. “What do you mean?”

“We have been expecting a letter from Eris for weeks now,” Azriel said. “Now we understand why.”

Y/N didn’t pry further. “Do you wish to see him?”

Azriel only nodded and followed Y/N into her bedroom. Her heart clenched once more at Eris laying in her bed, skin even more pale than it had been the day previous.

“He hasn’t shown any sign of waking up,” Y/N explained. “I have tried to do everything to help him but no salve or potion does anything.”

Azriel looked at the wound on Eris’s side.

“I heard about your High Lady and her pregnancy and how she birthed a child with wings. So I thought your court might be able to help with Eris,” Y/N said.

Azriel nodded. “How do you know Eris?”

Y/N folded her arms across her chest. “We were childhood friends.”

“Were?” Azriel questioned

“We grew apart,” Y/N said. “We haven’t really spoken…nicely to one another in over five hundred years.”

“No romantic feelings involved?” Azriel asked.

Y/N hesitated. “No. Why?”

Azriel shrugged. “Sometimes a mate can help with healing even the gravest of injuries.”

Y/N didn’t respond, only shuffled her feet slightly.

“You don’t need to lie,” Azriel said, and his gaze seemed to soften. “I can scent the mating bond. It’s as clear as anything.”

“You can?” Y/N asked, fear rising within her.

Azriel nodded. “I believe it is only because you are in close proximity to him. It hasn’t snapped for you yet.”

Y/N shook her head, her shoulders slumping. “No. I keep trying to force it. I thought I could possibly help but no matter how hard I try.”

“Don’t force it,” Azriel said. “Just let it happen naturally.”

“I know,” Y/N said and slumped down in the chair by the bed. “It’s just strange. I never thought I had a mate. And now it is with someone I hate and thought hated me. I don’t even know why I’m telling you this.”

“People say I’m a good listener,” Azriel said. “And hate isn’t the word I would suggest to go with your actions. I will send word to Rhys to gather others who can possibly help.”

“Thank you,” Y/N said, relieved.

Azriel nodded. “I will return with others shortly.”

Y/N nodded and soon enough Azriel was gone, not leaving a single trace.

Once she was alone, Y/N moved from the chair to the edge of the bed and took Eris’s hand in hers. “I thought I hated you. Maybe part of me still does. For the things you said to me and about me to your father. For abandoning me when everything was hard. But after seeing your scars and how desperate you were to get away from me, I think I understand why. Your father almost killed you.” Y/N’s eyes burned. “And he might have succeeded if there was nothing to help you.”

Y/N gently brushed the few strands of Eris’s hair that were plastered across his forehead. “Please wake up.”

***

When Y/N awoke, she was confused. She hadn’t remembered falling asleep. As she woke her head rested upon her bed, her hand still linked in Eris’s. He hadn’t moved at all.

There was a knock on her front door and she immediately sat up. She straightened out her clothes and tried to make her hair a little bit more presentable before going to open her front door.

It revealed the High Lord of the Night Court standing beside Azriel.

“Y/N L/N,” the High Lord of Night, Rhys, said.

Y/N bowed her head. “High Lord.”

Rhys waved his hand dismissively. “Please just call me Rhys. Now, show me where Eris is. I have brought my best healer.”

A weight was lifted from Y/N’s shoulders. “He’s just through here.” Y/N walked quickly to her bedroom. “I assume Azriel told you about how he collapsed and hasn’t woken up.”

“And the fact that you are mates,” Rhys said. “You can’t feel the bond can you?”

“No,” Y/N said. “It hasn’t snapped for me.”

Rhys nodded. “Good. Because this isn’t going to be a feeling you want to have accidentally passed down that bond.”

“What?” Y/N said, moving her body to stand in front of Eris, suddenly feeling protective. “What are you going to do to him?”

“What is needed,” the healer Rhys brought along said.

Azriel stepped forward. “Madja is the best healer the Night Court has. She’s Eris’s best chance at the moment.”

Y/N looked back at Eris. If it weren’t for the shallow rise and fall of his chest, he would look like he was dead. She slowly nodded. “Okay, do what you must.”

Madja looked at Y/N expectantly.

Y/N looked around the room to find all eyes on her. “What?”

“You’re his mate,” Madja said. “To heal him, I will need some of your blood.”

Y/N’s eyes widened in surprise as she turned to Azriel. “I told you that a mate can heal some of the gravest injuries.”

“But you never said it consisted of my blood,” Y/N said.

Azriel only shrugged.

Y/N turned back to face Madja. “How much would you need?”

“Not too much,” she answered, setting up next to Eris.

Y/N sat down in the chair next to her and Madje took Y/N’s hand and cut her palm. SHe guided it over to Eris’s mouth.

“Wouldn’t this be easier to drip into a goblet?” Y/N questioned.

Madja shook her head. “The blood needs to be directly from the source of the mate. It would be useless if you were to use a goblet.”

Y/N only nodded as her blood dripped into Eris’s mouth. A drop fell onto his cheek from where it had run down Y/N’s arm. It was scaly vibrant against Eris’s pale skin.

“That should be enough,” Madja said.

Y/N stilled and waited. And waited. And waited. Nothing changed. Eris was still barely alive.

As Madja wrapped a bandage around her hand, Y/N’s eyes remained on Eris, tears sprang to her eyes. “Why didn’t it work?”

“Whatever Beron did to him must have been severe,” Rhys said.

“But you said that a mate can heal the gravest of injuries,” Y/N said.

“They can in certain circumstances,” Madja said. “Although this time it seems as if he needs something more.”

“What does he need?” Y/N asked desperately. Although some colour had returned to Eris’s cheeks, he still looked half dead.

“The power of a High Lord,” Madja answered.

Out of the corner of her eye she noticed Azriel turning to Rhys. Y/N looked at them. “What? What is it?”

Her question wasn’t answered as Azriel spoke up. “Is it time, Rhys?”

Rhys rubbed his brow and sighed. “It is time.”

“Time for what?” Y/N asked. “What is happening?”

“Many years ago we made a deal with Eris. In exchange for his help, he made sure that when the time comes, we would help with killing his father,” Rhys explained. “I hadn’t realised that this would come this soon.”

“Killing his father?” Y/N asked.

“Yes,” Rhys said. “Eris has always wanted power and he will go to any means to get it.”

Y/N frowned. “Power isn’t the only reason for his deal.”

“Why else would he want his father dead?” Rhys asked.

Y/N gestured to the wounds on his body. “His father tortures him. He is only like this because of him. His back is covered in scars, each one inflicted by his father. God knows how long this has been going on for.”

Looking back at Eris on the bed, Y/N gently clasped his hand in hers once more. “None of you know Eris like I did. I’ve known him since we were children and we were inseparable. I guess it didn’t take us much to fall in love because that was what our relationship was like. Even before we confessed, we acted as if we were in love. The only thing I hated was how late we confessed. We were twenty and it was just after his birthday and we were so happy. I thought I would marry him, but the moment his brother was born, he changed.”

“He became distant and rarely spoke to me. It wasn’t long before he wanted to be nowhere near me. He was cruel and mean, not just to me, but to most people. It wasn’t long before he avoided me altogether,” Y/N finished.

“And you still love him after that,” Rhys questioned.

“I never said I still love him,” Y/N said. “At least I don’t think I still do. I think part of me will always hate him for the things he said to me. But…before he passed out he said that everything he did was to protect me from his father. And while he was passed out, I was thinking about what happened between Lucien and Jessiminda. I remember needing to clean the floor of her blood.”

“And you believed him?” Rhys asked.

Y/N squeezed Eris’s hand. “There is still a lot I need to talk to him about.”

Eris’s hand was cold and it was so uncommon for him. She remembered whenever Y/N was cold when they were younger, Eris would always like their fingers and use his powers to warm her up. Y/N smiled slightly at the memory.

“Are you sure you don’t love him, Y/N?” Azriel questioned.

There was a small pause.

“Of course I don’t,” Y/N said, her voice wavering.

Luckily for her, Azriel didn’t continue with his interrogation, instead he immediately began describing the plan they had set in place.

“However, instead of Eris, you will need to take his place, Y/N,” Azriel said.

“Me?” Y/N asked. “Why?”

“The deal we have with Eris is that we help him kill his father, we are merely there to assist with any of the protective measures Beron has placed in the way. Eris wanted to make the killing blow,” Rhys explained.

“And since Eris is currently unable to help in any way, we need someone else,” Azriel said.

Y/N frantically looked between Azriel and Rhys. “What about one of his brothers? What about Lucien?”

“Ever since Lucien was run out of the Autumn Court, he does not have the freedom to walk around like you do, the moment he crosses the border into Autumn, there will be a bounty on his head. And besides, by the time he arrives here from the human lands, Eris is as good as dead,” Rhys said.

Y/N sighed and looked at Eris. If she could do anything to help him, she would. Even if that included killing the High Lord of the Autumn Court.

“What is the plan?” Y/N asked.

***

Everything went as planned. One by one Rhys, Azriel and Cassian picked off any guard Beron had posted until he was vulnerable. A blade given to her by Azriel was concealed in her skirts. All she needed to do was get close enough to him and stab him. That was all she needed to do.

But the closer she came to his office, the more her nerves began to rise. What will happen if she cannot distract him long enough to get closer? What will happen if the guards on the other side of the Forest House hear of what was happening? What will happen if Beron gets to her first?

Y/N shook her head, hoping to keep those thoughts at bay for a moment. As she stood in front of Beron’s study she raised her hand and knocked. There was a slight shuffling from inside before the door swung open.

Y/N held her breath as Beron looked down at her. A wicked smile stretched across his face.

“Y/N,” he said. “I never thought I would see your face around here again.”

Y/N tried her best to keep her voice steady as she replied. “I have the rest of the money my father owed you.”

Surprise filled Beron’s eyes. Y/N hated how similar his and Eris’s eyes were. In fact, she hated all the similarities between Beron and Eris. Although Beron’s hair was a dark brown, streaked with grey, his face was just an older version of Eris’s. But there was one stark difference. While Beron’s face was filled with cold cruelty, Eris’s features were softer and warmer. They were features Y/N had fallen in love with. Beron’s were features she hated.

“Come in,” Beron said, opening the door a little wider.

Y/N stepped past him and pulled a pouch of money out of her small bag. She placed it down on the desk. The money would only stay money for an hour. Once that hour was up it would turn back to regular pebbles.

“Where did you get this?” Beron questions, picking up one of the gold marks.

“I have been saving to leave the Autumn Court,” Y/N said, reciting the phrases she had been practising in her head. “I thought I would use the leftover money to pay off the debt. I believe this should be more than enough.”

Beron hummed and let the gold mark fall back into the pouch. Y/N flinched as it made the sound of a pebble hitting a pebble, not metal hitting metal. She hoped Beron wouldn’t notice. The weight of the blade concealed in her skirts got even heavier.

“May I ask you a question, Y/N?” Beron asked, his voice unusually relaxed.

“Of course, my lord,” Y/N replied, trying to keep her voice steady. She hadn’t rehearsed for any impromptu questions.

“No need to look so on edge,” Beron said, leaning against his desk. “I was only curious about the whereabouts of my son.”

“Which one?” Y/N asked, her voice quiet.

Beron laughed, though there was no warmth behind it. “What a sense of humour. But I am sure you know which one I am talking about. My eldest, Eris.”

“I am not sure, my lord,” Y/N said, keeping her hand from fidgeting.

“Are you sure?” Beron said. “Because the last time I saw him, he mentioned something about you.”

“Did he?” Y/N asked, genuinely curious.

Beron nodded. “He did. He mentioned something about the debt you owe and a way to make you pay for it.”

Y/N chuckled nervously. “Well he might have known about my plans to leave the court. I haven’t seen him since the day I ran into him while working.”

“Are you sure?” Beron asked, leaning closer.

Y/N nodded, afraid to trust her voice.

Beron didn’t reply as he stepped closer, so close Y/N could smell the whisky on his breath. She wanted to flinch away but she could show no sign of weakness. Beron’s fingers lightly brushed against her cheek as he breathed in deep.

“Then why can I smell his blood on you?” Beron asked.

“I-I don’t know,” Y/N stuttered.

Beron tutted. “Don’t play dumb with me, Y/N. You know it won’t end well.”

Y/N didn’t reply, even as Beron brushed a strand of her hair behind her ear, revealing a small splatter of Eris’s blood on her forehead.

“Do you want to know something, Y/N?” Beron asked, leaning back. “I did feel awful when your father needed to pay his debts back to me. I remember thinking if I should ever help you out, give you a little bit more money to get by. But that was when I found out that my very own son had been taking money from his personal funds for years, to pay off your debts.”

Y/N gasped. “What?”

“My son, whom I raised to be hard as steel, tough as nails, has been taking money from his own funds to pay off your debts. Funds that I give him myself,” Beron repeated. “When I checked in recently to see how much you had left to owe, it was a lower sum than I thought. I was confused by this as you can imagine, as by my own calculations, you shouldn’t have even paid ten percent by now when you have paid over ninety percent of it.”

Y/N looked down confused. By her own calculations, she had paid off fifty percent of her debts. But if Beron said that by his calculations she had only paid off ten percent in over five hundred years–

“You haven’t been paying me what I am owed,” Y/N said.

Beron shrugged. “Someone at your station only makes seven gold marks a week. I personally cut that down to three.”

“But that means–”

“Your debt has increased,” Beron said. “Every time you paid out money for food or water or new clothes that you thought you could afford. That money went right onto the end of your debt. I never intended for you to ever pay off your debt, Y/N. You father did me wrong, did everyone wrong. Since he died, his punishment simply passed onto you.”

“You were going to make me work until I died,” Y/N said.

“That was the plan until I found out my son had been paying off your debt over the years,” Beron sneered.

All those years that Y/N hated Eris for what he became, he was risking his life to pay off her never ending debt. A debt that would have killed her.

“When I found Eris depositing the last ten percent of the money into my account, I had my suspicions confirmed all along,” Beron said. “I always knew my son carried a flame for you, I could see it ever since you were children. When Tycho– mother rest his soul– was born, I needed Eris to step up to his duties. If I were to ever pass away, the High Lord status wouldn’t shift to the first born son– it may have shifted families completely– I needed my sons prepared. I needed them all to prove they were worthy of leadership.”

“You put them all against one another!” Y/N exclaimed.

“They did that themselves trying to impress me,” Beron said dismissively. “But Eris always had one thing preventing him from reaching his potential. You.”

Y/N wanted nothing more than to run out of the office and never return. The only sense of calm within her was whens he occasionally noticed the unnatural shift of a shadow.

“I always knew about the relationship between you and Eris, neither of you were subtle. When I ordered him to stay away from you, he refused again and again– so I took extreme measures to make sure he never spoke to you again.”

Y/N thought of the white scars on Eris’s back.

“But when even that didn’t work, I knew that punishing my son was not the way to go. So I threatened you. Eris knows that when I make a threat, I always follow through. I gave him an ultimatum, stay away from you and focus on his duties or your head would end up as a decoration in my ballroom.”

Tears streamed down Y/N’s face no matter how much she tried to stop them. “You are a diabolical male.”

Beron rolled his eyes. “Tell me something I haven't heard already.” Beron leaned back against his desk as he continued to speak. “Over the years I thought he had come to despise you. I thought I had finally knocked sense into him that fraternising with anyone of a lower class than him was frowned upon. But when I learned of all the money he had paid on your behalf, he needed a little more of a push to get it through his skull.”

“You nearly killed him,” Y/N growled.

Beron nodded, not looking the slightest bit sympathetic. “I know. It was my plan after all. Eris has always been led by his heart rather than his head. An attribute he had unfortunately inherited from his mother. I realised I could no longer stand to have a son as weak as him in the standing to become the next High Lord of Autumn– and his misdeeds gave me an excellent opportunity.”

“He isn’t weak,” Y/N sneered. “Eris is the strongest male I have ever known.”

Beron chuckled. “I see your affections for him are still very much alive. I know you are here to kill me, Y/N. I have known long before you knocked on my door. I also know that Eris is lying in your house close to death. It seems to be that only the power of a High Lord can save him.”

Y/N’s eyes widened in shock. “How did you know that?”

“I am not silly, Y/N. I have known where Eris has been this whole time. I always knew he would run to where he felt safest– into the arms of his mate.” At Y/N’s horrified expression Beron smiled. “Oh yes, I knew that too. I’ve known much longer than you have. Nearly four hundred years. I overheard Eris crything to his mother about it one night. It was pitiful if I am being honest.”

The grip Y/N had on the blade was so tight she was hurting her own hand but her grip wouldn’t loosen even if she wanted it to. She wanted to plunge the dagger into him again and again until he was nothing more than a pile of blood and organs on the floor.

“Over the years I contemplated killing you but I knew what your death would do to Eris and I couldn’t have the general of my armies weakened and going mad because of a broken mating bond.” Beron turned to his desk. “But since I know you won’t kill me and Eris is as good as dead, I will take great pleasure in this.”

“After all.” Beron picked up a small dagger of his own. “It is long overdue.”

Beron didn’t have the opportunity to even move the dagger into his dominant hand before Y/N stabbed the knife into his heart. His eyes were full of surprise as he looked down towards Y/N. She gripped the knife tighter and drove it deeper into his chest.

“Don’t fucking underestimate me again,” Y/N growled before she plunged the knife into his chest again.

And again.

Y/N screamed and plunged the knife in a final time, pushing Beron’s body onto the desk behind him.

Y/N panted as she sucked in air as she stared at the dead High Lord staring lifelessly to the ceiling. The blade in her hand shook, blood dripped from her hand to the floor; cutting through the silence like butter.

“Y/N,” Azriel said, appearing behind her. He slowly took the blade from her hand and Y/N’s eyes remained on the deceased High Lord.

“Will he be okay?” Y/N said through her sobs.

Azriel looked down at the dead High Lord. “I don’t think so.”

“Not him,” Y/N said, finally tearing her gaze from the cold body of Beron. “I am glad he is dead. I meant Eris. Will he be okay now?”

“Do you want to see him?” Azriel asked. “I am sure Rhys and the others will clean up here.”

Y/N nodded, wiping the tears from her face. Her attempt was futile as more tears replaced the old ones. Azriel held his hand out and Y/N took it and shadows immediately wrapped around her body. It was cold but somehow the cold comforted the burns on her body. One moment she was standing in the great hall in the Forest House and the next Y/N was standing back in her own bedroom. Within an instant Y/N rushed to Eris’s side. His breathing seemed to be even and colour had returned to his cheeks.

“The power of the High Lord has passed onto him,” Madja explained. “He is the High Lord of Autumn now.”

Y/N gently reached for his hand. As she linked her fingers through his, there was a slight twitch of his finger, the only movement he had made since he had passed out. “When will he wake up?”

