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skyahri · 6 months

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Blind |Naruto Men X Uchiha!Reader| HC

Characters: Kakashi Hatake, Shikamaru Nara, Sasuke Uchiha, Naruto Uzumaki, Madara Uchiha, Hashirama Senju

Summary: How they handle their partner losing their sight due to the effects of the Mangekyo Sharingan.

Warnings: Mentions of fem, but not very relevant. Mentions of war and loss of sight.

- - - - -

Kakashi Hatake

He knew the day would come when the Sharingan would take your vision, but he didn't know it'd be so soon.

There were no other eyes available to you at the moment, so eternal was not an option.

Not that'd you do it anyway. It was highly against your beliefs to partake in the Uchiha nonsense that was eye swapping.

Something that drew Kakashi towards you in the first place.

You'd been preparing for this day since you first awakened your mangekyo.

You'd memorized the layout of your apartment, practiced roaming the village in a blind fold, and learned braille.

You'd been coping well, Kakashi... not so much.

He couldn't deal with the knowledge that you'd sacrificed your vision for the sake of the village.

You'd given up everything during your years as a shinobi, and this was the icing on top of the cake.

He'd watch you every day.

Watch you drag your hands across the walls of your apartment. Watch you walk a bit too far past the stall in the market. Watched you struggle to do simple things like grocery shopping.

Over time, you'd become worse and worse at eye contact, and that ate him alive.

There were no more longing looks or sneaky glances. Even your attempts to appear as if you could see were slowly declining, and it dampened his mood every time.

He felt as if he'd failed you. If only he'd been stronger, you wouldn't have had to overuse your doujutsu.

But he stayed quiet because you seemed happy. You were alive and safe and happy, and that's all he could ask for.

Shikamaru Nara

After the war, your vision had completely vanished. There were no blurry shapes or deaf perception problems because there was simply no sight.

There was no time to prepare. You hadn't planned on having to use the mangekyo so much in battle, and the price was astronomical.

He tried to help where he could, but you were being stubborn, constantly rejecting any aid he tried to provide.

"Just let me-"

"I told you I can do it myself."

"No, you can't, just let me-"

And that's when he felt the sobs rack through your body. Tears quickly fell down your face and your hands couldn't keep up.

He sighed and forced everything out of your hands.

"I can't do anything anymore."

"That's not true."

You scoffed, a bitter laugh leaving your lips.

"I can't go grocery shopping or cut fruit or put dishes away without running into everything or breaking something or,"

"Give it time. It'll get better."

"Two weeks ago, I was a shinobi. Today, I'm just a blind girl who can barely feed herself."

Shikamaru wasn't sure what to do. Strategy was easy becausebit was all factual. Feelings, though? So many variables he didn't know where to start.

He confided in Kakashi at some point, but wasn't too pleased with the advice he got it.

"Let her figure it out. She's a smart girl."

Despite thinking it was a stupid suggestion, he listened.

Slowly, over time, you'd regained your confidence and became the capable person you had previously been.

Doesn't stop Shikamaru from uncharacteristically babying you sometimes, though.

Sasuke Uchiha

He offered you his eyes, but you declined.

You weren't fond of Uchiha tradition despite being raised by it. Taking his eyes just felt like you'd be starting the new age Uchiha clan off on the wrong foot.

So you chose blindness.

It was difficult at first, but you quickly learned to get around and help yourself with little to no issue.

You'd gone from stumbling around the kitchen to making yourself breakfast within a few months.

Living with out sight wasn't too bad, and you'd grown accustomed to it. You felt like you'd made the right decision.

Until your first son was born.

It wasn't the parenting aspect that you found difficult, it was the emotional one.

When Sasuke told you your son looked just like Itachi, you knew you'd have to see for yourself.

So, you allowed Sakura to do the transplant.

Within seconds after the bandages were off and you had time to adjust to light, your sight was fully restored.

Sasuke brought in your baby, and wouldn't you know it? He looks exactly like Itachi.

The sharingan is based on strong emotions, yeah? Maybe you can base it on love in the new Era.

Naruto Uzumaki

Unlike the others, Naruto finds the whole eye transplant thing horrendous.

"What do you mean by that, huh? You freaks just trade eyes like around? That's the worst thing I've ever heard."

Although he wasn't happy with your newfound loss of sight, he wasn't one to label anything as a downside.

A setback? Sure. Negative? Never.

Hes overall very patient about it, even if in the moment he gets a little ahead of himself.

He's always forgetting that you're blind, so he'll ask you to look at things all the time.

"Hey, what's this?"

You just shrug. He may or may not bring your hand to the object to get a feel, but he mostly just gets embarrassed and drops it.

It honestly hadn't really dawned on him until he asked you to go train with him and you'd refused.

Sure, you could overtime work yourself up to be a shinobi again, but at this point in your life, that just wasn't the dream anymore.

Madara Uchiha

He thinks you're being stupid.

This world is all about power and you're choosing to be blind?

Idiotic.

You may be his wife, but he ignores you for quite some time after you make it clear there will be no eternal in your future.

It's an easy justification for him; he doesn't mingle with the weak.

Life gets pretty lonely after he decides to completely shut you out. Yeah, he sees Hashirama and makes his round through the compound, but it's not the same.

It isn't until he sees you in the village, going about life as you had months ago, that he starts to think maybe he was too hasty.

After all, he had married you for many reasons, and a big one was how skilled you were at adapting.

That night, when he finally returns home, he decides to sleep in your marital bed, not in the guest room.

The next day, he joins you for breakfast.

He came home early from his duties for the first time in a while.

He even started speaking to you once again.

You don't say anything right away. You know how he is about changing his mind, and you aren't willing to push your luck.

Things slowly get better over the span of a few weeks, and that's when you decide it's time to question him.

"I take it you've come to terms with my decision?"

"Of course not. I still think you're a fool."

Just the answer you'd expect.

"But I have missed you dearly."

You smile at him.

Hashirama Senju

The eternal was never something either of you had considered, so when your vision eventually dulled, it was fully expected.

Times were peaceful at the moment, so he had no need to worry for your safety.

You were almost always near someone willing to lay their life down for you- himself, Tobirama (reluctantly), or Madara - so there truly was no need to stress.

He helped as much as he could while also attending to his duties as Hokage.

Unlike Naruto, he had true patience. He happily held your hand every step of the way.

It wasn't long before your life was back on track, no longer burdened by the anxiety that came with cluelessness.

While Hashirama had preferred it never come to this in the first place, he was happy that things had worked out as best as they possibly could.

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rosemariiaa · 1 day

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~Lines we Drew~

part: 6 last part

pairing: Paige x Azzi

a/n: well..i really liked this series yall, but let me not get sappy 😞. I hope you enjoy this last part as much as I loved writing it, Im also thinking of doing an epilogue do y’all want that? other than that i love youuu 💌

themes: angst, language, fluff

Enjoy!!!

The air between them was still heavy from the argument. Paige’s body felt like it was burning from the inside out, anger boiling under her skin as she replayed the words exchanged with Azzi. She could feel the tears building, but she refused to let them fall in front of Azzi. Not again.

Paige clenched her fists and turned away, storming off down the hall. Her vision blurred as the tears finally slipped out, and before she even realized it, her feet had taken her back to her dorm.

She didn’t stop until she reached Nika’s room, barging in without knocking, plopping onto Nika’s bed in a crumpled mess of tears and frustration.

“What the hell happened?” Nika asked, clearly taken aback, but there was concern in her voice.

Paige buried her face into Nika’s pillow, her voice muffled, “Everything. It’s all just… fucked.”

Nika sat beside her, rubbing her back gently. “You wanna talk about it?”

For a few moments, Paige was silent, the weight of everything pressing down on her chest. “It’s Azzi… we argued again. I—I told her how I feel… how I’ve always felt… and I just… broke.” Nika’s eyebrows shot up. “Wait, you mean—”

“I mean everything,” Paige interrupted. “She left me, Nika. She fucking left me when I needed her the most. And she just acts like it wasn’t that big of a deal. Like… like I didn’t matter.”

Nika’s hand stilled on Paige’s back, her expression softening. “Paige…”

“It was my birthday, Nika,” Paige whispered. “The day she left. She didn’t even say goodbye. Just disappeared… left me with all this shit. My parents had just divorced, and I had no one to talk to… except her. And she just vanished.”

