#i can finally have my soul taken away in peace

[deniax18]

So does anyone still remember this game?

[oofthwoods]

CHAPTER ONE! ── ˙ ̟ bring home the glory !!

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 :: "what is a legacy? it's planting seeds in a garden you never get to see. i wrote some notes at the beginning of a song someone will sing for me". | a victorious journey always begins with a death and an offer.

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 :: funerals, grief and death. if you don't feel comfortable with these themes, go straight to the part after 2023. you won't lose much, i promise! the second part is somehow based on right hand man from hamilton, don't ask about it. this is pretty much a prologue number two tbh, but i still hope you enjoy it.

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 :: 3.2k

⭠ previous masterlist next ‭→

2021

In the solemn setting of the cemetery, the sun hung in the sky, seemingly unaware of the grief below. Its golden rays contrasted sharply with the darkness consuming your soul, each beam of light piercing through the heavy clouds of sorrow. As tears streaked your face, the warmth of the sun felt out of place, a painful reminder of the world's indifference to your shattered heart.

Standing beside the graveside, you looked up to the sky, seeking solace in its vastness. But the heavens offered no comfort, no relief from the ache within. You wondered why the sky remained clear, why it didn't reflect the storm of emotions raging inside you. Its serene blue expanse seemed to mock your devastation, its unwavering indifference amplifying your pain.

Your mother and her siblings stood ahead, their shoulders bowed under the weight of grief, their sobs a haunting melody that echoed through the air. But you stood alone, isolated in your sorrow, drowning in memories that threatened to consume you whole.

Memories of your grandfather flooded your mind like a deluge, each one a bittersweet reminder of the love you had lost. His laughter, once a source of joy and comfort, now felt distant and painful, a cruel reminder of all that had been taken from you. His stories, his wisdom, his gentle touch — they all seemed like distant echoes of a life that was slipping further and further away with each passing moment.

You recalled his final moments, the frailty of his form, the sadness in his eyes as he whispered his last words to you. "Be proud of who you are," he had said, his voice barely a whisper, his breath brushing against your cheek. "And never forget where you come from. Your roots are your strength, my dear." His words had been a lifeline in the storm of your grief, a reminder of the legacy he had left behind, of the love that would endure long after he was gone.

As you stood beside his grave, the words offered little solace. They felt empty, a faint reminder of the warmth once found in his embrace. You longed to reach out to him, to feel the warmth of his touch one last time, to beg for just a moment more in his comforting presence. But he was gone, lost to you forever in a world that seemed infinitely colder and darker without him.

You closed your eyes, allowing the tears to fall freely as you whispered your silent goodbyes to him, each word a prayer for his eternal peace. But even as you spoke, you knew that no amount of tears could ever hope to fill the void he had left behind, that no words could ever hope to capture the depth of your loss.

As you stood there, lost in your grief, the soft sound of footsteps approached from behind. You turned to see your mother returning, her eyes red and swollen from tears, her expression etched with the same pain that weighed heavily on your own heart. For a moment, you simply stood there, sharing a silent understanding born from the depths of your shared sadness.

Without a word, she wrapped you in a gentle hug, her arms providing solace amidst the whirlwind of emotions swirling around you. "I'm not sure I can go on without him, Mom," you murmured, your voice barely audible as you buried your face against her shoulder.

Her embrace tightened, her fingers gently combing through your hair. "I feel the same way, sweetheart. But we have to find strength, for his sake," she whispered softly, her words tinged with a mixture of sadness and determination.

As you leaned into her embrace, the weight of your grief seemed to press down upon you, threatening to crush you beneath its relentless force. Your mother's presence briefly brought comfort, like a delicate lifeline amidst the stormy sea of emotions swirling inside you.

"I miss him so much already," you confessed with your voice trembling. "It feels like a part of me is missing, like I'll never be whole again."

Her arms tightened around you, a silent reassurance that you were not alone. "I know, my love. I do too," she whispered, her voice thick with unshed tears. "He was the heart of our family, the glue that held us together."

A bittersweet silence fell between you, punctuated only by the soft rustle of leaves in the gentle breeze. Memories of your grandfather danced through your mind like flickering candle flames, casting shadows of laughter and love against the walls of your grief-stricken heart.

"Do you think he's watching over us?" you asked quietly, your voice barely a whisper in the stillness of the evening.

Her hand stilled against your hair. "I'd like to think so," she replied, her voice wavering with uncertainty. "I'd like to believe that he's found peace, that he's somewhere out there, looking down on us with love in his heart."

Tears welled in your eyes as you imagined him, a silent guardian in the heavens above, watching over you with a warmth that transcended the boundaries of life and death. "I hope he knows how much we love him," you whispered, your words a fervent prayer whispered into the vast expanse of the sky.

"I'm sure he does, my dear," she murmured, her voice soft with tenderness. "And I know that wherever he is, he'll always be with us, guiding us through the darkness, lighting our way with the love that he left behind."

As your mother's words gently washed over you, a sudden movement caught your eye. In the corner of your vision, a flash of royal blue fluttered amidst the solemn surroundings. You blinked, momentarily startled, before fixing your gaze on the delicate creature that alighted on a nearby branch.

A small gasp escaped your lips as you beheld the bird, its feathers shimmering like fragments of the sky woven into living form. With a heart full of wonder, you watched as it stretched its wings, basking in the fading light of the evening sun.

"We can leave now, if you're ready, sweetheart." her mother murmured, delicately turning her daughter's face to meet her own. 

As your mother looked into your eyes, you could see the sadness reflecting in them, speaking volumes on its own. Although she softly hinted that you could go if you wished, it was evident that she longed for some respite from the weight of your mutual grief. Beneath her calm demeanor, you sensed her vulnerability, a silent plea to escape the overpowering sorrow surrounding you both. With a simple nod, you silently agreed.

With a mix of sadness and resolve, you followed your mother's lead, letting her guide you away from the graveside and back into the world. While you walked together, a quick look back caught your attention, drawing your eyes to the scene you were departing. And there, on top of the gravestone, sat the blue bird, its colorful feathers standing out against the solemn surroundings.

For a moment, time seemed to stand still as you watched the bird, a silent sentinel overlooking the final resting place of your beloved grandfather. He seemed to look at you, and, if birds could smile, you would swear he did.

2023

You find yourself standing outside a closed door, your hand hesitantly reaching out to lightly tap against the wood. The muffled voices from within only add to your uncertainty, but the urgency of speaking with the team principal before the Abu Dhabi sprint pushes you to take action. Whatever discussion awaits behind that door must be significant enough to pull you away from your pre-race meeting with the mechanics.

In the stillness of the hallway, time seems to stretch endlessly as you wait for a response that never comes. With a mixture of nerves and anticipation coursing through your veins, you finally muster the courage to grasp the doorknob. Its cool metal provides a fleeting sense of reassurance as you turn it slowly, the hinges creaking softly in protest as the door swings open to reveal the dimly lit room beyond.

Inside, seated at a table, is Mr. Vowles, engrossed in conversation. Your presence at the threshold goes unnoticed for a moment until you gather your resolve and speak up, your voice barely above a whisper as you address him.

"Mr. Vowles, did you need to see me?" you venture, your words hanging in the air with a hint of uncertainty.

At the sound of your voice, James looks up, his expression softening into a welcoming smile.

"Williams, come in," he says, his warm tone instantly easing your nerves as he gestures for you to enter. "Have you met Sargeant?" he continues, motioning towards a figure standing nearby, their presence previously hidden in the shadows of the room.

As James mentions Logan, it's like a floodgate of memories bursting open, whisking you back to the time when you and Logan shared an unbreakable bond. You were inseparable, navigating the twists and turns of life at the academy with laughter, support, and a shared vision of the future.

But as the competition for a spot in Formula One heated up, your friendship began to strain. What started as friendly competition slowly morphed into something more complicated. The pressure mounted, and with it came a subtle shift in your relationship. Each race seemed to drive a wedge between you, rather than bringing you closer.

It was at the peak of your rivalry that things started to unravel. Every little disagreement or perceived slight seemed to fester, poisoning the once vibrant atmosphere between you. Despite your efforts to keep up appearances, there was an underlying tension that threatened to fracture your bond.

When Logan secured a seat at Williams while you remained in F2, a whirlwind of emotions swept over you. Of course, you were genuinely happy for him, but there was also a pang of envy and disappointment gnawing at your heart. It felt like a piece of your own dream slipping away, leaving you grappling with a sense of loss you couldn't quite shake.

And then, just when you thought things couldn't get any more complicated, James hinted at the possibility of you stepping into Logan's shoes. The idea of replacing your friend-turned-competitor added another layer of complexity to an already tangled web of emotions. It was a constant battle between your ambition and the fear of losing the one person who had been by your side through it all.

"Yes, sir," you respond, choosing a simple response. Logan's gaze meets yours, seeming to ignite with intensity. "We keep on meeting"

In a deliberate choice of silence, Logan sidestepped any engagement with you, his eyes fixed on the team leader instead. "As I was just saying," he began, his voice brimming with confidence, "I truly believe that with these adjustments, I can improve my control over the car."

James reciprocated Logan's smile, though his gaze hinted at a wandering mind. "Sargeant?" he interrupted, signaling a shift in focus to another pressing matter.

"Yes, sir?" Sergeant replied promptly, ready for further instructions.

"We'll talk about this later. Close the door on your way out," James commanded, his tone decisive, drawing their exchange to a close.

As Logan's footsteps faltered on his way out, a pang of unease settled in your chest. You couldn't shake the guilt that crept in, knowing your success might come at the cost of his dreams.

In the relentless world of Formula One, sentimentality was a luxury few could afford. You grappled with the harsh reality that success often meant sacrificing the dreams of others. It was a something you had grappled with since the beginning of your journey, one that forced you to confront the truth that in this fiercely competitive arena, there would always be someone waiting in the wings to take your place if you faltered.

As you redirected your focus towards James, the man who now held the reins of your family's team, you couldn't help but reflect on the rarity of such a moment. Conversations with him had been few and far between, a testament to the typical hierarchy within Formula One teams where direct interaction between a team leader and a junior driver, especially mere hours before a pivotal race, was uncommon.

“Have I done something wrong, sir?” You ventured, a tinge of uncertainty coloring your tone.

"Not at all, quite the opposite actually," James responded, rising from his seat and leaning casually against the table, his arms folded. "Your stats this season are impressive—seven wins, numerous podium finishes. You've got a bright future ahead of you. But here's the thing, every day I see offers come across my desk to buy out your contract, and frankly, I find it amusing."

"Uh, sorry, I'm not following," you admitted, furrowing your brow in confusion.

"Williams, why is it that no team seems to be able to snag you?" James clarified, a hint of curiosity lacing his words. "You're undeniably talented, but turning down offers from big names like Alpine and Alpha Tauri might not be the smartest move."

"To drive their tractor, or worse, become a reserve driver? I don't think so." you remarked with a disbelieving smirk.

"Think about it, a spot at Alpha Tauri could open doors at Red Bull down the line," James suggested, attempting to sway your perspective.

"Everyone knows they have their sights set on Daniel Ricciardo, or Liam Lawson at best" you countered, a note of frustration creeping into your voice. "I'm a bit lost here. Why are you laying all this out for me?" you questioned, a perplexed furrow creasing your brow. You knew full well the offers on the table and why you were declining them. James likely wasn't in the dark about your reasons either.

"I'm just being honest with you," He replied, his tone carrying a hint of earnestness. His hand reached up to rub his forehead, fingers tracing over the lines etched there as if seeking solace in the familiar. "We're on a tight budget," he explained, a touch of resignation in his voice. "We're short on engineers and mechanics compared to almost everyone else, except maybe Haas and Sauber. While we've made progress since last year, I can't promise our car will match up to the competition next season."

James lifted his gaze, fixing it upon you with a mixture of earnestness and concern. "I'm not one to squander talent. I know you've got your reasons for sticking with us, and I'm grateful for the opportunity to have you on board. But I can't move forward without ensuring you understand exactly what you're signing up for."

"I'm just asking for a shot, James. Just one chance to prove that we've still got what it takes," you implored, your words tinged with determination. Images of past triumphs flickered through your mind, a reminder of the team's glory days.

With a weary smile, James let out a soft sigh. "Seems like sheer tenacity runs in the family, huh?"

"They used to say I took after my grandmother," you remarked casually, a wistful grin playing on your lips.

Turning to the desk, the man retrieved a piece of paper from a drawer, his movements deliberate and measured. "What are the odds?"

You knew precisely what he was referring to. "Iwasa's already out of the running. If I take the sprint, I'll have enough points to clinch the championship."

Extending the contract towards you, James presented it as if unveiling a glimpse of what lay ahead. "Win this championship, and the seat is yours."

The weight of his words hung heavy in the air, mingling with the anticipation that crackled between you. With the contract poised like a tantalizing promise, the room seemed to hold its breath.

You reached out tentatively, fingers hovering over the document that held the potential to shape your future. The paper felt crisp beneath your touch.

"I know it's a risk, trading one rookie for another" James conceded, his voice tinged with a hint of apprehension. "But I believe in you, and I need someone who believes in this team."

A surge of determination coursed through your veins, bolstered by James's unwavering faith. "I won't let you down," you vowed, your voice steady despite the flutter of nerves in her chest.

"TO TOP OFF AN INCREDIBLE SEASON, Y/N WILLIAMS WINS THE ABU DHABI SPRINT AND HAS ENOUGH POINTS TO CROWN HERSELF A CHAMPION." The narrator's voice reverberated through the sprawling circuit, amplifying the momentous declaration that crowned your achievement.

The roar of victory surged through the airwaves as your race engineer's voice erupted over the radio, a symphony of celebration. "You did it, Williams! Formula 2 champion, with one race to spare!"

Amidst the cacophony of cheers echoing from Rodin Carlin's garage, you felt a surge of adrenaline coursing through your veins, the weight of your accomplishment settling upon your shoulders like a mantle of triumph. Your mind raced with a whirlwind of emotions, a torrent of exclamations, gratitude, and tears that threatened to overwhelm your senses.

As you gradually eased the car to a decelerating pace, you couldn't help but feel the swell of pride and disbelief wash over you. With trembling hands, you lifted them skyward in a gesture of reverence, a silent tribute to the one who had inspired you journey.

"This one's for you, grandpa," you murmured, your voice a whisper against the backdrop of roaring engines and jubilant cheers. "I hope you're proud up there."

Amidst the jubilant chaos enveloping the pit lane, your thoughts swirled like a tempestuous storm, each emotion vying for dominance in the tumult of your mind. As you joined in the exultant cheers of your team, a sense of disbelief mingled with elation, the reality of your victory sinking in with each heartbeat.

In the midst of the celebration, you couldn't help but steal a moment to glance towards the podium, where your destiny awaited. The anticipation pulsed within you, a heady mixture of excitement and nervous energy propelling youforward.

As you ascended to the highest step, each stride felt like a triumph, a testament to the countless hours of dedication and sacrifice that have led you to this pinnacle moment. Your mind hummed with a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions, a kaleidoscope of memories and aspirations swirling in the depths of your consciousness.

The thunderous roar of the crowd enveloped you like a tidal wave, the sound of applause echoing in your ears as you stand upon the podium, bathed in the radiant glow of the spotlight. Your chest swells with pride, your heart beating in time with the pulsating energy of the spectators.

Locking eyes with James amidst the sea of faces, you feel a surge of excitement washing over you. There's a silent understanding that passes between you, a shared recognition of the journey you will embark upon together. In that fleeting moment, as your gazes meet, you know with a certainty that transcends words— you'll be signing that contract.

With a triumphant smile, you raise the championship trophy high above your head, the weight of your accomplishment buoyed by the unwavering support of your team and your unyielding belief in yourself.

And in the middle of the bustling paddock, a blue bird chirped happily, swooping towards the girl as she lifted the trophy high. It appeared as though he'd be sticking around a while longer.

taglist (tell me if you want to be added or removed <3 | italic means i couldn't tag you) :: @formulanni @clownrrari @leilanixx @notyouraveragemochii @alliwantisadonut @oooom4rie @watermelon-sugars-things @glitterquadricorn @minkyungseokie @formulaal @itsjustkhaos @thebearchives @hiireadstuff @laura-naruto-fan1998 @cptg00s3 @welovediaaxx @eugene-emt-roe @cha-hot

[osachiyo]

𝕱𝖆𝖎𝖙 𝖆𝖛𝖊𝖈 𝖆𝖒𝖔𝖚𝖗 · dazai, chuuya & fyodor .ೃ࿐

· 𝔴𝔞𝔯𝔫𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔰 𐙚 none, gn reader, sfw content, fluff, petnames, headcanons + little scenarios, not proofread

· 𝔫𝔬𝔱𝔢𝔰 𐙚 sorry these are really short, im just trying to clear out as many requests as i can for now :') i was gonna add sigma n fukuzawa too but i wanted to get it out asap so i can work on my other wips. also ! i might focus a little more on fluff for the time being :) happy reading and hope you guys enjoyed !

𝖘𝖞𝖕𝖓𝖔𝖘𝖎𝖘... just some cute scenarios with some of the bsd men ᡣ𐭩

dazai.. was an interesting man. he never got flustered no matter how much you flirted with him, not even blushing when you did provocative actions like sitting on his lap, or whispering dirty words into his ear.

instead, he somehow counters your lines with his own — leaving you the one flustered.

but when you give him genuine compliments, or do something nice for him genuinely from the goodness of your heart, the same man who's seemingly unaffected by your advances, somehow turns into putty — melting in the clutch of your warm grasp.

in the quiet sanctuary of your shared bedroom, you hummed sweet words against dazai's dark locks, your lips finding solace on the crown of his head. "you're so pretty," you whispered, a genuine compliment that seemed to momentarily lift the weight of his rough day.

"darling, not as pretty as you," he chuckled, his voice muffled as he buried his face in your chest. the day had taken its toll on him, a tough mission leaving him with more than a fair share of injuries. but those details could wait for another time.

for dazai, these moments were treasures. lying in your arms or having you nestled in his, the simple pleasure of each other's company became a haven. the absence of distractions allowed him to savor the rare peace he found with you, a feeling that almost made him giddy.

your words, genuine and warm, were like a balm for his weary soul. in these moments, he set aside his usual snarky quips and jokes, content to bask in the embrace and scent that spoke of comfort and home. the sincerity in your praise quickened his heartbeat, and for once, dazai didn't need to hide behind humor.

though his face was hidden from your view, dazai couldn't conceal the flush of pink spreading across his cheeks. it was a secret shared only with the solitude of your embrace — a silent acknowledgment of the vulnerability and affection that blossomed in these stolen moments of peace.

considering chuuya's job, you two don't get to spend too much time together. but you had already known and accepted that when you started dating him.

though, when you two do get to spend some quality time together — it's all worth it. he makes sure to spoil you with his affection and attention when he has the chance — making up for all the time he's neglected you.

and after a whole day of getting spoiled by him — visiting fancy and expensive places, tasting amazing food, drinking the finest wine, you finally get to relax at home with your favorite person.

"quit scrunching that handsome face, babe," you sighed, smoothing the furrowed lines of his brows with your thumbs, delicately working the cleanser into his skin. chuuya simply hummed, surrendering to the soothing sensation and leaning into your touch.

"and what's the deal with this?" he asked, his arms enveloping your waist — right where they belonged. "it's just cleanser, does what it says — cleans your skin." chuuya hummed again, drawing small circles on your hips, "just make sure it stays out of my eyes, okay?" you rolled your eyes, adjusting yourself on his lap for better comfort, "obviously."

after rinsing off the cleanser and following through with the skincare routine you'd picked, chuuya stared at his reflection in the mirror — bunny headband adorning his head, bangs swept back and away from his face, which now felt surprisingly soft. "holy shit, my face feels so...smooth?" he blinked, gently squishing his own cheeks. you approached from behind, planting a tender kiss on his neck — "i did tell you my skincare routine works wonders."

"heh, yeah," he chuckled, turning to face you, playfully squishing your cheeks together before planting a soft kiss on your lips, "now it's your turn, love. your skin deserves some of that magic too."

fyodor was a busy man, you always catch him in that dimly lit room — typing away while staring at his monitors. with all the plotting, scheming and hacking — he never really has any time left to take real care of himself.

and that's exactly what you're here for — dragging him out of the dingy room, not paying any attention to his complaints or threats, you know he doesn't mean them.

taking off his ushanka, you wonder how much time had it actually been since he's properly washed his hair — but you didn't ask him that, knowing he'd be even more irritated.

fyodor's complaints ceased once you proposed a shared bath, both of you disrobing before slipping into the warm water. the temperature, meticulously adjusted to his liking, showcased your thoughtful consideration. though the usual positions were reversed, with him against your chest, it was necessary for you to tend to his hair.

"right there, love," fedya sighed in content, tilting his head back and savoring your touch. your fingers massaged the shampoo into his hair, focusing on his scalp. "feel good, huh?" you smiled, placing sweet kisses on the pale skin of his exposed neck before gently rinsing away the shampoo from his raven locks.

these tranquil moments held a special place in his heart. simple yet profound, they kindled a warmth within him. your loving gaze had the power to thaw even his typically cold heart. in those tender glances, he found a promise to himself — to craft the perfect world for both of you.