“In his own time,” Madja siad, packing away her equipment. She handed Y/N a rag to clean the blood from her hands. “When he wakes, make sure that he is rested and drinks plenty of water. The power transfer between High Lords can cause a great toll on one's body and Eris’s body is already weak.”

Y/N simply nodded, not tearing her eyes away from Eris. “Thank you.”

The room was plunged into silence once more and Y/N was thankful for it. Azriel must have left her right as he dropped her back at her house. She was alone with Eris. A living and breathing Eris.

Y/N sat on the edge of the bed. “Did you hear that, Eris? You are the new High Lord of Autumn. It must be strange for you, becoming High Lord. It’s strange for me too. My mate is a High Lord. It doesn’t even seem real does it?”

She let out a long sigh. “I don’t know if you can hear me but if you can, just know that I do forgive you. I thought I hated you. For all of the things you said to me, about my father, how you treated me. But now I know that you did it for a reason. I have seen how awful your father is and I only have to admire you for what you put up with for all these centuries.”

Y/N gently brushed his hair away from his face. “I thought I wanted you dead but now I know that isn’t the case. The moment I thought you were dying, it felt as if a part of me was dying too. And it isn’t just because you are my mate. It is more than that. Eris, you were the only one I loved more than anything. You were always there for me. You loved me fiercely. You still love me fiercely. I think that what I am trying to say, Eris, is that no matter how much I shouldn’t, I believe part of me still loves me. And perhaps when you wake we can have a long overdue talk and decide where to go from here.”

A soft kiss was pressed upon Eris’s forehead. “Just please wake up soon. The quicker I can see those beautiful eyes, the better.”

***

When Eris did finally awake, Y/N was nowhere to be found. Eris was panicked and could feel the new power flooding his body. The pain from his body was completely gone but was replaced with an uncontrollable power threatening to burst. It was unlike anything he had ever felt before. His breathing became heavier as he clawed at his own chest.

What happened? He thought. The last thing he remembered and the last thing he thought he would ever see was the worried look in Y/N’s eyes as she pleaded with him to keep his eyes open. Where was she now? He was standing in her bedroom. Her scent lingered in the air. As he stumped closer to the door, Eris tried to pull on the golden thread but he couldn’t. The bond still hasn't snapped for Y/N it seemed. Eris wanted to scream.

The power within him was close to bursting and Eris knew that he needed to get away fast. He stumped from her bedroom and through the house until he was at the front door. He threw it open and the cool morning air hit him like a brick yet it still didn’t calm the blazing inferno inside of him.

As he made his way out of the front gate, Eris walked as fast as he could down the cobblestone street. The further he could get from anyone, the better.

“Eris!”

Eris stilled in his tracks and he slowly turned around.

Y/N stood near the path leading to the forest, a basket in her hands filled with flowers. The basket fell to the ground as she rushed forward, racing towards him.

“No!” Eris yelled. “Y/N, please don’t get near me.”

Y/N slowed her pace. “Eris, it’s okay.”

Eris shook her head. “No. My power…it’s stronger and I can’t control it. I feel it threatening to explode. I can’t let you get hurt.”

“And I’m not letting you get hurt either,” Y/N said, taking a few steps forward.

“Y/N,” Eris said. “Please leave me.”

“Eris, I am not leaving,” Y/N said. “I have made sure to keep you alive. You must be stupid to think that I will allow my mate to go through all of this alone.”

Eris couldn’t stop the tears anymore. “I don’t know what to do.”

A small reassuring smile fell upon Y/N’s lips. “Let me go to you.”

“I don’t want to hurt you,” Eris whispered.

Just imagining Y/N getting hurt because of him was enough for the burning in Eris’s veins to burn even hotter. Y/N was the one thing he had sought to protect all these centuries. That wouldn’t stop now.

“You won't,” Y/N said. “I trust you, Eris.”

Y/N stepped forward slowly, inching towards him.

“No, Y/N,” Eris cried. “Please stay where you are.”

Y/N only continued to step forward and Eris didn’t have the energy to run away. The fire within him burned hotter and hotter the closer she got.

There was perhaps a metre between their bodies now and Eris could feel the fire beginning to show as it danced around his body in dull embers. It was only a matter of time now.

Y/N inched forward faster and Eris felt his body relax at the scent of her familiar perfume. The fire around him began to grow larger.

“Y/N,” Eris said, his voice pained. “Please help me.”

The moment Y/N’s hand brushed his, Eris collapsed into Y/N’s arms. His power burnt around them in a whirlpool of fire. It continued on and on yet Y/N held him through it all, her grip not faltering for a second. The new High Lord’s body began to shake as he sobbed into Y/N’s arms.

“Eris,” Y/N mumbled as the fire slowly died down to embers settling down beside them.

Eris didn’t reply as his grip only tightened on Y/N. Holding her within his arms again was a welcome feeling. They were two puzzle pieces finally clicking into place.

“You’re okay,” Y/N whispered as her fingers tangled in his hair. “You’re okay.”

Deep within him, Eris could feel his power becoming restless. He knew it was only a matter of time before it would burst out of him again. He knew that he needed to learn to keep it under control. His power before only seemed like an ember to the powers he had now.

“Is he dead?” Eris asked as he pulled away from the hug, finally looking at Y/N.

She nodded. “He is.”

“How?” Eris forced the question out.

“I killed him,” Y/N said and her eyes filled with unshed tears. “I sent a letter to the Night Court and they helped me get close enough.”

Eris’s hands gently cradled Y/N’s face. “I am sorry you had to do that.”

Y/N shook her head. “I’m not. It was the only way to save you. I would do it again and again if it meant that you would come back to me.”

“Oh, my love,” Eris muttered as he pressed a kiss to her forehead. The movement so strange after all of these years yet so natural.

“I am sorry, Eris,” Y/N said. “For thinking you were a cruel, horrible and loveless male for all of these years.”

“Don’t apologise,” Eris muttered against her forehead. “It is what I wanted you to think.”

“You suffered so much because of me,” Y/N cried.

Eris caressed her face and he wiped the tears away. He hated to see her cry. “I would do it all again in a heartbeat because I love you. You are the only one I have ever loved and the only one I will ever love.”

Y/N met his eyes. “I don’t know what I feel. I have been mating you for so many years but now it is all too much. I-I don’t hate you, not at all. And I know, deep down, that there was always a part of me that still loved you no matter how stupid it was. Now, I just don’t know.”

“It is okay not to know,” Eris said. “I am not going to rush you into anything. I am not expecting you to immediately love me again. I did what I did out of love for you, I don’t care if you do not return my feelings.”

“But I do,” Y/N insisted. “At least in some capacity. Everything is all so complicated.”

Eris sighed and pulled her closer. “I know. So much has changed in only a few short hours. My father– Beron– is dead. I am a High Lord with enough power to set the whole course and possibly the neighbouring courts ablaze. You are free of your debts–”

“That is strange,” Y/N said. “For five hundred years I have been living with it looming over my shoulder. To not pay anything seems wrong.”

“I imagine it would be,” Eris said.

“Perhaps now somebody in the village will hire me,” Y/N said thoughtfully.

“Or what about transferring all of the money you have made and all of the money I placed in Beron’s account into one for you?” Eris suggested.

“Eris, that is too much money,” Y/N said, pulling away from him the smallest amount.

“Y/N, for five hundred years you have been shackled to Beron, he has been pulling on the chains if you ever strayed too far,” Eris said. “It is time to start living again.”

Y/N let out a shaky breath. “I honestly do not know what that entails anymore.”

“Perhaps you should go and find out for yourself,” Eris suggested, a small pain in his heart at the thought of Y/N leaving him.

Y/N looked down to the ground for what was only a few seconds but to Eris it felt like hours.

“Maybe I should,” Y/N said. “I have always wanted to see beyond this village and visit other courts.”

“Then get out there and go,” Eris pushed.

“I will,” Y/N said, “but on one condition.”

“And what would that be?” Eris asked.

“My mate comes with me,” Y/N said.

Just hearing Y/N claim Eris as her mate sent shockwaves down his spine. For nearly five hundred years he had been keeping this secret to himself with only his mother knowing about it. Hearing Y/N say it aloud made his heart swell.

“Obviously not right away as you have some duties to attend to but perhaps you can join me in a few months once everything is settled with you as High Lord?” Y/N suggested.

For the first time in centuries a bright and wide smile stretched across Eris’s face. “I would love that, Y/N.”

Y/N smiled back and if Eris was standing he would feel weak at the knees. It was the smile he would now only ever see in his dreams. Seeing it in reality, it was even more beautiful.

“I think I will pack tomorrow and set off the following day,” Y/N said. “If you would like to join me for dinner before I go…”

“Name the place and I am there,” Eris said, feeling his heart beat even quicker.

A breath passed by Y/N’s lips and Eris’s eyes darted down to them. “I should get back to the Forest House. My first duty as High Lord will be to send a letter to the Night Court.”

Y/N leaned closer to Eris. “Could I accompany you there? I would like to add a message in the letter too.” Eris didn’t miss the way her eyes darted down to his lips.

Eris nodded. “Of course. Shall we set off now?”

Y/N nodded. “Yes. The quicker you are back home, the quicker you can start resting. Madja’s orders.”

Despite the two claiming to begin the walk to the Forest House, neither of them stood up, still remaining on the ground. Eris’s hands inched closer and gently clasped Y/N’s in his, feeling her soft skin against his again was one he craved desperately these past five hundred years.

“Y/N,” Eris said, his voice low and full of longing. “Can I–”

“Yes,” Y/N said, a small smile gracing her face. “You may kiss me.”

Eris didn’t waste a single second and pressed his lips against hers.

Though they still needed to work through a lot of things, together and alone, Eris would happily stay within the temporary bubble the two had created, wrapped in the comfort of Y/N’s arms forever if he could.

However the moment Y/N pulled away, the bubble popped and the reality of the last several days crashed upon Eris.

“Let us go to the Forest House,” Y/N whispered against his lips. “The quicker we write the letter, the quicker we can rest, tangled together under the covers like we used to do.”

They both stood from the floor and Eris gently grasped Y/N’s hand, linking his fingers with hers. As Eris and Y/N walked down the cobblestone path to the Forest House, the clouds parted and made way for a beautiful blue sky.

@myromanempiree @talesofadragon @marina468 @rcarbo1 @marielouiseva @lilah-asteria @acourtofbatboydreams @glaciuswduo @adventure-awaits13 @thecraziestcrayon @saltedcoffeescotch @warmdragonfly

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sapphicmsmarvel · 6 months

Text

the beginning of your life with Azriel

Tw: bad mental health mentioned. Mentioned r*pe and murder of said r*pist

buckle in friends, we got a long one ahead of us. (long for me to write okay)

tropes: friends to lovers, taking care of future S/O, fluff to angst then back to fluff

When Azriel had met you, he had no idea just how important you would become to him.

You were Feyre’s beautiful friend from the mortal world, a friend that was taken with her sisters. A friend that fought against Hybern every step of the way. A friend that drew blood from the High Lord of the Spring because he hurt Feyre and you knew the truth. You had smacked the shit out of Tamlin.

So when your High Lady and High Lord asked you to be the Night Court’s Justice, you readily agreed.

It was…nice to get that anger out on people that had harmed your loved ones.

So you began training, you originally were training with just Cassian and Azriel, then when Nesta needed some outlet, you extended the offer to her.

Well, it wasn’t really an offer.

She was bitter towards you for it for the longest time. But she eventually, apologized to both you and Feyre for her bitter words, but you both obviously forgave her.

You knew how bad shit had gotten when you were first turned. Bitter, angry, resentful. But instead you went to different coping mechanisms. You poured everything into helping others, to the point where you were neglecting yourself. Rhysand had pulled you out of it, but that’s a story for another day.

(read about that here)

Azriel saw the shift in you then, the day you killed your rapist and brought peace to the survivors. He watched as the pathetic man pleaded for forgiveness.

Since then, as stated earlier, you began training so you’d be able to fight. When you became the night courts justice, you and him developed a partnership. You were work partners. You two only trusted each other completely unconditionally. It was a hard relationship to build. But after a year of countless missions where every single one was successful, it became pretty easy.

Late nights eating in a dingy inn room. If you stayed in an inn room that had only one bed, he’d say he was going to take the floor but you eventually persuaded him to just climb into bed with you.

You two never split up unless it was vital to the mission. You two trusted each other to do things on your own, but sometimes two was better than one.

You learned the most intimate things about each other. How he doesn’t like when beds are too soft because it feels weird (from ya know sleeping on a dingy floor his whole youth). You can’t sleep unless you bathe every single day. You snore and talk in your sleep while he sleeps perfectly still like he’s laying in a casket.

When you go on separate missions, he can’t sleep because he doesn’t know if you’re safe or not. You can’t sleep because you miss the brooding bat.

You helped train the valkyries, hell, you were even taken to the blood rite.

He had never been so nervous in his life during that time. You were his partner and he couldn’t be there to help you. Frankly, he’d call you his best friend. Rhysand and Cassian knew him extremely well, but you were something else to him entirely.

The second he saw the four of you walk out, he was so relieved he nearly fell to the ground and thanked the mother.

You guys had been close before the Rite, and now you were even closer.

A lot of times, you tried to face your nightmares alone. However sometimes it was difficult so you’d walk to his room to sleep there. His body and shadows were so attuned to your movements that he never jumped when you crawled into the bed. He knew the second you opened the door that it was you.

He can’t explain it, it was just a sixth sense. Like, you guys would be out and about and he would just know you were about to do some stupid shit with Cassian.

He started realizing what he truly felt for you after the Blood Rite. How his heart felt lighter when you were in his sight. How he always chose to sit next to you, or be by you.

Cassian finally had enough, so did Feyre apparently because the both of them ambushed him one night, “so when are you finally asking Y/N out?” Cassian demanded.

Azriel looked like he got caught stealing cookies from the cookie jar. “What?”

“Feyre and I-”

“No, you dragged me here.” Feyre corrected her beloved brother in law.

“Because you’re her best friend!”

“Which means I shouldn’t be hearing this because I am legally obligated-”

“Legally?” Azriel questioned. “By Girl Law-“ She cut a look at Azriel who held his hands up in an “I surrender” position. She pointed at him. “This is shit I have to tell her if I hear it. So la la la la.” She plugged her ears and walked away.

Cassian shook his head at her retreating figure. “Crazy woman.” He looked back at his brother and smacked him on the chest. “You need to make a move!”

“What.” Az simply stated.

“You. Need. To. Make. A. Move!” After each word, Cassian hit Azriel in the chest.

Azriel swung at him to get him to stop. “Ack!”

“She’s head over heels for you, idiot!”

Azriel hesitated. “I don't think so.”

“Dude, she literally smiles the biggest when she sees you come in the room. She always stays by your side, she constantly shares her food with you.” Cassian explained.

“She does that with everyone.”

“No! No she does not! I tried to take a roll from her yesterday and her fork almost impaled my hand.”

“Bread and butter is one of her favorite things. You’re an idiot for that.” Azriel deadpanned.

“See! Another thing, you two know each other as intimately as lovers.”

Eventually, he got Cassian to stop, but that night he just could not stop thinking about you. Your smile lights him up from the inside. Especially your genuine smile. The one where your gums are showing, your teeth, your nose scrunches and your eyes squint.

He loves your laugh, it is the song his shadows dance to. You have variations that he memorizes as if they’re the chords to his favorite music.

He groaned into his pillow, his shadows silently laughing at him as they saw their master lovelorn.

Although, even they knew you had feelings for the shadow singer. Their master, while one of the deadliest in Prythian, was a moron.

The feelings for each other didn’t get exposed until later. Much later.

You two were on a deadly mission, one that even Rhys was worried to send you on. You had completed the task, but the cost?

Your health.

One of the arrows was poisoned. You couldn’t move a single muscle below your neck. You were tired. You just wanted a warm bath and snuggles with Azriel.

“Y/N, please stay awake.” Azriel clutched your cheeks. “The healer is on her way. She’s running to you, baby. Please stay awake.”

You felt water drop onto your face, you looked up at the sky wondering when it had begun to rain.

It hadn’t. Your friend, your partner, was crying.

“I love the stars.” You whispered. “My favorite one is right in front of me.”

“Yeah? Which constellation is that?” His voice was gravelly. He sniffed. He looked up then back at you, as if the idea of letting you out of his sight would seal your fate.

“You. You are my constellation. You are my galaxy.” You whispered. “If I'm going to die, I want you to know that.”

“You’re not going to die.”

“We don’t know that.” You said. “I wish I could move my hand, so I could touch you.”

“I’m right here.” His hands were on your face.

“No, I want to hold your hand.” You whimpered.

He looked taken aback but abided by his dying love's wish. He held your hand tightly.

“If I am your galaxy, you are my moon.” He put your foreheads together. All you could see was the hazel of his eyes. “You ground me. You keep me in rhythm. You are my constant companion. And I vow, you will survive this and we will be together, okay? You are my strength, my salvation and you will live.”

Your eyes slipped closed right as the healer reached you.

——————-

When you awoke, you felt a presence next to you. You looked to the side through your groggy eyes and saw Azriel laying next to you. His hand was still intertwined with yours. His shadows dancing around your bodies. They got visibly excited when you awoke.

One shot towards your face as if to cradle it and your hand that wasn’t holding Azriels, shot up in reflex. It twirled around your fingertips.

You could move again.

Azriel’s eyes shot open, they were incredibly bloodshot. “Oh love.” He said. “How are you feeling?”

“Like I got hit by all of Feyre’s abilities at once.” You groaned. “Throw Rhys in there too. And you and Cassian.” You sighed. “Frankly, it feels like everybody hit me with their full powers.”

“The Healer, Tatiana, said you’d feel that way.” He stroked your hand. “Completely normal for the dose of poison you received. She even threw in five bottles of the antidote and instructions for us to give to Madja, so our home healer has information.”

You sighed. “Anything for this pain?”

“No. Nothing will help. You just have to ride it out.” He looked depressed giving you that news.

But you couldn't hide how you felt. How much pain you were in. You were safe enough with Az to crumble your walls.

And that’s when your tears started. “It hurts so bad.” You whimpered.

“I know.” He brushed them away. “Rhysand is sending a carriage to transport you back home. I was told not to risk winnowing or flying. It’ll be here tomorrow morning, I assumed that you’d want to go home as soon as possible.”

“What if I didn’t wake up now?”

“We still would’ve transported you. I want to keep you comfortable. Tatiana says there is little risk of your sutures opening from where you were shot. Plus, she says the effects of poison won’t flare up after 12 hours and we hit that about five hours ago. So you’re pretty much on track to recovery. We’re just taking a carriage to minimize the risk of you bleeding out or vomiting all over a city. Cause guess what? that’s a symptom too.”

“Fucking shit.” You said leaning against the pillow. “Where are we?”

“An Inn, Esther the inn owner found us in the woods and ran back to get a town healer. She won’t let me pay at all.” He seemed kind of pouty about that. “But I’m gonna try again tomorrow.”