The floodgates opened, and Paige sobbed into the pillow, all the anger, pain, and heartbreak from years ago pouring out at once. Nika stayed quiet, letting Paige release everything she had held inside for so long.

———-

As Paige stormed off, Azzi stood frozen, watching her walk away with tears streaming down her face. Her heart ached seeing Paige like that, and for a moment, she wanted to chase after her, to stop her and fix everything… but she couldn’t. Suddenly, she was pulled back to that summer years ago, to the day before she left.

Flashback to USA Basketball Camp

She was just 15, playing on the USA Basketball team with Paige, and even back then, their connection was undeniable. But there was also something else. Something that confused her, scared her. Azzi was starting to realize her feelings for Paige weren’t just about basketball, weren’t just friendship. And that terrified her.

She remembered sitting at the kitchen table with her mom, Katie, the night before she left for good.

“Mom, I don’t know what to do,” Azzi admitted, her voice trembling. “I… I think I have feelings for Paige. But I don’t know if I’m ready to deal with that, I’ve never felt this way..towards anyone. I don’t know if I’m… ready for any of this.”

Katie looked at her with a soft, understanding smile, placing her hand on Azzi’s. “You don’t have to figure it all out right now, Az. It’s okay to be confused.”

“But what if I hurt her?” Azzi asked, tears brimming in her eyes. “What if I can’t… what if I’m not what she needs?”

Katie sighed gently. “Paige loves you, Azzi. That’s obvious. But you can’t make decisions out of fear. Whatever you choose, I’ll support you. Just be sure of one thing… Paige will understand, but you also can’t be surprised if there’s another reaction.”

Azzi had nodded, but deep down, she didn’t believe it. So the next morning, she left. She left Paige without a word, without an explanation. She couldn’t face her, couldn’t confront her own feelings. She didn’t even tell Paige goodbye. The guilt haunted her every day.

She thought she could run away from it, that distance would make it easier, but instead, it only made it worse.

———-

Present Day

Hours later, Paige, Azzi, and the team found themselves at a bar downtown. Nika had insisted that a night out would help everyone cool down and lighten the mood, but as soon as Azzi walked in and saw Paige across the room, all the tension came flooding back.

Paige was already at the bar, nursing a drink, her eyes flicking up to meet Azzi’s briefly before looking away. Azzi tried to ignore the sinking feeling in her chest, but after a few drinks, she couldn’t take it anymore. She walked over to Paige, standing beside her.

“We need to talk,” Azzi said, her voice low.

Paige snorted, downing the rest of her drink before turning to face her. “Talk? Now you wanna talk?”

Azzi hesitated, seeing the fire in Paige’s eyes, but pressed on. “I’m sorry. I should’ve—”

“Sorry? You think sorry is enough?” Paige interrupted, her voice rising. “You fucking left me, Azzi. You didn’t say goodbye. You didn’t give me a chance to… to understand. You just left.”

“I didn’t know what to do!” Azzi said, her voice desperate. “I was scared, Paige. I was confused. I thought leaving was the only way.”

The bar had gone quiet, people turning to watch their argument unfold, but neither of them cared.

Azzi’s eyes filled with tears. “I never wanted to hurt you, Paige. I didn’t know how to handle… us. I was scared.” “Scared of what?” Paige asked, her voice breaking. “Of me? You know what I can’t..I’m not doing this Az.”

Paige stormed out of the bar, her heart pounding in her chest, tears blurring her vision. She felt the heat of anger and betrayal boiling inside her, twisting her gut. She couldn’t believe how everything had spiraled out of control. The chaos of emotions threatened to drown her, and she just needed to get away.

She hurried down the street, not knowing where she was going but desperate to escape the suffocating weight of it all. All she knew was that she couldn’t face anyone right now.

“Paige! Wait!” Azzi’s voice cut through the night, pulling her back from her spiraling thoughts.

Paige paused but didn’t turn around. “What do you want, Azzi? Another half-assed apology?” Her voice dripped with sarcasm, masking the pain beneath.

Azzi caught up, grabbing her wrist gently but firmly. “No, I—I need to explain.”

Paige yanked her hand away, her heart racing. “Explain what? How you ghosted me when I was falling apart? Or how you dipped without a word and shattered my heart on my damn birthday?”

Azzi’s expression fell, guilt washing over her. “I know I hurt you, but—”

“But what, Azzi?” Paige interrupted, her voice shaking with frustration. “You left when I needed you the most! I was drowning, and you just ran away. You weren’t there for me when my parents divorced, when everything was crumbling. You were my rock, and you just disappeared!”

Azzi swallowed hard, feeling the weight of every accusation. “I’m sorry..I didn’t know that, I didn’t know how to handle it, Paige. I was lost, too.”

“Lost? You just left me!” Paige’s chest heaved with every word, anger mixing with hurt. “You were supposed to be my best friend. I thought I could count on you!”

Azzi’s heart ached, guilt crashing over her like waves. “I was scared,” she confessed, her voice breaking. “I was so confused about everything—about you, about me.., about us, and the pressure from the media, the coaches… I couldn’t deal with it. So I ran. I thought it would be easier.” Paige’s chest tightened, her emotions spilling over. “You didn’t give me the chance! You could have at least tried!”

Azzi took a shaky breath, the rawness of their argument hanging heavily in the air. “And I regret that every day. But I didn’t want to drag you down with my mess, Paige. I thought leaving would be better for both of us.”

Paige’s anger flickered, a new understanding dawning on her. “I get that you were scared, Azzi,” she said softly, her voice trembling. “But I was scared too. I felt so alone when you weren’t there. I thought we could face it together. I thought you understood what I was going through.”

“I should have been there,” Azzi said, her voice barely above a whisper. “I should have known you needed me, and instead, I just ran away.”

“Yeah, you did.” Paige paused, her tears glistening in the dim light. “And it hurt like hell. But I can see now that you were hurting too. I just… I needed you to be strong when I couldn’t be.”

Azzi looked down, guilt washing over her. “I wanted to be strong. But it was all too much for me, Paige. I was terrified of what my feelings meant, terrified of messing things up even more. I couldn’t handle the pressure and my feelings for you.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Paige asked, her heart softening as she reached for Azzi’s hand, intertwining their fingers. “We could have figured it out together.”

“I was scared of losing you,” Azzi admitted, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. “I thought leaving was the only way to protect both of us.”

Paige’s heart ached at Azzi’s confession. “I didn’t realize you were dealing with so much too. It felt like I was the only one hurting, but now I see how we both were. I just… I wish you hadn’t left me, especially on my birthday.”

Azzi’s eyes shimmered with remorse as she reached into her pocket, pulling out a small, delicate infinity necklace. “I left this for you. Under your pillow before I left. I thought maybe one day you’d find it and understand… But when it got sent back, I thought you didn’t want anything to do with me.”

Paige stared at the necklace, confusion mixing with the flood of emotions. “I’ve never seen that before,” she murmured, wiping her eyes. “How did it get sent back to you?”

Before Azzi could respond, the bar door swung open, and Jose, stepped outside, overhearing their conversation. “Wait, are you talking about that necklace?” he called out, pointing.

Azzi nodded, her heart racing. “Yeah, why?”

Jose shrugged, looking sheepish. “One of the coaches found it in your room at camp and sent it back to the house. I thought you knew.” Azzi blinked, disbelief flashing across her face. “Well, obviously not!”

Jose gave them an awkward smile before retreating back inside. They stood there for a moment, stunned, then burst into soft, teary laughter—laughter that felt like a release.

Azzi stepped closer, taking a deep breath. “I’m so sorry, Paige. For everything. For leaving, for being a coward, for hurting you when you needed me the most.”

Paige felt her heart clench, tears still falling. She reached out, taking the necklace from Azzi’s trembling hands. “I didn’t think I’d ever see this,” she whispered, looking up into Azzi’s eyes. “You’ve always meant so much to me.” Azzi nodded, her eyes glistening. “I never stopped caring about you, Paige. I was just too scared to face it all.”

Without thinking, Paige stepped forward, closing the distance between them, and kissed Azzi softly. It was hesitant at first, but as Azzi kissed her back, the world around them faded. It was just them—two hearts finding their way back to each other, the weight of the past still there, but lighter somehow.