©sachiyoh— do not copy, plagiarize and repost my works to any platform, reblogs are very appreciated♡

tags ・ @hopefulpain @inkmooon @constant-existential-terror @nda-approval @mellieellie @seiiushi @lynxxyyy @kentopedia

@sorasushik1 @himebwrries @nopethenope @neviex @fyodorisbbg @stygianoir @saharei @x-lunawrites-x @munnaitorei @emyyy007 @dearhoney-31 @the-foreigner @angoisfine @osaemu @honeycombflowers-blog @yuiiasathesilly @kaithegremlin @squigglewigglewoo @cupidszvlvr @ashthemadwriter-archived @bloobewy @mrs-bakugou @hauntedsol @ask-me-or-not @hanakotateyama @kissesmellow21 @dazaichuuya69 @xxsilverjackalxx @gettinshiggywithit @deaths-presence @sugaredpersimmon @rjssierjrie @iheartpieck @angelof-darkness @dazaisimpletmereadfanficspls @hellokitty-4-lele @scinclaitnoir @aly-insanity @kemis-world @bisexuawolfsalt @thateldribitch

[mellowwillowy]

𝐘𝐚𝐧! 𝐌𝐚𝐟𝐢𝐚 𝐑𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 x GN Reader

⤷ warnings — everyone is depressed :), masterpost

—𝒀𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒐𝒃𝒆𝒓 - 𝑳𝑰𝒇𝑬 𝑷𝒓𝒐𝒋𝒆𝒄𝒕 𝑬𝒗𝒆𝒏𝒕

𝐘𝐚𝐧! 𝐌𝐚𝐟𝐢𝐚 𝐑𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 who hates his work so much and despises the fact that he has to stay involved unless he wants his hard work in protecting you crushed down.

𝐘𝐚𝐧! 𝐌𝐚𝐟𝐢𝐚 𝐑𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 who is a ruthless man nonetheless, stepping on anyone's fingers who tries to graze you with his boots, watching them wailing and trying to wriggle out of it.

"Such bug must really be squashed dead huh?"

𝐘𝐚𝐧! 𝐌𝐚𝐟𝐢𝐚 𝐑𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 who will sometimes take the belongings of his dead enemies for you to collect. Whatever it is that manages to catch his and your interest is as good as yours now.

"You know, how about we make a deal? Give me this thing and I'll let you die in a more peaceful and easy way."

𝐘𝐚𝐧! 𝐌𝐚𝐟𝐢𝐚 𝐑𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 who hates the idea of seeing even a soul sneering at you. Anyone who makes the slightest bit of rude remarks toward you will be faced with his fist immediately, no matter where they are.

"Say. That. Again. And. I. Will. Make. Sure. You. Can't. Talk. Anymore."

𝐘𝐚𝐧! 𝐌𝐚𝐟𝐢𝐚 𝐑𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 who is not a talkative man but will always tell you about his day as he strokes your hair, watching you sleep peacefully. He doesn't like telling people about himself but all that is thrown out of the window when it comes to you.

𝐘𝐚𝐧! 𝐌𝐚𝐟𝐢𝐚 𝐑𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 who is indeed a loyal man, never indulging himself in the parties where women and men are involved with each other.

"Never seen ya' with anyone wrapped around your arm. Come get a taste of it!"

"If I were you, I'd immediately run along before I make you taste my gun's bullet."

𝐘𝐚𝐧! 𝐌𝐚𝐟𝐢𝐚 𝐑𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 who is tired of living, had it not been for you, he would have long chosen to kill himself and after you into oblivion. But that would simply mean he is wasting away all the troubles he had gone through just for his current standing.

𝐘𝐚𝐧! 𝐌𝐚𝐟𝐢𝐚 𝐑𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 who can never rest in peace because of you and the organization he's leading. He shouldn't have taken this position, and shouldn't have shot the previous ringleader down after the revolution he led. But he needs power and being that man's right-hand man wasn't enough.

"ELEANOR! IS THIS HOW A DOG SUPPOSED TO REPAY HIS MASTER'S KINDNESS?!"

"... Hey, unfortunately enough... I have never even once considered you to be my 'Master'. I'll let you go with your pride still intact, see you again."

𝐘𝐚𝐧! 𝐌𝐚𝐟𝐢𝐚 𝐑𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 who likes to tend the garden in place for your bedridden state. You love flowers and it truly would be a shame if the flowers have to wilt because no one takes care of it. Well... never mind that he'll just ask the gardener to tend it again later when he's absent.

𝐘𝐚𝐧! 𝐌𝐚𝐟𝐢𝐚 𝐑𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 who watches how the house that was once white slowly darkens into pitch black, just like how he is dragged deeper into the underground world. Reality and Fantasy, these are truly a shackle of curse to him.

𝐘𝐚𝐧! 𝐌𝐚𝐟𝐢𝐚 𝐑𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 who likes to sit in front of the grandfather's clock, sipping his share of tea while flipping through the album photo of you two. All was great until you decided to commit something foolish that dragged him into the underworld.

𝐘𝐚𝐧! 𝐌𝐚𝐟𝐢𝐚 𝐑𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 who likes to stroke your hair absentmindedly, watching you sleep while your chest heaves up and down. Always sleeping and never awake. He enjoys humming the lullaby that you have always been fond of, hoping that it'll somehow reach your ears.

𝐘𝐚𝐧! 𝐌𝐚𝐟𝐢𝐚 𝐑𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 who likes to play the Russian roulette with himself, will the dice finally choose to take him? Nonetheless, the dice is kind enough to make him survive for another day to take care of you.

𝐘𝐚𝐧! 𝐌𝐚𝐟𝐢𝐚 𝐑𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 who can not sleep in peace as he cradles your limp body, worries endowed in him as the thought of his enemies slipping into his manor and taking you away from him. They know a better way to kill him after all, and that is by taking you hostage rather than torturing him to death.

𝐘𝐚𝐧! 𝐌𝐚𝐟𝐢𝐚 𝐑𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 who will always make sure that you are breathing, his ear placed on your chest, listening to your heartbeat. The idea of your life slipping away from your comatose body terrifies him.

"... Good night." Eleanor places a kiss on your forehead before hugging your body, the two of you hiding beneath the cover of a blanket.

Ongoing Poll

[ginnsinabin]

general link hcs

+gen neutral

+botw/totk link

-Link always keeps an eye on you no matter what’s happening. In a fight he always knows where you are, walking through a village he keeps you in his line of sight and when riding together around Hyrule he not only watches you but also the tree lines if danger were to present itself

-While he is often with the princess, he still tries to make as much time as possible to be with you or have you with him wherever he goes

-Poor guy can’t bear the thought of not only loosing someone he loves more than anything but to fail at his job as a hero in protecting you would eat away at his soul

-Links most favorite kind of date with you is a simple trail ride on your horses with a picnic and nap under a cozy tree

-In his life of never ending chaos, having soft calming moments with you brings his mind at ease, having even just a moment of a peaceful life makes him happy

-Zelda will sometimes ask link of his whereabouts when not at her side and will happily giggle and tease him when he grows a light flush and is reluctant to tell

-She knows exactly where he was and it brings her joy knowing that link can finally have a piece of a normal hylian life with someone he loves, he of all people deserves it 

-Zelda will bring you around the castle and any excursions to not only spend time with you but to also let you and link spend more time together. It’s not a lie that the hero’s time is taken with his duties more often than not so she takes it upon herself to bring you two together

-It warms her heart to see two people she loves together

-While link knows that you can most certainly take care of yourself in battle, he always tries to take care of most if not all the danger before it even has a chance to reach you

-He wouldn’t ever admit to this for fear of belittling you, but he can’t let anything even bring the possibility of harm to you. From all that he’s lost and had taken away from him, he will die before he lets the world take you away from him

-Link is a man that thrives on quality time and physical touch

-He never gave it much thought before but after meeting you he doesn’t think he could ever live without it

-When you two are together you can guarantee that he will always be touching you in some way whether it’s holding your hand, cuddling or even just your arms or legs brushing against each other

-It grounds him to know that you’re really there with him and that you’re not going anywhere anytime soon

-No matter how long or tough his fights are, he will always come home with a rare smile on his face, no matter how battered and bruised he is he will always rush to get home to you

-In link’s saddle bag he always makes sure to have enough stuff for the both of you but will put in any extra things that he knows you like

-As much as he protects the whole world, it brings him to his knees if you dote on him. He might be reluctant at first but he will never say no, never to you.

- It makes his heart nearly explode having you take care of his sore and weary muscles and bones, always wanting to repay you but is always shot down with a “you do enough, let someone do something for you for once”

-Will melt if you have him put his head on your lap or chest while having down time at the house and will drift to sleep, feeling nothing but love and peace 

(A/N: totk has had me in a goddamn choke hold for days the same way botw did so now I gotta make my brain happy being apart of the world. More wrench stuff to come tho, that psycho always has my heart)

[winterarmyy]

Promise Me | Part III

When he was sent out for war, Bucky made a promise to his lover that might just last through several lifetimes.

Navigation: Part I | Part II | Part III (end)

Words: 4.2k++

Pairing: 40s!bucky / eventually tfatws!bucky x female!reader

Warnings: angst but happy ending. The anticipation, the hesitation, yup it was real in this one. Not enough dialogue in my opinion but meh my brain was not braining. Bucky's scene before their official reunion.

P/S: Yeay, it's a wrap. Sorry for the delay guys. I'm still sick but feeling better, so that's a good news! This is the final part if the mini series, I hope you enjoy!

Read my other works here: Masterlist

Louisiana, 2024 – New beginning

War after war, from one fight into another, Bucky finally had the chance to catch a breath for himself. With the flagsmashers gone and Sam being the new Captain America just as Steve envisioned, there was a moment of peace for Bucky's tortured soul to finally rest.

He sat at the deck area of Sam's ship, watching the sun meets the ocean over the horizon, occasionally sipping on his probably fifth bottle of beer.

When he drowned himself in the memories of the events that happened these past few months, suddenly the tranquil of the sunset ahead of him doesn't interest him the least; not when a certain person had been occupying his mind.

Replaying all the twists and turns of his journey fighting those rogue group of super soldiers, one person had been but remained a mystery to him.

The Deathstalker.

It was the one puzzle piece that didn't seemed fit in the picture. As if she was plucked out entirely from a different story, a riddle that would lead him into another adventure beyond the unknown.

He still remembered the way her hands trembled against his face, tears pooling in her eyes that then fell into her mask as she muttered his name again and again.

Bucky gulped as his eyes loomed over hers, "Who are you?"

The Deathstalker seemed to be taken aback by his question. Her mutterings stopped and her eyes locked on his blue ones; there was hesitation in her gaze, or a contemplation of an answer that Bucky was dying to know.

"I-- i'm--" her words stumbled as her feet dragged backwards, putting some space between herself and Bucky.

Bucky's heart stammered in anticipation, he had a gut feeling that she wasn't just someone that he had crossed path with once or twice. He could tell they had some kind of a long history, a deeper connection; Where? When? He wasn't sure. He just knew it that there was something special between them, especially when she looked at him with such eyes.

But before she could give a definite answer, multiple groups of bounty hunters started to re-gather in their area. Zemo came in clutch with a car, picking up the injured Sam with the help of Sharon.

Bucky can hear Sharon's voice yelling out his name yet he didn't move an inch and within minutes they were surrounded by the hunters.

What was it that gave him such courage to court death just to hear her answer? Was it just purely out of curiosity or was it some kind of delusional hope that intrigued his soul?

Y/N looked around to assess their dire situation before gazing up at the taller. She knew this wasn't the best time for the truth and her hesitation only makes it worst.

But when, Bucky held out his hand towards her, "Come with me." there was a strong pull that made her wanted to just give in and take his hand.

And Bucky didn't know why he reached out for her, but it felt right. She glanced in between his hand and his pleading eyes, her own hand twitching, almost submitting to her desire but the last minute she decided to stand on her ground.

Y/N ended up turning her back and fled away, leaving her lover's hand hanging and his question unanswered.

Through the time that Bucky was deep in his memories, he may or may not have unintentionally bored his gaze towards Sarah's direction, which only triggered Sam into a protective brother that he is, "Don't flirt with my sister." He warned.

Bucky briefly scoffed and denied his accusations, "I'm not." He sipped on his bottle as he averted his gaze away.

The look on Sam's face seemed like he was trying to glare into Bucky's soul; he was sceptical with the his deflection. But the brunette only rolled his eyes in response as he spoke, "Seriously. I'm not interested." He continued before Sam couldn't interject, "Not that there's anything wrong with her.. it's just..." 

Seeing Bucky's struggles to find an excuse, Sam curiously quirked, "It's just that you already have a girl in mind?" He suggested.

There was a hint of softness in Bucky's smile when he ran his thumb across the glossy sticker of the bottle, "I had a girl." He spoke dearly as his eyes diluted into another spiral of scattered memories of his past lover, "I had the best girl."

Since the truth that was unfolded in Madripoor, Y/N had been keeping tabs on Bucky. At first, she couldn't believe it. She had to put everything about the super soldier serum on hold, to uncover more of Bucky's survival.

As it turn out, he managed to survive the fall from the train back in 1945 and had been brainwashed into a lethal weapon for Hydra for years after that.

His identity had been a secret for decades but since the fall of Hydra a few years back, the whole world knew who the Winter Soldier was. However, the people in the underground world was much fond of his villain's name, rather than the name of a war hero when it comes to addressing him.

Therefore, the lack of use of his real name had been one of the reason why Y/N was not aware of his existence. Not to mention, when he made his first public appearance when the bombing at Washington D.C. happened, she was determined to leave anything related to her past life behind and was trying to live a new life away in Singapore.

Then, a few years after that, when she came back to New York during the first year of the blip, Bucky was unfortunately, one of the people who vanished.

But, those things doesn't matter anymore now that she knew he was alive. Her Bucky. Her James. He's alive. Y/N couldn't remember the last time she was this happy, this overjoyed. That night, she couldn't sleep very well; not when her heart was working overtime all through the night.

Ever since then, she had been lurking around Bucky and Sam most of the time. Besides, her own mission of making sure the super soldier serum doesn't fall into the wrong hands and to put an end to the flagsmasher, Y/N was also there just to see Bucky.

She couldn't help it.

Imagine living a somewhat immortal life without a piece of your heart for decades. Withering to the fact that you can never see your lover, not in life nor in death; Or spending days and nights, missing and longing for his soul to be one with yours again.

And then suddenly discovering he was still alive.

Of course, she would use any excuse to see him every single day without fail. But at the same time, she didn't want to make things more complicated than it already was. With the crisis of the vigilante super soldiers, she didn't think it would be wise to reveal herself to Bucky anytime soon.

So, she stayed in the shadows instead, refuse to make herself known to Bucky. Whether as the Deathstalker or as Y/N.

Except for that one time that she decided to help him.

Bucky looked around the parking lot, trying to make a decision on which vehicle would be easiest for him to hijack. That was when he heard her signature robotic voice, "Hey, sarge!" She yelled.

He followed her voice upwards to see her feet dangling in the air, as she sat on the edge of the metal of the fire escape stairs. He hadn't seen her since their first encounter at Madripoor, "You..." Bucky whispered quietly.

Now that he thought about it, did she just call him by his title?

She titled her head to the side, "Do you require any assistance, sargent?" She asked nonchalantly as if they have been buddies for years.

Yup, she did used his title. 

Bucky's signature frown only deepened when she insinuated a jest-like tone. He wasn't sure whether she was trying to appear friendly in order to help him or slow him down. So be safe, his defence went up when he straighten his back into a stance.

When Y/N saw how his guard changed, she decided to get straight to the point, "I didn't come all the way here to fight with you, James" she leaned as if it'll close the distance between them.

She wondered if her words trigger a memory in him; after all, she did use the similar sentence in 1943 when Steve rescued him from Hydra's captivity. But the lack of response from Bucky told her otherwise. Perhaps, it was too long of past for him to remember, or it wasn't significant enough for him.

Bucky's brows quirked when she yelled, "Heads up." and his hand rose up to catch whatever it was she threw down at him.

Y/N briefly titled her head forward as she spoke, "Far left. The black bike." In which Bucky briefly followed her directions, to indeed see a black bike parked at the spot.

Bucky wordlessly turned his head back and gaze up at her with a questioning look on his face. He couldn't see her behind that mask she was wearing but if he could, he would've see her smiling, "You need it more than I do."

It has been a few months since that night. And she was still lurking somewhere in the dark. Everywhere he goes, she will be right around the corner; watching, observing.

Even now, when she found herself standing on one of the boardwalk in Louisiana, near where Sam's boat resides. There was no denying that she was sort of being a creep, basically stalking Bucky from where she was standing.

From this distance, she could see that Bucky was having the time of his life entertaining the kids with his left arm; or maybe the kids were, when they compete each other on how long they can last hanging from the vibranium metal.

Y/N just had to smile seeing him happy like this. Her heart bloomed with warmth that she never thought she would ever had the chance feel again. Bucky looked as if he was finally at peace, and that made her doubt if it was a good idea to insert herself in his life now.

She believed that he derserve a happy ending. After all he had gone through all those years, he should be able to have the luxury of having a completely new life, a new beginning. Away from the past that are just filled with painful memories and dreadful suffering. To find love again and live a long happy life where she is nothing but a distant memory.

He deserve that.

But is that what she truly wanted?

Brooklyn, 2024 – Truth Untold

"That'll be $25, sir." The red-haired smiled as she handed Bucky his usual order. He paid accordingly as he took it off her hands and walked out of the cozy little shop at the corner of the busy city street.

His gloved hand gripped onto the stem of the bouquet, as his dark and tall silhouette slithered through the crowd. Everybody seemed to be entranced with whatever it was on the screen of their phones, while Bucky felt like he was out of place and time with arrangement of primroses in his hands.

The hustle bustle of the city slowly transitioned into a much calmer and quieter scenary. He walked passed the rusty, almost deteriorating entrance gate, nodding to the old ground keeper as he passed by. He knew he could get lost if he doesn't keep his focus, yet his eyes remained on the petals of the flowers, gambling his trust in his feet to bring him to the only spot they recognized.

"Hey, doll." Bucky greeted, gripping on the stem a little tighter as he read the name of his lover on the worn-looking headstone. Months of cleaning and tending her grave, it still looked grey and sombre compared to when he first visited; but that tends to happen to a grave is been left out since the 70's.

He lowered into a crouching position and placed the flowers in front of the headstone, "I'm sorry I've been missing some weeks on ya. Duty calls." Bucky knew that wasn't a good excuse to miss their dates but the flagsmashers events had caused him to skip this little Tuesday routine of his.

As depressing it might sound, he missed coming here.

Besides going to therapy, this has been the only place where Bucky talks the most about his feelings. Though it might be completely a one-sided conversation, but he could spend hours talking to her. Telling her anything and everything that's been going on in that pretty head of his. No matter how scrambled and messy it was up there.

Bucky traced his fingers to the words engraved in the stone; it read 'Beloved daughter, sister, aunt, and friend.' Each title were delightful as they were but then again, she could've been 'a lovely wife' and 'a great mother', but she didn't.

"Why didn't you?" Bucky whispered quietly. "I just know that men must've been thrilled chasing after you, begging on their knees for your hand." He chuckled as he remembered all those times when his friends would ogle over her whenever he brought her out for a dance, "And you'd be a wonderful mother too." Knowing her gentle nature and how the kids in the hospital adored her, he just knew she would be.

His heart pierced painfully to think that she might have grown old alone, and died without family of her own. "You should've live a happy life, y/n. Marry a good man, build a family." Tears that pooled started to drip from the corner of his eyes, each tore an aching sob from his throat, "And I wished I could've be there with you."

It wasn't rare for Bucky to cry during his visits to Y/N's grave. He is the most vulnerable when he's with her; even in death, being around her has been comforting for his soul.

Y/N could clearly hear the sound of his sniffles when she stood closer to him like this. She spend day after day, gathering the courage and figuring out what to say if she ever confronted Bucky.

But in the end, the fact that Bucky was just within her reach, living, breathing; it broke whatever plan she had in her mind.

It still felt like a dream. A lucid one.

Bucky knew that was someone standing behind him; but he felt no sorts of vendetta from the person and if they mean him any harm, they would've done it sooner. He roughly stroke his palm across his face in effort to hide the tears streaks away and took a deep breath as he stood on his feet.

Whoever he had in mind, well it was definitely not that person who was standing behind him right now. It totally caught him off guard when he saw the Deathstalker standing in front of him instead of any other familiar faces.

Though her identity was still hidden, but instead of her combat attire, she was in a much comfortable clothes. Casual sneakers, basic jeans, an oversize sweater, its hood pulled over her head and a soft cloth mask covering her lower face.