He brushed your hair back. “Are you hungry?”

“Eh.” Was all you said, and then. “Bread and butter sounds nice right now.”

He snorted and you cried indignantly. “Hey I am ill-“

“Oh relax. I’ve already prepared for this.” He squeezed your hand and got up.

When he let go of your hand and you’d be damned if you showed how sad you were about that.

You were pouting.

He used a knife to slice open some rolls and put them by the lit fire. “I know you like warm bread and cold butter but you’ll have to settle for room temperature butter.”

He brought you over a plate and glass of water. The bread was even spread with an unholy amount of butter. Just the way you like it.

He got you set up against the headboard. You downed the glass of water and he quickly gave you a refill. After your belly was full and you felt a bit better, you looked over at him.

“So you wanna talk about what I said when I was….” You trailed off.

“Did you mean it?” He whispered.

“Yes!” You whispered enthusiastically back. “Az, since the very first day I met you I have had a crush on you.”

“Really?”

“Yes!” You cried, your head hitting the headboard. “Gods, Cassian and Feyre wouldn’t let me breathe about it. Same with Nesta.”

“I didn’t know.” Azriel said.

“I know.” You sighed. “I’m sorry if me saying that stuff on my deathbed pressured you into saying anything.” “It didn’t.” He took a deep breath. “I have been infatuated with you for far longer than I ever knew.” He clutched your hand again. “I found you beautiful as a mortal, endearing. But when you were turned, it amazed me that you somehow became ethereal. You were so angry that you smacked Tamlin with your nails. You made him bleed. When he snarled at you, I was ready to jump in. But Feyre beat me to it.” He smiled, a bit sadly.

“When you went to the Rite, I knew you could do it. Yet, I felt fear that I haven’t felt in a long time. When I saw you, I almost lost it right then. Confessed everything.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“I don't think I can handle your rejection.” He whispered.

“I will never reject you, Az.” You clutched your joined hands. “You are everything I've ever wanted. Ever needed. I would be honored if you’d accept me-“

“I already have.” He whispered looking at you.

You put your hand against his cheek and pulled him to you. Your lips met and it was everything you’d ever wanted. All your fears and love were put into that kiss.

You knew you both would be okay, as long as you had each other.

And right as you thought that, the mating bond snapped.

——————————

#acotar #acofas #acomaf #acowar #acotar x reader #azriel x reader fluff #azriel x you #azriel x reader #azriel shadowsinger #azriel acotar #acotar fanfic

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rosenclaws · 1 month

Text

Restless night | Variant!Logan x reader

summary: Logan has nightmares about his world and you want to help.

warnings: angst, hurt/comfort, descriptions of bodies (not graphic), sad logan, possibly ooc bc ive never written for him im sorry dfslj. Reader has like, memory manipulation powers? Ig that's how you'd explain them??

a/n: Hello! This is my first Logan fic ever and I am very nervous but after watching Deadpool I have fallen in love with wolverine, particularly this wolverine. I don't know if I'll ever write again for him but I wrote this and felt like sharing so I hope you like it too <3

wc: 1.7k

"Logan!" You yell angrily. He grits his teeth as you slam the door wide open. Curious heads turn towards the two of you as you storm after him.

"What." He bites back as he continues to walk.

"Can you just stop for one fucking second!" Your fists clench at your sides as you stop right in front of the front doors. "You are a real asshole, you know that? You're a mutant whether you like it or not. So how about doing something good and helping us." He pulls out a cigar and lights it, blowing the smoke directly into your face.

"For the last fucking time, I don't want any part of your X-Men bullshit." You sigh and shake your head. So fucking stubborn.

"We need you Logan, please. I need you please." You place your hand on his arm, rubbing your thumb over his leather jacket. For a moment you think he might stay. Maybe he'll admit for once in his life that he wants the family that waits for him here. Instead he pushes your hand off. Rolls his eyes and walks straight past you.

"Fuck off." He walks out the doors, letting them slam loudly.

Those were the last words he ever spoke to you. Well, the you that he knew.

"Logan?" He flinches hard as your voice snaps him from his spiral.

It makes his stomach turn to see you. You look exactly how he remembers. Except you have a scar on your forehead. His eyes focus on that, a reminder that you're not the you he knew. No, in this universe you're Wade's next door neighbor. A mutant who retired from teaching at the mansion and lives a quiet, happy life. At least you're happy in this world.

"M'fine." He mumbles as he stands up from the table. No one was really paying attention to the two of you as dinner was dying down. You want to say more but he leaves before you can. Sighing, you watch him retreat into his room. He's barely said two words at a time to you. No matter how hard you try he refuses to speak to you. At first you thought you had done something but the few times you've caught him staring you see a terrible sadness in his eyes. You know he's from another timeline and that something went terribly wrong. Your room shares a wall with his and as hard as he tries he can't hide his nightmares.

"Don't worry about him, he's got that tragic backstory kind of character development going." Wade comments. "God knows he could use some therapy but I doubt Marvel would ever green light that movie." You nod absentmindedly, not really listening to Wade's rambling.

You float around for a little longer until you can silently excuse yourself and go back to your own apartment. Logan stays on your mind the whole time. You wonder if he knew you in his world. If something had happened that made him like this. As you lay in bed you close your eyes and listen, you can hear him tossing and turning. He settles and you silently hope that for once he can sleep through the night.

It's eerily silent as he stumbles back to the mansion. He stops right outside of the door. His ears alert for the sound of you to see if you were awake yet. Except no matter how hard he listens he can't hear anything. A horrible scent fills his nose and it makes him sick. The smell of blood. Barging through the door's he's met with destruction and bodies.

This is a nightmare, it has to be. He calls your name frantically. Racing through the mansion, begging for anyone to be alive. Instead he finds body after body. Until he stumbles upon yours. He falls to his knees, his hands ghosting over your face. You look so peaceful but you're cold to the touch. Maybe if he had been there, he could have saved you.

His claws unsheathe themselves as white hot rage bubbles to the surface. Without another word he walks out of the mansion with only the thought of killing on his mind. Blood for blood.

Logan's voice is what wakes you up. Even through the walls you can hear him. You can't quite make out what he's saying but it's clearly a nightmare. He's turning wildly. You knock on the wall, hoping maybe it would wake him somehow. Worry builds as he gets louder.

Suddenly through the walls you hear a resounding shout before metal claws burst through your wall. You can't help but scream as they miss you by only a few inches. Breathing heavily you slowly reach out to touch them but they retract before you can.

"Fuck!" You hear him shout. The sound of scrambling and frantic footsteps following his outburst. A loud knocking fills your apartment as you shake off the shock. Quickly you rush to the door and open it, finding a shirtless Logan standing before you. His eyes scan you for injuries, injuries that he would have caused. He grabs your arms firmly and pushes you inside, closing the door behind him with his foot.

"Logan I'm okay, just a little startled." You try to reassure him but he doesn't hear you. His mind is snowballing out of control.

"Logan!" You say louder and he finally looks at you.

"I'm okay." You say softly. Slowly he loosens his grip as he lets his body relax, but only a little.

"Another nightmare?" You ask and he nods. His eyes drift to your open bedroom door. He can see the holes left by his claws. Just how close they sit next to your pillow. Guilt floods him as he deflates.

"I..." He doesn't really know what to say. This would be your first real conversation since he came to this world. For years he's thought about what he'd say to you if he was ever gifted the chance. Yet, he stands here completely silent.

"They're getting worse." You say, breaking the silence.

Cautiously you reach to take his hand. He closes his eyes as he feels your thumb rub along the top of his hand. He lets you guide him to your bedroom. When you let go he almost reaches out to take it back, but he doesn’t. Instead he turns his attention towards your wall. He’s ruined a fair amount of bed sheets before but this was new. He traces the holes with his hand. Wincing as he notices just how close he was to cutting you open.

"Sit." You gesture to the empty side of your bed. He hesitates and you huff.

"Humor me." You plead and he can't find it in himself to say no.

It's almost too much as he sits down, everything smells like you. Your hands move towards his temples but he grabs your wrists before you can go any further.

"Logan, let me help." He half smiles at that.

"You were always so persistent about that." Your eyes widen as you realize he's talking about his universe’s you.

"I told you I didn't want you poking around in my head but you just wanted to help the nightmares. I never let you though" He admits.

"I should've. I should've stopped being a stubborn ass and just listen to you." His voice wavers and you have a feeling he's not talking about dreams anymore.

"Then listen to me and let me help you." He lets go of your wrists and looks up at your face. Savoring the look of kindness in your eyes.

"You don't want to go in here, once you do..." Wordlessly you place your fingers on the side of his head. Suddenly you're overcome with visions of bloodshed and anger. A tear slips down your face as you see flashes of Logan's memories.

The rage, the hopelessness, the darkness that plagues his mind. Through all of that there was a lurking feeling of indescribable guilt. So much pain, so much sorrow. Logan knocks your hands away as he watches more tears pour down your face. You open your eyes and wipe the tears away.

"I told you baby," He waits for you to move away from him. To call him a monster. It's what he deserves. To his surprise you wrap your arms around him instead. He buries his face in your shoulder and hugs you tight.

"I'm so sorry." It’s the last thing he expects to hear and it nearly breaks him.

"What I did.."

"You were in pain, so much pain." You know it's not easy for him to see but all of this pain led to him becoming the hero he never thought he could be.

"You saved the world Logan. You're a hero whether you like it or not." He winces as he remembers you say something similar to him before. "And a hero deserves to sleep peacefully, for one night at least."

"You won't stop will you?" You shake your head and he finally relents.

He sinks down into your bed, resting his head on your lap. You bring your fingers back to the side of his head and use your powers to calm his mind. Searching for happy memories and temporarily suppressing the bad ones. Calmness washes over him, a feeling he hasn't felt in years. He's already drifting in and out of sleep but something nags at him from the back of his mind.

"I loved you. My universe's you." He admits in a whisper. The words he never got to say. It's been eating him alive for decades. He never got to say them to you, he was too much of a coward.

Your heart skips a beat at his confession and he can hear it. You don't respond, instead offering a comforting hum. He doesn't know you. The similarities are there but he knows you're two different people. But he wants to know you and he hopes you feel the same way. For a moment he thinks that maybe the universe is finally giving him what he's always wanted, a second chance.

"Sleep well Logan." You watch his breathing slow and his mind settle. Though you could stop using your powers now, you hold on for a while longer.

And for the first time in a long time, Logan sleeps.

#logan howlett #wolverine x reader #wolverine #logan howlett x reader

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your-nanas-house · 1 month

Text

Experimenting with your husband

◇ Pairing: Robert Fischer X wife!Reader

◇ Warnings: smut, marriage, spanking with queue book, brief cock sucking and cum swallowing, awkwardness, role-play gone wrong.

◇ Summary: You want to try something new with your husband.

◇ Note: Sorry for the mistakes and the English. This is inspired by this post of @tommyshelby87

Thoughts of regret started to fill your head as your husband watched you with a poker face.

He had returned from a stressful day of work and had been complaining about it non-stop, walking around the huge house while getting into his home clothes made of smooth silk and his rich soft slippers that matched yours.

As your husband kept rambling you kept pondering about your own things and the increasing need to try out the new found kink and how to approach the topic.

Which brings you to where you were at that moment... sat at the dining table with the food in front of you and Robert frozen in place.

It wasn't one of your best ideas to approach such a topic while eating casually spaghetti with tomato sauce. You could have started it in any other way and you were aware of it, mentally slapping you the past 2 minutes as your man didn't seem to react at all to what you said, remaining still and confused or maybe shocked, disgusted... you didn't know because he didn't move a single muscle.

"Robert... I.. we don't have to do it. I didn't think it was a big deal since it's not the first time you spank me— please say something. You don't have to spank me with your cheque book if you don't want to, love" you began to ramble, apologizing and trying to reassure him while continuing to mention your desire, making him become pinker and pinker unconsciously.

"Y/n...Y/n!" Robert raised slightly his voice to make you stop, his glass of wine brushing against his lips just waiting to be drank

"I never said no... we— w-we can try, I mean.. who am I to deny my wife, hm?" He continued before gulping down the dark red liquid in one go.

The rich man could already feel the familiar tingle that usually was followed by the rush of his blood straight to his cock.

The experience was new for sure, he tended usually to make love to his wife not just fucks, quickies where present in their intimate life but still— he never fucked his wife like a cheap whore or treating her as inferior.

"Ok... so we?.... Bedroom?" His voice nearly cracked as he tried awkwardly to communicate with you who were watching him, a bit nervous.

It seemed like it was your first time, awkwardly talking, eager but shy smiles plus awkward the rush to the bedroom while dumping slightly against each other and the embarrassing apologies.

"We keep our safe word" Robert informed you as he searched the specific object you requested for the spanks of that night in his work coat, his hands shaking slightly as his eyes never left your nervous but excited form

"Okay, love?" He asked in search of reassurance before trying to fit in his new role.

As soon as you nodded, confirming that you would use your usual word if you wanted him to stop, the businessman cleared his throat before speaking again using a bit raspier tone than usual

"Good girl... undress" he demanded, watching you while elegantly fixing his robes so as to take place on the bed easily and enjoy the small show

"You can keep on my favorite" his slender finger played a bit with the hem of the lacy black thong you were wearing, tracing slowly the form down to the wet spot between your legs and stopping there for a couple of seconds just feeling.

Your body was shivering as you let him check you as if you were meat or… a gemstone, his gentle finger tips traveled around your skin again till they stopped on your lower stomach.

A loud click of his tongue echoed softly in the room, interrupting your heavy breathing and signaling the start of your new experience.

"Lay down on my lap, sweetheart" Robert ordered, patting his thighs which were covered by the smooth fabric of his silk pants.

The material felt amazing against your bare warm skin, it just rubbed softly against it every time you moved slightly to adjust in a comfortable position, ready to receive anything your husband would give you.

"You're surprisingly very pretty for a cheap whore, darling" The man hummed, getting in the part as best he could as his eyes never left his hand which were busy kneading your round ass cheeks

"Tell me what you want again" his tone lowered as he brushed his lips against your ear when you tilts your head slightly up to look at him

"I-I want you to keep me bend over your lap.. take your queue book and spank my ass with it... sir" you whispered, gulping slightly since you still needed to adjust at the kind of roleplay they were creating and you could tell by the rosy cheeks of your husband that he needed some minutes too

"Good girl, you've been a very good girl. I might actually reward you with what you desire... dirty slut" he gulped out the name testing the water before falling in an awkward silence just like you.

The embarrassing situation was starting to become a bit of a turn off for the both of you, so you needed to take the lead and guide your man into something less uncomfortable so as to satisfy yourselves.

"Baby, this isn't working so well, maybe... without the role-play and the mean names. Just be yourself, yes?" At your words Robert nodded quickly, relieved and ready to start again in a less embarrassing way

"Someone told me you've been bit lazy today, wife" the man informed you with a teasing tone before continuing, his fingertips traveling again on your skin, drawing imaginary lazy patterns on it

"Very lazy actually... need your husband to pay you to do some home chores, now?... or maybe you just need a little punishment, hm? What you say, love? Do you agree with your man? What is it that you need?" Hearing his teasing and scolding tone you just nodded along, your breath hitched at the mere thought of what was about to come and you could already feel your wetness on your own thighs.

It took Robert little time to go for the first spank, trying at first to be sure that you were still comfortable... then he hit another time, bit harder, still testing, the rich paper collided with your skin... again and again.

It wasn't uncomfortable per sé, quite enjoyable especially because your husband was the usual caring one and made sure not to cut or hurt you too much with the book while still using enough force to satisfy your need.

His ego drank from your moans and his cock started to twitch in his pants, pressing more and more against your stomach as you wiggles slightly and hissed on his lap at the stinging sensation each time the paper hit your now red-ish ass.

He felt quite pathetic to be that worked up for something like that, he hadn’t even reached the twentys spanks and he was already about to cum like a damn teeneager

"Love, sorry— fuck, I can't anymore. I don't wanna cum in my pajamas, can you suck it, please?" Robert begged you with a soft whine, breaking completely his cocky facade as he got closer and closer to release pathetically and messily

"Please, love.. please— fuck" he cursed and begged more, sighing in relief just when you smiles amused and shifted in a kneeled position between his legs, your mouth wrapped around his angry red tip as your tongue worked him and your hand took care of your needy pussy as well.

You were a bit surprised though, expecting you to enjoy it more than him... but you were wrong given the rock-hard length that was down your throat shooting thick warm cum.

You sure had him riled up pretty bad.

#robert fischer x y/n #robert fischer fic #robert fischer x reader #robert fischer x you #cillian murphy fic #cillian fanfic #cillian fic #cillian murphy #cillian murphy smut #cillian murphy fandom

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calmcoldevening · 1 month

Note

Hey! Can you write something about Michael Myers with a reader who is clumsy so they keep getting scratches/bruises by bumping into things?

Pretty please~

Michael Myers x clumsy!reader

• To be honest, at first he just didn't care. Michael basically didn't know how relationships worked, so you and your house were just a place for him to get a good night's sleep and delicious edible food.

• Over time, it became a little annoying. He doesn't know why, but seeing you with bruises and small scratches caused a mixture of strange feelings inside him that had never been in his life before. Michael liked the sight of people in blood, it was part of his 'job', so naturally it brought him some satisfaction or even pleasure from what he saw. But things were different with you. The bruises on you didn't seem right, the blood on your skin didn't bring him that much joy.

• This unpleasant unfamiliar feeling prompted Michael to watch you from time to time to protect you from more damage. Why are you still walking this road to college/work if you're constantly scratching branches about it? He'll probably cut them off late at night. You keep tripping over that miserable doorstep at home? Rest assured, he will find a gorgeous rug to lay there and soften your blows.

• When Michael got used to you and your presence enough, he really began to associate you with someone dear to him. And then he started to find your clumsiness pretty.. cute? Adorable? Although he still didn't like the appearance of bruises and wounds on your delicate skin.

• Michael heals like a dog, so he doesn't know much about handling cuts or anything like that. It will take time for him to learn how to give you proper first aid and take care of you. Although he will quickly remember that cold frozen meat from the freezer needs to be applied to your bruise, and a small cut needs to be treated with a bottle with a liquid from your bathroom locker.

• You can be sure that when he is at home, you will have much fewer bruises. He'll put his hand on your waist when you're inches away from hitting your side against the doorway. His strong arms reflexively reach forward and catch you in a couple of moments from colliding with the slippery floor.

• Michael may not be talking to you in words, but light, muffled, rude chuckles come out of his chest at particularly awkward moments of your clumsiness, but he's not laughing at you, no, he just finds it so damn cute.

• In moments when you get tired of your own clumsiness or you are just sad about it, Michael will gently wrap his big strong arms around you and hug you to his chest, gently stroking your back. His own way of saying that everything is fine, you're fine.