When they finally pulled away, both breathless, they lingered close, foreheads touching. “I want to be with you, Azzi,” Paige murmured, her voice thick with emotion. “I’ve always wanted that. I’m sorry I didn’t see your pain before.”

“I want that too. I want to try,” Azzi replied, her voice trembling with sincerity. “Whatever it takes, I promise to never leave you again.”

“Good, because I’ll be damned if I let you go again,” Paige whispered, a small smile breaking through the tears.

“Deal,” Azzi replied, grinning through her tears.

———-

Game day: UConn vs. Villanova

The next day, the gym buzzed with excitement as the team prepared for their game against Villanova. The atmosphere was electric, a mix of nerves and adrenaline. Paige and Azzi exchanged glances during warmup, a silent understanding passing between them.

As the game started, they fell into a rhythm, communicating effortlessly on the court. Azzi set a perfect screen for Paige, who cut to the basket, receiving a crisp pass that she finished with a layup. The crowd erupted, and for the first time in a long while, everything felt right.

The tension in the gym grew as Villanova pressed hard, trying to claw back into the game. Just when it seemed they might gain an edge, a player drove to the hoop, determined to score. But Azzi was ready.

“YEAH!” Paige yelled as she watched Azzi leap into the air, her timing impeccable. With a powerful swat, Azzi blocked the shot, sending the ball flying across the court. The crowd erupted into cheers, and Paige was right there, pumping her fists in the air. “That’s what I’m talking about!” she shouted, her voice filled with excitement.

Geno smiled from the sidelines, nodding in approval as the team rallied around Azzi. “That’s the energy we need!” he called out, clapping his hands together.

As the game progressed, the chemistry between Paige and Azzi shone through. With Nika assisting from the wing, they executed a flawless fast break, leading to another basket.

In the final moments of the game, with the score tied, Paige found herself with the ball. She dribbled, her heart racing as she spotted Azzi cutting toward the hoop. Without hesitation, she tossed the ball to Azzi, who caught it mid-air, spinning around her defender and sinking the shot just as the buzzer sounded.

The crowd erupted in cheers as their team celebrated the victory. Paige grabbed Azzi in a whirlwind of excitement, lifting her off the ground and spinning her around. “We did it!”

Azzi laughed, a sound of pure joy. “You’re crazy!” she yelled, her heart soaring.

As the team celebrated, they all gathered in a huddle, chanting and cheering.

———-

After the game, Instead of heading out with the team to celebrate, they quietly made their way to Azzi’s dorm, wanting to be alone together. Once inside, the door closed behind them, sealing off the noise of the world. The room felt cozy and intimate, filled with the lingering energy from the game. Azzi turned to Paige, her heart racing.

“Can you believe we won, I mean they were going really hard tonight?” Azzi said, her eyes sparkling.

“Of course I can, with the way we played I had no doubt, you were amazing Az,” Paige replied, her voice filled with enthusiasm. “But right now, I just want to be here with you. Just us.”

Azzi nodded, her heart warming at the thought. They settled onto the bed, surrounded by pillows and blankets. The weight of the past started to lift, and as they shared stories and laughter, everything felt right.

As the night deepened, Azzi began to drift off, her head resting comfortably on Paige’s chest. Paige gently stroked Azzi’s hair, feeling a wave of contentment wash over her. She thought Azzi was fast asleep when a sudden wave of love hit her like a tidal wave.

“I love you,” Paige whispered softly, her heart vulnerable and exposed. She thought the words would hang in the air, but in the stillness of the room, they felt like a promise.

“I love you too,” Azzi whispered back, her voice barely audible but filled with warmth.

Paige’s heart leaped at the sound, her eyes widening in disbelief. A smile broke out on her face, one so bright it could light up the room

Their smiles grew wider, the unbreakable bond between them solidifying in that moment. As they settled into each other, everything felt right, the past behind them and the future ahead filled with possibility.

———-

a/n: okay i’m sad now bye. oops forgot to tag my lovelies @thaatdigitaldiary @patscorner @imaginespazzi

#rosie fics #paige x azzi #pazzi #azzi fudd #paige bueckers #uconnwbb #rosie moots

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mustainegf · 3 months

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OK SO UHH

‘04 (optional) JAMES HAS A BREAKDOWN/PANIC ATTACK IN FRONT OF READER CUZ HE DOESNT THINK HES ENOUGH FOR HER AND UHHH SHE COMFORTS HIM AND THEY FUCK IN LOTUS POSITION 😻😻😻Jaymz pov would be really cool but either way is fine :D

I’ve been thinking abt this all day while at work and omg 😭

I LOOOOVVVE PASSIONATE STUFF ITS SO BEAUTIFUL

Based this around the SKOM era

𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐌𝐄 𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐍 𝐈 𝐂𝐀𝐍’𝐓 ²⁰⁰²

I sat at the edge of the bed in my hotel room, staring down through the floor to nowhere in particular. My chest was tight, squeezed by an invisible hand that tightened with each breath.

The world outside, claustrophobic. My own breathing echoed through my ears, jaded.

The documentary crew left a few hours ago. Their equipment was packed away, and their annoying chatter began to fade in my mind. They were here to capture the making of our new album, aka, the Metallica therapy session.

But what I felt was exposed, to be laid for everyone to see. The cameras never lie: they catch every bit of frustration, stumble, and every drink. Oh God, Oh fuck, the drinking.

I ran a hand through my hair, feeling the sweat on my palm. Everything was uncomfortable. My heart thumped as my thoughts scattered.

The rehab had helped, at least a little. I felt like such a fake. Like I wasn't enough for the band or the fans, especially her. For anyone.

She is my everything, my beautiful girl. But even rocks erode under constant waves. I knew that I was tugging her down, dragging a weight she didn't deserve to carry.

I heard the door of our suite open and close softly. Footsteps drew closer, but I still could not relieve myself from looking up. A tingling sensation on my skin told me she was there before I saw her. Then she knelt beside me; her eyes searched mine.

"James?" Her voice was soft, concerned. "What's going on, Honey?"

I swallowed hard, trying to find words. My throat was dry, my tongue felt thick. I shook my head. I couldn't talk. The tears started pouring, and I clenched my fists, trying to hold them back. But it was too much. The dam was broken and the words were falling out.

"I can't do this," I choked out. "I can't be what everyone wants me to be. I am a mess. I'm… I'm awful. I'm a pathetic excuse for a man."

Her eyes widened, and she reached to touch my arm, though I drew back, standing abruptly. The room spun. I gripped the back of the chair to steady myself. "I'm failing, at everything. The band, the album, rehab… you. I'm failing you."

"James, no…" She got to her feet, and again she reached out for me, but I stepped back again, shaking my head.

"I'm a fake," I said, yelling now. "Everyone believes I am this… this badass metal guy, but I am just some broken little boy. I can't take this. I can't take all of this!"

"James, please…" She took a step closer. I did not hear her. The blood pounded in my ears, my vision blurring with tears. I went down on my knees, clasping my head and trying to block out the noise in my head, the voices telling me what a piece of rubbish I was.

"I'm not enough!" I growled out, my voice cracking. "I'm not enough for anyone!"

She knelt down next to me with her arms wrapped around me. I pushed at her, but she grasped me tightly with all her might. "Shhh, James. It's okay. I'm here. I'm here."

Her words were trying to get to me, but I was drowning too deep to grab the hold of it. My body was wracked with sobs, and I couldn't smother them. I was shaking, my whole body trembling. "I'm so sorry," I gasped. "I'm so, so sorry."

"James, look at me," she said, her voice level and low. “Honey, look at me.” She gently took my chin in her hand, forcing me to meet her eye. "You are not a failure. You aren't worthless. You're human. You're allowed to struggle. And you are a good man."

I shook my head as the tears streamed down my face. "I'm not enough," I whispered. "I'll never be enough."

"Yes, you are," she said firmly. "You're more than enough. For me, for the band, for the everyone. You're more than enough, James. And it's okay to need help. It's okay to be vulnerable."

I collapsed against her, my head on her shoulder, the sobs coming harder now. She rocked me back and forth gently, stroking my hair. "It's okay, James. Let it out. I'm here. I'm not going anywhere."