Despite the change of style, her eyes were still the same. Big, brown and Bucky could only describe them to be filled with curiosity and concern as they looked up at him. He could feel the burn from the drag of her gaze on each part of his features; the softness of his lips, the red of his nose and especially the puffiness of his eyes.

He broke the silence when he started the conversation, "I assume that you're not going to fight me." He said, "At least you don't look like you're equipped for it..." Bucky pointed out the obvious.

Y/N took a few seconds of silent blinking before she responded with a shook of her head.

The lack of verbal response somehow caused him to feel slightly awkward. Rubbing the back on his neck, Bucky titled his head to the side, "So... you're here for your bike?" He asked. He still hold on to the bike that she lend to him, though it was back at his place, if that's what she wanted.

Her eyes curved into a pair of cresent moons, a side effect of a smile that Bucky couldn't see. She shook her head again to deny his speculation.

Bucky pointed out at the graveyard around them when he asked, "Uhh...are you here for a visit too?" He doubt it but it was worth to try.

Y/N looked over his shoulder, reading the familiar name engraved on the headstone behind him, before locking her eyes back to his. She shook her head yet again.

Bucky was starting to get why Sam felt annoyed with his staring problem now that he had first hand experience. Though she wasn't glaring at him like he would at Sam, but still, she was staring at him most of the time. And the lack of words made it more noticeable. "You don't talk much do you?" He asked, there was a hint of passive-aggressive in his tone.

And Y/N recognized that tone anywhere. She was surprised that that part of him hasn't change since the 40's. She remembered how Bucky would use this tone whenever he was irritated but he didn't want to be a jerk and yell out his frustration.

The fact that she still managed to notice this little quirks of his after all these years made her chuckle amusingly. There wasn't a voice changer now, it was just her voice; raw and unfiltered. And even if it was muffled behind the cloth of her mask, her laugh sounded awfully familiar to Bucky.

It sounded pretty and soft, that it tickled something in deep within his chest but not enough to trigger any memory from his subconcious, "Then, what are you doing here?" He asked curiously.

It took a moment of blinking silence before Y/N grabbed onto the fabric of her hood; she pulled it back and it revealed her slightly wavy hair dipped in raven. Bucky watched intently as her index finger slipped into the tiny slot at the side of her nose, hooking it on the fabric of her mask.

And those mere seconds of hesitation triggered the tears to form in her eyes. Her heart beating fast, tiredlessly pumping blood through the veins of her body yet her fingers still runs cold with fear.

Between the thumping sound of her own heartbeat, she might have second guessed her own decision of revealing her identity. Thinking that maybe it was best to leave the truth untold. Because what if Bucky refused to believe her?

It would truly destroy her; this time, beyond repair.

Y/N briefly closed her eyes as she breathed in, she then pulled the mask down to reveal her face. The crack in her voice betrayed the smile that curved on her trembling lips, "I'm here for you." She finally spoke.

The upward movement of muscle around her cheeks pushed her tears out, letting it flow from the corner of her eyes. She didn't dare to look at him in the face for too long, so her eyes casted downwards to where her feet dug the ground.

Decades passed and it might have been several lifetimes for Y/N since the 40's but it only felt like it was yesterday for Bucky. Especially when he had lived many years of his life to either be awake for the Winter Soldier or asleep in the freezing chambers.

All of which were just scattered of loose memories to him now. It haunted him, yes. But sometimes he couldn't tell if it was just a series of nightmares or actual reality. Thus, he tends to feel as if he had lost his sense of time. That is why he always felt out of place in the modern society.

Inside, he felt like he was still the man he was in the 40's; just thrusted forward in time. And since he started to tap into the memories of himself in those olden times, it made him felt like it hasn't been that long for Bucky since he last saw her.

Yes, he felt like it was just short distance of time but his soul certainly didn't feel the same. It had been deprived of its other half for far too long.

All the images of their time together flashed rapidly through his mind; every touch, every kiss, every laughter and even every tears they ever shared, all came rushing in like untamed waves crashing to the shore.

The beautiful strings of chaos in his head hadn't calm the slightest, in fact it pushed Bucky to move forward; to catch her silhouette before it could disappear on him like the way it always does in his dreams.

Y/N's vision was blocked when Bucky smushed her face to his chest, trapping her in an unbreakable embrace as he whispered her name, "y/n?"

Was he talking to her or was he talking to himself? Because he didn't stop muttering her name as if it was some sort of a ritual chanting.

Bucky's hand briefly roamed her body from the back of her head, barely passing her shoulders, across the spine and then folded around her waist, drawing her in; impossibly closer.

That was when she felt his body shake; much like herself, Bucky was crying for the lost time that they will never make back, for the pieces of hearts broken in those decades that they lived without one another.

Bucky had witness some unbelievable things throughout his long life on this earth; lots of mind-boggling creation of man-made technology, actual magic and sorcerers, aliens and literal Gods.

He should know that nothing is impossible. Yet, holding Y/N in his arms felt unbelievably surreal to him.

Before she managed to draw in the air, her body felt the need to melt into his form. She can feel his firm grasp around her frame, and feel how rapid his heart beating on her cheek.

At that moment, she couldn't help but to find resemblance of him to his past habits; he way he holds her, how his fingers would occasionally dance across her body, or how his nose would nudge into her hair.

Even his scent remained the same. At least the essence of it were unchanged.

Being in his arms reminded her of the whispers of promises Bucky made to her, "You promised to come home." Y/N tried to steady her breath, "You promised to come back to me."

Bucky pulled her head back, cradling her face in the contrast of his hands; one was once warm and another that felt familiar. He desperately wiped her tears away with his thumbs, almost too rough of a caress but surprisingly it brought more relief than pain to her.

Even in the sorrow and grief, anger managed to slipped through when she growled, "You dickhead, you left me behind." Though it was weak, her punches still hits the target perfectly.

Repeatedly slamming her tiny fists on his sturdy chest. The chest that were caged with heavy remorse and regret. And there wasn't really anything he could say to sooth the pain that she felt when he died.

Bucky knew that, but he had to say something, anything, "I-doll, I'm so sorry..." He was drowning her with his eyes, flooding her heart with his tears as his hand ran through her hair. Soft as he remembered it to be; at least compared from the lucid dreams she was starring in.

"Shhh!" Y/N hushed him quickly, "Just please..." her breath shuddered when she inhaled.

She didn't spend most of her lifetimes to hear an apology, not from him. If anything, he should swear on his life to never leave again, to stay this time around and always. She tugged him closer, lips hovering over each other's, just one nudge away to finally get the sweet taste of it, "...never again."

And when he kissed her, it tastes of her tears. But it was beyond fulfilling. Like their lost soul were finally being able to touch again. The gentle need, the tender crave of his kiss was enough to forge her trust back into its former glory.

And all of the sudden Bucky felt like he was drowning again; like he was desperate to breathe and she was the air. He kissed her again, and again, and again. As if he needed the taste of her lips to survive the waves; like she was his lighthouse in dark.

When they finally set apart, she wanted to speak but all she can do was croak, "Don't leave me, not again." Bucky's lips curved into a loving smile and he nods once. He folded her frame in his arms, tightly and closely; his whisper was ever-so-soft when he promised, "Never."

End.

Read my other works here: Masterlist

A/N: Did you notice two dialogue throwback from when Bucky was rescued in 1943? "I didnt come all the way here to fight with you, James" and "I'm here for you" Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this one. Thanks for reading and maybe tell you what you think?

[joonipertree]

How Mikey Loves and Proposes

Okay so some of my headcanons for him align with my beliefs however I am very particular about characterisation so I'm gonna keep it balanced.

Genuinely i think Mikey does not need the paperwork, the title or official testimonies to consider himself your husband. Once he has sort of outgrown 'boyfriend', like maybe he's in his mid to late 20s, he wants a new title because boyfriend was very highschool.

Imagine every single thing a couple could be, it has been done. Shared apartments, pets, joint bank accounts. I genuinely think because of how devoted Mikey is with his people, he would be just as devoted to his partner.

He is a people person, he finds his people and he keeps them close to his chest no matter what happens. He has forgiven his people for the unforgiveable. Very very ride or die type of person. So out of everyone, he is devoted and loyal.

I will say, in cases of fucked up timelines...chances are he would either keep you at an arm's length, push you away and disappear or just be cold. He does this because he considers himself a danger. I don't care if he has hurt his friends, I dont care about dark impulses, that man would never lay a hand on you. Dark impulses are strong, his love for you is stronger.

If he does run away, he will never look at another person ever again. Loyal as fuck.

But we are talking about final timeline so LETS GO.

At some point, he just wants matching wedding rings, he just wants people to look at you and then look at your left ring finger and be like 'oh fuck, they're taken'. You're already his, ya'll probably have matching bracelets or necklaces that he bought with his very first paycheck. But he really craves that moment where you call him 'husband'.

He probably felt connected to you in an everlasting sense from the moment ya'll started dating. This commitment was from the soul from the get go.

So why does it take like 6 to 7 years into the relationship to get married? Firstly I just have a general rule that marriage should come after 5 years minimum because it's paperwork and a big process. You can disagree and just add in your own minimum but again...adding that no matter what, ya'll live together, wake up every morning together, build a future together. At some point, you guys are too busy getting jobs, being adults and hanging out with friends to be like 'ooooo marriage'.

How does Mikey propose?

i think it was spur of the moment, maybe it hit him that OH ya'll arent married and suddenly he has the urge to say it.

And one night, it's 2am and you wanna go on a night ride and he never says no to you so he wraps you in one of his jackets and both of you head on a ride.

And it's peaceful and maybe Mikey is having a moment where he's like 'I have died, been reborn and saved multiple times for this moment. I am meant to be alive so I could be with my person. I'm very happy I am alive.'

And he's blinking back tears, stopping close to a convenience store..using snacks as an excuse to stop.

And while he's walking through the place, grabbing his usuals and your favourites...maybe it's the fluorescent lighting or the way you're picking out the drinks, maybe it's because how you look in his clothes or because it's late and you're here with him getting snacks, maybe he is sleepy and warm that he says:

"I wanna be your husband."

And the place is too quiet to not hear it, the cashier is like 'what the fuck dude, you're gonna get smacked for proposing like that' but you look at him and his teary eyes and lovesick smile and you're just speechless. But you move forward to hold him, he wraps his arms around you and presses you close to him. It's warm and engulfing.

And maybe you give an excited 'yes' or maybe you make a joke about where your ring is or maybe it's a soft whisper of an answer...in any case....the answer had been given way before he had even asked it.

[traumxrei-archive]

【 iv. the taste of flowers 】

summary: yuu was sick. okay, so maybe they overworked themself a little while preparing for the debutante, but that didn’t mean they needed to be on bed arrest ! what’s the worst that could happen if they snuck into the kitchen for a snack anyway ?

word count: 1.4k

author’s note: every time i write ruggie i’m like “wow i love this guy sm” and it was the same this time. i hope you like my rendition of him, ruggie likers ^^

[ the perfect debutante series | or read on ao3 (coming soon) ]

Being sick was most definitely not on Yuu's list of things to do for the Debutante. But they were. Sick. It seemed that they had over-exhausted themself after shopping all day with Floyd.

They vaguely remembered Floyd's guilty expression as he brought tea to their bedside. They had told him not to worry, but he seemed to be in low spirits for the rest of the day, according to Azul's report.

And now, well...

Yuu was sneaking into the kitchen.

After being cooped up in the room for so long, they needed some alone time. Alone time that didn't entail Riddle watching their every move like a hawk, or Silver insisting on doing everything for them. Their maids were diligent to a fault really, and Yuu was starting to feel a bit suffocated.

What they weren't expecting was that there would be someone in the kitchen. They stood behind the door. There was a soft humming and the smell of something that had their mouth-watering. Yuu cracked the door open a little. Through the gap, they spotted a pair of fluffy ears.

Ah. So it was Ruggie in the kitchen. Yuu calmed down a bit. The chance that they would be severely scolded for escaping the room had decreased. Still, they knew that someone would check their room soon, and they would get caught, so...

"Master?"

Holy crap. Their soul felt like it almost left their body.

They looked up to see Ruggie tilting his head, "I thought I heard someone, but I didn't expect it to be you, Master."

They got up from their crouched position, "Hi, uh... What are you cooking?"

"A little something for myself," Ruggie suddenly smirked, folding his arms. "What are you doing out of your room, Master? Riddle and Azul are going to freak out if they figure out you're gone."

Yuu stared at Ruggie with what they hoped was a pitiful look, "Please, I need 30 minutes of peace before they coddle me to death again."

"It's because they're worried about you. We all are," Ruggie said, going back to stirring the pot. "But I'm no snitch, shishishi~ Have a seat." There was a stool a little away from the stove, and from this close, they could finally see what Ruggie was cooking. It was...soup. A hearty-looking, vegetable soup, that was currently appealing to them with its scent.

"Are you here for some tea? Or are you hungry?" Ruggie sprinkled some more spices into his soup. "I could make you some soup?"

"What about that soup?" They blurted out. Dammit, they were trying to resist, and yet...

"This soup? It isn't worthy of Master's palette," Ruggie said before putting a lid on the small pot. "Plus, are you sure you wanna eat that?"

"What is it then?" The soup had looked normal enough to them, though they couldn't be sure. Ruggie was famed for using unconventional ingredients in his cooking before. They had heard many stories from Jamil, who found his experimentation interesting enough to talk about. (The other maid rarely talked too extensively, so Yuu had noted it in their mind when he did.)

"Erm," Ruggie's ears twitched, and he looked...almost bashful. "I used dandelions. I saw a few in the gardens and they needed to be weeded out anyway."

"Dandelions?" They cracked a smile. "So you can even cook with flowers?"

"You're not...?" Ruggie shook his head, before leaning his head back into his hands. "It's something my Bi— my grandmother taught me. There are many uses for dandelions, and she used to cook it for us in a soup."

Yuu understood it now. It had been a while since Ruggie had taken a break to go home. He tended to bulldoze through leave days that they set up by taking up other jobs. They ended up having him be their designated maid when the others went on leave. Ruggie was pleased with the setup, especially after they doubled his pay.

Money wasn't a worry to them, given that they were the heir of the Dukedom. But it had once been, back before Duke Crowley had adopted them. So they understood Ruggie's determination, especially with how fiercely he loved his family.

"Why don't you eat some?" Yuu leaned their face into their palm. "You spent all that time cooking it after all."

Ruggie's expression turned complicated for a moment. He hesitantly grabbed a bowl, ladling in a spoonful. His ears drooped for a moment before straightening. Yuu couldn't help but find the subconscious action adorable. 

He finally sighed, sliding the bowl in front of them, "Here. Your puppy eyes really are unfair, Master."

"Puppy eyes?" They mumbled, but they couldn't focus on anything other than the soup that was in front of them. Ruggie pushed a spoon into their hands, and they couldn't help but immediately try it.

"Well?" Ruggie asked, ladling his own bowl. It was...amazing. The soup was salty, but rich, and all the vegetables were perfectly cooked— not too soft with a nice crunch.

And that was when Yuu abandoned two things: their etiquette training and their pride. It didn't matter that it was hot, they kept shoveling spoonfuls of soup into their mouth.

Ruggie laughed as he ate his own bowl, "Slow down there, Master. If the chefs see you they'll throw a tantrum because you're guzzling that down so fast."

"But," They sputtered, gesturing at their half finished bowl. "It's so good! I can't even tell which part the dandelion is!"

"The green leafy bits," Ruggie looked proud, if the way his grin kept growing was any indication. "I save the flowers to make tea with." The maid spun around, turning to a cupboard and grabbing what looked like a jar. In it were many dried dandelion buds. "Ah, I also have dandelion syrup," Ruggie gestured to another jar on the shelf. "Jamil taught me how to make them. They don't taste bad if I do say so myself, shishishi~"

Yuu couldn't help but laugh slightly. Ruggie's excitement about dandelion cuisine was very...adorable, if they wanted to put a word to it. "You seem very passionate about this," They said as they took the dandelion tea jar in their own hands. "Would it be okay if you put a few servings of this in my tea cabinet?"

"Huh?” Ruggie's ear flicked in surprise.

"Ah, I don't mean to take it away from you!" Yuu said, suddenly very aware that Ruggie was doing this because he was homesick. How stupid of them to ask for something so selfish. Did they forget everything after spending a few years in luxury? "I know that you're—"

"Forgive me for interrupting you, but it's not that," Grey eyes looked between the tea and their face. "It's... Thank you." There was something more behind the simple word of thanks. Yuu couldn't even begin to digest why Ruggie would say thank you at their selfish request, but seeing the smile on Ruggie's face reassured them that it wasn't anything negative.

That was when the door to the kitchen slid open, "Ruggie, would you happen to know where—"

Yuu looked up just in time to make eye contact with a surprised-looking Jade.

Oh. They were caught. Shit.

Jade smiled, ever the picture of politeness even as his aura turned more menacing, "How serendipitous. I was just looking for you, Master."  

"They were just about to leave, right Master?" Ruggie said with a devilish grin. Gone was the sweet expression that just graced his face seconds before, instead replaced by this mischievous look— because he was clearly ratting them out! Yuu just hung their head. They would be scolded less if they left with Jade right away.

Jade kept an iron grip on them with just his gaze as they gave Ruggie a long hard look, "You're going on vacation after the debutante is over. With everyone else. That is a promise."

"But Master—"

"No buts! I'll give you paid leave!" Yuu said as Jade opened the door. "Just make sure to tell your family how much you miss them!" They relished the surprised look on Ruggie's face for a moment before following Jade out into the hallway. Yuu wasn't about to give Ruggie time to retaliate this time.

"Now that you've had your fun, you should return to the room before Azul and Riddle return," Jade chuckled. "They aren't back yet, but I am not above telling them of your...mm, adventures, if it came to it. Even if it's you, Master."

Their previous excitement waned at the thought of being bound to the bed again, "Let's just go now." And that was how Yuu's adventures to the kitchen ended, with surprises, some new cuisine, and a promise.

thank you for reading ^^ if you’d like to read more, check out my masterlist ! like the art ? look at more of dumple's works on insta !

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[darkened-writer]

imagine| Sapphire Gaze

summary || “You remind me of sapphires.”

request || Could write a fanfic for Aemond where he and his cousin (Daemons daughter) are in love with each other and at the family dinner everybody can sense that they have a special bond, much to Daemons despise. Just some angst and fluff please🫶🏻Btw. I absolutely love your writings. :))

pairing || Aemond Targaryen x Velaryon! Reader

word count || 9,472

warnings || Minor angst, some fluff, Aemond needs a hug.

notes || This took me SO LONGGG, so I hope it was worth it haha. Enjoy!!!

The first time you met him was at your mother’s funeral.

Everyone was amongst themselves, chatting and dwelling on the memory of Laena Velaryon. Your sisters pouting and wallowing in their sadness while sitting upon a bench. Yourself, however, decided it would be better to stick by your father whom was near Viserys Targaryen; looming like a vulture seeking dinner. 

You were always told, “You’re just like your father.” or “I guess the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.” All in regards to your attitude and how well you swing your sword. You mirrored Daemon’s skills as if you were his long lost twin, and that worried plenty of people, especially Alicent Hightower.

“I’m old enough to notice your gazes towards Rhaenyra, Father.”

The man let his eyes leave Rhaenyra’s figure and settle on yours, your arms folded under your cloak. It was disappointing body language yet your face was upturned with amusement.

“Old enough? You’re just two years older than your sisters, my oldest.”

“I may be good at fighting, Father. But, I also have brains.”

He chuckles and turns to look at Viserys who was also looking at him.

The winds, however, pulled your gaze to a silver-haired boy looking at you from across the way, in a similar way that Rhaenyra was looking at your father. With admiration, a sense of longing, and yet you only knew the boy's name and nothing more.

Aemond Targaryen.

His eyes were scanning your figure, almost curious of who you are. What your origins were, but your train of thought was immediately interrupted. 

“Your girls are the very image of their mother.” You turn to look at your uncle, the King, “A comfort and an anguish, as I well remember. The gods can be cruel.”

A firm pause, before your father answered, “It seems they’ve been especially cruel to you.”

The King finds the comment humorous, when normally it would be taken as an insult.

“Yes…” The tension was palpable between the two, so you speak.

“It’s wonderful to see you, Uncle.” You bow your head a bit and the man cracks a sincere smile.

“Y/N! My fierce little Niece, It’s great to see you also, even if under such dire circumstances.”

“Agreed, Uncle.” His eyes find Daemon’s again, “You should return with us to King’s Landing. It’s time that you came home.”

“Pentos is my home…and that of my children.”

“Daemon… I know we’ve had our differences, but let them pass with the years. There’s a place for you in my court if that’s something you should need.”

“I need…” His mouth moves to say ‘Rhaenyra’, but he stops himself, “nothing.” The silence hits once again but before Viserys could say anything else, your father walks away quickly.

“Brother…”

You place a comforting hand on your Uncle’s shoulder before walking away also towards the stairs to head toward the beach. The sky was a pleasant shade of gray, mirroring upon the shiny sea water that called to your very soul. The Velaryon blood coursed through your veins, drawing you towards the sea but the fire was just as mesmerizing. 