• If the scratch on your body is big enough and it causes you to cry, Michael will lift the edge of his latex mask and gently kiss every inch of your skin around the wound. He's like a big puppy at times like this.

• Over time, he will even enjoy your clumsiness. Not that he likes the fact that you're hitting, no. It's just an opportunity for Michael to get closer to you. He likes to take care of your wounds, bruises or tangled hair afterwards, although he will never admit it. He likes how you need him at times like this.

• He likes to carry you in his arms and soothe you so that you pay less attention to the pain in your body due to bruises.

• Michael will definitely insure you in the kitchen to avoid knife wounds.

• He's crazy about you and your clumsiness, this man love you to the death, you can be sure.

#slashers x reader #slashers x you #slashers fandom #slasher x reader #slashers #michael myers x you #michael myers x y/n #michael myers imagine #michael myers x reader #michael myers

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kckt88 · 2 months

Text

ñuhon naejot gūrogon.

Summary:

In the aftermath of Rooks Rest, a King's life hangs in the balance and Aemond reveals his true intentions.

Warnings - Angst, Drama, Langauage, Disagreements, Vulnerability, Confessions, Brother/Sister Incest, Kissing, Smut, Oral Sex (F Recieving), Loss of Virginity, P in V, Breeding Kink.

AEMOND TARGARYEN x O.C SISTER.

A.N - ñuhon naejot gūrogon - Mine to take.

Word Count: 4645

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon or Fire & Blood characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used.

Comments, likes, and reblogs are very much appreciated.

Tag List - @jasminecosmic99 @kaelatargaryen @yesterdayfeelings-blog @immyowndefender @0eessirk8 @darylandbethfanforever9

Daena sat quietly at the bedside of her older brother Aegon. The room was dimly lit by the flickering flames of several candles, casting long shadows on the stone walls.

The scent of burning incense filled the air, mingling with the metallic tang of blood and the faint, pungent odour of burnt flesh.

Aegon lay on the grand canopy bed, his body broken and battered from the battle of Rook’s Rest. His once-proud form was now a fragile shell, swathed in bandages and ointments.

Most of the skin on the left side of his body was severely burned, a patchwork of raw, angry red and blistering black. His breaths came shallow and ragged, each exhalation a reminder of his tenuous grip on life.

The maesters had worked tirelessly since his return, their faces etched with exhaustion and worry.

They had done all they could, setting his broken bones and applying salves to his burns, finally dosing him heavily with milk of the poppy to numb the pain.

Now, all they could do was wait and pray.

Daena reached out and gently took her brother’s hand in hers. His skin was clammy and cool to the touch, a stark contrast to the feverish heat radiating from his wounds. She squeezed his hand lightly, her heart aching with a mixture of love and sorrow.

Aegon was far from perfect; he had made many mistakes, and committed many sins, but he was still her brother, and she loved him.

Her violet eyes shimmered with unshed tears as she watched him, hoping he could sense her presence, feel her unwavering support. The once-vibrant King now lay vulnerable and fragile, and Daena’s heart ached for him.

“I’m here, Aegon. Please, hold on.”

The heavy wooden door creaked open, and Daena glanced up to see her other brother, Aemond, enter the room. His tall figure was framed by the dim light from the corridor, casting a long shadow into the room.

He walked silently to the foot of Aegon’s bed and placed his hands on the wooden frame, his one eye, sharp and calculating, observing the scene before him.

Daena remained seated, her hand still holding Aegon’s, her gaze never leaving their wounded brother. The tension in the room was palpable, the silence between them heavy with unspoken words and long-held grudges.

After a few minutes, Aemond finally broke the silence.

“Someone will have to rule in his stead,” he said, his voice low and measured.

Daena’s lips curled into a bitter smile. “Let me guess, that will be you.”

Aemond’s expression remained impassive. “That will be for the council to decide on who will take on the duties of ruling the realm.”

Daena scoffed, her eyes flashing with defiance. “There is no one else but you. Even though Helaena is Queen, we cannot have a woman rule lest we be labelled as hypocrites, as we can’t forget the reason why Aegon was crowned instead of our older sister”

Aemond’s gaze remained steady, but there was a flicker of something—irritation, perhaps—behind his eye. Daena continued; her voice sharp with accusation.

"So, whose idea was it to parade the severed head of Meleys through the streets of King's Landing?"

"It was Ser Criston Cole’s idea," Aemond replied, a note of defensiveness in his tone.

"And you allowed it," Daena said, her eyes blazing with anger. "How could you let the symbol of our house be desecrated in such an appalling manner? Not even Maegor the Cruel would have resorted to such measures."

"It was to show strength" Aemond argued, his voice rising slightly.

Daena laughed bitterly. "-I very much doubt it. The only thing you’ve done is sow the seeds of rebellion amongst the smallfolk- that the power of the dragons isn't infinite"

Aemond's face grew taut, a mixture of frustration and anger. "It was necessary”

"For whom exactly-” Daena countered. "Rooks Rest cannot be counted as a victory. Sunfyre is gravely injured, and Aegon may never recover-how do you know that our sister will not have her dragons descend upon us”

“We have dragons too” replied Aemond.

“As I said, Sunfyre is injured-so he’s out, and I don’t exactly foresee Helaena riding into battle on the back of Dreamfyre-all we have is Vhagar and Silverwing”

“Tessarion?”

“A fledgling dragon with no battle experience and a rider who’s been sheltered at Oldtown for so long that he practically doesn’t exist”

“Daera-” sighed Aemond.

“It’s all worked out rather nicely for you, hasn’t it? Now that Aegon is incapable of ruling, you’re ever closer to getting what you want.”

Aemond’s jaw tightened, but his voice remained calm. “What exactly are you implying?”

Daena finally looked up, meeting his gaze with a cold, hard stare. “You know exactly what I’m implying,” she said, her tone dripping with disdain.

She pressed a kiss to Aegon’s hand, her touch gentle and full of sorrow. Then she rose from her seat, her gown rustling softly in the silence.

As she moved to leave the room, Aemond followed her, his steps echoing hers. The door closed behind them with a heavy thud, leaving the room in silence once more, the only sound the faint, laboured breathing of the broken king.

Daena strode into her chambers, her heart pounding with a mixture of anger and sorrow. Aemond followed closely behind, shutting the door with a decisive click and turning the key to lock it.

The sound echoed ominously in the room, filled with the faint scent of lavender and the soft glow of moonlight streaming through the window.

Daena whirled around to face him, her eyes blazing with accusation. “Did you do it?” she demanded, her voice low and fierce. “Were you the one who attacked Aegon?”

Aemond’s face contorted with a mix of hurt and anger. “How could you ask me that?”

Daena’s gaze remained unyielding. “I’m not a fool, Aemond. I know you’ve always believed Aegon was unfit to rule. That he’s a wastrel who’s never taken any interest in his birthright. Meanwhile, you, ever the good soldier, has spent hours training with the sword, studying history and philosophy. Aegon has had everything handed to him while you, the second son, have received nothing.”

Aemond’s jaw tightened, his eye flashing with barely contained fury. “Do you have any idea how it feels to be teased for being different? To be a Targaryen without a dragon?”

Daena’s expression softened slightly but remained firm. “I was once without a dragon too and it was only because of Aegon that I managed to claim Silverwing. Do you not remember how furious Mother had been when she found out?”

Daena’s mind going back to that day, oh how wonderful it had been. Aegon had taken her flying on Sunfyre, and they had snuck onto Dragonstone, their older sister left unaware as the two of them entered the dragon mount.

Aegon had been so proud of her when she claimed Silverwing, their mother-not so much. She had slapped Aegon to within an inch of his life, shouting and screaming about how he had been so reckless.

Their father had been indifferent to the whole situation, his wheezing breath may have whispered proud sentiments, but his heart and his mind were never present, not for them anyway. That was exclusively reserved for his precious Rhaenyra.

Aemond’s lips twisted into a mocking smile, and he began to clap slowly, the sound filled with derision. “Well done, sister. You were one of the lucky few to escape Aegon’s teasing japes and drunken slobbering.”

Daena’s eyes narrowed, and she took a step closer to Aemond, her voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. “You think you’re so much better than him, don’t you? You think you deserve the throne more than he does. Tell me dear brother, why do you deserve it?”

Aemond’s face hardened, and for a moment, the room was filled with a tense silence, the air thick with the weight of their unspoken grievances.

Finally, he spoke, his voice cold and measured. “I am what this realm needs, Daena. A ruler who is strong, who is capable. Aegon has shown time and again that he is not fit for the crown.”

Daena shook her head, a sad smile playing on her lips. “And what makes you think you’re worthy? Because you can swing a sword, recite ancient texts and ride the largest dragon in the world? There’s more to ruling than that, Aemond. There’s compassion, wisdom, and the ability to see beyond one’s own ambition.”

As Aemond turned to leave the room, Daena’s voice cut through the silence, stopping him in his tracks.

“Do you ever feel guilty?”

Aemond froze, his hand still on the door handle. He turned slowly to face her, his expression guarded. “What?”

Daena took a deep breath, her voice trembling with emotion. “For killing Luke. For what happened to Jaehaerys. You were responsible for it. Your actions led to the death of an innocent child. How can you even dare to look Helaena in the face, knowing that it's your fault? That you’re the reason she lost her son, why Aegon lost his son?”

Aemond’s face contorted with rage as Daena’s words hit him like a blow. His fists clenched at his sides, and his eye burned with a fierce intensity.

“Do you know they came here for you that night?” Daena continued, her voice steady despite the tempest brewing in the room. “But they couldn’t find you, so they took Jaehaerys’ life instead.”

Aemond’s expression darkened further, his jaw tightening. “Where were you that night, Aemond?” Daena pressed, her eyes piercing his. “-What were you doing?”

Aemond remained silent, his face a mask of defiance.

Daena’s gaze softened, tinged with sadness. “I know exactly where you were” she admitted quietly.

Aemond’s eye widened in surprise and anger. “If you already knew, then why did you ask?”

“I wanted to see if you would lie,” Daena replied, her voice tinged with regret. “After all it’s not exactly something you’d want everyone to know about, given your open disdain for Aegon’s repeated visits to the whores on the Street of Silk.”

Aemond’s face flushed with fury and humiliation. “Let me guess, Aegon told you, and the two of you had a good laugh at my expense.”

“Aegon did tell me,” Daena said softly, shaking her head. “But I didn’t find it amusing. If anything, I found it quite sad. That you have to resort to such a place to find the comfort and love you’ve been denied-”

Aemond’s anger flared even hotter. “I am not weak!” he spat, his voice trembling with rage.

Daena took a step closer, her eyes filled with empathy. “Seeking comfort doesn’t make you weak, Aemond”.

“Y-You wouldn’t understand-”

Daena took a deep breath, her voice steady but filled with emotion. “Tell me the truth, Aemond. Did you deliberately harm Aegon at Rook’s Rest?”

Aemond’s expression hardened, his eye narrowing. “Aegon shouldn’t have been there in the first fucking place,” he replied, his voice cold and dismissive. “But he interfered and suffered the consequences.”

Daena shook her head in disbelief, her eyes filled with hurt and anger. “You’ve been plotting with Cole behind Aegon’s back and undermining his authority in the council meetings. The only reason you have a place on that council is because Aegon granted it to you, he thought he could trust you and this is how you repay him? By attacking him with Vhagar and grasping for his crown?”

Aemond’s face twisted with a mix of rage and frustration. “Aegon is weak. He’s never been fit to rule. I did what needed to be done.”

“What’s next, Aemond?” Daena demanded, her voice rising. “Are you going to take Helaena as well-”

Aemond's face twisted in rage, and he stepped forward, his voice rising. "No!” His hands clenched into fists, and he took a deep, shuddering breath. "She is not the sister I desire"

Daena's eyes widened, and she took a step back, her heart pounding. "W-What?"

Aemond’s face was a mask of conflicting emotions: anger, longing, and something darker. "You think I plot and scheme only for power? You think I care only for the crown? You're wrong. I want you, Daena. I've always wanted you. And I will take you, just as I have taken everything else that was denied to me."

Daena backed away from Aemond, as she watched him remove the belt that held his weapons in place, the loud clang of metal upon stone as it slid from his hands and hit the floor made her jump.

His fingers quickly occupying themselves with removing the bandolier strap before moving onto his green leather riding jacket.

"This isn’t you. The brother I knew would never hurt our family like this. Please, Aemond, let it go”

Aemond's expression was a tumult of emotions—anger, longing, and something darker. He moved closer to her, his presence overwhelming, and reached out to gently place his hand on the back of her neck. He pressed their foreheads together, his breath warm against her skin.

"Kostilus lēkia," Daena whispered, her voice trembling. (Please, brother)

Aemond smiled, a chilling blend of affection and possession in his gaze. "Ao issi ñuhon, se nyke jāhor emagon ao," he murmured. (You are mine, and I will have you).

Daena shook her head, her heart pounding as she tried to back away from Aemond. But he wouldn’t let her, his voice dropping to a whisper, his words caressing her ear.

"I may have one eye, but I'm not blind. I see the way you look at me. I know you desire me the same way I desire you." He leaned even closer, his breath warm against her skin.

"Aemond-"

"Tepagon isse dōna mandia, se nyke jāhor gūrogon ao hae issa ābrazȳrys, se mazverdagon ao issa dāria” (Give in, sweet sister, and I will take you as my wife, and make you my Queen).

Daena's heart ached with a confusing mix of emotions. "It's wrong, Aemond," she whispered, her voice trembling.

Aemond's smirk was both confident and predatory. "How can it be wrong when it feels so right?"

Daena's mind raced, searching for something to anchor herself. "What about your promise to marry Floris Baratheon?"

Aemond's smirk widened into a grin, a flicker of amusement dancing in his eye. "A boar is no match for a dragon."

Before she could respond, he pressed his lips to hers, the kiss searing and insistent.

Daena pulled away, her mind a whirlwind of confusion and desire. But the intensity of his kiss, the depth of his longing, was too much to resist.

With a soft moan, she gave in, winding her arms around his neck and kissing him back passionately.

Aemond’s hands slid down her back, pulling her closer, his kisses growing more fervent.

Aemond's kisses grew more insistent, his hands roaming over Daena's back as he slowly backed them towards the bed. Their lips never parted; each kiss more fervent than the last. Daena's breath hitched as she felt his long fingers deftly begin to untie the laces of her dress.

As the laces came undone, Aemond's hands brushed against her bare skin. Daena shivered at his touch, her heart racing with a mix of excitement and trepidation.

When the back of her legs touched the edge of the bed, Aemond paused for a moment, pulling back to look into her eyes.

"Are you sure?" he whispered, his voice rough with desire.

Daena’s answer was in her eyes, in the way she pulled him closer, her fingers threading through his hair. "Yes," she breathed.

Aemond smiled, a rare, genuine smile that softened his usual intensity. He leaned down, capturing her lips once more as he guided her onto the bed. His hands moved with purpose, sliding the dress from her shoulders and down her body, exposing her skin to the cool air and his burning touch.

Daena’s hands found their way to Aemond’s own clothing, eager to remove the barriers between them.

Once she had removed the out layers of his clothing, her fingers explored the hard planes of his chest and abdomen. Aemond groaned softly at her touch, his lips trailing down her neck as he pressed her back against the soft sheets.

Aemond positioned himself above her, his expression a mixture of vulnerability and determination.

Daena’s breath caught in her throat as she gently cupped his face with her hands. Her fingers brushed against the rough texture of his scar, a reminder of the pain and loss he had endured.

Slowly, she slipped off his eyepatch, revealing the sapphire he had placed where his eye once was.

With tenderness, Daena leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss to his scarred cheek. Her lips lingered there, as if trying to heal the wounds that had marred his flesh and his soul. She felt Aemond’s sharp intake of breath, a moment of pure vulnerability passing between them.

Her fingers moved to the tie that bound his long, silver hair. With a gentle tug, she undid it, and his hair cascaded down, framing his chiselled face. Daena smiled as she ran her fingers through the silken strands, marvelling at his beauty.

“So beautiful,” whispered Daera, her voice filled with affection.

Aemond’s gaze softened, the fierce intensity giving way to something more tender, more real. He lowered himself closer to her, their faces mere inches apart. His hand came up to rest against her cheek, his thumb brushing gently across her skin.

“Daena,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion.

"Aemond," she began softly, her voice trembling, "Will I be enough for you? I cannot love you if you seek out others."

Aemond's expression softened, and he stroked her cheek "My visits to Sylvi are over. I won't go back there anymore. I promise-"

Daena smiled and silenced him with a gentle kiss. Aemond responded with a fervour that matched her own, his hands tangling in her hair as he deepened the kiss.

“My love-my sweetest-” whispered Aemond as he pulled away and descended down her body, kissing and nipping at her skin as he went.

“W-What are you doing?”

“I want to kiss you-here” replied Aemond as he pressed forward and ran his tongue over her warm wet folds.

She bit the back of her hand to keep herself from screaming as Aemond began using his long fingers to slowly tease her entrance.

“None of that. I want to hear how good I make you feel” growled Aemond as he began moving his tongue against her, in rhythm with his fingers.

“A-Aemond. Oh god. Please” moaned Daena, as she writhed against the sheets.

“That’s it-such a good girl for me” growled Aemond.

“OH-” whimpered Daena, as Aemond continued to move his tongue and fingers over her centre.

“I know your almost there. Let it happen. Come for me” whispered Aemond, his tongue moving across her pearl.

Daena arched her back and let out a scream as her pleasure erupted.

Aemond slowly crawled up her body, placing gentle kisses on her skin as he moved higher and higher.

Daena blushed furiously when she saw that Aemond’s chin was shining with her slick.

“Calm yourself issa zaldrīzes” muttered Aemond, as he swiped his fingers over his chin and then placed them in his mouth, sucking off her slick. (My dragon).

Goosebumps erupted over Daena’s skin as Aemond removed his hand from his mouth and then took hold of her breast, his fingers gently teasing her rosy bud.

“W-What are you doing?” asked Daena as Aemond’s hand slid down her body and began teasing her folds.

“I-I need to prepare you a little more” whispered Aemond.

“P-prepare me?” whispered Daena.

“You are a maiden-I don’t want to hurt you” replied Aemond.

“Aemond” exclaimed Daena as he slowly slipped a finger inside her, the slick from her first peak easing the way.

Aemond buried his face in Daena’s neck as he began peppering kisses along her smooth skin as he added another finger, moving them in and out slowly.

“So warm-so wet for me” rasped Aemond, his hot breath tickling her skin.

“I-I think I’m ready” whispered Daena.

Aemond removed his fingers and then moved between her open legs, supporting his weight on his left arm as he reached down and took his hard cock in his hand and placed the tip of it against her slick entrance.

“A-Are you sure?”

“Yes-” replied Daena as she felt him running his cock along her entrance.