She held me close, whispering reassurances and rocking me back and forth like some child. "I love you," she said softly, "and I'm here."

The panic began to subside, the clench in my chest loosening. My breathing began to slow down, my sobs turning to whimpers. She was here, believing in me where I couldn't believe in myself.

"I'm so sorry," I whispered again, my voice hoarse.

"Don't be sorry, Honey," she said, pressing her lips on my forehead. "Just be here with me. Just breathe.”

I nodded, closing my eyes and letting her hold me. She looked down at me with a mix of compassion and tenderness in her eyes. Her voice came in low, "I want to distract you… make you feel better. You’ve been way too tense, James."

I turned my head, feeling my reluctance shower over me. "I don't think that would be such a good idea," I grumbled, scrubbing at the remaining squiggles of tears with the back of my hand.

The very last thing I wanted was to burden her, to drag her down into my darkness.

She tipped her head back onto its side, her eyes held mine. "What's there for me to do, James? What do you need?”

I fumbled for words as my mind was nothing but an incoherent jumble. "I… I don't know," I said awkwardly, feeling the heat rise to my cheeks.

That wasn't the whole truth, though admitting what I really wanted was impossible. I looked away, twitching at my fingers nervously.

She saw right through me, curling her lips into a knowing smile. She reached out and brushed her fingers very lightly down my cheek. "You wanna have sex, don't you?" she asked, laughing softly.

I felt my face flushing, and I stuttered, "I… I mean…" My voice faded away. I couldn't stand the look in her eyes.

The truth is that it did cross my mind, a desperate reach for something or anything that would connect me to her.

She cupped my face in her hands, turning it gently so I had no choice but to look at her. "James, it's okay," she said, her voice soothing. "It's okay to want to be comforted. There's nothing wrong with that."

I studied her face for any sense of pity or frustration, but there was only love. I let out a shaky breath, nodding slowly. "I… I guess I do," I said barely above a whisper. "But I don't want you to feel like you have to, honey.”

She shook her head, silencing me with a soft, gentle kiss on the lips. "I want to, James," she mumbled against my lips. "I want to be close to you. Help you feel better."

So I reached up, my hand trembling, and cupped her cheek, moving my lips to love hers.

Her fingers tangled in my hair as she pulled me closer. Her lips were exceedingly warm, they seemed to press into my bones.

Backward on the bed, her body covered mine, pinning me in, to the present.

For some time then, we lost ourselves. It wasn't about the physical act, it's about comfort, this woman who I loved more than life. Every touch, every kiss said she was right by my side.

We slid into movement, our bodies quickening to a pace both remembered and totally new. She shifted again, sitting in my lap with her legs around my sides, intertwined. The position pushed us closer, our bodies were pressed so intimately bare, our faces inches apart.

“You doing okay?” She whispered, hovering over my erection. The dark of the night bathed her beautiful face, the sapphire sky leaking in through the wonder and making her look that much more stunning.

Her breath on my lips, her heartbeat against my chest, it was the most intimate kind of position. “Yeah… I’m okay.”

I gently held her, staring into her eyes as she sank down onto me. Tho both of us groaned in unison, and she made sure to keep a good grip on my shoulders.

We began to move, our bodies finding a slow, gentle thrust. It wasn't about getting somewhere fast, it was about connection, feeling each other fully. Every movement was done with forethought, every touch meaningful.

She wrapped her arms around my neck, her fingers threading through my delicate hairs on my nape as I held her close, my hands on her back. I could feel her forehead against mine as we sat like that.

"James," she whispered lowly, a hundred different kinds of love in her voice. "You feel s-so good."

"You too," I murmured, my voice rough with emotion. "God, I love you so much.

She smiled, soft, radiant, and kissed me once more. "I love you t-too. So much."

It was the most intimate thing, the most loving experience I ever had. Every touch, every kiss, every single movement.

"Look at me," she whispered, her eyes locking on mine. "I want to see you."

I nodded, holding her gaze. "I'm here. I'm with you."

She smiled, shining her eyes with love at me. "Stay with me."

"I will," I vowed, choked with emotion. "Always."

"I love you," she whispered, her voice full of emotion. "I love you so much."

"I love you too," I replied, my voice rough with emotion. "More than anything."

It wasn't about how fast I came, it was more about the feeling of every second.

"I'm close," she whispered, her voice trembling with her pleads. "James, I'm so close."

"Me, too," I rumbled, my own voice harsh with emotion. "God, you feel so good..."

She smiled again then, a beautiful, euphoric smile, and kissed me once more. "Stay with me," she whispered. "Cum with me."

"Always," I promised. "Always."

Finally, I twitched and stilled as she moaned her release. I held her so tight, bucking slightly as I came. I let out a rough breath, trying to catch up with myself as I felt her fill with my seed.

We lay that way, our bodies knotted, our hearts wrestling each other from inside our chests.

"Thank you," I whispered, burying my face in her warm neck, leaving kisses.

153 notes · View notes

fictionally-driven · 3 months

Text

You Deserve Better

Pairing: Calcharo x f!reader Word count: 4020 words

Trigger warnings: Injury mention, stress, anxiety, implied relationship, angst, heartbreaks

Plot: Calcharo, burdened by his dark past and aware of the danger he poses to (Y/N), is unable to see how his choices hurt her. To ensure that she gets the life she deserves, Calcharo makes an impossible choice.

Author Note: I am not paying for anyone's therapy and I apologize in advance for hurting y'all :3 This fic was inspired by the song You Deserve Better by James Arthur

The door creaked open with a hesitant groan; its sound amplified in the dead silence of the house. Calcharo stepped inside, every movement deliberate, every step weighed with the exhaustion that clung to him like the grime and dried blood matted against his skin. The air was thick with the scent of sweat and iron, mingling with the faint aroma of alcohol wafting from the living room.

He paused, eyes adjusting to the dim lighting. Calcharo moved with practiced stealth, mindful not to disturb the peace. Yet, as he stepped into the living room, a sharp scent of alcohol pricked his senses, cutting through the familiar mustiness of home.

In the living room, he saw her—(Y/N). Her head was bowed, shoulders trembling with quiet sobs. A nearly empty bottle of wine lay cradled in her lap, her fingers gripping it like a lifeline. The sight pierced through Calcharo’ s hardened exterior. His heart clenched painfully at the sight. He had been supposed to return two days ago, but complications had delayed him. The mission had been brutal, and communication had been impossible. He knew she worried, but seeing her like this, shattered and vulnerable, was worse.

The sound of his footfall drew her attention. Her head snapped up, and the relief that washed over her face was instantaneous. "(Y/N)," he breathed, the single word heavy with unspoken apologies and unexpressed emotions.

For a heartbeat, she simply stared, as if ensuring he was real and not a figment of her desperate mind. Then, in an instant, she was on her feet, the bottle forgotten as it clattered to the floor. She crossed the space between them in a few quick strides, flinging herself into his arms with a force that nearly knocked the breath out of him.

"Oh, thank God," she murmured against his chest, her voice trembling. "I was so worried... I couldn't reach you... I feared the worst..." The grime and blood smeared onto her clothes, but she didn't seem to care. All that mattered was that he was here, alive.

Calcharo held her close, his arms encircling her with a gentleness that contrasted sharply with the brutality of his profession. He could feel her trembling, her body wracked with the remnants of her sobs. He rested his chin on top of her head, closing his eyes as he soaked in her presence. For a moment, he allowed himself to forget the bloodshed, the danger, and just be here, with her.

"I'm here," he murmured, his voice roughened by exhaustion. "I'm here, (Y/N)."

She pulled back just enough to look at him, her hands cupping his face. Her thumbs traced the lines of dirt and blood, her eyes scanning his features as if reassuring herself that he was truly there, in one piece.

"I thought I'd lost you," she whispered, her voice breaking. "Two days, Calcharo... I didn't know if you were ever coming back."

He could see the toll those two days had taken on her—dark circles under her eyes, her face pale and drawn. The weight of his absence was etched into every line of her expression.

"I'm sorry," he said, the words falling heavy and sincere. "The mission... it took longer than expected.”

(Y/N) nodded in understanding, her eyes softening with acceptance. "Have you eaten yet?" she asked.