The sand finally touched your boots, sounding a gentle crushing noise. The waves waning against the rocks, sea foam catching on the grains of sand. It was all too peaceful for such a saddening day, but somehow you knew that the sea took your mother with open arms to become a part of it once again.

“You remind me of sapphires.”

The voice pulled you from your concentration, eventually connecting a face to the voice. Aemond Targaryen stood with his cloak flowing in the high winds, hair also meticulously moving in tandem. 

“Sapphires? Such flattery should only come between those who know each other deeply.”

“Well, I’d like to get to know you better, cousin.”

You tilt your head, “Ah cousin, should’ve known we were related based on the hair color.” Your hand finds the pin holding your locks upward and slide it out, letting the silver cascade down your shoulders and flow to the side. Aemond’s eyes watched your hair with great interest, rousing a laugh from the bottom of your stomach.

“Are you always this curious and interested in hair?”

He stifles a cough, “Erm– yes?”

“You liar–”

You quickly move past him, gently shoving him with a laugh that sounded like pure heaven to the boy's ears. You seemed to be in a playful mood, so the boy chased after you, laugh intertwining with yours. And what a true joy it was to meet someone in the family that didn’t completely anger you.

-

Hours later, after departing from Aemond, you were safe and warm within the covers of the bed you truly loved. Your sisters were asleep, subtly snoring until they were awoken by a familiar roar. Vhagar, Mother’s dragon who wasn’t supposed to even be flying or out this late at night. It worried the two twins, so they did only what they were taught in an odd situation, they woke their older sister. 

“Y/N…Y/N… Y/N– wake up…!”

Your shoulders were being shook until numbness, but you eventually let your eyes fall open and settled on Baela.

“Mm…? What is it, sister?”

“Someone stole Vhagar.”

That sets the alarm bells in your mind off, “What?!”

Quickly, you put your dress and boots on and settled the dagger your father had made for you under your gown. Telling Baela and Rhaena to wake Jacaerys and Lucerys and meet you where Vhagar was going to land. And eventually, you all met up to investigate what was going on. Though, you held your sisters back behind you so you could go first in case of an attack. The distant crash of Vhagar landing made you jump, but alas you waited to see who was riding the Dragon that was to remain unclaimed.

“Jace, what are we doing?”

Yourself and the group of children all quieted down at the sight of Aemond.

“It’s him.”

“It’s me.”

“Vhagar is my mother’s dragon.”

“Your mother’s dead. And Vhagar has a new rider now.” Venom was seething through his mouth, and you winced at his way with words, harsh and unruly.

“She was mine to claim.”

“Then you should’ve claimed her! Maybe your cousins can find you a pig to ride. It would suit you.”

Rhaena slipped from behind you in rage, going to grapple and fight Aemond but was quickly thrown to the side and to the ground. Baela couldn’t stand to see her sister hurt, so the girl took her turn, throwing a punch and landing it, but ultimately getting the same force of a punch back, knocking her down. 

“Come at me again and I’ll feed you to my dragon!”

You leapt to check on Rhaena to see if the boy had hurt her, while Jacaerys began to throw punches himself. With a gentle caress, you wiped the blood from your sister’s nose, feeling Jacaerys fall to the ground and the shrill shriek of Lucerys. It was chaos, but in spite of Aemond’s meticulous strength, you helped Rhaena up and she went immediately to beating Aemond up with Baela and Jacaerys. 

Blood was all over the boy’s face, while you took the liberty of staying out of the conflict and helping Lucerys up from the dirty ground. 

It didn’t last though, Jacaerys was kicked aside, the girls thrown, but Lucerys lunged anyways; getting put into a chokehold. Everyone tensed up as Aemond grabbed a stone from the ground and held it up, your heart dropping to your stomach. Was he going to kill your cousin in cold blood?

“You will die screaming in flames just as your father did! Bastards.”

“My father’s still alive.” Lucerys wailed out with a bloodied face and salty tears, “He doesn’t know, does he, Lord Strong?”

Aemond’s tone became condescending, and within that rage, Jacaerys grabbed the dagger that laid upon your thigh while you were ultimately distracted.

“Jace!”

You grabbed your sisters and held them back with eyes of fear, watching as Aemond threw Lucerys to fall to the ground, but Jacaerys caught him and threw him softer to land. The boy swung the dagger you once had, missing and getting struck by the stone Aemond wielded. The dagger landed near Lucerys, who grew strength in the moment he had of being defeated. And as Aemond had his arm held up with the stone, ready to strike Jacaerys down, he looked to you and your sisters; and you shook your head in disbelief. 

What happened to the kind boy you had met on the beach?

Sand and then the slash and scream that accompanied it.

Aemond cried into the sandy, night air, clutching his face in great pain. Blood pooled and spilled from his left eye, slipping through his fingers like wine being poured from a bottle. You felt a twinge of guilt for not breaking up the fight, but you knew you’d done right by keeping close to your sisters. Because they were most important to you, even if the boy who was now seething in pain was kind to you once.

-

“How could you allow such a thing to happen?”

The king was chastising the knight in front of him, and you let your eyes come to Aemond sat upon a chair, having his eye cleaned by a Maester. Alicent Hightower, the queen, sat next to the boy with a vastly worried expression. A mother’s worry for her son, her boy.

“Who had the watch?”

“Young prince was attacked by his own cousins, Your Grace.”

You held your sisters in a huddled hug, their blood coated on your fingers as you had tried to wipe their faces clean. Though, it had just ended with red smudges on their skin and crimson tips for your fingers. 

“You swore oaths to protect and defend my blood!”

“I’m very sorry, Your Grace. The Kingsguard has never had to defend princes from princes, Your Grace–”

“That is no answer!”

Alicent’s voice chimed in, “It will heal, will it not, maester?” She sounded desperate.

“The flesh will heal. But the eye is lost, Your Grace.”

Alicent and Viserys seemingly reeled at the news of their son’s eye now being lost, and you felt bile rising in your throat. 

“Where were you?” Alicent began to antagonize her son, “Me?”

The answer wasn’t satisfactory, so the woman slapped him and he quivered in fear at the anger on her face. 

“Ow! What was that for?”

“That was nothing compared to the abuse your brother suffered while you were drowning in your cups, you fool.” The Hightower woman was seething in anger, a sight that was rare and never welcomed. But before anyone else could possibly speak or do anything, doors opened and Corlys and Rhaenys rushed down the stairs.

“What is the meaning of this?”

“Y/N, Baela, Rhaena! What happened? What happened?” The older woman immediately embraced your sisters, pulling you into the hug roughly but with care. Corlys went front and center while Rhaenys was comforting your sisters and rubbing your shoulder in hopes of easing you. The grand doors opened with a creak and Rhaenyra Targaryen came waltzing in with a face stricken with intense, motherly worry, but what was odd was your father was trailing behind her; making eye contact with you before leaning against the doorway to watch the commotion. 

“Jace? Luke!” She rushed to kneel in front of them, trying to assess the damage of Lucerys’s nose. 

“Show me. Show me.” 

His small hand moved from his nose, and a fresh gush of blood fell.

“Who did this?”

“They attacked me!”

“He attacked Baela!”

“He broke Luke’s nose!”

The children continued to shout and make their own arguments and claims of what had happened, “He stole my mother’s dragon!”

“Enough.”

“He was gonna kill Jace! I didn’t do anything!”

“Enough–”

“It should be my son telling the tale!” Alicent now joined the children in their chorus of cries and shouts, until–

“Silence!”

Instantaneous silence at the King’s yell, Jace leaned down to his mother’s ear to whisper something that made her face go pale as she rose. Must’ve been the phrase that started the physical altercation, ‘Bastard’.

“Aemond…” The King made his way down the small bit of stairs ever so slowly, “I will have the truth of what happened. Now.”

“What else is there to hear? Your son has been maimed. Her son is responsible.” Alicent chimed in, “It was a regrettable accident.” Rhaenyra argued.

“Accident? The Prince Lucerys brought a blade to the ambush. He meant to kill my son.”

“We had no idea it was your son whom was riding, Vhagar!”

Alicent’s gaze turned to you now, “Past conflicts have arisen between them and yet you had no idea it was Aemond?”

“No– and it was I who brought the blade, for protecting my sisters and cousins in case of danger.”

Alicent’s eyes rolled, “And you claim to be oh so high and mighty now, protecting family–”

“It was my sons who were attacked and forced to defend themselves. Vile insults were levied against them.” Rhaenyra interrupted the Queen from continuing.

Viserys’ perked up, “What insults?”

“The legitimacy of my sons’ birth was put loudly to question.”

“What?”

“He called us bastards.”

The room went silent, even a drop of wine could sound across the room.

“My sons are in line to inherit the Iron Throne, Your Grace. This is the highest of treasons. Prince Aemond must be sharply questioned so we might learn where he heard such slanders.”

The boy peeked from the rather large chair he was sat upon, looking you directly in the eye as Rhaenyra spoke, sending a chill up your spine at the view of his now lost eye, bloody and bruised.

“Over an insult? My son has lost an eye.” Alicent’s hand roughly gestured to Aemond.

“You tell me, boy. Where did you hear this lie?”

“The insult was training yard bluster.” Alicent interrupted, “The lot of boys. It was nothing.”

“Aemond… I asked you a question.” A pause, before Alicent spoke once again, “Where is Ser Laenor, I wonder? The boys’ father? Perhaps he might have some say in the matter?”

“Yes. Where is Ser Laenor?”

“I do not know, Your Grace. I… could not find sleep. I had gone out to walk.” Your father was glancing at Rhaenyra with eyes you knew well, and your stomach felt like it was weighed down by stones. He was getting involved with his niece, on the day of your mother’s funeral.

“Entertaining his young squires, I would venture.”

No one laughed, not a single breath except for the hateful looks both Rhaenys and Corlys sent Alicent. Viserys was neglectful of the looks and continued his earlier conversation with his injured son.

“Aemond… look at me. Your king demands an answer. Who spoke these lies to you?”

Pregnant silence, before he spoke, “It was Aegon.”

“Me?” The other boy looked terrified, “And you, boy? Where did you hear such calumnies? Aegon! Tell me the truth of it!”

“We know, Father…” The room suddenly feels hotter, “Everyone knows. Just look at them.”

Most of everyone in the room peers at Rhaenyra and her sons, her hand laid on her youngest head, tears welling up in her beautiful eyes. Alicent visibly looked saddened, but you knew deep down she most likely felt satisfied about his answer, but the complete opposite could be said for Viserys.

“This interminable infighting must cease! All of you! We are family! Now, make your apologises and show good will to one another. Your father, your grandsire, your king demands it!”

The obviously sick and decrepit man, our king, began to walk away, his cane clicking against the ground abrupt against the awkward silence. Alicent looked appalled at her husband's words, tears in her eyes mirroring Rhaenyra.

“That is insufficient.” He turns around, “Aemond has been damaged permanently, My King. “Good will” cannot make him whole.”

“I know, Alicent, but I cannot restore his eye.”

“No, because it’s been taken.”

“What would you have me do?”

“There is a debt to be paid. I shall have one of her son’s eyes in return. And if not her son’s, then the one who brought the blade in the first place.”

The room began to murmur, your eyes widening at her proposition. Rhaenys’s grip around you became tighter in her own worry.

“My dear wife…–”

“He is your son, Viserys. Your blood.”

“Do not… allow your temper to guide your judgment.” He shares brief eye contact with your father.

“If the King will not seek justice, the Queen will. Ser Criston… bring me the eye of Lucerys Velaryon or Y/N Velaryon.”

“Mother!” The small boy shouts, and you turn to look at your father who looks more antsy than before, worried.

“Alicent…”

“The one you choose can choose which eye to keep, a privilege neither of them granted my son.”

“You will do no such thing.” Rhaenyra defended, beginning to look just as worried as your father; if not worse. 

“Stay your hand.”

“No, you are sworn to me!” She yells to Ser Criston, “As your protector, My Queen.”

A sense of relief washed over you, Alicent looking more and more disappointed by the second. 

“Alicent, this matter… is finished. Do you understand?” The king and queen share eye contact for a moment, before the king turns to leave the whole situation all together, but he must leave a brief message.

“And let it be known: anyone whose tongue dares to question the birth of Princess Rhaenyra’s sons should have it removed.”

“Thank you, Father.”

Rhaenyra leans down to console her sons once again, yourself choosing to kiss the tops of your sisters’ heads, until chaos strikes. Alicent moved steady towards Rhaenyra with the blade Viserys usually carried at his side, looking like a woman on a mission, and various people began to shout which alerted her to the oncoming attack; catching Alicent’s arms in a grapple. Luke screamed in fear and you instantly huddled towards Baela and Rhaena to protect them, not noticing your father trying to get to you but being interrupted by Ser Criston.

“You’ve gone too far.”

“I? What have I done but what was expected of me? Forever upholding the kingdom , the family, the law. While you flout all to do as you please. Where is duty? Where is sacrifice? It’s trampled under your pretty foot again.”

“Release the blade, Alicent.” Her father spoke, but she did not listen.

“And now you take my son’s eye, and to even that, you feel entitled.”

“Exhausting, wasn’t it? Hiding beneath the cloak of your own righteousness. But now they see you as you really are.” And with a push away, the blade penetrates Rhaenyra’s skin, conjuring up blood at her wrist that slips down, down, until the crimson liquid hits the marbled floor. Her face was open in shock at what had just happened, even Alicent looking shell-shocked at what she did. The blade in her hand tumbling down and hitting the floor to mirror the bloodshed. 

But, now Aemond was up from his seat, eyes turning to him instead of the commotion.

“Do not mourn me, Mother.” She looks at him, “It was a fair exchange. I may have lost an eye… but I gained a dragon. And Y/N was not at fault at all–”

You both look to each other, “She didn’t even try and hurt me, she stayed out of it, so bid her mercy…”

You let the corners of your mouth slide up in a thankful smile, and he only replies with a nod.

“This proceeding is at an end.”

Ser Criston releases your father, and he makes haste in reuniting with you and your siblings and Rhaenyra, looking at Alicent with the same gaze as the rest of your family, stern, dark, and direct.

-

Ten years have passed since that fateful night.

Baela had traveled to Driftmark to be a Ward for Rhaenys and Corlys, Rhaena deciding to stay with you to keep you company against the hoard of boys. Lucerys and Jacerys were handfuls in of themselves, despite their older age. But now you had little Joffrey and his two brothers to mess about and yell into the halls of Dragonstone. 

Your father and Rhaenyra had wed the morning after the night of bloodshed, happy and content within joining their two families, and Rhaenyra was now pregnant with yet another child after two younger boys with Daemon. You’d hope that they would be a girl.

Though, the peacefulness that was your home was breached by a letter sent by Baela, giving information about Corly’s brother challenging Lucerys’s legitimacy to the Driftmark throne. He was going to present it to the king in hopes of staking claim over Luke, which made Rhaenyra instantly angered by the audacity. And, that is when your parents decided that it would be best to travel back to the kingdom to make their own claim against Vaemond.

A ship ride and a carriage ride, and you were now arriving at the castle that held the man that weighed on your thoughts for a decade.

Aemond.

The boy saved you from losing an eye by claiming your innocence.

How would he look after ten years? Handsome? Stubborn like his mother? The question hung in your head until the carriage stopped and Rhaenyra sent you a small smile to tell you it was time to exit.

“All hail Rhaenyra of House Targaryen, Princess of Dragonstone and heir to the Iron Throne and her royal consort, Prince Daemon Targaryen.”

The bells tolled, and the cold air drifted into the now open carriage as Rhaenyra exited promptly and with a regalness that only royalty could muster. Your father exited just after her without a care of how he looked, but you waited and helped Rhaena out of the carriage before letting Jacerys and Lucerys go and then yourself.

Your whole family was adorned in black and red colors, contrasting the green banners that were in the yard you stood in. Rhaena’s rather cold hand grasped yours, and you let your thumb absentmindedly rub against the frozen skin. She felt anxiety, it was only normal considering where you all stood.

Lord Caswell suddenly came from the entry doors with careful consideration, before coming to stand in front of Rhaenyra and bowing his head. His wrinkled hands found her soft ones, eyes speaking with care.

“Welcome back, Princess.”

“Lord Caswell.”

The man kindly escorted you all into the castle, and the decor change seemed to alarm both of your parents. The green, the religious symbols, it was all so daunting for two people who were raised here. Alas, you had to separate from them as they had duties to attend to, so you followed your brothers to the training yard, their black cloaks dragging behind them like crows feathers. 

Two knights were sparring, catching the eyes of the boys, however you were focused on the blades sat against wood planks to be picked up.

They were awfully shiny and caught your eye, the indistinct chatter all around you becoming void.

“See? I told you this would still be here. And you thought you could swing Criston’s morningstar. And you almost took your own head off.”

Lucerys grumbled beside you, looking at the weapons also as Jacerys rustled the boys’ hair, yet he was focused on the various people staring at you three with curious eyes. Jacerys noticed immediately, “What’s your problem?”

You picked up a shiny blade, twirling it in your grasp, “Everyone’s staring at us–”

“Hyah!” Jacerys tried to play, even smiling a bit but it was shut down by Lucerys’s sour attitude. 

“No one would question me being heir to Driftmark… if… if I looked more like Ser Laenor Velaryon than Ser Harwin Strong–”

You quickly dropped the sword and placed a hand on your brother’s shoulder, gathering his attention, “It doesn’t matter what they think.”

It seemed to ease him, before a crowd had gathered and cheering began, grunts from the middle of the crowd. Jacerys dragged you two immediately to whatever was going on, and the view shocked you.

A white-haired man brandished a shield and sword, moving swiftly towards the Dornish looking knight, taking a hit to his shield and causing the crowd to react with “ooo”’s and “ahh”’s. But the white-haired mystery was smart, he threw the shield to the side and began relentless swipes towards the knight, but he dodged anyways, now revealing the face of the man.

Aemond–

This alarmed Lucerys, but you couldn’t keep your eyes off of him. He moved meticulously, like a spider on a wall, fast and deadly. His moves were awe-inspiring, and every jab of his sword made your heartbeat faster and faster; until the pointy end was at the knight’s neck and the crowd applauded.

“Well done, my Prince. You’ll be winning tourneys in no time.”

“I don’t give a shit about tourneys. Nephews, Niece… have you come to train?”

His one eye was wide and awake, an unnerving chill being sent up your spine just by his glance. But before any of you three could reply, a guard shouted.

“Open the gate!”

There was a large creak before your relative, Vaemond, waltzed through with his battalion, making a huge deal out of his arrival. Until you feel a hand grasp yours and pull you back and away from the crowd. The hand was warm and inviting, callouses from sword handling prominent but the veins in the arms were so very noticeable. 

He was pulling you fast towards the library, not even giving you a second to rest before the library doors shut and his gaze was on you once again. His singular eye wandered your entire figure, starting from your face, down to your neck, your chest, your waist, legs, and then back up. He hummed a content, “hmmm”, before speaking.

“My– how you’ve grown, Niece…”

“Could say the same to you, Aemond.”

He circled you now, like a shark circling blood in the ocean, but your desire was probably ten times that. You missed him even after only knowing each other for a day, and it scared you; how much you wanted to kiss him, bite his neck, or nibble on his ear. The possibility of hearing the low, guttural noises of pleasure from him was surfacing in your mind.

You hoped whatever god or gods there were that he couldn’t read your mind right now.

The eyepatch slung on his head looked to be made of fine leather, of course made by someone of exceptional skill and yet, the man most likely saw himself as a cripple due to the loss of his eye. His hair was long and flowed down his back almost like a ravenous river, uncontrollable and wild. What brought out a slice of curiosity from you though was the blue glimmer from under the eyepatch he adorned, did he really stick a gem into his eye socket?

“You still remind me of sapphires.”

“Such flattery should only come between those who know each other deeply, Aemond–”

He smirks, lips upturning, as if remembering the very same day you both had met and spoke. Of course, it was hard to forget you, and the way you didn’t join your siblings in crippling him. You were merciful to him, yet, you were known to have the same anger and rage boiling in you as your father, Daemon. And after these ten years that had passed, there was never a quiet moment where he wasn’t pondering about you, your whereabouts, or how you might have aged and come into your own body.

And you sure had matured in all the right places.

“What did you hope to achieve by pulling me into the library?”

Were you hoping to get a rise out of him? Because the palpable tension of ten years was straining like a rope at its breaking point. About to snap.

“Privacy, mostly, Niece.”

He stood firmly in front of you, now closer than he previously was but just far enough to where you could feel the lingering touch of his hand. His fingers were long, slender, and strong; built for sword fighting and taking down armies of men. He was stronger than he looked. His hand trailed up your arm, settling just under your ear within the crease, cradling your cheek longingly. His gaze mirrored that of when he first saw you, adoring and curious. How is it that such a violent man could stoop into a passive state around a woman he cares for, admires and cherishes.

“You’ve gone soft, Aemond. Where is that daring sword fighter I just saw outside?”

“Even a man as violent as direwolves would falter under the eyes of the woman he loves.”

“And you love me?”