“Y-You must tell me if it hurts” whispered Aemond.

Daena nodded and shut her eyes tight, taking a deep breath as Aemond sheathed himself within her.

“Your doing so well-” muttered Aemond trying to control himself.

“I-It h-hurts-“ whimpered Daena, the burning sensation bringing tears to her eyes.

“If it’s too much I can pull out-” offered Aemond.

“N-No just give me a moment” replied Daena softly as the tears ran down her cheeks.

Aemond leaned down and pressed gentle kisses to her cheeks, his tongue catching her fallen tears.

Aemond’s cock twitched and throbbed with need, and he released a shuddered breath while Daena sighed in relief.

“Are you ok?” asked Aemond.

“I-I think you can move now” whispered Daena her hands running along the smooth plans of Aemond’s back.

Slowly Aemond withdrew and then moved forward, his cock reaching deep inside her.

“Are you ok?” repeated Aemond as he thrust inside her.

“Y-yes-I think you can move faster”.

Aemond rested his head in the crook of her neck as he thrusts faster, his moans muffled against her skin.

“Ooh Aemond-that feels good” whined Daena.

“Your perfect-” whispered Aemond.

Feeling a spark of pleasure Daena dug her fingers into Aemonds back, holding him close.

“P-please Aemond. F-faster. H-harder” exclaimed Daena.

“Daera-” moaned Aemond as he began to pound into her, his hips slapping against hers.

“-I-I f-feel-” whimpered Daena, an odd sensation creeping across her stomach.

“-Let it happen-my sweetest, peak for me” exclaimed Aemond.

“DON’T STOP-PLEASE”

“Fuck-that’s it-that’s it” muttered Aemond as he slipped his hand between their bodies and slowly began rubbing her pearl.

“AEMOND” screamed Daena as her peak exploded, making her entire body shake.

Aemond stopped, and rested for a moment as he allowed Daena’s peak to subside, his teeth grazing her shoulder.

“Did you enjoy that?” asked Aemond his voice quiet and raspy.

“Yes” replied Daena, fidgeting as she felt his hard length twitching inside her.

“Good-” said Aemond as he withdrew and quickly manoeuvred Daena onto all fours.

“What are you doing?”

“Now-I’m going to fuck you until you scream” said Aemond, delighting in the way Daena began nodding and whimpering as she pushed herself backwards against him.

“P-Please-Lēkia” whispered Daera (Brother).

“FUCK” groaned Aemond as he took his cock in hand and began rubbing it along Daena’s wet folds.

“Please. I want it-I want you, please don’t make me wait anymore” begged Daena.

“Fuck, that’s it” moaned Aemond his hard length filling her cunny in one smooth stroke.

“God. Yes. Aemond” sighed Daena.

He began to thrust in and out of her in deep achingly slow thrusts.

“Your cunt is dripping, it's so beautiful” sighed Aemond.

Slowly thrusting back and forth. Over and over, withdrawing further each time, until his cock entirely withdrew from her warm wet entrance.

Aemond marvelled at her body. Such a beautiful, succulent thing his sister was. Allowing him entry into the most sacred parts of her body.

He was her first and he would be her only. There would be no others.

Aemond began to fuck her in earnest, plunging his cock into her cunny over and over, thrilling to hear Daena’s moans of need echoing around the room.

Bracing her arms, she pushed against him so he could shove his cock in. Harder and faster, his fingers digging into her hips.

Aemond felt his stones draw in; his peak was fast approaching. Gods he wanted to keep going, the feeling of her tight wet heat wrapped around him was just otherworldly.

But he supposed he could always take her again; he knew it wouldn’t take long after he spilled his seed for him to be ready once more.

He planned to take her many times, he needed to ensure that his seed had a chance to take root.

He couldn’t wait to see her all round and swollen with his child, for everyone to know that it was his son that she carried inside of her.

Part of him and her together-nourished by her mother’s body, her milk swollen breasts-fuck he could feel it building, he was going to spill, he was going to fill her up.

But he didn’t want to, not like this, he wanted to see her face.

Aemond quickly withdrew, ignoring Daena’s whimper of protest as he rolled her onto her back and sheathed himself inside her again.

She wrapped her legs around Aemond’s waist, drawing him closer as he began to thrust inside her, his cock reaching deep inside.

“I-I’m going to give you my seed-see you all round and swollen with my child- moaned Aemond.

“Yes-yes. Aemond. I want it-” babbled Daena as his thrusts became more frantic.

“Fuck-” groaned Aemond as he felt the heat shooting across his abdomen.

“-Aemond” whimpered Daena.

“ñuhon, ry ñuhon” moaned Aemond pushed into the hilt for one last time, his cock throbbing as he spilled rope after rope of his seed (Mine, all mine).

“Ry aōhon” whispered Daena, as Aemond rested on top of her (All yours).

“A-Are you ok?” Aemond as he gently pulled his softened cock from Daena, he looked down and saw the mixture of his seed and her maidens blood dripping onto the sheet.

Daena nodded slowly, as she allowed him to enfold her in his arms and hold her close.

As they lay together in the dim light of Daena's chambers, their bodies entwined and their hearts beating in sync, a sense of peace settled over them. Daena's head rested on Aemond's chest, her fingers lazily tracing patterns on his skin. The silence between them was comfortable, filled with the unspoken promises of their newfound bond.

After a while, Daena broke the silence, her voice a soft whisper. "What will we do now, Aemond?"

Aemond's arm tightened around her, his gaze thoughtful as he stared at the ceiling. "First, I will wait for the council to name me regent. Once I have their backing, I will declare my intentions to marry you"

Daena lifted her head to look at him, her eyes filled with a mix of hope and concern. "And what about the war?”

Aemond's expression hardened, a determined fire lighting up his eye. "I will make plans with Cole. We will see an end to this war and to Rhaenyra and her brood of bastards”

"What about Aegon? If he recovers, he will no doubt resume his place upon the Iron Throne."

Aemond's face darkened for a moment, but then a small, almost imperceptible smile curved his lips. "Yes—if," he replied, the word hanging heavily in the air.

Daena's heart clenched, and she bit her lip in an attempt to stifle a sob. The reality of what she done crashed over her like a wave.

She had given into Aemond, and by doing that, she had set herself against Aegon.

Aemond noticed her distress and gently cupped her face, his thumb brushing away a stray tear. "Don’t worry my love, all will be well in the end-you’ll see”

Daena smiled slightly, but deep down inside, a part of her realised that she had just made a terrible mistake.

The monster had been unleashed and she had no idea how to stop it.

#house of the dragon #aemond targaryen #hotd aemond #aemond fanfiction #hotd fanfic #aemond fic #aemond x oc #hotd fic #aemond one eye #aemond x original female character #aemond #prince aemond #aemond smut #aemond targaryen smut #prince aemond targaryen #hotd smut

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unorthodoxfaithxx · 5 months

Text

Soft Yandere Simp with CamGirl Reader, part 2

3, 2, 1, FINALLY IT’S TIME! He can hardly contain himself as he counts down the days until he finally gets to meet you in person.

During your nightly video chats with him, which he’s grown to cherish dearly, you brought the idea of meeting up to his attention. You have no idea how happy he was that you brought it up on your own accord!

Through some shady research, he already knows you are about 3 hours away from his home-city. It wouldn’t hurt to drive your way. He’d row a damn boat for hours if it meant getting to see you in person.

The two of you decide on meeting up for a picnic, and then a shopping date at the mall closest to your vicinity.

The night before the designated meetup, he sits at his computer desk studying everything he had learned about you over the past couple of months, lest he forgets something important.

He wishes he had a perfect memory, but he doesn’t. So he opted to writing down every fact he had ever learned about you in a special journal, dedicated to you and only you. All your likes, dislikes, blood type, height, weight (all three of which he had to break into your medical records to find) , favorite games, health issues, the amount of freckles on your face—every little detail he knew about you was written down, along with many, MANY hearts and grade-school doodles because he really can’t help it. You make him feel like a giddy kid again.

Saturday morning. It’s show-time. He leaves thirty minutes early, dressed up and ready to tackle the day and meet the love of his life for the first time. He shoots you a text when he arrives (Did he ever mention his background screen was a photo of you?), nervously standing at your doorstep with a box of your favorite chocolates in hand, as well as a little vase with succulents in it, since you’re allergic to the pollen in actual flowers.

You greet him with a hug and he just about melts in your arms, taking in your scent and rubbing his face into your beautiful locks.

You’re pretty on camera, but nothing beats the real thing. You’re simply a goddess in the human form. He wishes he could take a photo to capture this moment forever, but his eyes will have to make do.

The drive to the park is an awkwardly quiet, but serene one. He swears you might be able to hear his heart pounding the entire ride, despite the music playing in the background (a playlist he made dedicated to you, obviously). When he glances over to the passenger seat, you’re gazing out the window with the cutest little smile on your face. He’s happy you’re happy.

When the two of you arrive, he opens the trunk and removes all the supplies he brought to ensure today’s picnic would be great. He brought a giant blanket for the occasion, a small speaker for music, and even packed sandwiches and cookies that he had made himself, praying to god they would taste good. He wasn’t the greatest cook, so he watched about five different baking videos on how to make the perfect cookies. He hopes Youtube hasn’t failed him yet.

He silently thanks whatever god lives in the sky when you take a bite into a cookie and compliment his baking skills. You take another bite and moan, making him feel ten times hotter than the warm spring day already made him feel.

30 minutes pass and both his and your bellies are full. You lay down on the blanket, inviting him to do the same, and he nervously lays next to you. He relaxes once you intertwine your fingers with his. He thinks he’s never felt more at peace than in this moment, relaxing with you. The two of you talk about random things, watching the clouds in the sky morph into various shapes as time passes.

Eventually, you both pack up and head to the mall. You buy him a figure from his favorite video game, and he gets you a new set of earrings. You laugh when his face turns fully red as you two walk into a store specializing in lingerie.

He feels like he might faint from the sheer intense feelings he has when you ask him to pick something out, ‘just for his eyes only’ you say with a whisper into his ear.

If he didn’t have such good self control he’d bang you in the try-on rooms right then and there. But no. He’d be a gentlemen.

But be prepared for all his pent up longing when you two finally share an intimate time together. Let’s just say he has…plenty in store for you :)

The date ends with you being dropped off back home. You invite him in for a drink, and chat a little more before it becomes late. He finds your yawns adorable, and he kisses you on the forehead before heading out for the night.

He sincerely hopes you don’t ever find the tracking device he’s planted in your purse when you weren’t looking. He convinces himself it’s for peace of mind since he’ll know where you are, whenever you are. To protect you. That’s what good boyfriends do, right?

Wait. Are you two even dating now?

He wants to pull over on the drive home and just sit in utter defeat because his dumbass totally forgot to ask this.

He sighs as he asks the dumbest, most cliche question in the world. He shoots you a text.

“Hey, Y/N. What are we? (｀・ω・´)”

#male yandere #yandere imagines #yandere scenarios #yandere #yandere headcanons #yandere male #yandere writing #yandere x reader #yandere drabble #soft yandere #obsessive yandere #yandere thoughts #yancore #yandere blog

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simp2537 · 7 months

Note

Can you write a Darkling x reader fic where reader (who is his wife for thousands of years and he cannot live without) is accidentally hurt by his nichevo'ya. Angsty where Aleksander is really guilty and scared he lost the only person he loves, maybe some comfort from reader as well?

Scars

a/n : I heart angst so much, it’s angst with a happy end cause I heart that ❤️❤️❤️. Reader is a Tidemaker.

Warnings: nichevo’ya attack on reader, blood, Alina hate, guilty Aleks, mentions of reader having an abusive home life

Aleksander Morozova x fem! Reader

Aleksander stood froze staring at his wife’s blood on his hands. His darling wife, the one who’d stayed by his side through it all. Through all years, hundreds of years surviving together and he’d…. he’d hurt her. He stared at his wife’s form as she slept on there bed. He hadn’t meant to.. he thought they’d leave her alone.

Aleksander stood in his room after a coughing fit. Y/n walked in and gently grabbed his shoulder, in hopes of comforting him when the nichevo’ya appeared. They thought that his sweet wife had cause him pain. They dug its claws into her side.

“No! No! Not her!” He yelled but it was too late. They had thrown her across the room, her blood pouring into the carpets. Aleksander rushed to her, grasping her into his arms.

He cradled her as her eyes weld up with tears. He held her face as he apologized over and over. His dark irises soon flooded with tears as he called for a healer. Fruzsi ran in and gasped at all the blood surrounding the pair.

Healers rushed into the room and Aleksander brought her to there bed. He watched with worry in his eyes, he watched with fear as they healed her. His grisha had never seen such fear in his eyes, not when they were being attack by Alina, not when he was freeing other grisha, never had they seen such fear in his eyes.

The healers worked quickly to heal their Generals wife and the most powerful Tidemaker. Fruzsi watched as the healers finished with uncertain looks at each other. They whispered in her ear, words that made her shudder.

“She’s weak and has lost a lot of blood, she might not make it through the night.” The healer mumbled. Fruzsi shock her head fiercely, Y/n was strong, she’d been her mentor, her friend for years. Unfortunately for them all their General caught their curt and quiet whispers.

No, this would not take his wife- Aleksander would try to reason. His wife was stronger than she gave herself credit for. She’d survived hundreds of years by his side through endless battles. He couldn’t be the cause of his beloveds death, he couldn’t be.

“Not her, never her.” Aleksander mumbled to low for any to hear but himself. And his nichevo’ya. They were to never touch her.

Aleksander sat in his wooden chair staring down at his hands in horror. He swore to never touch her, never hurt her. It was in his vows he’d made hundreds of years ago when they were young. He swore when they married in that tiny ceremony, just them and the minster that he’d never lay a hand on her like her father, her mother.

Now she laid possible dying because he’d failed to control his own nichevo’ya. Y/n had never been fearful of his shadow monsters, they were a part of him so naturally, his sweet Y/n loves them as she loves him. A soft rustling on there bed caused Aleksander to look up, Y/n’s eyes were open, just barely.

“Darling!” He reach to grasp her hand but stopped. His hand was still covered in her blood. Weakly he watched Y/n reach for him, he wiped his hand in his kefta and gently took her hand in his. The bed dipped slightly as he sat next to her frame, Y/n hazily squeezed his hand.

With his free hand he held her face. She nuzzled in the warm he provided her, the safety. Her eyes blinked slightly as she tried to sit up.

“Sasha…?” She muttered softly as he gently pushed her down.

“Don’t, you’re still injured and still weak.” His voice cracked with pain as he spoke. Y/n grasped at his scared face and pull him down with all the might she could muster. Aleksander rest his forehead against hers as he listened to her soft breathing. “Sasha… I’m okay.” Y/n promised, Aleksander scoffed. He could practically see the lie, her lip was tight, her nose ever so scrunched. She was in pain and he knew it.

“No you’re not Y/n. You’re not okay and it’s my fault- I’m so sorry.” Y/n couldn’t remember that last time he used her name. She’d grown so accustomed to the pet names he’d use.

“It okay.. I’m okay.”

“No! No you’re not and it’s all my fault!”

“I will be okay.” Aleksander sighed softly. No matter what he did she wouldn’t care. Deep down he knew she was far too good for him. He was a monster and she… she was the ocean strong and beautiful. Still he feared one day she would realize how much better she deserved.

“Sasha? Lay down with me please.” Y/n mumbled. Aleksander shock his head.

“No absolutely not love, I’m not going to do that right now.” Y/n shot him a glare.

“I meant cuddle you dirty minded old man.” Aleksander laughed gently and kiss her forehead. He slowly laid next to her, not wanted to injure his beloved further. With an annoyed huff Y/n slowly and with a grimace moved onto his body. Aleksander instinctively wrapped his arms gently around her, bringing her closer to him.

“Sasha? Please don’t worry too much. I’ll be okay.” Y/n promised as she drifted to sleep. Aleksander laid awake for much longer as he monitored her.

“I promise, you will be.”

#aleksander morozova x reader #aleksander morozova x you #alina starkov #shadow and bone netflix #answered #general kirigan x reader #the darkling imagine

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sailor-aviator · 7 months

Text

Amhrán na Farraige

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Selkie!Reader

Summary: For centuries there have been legends of beautiful women who disguise themselves as creatures from the sea, only coming to land to sate their curiosity about the world above. Bradley was a simple man who had a taste for simple pleasures. A whole life spent at sea meant he was accustomed to these tales, but nothing prepares him for the reality of them.

Content Warning: ANGST, smut (brief, p in v), Pregnancy, References to the supernatural, Third person narrative, Some fluff, Dub-con, Kidnapping, Forced marriage (kind of, you'll see), Stockholm Syndrome, Some domestic violence (against spouse and towards children. Nothing heinous, just some grabbing and shaking), Anger, Celtic myths/legends, Celtic songs, Depression, Lies, Men driven mad, Descriptions of blood. I think I got everything, but PLEASE let me know if I missed anything.

Word Count: 13.2k

Helpful pronunciations (not exact, but close):

Amhrán na Farraige - [oh-ron nuh far-ig-uh] "Song of the Sea"

Sidhe - [She] "Fairy" (Also there's a whole etymology thing with this but yeah)

Mo Chroi - [moh khree] "My heart"

Mo Ghrá - [moh graw] "My love"

Mo Mhuirnín - [moh wor-neen] "My beloved"

Mo Stóirín - [mo store-een] "My Little Treasure"

Song One (The cliffs) || Song Two (The end)

God was not real, of this Bradley Bradshaw was sure and certain. At the very least, if he had existed at all, he was surely dead now. Or perhaps he was a neglectful deity. Bradley had seen too much death and hardship in his life to think otherwise.

He had seen men gasp for an unhearing god as they lay on battlefields, blood coursing out the holes in their bodies as tears streamed down their unseeing eyes. He had seen children starve, begging their still mothers for food that would never come, not while hardship endured in the land. He had heard the wails of women as their sons, brothers, fathers, and husbands never returned home, hand reaching out for an embrace that would never be returned.

All eyes looked to God, but God did not look back.

The only thing Bradley was sure of, was the existence of the fair folk, the Sidhe his mother had always called them. The beings who walked the between, never staying long in this world or the next.

“That shadow that lingers in the corner of your eye?” She had smiled, stroking the hair out of his face. “That’s the fair folk, honey. Always watching, but never seen. If they see let you see them, Bradley, then it’s already over. They’ve gotten you.”

His mother had done her best to keep him sheltered from the horrors of the world, but death and famine followed the people along the coast. His father had died in a shipwreck off the coast when he was young, and while his mother had done her best to keep her sorrow hidden, Bradley often caught her eye turned towards the sea. She disappeared when he was only sixteen.