Calcharo opened his mouth to respond, but she already knew the answer. "Of course, you haven't," she murmured, more to herself than to him. "I'll whip something up quickly. You should shower and get cleaned up in the meantime."

She always did this—pushing aside her own worries to care for him. She was a good woman, far too good for a man like him. He'd put her through situations like this too many times already, and every time, she was patient, loving, unwavering. He simply nodded, retreating to the shower to clean the grit off him while she headed to the kitchen.

The shower hissed to life, and as the hot water cascaded over him, he could smell her shampoo, her soap—those familiar, comforting scents that grounded him, reminding him that he was back home. He scrubbed the grime and blood off his skin, but he couldn't scrub away the memories, the guilt, the deeds he'd done. The water turned pink as it swirled down the drain, a cruel reminder that some stains never truly fade.

Patting himself dry, he slipped into a pair of pants and draped a towel over his shoulders. The mirror reflected a man weary beyond his years; his eyes shadowed with memories too dark to recount. With a heavy sigh, he left the bathroom, the comforting scent of her products still lingering on his skin. He couldn't delay any longer. He needed to check on (Y/N).

Walking into the kitchen, he found her standing by the stove, her hands moving deftly as she prepared a simple meal. Despite her woozy state from the alcohol, she was focused, determined to take care of him. Calcharo approached quietly, his presence announcing itself only when he was close enough to touch her. He took over the cooking process without a word, gently nudging her aside.

Her eyes traversed his form, widening as they fell upon a gnarly cut on his forearm. "Calcharo, you're hurt," she gasped, her voice tinged with a mixture of concern and reprimand. She clicked her tongue, rushing to get the medical kit.

"Let me see," she said, her tone shifting to the professional calm of a medic. (Y/N) was a former medic, and dealing with injuries was second nature to her. She laid out the supplies with a precision born of habit, her hands moving swiftly but with a tenderness that belied the severity of the wound.

Calcharo watched her work in silence, the ache in his chest deepening as he realized how much he relied on her strength, her compassion. She cleaned the wound methodically, her touch gentle yet firm.

"It's deep," she murmured, her voice tinged with concern as she applied antiseptic with careful precision. "You should have taken care of this sooner."

"I didn't notice," Calcharo replied quietly, his gaze fixed on her face. "I was... distracted."

She glanced up at him, her eyes searching his as if trying to read the depths of his soul. "I worry about you," she admitted softly, her fingers wrapping gauze around his arm to secure the dressing. "Every time you go out there..."

Calcharo’ s heart clenched at her words, the weight of her worry pressing down on him. He reached out, cupping her cheek gently with his clean hand, his thumb brushing over her cheekbone. "I know," he murmured, his voice raw with emotion. “I am sorry, love…”

She didn't protest. Instead, she leaned into his touch, her eyes closing briefly as if seeking solace in his warmth. For a moment, they simply stood there, bound together by unspoken words and shared experiences.

Calcharo knew. He knew in the depths of his soul that his profession, his life as the leader of the Ghost Hounds, was a poison seeping into (Y/N)'s veins. It wasn't just the worry etched on her face every time he left, nor the fear that gnawed at her when he returned battered and broken. By being with him, by loving him, she willingly walked a path fraught with danger. She put herself at risk, entwined her fate with his, despite the inevitable peril that shadowed his every step.

And yet, she didn't seem to mind. She stood beside him, unwavering in her support. She saw goodness in him where he saw only shadows. She believed in him, whispered words of reassurance that he was a good man, despite the blood on his hands and the darkness in his heart.

But Calcharo knew better. He had seen good men—General Jiyan, Mortefi—men with strong moral compasses who fought for justice and righteousness. They were the kind of men who did what was right, not just what was profitable. Unlike him.

As they cooked in silence, (Y/N) hummed a soft tune under her breath, a melody that spoke of innocence and hope. Calcharo couldn't help but contrast her purity with the darkness that clung to him. She was kind, selfless in a way he could never be. Since her arrival, many members of the Ghost Hounds relied on her medical expertise, freely given without any thought of profit. It was a stark contrast to his own dealings, where every transaction was a negotiation, every job a calculation of risk and reward.

The smell of alcohol lingered on her breath, a subtle reminder of her own struggles, her own ways of coping with the weight of their reality. Calcharo glanced at her, a pang of guilt tightening his chest. She deserved better than this life, than him. He wanted to protect her, shield her from the darkness that threatened to consume them both. But how could he, when he was the very embodiment of that darkness?

He finished preparing the meal mechanically, his movements precise but lacking his usual efficiency. Each chop of vegetables, each stir of the pot, felt like a ritual to stave off the inevitable conversation looming between them.

As they sat down to eat, she launched into stories about the Lawless Zone they inhabited, her voice animated despite the weariness that lined her features. Calcharo listened intently, his attention divided between her words and the weight of his own thoughts.

She spoke of the baker who had mastered the art of baking in makeshift ovens, of children who startled learning how to use grappling hooks to navigate the treacherous terrain. Her anecdotes painted a picture of resilience and adaptation in a place where survival was a daily battle. She found joy in the small victories of others, weaving tales that brought warmth to their otherwise harsh reality.

Calcharo ate in silence, marveling at how effortlessly she embraced life in the Lawless Zone. In this unforgiving environment where alliances shifted like sand in the wind, where trust was a luxury and betrayal a constant threat, (Y/N) saw good in everyone. It was a trait that set her apart, a reminder of the innocence she carried despite the injustice that had led her here.

But he knew the truth of her exile, the injustice that had ripped her from a life of healing and service. Some faceless bureaucrats in the New Federation had condemned her for a crime she didn't commit, tarnishing her reputation and casting her out. Yet, despite the bitterness that could have consumed her, she continued to trust, continued to give of herself without hesitation. The bitterness of the betrayal still lingered, a wound that hadn't fully healed. Yet, despite everything, she had found it in herself to trust again—to trust him.

As they cleaned up after dinner, (Y/N) moved to tidy the living room while Calcharo washed the dishes with a methodical precision. The clink of porcelain against porcelain echoed in the silence, a counterpoint to the tumultuous thoughts racing through his mind. He couldn't shake the feeling of unease that gnawed at him, she deserved peace, she deserved better.

When they finally retired for the night, exhaustion weighed heavily on Calcharo, but sleep eluded him. He lay in bed beside (Y/N), her head nestled against his chest, her breathing steady and peaceful. His mind replayed the events of the day—the worry in her eyes when she saw his injury, the tenderness of her touch as she tended to him, the way she effortlessly navigated their tumultuous existence with grace and compassion. She trusted him, believed in him, despite the darkness that tainted his soul.

But he knew the truth. He was a man haunted by his past, burdened by the choices he had made and the lives he had taken. (Y/N) deserved better than the life he could offer her—a life steeped in danger, where every day was a battle for survival. She deserved peace, safety, and the chance to heal from the wounds inflicted upon her. The weight of his own inadequacies pressed down on him; a suffocating presence that threatened to consume him whole. He closed his eyes, willing himself to find solace in (Y/N)'s embrace, in the warmth of her love. Yet, despite her comforting presence beside him, sleep remained elusive.

As the hours slipped by, Calcharo stared into the darkness, wrestling with his demons. He knew he had to protect her, shield her from the inevitable storm that was to come for him. Beside him, (Y/N) stirred in her sleep, a soft sigh escaping her lips. Calcharo tightened his embrace around her, his fingers tracing absent patterns on her back. He wished he could shield her from the nightmares that haunted him, from the harsh realities of their world. But he knew he couldn't.

As dawn painted the sky in soft hues of orange and pink, Calcharo lay awake beside (Y/N), his mind churning with resolve and sorrow. He knew what he needed to do, though he lacked the strength to follow through. The abyss stared back at him—a reminder of the darkness that had consumed him long ago. He had always known that staying in the kill-or-be-killed business was never the path to redemption. Despite numerous attempts to leave this life behind, each endeavor had failed. The Ghost Hounds relied on him, and so did the people of the Lawless Zone. They needed his leadership, his expertise in navigating the treacherous underworld they called home. He couldn't abandon them, not after everything he'd done, not after the lives he'd already taken, not after the lines he’d crossed and the enemies he’d made.