“Of course, I do… ever since we were kids. Ever since the day I lost my eye. I gained a dragon and a person worth fighting for.”

His thumb stroked the skin of your cheek, “Do you feel the same, Sapphire…?”

Before he could even utter another word, your lips were on his.

-

You didn’t see Aemond the rest of the day after the shared kiss.

He had duties to attend to and Daemon had called upon you for your sword training, which he always let you handle Dark Sister since you would be the one to inherit the blade. A powerful symbol and an even swifter blade then the dagger you’d been carrying since you were a kid.

The same dagger that took out Aemond’s eye.

The guilt of even taking the blade in the first place to the cavern was still apparent in your older age, but even your sisters liked to assure you that it was the right call.

You were their protector. Their older sister and through marital laws, could be the heir to the Iron throne if Rhaenyra deemed it so.

The oldest of all your siblings, you were also the fiercest, yet the most gentle.

‘The Realms Essence’, you’d heard in villages.

‘She embodies love and hate, the wind and the flame.’

Yet, you were always drawn to the sea and the color of sapphire blue.

-

The next day was the day of defending Lucerys’s claim to the throne of Driftmark, his birthright and exactly what Corlys’ would have wanted.

Rhaenyra awoke you in the morning, carrying a red and black dress with a blue dragon sutured up the back. It was the color of your dragon, Bessoarth, The Nocturnal. The glimmering yellow of the eyes of the dragon drew you in as your mother helped you put on the dress, smoothing out any creases and beginning to braid your hair in a Dragon riders’ style.

She had said she used to wear her hair the exact same way when she was younger, and a swell of pride bundled up in your heart.

You missed your true mother, Laena, but the attention and love from Rhaenyra brought new light to your inner child.

Eventually, you and your whole family were gathered in the sacred room that held the Iron Throne. The crowds chattering about whatever came to mind but all was put silent as Otto Hightower began to speak and start the meeting.

“Though it is the great hope of this court that Lord Corlys Velaryon survive his wounds, we gather here with the grim task of dealing with the succession of Driftmark. As Hand, I speak with the King’s voice on this and all other matters.” He takes a seat on the throne.

“The crown will now hear the petitions. Ser Vaemond of House Velaryon.”

Your relative walks up to speak his truth, while you immediately tried to find Aemond’s gaze, once locking, a smile arose on his lips that didn’t go unnoticed by a certain someone. 

“My Queen.  My Lord Hand.”

Alicent looks at Vaemond, “The history of our noble houses extends beyond the Seven Kingdoms to the days of Old Valyria. For as long as House Targaryen has ruled the skies, House Velaryon has ruled the seas. When the doom fell on Valyria, our houses became the last of their kind. Our forebearers came to this new land, knowing that were they to fail, it would mean the end to their bloodlines and their name. I have spent my entire life on Driftmark defending my brother’s seat. I am Lord Corlys’s closest kin, his own blood. The true, unimpeachable blood of House Velaryon runs through my veins.”

“As it does in my sons, the offspring of Laenor Velaryon–. If you cared so much about your house’s blood, Ser Vaemond, you would not be so bold as to supplant its rightful heir. No, you only speak for yourself and for your own ambition.”

Rhaenyra was right in her correct interruption of Vaemond, yet Alicent Hightower interrupted her immediately.

“You will have chance to make your own petition, Princess Rhaenyra. Do Ser Vaemond the courtesy of allowing his to be heard.”

The tensions between the two formal friends was sharp and unyielding, but to make matters worse, Ser Vaemond came with a rebuttal to Rhaenyra.

“What do you know of Velaryon blood, Princess? I could cut my veins and show it to you and you still wouldn’t recognize it.” Rhaenyra nods to herself, “This is about the future and survival of my house, not yours.” The man lets his eyes land on Lucerys, which you firmly reply with shoving the boy slightly behind you, looking Vaemond in the eyes with haste. How dare he look at him with such satisfied eyes, who did he think he was? 

“My Queen, My Lord Hand.” He was an ass kisser, that much was obvious. “This is a matter of blood, not ambition. I place the continuation of the survival of my house and my line above all. I humbly put myself before you as my brother’s successor… the Lord of Driftmark and Lord of the Tides.”

“Thank you, Ser Vaemond.”

He sent one last glance at your family before taking his place once again. 

“Princess Rhaenyra, you may now speak for your son, Lucerys Velaryon.”

She took firm steps to the front, holding her wrist with a certain amount of anxiety that was only a bit noticeable. But even in her worries, she gave off a sense of knowing it would all be okay somehow. 

“If I am to grace this farce with some answer, I will start by reminding the court that nearly twenty years ago, in this very–”

A noticeable creak sounded throughout the hall, taking everyone's gaze to the grand doors behind. The almost toppled over body of your Uncle came firmly to enter the meeting, a golden mask clad on the right side of his face. His white hair was sparse and thin, just about all of it gone and yet his head still held the crown with delight. His cane clicked on the cobblestone ground, and you couldn’t help but notice the small smile on Rhaenyra’s face.

Her father was here to save the day.

“King Viserys of House Targaryen, the First of His Name, King of the Andals, and the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm.”

The room bowed their heads to the King who would die being known for the kindness of his heart, and the love he held for his family. A truly noble man.

He moved slowly and with a limp, but kept his gaze on his only child, knowing what he had to do, and he would not fail. 

“I will sit the throne today.”

“Your Grace…”

The determination your Uncle exhibited was noteworthy and brought a great comfort to you, knowing the bloodline you stem from ties into a man so oddly heroic, even in his last days.

Through his difficulty to climb up to his lofty seat, the crown on his head fell with a thud which prompted yourself and your father to try and aid him.

Daemon held Viserys and helped him to the throne and you had the honor of placing the crown back onto his head. Even after bickering and arguments, the brothers knew they would always have each other, even if one were to pass. And you gave your Uncle an adoring gaze and a loving smile, before joining your family once again.

“I must… admit… my confusion. I do not understand why petitions are being heard over a settled succession. The only one present… who might offer keener insight into Lord Corlys’s wishes is the Princess Rhaenys.”

“Indeed, Your Grace.”

The whole room peered keenly at the older woman, herself stepping forward with her black grown dragging against the ground behind her.

“It was ever my husband’s will that Driftmark pass through Ser Laenor to his trueborn son… Lucerys Velaryon.” Rhaenyra perked up, “His mind never changed. Nor did my support of him. As a matter of fact, the Princess Rhaenyra has just informed me of her desire to marry her sons Jace and Luke to Lord Corlys’s granddaughters, Baela and Rhaena. A proposal to which I heartily agree.”

Baela looked to be smiling a bit, Alicent shaking her head to herself as if in disapproval. 

“Well…” Viserys began, “The matter is settled. Again. I hereby reaffirm Prince Lucery Vvelaryon of House Velaryon as heir to Driftmark, the Driftwood Throne, and the next Lord of the Tides.”

He wheezed after his proclamation, Rhaenys rejoining Baela and Vaemond, staring daggers into Rhaenyra, making a ‘tch’ sound.

“You break law… and centuries of tradition to install your daughter as heir.” He steps up to speak once again, “Yet you dare tell me… who deserves to inherit the name Velaryon. No. I will not allow it.”

“”Allow it”? Do not forget yourself, Vaemond.”

The man turns and points at Lucerys, face drawn up in a flame like anger, “That is no true Velaryon, and certainly no nephew of mine.”

You draw Lucerys back behind you, Rhaenyra turning and looking him in the eyes. 

“Go to your chambers. You have said enough.” She looks to Vaemond with pleading eyes, not wanting to argue over something so realistically small. However, Viserys decides to chime in again. 

“Lucerys is my true-born grandson. And you… are no more than the second son of Driftmark.”

“You… may run your house as you see fit… but you will not decide the future of mine. My house survived the Doom and a thousand tribulations besides.” His venom laced eyes turned to our family once again, “And gods be damned… I will not see it ended on the account of this–” He pauses.

Daemon seeks the words Vaemond wishes to utter and says, “Say it.”

The whole room seemingly freezes, the air thin, but Vaemond couldn’t restrict his tongue.

“Her children… ARE BASTARDS. And she… is… a whore.”

The crowd stirs with gasps and while Viserys tries to rise, you put a comforting hand on Rhaenyra's shoulder.

“I…” The king pulls his dagger from under his cloak, “will have your tongue for that.”

But before anything could even happen, the sound of a sword being swung erupted and Vaemond Velaryon’s top half of his head fell to the ground, soon following his body. Everyone gasped and Alicent pulled Haelena into a hug, knowing the view troubled her. Rhaenyra was shocked but even you knew your father would not let those words go without punishment. 

“He can keep his tongue.”

“DISARM HIM!”

“No need.” Daemon quickly cleaned his blade with his cloak and sheathed it, Aemond now meeting your wandering eyes with one thing on his mind. 

You certainly inherited your father’s flare.

The King fell back into the throne, Alicent calling for the maesters and Rhaenyra rushing to his side to check on him. The dagger sheathed at your side seemed to burn and itch every second, yet that didn’t even disturb you. Aemond’s almost excited gaze towards Daemon is what truly did you in.

-

With the day just about gone, it was time for dinner.

The whole family, including Alicent’s children, were all to attend. You dreaded the ordeal simply by the fact that you knew trouble would most definitely stir up. It was bound to happen with the tensions rising between Rhaenyra and Alicent, not to mention Aemond’s anger towards Jace and Luke. The only person who seemed to not even care about what was going on was Haelena, as she was sipping her wine and smiling to herself, muttering phrases that made anyone shiver. You felt bad for her.

The doors opened to the dining room and Viserys was carried in, everyone standing in greeting to his royal majesty. He had looked tired, exhausted even, and that saddened your heart. 

The sadness could never really last with Aemond staring into your very soul any chance he could, wearing a lustful smile, mind wandering to where the kiss prior could have led. The feelings stirring in your heart were that of love, the very thing that slays duty. A dangerous thing.

Once Viserys was finally seated, everyone else followed suit. His lowly eye looking around the whole table, taking in the sight of his family together, even if torn all the same.

“How good it is… to see you all tonight… together.”

His adoring gaze landed on Rhaenyra, before Alicent spoke.

“Prayer before we begin?”

“Yes.”

An odd thing that your mother had pointed out to you, was that Alicent was never religious during the time they spent together in their youth. The randomness of the religion she was now devout to had caused her great confusion, though she was not one to deny someone the freedom of worship.

“May the mother smile down on this gathering with love. May the Smith mend the bonds that have been broken for far too long. And to Vaemond Velaryon, may the gods give him rest.”

Your father sent a playful gaze at you, which you dismissed with an eye roll towards his attitude. 

“This is an occasion for celebration, it seems. My grandsons, Jace and Luke, will marry their cousins, Baela and Rhaena, further strengthening the bond between our houses. A toast to the young princes… and their betrothed.”

Aemond’s eye was on you once again at the mention of betrothal, and your heart skipped a beat.

“Hear, hear!”

Everyone raised their glasses, the bitter wine wrapping around your tongue and slid down your throat with an aftertaste that was oddly sweet. The aroma had accents of earthy tones that reminded you of the sea, your home. Aegon’s whispers to Jace were heard but not acknowledged by you as you enjoyed your wine.

“Let us toast as well Prince Lucerys… the future Lord of the Tides.”

“Hear, hear.”

“You’ll be great.”

Aemond’s lingering stare towards Lucerys was dark, one of extreme distaste, which reflected directly how he felt towards Jacerys also. But not you, never you, you were a person with an attitude that mirrored the harsh waves. Yet, you were delicate and sweet like his favorite fruit, the blueberry. 

“You look beautiful, my daughter.”

Daemon laid a hand upon yours that sat on the table, smiling at you proudly.

“Thank you, Father. Rhaenyra has helped me pick the most beautiful of dresses. I owe it to her.”

The lovely couple now peer at each other lovingly before your Uncle rose up to speak, back hunched and breath coming out rugged and wild. Even while his face was covered, it was obvious his health was declining by the second. 

“It both gladdens my heart and fills me with sorrow to see these faces around the table. The faces most dear to me in all the world… yet grown so distant from each other… in the years past.” His hand reaches up, grasping the gold mask and unclasping it, making you tense up immediately from surprise. 

A skull. His skull. 

The right side of his face had sunken in and molded to the bones of his face, the eye gone forever like his son’s. It was a horrible sight, but knowing that the man who had to endure it was your darling uncle made your heart ache.

“My own face… is no longer a handsome one… if indeed it ever was. But tonight… I wish you to see me… as I am. Not just a king… but your father. Your brother. Your husband… and your grandsire. Who may not, it seems… walk for much longer among you.” The mask is dropped to the table with a loud CLUNK, “Let us no longer hold ill feelings in our hearts. The crown cannot stand strong if the House of the Dragon remains divided. But set aside your grievances. If not for the sake of the crown… then for the sake of this old man who loves you all so dearly.”

Viserys shrinks back into his seat, being helped by Alicent who assists him in wiping his mouth, Rhaenyra now abruptly standing and holding her cup up. Her foot visibly shook from under the table, “I wish to raise my cup to Her Grace, the Queen.”

The two women looked each other in the eyes, Alicent’s gaze softening a bit at those words before she continued. 

“I love my father. But I must admit that no one has stood… more loyally by his side than his good wife. She has tended to him with… unfailing devotion, love, and honor. And for that, she has my gratitude… and my apology.”

She takes a quiet seat, setting her cup down, and Alicent responds.

“Your graciousness moves me deeply, Princess. We are both mothers… and we love our children. We have more in common than we sometimes allow.” She stands, ringed hand grasping her cup, “I raise my cup to you… and to your house. You will make a fine queen.”

Rhaenyra and Alicent are both smiling to themselves as Alicent finally sits, and oddly enough, Rhaenyra raises her cup once again and looks to you now with a soft gaze, one of a mother.

“I’d also like to announce… Here and now, since Y/N is now my oldest child by law, I want to grant her the title as heir to the Iron Throne after me. A title very deserving of such a smart and beautiful woman, I loved your mother and she’d be very proud of how far you have come.” She raises the cup higher, everyone now doing so except Aegon whom was too busy drowning himself in booze.

“Hear, hear!” 

Daemon clasps a proud hand on your shoulder, but your eyes gravitate to Aemond who tilted his cup to you with a smirk before taking a rather large gulp. A sign of respect perhaps? 

The positive feelings were always to be interrupted, with Aegon now up and refilling his cup of wine. He was whispering to your sister, not loud enough for you to hear until Jace slammed his fists into the table, seat skittering as he rose quite quickly. 

Jace clears his throat, but the tensions didn’t stop rising, Aemond now stood and eyeing up Jacerys, almost mentally telling him to stand down. And instead of attacking Aegon, Jace raised his cup to toast, patting Aegon on the shoulder rather awkwardly.

“To Prince Aegon and… Prince Aemond. We have not seen each other in years, but I have fond memories of our shared youth. And as men, I hope we may yet be friends and allies. To you and your family’s good health, dear uncles.” He takes a swift swig of his wine and gives Aegon another pat on the shoulder for the second time, making the man audibly groan, “To you as well.”

Aemond slowly shuffled back down into his seat and Helaena muttered a phrase under her breath while messing about with a thing in her clutches, “Beware the beast beneath the boards…”

“Well done, my boy.”

Helaena stands a bit off kilter, raising her wine glass, “I would like to toast to Baela and Rhaena. They’ll be married soon. It isn’t so bad. Mostly he just ignores you… except sometimes when he’s drunk.”

A bit of laughter choruses from the two families and the bright girl takes her seat once again, smiling wider than before. She was definitely your favorite between her and Aegon.

“Let us have some music.”

The prospect of hearing gentle tunes eased the anxiety of being sat at the table, and you visibly relaxed, holding the hand that Rhaenyra had held out to you, tightly. Jacerys stood up and excused himself before offering a hand to Helaena to dance, the girl taking his hand with a faint enthusiasm. Aegon, however, looked offended at that fact, yet the two still jumped around merrily with large smiles on their faces, putting a smile on your face also. 

What shocked you was the tap on the shoulder you received, followed by the piercing eye of the man you adored staring down at you.

“Would you care to dance, Princess…?”

You hesitated at first, feeling your father’s eyes barreling into your head, yet your hand found Aemond’s, his fingers gently cusping over yours as he guided you to rise from your seat and stand near your brother and aunt.

One hand stayed clasped in his, the other on his rather broad shoulder as his free hand slid down to greet your waist with a singular touch. He guided the whole waltz, taking the liberty of spinning you and adding flare to the dance, making you giggle and laugh out into the night, all to the displeasure of your father, intensely watching the whole interaction with distaste. Yet, your uncle only watched you two adoringly, seeing himself and Aemma within you and Aemond. A tough man and his adoring wife, a misunderstood boy and the one who understands him the most.

Eventually, the man who held your very heart in his palm guided you back to your seat, kissing your hand ever so kindly before taking his seat, grabbing his chalice to take a hefty gulp of wine. Rhaenyra looked fairly happy, face turned upward and eyes sparkling with child-like wonder that she had lost ages ago. Alicent looked just about the same, smiling at her. It felt… good, and normal, and like home, to be with all the people in your family.

The moment was cut short when Viserys began to groan in pain and Alicent called for the guards to escort him back to his chambers for rest, your father’s face dropping at seeing his brother in pain. Yet, servants came in with various food items as the king was just leaving, a finely cooked pig being set in front of Aemond. 

This aroused a laugh out of Lucerys, who was looking Aemond in the eye while openly laughing, the music coming to a stop once Aemond slammed a fist into the wooden table. His thin and wiry fingers curled atop the wine chalice, raising it up.

“Final tribute.”

Discomfort surfaced over every other emotion you felt, and you pleaded with him through desperate eye contact which seemingly egged him on further. 

“To the health of my nephews: Jace… Luke… and Joffrey. Each of them handsome, wise…”

Alicent almost seems to stiffen, eyeing up her son, while his eyes bounced between his nephews and you. He was going to say it, you knew it, you felt it in your very heart of hearts, so you braced for the outrage.

“Hm… strong.”

“Aemond–”

“Come… let us drain our cups to these three…” Aegon raises his cup, “Strong boys.”

“I dare you to say that again–”

“Why?” He gazes at Jace, “‘Twas only a compliment. Do you not think yourself Strong?”

The two boys strided towards each other quickly and Jace quickly swung a punch towards Aemond, striking him in the face. It sounded like Lucerys was also getting in a squabble, but you were only focused on Aemond being okay and Jace being unscathed. 

You quickly rose and went to grab Jace to separate him and Aemond, but Aegon took the moment to let go of Lucerys and throw you into the table with him, causing your sisters to shout loudly and stand up, ready to defend you. 

The guards quickly ended the fighting, but not before Aemond shoved Jace down to the ground with a chuckle. 

Daemon was quick to help you from the table, holding you with loving arms of a father who cared heavily for his first-born daughter and future heir to the throne after Rhaenyra. Your eyes were on Aemond, who seemed satisfied with the petty squabbles, and even though he wasn’t looking at you, he could feel how hurt you were, like it was raining upon him from the very skies. 

“Why would you say such a thing before these people?”

“I was merely expressing how proud I am of my family, Mother.” Daemon looks at you with eyes of suspicion due to your lingering stare towards Aemond, “Mm, though it seems my nephews aren’t quite as proud of theirs.” 

Jace lunges for Aemond, but you step up, “Wait, wait!”

You hold your arms up to keep distance between Aemond and Jace, everyone's face contorting in confusion. Rhaenyra excuses her sons to go to bed and you keep eye contact with Aemond. 

“You went too far–”

“Y/N–”

“You went too far and you know it, Aemond. I thought you… cared for me.. Enough to at least not claim my brothers are bastards.”

His face contorts to one of guilt, looking almost sorry for even causing such trouble. His eyes suddenly look behind you, and you know your father is most likely staring arrows into Aemond. 

“Mm..” You hear Daemon behind you, and Aemond shrugs it off, now walking away with haste. Before you could chase after him, Daemon gently grabs our wrist to hold you in place.

“Daughter, do you hold affections for the boy who just insulted your brothers?”

Rhaenyra stared intensely from beside him.

“If I did… then what? Would you have me exiled like you were? Fulfill what everyone thinks, that I am a mini version of you? I just want everyone to get along for once, but it seems there will always be a strain upon both of our families…” You look at Alicent, whom looks visibly happy that you are finally saying something about how you feel. Something she could never do as a young woman due to the men in her life.

“I will love who I want, and if Aemond is the one I choose… then so be it. Disinherit me from the throne, throw my name from our family books, I could care less.”

Before Daemon could speak, you walked past him, sending Rhaenyra an apologetic look with your hands balled into fists. You had to find Aemond.

-

You would eventually find Aemond within his chambers, clutching his eyepatch in his left hand while staring wearily out of the window to his left. You couldn’t see his lost eye from the angle you were standing at, but you could see his other eye, blue and almost glowing with the light of the night. 

“You defend me against your family, yet when I insult them, you barely bat an eye… why?”

His voice is calm, low and tired. He had a point, why did you defend him? Should you have just sided with Rhaenyra and her blood children?