Bradley had heard stories of people being taken by the fair folk, lured to the hills beyond the town, some never to be seen again, while others came back different. He wondered if the men who had gone off to war had been taken, replaced with something hollow, something not quite all there. Had his mother been taken by the Sidhe? Taken to the land beyond to be with his father? Or had her sorrow and longing for her long-dead husband become too much all at once, the grips of the icy waters too tempting an offer to resist?

It didn’t matter anymore, though. Bradley was alone and took work where he could, soft hands of youth turning to calloused hands of adulthood. His once bright eyes grew dull from the monotony of the jobs at sea, life becoming routine as day after day he boarded a ship to earn his livelihood.

As he grew older, the wages from the odd jobs allowed him to purchase his own vessel, a small boat that rocked in the choppy waves as he hunted the seals that littered the coasts.

He remembered watching from the small house he and his mother lived in as the creatures hopped out of the water to lay on the rocks. He would inch towards the door until she caught him, a stern look on her face as she scowled at him.

“If I’ve told you once, I’ve told you a thousand times,” she scolded him, hands on her hips. “You leave those creatures alone. They’re not doing anything to bother you.”

“Elijah’s da’ hunts them,” he remarked once, only serving to deepen her scowl.

“He does,” she muttered. “And he’s a lucky man that the selkies are a forgiving lot.”

“What’s a selkie?” Bradley had asked, eyes lighting up in intrigue. His mother regarded him for a moment before gesturing for him to sit in one of the chairs by the fireplace. Bradley settled in, eyes eager as he waited for his mother to explain.

“The selkies are fair folk of the sea,” she began, eyes serious as they darted above his head to look out the window towards the beach. “They may look like seals, but underneath their blubber and fur, they look like people just like you and me. They’re beautiful, Bradley, but curious to a fault. They walk on land in human form, shedding their seal skin once every seven years.”

“Why seven?” He had asked, voice small with wonder.

“Just the way the magic works,” she had replied with a shrug. “You can always tell when a seal is a selkie based on the size. The bigger the seal, the more likely it is to be a selkie, Bradley. Killing it and taking the skin will earn you pay, but you’ll have blood of the fair folk on your hand. Remember that.”

And he had remembered, for a while at least. He would watch the seals as they basked on the rocks, always wondering if the ones that met his curious gaze were one of the fair folk - a selkie.

Now the years had passed, grown from a small boy into a man of large stature. He commanded respect from those in the small, seaside village. Long had the days passed when his mother had warned him of hunting the seals and long had passed the days when he took those warnings seriously. He had joined the few who hunted the creatures around the rocky shores, braving the misty seas to earn himself a living.

He sat in his boat, the waves rocking him side to side in the way they often do during misty weather. Bitter cold clawed at his skin, numbing his fingers as he waited. Waited for something to come out of the water. Waited for any sign that he would earn a meal.

He fiddled with the ropes that lie around the floor of the boat, tying knots that he would need later. Undoing them, tying them, undoing them again. Anything to keep himself occupied while he lay in wait.

His breaths came out as white puffs of clouds, matching the ones surrounding him. Ice water clung to the whiskers on his upper lip, dripping down to run along his jaw and throat. He shifted, burying himself further into the warmth his coat provided. It was worn. He would need a new one soon. All the more reason to keep hoping for a prize catch.

The sound of disturbed water drew his attention towards the shore, and he slowly crept forward to peer over the side of the boat. A large seal bobbed at the surface, taking slow, deep breaths of the cold air that surrounded them. Slowly, Bradley reached for his harpoon, watching as the seal floated closer and closer. He raised his arm slowly, taking aim. He took a breath. Then another.

He released the harpoon just as a wave crashed into the side of his boat, sending the weapon veering off course. The harpoon struck the seal’s side, creating a gash that seeped blood into the water. The seal gave a pained cry, diving down into the murky depths of the sea, and Bradley cursed.

He stared at the spot where the seal had disappeared, already feeling the pangs of hunger stab at him. His nostrils flared as the desperate sense of anger welled up within him. How could he have been so careless? The size of that pelt would have brought in enough money to last him months. He heaved a sigh, pulling the rope to bring the harpoon back towards him. His fingers dipped into the icy water, the pain of it distracting him momentarily from his despair.

Bradley tossed the harpoon to the floor, the item landing with a thud as he slumped onto the bench. He buried his face in his hands, mind moving with blinding speed. He could still earn enough money to survive, he thought to himself. He could still do this. He just had to be more careful next time, should wait until he’s closer so he doesn’t miss. Still, his mind wandered back to the seal. The sheer size of it had his mind drifting back to the stories his mother had always told him. Of course, Bradley was older now, and he wouldn’t be scared by tall tales. However, the foolishness of youth still clung to him, for though he was now considered a man, he was barely twenty-two summers old.

Bradley heaved a sigh, sitting up and rubbing his hands together to create some warmth that would awaken his freezing fingers. He gripped the oars in his hands and began to row back to shore, the sun already dipping towards the horizon. He was always tempted to stay out past dark, but the older fishermen and hunters warned him of the dangers that came about at night. While Bradley was a fool, he wasn’t stupid.

He neared the dock that stood on the beach outside his home, moving to secure the boat to one of the posts when something caught his eye.

It floated in the water, a silvery grey blob that moved with the tide. Bradley’s eyes narrowed as he tried to place what it was in his mind. The blob slapped up against the side of the boat, and it was then that he realized what he was looking at. It was a perfectly preserved seal pelt, much like the one he had just seen. He supposed that it had fallen off a cart on the way to market, the winding roads by the cliffs being one of the few ways to make it into town. It wasn’t unusual for things to be knocked off of carts, finding their way onto the beaches and eventually into the sea.

Bradley wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth, not after his blunder. He scooped the pelt into the boat, laying it out to dry before lifting himself onto the dock. It would be days before he could take it to the market to sell, and he hoped no one recognized it when he did make his way into town.

An odd feeling overcame him in that moment, a feeling of unease and tension winding up his spine and gripping his throat. The feeling told him he was being watched, but by what, he did not know. His eyes darted around, expecting to see one of his neighbors by the house, but no one stood atop the cliff. The wind picked up around him, the cold of it stealing the breath from his lungs, and he curled in within himself to try and preserve some of the warmth he had left. The feeling told him he was making a mistake, but he ignored it, surmising that what he felt was guilt at having come into fortune from another’s strife.

Bradley shook his head to rid himself of the feeling, taking one last look around before trudging across the beach and up the path to his home.

The house was cold, but not for lack of warmth. Bradley kept the rooms heated well. No, the house lacked the happiness that made it a home, and this was something he was keenly aware of. It had been a home once, way back before his mother had disappeared.

Now, Bradley existed within its walls, hoping one day that he would find himself ready to settle for one of the pretty girls in town, the ones that smiled at him sweetly whenever he deemed it necessary to venture in. Perhaps he would finally give in to Orla’s flirting. She was a sweet thing, always filling his cup more than she ought to, setting it down in front of him with a bat of her eyes. She wasn’t a bad choice.

Bradley shook the thoughts from his head. He couldn’t entertain the idea of taking a wife, not when his circumstances were so uncertain.

He settled further down into his chair, feet propped up by the fire, the glowing embers serving to help warm him from his time out in the cold air during the day. The wood cracked and popped as the fire consumed it, and Bradley soon found himself dozing off. Exhaustion seeped down to the very marrow of his bones, his muscles stiff from the hours spent hunched over on the boat. His eyes began to flutter shut, urging him to embrace the sweet oblivion that came with sleep.

His body jerked, eyes snapping open. He wasn’t sure what had startled him at first, his heart hammering away in his chest as he let out a shaky breath. His ears perked, eyes darting as he waited for whatever it was that had roused him. He didn’t have to wait long, a second cry sounding from outside.

It was one of pure, unadulterated sorrow. The cry of someone so grief stricken, they sounded almost like an animal. A chill ran down Bradley’s spine at the sound, and cautiously he moved to stand, heading towards the front door. Every fiber in his body screamed at him to leave well enough alone, but he worried that someone might be heart or in trouble. Grabbing his coat, he slipped back into his boots and walked out the door.

The cold was something he thought he should be used to at this point, but it still shocked his system every time he stepped foot out into it. The moon was the only source of light save for the faint, orange glow that filtered out of the windows of his house. The air stung his lungs, and he suppressed a shiver that threatened to run up his spine. The cry had sounded far, coming from towards the beach if he had to guess. He began to walk, boots crunching against the dirt path as it gave way to sand. The waves crashed against the shore like thunder, so loud that he almost didn’t hear the faint cries coming from further down the strip of sand.

He almost missed her huddled in the sand, back pressed up against one of the large rocks at the edge of the shoreline where sand met grass. Her head was buried in the crook of her arms, shoulders shaking as she cried, quiet whimpers wracking her body.

“Miss?” He called out once he was a few feet away. “Are you okay?”

Her head snapped up, hair falling in her face as sorrow filled eyes peered up at him. The look of her knocked all air out of his lungs, and for a moment he couldn’t focus on anything but how beautiful the woman in front of him was.

“Can’t find it,” she croaked. Her voice was still sweet sounding despite the hoarseness of it, and Bradley found himself captivated even further by her. His eyes left her face then, realizing for the first time that she was naked.

“Oh my god,” he murmured, rushing forward as he shrugged off his coat. “Here, take this.”

He wrapped the coat around her smaller frame, the material dwarfing her. Her lips trembled, though Bradley suspected it wasn’t from the cold. She didn’t seem to see him as she continued muttering to herself, eyes darting wildly between her hands and the sea.

“Can’t find it,” she said again, her voice growing in pitch as the desperation took hold.

“Can’t find what?” Bradley asked, brow furrowing in confusion as he glanced around the beach. “Did someone hurt you? Where are your clothes?”

A choked cry spilled past her lips as a fresh wave of tears began to stream down her face. She shook her head wildly, hands darting out to grasp at his shirt. Her fingers seemed to push him away and pull him closer at the same time as another wail climbed up her throat.

“Can’t find it!” She shrieked, eyes growing wider as she stared at the water. “Wanna go home.”

“Where is home?” Bradley asked, his own anxiety beginning to peak as he gripped onto the woman’s shoulders. Her eyes glanced to his, but they did not see him.

“Between the light, between the dark,” she whispered, eyes boring into him. “Between the cold, between the warmth. Between the moon, between the sun. Between the north, between the south.”

The between was something Bradley’s mother had always cautioned him about.

“It’s where the fair folk live, Bradley,” she had told him. “They don’t live here, but they don’t live fully in the other. They’re from somewhere in between.”

He shook the thought from his head. He knew he was being superstitious, ridiculous even. The fair folk were prideful beings, surely one wouldn’t be sitting here talking with him like this.

And yet, as Bradley looked upon this woman, heard how she spoke, a voice in the back of his mind whispered to him that there was something strange about her. Something…otherworldly.

“Are you alone?” He settled on, trepidation clear in his tone. “Is there someone I can go get for you?”

“Can’t go home,” she muttered, eyes turned longingly to the sea as tears streamed down her face. “It’s too late.”

Bradley heaved out a sigh. He would have to take her home, let her rest and try again in the morning.

“Can you stand?” He asked her. She said nothing, nails biting into the skin of her arms as she continued to stare out at the water. Bradley reached out to her, Taking her arms gently to help her stand. Her lips curled in a wince, hand flying to her side. His eyes flickered down, and for the first time noticed the dried blood on her side.

“You’re hurt,” he frowned, moving closer to inspect the wound, but she shied away from him, her own frown tugging on her lips. His tongue darted out to wet his own nervously, as he glanced from her to the house.

“My house is a bit of a ways up the hill,” he started, nodding towards it. Her gaze was more focused now, eyes flickering towards where he gestured. “Do you think you can make it?”

She didn’t respond, instead tilting her head to the side as she regarded the distance. Finally, she nodded, and Bradley felt his shoulders sag in relief. The wind whipped around them, and he was reminded of how cold it was. It would be best to get her inside as soon as possible, though he couldn’t help but notice that she seemed holy unaffected by the freezing temperatures even though she stood in nothing but his coat.

He waited for her to move towards the house, but she remained still, watching him watch her. Finally, he pressed his lips together and began to walk towards the house, boots crunching against the ground once more. The woman made no sound as she moved behind him, her gaze fixated on him the entire time.

He paused outside the front door, hand hesitating above the knob. Slowly, he turned to look at her once more. Her eyes stared back at him, eyes that reflected the orange glow cast into the night, eyes that swirled with knowledge that Bradley could only dream of. She said nothing as they watched each other, those sorrowful eyes watching him with curiosity, so much like seals that littered the shores. Bradley sucked in a quick breath before turning around to push the door open.

The warmth was welcome, and he felt some of the tension ease from his shoulders as he stepped into the main room, turning to watch as the woman stepped across the threshold. Her eyes darted around, taking in the various pieces of furniture and decorations that were scattered about as Bradley closed the door softly behind her. She took a few more tentative steps into the house, head cocking to the side in such an unusual way as to further confirm what Bradley was slowly accepting.

She walked past him, eyes glittering with intrigue as she came up to the fire. She crouched down, head still tilting to one side, and Bradley was captivated by the sight of this beautiful woman bathed in the light of the fire in his home. Before he could react, she reached a hand out into the flame, letting out a startled, pained yelp as she retracted it. A whimper left her lips as Bradley rushed forward, kneeling in front of her and taking her hand in his.

“Why would you do that?” He asked, no real heat behind his tone as he inspected her fingertips. “Don’t you know it’s hot?”

Her fingertips were a little pink, but otherwise no real damage had been done. She stared at him with an unreadable expression, eyes still studying him. He hesitated for a moment before moving to stand, keeping her hand in his.

“I can show you to your room,” he told her, tugging on her hand lightly. Her eyes scanned him from head to foot and then back again before allowing him to pull her to her feet. The two padded down a small hallway before he pushed the door open to a bedroom that had long stood unoccupied. He tugged her inside, motioning for her to sit on the bed. She sat obediently, watching and waiting for him to make his next move.

“I’ll be right back,” he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck as he exited the room. He made his way to the washroom, grabbing bandages, a cloth, a bowl, and a pitcher of water. He returned to the room quickly, finding that the woman had not moved an inch in the time he was gone. He sucked in a breath as their eyes once again met, wary meeting curious. He set the items on the bedside table as he gestured at her.

“You’ll need to take that off so I can see the wound,” he murmured, heat rising to his cheeks as he glanced at her uneasily. She paid no mind to his discomfort, easily shedding the coat and exposing her naked body to him as simply as if he had asked her to close the door. He cleared his throat, eyes darting down to look at the angry-looking gash on her side. The wound appeared to be superficial, but he couldn’t be sure until he cleaned it.

He turned to ready the cloth, keeping the bowl of water close so he could rinse if he needed to. Tentatively, he reached a hand up, running his fingers over the dried blood upon her skin, eyes darting up to search for any sign of distress. Her face remained impassive as she watched him, and Bradley’s jaw clenched as he began to wipe gently at the wound.

He had been correct in his initial assessment, the gash was more of a flesh wound and thankfully wouldn’t require stitching. He grabbed some of the salve he had brought in, applying a decent layer before wrapping a bandage around her midsection. Bradley tried not to think of how close he was to the woman, of how beautiful she was, especially when she seemed wholly unbothered by his presence.

“I, um,” he stuttered, cursing his nervousness, “I can bring you something to wear. I still have some of my ma’s things.”

He didn’t wait for her to answer, not that she would give him one if the last half hour had been any indication. He made his way down the hall to the door he had not opened in years, taking a deep breath to steady himself before pushing inside.

The room was just as his mother had left it all those years ago, the only thing having changed was the layer of dust that coated everything. Bradley moved quickly to the wardrobe on the far side of the room, opening it to reveal several different clothing options. He grabbed what he could carry, making sure to grab some of the sleeping garments before heading back down the hall. The woman sat unmoved once more as he appeared, draping the options on the chair to his left by the vanity.

“I wasn’t sure what you’d like,” he said lamely, gesturing towards the clothing, “so I grabbed what I thought might look nice.”

The woman’s gaze moved slowly to the clothing before she rose to her feet. She padded across the room, not a sound from her as she walked over towards where he stood. Her eyes darted up to his for a moment before back down to the clothes. Small hands reached out to pick up one of the nightgowns he had grabbed, eyes studying it with a frown. Her hands tightened on the fabric, a look of despair washing over her face and disappearing just as quickly before she slowly eased it over her head, letting it drape down her form. She reached her hands up to pull her long hair out of the confines, letting it run down her back as she stared up at him.

There was something inherently wild about her, something that sent Bradley’s heart racing as he looked at her standing there in the room. She looked so out of place but so at ease with her surroundings, and he could hardly stand it.

“My room is just down the hall,” he told her, shoulders pulling back a fraction as he regarded her. “If you need me, I’ll be there.”

He gathered the things he had brought in, moving to leave when she grabbed his shirt, stopping him. He glanced at her from over his shoulder, brow furrowed in confusion as he waited for her to speak.

“Do you hear them?” She asked, voice barely above a whisper. “They’re calling for me.”

Bradley listened in the silence that followed, and it was a second before he heard the quiet, distant barks of seals mixed with the keen of something he could not place - something not quite human, not quite animal. He looked at the woman, her eyes having grown distant once more as a tear slid down her face. Bradley sucked in a quick breath as a shudder ran up his spine.

“You should get some sleep,” he whispered, breaking the silence. “You seem like you’ve had a long day.”

The woman looked at him once more, sadness swelling within her eyes before she slowly nodded, letting him go. She turned towards the bed, padding silently across the room once more.

Bradley closed the door behind him as he left, hands shaking as he listened for the click of the latch before putting away the items in hand. He put out the fire, washing the room in darkness as he dragged a hand over his face. With a glance towards the hall, he crept towards the front door, opening it and shutting it behind him carefully as to not make a sound. The cries from before could be heard louder now, and Bradley thought his heart would burst from his chest from the unease that enveloped him.

The moon still shone bright, lighting his path down towards the dock and his boat. The waves lapped against the shore, the cries louder the closer he came. His boat knocked against the wooden stands of the dock with every crash of the waves, and sitting there, on top of the bench, lay the pelt.

Bradley’s heart quickened at the sight, a sense of dread filling him at what he might find once he inspected it. His boots clicked against the wood as he made his way down to the edge. He kneeled down, snatching the pelt from its perch and into his hands. It was soft, nearly dry. He ran his hands over it, inspecting it closely as he squinted in the dark.

He was lost in the sensation of the pelt, how smooth and soft it felt in his hands, and for a moment he allowed himself to close his eyes and compare it to how soft the woman’s skin had felt under his fingertips earlier. He was pulled from his thoughts as the soft fur transformed into a matted and cracked mess. His eyes flew open, breath catching in his throat as he took in the bloodied tear down the side of the pelt.

Right where the gash on the woman was.

There was no denying it in his mind now. The woman in his home was one of the Sidhe - a selkie.