But she was different. (Y/N) deserved a life far removed from the danger and uncertainty that defined their existence. She deserved peace, safety—a chance to reclaim the innocence that had been unjustly stolen from her. There was no salvation for him, no redemption from the sins he had committed. But there was hope for her—hope in a future away from the Lawless Zone, away from him.

As the sun continued its ascent, casting long shadows across the room, Calcharo made his decision. He would hurt her one last time, knowing it would break her heart. But he had to do it—for her sake, because he knew she would never make that decision herself. Quietly, he disentangled himself from her embrace, careful not to disturb her peaceful slumber. He watched her for a moment, the curve of her cheek illuminated by the gentle morning light. She looked so serene in her sleep. Her chest rose and fell with her soft breaths.

With a heavy heart and a sense of grim determination, Calcharo quietly began packing his belongings. Each item he placed into his bag felt like another piece of himself being removed from their shared space. The room that once held their laughter and whispered confessions now echoed with the hollowness of impending separation.

He folded his clothes with methodical precision, placing them neatly into the duffel bag. His fingers lingered over small trinkets—a worn-out book she had gifted him, a bracelet she had made from scavenged materials—that held memories of happier times. Yet, these very memories weighed on him now, reminders of what he was about to do. Calcharo erased every trace of his presence in the house, wiping down surfaces, gathering stray belongings, and leaving the space eerily devoid of his essence. It was a painful process, akin to erasing a part of himself that had intertwined with hers over time. The ache in his chest grew with each passing moment, the reality of his decision settling heavily upon him.

Once everything was packed, he sat in the living room, waiting. The Ghost Hounds had swiftly removed his belongings from outside, leaving no visible trace of his imminent departure. He glanced at the door, knowing that soon she would awaken to a home that felt emptier, colder, without him. Hours passed like slow-moving shadows before (Y/N) stirred awake, her footsteps padding softly as she entered the living room, still half in the realm of dreams. She rubbed her eyes and yawned, a sleepy smile tugging at her lips as she greeted him with a murmured "Good morning."

Her smile faltered as she took in the expression on his face—the somber set of his jaw, the sadness that clouded his eyes. Concern knit her brows together as she approached, sensing something amiss in the air.

"Calcharo, what's going on?" she asked softly, her voice tinged with worry.

He gestured for her to take a seat beside him, his own features drawn with a mixture of resolve and sorrow. "I... I need to talk to you," he began, his voice rough with emotion. He paused, struggling to find the right words, knowing no syllable would make it easier.

(Y/N) sat down slowly, her eyes never leaving his face. Her concern deepened, a flicker of fear darting through her expression. "Calcharo, please," she implored softly, reaching out to touch his arm, seeking reassurance in the warmth of his skin. "You're scaring me. What's happened?"

Calcharo took a deep breath, steeling himself for the inevitable pain he would inflict. He met (Y/N)'s worried gaze, her touch still warm against his arm, and he knew he had to be resolute.

"I... We can't do this anymore," he began, his voice barely above a whisper. "It's not right for you to be with me."

(Y/N)'s eyes widened in disbelief, her grip tightening on his arm. "Calcharo, no," she protested, her voice trembling. "Please, don't do this. We can work through whatever it is. I love you.”

He shook his head, his own voice choked with emotion. "You deserve someone better than me," he insisted, his tone firm yet laced with pain. "Someone who can give you stability, peace... a life without constant fear and danger."

Tears welled in her eyes, threatening to spill over as she fought against his words. "But I don't want someone else," she pleaded, her voice breaking. "I want you. I can adapt, I can learn. I can handle it."

Calcharo’ s heart clenched at her words, his resolve faltering for a moment. He gently detached her hand from his arm, standing up with a heaviness in his chest. "I don't want you to handle it," he said softly, his voice tinged with anguish. "I can't bear to see you caught in the crossfire, (Y/N)."

She stood up too, desperation etched on her face as she reached out to him once more. "Please, Calcharo," she begged, her voice trembling. "Don't leave me… I am begging you. Please…”

He turned away, unable to meet her pleading gaze. "I love you," he admitted hoarsely, pain lacing every word. "But this love... it's hurting you. It's not fair to you."

Tears streamed down her cheeks as she took a step closer, her hands reaching out as if to hold onto him, to anchor him in place. "I don't care about fair," she whispered, her voice raw with emotion. "I care about us. About what we have."

Calcharo closed his eyes briefly, the ache in his chest unbearable. “You might want me, (Y/N) … but I am not what you need. You deserve a righteous person by your side who can protect your innocence and kindness. That is not me.”

She gasped softly, a sob escaping her as she stumbled backward, her hands covering her mouth in disbelief. "No," she choked out, her whole-body trembling with the weight of his words. "Please don't do this..."

Calcharo’ s own voice wavered as he took a step closer, his hand hovering in the air as if torn between reaching out to comfort her and knowing he had to leave. "I love you," he whispered hoarsely, his voice thick with unshed tears. "But this... this is the only way."

(Y/N) watched him, her entire being trembling with the weight of his words, with the finality of his decision. "Calcharo, please," she begged, her voice breaking as fell on the floor. "Don't leave me. I can't... I can't do this without you."

Calcharo stood before her, his heart breaking with every tear that streamed down her face. Every fiber of his being screamed at him to take her in his arms, to comfort her, to take back his words and pretend this moment never happened. But he knew he couldn't. Not for her sake. Not now.

"I've spoken to someone in Jinzhou," he said quietly, his voice trembling slightly. "They've arranged housing for you. It is safe there and you can start afresh. You… you need to leave the Lawless Zone.”

(Y/N)'s sobs grew louder, her shoulders shaking uncontrollably as she struggled to comprehend the magnitude of his words. "No," she cried out, her voice raw with anguish. "Please, Calcharo..."

Calcharo’ s heart shattered into a million pieces at her words, but he pressed on, knowing it was the only way to protect her. "My people will protect you until then," he continued, his voice cracking with emotion. "But this... this is the last you'll see of me."

She collapsed onto the floor, her body convulsing with grief. "No, no," she sobbed, her voice raw with agony. "I can't... I can't do this without you."

Calcharo closed his eyes against the pain, struggling to maintain his composure. "I hope you find somebody else," he whispered, his voice barely audible over her cries. "Someone who will love you like nobody else." His words hung heavy in the air, a bitter admission of his own shortcomings. "I hope he gives you something real, someone who can put your well-being first." he continued, his voice breaking. "And I wish nothing but the best for you."

He knelt beside her, his hand hovering over her trembling form, wanting to touch her, to soothe her, but holding back. "I'm sorry," he choked out, his voice thick with regret. "For all the pain, the hurt, the worry... I never wanted this for you. You’re the only person in this world that I cannot see get hurt because of my deeds." Her cries echoed in the room, reverberating off the walls as he apologized. "Thank you for welcoming me every time with an open heart."

He leaned forward, brushing a gentle kiss against her forehead, a silent farewell filled with a lifetime of love and regret. "Goodbye," he whispered hoarsely, his voice barely audible over her sobs.

With great effort, Calcharo stood up, his legs heavy as he turned away from her. Each step felt like a knife in his heart, tearing him apart as he walked toward the door. As he crossed the threshold, a single tear escaped his eye, and he quickly brushed it away, his face composed into its usual stoic mask.

He glanced back one last time, memorizing the sight of her curled on the floor, her heartache echoing in the empty room. It was the last time she would see him, but he promised himself he would always watch over her from afar, keeping her safe until she no longer needed his ghostly presence.

She would find someone to love her, he knew. She had so much love to give. And despite the ache in his own heart, he would be happy for her when that day came. Despite the agony that consumed him, Calcharo found a bitter solace in knowing that she would eventually smile again, even if it wasn't because of him. But for now, he bore the weight of their separation, the ache of leaving her behind. She would move on, and he would fade into memory. For her sake, he would bear the pain of being a ghost in her life, a memory of a love that was both profound and tragically unfulfilled.

And as he disappeared into the harsh sunlight of the Lawless Zone, he carried with him the weight of her sorrow and the echo of her cries, a haunting melody that would stay with him long after he had faded into the shadows.