“Aemond…–”

“The connection we felt as young children was fleeting, yet you didn’t partake in beating me to a pulp. Why?”

You took firm steps to get closer to him, but he kept his head tilted just so you couldn’t see the other side of his face. He looked almost scared to be vulnerable with you. Yet, you brought a hand up to his cheek and slowly turned his head to look fully to you, and you stifle a gasp.

A sapphire glowed faintly in the socket where his eye would have been, the blue striking and beautiful. It held a sapphire glare, one that made your heart skip a beat. 

He was beautiful, even if his mind told him he was imperfect.

“I’m monstrous, aren’t I?”

“Not in the slightest.”

His face softened significantly at your words and his head leaned down to be against yours, cold yet inviting.

“You always reminded me of sapphires, and I wanted to always keep you in my mind’s eye.”

“Such flattery should only come between those who know each other deeply-”

Before you could utter a word more, his lips were on yours. 

The ocean and the flames, The sapphire and the ruby, together at last.

[reallyromealone]

SOULMATES.

OMEGAVERSE, MALE READER, OMEGA MALE READER, ANGST TO WELL SOMETHING, MXM

♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️

He swore he could hear him when he slept.

Four months ago (name)s world came crumbling, on his eighteenth birthday his soulmate mark appeared, the words his soulmate would speak to him upon their first meeting in their handwriting.

"A human?" Was what it said in elegant handwriting, the words concerning the Omega who kept the words hidden from those around him.

Especially his brother.

Tengen would lose his mind if he read what was written on the other.

(Name) wandered down the streets with his brother, wanting to do some light shopping as tengen had given him some money to buy more supplies for his hobbies, the Alpha pleased his little brother found peace from their family with activities.

"Oh- I'm sorry, here you take it" (name) said politely to the tall man before him with the deepest plum eyes he had ever seen "a human?" The black haired man mumbled, stepping closer to (name) "my soulmates human..."

Muzan should have expected it, the only way his mate would have not been is if he or...her, had changed him.

"I-I must go" (name) said panicked, Muzan taking in the sweet pharamones of the Omega, burning it into his memory as he watched the Omega run off.

He will make arrangements to collect the Omega soon enough.

He knows the consequences of anything happening to his Omega.

It could be incredibly detrimental to him.

When two soulmates interact for the first time, their souls are connected and if one gets hurt, the other would feel the pain and humans were fragile.

Tengen saw the interaction go down, ushering his brother urgently.

His room was covered wall to wall with wisteria, papers soaked in the flower smacked against the walls, poor (name) not allowed to leave the grounds under any circumstances.

But everyone forgot that they were connected, the demon using the soulmate connection to influence (name) via dreams.

It was faint whispers of sweet words, seducing him to leave his room.

But (name) resisted, ignoring the others words and sweet whispers.

Then he appeared in everything.

Words began shifting in the books his brother brought him amongst everything else, poor (name) conflicted and scared.

Logically, this was the king of demons.

He was responsible for killing many he held dear and causing tragedy anywhere he went.

But his Omega practically screamed at him to see his alpha.

Tengen spoke to the other demon slayers about this, worried for his brother who was definitely struggling, nearly dropping twice.

(Name) would be taken to the headquarters so his health could be better monitored and protected.

(Name) was weak as his brother lifted him, clinging helplessly "don't worry (name), I will keep you safe" tengen said assuredly as he carried him out, the Alpha having changed the Omega in clothes soaked in wisteria flowers to ward off any demons.

(Name) sat with closed eyes as the train rumbled, the wisteria having quickly faded from his clothes due to the long trip and just feeling dazed.

"Excuse me sir?" A small voice rang from beside him, (name) blearily turning to see a small boy with well kept hair and a soft expression "I can't find my father... Could you please help me?" He asked with a pleasing tone and (name)s Omega sensed his alpha was near...maybe this was his pup.

Due to the poorness of his health, (name) didn't remember the warnings his brother told him, the white haired alpha having to step away for a moment.

"My brother will be here in a moment... He's better equipped than I am currently" (name) could barely stand as the pup came closer "can I stay with you?" He asked sweetly and (name) struggled to resist as the boy gently gripped (name)s clothes "I suppose, when my brother returns we can look for your father" (name) said letting the boy scoot beside him and after months his Omega was finally quiet.

Tengen was confused as he spotted the child beside his brother, the little boy familiar but (name) seemed content by the pups presence "whose this?" Tengen asked kindly and (name) for the first time in a while smiled "his name's Toshikuni, he's seperated from his father... I thought it would be safe for him to stay here till you return"

Tengen smiled at his brothers kindness, the Omega was always incredibly kind and wanting those around him to thrive.

Which is why it confused him in why he was soulmates with the true antithesis of himself.

A monster.

It felt like his brother had been cursed and Tengen had no way of fixing it.

It was devastating.

He remembers when his brother finally spoke to him about it, the pieces connecting and devastated he looked at the concept of the person for him trying to kill those he loved.

Tengen got ahold of a train attendant and (name) weakly crouched to the boys eye level, letting him hug him "I will return for you" the child's voice completely changed to the voice of...him.

(Name) pulled away to see flashing red eyes before turning back to a deep purple, the boy taking the attendants hand and wandering off.

(Name) was frozen in place as his brother helped him back into his seat, the white haired man assuming his brother was just dealing with slight withdrawal and held him close.

Tengen was abnormally quiet, worry evident in his movements and scent as he tried to think of anything to make his brother happy.

"I'm sorry..." Tengens voice was soft as he stared at his brother "I'm sorry your soulmate is...is him"

"It's not your fault, it's nobodies..." (Name) whispered as he stared off before closing his eyes.

He was just so tired.

Tengen looked panicked as his brother dropped again "shit! (Name)--- let's get you comfortable" tengen said panicked and adjusted his brother to a better position.

CRASH

the train suddenly began shaking, tengen pulling out his blades.

Something bad was about to happen.

Things moved in slow motion as the side of the train ripped open, the little boy from before having spikes from his back... Tengen knew something was off with the kid.

"Don't make this harder than it needs to be" Muzan hissed out as the train continued moving, the air pulling things out as Muzan manipulated his arm to stab at tengen, tengen keeping him away from grabbing at (name).

(Name) was practically being thrown around as the two fought for him "keep away from my brother you fucking demon!"

"We're here!" Tengen looked to see the other demon slayers whom had been previously missing "there were other demons on the train, we were ambushed" Tanjiro said as Muzan attacked once more but sadly the strike was hard enough to shake the train aggressively.

(Name) was set in a seat, still dealing with a drop when his body was forced out.

Below them was a lush forest, everyone watching in horror as (name) fell below.

Muzan and Tengen barely spared a glance as they both followed after.

It was by some miracle that (name) landed safely, falling into a pond and waking as his body forced him awake for his safety.

(Name) was Shakey and coughing as he made it to land, unsure how he got... wherever he was.

Clothes soaked he stood up, not looking unlike a newborn lamb as he did so.

He stumbled through the woods, leaning into trees before eventually dropping and leaning against a large oak tree, vision hazy and body cold.

Footsteps could be heard, his eyelids heavy unable to see as a hand gently cupped his cheek "tengen...?"

"No Omega, open your eyes" the voice commanded as (name) opened his eyes to see red staring back "I told you I would return for you" (name) wanted to be scared, to be angry but he was so tired and his Omega was so happy...

"(Name)!" Tengen yelled out as he raced towards the two, Muzan holding (name) in his arms and then...they were gone.

(Name) was gone.

[anakinskywalkerog]

My Very Soul (Chapter 34)

Anakin Skywalker x Jedi!Reader

Link to Chapter 33

Warnings: a bit of sad reader, a bit of angsty Anakin, FLUFF, clandestine love affair bullshit!! and a very subtle implied *you know* at the very end (rated teen as always)

Summary: Your training with Obi-Wan constitutes a new beginning; you and Anakin reckon with the fight you had after Felucia (WE HAVE NEW CLONE WARS ANAKIN GIFS TO USE I'm screaming)

Word Count: 4.2k

You felt the crisp, cool, morning air of the Temple hit your face like a bucket of water, as if the wind wanted to keep you awake and upright. You walked slowly through the hallways, focusing on your breathing, on the cold air, the hard marble beneath your feet, on anything but the whispered conversations you heard around you. Not heard—felt. You knew that the few Jedi you passed in the halls were not responsible for the accumulation of the voices in your head. This was just how it was for you, now—you couldn't help but pick up too much, like you were receiver that was too sensitive, picking up too many transmission signals.

It was easier to ignore the feel of all of the whispering voices than it was to ignore the pain you felt in your entire being. Walking through the Temple halls, even, felt like walking through thick, piling sand, your limbs aching. But you knew you mustn't focus on the pain—the pain of your grief, still so heavy, or the pain that twinged in your mind as you thought about the fight you'd had with Anakin last night—you mustn't let it consume you. You had work to do.

You felt horribly guilty for how you had shouted at Anakin the previous evening, how you had pushed him away, how you had told him to get out. Not that he had listened; he'd held you all through the night, and even after you'd calmed enough to dose, you still felt the guilt of it in your veins. So, when you'd awoken to the coruscanti light streaming in through the window slats, and you'd seen Anakin fast asleep, his peaceful, beautiful face finally at ease, you knew it wouldn't be right to wake him. You'd taken one last look at his face, admiring the shape of his jaw, his eyebrows slightly downturned in sleep, his eyelashes that shown blonde in the morning light, before you'd slipped out from under the covers and donned your robe, holstering your lightsaber before sneaking out of your apartment.

There would be time to apologize later. Now, you knew, you needed to clear your mind. You kept walking. As you passed the archives, something that you had been thinking about since you had returned from Felucia flashed through your head. Later, you told yourself, turning to look ahead and stilling yourself for what was to come.

You stopped outside the meditation chambers. You knew you didn't need to knock—knew that he would sense your presence. And, as you heaved another sigh, working to keep your body upright, fighting the weight of that ever-present grief, you heard his quiet voice.

"Enter," Obi-Wan said, and you pushed the button on the panel on the wall, walking slowly into the darkened meditation room. Everything inside was a shade of blue and grey, even the pale light slipping in through the mostly-covered windows. The room contained only a few soft ottomans, and gave the impression of stillness, of calm. Even so, you had to hold your breath as you bowed to Obi-Wan and took your place on the ottoman across from his. Everything in this Temple reminded you of Yuma. Everything reminded you that she was no longer here.

"Thank you for agreeing to meet with me," Obi-Wan said gently, his eyes grazing over your form, your face. You realized you still had yet to visit the refresher, your hair still looking like a nest something might crawl out of. You couldn't find it in yourself to care.

"Thank you for...offering, to help me train," you responded, bowing your head again slightly, forcing yourself to look him in the eye.

"I will do what I can," Obi-Wan replied, folding his legs on the ottoman, assuming a straight-backed meditative position. You followed suit, and found that your body felt comforted in this position, like muscle memory, as if its familiarity made the weight a little bit easier to bear.

"It is my understanding that you were unsuccessful," Obi-Wan began, stroking his beard thoughtfully, "when trying to extricate yourself from Yuma's thoughts and memories in the Force."

"Yes," you said, swallowing hard, trying to ignore the lump that had formed in your throat as you thought back to those training sessions, some that had taken place in this very same room. It felt like a different lifetime, compared to the one you were living now.

"And you were unable, as well, to stop reading other's presences, when you tried." You felt Obi-Wan's thoughts drift lazily toward Anakin, and you checked to make sure your own Force presence was folded neatly and minutely into yourself. The last thing you needed from this training was to reveal too much.

"Yes," you said again, watching Obi-Wan with interest.

"What did it feel like? When you tried to disentangle yourself from Yuma's presence?" Obi-Wan sounded genuinely curious. You swallowed again, pushing your head and back up straight, blinking away the pang that her name sent through you.

"It felt like..." you thought back to those training sessions. "It felt like there were thousands of...tendrils, connecting my presence to Yuma's presence, in the Force. And all of the tendrils were tangled together, knotted and looped...it took so much effort to disconnect one, or two, but before I could make progress, her thoughts or emotions would shift, and new tendrils would take their place. I could never get too many disconnected at once."

"An interesting metaphor..." Obi-Wan mused, his hand gracing over his mustache, his eyes unfocused as he considered your words. "My thought is that we are going about this the wrong way." He looked up, making eye contact with you once again.

"I'm listening."

"I've observed your Force empathy myself..." Obi-Wan said, looking at you as if he could see through you, right to your very soul. "I've found that your own emotions form a strong connection to those you read in others."

You thought back to all the times you'd mistaken others emotions for your own...with Anakin, the first day you'd even met him, or with Henry, when you'd seen his memories and assumed they were yours. You nodded.

"Sometimes...sometimes they even become indiscernible," you confirmed. "My own emotions, and those I read in others." Obi-Wan nodded as well.

"Logically it follows that extricating your emotions from the emotions of others would be very difficult," Obi-Wan said. You thought back over your relationship with Anakin—how at first you'd been afraid your feelings of affection, longing, of love weren't yours at all. Over time, though, your own feelings had grown such that their strength couldn't be denied. They had asserted themselves over you, over both of your lives. You shuddered at the thought, at how difficult it felt, even now, to not be by his side, not be in his arms. How those emotions threatened to swallow you whole.

"If the two are inseparable," Obi-Wan continued, snapping you back to attention, "instead of trying to separate your emotions from the emotions of another, I'm wondering if we can cut both off at the source."

"You mean..." you pondered, thinking this through, "not feel anything?"

"Not exactly, no," Obi-Wan explained, his voice thoughtful. "You are gifted at meditation, yes?" You nodded, wanting to see where he was going with this. "Instead of trying not to feel anything, you might think to separate yourself from your own emotions, when in particularly dangerous or high-stakes situations."

"You're speaking of impermanence," you murmured softly. Obi-Wan nodded. It was an old Jedi principle, one you had learned from a very young age—that the root of all suffering was impermanence. That to fear the impermanence led to anger, and then to hate, and then to suffering. A Jedi must accept the impermanence of all things. Especially emotion, you thought to yourself.

"I think you might have more success if you were to try to separate yourself—your being, your very soul—from those momentary feelings. The emotions you feel, and those that others feel, entangled and entwined as they are." Obi-Wan watched you, waiting for your response.

"So, it isn't about trying not to feel..." you said, thinking deeply. "But rather, allowing my sense of self to detach from my feelings, when the occasion calls for it."

"Yes." Obi-Wan affirmed. "It isn't about escaping your own emotions...but rather, forming a stronghold against them, and the ones you might read in others." Obi-Wan paused for a moment while you thought this over. "The Sith are controlled by their emotion." You looked up, and for a moment, instead of Obi-Wan's blue iris, you saw the purple one that had haunted you in your dreams. "They draw strength from it, yes," Obi-Wan continued, "but they also let it consume them. It seems to me that when you intuit Sith presences, that emotion consumes you too."

You thought back to when Count Dooku had taken you prisoner in your own mind. It had felt like being led down a dark path, one that narrowed, narrowed, until...until you'd been trapped. You didn't want to be rendered useless ever again. You didn’t want anyone else to come into harm's way because you were unable to keep your own mind for yourself. As your resolve hardened, you sat up straight, meeting Obi-Wan's gaze.

"What must I do?"

It was difficult work. Obi-Wan led you through a series of visualization exercises, and then meditations. You waded so deeply into the weeds of your own mind that you felt, for a moment, afraid you might get lost in it once again. But Obi-Wan was there, his voice guiding you, allowing you to continue mapping those deepest parts of yourself. You soon found that you were not one whole, but a composite mix of things; you were not solely a Jedi, nor were you solely the self that Yuma had taught, nor the woman that Anakin loved. You were many different things, different forms, ever-shifting and changing along with your consciousness.

By the end of the lesson, you'd achieved a moment—only a moment—in which you had looked at Obi-Wan and felt nothing emanating from his presence at all. It snapped away as you lost your focus, and you'd been certain that it was a mistake, but Obi-Wan had assured you that he did not have the gift of hiding his Force presence, and that if you had not been intuiting it, you had made great progress. You could admit that the flow of conversation in the back of your mind, the ever-present murmuring, had quieted to only a trickle. This was a great improvement from the storm of voices you had grown accustomed to. After only one day's effort, you and Obi-Wan had achieved more than you and your Master had been able to accomplish in six months.  

"Thank you," you said, breathless, sweat dripping down your brow from effort. For the first time since Felucia, you felt a bit looser, like you didn't have to try quite as hard to stand up straight.

"I appreciate your gratitude," Obi-Wan said kindly, "but you know it isn't necessary. I want to do anything I can to help you." You nodded your thanks to him, all the same. Obi-Wan's face became thoughtful. "I've never encountered anything like you, in the Force," he added, considering you.

You paused, taken aback. Obi-Wan, one of the most talented Jedi in the Order, who'd had a Padawan that—

"But...Anakin..." you mumbled, confused.

"I've never encountered anything like either of you," Obi-Wan said, chuckling and rubbing his beard. "You astound even the wisest of us." You laughed too, and felt yourself surprised to hear the sound.

"I know it doesn’t help," Obi-Wan remarked softly, "But I…have been in your position before. I watched my own Master be killed." You went quiet, your eyes fully on Obi-Wan, his head bowed, his hair hanging over his face, his eyes glazed with the memory. "And I was there, and I could do nothing to stop it. The mark that it leaves…it gets easier, with time. Easier to bear the weight of it."

You had never heard Obi-Wan speak of his Master before. Qui-Gon’s passing had happened when you were so young—it had scared you, at the time, with all the rumors surrounding how it had happened, but you hadn't thought, at that young age, of the effect it must have had on his Padawan.

"It does help," you told him quietly. The two of you sat for a moment in comfortable silence.

"How do you feel?" Obi-Wan asked, looking you over with careful concern. You considered his question honestly, allowing your body to express itself to you.

"I feel...hungry," you breathed, surprised at yourself. Obi-Wan smiled widely, and you grinned back at him, feeling, for the first time in a while, like there was solid ground beneath you.

Anakin stalked through the halls of the Temple. Jedi who were in his path moved swiftly to get out of his way; a maintenance droid squealed as the toe of Anakin's boot just missed it, but he wasn't paying attention. He looked down for a moment, but could barely see the tendons in his hands as he clenched his fingers into fists. He barely noticed the way the other Jedi were looking at him, his furrowed brow, his tall stature. He had other things on his mind.

He had awoken in your bed to find it empty. Fear and panic had gripped his heart as he tore apart the sheets, looking through the apartment, calling for you. It was only then that he remembered your training with Obi-Wan, your promise from the previous day. It had calmed him, but only a little. He had dressed quickly, sneaking out of your Jedi apartment with ease. He knew he had to find you.

Anakin's heart raced thinking about how you had been these previous days, how immobile you seemed, how you had been refusing to eat or drink, how you hadn't been able to get out of that bed. It terrified him whenever your eyes started to glaze over; when you didn't seem to fully see the room you were in. He was worried you might slip back into that Force haze at any moment, that space where you had seemed all but lost to him forever. He wouldn't let that happen.

The meditation room was empty; Anakin paused in the doorway only for a moment, before wheeling around and continuing down to the lower level. Where could you have gone? Surely not back to the medical chambers, unless—unless something had happened to you, during your training? Unless your mind had gone back into that cloudedness—

Surely there was no way the council had already sent you into command, was there? Anakin himself had been granted a small reprieve after the events of Felucia. He knew the council had appointed you general of the 415th batallion, Yuma's former position. He knew you had accepted command—what else could you have done? But could the council have sent you back into combat so quickly? Panic gripped Anakin's heart as he considered what it might mean if you returned to battle in your current state. He paused just outside the Temple gardens, half-ready to turn around and head back up toward the medical bay, to the council chambers, to demand to know where you were, when—

He felt a tug within him in the Force. It was a familiar presence; it felt like comfort, and reddish brown hair, the sleeve of a tunic...

Anakin found him on the other side of the gardens, in the corner, sitting with a cup of tea.

"Where is she?" Anakin demanded, looking around quickly. Obi-Wan seemed relaxed, so, at the very least, nothing horrible could have happened to you.

"Good morning, Anakin," Obi-Wan said, his voice sounding tired.

"Where is she?" Anakin asked again, bouncing back onto the heels of his boots for emphasis, feeling unable to keep still, even in the presence of his seated Master.

"I believe she went to get something to eat," Obi-Wan replied, looking warily up at Anakin.

"To eat?" Anakin asked, pausing for a moment, debating turning around on the spot and heading for the mess hall. But if you had gone to get something to eat, then—

"Training went well, then?" Anakin asked, lowering his voice, perching on the bench next to the one on which Obi-Wan lounged, in the corner of the Temple garden.

"I would say so," Obi-Wan said in his infuriatingly calm voice. Obi-Wan took another sip of his tea, looking out at the garden as if deep in thought.

"What does that mean?" Anakin asked, feeling impatient.

"I'm not sure," Obi-Wan replied, his voice still infuriatingly calm.