The cries grew louder, and Bradley’s head whipped up to stare out into the water. He couldn’t see them, but knew they were out there, searching for a sister that was lost to them. His grip on the pelt tightened, and his heartbeat thundered in his ears. He scrambled back to his feet, boots stomping against the wood and then the ground as he ran back to the house. His mind raced with thought after thought as his lungs burned from lack of oxygen. His hand reached out to open the door, but he stopped short, fingers hovering over the knob.

The cries off in the distance sounded as he stared at his front door before looking down at the pelt in hand. He could return it to the woman, let her return back to the sea she called home. But a more sinister thought crossed his mind. Why should he give it back? The woman was safe with him, after all. He could protect her from those that wished to hunt her, keep her warm and fed like a man should. He could love her, give her a life beyond what the sea had to offer. The memory of her skin under his fingertips once again rushed to the forefront of his mind, and he allowed his hand to drop back to his side. Yes, he would keep the pelt. Keep it hidden away where she nor anyone else would ever find it.

He turned on his heel, running towards the small shack just a few yards away from the house, ripping the door open and stepping inside. The structure held mostly items necessary for fishing and repairing his boat, but an old trunk sat in the back, practically hidden by various tarps and other objects. The cries of the other selkies grew louder, almost like they could sense the pelt in his hands and were coming to find it.

Bradley pulled the trunk out into the open, moving to the workbench and grabbing one of the keys that sat in the top drawer. He kneeled down in front of the trunk, unlocking it and opening the lid with a quiet creak. Inside lay old photos and trinkets that his father and mother had collected over their years together. He pulled a few items out before placing the pelt gently into the trunk, covering it back up with the aforementioned items.

He closed the lid, locking it. The wailing cries coming to an abrupt and sudden stop as he did so. He stayed there for a moment, the only sound to be heard being his heavy breathing and the waves crashing against the shore below. Slowly, he moved to stand, shoving the trunk back where he found it and hiding it away once more. No one would think to look in there. No one would know what he kept hidden. He tossed the key back into the top drawer, stepping out of the shack and back into the night.

The air was still around him, eerily so, and Bradley made his way quickly back to the house. His fingers were numb, whether it be from cold or nerves he wasn’t sure, but the tension didn’t ease as he closed the front door quietly behind him, his back pressed against it for a moment as he listened for any sound that the woman might have heard him. Hearing nothing, he toed his boots off, setting them by the door before making his way quietly towards his room, noting that no light shone under the woman’s door. He changed quickly for bed, crawling under the blankets as if they might shield him from the consequences of his actions that evening. He took a few calm, steadying breaths before closing his eyes.

Sleep did not come easy to him that night.

The first morning had been awkward, Bradley rising with the dawn to find the woman already sitting at the dining table, fingers fidgeting with the sleeves of the nightgown. Her eyes darted up to meet his as he entered the room, stopping short at the sight of her.

“You’re awake,” he murmured, shock clear in his voice as they stared at one another. She blinked at him, saying nothing. She seemed perkier this morning, albeit still cautious as she watched him walk further into the room. Bradley grabbed the box of matches from the shelf, taking one out and striking it with a pop. The woman jumped at the sound, eyes flickering to the watch as he leaned down to light the stove, shaking the match out once he was done.

“What is that?” She asked, and Bradley turned to look at her in surprise.

“What is what?”

“The colors,” she supplied, nodding at the burnt match in his hand. She pointed towards the fireplace. “They were in the cave over there last night as well.”

Bradley’s gaze flickered over to where she pointed before landing back on her.

“It’s called fire,” he started slowly, a frown tugging on his lips. “I use it to cook things and keep the house warm.”

“Fire,” she repeated, testing the word out on her lips. “It hurts.”

“It can,” Bradley agreed, a ghost of a smile on his lips. “You shouldn’t touch it.”

She nodded solemnly, clasping her hands out in front of her. She watched as he began to prepare breakfast, turning on the toaster and slicing up the fish to cook in the pan.

“I like those.”

Bradley turned back around to find the woman sitting with most of her torso on top of the table, her legs stretched to accommodate her. Eyes shone with delight at the sight of the fish, and Bradley arched a brow at her.

“Yeah?” He hummed. She nodded enthusiastically, tongue darting out to lick at her lips.

“There’s lots of them,” she told him. “They swim in groups and they’re easy to catch. The fishermen catch them using nets.”

“They do,” Bradley nodded, laying a strip of the mackerel down in the pan. It began to sizzle, and he was struck with how hungry he truly was.

“What are you doing?”

He jumped, turning to look where the woman now stood, eyes wide as she watched the fish cook down. He stared at her for a moment before turning his attention back to the fish, flipping it over before it burned.

“I’m cooking,” he told her. The woman leaned forward, sniffing at the food before wrinkling her nose.

“It smells weird,” she muttered, and Bradley laughed.

“It smells fine,” he smiled, sliding the fish onto one of the plates on the counter. “You’ve just never had it cooked, I’ll bet.”

He ushered her back towards the table, setting the plate down at the spot she just occupied and handing her a fork. He turned back towards the stove, laying another slice of the fish down as the woman took a tentative bite. Chewing slowly, she perked up as the taste rushed over her, shoveling more into her mouth with a satisfied purr. Bradley soon joined her, chuckling as he watched her. He couldn’t remember the last time he felt so light, the last time he laughed so freely.

“You should slow down,” he smirked, taking a bite from his own plate. “You don’t want to choke.”

She peered up at him, pausing in her feast as she considered his words. She cocked her head to the side in that curious way before taking a slower bite, looking up at him for approval. The two ate in silence for a few moments before Bradley cleared his throat, drawing her attention.

“My name is Bradley,” he said, glancing up at her as he swallowed a mouthful of fish.

“Bradley.”

“What should I call you?” He asked, and she frowned in confusion.

“What do you want to call me?” She asked him.

“Don’t you have a name?” He chuckled, disbelief coloring his voice. Surely even the fair folk had names to give. Her face drew tight in sorrow once more, and Bradley felt a twinge of pain in his chest at the sight. Her gaze slowly turned towards the window where the sea lay just out of sight.

“Only the water knows my name,” she told him, grip loosening on her fork as it clattered against the plate. “Only it can say it.”

Bradley watched her. Watched how her breathing grew ragged. Watched how her eyes glistened with unshed tears for a home she would not return to. Her lips trembled, and Bradley cleared his throat.

“I need to head into town,” he said. “Need to see a man about a job. Do you want to come with me?”

She turned to look at him, eyes still hazy from wherever she had let herself wander. She blinked once, twice.

“I suppose,” she whispered finally. Bradley nodded, clearing the plates from the table.

“You’ll need to change,” he told her. “You can’t go out wearing that.”

She looked down at her nightgown with a frown before looking back up at him.

“It’s, uh,” he stuttered, rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s not appropriate for others to see you dressed like that.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Just,” he blew out a breath, “please pick a different dress?”

She gave him a sour look before standing and disappearing down the hall. Bradley blew out a breath before moving to clean the kitchen area. The woman reappeared, wearing a simple, blue dress. Bradley nodded in approval before his eyes landed on her bare feet.

“Stay here,” he told her, walking down the hall to the far bedroom. He walked in, straight up to the wardrobe and began rummaging through until he found a pair of his mother’s old shoes. He reappeared in the kitchen, handing the woman the shoes with a shy smile.

“I don’t know how well they’ll fit,” he started, “but they should work until we get you some new ones.”

She eyed them distastefully, nose wrinkled in disgust.

“I don’t want them,” she said finally, moving to hand them back to Bradley. He shook his head.

“You need them. They’ll protect your feet, and people will expect you to wear them.”

She scowled, pushing them forward once more, but Bradley stopped her.

“Please, mo chroi,” he pleaded. “Just while we’re in town. You can take them off as soon as we’re home.”

Her gaze softened at the endearment, and reluctantly, she shoved her feet into them. He helped her lace them, calloused fingers making nimble work of them, and soon they were ready to go. He grabbed a thin jacket for himself while he made sure to hand her the heavy coat to combat the frigid air outside. The walk to town took about an hour, and the weather was sure to still be cold and damp as it often was during the time between spring and winter.

Bradley turned to her, a thin-lipped smile on his face as his hand rested on the door. He gave her a once over.

She looked like any other person upon first glance, but if you stared too long, something wild shone on her person that drew you in. Like it would suffocate you if you stared too long. He sucked in a breath, torn between keeping her in his sight and making her stay. If she came, the townsfolk would surely be able to guess that she was not a mere human girl, but if she stayed? If she stayed, she might find the one thing he hoped she never would.

“Alright,” he breathed. “Let’s go.”

Weeks had passed, and the two had developed a routine of sorts. Bradley had started work as the lighthouse keeper, walking every day down the path along the cliffs to clean and polish the light that guided ships to shore. When he finished, he began work on the nets for when he ventured out into the sea to catch fish. It was a steady source of food, and food was not something Bradley took lightly. Memories of what it felt like to go hungry when there was so little to go around, fueled his drive to ensure there was enough, always enough and plenty to spare. He showed mo chroi how to prepare and salt the fish they couldn’t eat, showing her how to store it for future meals.

She was a quick learner, performing the tasks diligently as the days passed, and soon she took over most of the household chores. The widow Callahan checked in on them from time to time, her wise eyes studying the new woman of the house every time she came by.

“Be careful, young man,” she’d always say, dark eyes narrowed up at him. “You may have tamed her now, but the fair folk were not meant for gilded cages. Don’t give her what you cannot spare.”

Bradley would assure her that he wouldn’t, but in truth, he had no idea what she was telling him. He was content with how things were, content to have a partner by his side to help with the work he had done by himself for years. He still caught her staring longingly out at the waters she once called home, but the longing looks grew farther and farther apart the longer she stayed with him, resigning herself to her new life on land.

He was mending a tear in one of the nets when she appeared beside him, silent as always. He was used to it now, no longer startling every time she appeared around him without a sound. He became attuned to her presence, sensing when she came and when she left.

She said nothing to him at first, content to watch him as he worked, and he was content to keep working. It wasn’t until she kneeled beside him, gentle hand placed on top of his arm that he stopped.

“What is it, mo chroi?” He asked, gazing up at her. The sun was sinking towards the horizon, casting a faint golden glow onto the summer evening. Bradley couldn’t help but to admire her beauty in the dimming light, eyes glittering and skin smooth as porcelain as they looked at him. She wore only a white chemise, something she was prone to do when it was just the two of them. She didn’t like the heavy, scratchy feel of the dresses, only wearing them when there was company or when the two ventured into town. Bradley complied with her whims, finding it hard to say no to her.

“Why do you not have a woman?”

The question caught him off guard, eyes widening as his jaw went slack.

“What?” He blinked, scrambling to make sense of her question. She hummed, pressing closer to him. Bradley found it hard to think with the feel of her soft, warm body so close to his, one hand tracing over the planes of his chest as she continued.

“The men in the village,” she pressed, eyes never wavering as they bore into his own, almost hypnotic in the way they captured him, “they all have a woman to keep them company, to hold them, to love them. But you do not.”

Bradley’s eyes darted back and forth between her own, words failing him. She lifted a leg, resting it in between his own as she straddled his thigh. The hand that rested on his arm trailed up to play with the curls at the base of his skull, her body flush with his now as his hands came up to rest on her thighs. The hem of her chemise rode up to reveal smooth thighs that had Bradley reeling with lust. She leaned forward, a purr on her lips as she trailed her nose along his jaw and up to his ear.

“Is it me?” She asked softly, hand splayed on his chest as her lips brushed along the shell of his ear. A shudder ran up along Bradley’s spine at the sensation, mind growing hazy and clouded with lust for the creature before him.

“Am I yours?” She breathed, meeting his eyes once more. The air between them was charged, and for a moment Bradley could think of nothing but the way she felt against him. The way her lips hovered over his.

He lunged forward, pulling her impossibly closer as their lips melded against one another. He was spellbound, captivated, obsessed. His hands tightened on her thighs, and she sighed against his mouth, spurring him on to nip at her bottom lip. She granted him entrance, gasping as he licked hungrily into her mouth, the sweet taste of her driving him mad as a hand slid up to press against her lower back.

She wasted no time lifting herself off of him long enough to free him from the confines of his trousers, small hands gripping his hardening length. He let out a pleasured groan, head tilting back as she stroked him slowly before positioning herself atop him. There was no buildup between them, Bradley gripping at her as she slowly eased herself down onto him. A keen left her lips as he stretched her, mind numbing pleasure coursing through his veins as her velvety walls fluttered around him.

Her eyes were closed tight as she rested on top of him, her hips flush against his as her hands rested on his chest for balance. Bradley had never seen a more beautiful sight. Slowly, she rolled her hips against his, breathing ragged as she built a rhythm. Bradley laid against the wood of the dock as he watched her take her pleasure from him, a hand running up her stomach to rest between her breasts. He could die a happy man right then and there.

Her pace grew faster as she approached her climax, whimpers and cries spilling past her lips as she rode him, and Bradley pushed himself into a sitting position, careful to not disturb her. A hand rested on her back as he nuzzled into the space between her breasts where his other hand had just been. The sleeve of her chemise fell off her shoulder, and Bradley lifted his face to nip and lick at the skin there. He could feel his own high approaching as she ground down on him, and his free hand rose up to wrap around her throat, squeezing gently. She froze, hips stopping as they locked eyes. The only sound to be heard between the two of them was their ragged breathing.

For a second, Bradley thought he had crossed the line, but she made no move to remove his hand. The two stared at one another for a long moment before one of her hands came up to rest atop his own, squeezing them lightly as she began to move her hips once more, slower this time, drawing out the inevitable. He groaned at the sensation, feeling his stomach tense as her eyes never left his, her gaze intense as she chased release. Her walls fluttered and tightened around him, and with a final cry, she came, her head thrown back and her hot, wet cunt milking his own orgasm out of him with a shout. His spend coated her walls, leaking out around him as he shuddered and fell back against the dock with eyes pinched closed. Her hips still moved against his, drawing out every ounce of pleasure she could, giving herself to him with every movement.

She was his now, he had marked her.

Her hips finally stilled against his, and he could feel her staring at him. Her fingers trailed up his chest, along his jaw, before finally stilling on his lips. Bradley peeled his eyes open slowly, and he would have sworn he had died and gone to heaven for if he didn’t know any better, he would have thought he was looking at an angel. The setting sun cast a halo around her head as her hair blew in the wind, hypnotic eyes boring into him as the golden glow of the evening enveloped her. His lover smiled down at him softly, fingertips stroking his lips before leaning down to press her own against them.

She didn’t look to the sea much anymore, her longing gazes turned to brief flickers as she went about her days. Still, there were nights when her eyes would glaze over as the sound of seals calling out in the night made their way up to the confines of the house. Bradley would watch as her lips trembled briefly, the look in her eyes growing farther away until suddenly she would snap back to the moment, offering him a loving smile as she continued her mending.

Her stomach began to swell in the autumn months, and Bradley often found himself reluctant to leave her side. He would place a hand on her stomach, eyes lighting up in delight every time he felt a kick to it. He’d rest his head on top of her, muttering sweet words and promises to the babe that grew within. She would rest her hand on his head, stroking his hair soothingly as the fire crackled in front of them.

They were happy.

There was one night, however, when Bradley came back from the village to find his wife no longer at home, and panic overtook him. He tore through the house, ripping open every door he could find until he was faced with a horrifying possibility. He ran outside to the old shack, nearly ripping the door off of its hinges in his haste to open it. His eyes scanned the dark interior, his lantern casting shadows across the walls as he sighed in relief at the realization that his secret was still hidden underneath tarps and old traps.

His brow furrowed as he stepped back out onto the open cliffs, the wind whipping around him as he scanned the dancing grass. His eyes stopped at the edge of the cliff, terror gripping him once more at the thought that his lover might have done the unthinkable. Had she tried to return to the depths from where she came? Her body would not survive the plunge, not without the skin that lay hidden in shadows. He trudged towards the edge of the cliffs, the wind biting his skin and seeping to his bones as his heart thundered in his ears. He peered down at the rocks below, stopping only when a song sounded on the wind.

Little sister, sister hu ru

My love, my sister hu ru

Can you not pity o hol ill eo

My grief tonight hu ru

The voice was beautiful and full of sorrow, cries carried on the wind and out to the sea. Bradley swung the lantern towards the rocky path that led up to the lighthouse, the moon casting ribbons of silver that silhouetted the tall structure.

I am a poor woman hu ru

Sad and miserable hu ru

I climbed up o hol ill eo

Ben Sgrìobain hu ru

Bradley moved quickly through the grass and up the path, the sound of the song growing louder with each step he took. The stone structure stood proud against the backdrop of the sea, the waves crashing against the rocks below, almost drowning out the song as he rounded the walkway, finding his wife standing on the edge of the cliff.

I didn’t find there hu ru

What I wanted hu ru

A girl o hol ill eo

With hair like a daisy hu ru

Tears streamed down her face as he watched her, her hair whipping in the wind as her hands cradled her heavily swollen belly. Her feet were bare, and she wore a thin chemise that did little to protect her from the gusts that enveloped her body. No sobs left her as she finished her song, only the look of someone who had been lost, lost and never found in a world that was not her own. Bradley sucked in a breath, lips pressing firmly together before he stomped towards her. He dropped the lantern at his feet, the flame within dying at the impact as he gripped her shoulders and whirled her around to face him. Her eyes grew wide as his rage flooded to the surface, nostrils flaring and fingers digging into her skin hard enough to leave bruises.

“What were you thinking?” He hissed, shaking her with every accusation. “You scared me half to death! What are you doing out here dressed like this? It’s too cold for you to be out here with nothing to protect you. I thought you had-”

He gestured towards the cliffs, the words dying on his lips as he choked on a sob. The tears sprang to his eyes unexpectedly, rolling down his cheeks as his hands gripped onto her even tighter. If he held on tighter, she would never leave, would never return to the sea, would never leave him. He couldn’t bear the thought of being alone again, not when he had tasted a life that was shared.

She stared at him, eyes wide and searching as the wind danced around them. Her hand slowly reached up to cup his jaw, thumb smoothing over the stubble that grew there.

“I’m sorry,” she murmured, voice almost lost on the wind. She leaned forward, and Bradley lurched back, eyes wide and scared as they watched her. The two stayed like that for a moment before she moved once more, hand holding his face in place as she brushed his nose with hers before pressing her lips to his in a gentle kiss. Tears continued to stream down Bradley’s face as his eyes flickered closed, embracing her as different emotions swirled inside him.

“Never leave me,” he begged in a whisper against her, one hand dropping down to cup her stomach as he rested his forehead against hers. He opened his eyes to find her already looking at him, black water dancing in her gaze.

“Never, mo ghrá.”

Their son was born a month later, loud cries spilling into the night as Bradley waited outside with some of the older men from the village. His head perked up at the first wail, eyes shining with excitement as her screams were replaced by those of the infant. The widow Callahan opened the front door moments later, apron covered in blood as she wiped her hands on a rag.