#lina writes #wuthering waves fic #wuthering waves #wuthering waves fanfic #wuthering waves x reader #calcharo #wuwa #calcharo x reader #calcharo wuthering waves #calcharo wuwa #calcharo angst #calcharo x you #calcharo fanfic #calcharo fanfiction #calcharo oneshot #wuwa fanfic #wuwa oneshot #wuwa x reader

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bella-rose29 · 15 days

Text

Breathe

Elrond x gn!reader (Rings of Power)

not me coming out of my cave to post an Elrond fic then leave again 👀

also not me not writing anything for over a month (probably, I haven't counted) and then coming out with a near 5k fic oops

the original title for this was 'is he dead or not??? who knows' but I think this one is good too

Word count: 4.9k

Warnings: I think I killed someone writing this/made them need a lobotomy so consider that a warning to anyone who's gonna read (sorry), mentions of death, war, wounds, a child crying, the photo I'm gonna use is a warning in and of itself, I think that's it?

I feel I should add that this fic is actually happy (eventually) 😂 I reread the warnings and thought 'oh oops'

tagging @oblivious-idiot and @uku-lelevillain but if anyone else wants to be tagged in future Elrond works then let me know!

You could not breathe.

It would eat you alive, all this waiting, chewing on your insides until it worked its way outward and left you but a shell of the person you used to be, and you wouldn’t have any way of stopping it. Your lungs felt tight as you cradled the head of a sobbing child, his mother dead after birthing him and his father out in the fray with the rest of the soldiers of Middle-Earth. He was young, had barely seen his homeland, let alone the world, and he had never seen war before. You were not so lucky as he - war had been your upbringing. You could fight as well as any other of the elven soldiers, but somebody was needed to look after those who could not, and so you had volunteered along with a small band of others: retired fighters and those looking to start out and join the ranks but were not quite good enough yet. You had trained them over the last few days that you had all spent in the safe hold, taking them through the basics of how to grip a sword and the best way to gut an Orc should they break through and make it to the doors of the underground cavern serving as your shelter.

The child in your lap had stopped sobbing, his cries turned to sniffles, and you carefully lifted his body to nestle into your side. He was too young for war, you thought again, taking in the small points of his ears and the lack of angles on his face. You attempted a smile, hoping it would comfort him a little as you pushed a strand of his hair behind an ear, and whispered to him. “All will be well. They will return to us victorious, and we shall have no need of too many more tears.”

“But how do you know?” Children were inquisitive, which most of the time you adored, but when you are attempting to raise the spirits of a boy who does not know if he will ever see his father again, the questions become rather irritating.

“Because I have seen many things, and because our armies are strong. They will defeat the darkness and bring light to our lands once more.” It was the best you could do when you did not truly know the answer. You had learned the art of rhetoric years ago, when Elrond Peredhel had first come to Lindon and had quickly discovered that for the elves to see past his half-elven status he would need to become invaluable, or risk being an outcast in the race he had chosen to be counted among. You had been the first to greet him, intrigued by this visitor from the Havens of Sirion when you had been born in Lindon and raised there, and he had been grateful for your tour and kindness. He had spent many an hour sat with you, commenting on his meetings and the politics of Lindon, and how he carefully navigated clashing personalities and difficult conversations, and so you had learned.

You used it now, that knowledge that Elrond had provided in all those hours, to comfort this child. He had since taken to playing with a stick on the floor next to him, leaning further away from your side to entertain himself as he drew patterns in the dirt, and it gave your lungs the much needed space to breathe a little more.

It had been hours and hours since the army had left, heading out onto the battlefield to meet Sauron’s forces, and you were getting impatient. Elrond had gone with them, determined to provide what help he could no matter your protests to him entering the fray. You had trained him up, knowing that he could hold his own but wanting to be sure that he would be alright, and when you had suggested that you go with him while tightening the straps of his armour he had placed his hands over yours (his hands were too soft - far too soft for someone about to go into battle), gently coaxing them from where they had fretted with the leather and returning them to your side with a sad smile. “You must stay here, melethel, and protect those who cannot fight.” The term of endearment never failed to heat your cheeks, or send a warmth up your neck and through your chest. “For my peace of mind, please stay here.” He had let go of your hands at that point, moving them up to rest on your shoulders as he looked into your eyes. A lock of hair had fallen over his face, and before you could think you were pushing it back into place, wondering if you had imagined him leaning into your touch that lingered a moment too long for two elves who were only friends and nothing more, his eyes fluttering closed for the barest fraction of a second before he was looking at you again, or if it had truly happened. What you were certain was real was the soft kiss he placed on your forehead, lips brushing the skin with such care and tenderness while his hands on your arms squeezed like you would disappear that it made your eyes sting with tears you refused to shed. Elrond would not see you cry, not now, not when there was a chance it could be the last-

No. You would not think that way. He would come back alive, and if he was hurt then you would stay by his side until he was healed, and then you would continue your lives as you had before - content and in friendship.

It wasn’t how you wanted things to be with Elrond, which was why you could not breathe. What if he was one of the fallen, and you never saw him smile again, or gaze in wonder at the golden leaves of Lindon or cast a wry glance your way in a council session when somebody said something he thought was silly and knew you would be thinking it too, your eyes already seeking him out? What if you never heard him sing again, or write poems about trivial matters that seemed so important to him? What if you never got to challenge him to a duel again, laughing when your swords clashed and rang out in the clearing you always fled to, and calling him a cheat for tickling you after you pinned him to the floor?

And what if you never told him how you truly felt? That from the moment he had seen you try not to show your tears after climbing too high in a tree and falling, grazing your knee and cutting your calf, and had rushed to your aid because that was what Elrond did, you had loved him. He had been so calm, so gentle that night, the lights of others long gone out as they dwelt in near darkness while your lanterns stayed lit as you gritted your teeth and washed the cut of dirt and bark. You had barely heard him come in, his knock as quiet as your tears, but when his hands wrapped around your own and took the cloth from you, dipping it again in the bowl of water to your side, you barely startled. He had not been in Lindon long and yet already you knew him and his movements as though they were your own, and you trusted him enough to see you so vulnerable, and from the way he had looked at you that night he knew it. Your love for him was strong and true and the greatest thing you had ever felt, and for years you had passed it off as a friendship so powerful that the bond between you was unbreakable. You had friendships like that with others, so it would not have been out of the ordinary to have one more person whom you would love unconditionally until your light died, but when he had been kneeling by your side and cleaning the gash on your calf with a tenderness you had only read about, you had known it was different.

The child beside you now dropped his stick, the movement bringing you out of your thoughts as he scrambled instead to his feet and started to push through the gathered people to make for the doorway.

The doorway which was now opening, a messenger stepping through. You stood up, air catching in your throat and making you nearly choke on spit as you struggled to breathe again. Your hand flew to your opposite wrist, under the fabric of your sleeve and touching the chain that rested around the base of your hand - a gift from Elrond in the early hours of the morning before he had left for battle and after he had kissed you on the forehead. “To remember me by,” he had said, a sadness settling over his features that you hated. He unclasped it, gesturing for you to hold out your wrist, and when you complied he had linked the chains so carefully, fingers brushing the underside of your forearm so lightly it sent chills darting over your skin like minnows in a stream. His hold had lingered, and your breath had been held while time seemed to stretch on more than usual for your kind.

Elrond had that effect on you, it would appear. Making you breathless was a skill of his you weren’t sure he knew he possessed, and at this current moment you wished it was a skill he had never mastered. Your throat felt tight while the messenger caught his breath, tired from sprinting from the battlefield. The fight was over for now, the question was simply who had won.

“Sauron’s forces have been pushed back, and the majority slaughtered. We have won this battle!” the elf cried, and the first wave of relief washed over you and the crowd. The second would come when you knew who was alive out of those that had been sent away that morning, and who would not return this night.

The thundering of footsteps could just be heard over the cheers of the people gathered in the safe hold, and the first of the elven soldiers appeared in the chamber, tiredness being replaced by joy at seeing their loved ones again and embracing them with a fierceness that even Sauron could not comprehend. There were too many similar soldiers, their armour all the same and their faces all dirtied, and it was a long few minutes before you caught sight of the elf you were searching for. You were sure your face was blank and cold, and your eyebrows furrowed as you attempted to see past the hordes in front of you, but the moment a head of unruly curled hair glinted under the torchlight, clearly moving from soldier to soldier and asking if they were alright, you knew it was Elrond. He seemed to sense your gaze on him, turning his head to look over his shoulder and seek you out, finding you within seconds. He is alive. Elrond is alive. It was a mantra, playing over and over in your head as your feet numbly moved you forward while he did the same, pushing through people to reach you, and before you could truly register it you were in his arms, the coldness of your previous gaze melting and turning into warmth as you looked at him, tracing the small cuts on his face and wrapping your other arm around his waist. He was dirty, and bloodied, and shaking from the cold or from the fight or from something else entirely that you could not name, but he was alive. You squeezed his waist, pulling him closer to you, but didn’t miss the slight wince on his face as you did so. “Elrond, are you hurt?”