"Don't be cryptic," Anakin accused, leaning back on his bench and crossing his arms defiantly over his chest. "Do you think you'll be able to help her, or not?"

"I am optimistic," Obi-Wan said, finally turning in Anakin's direction to look him over. "You should be patient with her, Anakin. This was a serious loss for her."

"I know that," Anakin responded, his heart pounding, his anger jumping up a pitch. "I am being patient." Did Obi-Wan think he, Anakin, didn't know what you needed? How could Obi-Wan not see that your well-being was the most important thing in the world? Of course, Obi-Wan couldn't know about your relationship with Anakin...but didn't Obi-Wan realize the importance of keeping you alive, regardless? Didn't Obi-Wan realize how much danger you were in? Anakin took in the posture of his former Master, how calm Obi-Wan seemed, how superior, and felt his frustration grow. Obi-Wan sucked in a breath.  

"She's grieving—" Obi-Wan tried, but Anakin cut him off.

"Felucia, Obi-Wan?!" Anakin rasped, his volume increasing. "That wasn't grief!" Anakin recalled again the way you had looked with your body limp, your eyes clouded over, milky white, unable to hear him, trapped in your own suffering.

"I'm looking into it," Obi-Wan responded quietly, lowering his eyes.

"Well, look harder," Anakin said, his breath coming out in a huff. He leaned forward again, looking to Obi-Wan beseechingly. "If she takes command of the 415th, and she doesn't have this under control—"

"If you don't trust her by now," Obi-Wan began, but Anakin cut him off again.

"Of course I trust her! But you know as well as I do—as well as Yuma did—that her gifts are a liability!"

"She is not a liability to the Order—"

"I don't give a kriffing gundark about the Order! I'm talking about her—her life. You need to help her, Obi-Wan. We need to...to find a way to make sure..." Anakin's breathing was heavy. He found himself looking down at his hands, his shoulders moving up and down quickly with his breath. He blinked, his fear overwhelming him.

"We will help her," Obi-Wan said, putting a bracing hand on Anakin's shoulder. "And she will help herself."

You sat, staring into the archive memory, sifting through the holobooks to find what you were looking for. The Temple library was quiet, the atmosphere one of focused attention. Something about it calmed you, but you also found it a bit unnerving, that every bit of galactic knowledge that existed could be found in these very archives.

Your stomach was full for the first time since Felucia; you were sitting upright, able to fight the weight of the grief that had been threatening for days to consume you. You felt exhausted, and sad, but it was a start. And after attending to your needs in the mess hall, you'd come straight here, to the Temple library. Even in the darkest parts of your grief—even when you'd been totally trapped under that weight—you'd known what you needed to do next. You'd been forming your plan. All you had needed was the strength to begin. And, thanks to your training with Obi-Wan, today you'd found it.

You used the controls to pull forth one of the holobooks, and as the holoimages came up, you sat down to focus. You felt yourself getting lost in the text, trying to remember everything. Your focus was so intense that you didn't feel his presence coming until he was right behind you.

"Why are you researching Galactic Sign Language?" Anakin asked, his hand gently stroking your shoulder. Such a small, subtle movement was likely to go unnoticed by those other Jedi in the archives, absorbed as they were in their own research. The sound of his voice made your body electrify—all of the longing, the guilt, and the desire passed through you at once. You shivered.  

"It's a long story," you told him, turning around in your chair to face him full on.

"I'm sorry," you breathed, right as Anakin had said the same thing, leaning in toward you, his eyes wide. You felt the corners of your mouth turn up at the sides, and Anakin's face fell open, his surprise taking away his supplication.

"Me first," you said, getting up out of the chair and shutting off the hologram. As you faced Anakin, you felt through his emotions in the Force, sifting through as if the man in front of you were a different type of archive memory—one that was tangled, passionate, complex, brilliant, and beautiful. His emotions mirrored your own; you felt his guilt, his longing, his love for you. The first and most prominent emotion surrounding his presence was worry, and this made you feel even more guilty.

"I'm sorry I shouted at you," you told him quietly, aware of the others milling about the great library. "I'm sorry I took my anger out on you. It's only anger at myself—" Anakin looked as if he were going to cut you off, but you silenced him, holding up your hand. "I shouldn't have gotten angry with you at all. Not when you are so kind," you voice grew quieter, "and so loyal, and so patient with me." Your faces were closer together now; if anyone were to look over, they might wonder why you were having such an intense, whispered conversation. "I'm sorry I fell apart," you continued, feeling the hint of the tears pinpricking the corners of your eyes. You pushed through, closing your eyes to keep the tears from falling. "You shouldn't have to worry about me. I won't let it happen again. I promise I'll be here for you. With you."

"I'm the one who should be sorry," Anakin said eagerly, acting as if he were about to take your hands in his, and then looking around, thinking better of it. Instead, he surreptitiously reached up and brushed under your eye, stroking away the ghost of the tear that didn't fall. "I shouldn't have said anything about...I shouldn't have assumed I know anything about what it felt like for you, on Felucia."

You nodded, but really, he didn't need to apologize. You'd put your own words into his mouth; it hadn't been a fight between you and Anakin, but one between the warring sides of yourself. And you knew now that you needed to face those warring sides head on, and deal with them before they could manage to hurt anyone else.

"You don't have anything to apologize for," you said, pulling half of your mouth up in a small smile. Anakin's eyes were stars, on fire, the blue looking like it was burning, like it would melt out into the air.

"Obi-Wan said training went well," Anakin whispered, hopefully, looking around you for a moment before grazing your hand with his.

"I think it did," you whispered back, looking up into his eyes. You wanted nothing more than to take his face in your hands, but you held back. All this secrecy, you thought, might just drive you mad.

"And you'll tell me about your research..." he continued, glancing back at the archive computer behind you.

"Another time," you assured him, looking around again, making sure no one was close enough to overhear while you leaned in closer toward him. "You know that I love you," you breathed. Anakin's face broke into a joyful smile, his body leaning in closer to yours.

"You know," he said quietly so only you could hear him, "that I love you more than all of the books in this archive." He glanced back at the other Jedi, huddled in their research. "And more than all of the stars in the galaxy, and more than all of the galaxies in the universe." Anakin met your gaze, his sorrow gone, his eyes alight and mischievous. You felt the intention in his Force presence, and it made your insides turn over, your breath becoming short.

"And I love you more than whatever lies beyond that," you whispered, smiling up at him, your heart full. Anakin surreptitiously stroked his hand over the top of yours once again.

"Do you have much more research to do?" Anakin asked, his face forming a familiar, cocky smile.

"It can wait," you murmured, smiling and cocking your head as you strode past him toward the doors, gesturing for him to follow.

************************************************************************

thank you all for being patient with these updates <3 if you are following this story, you and I are besties, that's how it works

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divider credit to @racingairplanes

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[chococolte]

Can I hold a yandere zhongli, cause I feel like since he’s the oldest i wanna pamper him

word count. 458

୨୧ — ꒰ cw. yandere, unhealthy relationships, possessive & obsessive thoughts/behaviors, g/n reader. i do not condone yanderes irl.

୨୧ — ꒰ a/n. the things i would do to hold zhongli in my hands. the crimes i would commit

Your hands are warm.

That is the first thought in Zhongli's mind. Your hands are unspeakably warm, and feel like sunlight seeping through his skin. He leans into your palms, eyes half-lidded.

This is a sight only for you to see.

A calm pink dusts his cheeks. His mind unfurls with thoughts of you. The steady rhythm of your breath, his favorite sound; the pulse he can feel beating within your wrists.

It is not so wrong to think of you as the sun, he realizes— you are bright like sunbeams, interwoven like sunrays, kind like gleams of light. When he basks in your presence, the scars long etched into the vestige of his soul stop aching for a brief moment. In the comfort of your hold, he feels as though he has finally come home after millennia of fighting.

In the barren wastes of war, there is little time for love. The ones you care about can be ripped away from you in an instant. Zhongli has already felt that pain once before.

Maybe he has never truly realized that it's over, now. No more fighting has to be done. Liyue does not need him anymore. He can finally rest and be at peace, yet his mind still clings to the ichor on his blade and the memories of final breaths long taken.

With you, it is as though he can finally be. There is no more need to hold tight onto the handle of his polearm, no need to worry about matters he need not worry himself for.

"Let me hold you," you say, moving forward and holding his head to your chest. Zhongli does not dare to refuse you. He thinks he's long been unable to.

Every part of you is stunning. As his eyes finally flutter close with a soft cadence, he's all the more sure of it. How could he not love the sun; that which brightens the world with its every rise? How could he not love you; wonderful, beautiful you?

You are not merely the sun. You are the moon, benign in your glory. The stars in the blanket of night shimmer next to you, but are unable to capture his attention. Zhongli can only think of you— of the softness of your touch, the gentleness with which you breathe.

Next to you, perhaps he too is only a star. Such a strange thing to imagine, given his past. Once, he may have believed himself to be the sun in his youthful arrogance. The center of Liyue.

Now, he realizes, as your lips connect with his temple, that he was never the heart of it all. Liyue's people were.

"I love you," you say.

And among them, you shine the brightest.

[darklydeliciousdesires]

Salvation - A Luca Changretta/Reader One Shot Story.

So my darling @zablife put this in my brain, and it was going to be smutty, but it took a much more tender turn in the end. I hope you all enjoy it nonetheless.

Words - 1,034

Warnings - Brief mentions of violence.

In Luca’s world, his status dictates he acts as judge and jury, but not often executioner. Usually, it’s another to squeeze a trigger, send a ballistic of hot lead into somebody, their final lesson learned in never crossing the men who loom like reapers within the shadows of the New York underworld.  

Until the code of omerta is forsaken so badly, he has no choice but to execute vengeance, when it’s on a level so personal, there’s no one else but him to bring down the final blow. For omerta, any bond is pushed aside. Friendship, blood, oaths, everything.  

And it never gets easier.  

The weight of it pushes down on his shoulders, the deed trailing along after him, like a restless phantom vying for attention, swirling dark as it flits through his mind. It casts its shadows, seeds itself, an implanted haunting no exorcism will ever remove. The stains of blood can be washed away, cleansed by soap and water. Stains of the soul take a much deeper scouring.  

For the wages of sin is death, so says the holy book. He knows it’ll come to him eventually, unless he’s particularly fortunate. It shan’t be the sacrilege of breaking omerta that ends him, though. He knows whatever reaper comes for him in the end will be nothing less than his own wages of sin have earned him. 

He examines his hands again in the car, although it was a gloved hand that pulled the trigger and sent his own blood down to check in at the gates of hell. They only contain the usual brandings, no blood to mark the deed, nothing outward giving it away. If his appearance matched the carnage in his brain, he would look as if he’d been launched headfirst into a blood-filled vat, dripping sanguine, no skin left without the slick wet of a crimson stain.  

He feels like he is walking through clay as he enters your home, feet heavy, limbs turned to stone and concrete. Luca Changretta is nothing if not a pillar of strength, but as with anything, if the pillar is subjected to blunt force trauma too many times, it begins to show cracks.  

It’s always you who patches them up again.  If anybody has a chance of banishing the phantom, it is you.

He moves through the house wordlessly after removing his coat and hat, his feet upon the stairs echoing through the hallway. Slow, heavy footfalls, his shoulders drawn up as you stand at the bottom to view him, biting your lip nervously.  

“Want me to bring you a drink up?”  

He never means to bite your head off, show his fangs like an agitated viper, but it does happen. When the tall Italian turns at the top to look down on you, though, it’s with a softened face. “Please, doll.”  

A little pang of worry nestles itself in your chest, his voice even quieter than usual. You knew he wouldn’t walk away from that particular hit unscathed, the damage being on the inside. It’ll be like a feral cat scratching against the inside of his skull in the days to come, sore, repetitive, vying for release.  

After all, it isn’t every day a man has to put a bullet in his cousin, after discovering he was a rat. 

Knowing he needs a little time, you wait downstairs until after the sound of running water has ceased, giving him a slither of peace before padding up, a large whiskey in your hand. He hasn’t bothered switching the lights on, some of your candles over in the corner lit instead, the room bathed in a dark gold glow.  

He seems to have been taken by the storm of his thoughts, not immediately registering your entrance into his calming space, a wounded, green gaze finding you eventually as you pass him his drink, seating yourself on the side of the tub. Your hand reaches for his face, cupping his cheek, the dark stubble grainy in texture against the soft of your fingertips.  

A sigh sweeps over your palm as he leans into your embrace, your thumb skimming his lips, a kiss pressed as finally, he smiles. “Thank god for you.” Leaning forward, he shuffles to the centre of the tub, the water whooshing around the narrow, muscular form as it cuts through it, Luca jerking his head back. “Come hop in here with me.”  

It’s usually you who lies between his long legs, legs you once coined sexy giraffe legs and made him laugh until his stomach hurt, a rarity for a man usually so taciturn, so quietly still. Your place now is to be the bearer of support, the bolster rod knocked in behind the great pillar to prevent it from toppling, ready to take the weight and repair the damage.  

His head rests between your breasts, eyes falling shut, long legs jutting out of the water where he’s bent them at the knees to make room for you. The steam rises from his skin, and you watch it curling up through the air while your fingers weave into his wet hair, nails combing through the raven strands and swirling over his scalp.  

It’s a practice he’s always found soothing, and you know he needs it, needs something to counteract all that is sharp and screaming in his mind. Your presence alone is tonic enough, but for him, it’s your touch which truly pours healing elixir over the emotional wounds lacerating him deeply. Your fingertips begin to squeeze and rake, easing the tension pulling tight over his head, a soft, relaxed grunt rumbling his throat.  

Your caress moves to his neck, the muscles hard and unrelenting, tension cording every muscle. It leads to his shoulders, your hands working with diligence, stroking, kneading and pinching until you feel them begin to become malleable. He feels it leaving him, the exorcism that is the pure brilliance of your love banishing all that hangs heavy upon him, the phantom chased away, shrouding itself from your light.  

“Feeling any better?” 

He lifts his chin, turning his head, the smile finally reaching the green twinkle of his eyes, picked peridot in the candlelight. “Always am whenever you’re near.” 

[dommevenuss]

Dabi x dom!gn! Reader

Note: A chastity cage can be something so personal. I’m starting Kinktober with something soft n sweet🥰

You once off-handedly compared Dabi to a stray cat, specifically the transition of stray cat to house cat. You, in his arms, cuddled into his chest and idly rubbing your hands through his hair. ‘True peace’, he remembers thinking. An ideology, a concept, an option he had never considered even being available for him so he chuckled a little bit and agreed. The conversation pushed into the back of his mind as he hugged you a little tighter and breathed you in a little deeper.

But when, once again, you off handedly talk about him wearing something of possession, something that links him to you always. He ponders back to this conversation, laughing a little about it internally. There was no direct connection but still. He continues to think about what you could possibly mean and Dabi’s *cool* with it.He mysterious, nonchalant, (dramatic) and even as comfortable as he was with you, it’s a defense mechanism. A smirk grows on his face and he once more holds you in his arms and agrees. “That’s hot, doll. Wanna make sure everybody know I’m taken?”

“Of course, can’t have my pet walking around without a collar, now can i?” And of course you laugh and stare at him with so much adoration that he can’t help but to kiss you, hoping that his feelings will be able to convey through the gentle dance of your lips. And through this, once more the conversation is pushed to the back of his mind.

It only a few week later when he comes back from where ever, doing whatever is when you show him the item of possession. After a nice shower/wipe down and a warm meal, you have him sitting on the couch in his grey sweats and black tee, seemingly relaxed. But he notices your nervousness as you crack your knuckle and play with his hands. His eyes dart to you and he watches, waits patiently for you to speak.

“Do you remember about the conversation we had about the,” you pause and take a deep breath. “About something you can wear that shows your taken? I know that you wouldn’t want anything to flashy and i know a ring wouldn’t be the best option because of your job and-“

“Doll you’re rambling.” He chuckles. He keeps firm on your hand, hoping to ground you as you do normally during more intimate times. You smile and laugh. “I guess i am”

You bring his hand to your lips, pressing a soft kiss to the intersection of the healthy and hurt skin. It was unfair the effect you had on him, it was unfair the way you wormed through his heart and made him feel emotions he thought he shoved down far long ago. He hoped you wouldn’t look up and look at the light dust pink that spread across the healthy flesh of the apples of his cheeks.

“It’s a cage, a sliver cage that wraps around your dick when you’re limp.” You say, finally looking up at him. You’re gauging his reaction he realizes, scooping it out to see if it’s a definite no. “You can still pee of course and I’ll have the key. It wont be all the time, whenever you want it off, it’s off. Period.”

You once again surprised him, pulling this out of your sleeve like a magic trick. As if him letting down his guards this quick and being this comfortable this quick wasn’t enough , you pull this. He wants to laugh because the craziest part about this is, is the fact that he would let you, he *is* going to let you. He is not the fondest of having to sit to piss however, but this wasn’t about minor inconveniences. This was about being yours through and through, soul, mind and body. You had him already. But if this is what you wanted for security. For him to show you that he was yours, that he would burn down the world if you so ask, then so be it.

So he nods.

“Baby, i need a verbal response.” You whisper, leaning in towards him. He doesn’t know when he looked away but now he’s forced to look you in his eyes as he whispers a “whatever makes you happy doll” and with that you slosh your lips against his. You push him down softly, continuing the soft dance. Your hands, your lips, your scent, your everything filling all 5 senses. He loses himself in you and allows you to take control.

“Aren’t i suppose to be limp?” The last rational thought he has before you pull orgasm after orgasm from him.

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

Happy was an understatement as your eyes glazed over his body. His chest raised with each deep breathe he took, his dick limp and covered with his fluids and his face? His face was angelic, lidded blue eyes staring at you as if you hung the stars yourself, his cheeks tinted pink, his lips pretty n bruised from your ruthless lips. He was a gift to you from the universe and, god, were you grateful.

You sit on the bed to his side, his eyes following your every move as you reveal the silver cage.

“Do you remember when i said i wanted to get you something that you could always wear? A reminder that i was always with you.” You say with a soft smile. He nods.” This is a chastity cage. Are you still okay with this? Give me your saftey taps if you are.”

He reaches out and taps your thigh three times for green before reaching for your hand. Such a simple gesture but it filled you with warmth, knowing where you started at with Dabi. You couldn’t help but place a kiss on his hand before moving to his face, kissing each eyelid, his nose, each cheek and ending with a kiss on his lips. And when you pull back, you move once more between his legs, opening them up with such gentleness and care.

You grab the damp rag and clean the mess around his thighs, his stomach and his limp dick. He lets out a soft whine as you slide it on.

“Shh baby, i got you. I got you” you whisper as you put it on quickly, kissing his knee. It locks with a satisfying click, and as you put the key around your neck, you stare at it with pride. “So good for me Touya, so good.”

He reaches for your hand again and you grasp it, grabbing a water bottle on the night stand before finally indulging him in the physical affection he craved afterwards. He’s rest his face in his neck and clings to your body as your hand combs through his hair. A quiet laugh leaves your mouth followed by a smile when your eyes land on the black hole in your sheets. You’re going to have to replace them again but in sense, this is him making his presence known and could you really be mad when this is a product of your love? The stray kitty finally found a home and a person they could trust with their heart and body.

[dianeandrews]

As of today, I am 612 days (a little over 20 months) sober. The time between these photos is almost exactly 2 years, so the photo on the left was about 4 months before I finally dropped the bottle. I was drinking HEAVILY at that point. As you can probably tell, my entire body was quite literally soaked in booze.

Now that I've been sober nearly 2 years, I have done a LOT of healing, reflecting, soul searching and very painful emotional and mental growing. In that growth, I have learned some very important things about myself.

One of the biggest things that bothered me about my insane level of drinking was "why?". I was finally in a relationship with someone who OBVIOUSLY loved me for exactly who I was/am. I was doing well in basically all aspects of life. So, why was I drinking my life away and continually searching for that numbness?

It has taken me 20 months, but I think I finally have a big part of the answer: I was afraid of being happy.

The last time I thought I was happy had been 22 years prior. I was with a man who I thought was "the one". Long story short, things went downhill fast. He wasn't the one and I ended up nearly dying from stress. Literally.

I spent the next 22 years undulating between sober and drunk. Trying to grieve as eloquently as possible. Working my ass off to raise my daughter by myself, while also self-medicating and trying to live the life I though I deserved. Nothing I did felt fulfilling and no amount of booze could take away the pain of what I had lost. I had not only lost my trust and love in someone I thought was my soul mate (ah, stupid youth), but I had also lost the full use of what used to be a very strong, athletic and incredible body.

Fast forward to 2021 and here I was again in love with someone who this time actually was worth trusting and worth loving, yet I was still unable to allow myself to be happy.

Why? Fear. Plain and simple. Fear that my past was returning to play out exactly the same way it had before. That fear then led me to drink to cover itself up, which then progressed to full blown addiction and having a shot of tequila immediately after waking followed by one every hour until bed. In between that time, I was ruining everything good in my life. Alcohol has a way of doing that so you will continue to love it and nothing/no one else.