“You have a son,” she announced with a small smile, and Bradley grinned so hard, he swore his face would split in two. The men around him clasped him on the back, cheers ringing out in the night as they opened up spirits brought with them for the occasion. Bradley was keen to see his wife and son, but one of the men shoved a mug into his hands.

“Have a drink first, lad,” he hollered with a laugh. “The misses and the wean will still be there after.”

Bradley downed the drink as quickly as he could, much to the amusement of the others. He shoved the cup into the hands of the man nearest to him, not waiting for it to be refilled as he made his way into the house. The widow Callahan was cleaning up her supplies along with her apprentice when Bradley entered the room. His wife lay propped up in the bed, a small smile on her face as she cooed at the small bundle in her arms. Her eyes flickered up to his for a moment before back down. He crossed the room, easing down gently beside her on the bed. The babe gurgled, eyes closed as he yawned, and Bradley felt his heart swell.

He reached a hand over to run a finger over his son’s hands, heart dancing in his chest when the babe gripped it, small hand so strong for someone who was only moments old.

“What should we call him?” Bradley asked, cuddling into her side, exhaustion seeping through her.

“I thought we might call him Ronan.”

Bradley paused. The meaning of the name was not lost on him, and his gaze flickered to her profile for a moment before nodding.

“Ronan,” he murmured, eyes turning back to his son, nodding. “Aye. I like it. Ronan it is then.”

The babe gurgled once more, and Bradley reached over to take him in his arms, cooing softly as the bundle fussed.

“We should let your mother rest,” He whispered to the baby, a small smile on his wife’s lips as she nestled into the inviting warmth of the bed, her eyes drooping as she fought to remain awake. “She’s had a long day, don’t you think? It’s not easy bringing someone into the world.”

He tore his eyes away from his son to gaze at her, adoration shining bright as he reached a hand to smooth the hair out of her face.

“We’ll be here when you wake up,” he promised, bouncing the baby lightly as he moved to stand, his eyes already fixated back on the bundle in his arms. Her eyes followed him as he walked towards the door, lips curled into a smile as she slipped further and further into oblivion.

Bradley offered her one last smile as she fell asleep, walking towards the main room and sitting down by the fireplace, the orange glow of the fire bathing the two in the warm light. The men outside still celebrated, and Bradley rolled his eyes, smiling down at his son.

“I wanted to talk to you, man to man,” he started, rocking the baby in his arms. “I can’t guarantee you an easy life, Ronan. In fact, it might be a hard one. What I can promise is that I’ll be by your side as only a father can be for his son.”

Ronan cooed, opening his eyes for the first time to look up at his father, and Bradley’s heart soared.

“You’re born from two worlds, you know,” Bradley continued, a small frown tugging on his lips as he considered what this would mean. “A living bridge between the seen and unseen, but what does that mean for you, I wonder.”

The fire popped as it consumed the wood, the crackling the only thing heard besides the faint sound of Ronan breathing. The men had left to continue their drinking in the village, and soon even the widow Callahan and her apprentice left, bidding him a good night as they did. Bradley said nothing to them in response, eyes trained on the baby in his arms even as the sun rose above the horizon.

Ronan grew quickly, much to Bradley’s surprise, and soon he was toddling around and talking, a smart lad whom Bradley found he never had to instruct more than once, eager to take on the responsibility of being the eldest. Two years after he was born, another bundle joined their home, a boy they named Rían who grew to fill the house with peels of laughter everywhere he went. His wife showed no more signs of longing for the sea, too enamored with her children to pay much mind to the sea which she once called home.

Three years after Rían was born, they welcomed Cillian into their fold, a quiet babe who grew into a curious and bright little boy. Bradley was happy with his life and even prouder of his family. He soon began teaching Ronan how to weave nets for fish and how to fix the traps they used to catch the migrating salmon, and it wasn’t long until Rían joined them. Cillian was too young, staying behind with his mother as the other three made their way out to sea to bring home food for the next day.

Their evenings were spent sitting by the fire, the boys playing with their toy soldiers as their mother worked on her mending, Bradley resting from a hard day’s work as he smoked a pipe, a habit he had picked up to help ease the tension he often felt these days as he grew older. It was on one such evening that Cillian pulled on the skirt of his mother’s dress, eyes so much like hers as they gazed up in curiosity.

“Ma,” he chirped, earning her attention. She smiled down at him, setting down her latest project to give him her full attention.

“What is it, mo mhuirnín?” She asked.

“The people in town say you’re not from here,” he continued, earning the attention of the two other boys and Bradley as well. “If you aren’t from here, then where do you come from?”

The silence was heavy in the room, not a soul moving as the words hung in the air. His mother’s eyes glazed over slowly as she thought about the home she left behind so many years ago. A look Bradley had not seen since before their first son was born made its way onto her face, and his heart began to thunder in his chest. Time seemed to stand still as she considered her words.

“Between the here, between the now. Between the day, between the night. Between the land, between the sea. Between the awake, between the asleep. Between the real, between the myths. That is where I am from,” she told him, a hand coming up to cup his chin gently. In that moment, Bradley remembered the wild that dwelled within his wife, the constant call from within to return back to the sea. He remembered that while he grew older, she remained forever the same, never changing. He remembered the fear that gripped him each night at the thought that she might leave, and rage filled him.

“Enough,” he snapped, drawing all four pairs of eyes to him. Bradley was a kind, easygoing man, not prone to anger, and the sight of him now shocked his children, fear flashing in their eyes at the look of anger that clung to his face.

“I won’t hear another word,” he hissed, grip tight on the pipe in hand. He gestured wildly at his children as they sat, paralyzed with fear. “To bed, all of you!”

They did not need to be told twice, scrambling to their feet as they hurried down the hall, the sounds of doors shutting behind them. Regret filled Bradley almost instantly, but it was not enough to quell the fear that still raged on inside of him. His eyes watched the hall before sliding over to look at his wife. Her head was bowed submissively, an impassive look on her face as she continued her mending, and Bradley settled back into his chair, an air of unease settling in around him.

It was a few weeks later when Bradley had taken the two older boys off that his world turned upside down.

Cillian was a curious boy, too curious for his own good, one might say. He loved to experience the world around him and oftentimes found himself in more trouble than he could handle. His father had warned him to stay away from the old shack that stood by the cliff, telling him that there were things in there that could hurt him if he wasn’t careful. Cillian heeded the warning, but grew more and more curious the longer it remained unexplored. It was for that reason he found himself opening the door, the creeks of the old hinges causing him to turn around to make sure he wasn’t heard. Confident that his actions still remained a secret, he crept into the dark shack, eyes wide as he took in the different trinkets strewn about.

It was nothing of import, mostly old tarps and broken traps his father had not seen fit to fix yet. An old desk sat against the far wall, and as Cillian crept farther and farther into the room, he noticed how more and more things lay stacked atop one another, as if trying to convince him to turn back. There was something that called out to him though, and the need to find what it was became stronger with each passing second. The pull pulsed around him, almost like a heartbeat as he inched closer and closer to the far side of the shack. It wasn’t until he came upon an old chest that the energy suddenly calmed, almost like it disappeared and Cillian reached out his little hands to try and pry the lid open. It did not budge, locked so that prying eyes would not find what was not theirs to seek.

Surely there must be a key? His eyes scanned the area around him, frowning when one couldn’t be found. His gaze landed upon the desk, and he stumbled over the items strewn about as he made a beeline for the lone piece of furniture. His hand reached up to drag the top drawer open, little legs stretching as far as they could to allow him to look inside. There were several keys that lay on the bottom of the drawer, but only one was carved ornately enough to match the old chest. Grinning at his prize, he seized it in his little fist, scrambling back over to the chest.

He let out a giggle as the key slipped easily into the lock, twisting it until a click could be heard. Looking behind him to make sure he was still alone, he lifted the lid of the trunk slowly. He vibrated with excitement at the thought of the treasures he might find, only to be met with the sight of trinkets tossed haphazardly inside. He reached a hand in to rummage through the piles of junk, frowning at the piles of nothing. He was about to close the lid once more when his fingers brushed against something soft, and his breath caught in his throat. He gave it a tug, but the object did not move. Huffing, he wrapped both hands around the object, grunting as he tugged it free from the confines of the trunk. He fell back with the force, landing against an old crate with a thud and a shout. He scowled at the crate, rubbing his backside before turning his attention to the prize at hand.

It was a seal pelt, the silver reminding him of the moonlight that danced through his window at night, the same beams that glittered atop the water of the sea. His hands ran over it, delighting in how soft it felt against his skin, and with a grin, he wrapped it up in his arms and ran out of the shack into the late afternoon sun.

His mother was hanging laundry out to dry, the sheets billowing in the wind as she pushed hair out of her face. Her stomach was swelling once more, just enough to be noticeable through her dress.

“Ma!” He cried out, running to her quick as his little feet could carry him. “Look what I found!”

She smiled down at him, gaze adoring before landing on the item in his hands. Her smile faded, the faraway look from that terrible night when his father had lost his temper returning to her face as she beheld the pelt in his hands.

Bradley and his sons walked up the path, smiling amongst each other as they hurried home, eager to be reunited with their mother and brother. Bradley’s eyes darted up the path, itching for a glimpse of his wife when his eyes landed on the scene unfurling before them. Her hands reached out to the pelt his youngest son held up to her, and his stomach dropped as he blanched.

“No!” He shouted, breaking out into a sprint up the path, but it was too late. Her fingers wrapped around the pelt, and something awakened inside of her, something long thought dead. A grin stretched across her face as she snatched the skin into her arms, letting out a delighted cry as she ran down the path, narrowly avoiding her husband’s arms and past her children. Bradley stopped short, turning on his heels to chase after her, legs pushing as hard as they could in a desperate attempt to catch her, hand reaching out to grab her. He was so close, fingers brushing the ends of her hair, but the call of her nature was stronger than any love he carried for her. She threw the pelt around her shoulders, a laugh leaving her as her feet touched the water, and with a leap into the air, the woman was once more a seal, landing in the water with a quiet plop. Bradley continued after her, feet pushing through the resistance of the sea as he clawed his way forward.

“Come back,” he cried, water up to his waist now. “Come back!”

It was no use, his wife was gone, stolen back by the sea, and tears streamed down his face as he scanned the surface for any sign of her. The water was oddly calm given how frantic he had become, and the despair inside him rose to a fever pitch, released in a guttural cry as he unleashed his anguish for the sea to hear.

“You promised!” He screamed, throat strained with the force of it. He let his face drop into his hands, clawing at the skin of his face as his eyes darted wildly all around like he was a man possessed. Sobs wracked through his body as the reality of what happened settled over him.

“Come back.”

Bradley was not the man he once was, and he would never be again. The house felt cold and empty with his wife gone, and he could not find it in him to do much of anything. Numbness filled his bones, the sorrow of losing that which he loved too much for his mind to bear. Most days were spent along the shore, desperate eyes searching for any sign of his wife before one of his children was able to coax him back to the house, usually well after the sun had disappeared below the horizon.

He didn’t eat much, sullen gaze turned down towards his plate, but never eating more than a mouthful or two of whatever was placed in front of him. His face grew gaunt as the weeks turned to months, dark circles growing under his eyes.

A house that was once filled with laughter now served as a tomb, the once happy memories enshrined within its four walls. The children no longer laughed, no longer played. The love of their mother was no longer there to keep them warm. Few words were uttered amongst each other, and no one was quite able to meet the eyes of another.

Utensils scraped against each other, not a word spoken as all eyes remained cast downward.

“I saw a seal today,” Rían whispered, jumping as the sound of metal dropped against a plate. Bradley’s eyes bored into his son, a haunted look on his face as he turned to him.

“What did you say?” He asked, leaning forward, tears gathering in his eyes. Rían stared at his father before casting a nervous glance to Ronan. Bradley pushed out of his chair, kneeling in front of his son as his hand gripped his shoulders painfully. Rían whimpered, trying to get out of his father’s grasp.

“Where did you see it?” Bradley rasped, voice croaking from under use. His nails dug into the boy’s skin, a pained cry spilling out of Rían’s lips. Ronan scrambled up out of his seat, hand wrapping around his father’s arms to try and pull him away from his brother.

“Tell me where you saw it!” Bradley shouted, shaking the boy roughly, eyes wild and unseeing.

“Da please!” Ronan hollered, pulling with all his might, and Bradley’s grip loosened, sending Rían flying back into his chair with a cry. Tears streamed down his face as he stared at his father, limbs trembling from fear. Bradley’s eyes focused, seeing his son for the first time in that moment.

“Rían,” he whispered, eyes darting around to look at the other two. Cillian sat on the opposite side of Rían, tears streaming down his own face as his bottom lip trembled in terror. Ronan stood behind him, face unreadable as stone as he watched his father.

“I’m,” Bradley breathed, stumbling to his feet as he ran a hand through his hair. “I’m so sorry.”

He didn’t wait for a response, exiting the room in a hurry.

The next day had them returning to their new normal. Ronan took charge of the fishing, bringing home what he could, which was just enough to keep everyone fed. Rían had taken up the housework in the absence of their mother, Cillian helping where he could at his young age.

Bradley’s days were spent at the shore, watching and waiting for a love that would never return to him. His thoughts often turned to the happier memories, of days spent in her embrace, the feel of her lips against his, the way she smiled at him. He longed for it. Longed for the time when he didn’t feel so alone, so listless.

The children had changed in the months since their mother left as well.

Ronan had taken up the mantle of provider, taking what he could to the village to barter and trade, but few would do dealings with someone who was not wholly human, mistrustful eyes that had once been focused on his mother now turned to him with disdain.

Rían’s once bright laughter was now nothing but a memory, something thought about only in passing now as he worked his way through the chores that needed doing. He slowly forgot how it felt to smile.

Cillian, who had once been the most inquisitive of the bunch, now never strayed far from his brothers, never moving far from sight. He did only as he was told, and his brothers started to wonder if he ever used to talk at all.

Much like every other night, it was Ronan who bade his father to return to the house once the sun set, frost hanging in the air now that winter was upon them. Bradley allowed himself to be pulled back to their home, head hung low as he trudged up the path behind his son. He sat in his chair by the fire, hand stretched out to hold someone who was not there as he stared into the flames, eyes unseeing, and his children wondered if they would forever see the unseen.

One by one, the boys left for bed, Ronan being the last to bid his father a goodnight, a frown tugging on his lips before shaking his head and disappearing around the corner.

Bradley sat motionless as the minutes turned to hours, still as a statue as he continued to mourn.

A knock sounded at the door, and he shifted in his seat. Another knock had his head turning in that direction. Who would be calling at that time of night? Slowly, he rose from his chair, walking towards the front door. He grasped the handle, twisting it and pulling it open.

The night was dark, the moon, which normally cast light onto the path that led down to the beach, was hidden behind the clouds. Bradley stared into the night, unfeeling and unmoving. He moved to close the door when a song rang out, the voice so alarmingly familiar.

Hò i hò i hì o hò i Hò i hò i hì o hì Hò i hò i hì o hò i Cha robh mi m' ònar a-raoir

'S mairg san tìr seo, 's mairg san tìr 'G ithe dhaoine 'n riochd a bhìdh Nach fhaic sibh ceannard an t-sluaigh Goil air teine gu cruaidh cruinn

His eyes alighted in recognition, tearing out of the house and onto the path as fast as his feet could carry him. The voice grew no closer as he ran, breaths coming out ragged as he gulped for air. The waves crashed against the shoreline as loud as thunder but never drowning out the voice he had longed to hear.

Hò i hò i hì o hò i Hò i hò i hì o hì Hò i hò i hì o hò i Cha robh mi m' ònar a-raoir

'S mise nighean Aoidh mhic Eòghainn Gum b' eòlach mi mu na sgeirean Gur mairg a dhèanadh mo bhualadh Bean uasal mi o thìr eile

He stopped, spinning wildly in search of her, crying out in frustration when he saw no one. A scream ripped its way through him, desperate and haggard as he continued to spin, only stopping when he caught sight of something on the dock. The same dock he and his lover had spent countless afternoons on, basking in the glow of each other and sharing stolen touches. He walked slowly towards it, boots crunching in the sand and then knocking against the wood as he came to the end of the dock. His eyes glistened with unshed tears as he kneeled down beside the small bundle.

Hò i hò i hì o hò i Hò i hò i hì o hì Hò i hò i hì o hò i Cha robh mi m' ònar a-raoir

Thig an smeòrach, thig an druid Thig gach eun a dh'ionnsaigh nid Thig am bradan thar a' chuain Gu Là Luain cha ghluaisear mis'

His hands reached out, stopping when the bundle moved, a gurgle sounding. His heart skipped a beat, the cold seeping through him in the winter’s night. It was then that the clouds moved, allowing the moon to shed light down on where Bradley crouched.

It was often said that Cillian was the son that bore the largest resemblance to his mother, but gazing at the babe in front of him, Bradley knew that this was the child his wife carried before she left. His hands crossed the distance to pick her up, hands gentle as he cooed down at her. He was struck then by the discovery that she was wrapped in silvery grey fur, the same size as a seal pup.

The baby let out a tiny cry, and Bradley shushed her softly, rocking her gently. He and his wife had discussed different names before that fateful day, but only one stuck out to him as he gazed at the babe in his arms.

“Aisling,” he whispered reverently, holding her tighter to his chest as tears streamed down his face. Aisling let out another cry as Bradley moved to stand, never taking his eyes off of her.

“‘s alright now,” he cooed, turning back towards the house. “Your da is here now, mo stóirín.”

His fingers wrapped around the fur with a frown. The small bundle in his arms would never leave him, not like her mother had. He would see to it this time.

Hò i hò i hì o hò i Hò i hò i hì o hì Hò i hò i hì o hò i Cha robh mi m' ònar a-raoir

A/N: I kid y'all not, this fic has been on my mind for MONTHS ever since someone suggested it. Selkies have always been one of my favorite stories from Celtic legends, and I really hope I did this justice because it was such a pleasure to write and pour my heart and soul into. I highly recommend you check out the stories if you have time because a lot of the inspiration for this fic came from them!

Another quick note as I wrap up here, I wanted to touch on the meaning of the names I chose. Ronan actually translates to "seal" or "oath, promise." Rían (pronounced Ree-on) means "king" or "ocean" depending on the etymology. Cillian (pronounced kill-ian) means "war, strife." Finally, Aisling (pronounced Ash-ling) means "dream, vision."

The first song I actually looked up the English translation, but it's a song sung by a woman who was stolen by the fae, calling out for her sister to come and help her. I thought it would be interesting to see it used in the reverse. The second song is actually one said to be sung by the selkies themselves, very fitting for this fic, I think.

Thank you all so much for reading this one! As always, reblogs and comments are appreciated. You can also find me on AO3 under sailor_aviator. Until next time!

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