Since realizing this truth, I have found myself at peace. Peace knowing that I understand myself better. Peace within myself to allow myself to let go of that past pain and continue to tell myself things are different. I am different. I have healed in many, many ways. I am no longer that 20 year old inexperienced girl. I am a full grown very experienced and very wise woman. I am powerful. I am more powerful than my fears and I am certainly more powerful than any substance that tries to call me back to the dark side. No thank you, I prefer the light.

Many people have said that you can see how withdrawn I was in my "before" photos and now see how alive I am in my current. It's true. Not only is it obvious in my photos, but I feel it in my heart and soul. I still have some healing to do and will always be a work in progress, but I am beyond grateful I have found more of myself and have learned to love who I am and what I have to offer.

In the words of a wonderful man; I am Wonder Woman.

[lucienarcheron]

Spirit Meets the Bones - V

Genre: Angst/Romance Warnings: Mentions of physical abuse. ​​

shoutout to my darling @abruisedmuse for keeping me sane while writing. ily!

Tagging: @vanserrass | @climb-the-mountian | @positivewitch | @helion-ism | @sarions | @readthelastpaage | @zenkindoflove | @animezinglife | @eastofatlanta | @carolynmezzosoprano | @carnythian | @runningwiththeoceans | @secret-third-thing | @readychilledwine | @clockwork-ashes | @goldenmagnolias | @mali22 | @maidr-00 | @electromagnetic-waves | @thedarkinmansfield | @theeternalstruggle | @devilsfoodcake22 | @the-midnightwriter | @moonfawnx | @spinachtz | @elizab3th-grace | @ladystarrynight | @highlady-fireheart | @krem-does-stuff | @that-golden-lyre | @lovedbyth3sun | @illyrianshadowhunter | @foxybananaaaz | @weesablackbeak | @ladywhilemia | @moobell55 | @alohaangels | @bibliophiliaxvignette | @easchies | @this-is-rochelle | @thelovelymadone |

Find it all here.

“So, tell me wife,” Eris began. “Other than piano and the urge to stab, what else are you interested in?”

Iris rolled her eyes. “Is this your question for a question?”

He shrugged. “Sure.”

Eris had taken one look at her expression this morning as they stepped out in the hall and knew the tour could wait until later. After a very quiet departure where they slipped out unnoticed by all, they were finally out in a quiet field, letting their horses leisurely stroll side by side as they explored alone. 

They had ridden in silence for the first few moments and if Eris had to sit quietly for another moment without asking her something he would lose his mind. 

Iris’s lips went into a thin line as her eyes drank in the sight of the open field around her. There wasn’t a single soul around them. It was a sense of peace she hadn’t expected to be feeling the morning after her wedding. 

“I think…” she began and glanced at him, “If given the chance, I would’ve liked to properly study the art of healing.” 

Eris hummed in thought, his eyes on her for a moment then back at the road ahead. “A healer?” he asked. “That seems like a noble choice. Why would your father be opposed to it?”

Iris grimaced. “My father...didn’t like the idea of me knowing too many useful things,” she replied, gently running a hand through her horse’s mane. “If I became useful, I wouldn’t need him. If I didn’t need him, I could defy him. And if I could defy him? Well then...I’d be a much bigger problem.”

“You seem to have done that anyway. It doesn’t seem to have stopped you from getting away with quite a lot,” he said quietly. 

Iris shook her head and glanced at him. “I was...very limited in what I could do. Kept on a very tight leash. I can socialize but only when he allows it with the specific people he wants. I could have hobbies but only if he deemed them appropriate and he had the power to take them away whatever he wanted, at any point in time.” she said and her voice lowered to a mumble. “It was his favorite thing to do, and everything came at a price.”

She frowned and Eris tilted his head, saying nothing as he watched her, hoping she would continue. It surprised him that he wanted to know more. He needed to know more.

After a few moments of silence, Iris seemed to remember she had more to say.

“Everything I really cared about doing, or rather everything I tried to do, had to be done in secret. I never learned how to properly defend myself because I had to sneak to do it. The same applies to healing. I had to be very careful how I approached my instructors with questions. If I seemed too eager or began excelling too quickly, it would be taken away. The piano was allowed because he used it as a selling point.” she said with a snort. “I was his so-called poor sickly daughter who couldn’t be out and about for too long and whose only joy was her little piano. I annoyed him enough that he let some things slide but after a while, he got sick of it and... what’s another bruise?”

The nonchalance shrug made Eris’s jaw clench and he shifted his shoulders uncomfortably. Too similar. They were much too similar. 

“Did you try healing yourself?”

Iris looked away, towards the open field once more. “I did. But it had to be gradual. If I did it too quickly, he would notice.” she replied. “I liked it best when he didn’t notice me.”

Eris watched her silently for a moment, watched the longing in her eyes at the open field and space. A bitterness clawed its way into his chest. He knew all too well how trapped a person can feel.

“You can ride out if you’d like,” he said, forcing his tone to be as gentle as possible. “The edge of the border takes you to the sea, about an hour’s ride.”

“And leave you all alone, little lord?” she said with a scoff. “Wouldn’t want you to start crying.”

Eris smirked. “Aw, wife. Just say you can’t bear a moment without me by your side. I understand, I’m very dashing.”

Without looking at him, Iris flipped him off. “I won’t run off, you know.”

“I know," he confirmed. "So, if you’d like to ride, go for it. It’s just us here.”

She glanced at him and then again looked around. “Is that why you didn’t take me on a tour inside first?”

“One look at your face told me you’d rather not stay inside for too long. I figured seeing the land was a good start,” he replied, his fingers tightening on the reins briefly. “Was I wrong?”

Iris didn’t want to acknowledge it but gods, he was right. The idea of taking a tour where people were going to stare at her and wonder how she was still standing after a night with their stupid lordling made her want to vomit. “No,” she said quietly. “I don’t exactly look forward to being gawked at when we return.”

The corner of Eris’s mouth lifted. “They won’t,” he said. “The bride and groom have the blessing to avoid other human interactions for a week at least. It’s why you won’t see any of our housekeeping and I’m relieved of my duties this week. They’ll leave us alone for now to enjoy each other’s company.”

“Is this a custom I have never heard of?”

“It is when you’re the son of a high lord,” he replied, and Iris snorted but her curiosity was piqued. 

“So, we will have our own housekeeping staff then?”

“Of course. I personally went through the process of vetting them.”

She nodded and stole a glance at him to find him watching her as curiously as she watched him. “You also have your own guard, right?”

“Yes. I pick them myself. I need to know I can trust them.”

Trust. Such an important thing between him and his men. It would be an important thing between the two of them as well. If Eris would allow it to grow. If Iris would accept it.

Glancing ahead, fingers still tight on the reins, she asked, “And what do your duties include?”

“Helping my father run this court,” he said, his eyes drifting to the fields around them. “I have handled all the trades and business with our farming lands since the unfortunate incident with Jesminda. I also meet with and handle any citizen concerns as well as oversee the security measures around our border. Sometimes I’ll help train new soldiers. A few things here and there.”

Iris blinked rapidly. “A few?” she snorted. “If you do all this, what does your father do?”

Eris scoffed, his expression souring slightly. “Sit on his throne and drink wine.”

Iris’s eyebrows rose but she bit her lip, holding back a snicker. “What about your brothers?”

“Fucking their way through the city and spending my money,” he replied with a snort and this time, Iris didn’t hold back her small smile.

“It almost seems like you’re the only responsible one here, dearest husband.” 

“I am, dearest wife. You lucked out.”

Iris rolled her eyes but then paused, hands gently brushing the mane of her horse again, her eyes locked on him. “It also seems like you don’t like your family members much,” she asked carefully.

Eris knew the question she was asking and though they were in a wide field all alone, not a soul to listen to their conversation as he had intended, he hesitated. She didn’t need to know the depth of his disgust with how his family lived just yet. 

“I cannot live a day without them,” he said dully. “They bring me happiness every day.”

“Even your father?” she asked, her lips twitching. 

“Especially my father. He is the spark of joy in my heart.” Eris added in the driest of tones and Iris chuckled, bringing a small smile to his face.

“You’re an excellent liar,” she said with a shake of her head. “I thought you said it was just us. And that our question for a question would remain honest?”

Eris eyed her carefully. He wasn’t a foolish male, he knew when he could trust people and when he couldn’t. And yet.

“My relationship with my family is complicated,” he answered slowly. “I am sure you’ll understand more as you get to know them.” 

She hummed in thought then scrunched up her nose. “Do I have to get to know anyone besides your mother?”

“I’d personally prefer not but there’s no escaping my father,” he said with a sigh. “My brothers...can be ignored until otherwise noted.” 

Iris pursed her lips. She had even more questions now but clearly, his family was a touchy subject. Which was fair; just the mere mention of her father made her blood boil and she openly hated him.

“Now that I know you’re a very busy male, husband,” she began. “What exactly am I supposed to do with my time if I’ll never see you once this week is up?”

“Sitting in our bedroom looking delicious and happily waiting for me,” he replied immediately and smirked at the glare she shot him.

“Seriously, Eris.” she huffed. “What am I supposed to do? I — I don’t want to be sitting around uselessly.” 

“How did you spend your time before?” he asked, and Iris scowled.

“Doing anything I could get my hands on,” she said, and Eris watched as her eyes cataloged every detail around them, avoiding his gaze. “I read a lot of books. Painted. Sketched. Sculpted with clay. I even played with pottery...The results were terrible as I do not have an artist's hand and mostly made a mess.”

Eris fought the chuckle rising in him. 

“I dabbled in writing, which was also terrible. I even tried my hand at gardening but it…did not go well. Our gardener hated me.” she added with a snort. “I baked, I cooked, I even learned embroidery —which was a terrible waste of time as all I did was stab myself repeatedly.” 

“Ah, so that’s where your stabbing fetish comes from.” 

“I even tried weaving with an actual loom.” she continued, ignoring him completely and Eris watched her rant with barely hidden mirth. “All of this ended with me bothering the house staff as much as possible because I was so bored.”

“Sounds like you’re an absolute menace. I’m thrilled,” he said his lips twitching and Iris rolled her eyes, flipping him off with both hands.

“What about you then? I’m sure you’ve been an angel. What are you interested in?”

“Murder.” he deadpanned.

“Right up my alley then.”

He finally gave in to his amusement and laughed softly. “It sounds like you kept yourself very busy.”

“Uselessly busy.” she snapped and frowned at him. “I don’t want that to continue. I don’t want to be useless.” 

Eris pulled on the reins of his horse gently to halt it, gesturing for her to do the same. Iris’s frown deepened but she stopped as well, turning her horse to face his.

“What would you like to do?” he asked.

And it was the shift in his tone that had Iris sitting up. She thought quietly for a moment and Eris watched her mind working. 

She opened her mouth a moment later, but he held up a finger with a small smile.

“I’ve already factored in training for the two of us, time for you to practice your music skills, and time for the two of us outside of the house considering I can’t really show you everything I want to in a week,” he said, and Iris blinked. 

“You already thought of all that? When?”

“I am to be a high lord, my mind has to work very quickly,” he said with a smug smile. “What else would you like?”

Iris blinked once more. He...was being strangely thoughtful. It made her nervous. She narrowed her eyes at him.  

He quirked a brow, waiting. 

“To be with you when you’re hearing people’s concerns.” she blurted out. “I want you to teach me the court rules. I want to study healing again and take up the practice.”

She wanted so much. All she could think about was how much she wanted to do things and be present and have a say, but would he let her? What would he ask in return? Would he —

“More time together then?” he asked with a smirk. “You better pace yourself wife, I think my charm is starting to win you over.” 

Iris tried not to squirm as he watched her, but it didn’t stop the slight blush that bloomed on her cheeks. “I don’t exactly have anyone else to hang out with. You’re as good as it’ll get,” she mumbled, and Eris scoffed.

“I’m so flattered you’re this excited to spend time with me,” he said, and he hated that it bothered him. “Don’t you have friends you can visit? Or visit you? You can have those, you know. No one will stop them from visiting you.”

He watched her expression fall for a split second before her face neutralized again and she fretted with her braid instead. “I — I don’t have friends,” she said quietly. “Friends notice things.”

Silence fell between them and without saying a word to one another, their horses began moving again. Eris stole glances at her, feeling the embarrassment radiating off her and his mouth went into a thin line. As if she had anything to be embarrassed about. She had no idea how similar they were.

He pursed his lips then softly said, “Aside from Lucien and Elain...neither do I. And that’s been a long process. A very long process...I still don’t trust anyone and it’s hard to make friends when you don’t know who will stab you in the back.” 

Her shoulders relaxed as Iris let out a breath, her face still a little flushed. She stole another glance at him. 

“You can’t build any kind of relationship without trust,” she said, and the weight of the statement sat between them.

A heartbeat passed as Eris considered her across from him, a partner now shackled to him.

“No. You can’t.” was all he could think to say.

And Iris wondered just how much she could trust him and just how much he could trust her. It seemed like he had so much more to lose than she did. Then again…

She looked at him once more as they rode on. “So.”

Eris gave her an amused look. “So.”

“Are you and your brother closer now than before?”

Eris nodded slowly then smirked. “He won’t admit it but I’m his best friend.”

“That seems like a lie.”

“It is not. I’m his favorite person,” he said with a snort. “But I like Elain more than him anyway. She’s nicer to me.”

It was Iris’s turn to snort. “I’m sure he loves that.”

“He’s very jealous of Elain and I’s relationship.” 

Iris rolled her eyes. “You sound like a child,” she said, and Eris sniggered. “She’s nice then — Elain?”

“Are you worried about my relationship with your sister-in-law?” Eris teased. “Don’t worry, wife. I will always put you first.”

Iris’s expression flattened. “Just like you to make a question not about you, about you.” 

Eris chuckled. “Yes, Elain is very nice,” he answered. “She’s a character. I think the two of you will get along just fine.”

“And you’d want that?” she asked curiously. “For us to get along?”

“Of course,” Eris replied and Iris noted the sincerity in his expression. “Aside from my mother, they’re the only family I care about. They’re the only ones who matter.”

"Your other brothers aren't high on the list, huh?" she asked and Eris pursed his lips.

"It's...complicated," he answered with a diplomatic smile.

Iris’s eyebrows rose at his statement but she sat quietly, digesting it. He didn’t seem too ready for her to engage with his family in this court but was open to her having a relationship with the ones who didn’t live here…which was interesting.

She could have a friend in Elain at least, if Eris liked her so much. And — and a friend in Lucien too. His other brothers...Iris would have to see about that. She snuck a glance at her husband and found him watching her curiously. 

She could also find a friend in him as well, she supposed. 

“Are my other requests reasonable?” she asked quietly, and Eris gave her a small smile, feeling that faint sense of approval from him again.

“I think our court would benefit from a healer on a throne,” he said quietly. “It would be good for you to be involved. I will make it all work smoothly into my schedule.”

Iris gave him an amused look, biting back a smile at his statement. “Organized, are you?”

His grip tightened on the reins before he loosened his grip again. “I like things to be in a certain order so I will make sure it all works well and is accounted for with our combined schedules.”

Iris watched him curiously. He liked control then. Which was...not surprising. It made so much sense. Iris saw all his inappropriate comments in a whole new light now. 

She let a moment of silence pass between them before finally saying, “Wow.”

“Hm?”

“You really let me ask for things with no requests for kisses in return? Or for me to sit in your lap? Or do any of the other filthy things I know you’re constantly thinking of?” she said with a scoff and Eris grinned. “Dare I say in a matter of hours, growth?”

“Oh no, I’m saving it for later,” he said with a lazy smile then slowly gave her a thoughtful look. “Though I have never taken someone astride a horse before. Do you think Axel will mind if we ride each other while riding him?”

Iris shook her head, sighing. “Spoke so soon,” she mumbled, and Eris chuckled. Ignoring how his chuckle seemed to dance across her skin, Iris asked, “Where are we exactly? Near the Spring Court?”

“No, that’s more south. We are in the east forest, towards the Mortal realm with the sea between us,” he replied and moved his horse closer to hers. 

Iris pursed her lips for a moment and gave him an almost pleading look, but Eris only jerked his chin again. “Go on.” he only said.

And she hesitated for a breath until Eris blinked, and then she was off, riding in the wind. 

He knew he wasn’t doing her any favors and shouldn’t feel too proud of himself for it, but the wide smile on her face as she rode ahead brought a small one to his own. Eris followed her at a slower pace, letting her ride ahead, to give her some time to herself while he watched her. 

One night and it had changed...something for him. It had been a night and day of marriage and suddenly, with every conversation they had…he had started caring. Which would be problematic. His father alone would make it a big problem and he desperately needed Iris to be aware of that. 

But as he neared her slowly and she turned to him with that wide grin on her face, Eris felt his wretched heart skip a beat and any concern of his father quickly slipped his mind. 

“The view is wonderful.” she quickly gushed. “And the fresh air! And the sound of the waves!”

His brows slowly went up as an amused smile came onto his face. “You’ve never been near the sea, I’m assuming?”

“No,” she said, and her smile dimmed slightly. “But — but we can go, right? Will you take me? Can we go now?”

And the hopeful expression on her face made his heart clench. He couldn’t afford this. He couldn’t afford to care about another person for his father to use against him. But the way she was looking at him…

“Not today but we can plan another visit,” he promised, and the wide smile returned on her face. “I’d rather have the area secured first and bring a hound or two of mine with us for extra measures. We don’t venture out this way often and I’d rather be prepared.”

Iris immediately sat up straighter on her horse. “Those famous hounds of yours?”

He gave her an amused smirk. “Famous, are they?”

“You know they are! They’re rare as it is and rumor has it you have twelve of them,” she said, almost accusingly and Eris truly had to fight back a smile. “Is it true?”

Eris blinked at her with what he hoped seemed like an innocent enough expression but couldn’t stop the chuckle when she gave him a pointed look.

“Well?”

“I do. They’re my prized possessions.”

“They are not possessions!” she immediately said with a scoff. “They are companions, and you should view them as such.”

His level of amusement was rising by the moment. He couldn't remember the last time he had been this entertained. 

“Are you a fan of animals then?” he asked dryly. 

“Yes. I’ve always wanted a pet of my own,” she said then pointed at him threateningly. “You will take me to meet them. I would like to pet them all.”

“They are lethally trained smokehounds bred to fight and protect,” he said with a snort. “Not some house pets you can cuddle.”

“I’ll bet you anything they’ll let me cuddle them.” she challenged.

Eris wondered what her reaction would be if she found out how much he actually cuddled with his hounds. Some days they were the only things anchoring him. 

He flashed her a smirk instead and teasingly said, “You’ll bet me anything?”

Iris immediately narrowed her eyes and pointed one deadly finger at him again. “One more word and I’ll kick you right off your horse.”

He snickered then shook his head. “Regardless of your betting, it takes them a while to warm up to strangers.”

“We shall see,” she said, with her nose in the air. “I still want to meet them. Will you let me?”

Another request in a matter of minutes. Either she was getting too comfortable, too bold, or she really didn’t take him seriously. He wasn’t sure which of those options should bother him. 

But then again, wasn’t that what he wanted? For her to be comfortable with him...for him to show her kindness?

“We shall see,” he repeated back to her, and her lips formed into a slight pout that seemed to have the sole purpose of testing whatever will he had to live. 

“I object to that unclear decision.”

“Well, you’ll just have to deal with it, wife.”

She huffed, tugging the reins slightly so the horses turned to face the direction of home. “What are the plans for the rest of the day?”

“I thought I would give you the grand tour and then we can have lunch. We can decide what to do in the evening together.”

Iris nodded slowly and bit her lip before carefully asking her question. “Will your mother be having dinner at the house?”

Eris tilted his head slightly. “Likely. She usually has her own meetings with court ladies,” he said. “Why?”

“I know you said I can join her for breakfast but...I was wondering if she was free, we can have dinner with her?” Iris asked softly, a light blush creeping on her cheeks. “I want to thank her for her kindness with the clothing and we can spend some time with her. If that’s alright?”

Eris blinked and tried to stop the small smile on his lips. “Of course. I can ask her when we get back.”

“Alright,” Iris said with a small smile and the two observed each other then, quietly. 

The open space around them. The sounds of nature. Not quite knowing what to make of one another yet drawn to know more.

Feeling self-conscious as her husband stared intensely at her, Iris straightened on her horse.

“I’ll race you back to the stables?” she challenged, a playful glint in her eyes and Eris gave her a smirk.

“Think you’ll beat me?” 

“If I win, you have to take me to the hounds immediately,” she demanded, and he chuckled.

“And if I win, little gazelle?” he asked and before he could say one of the many filthy things he loved to scandalize her with, Iris held a hand up.

“If you win, maybe you’ll get that kiss you’ve been craving from me.”

Eris quirked a brow. “There you go again with that maybe of yours.”

“Maybe is as good as it’s going to get.

Eris eyed her, giving her a small smirk. “Alright then, wife,” he said. “I’ll take my chances.” 

With an obnoxious wink and no other warning, he sprinted off leaving a very outraged Iris scrambling behind him.