“I am fine, melethel. Just a scratch.”

“Do not lie to me, Elrond. Come, let’s get you cleaned up and out of your armour; it must be heavy on your shoulders.” He did not reply, only giving a tired smile in its place, and let you take him by the hand to the room you had commandeered for you both when you had arrived. There were two raised cots, not that Elrond had slept much, as he had been needed in meetings to discuss battle strategies and had, in his usual fashion, not stopped working until he was content that his plan would work. You closed the door behind you and pointed to one of the cots, not looking at him as you told him to sit. He did so in a daze, fingers picking at the leather straps that you had done up for him that morning. It was long past nightfall now, and Elrond likely had not rested since he woke up. You gathered your medicines and poured a dish of water, moving to sit on the stool that Elrond had pulled up for you and putting your supplies on the side table to help him with his armour. You worked in silence, removing piece after piece of metal until it sat on the floor in a neat pile and you had better access to his wound. Cautiously you pressed your fingers to the edge of the cut, trying to gauge how bad it was and immediately regretting it when he hissed in pain and tried to move away. You snatched your hand back, eyes snapping to his face to see it scrunched up in pain. “Elrond,” you spoke, voice quiet in the near-empty room as you placed your hand on his fist. “Elrond. It is alright. Here, help me get this off of you so I can clean it.” He softened, features settling back into a face you knew better than the wrinkled nose and squeezed-shut eyes, and smiled a little as you started tugging at his undershirts.

“You know, if you wanted me to take my clothes off you could have said it earlier.” Had you been standing you were sure your knees would have given way and caused you to hold on to something for support. He must be delirious from the wound, or the amount of time spent on his feet fighting. Elrond never said things like that: not to you, not to anyone. You forced a glare onto your face in lieu of a response, hoping he hadn’t noticed how much he had affected you with one simple sentence, and started to gently pull the fabric up.

“Stop jesting, Elrond. I need to clean your wound. Unless you would prefer I left you here to get an infection and suffer?”

“You rather enjoy leaving me to suffer, melethel. You do it whenever we fight.”

“I always help you up off the floor after I wipe it with your backside,” you indignantly replied. You were glad he was talking - the silence had been strange. Normally you would not mind sitting in silence with Elrond, but that was when you were safe in Lindon, books in your hands and paper rustling as the pages turned, not when he had just fought a bloody battle and could have died.

“I recall that last time we fought it was I who helped you off of the floor,” he mused, and you swatted at his arm.

“Shush. I let you win that one. Now stop talking and help me; your limbs are gangly.” He let out a noise of disbelief at that but lifted his arms anyway, wincing when the shirt went over his head and pulled at the skin of his side. An Orc had found a gap in his armour, pushing its blade through and marking the side of his body with blood. You held your breath at the size of it, and when Elrond asked you how bad it was you answered with your eyes still on his side. “It is… it is nothing I cannot fix.” He seemed content enough with your response, nodding and leaning back on his hands to allow you more room to work. He grunted in pain when you raised the cloth to his skin and started cleaning away the blood and sweat that had stuck there, but otherwise was silent while you worked.

Time is a strange thing for elves: your lives are so much longer than those other races of Middle-Earth and so often you do not perceive it in the same way - twenty years for some may be the blink of an eye to an elf. You could not have been cleaning and stitching his wound (he had cried out more when the needle had pierced his flesh) for more than an hour or so, and yet it had felt like an eternity. When you were finally done, his wound covered in an elvish salve to stop infection and the spread of whatever evil was in Orcish weaponry and stitched up with a fine thread that would dissolve harmlessly into his skin over time, you brought out another cloth and poured fresh water to clean his face. He was caked in dirt and blood and grime, sticking to his fair skin from all of the sweat he had created in exertion, and if you did not know Elrond like the back of your own hand then you would not have recognised him at all.

“Let me,” he said, pushing up off of the cot and moving to where you stood by the basin. His hands covered yours, gently attempting to pull the cloth from your grasp and do the rest himself, but your grip was strong.

“No. I have been sat around doing nothing all day and I might just explode if I do not finish looking after you.” He smiled, the barest of things as the corner of his mouth pulled upwards a little, and his eyes softened. How he could be soft after everything he had seen today amazed you. It had taken you years to stop guarding yourself after you first fought in a battle, not letting anybody see any vulnerability in case they took advantage and thought you weak. It was part of the reason you stayed behind: you had not wanted to find out what would happen if you fought again, not when Elrond had come into your life and, piece by piece, dismantled your high walls.

“Alright, melethel. Alright.” He had always insisted on calling you that, saying that it didn’t matter that the pair of you were not courting, and who were you to refuse him when he spoke so sweetly? He settled back against the counter, letting his feet drift apart a little so you had room to stand between his legs. He closed his eyes, trusting you to take care of him, and for the first time since he had returned he looked at peace. He seemed unsure where to place his hands, hovering for a moment between your waist and the wood of the cabinet top he perched on before deciding on the latter. You worked away the dirt, revealing more clean skin with every swipe of your cloth, until eventually you were looking at the face of your friend as you remembered it. His hair still needed a wash, as did the rest of him, but Elrond was here, in front of you and more like himself than he had been since he had left in the morning.

“I think you had more soil on your face than the grounds of Middle-Earth,” you joked, rinsing out the cloth again before bringing it up to his face to wipe the remainder of the grime away. He opened his eyes, a childish grin appearing on his face at your words.

“Then you have done a fantastic job in removing it all.” He paused, then narrowed his eyes at you in playful suspicion. “At least I assume you have removed it all, and haven’t just smeared it all around my face?” He poked a dirty finger into your cheek, making you laugh and jerk backward to stop him spreading muck everywhere. Elrond stopped moving abruptly, catching your hand and studying a finger. “You’re bleeding.” He blinked at the dried blood on your pointer finger. “Or is that mine?”

“Oh. I had not even realised. I must have stabbed myself with the needle earlier. Really, it is nothing, Elrond.” He didn’t let go however, still looking concerned that you had hurt yourself while tending to him.

“But if you are hurt-”

“Which one of us was brutally stabbed by an Orc blade? And nearly died?”

“I did not nearly die, melethel, you are being dramatic.”

“As are you, Elrond. I barely even noticed the prick of the needle.” He had brought your hand close to his face, and somehow your body had gone with it. The hand that held the cloth was bracing your weight next to Elrond’s hand, your fingers just touching, and your face was so close to his that you could feel the soft brush of air that he let out every time he breathed. It was so typical of Elrond to be more concerned for others when he himself was the one that needed to be worried over, and it only made you love him more.

“If you say so,” he hummed, shifting his hold on your hand so that he could bring his lips to the tip of your finger where you had stuck yourself with the needle, pressing the smallest kiss to it. Your breath caught again, and he noticed the hitch. “Melethel? What is it, did I hurt you?” His eyes widened and he rushed to rectify the mistake he thought he had made. “I am so so sorry, I did not mean-”

“You did not hurt me, Elrond, for goodness’ sake!” You cut him off, exasperated and feeling very warm.

“Then why-” he broke off, eyes searching your face and studying the most likely very visible flush to your features. “Oh,” he said, softer than a leaf of one of the trees of Lindon falling to the earth. You swore his pupils dilated a little, and he tilted his head back ever so slightly as realisation dawned on him. “Oh.” He let go of your hand, fingers slowly moving to your jaw to turn your face back towards his after you had looked to the side in an attempt to hide from the intensity of his gaze.

“Elrond, what- what?” Your hand he had been holding was now on his shoulder, keeping you upright along with the arm he had somehow snaked around your waist, pulling you even closer to him.

“Are you- do you…” he fumbled over his words, something he very rarely did, and through the haze of wondering how you had ended up in this situation, his fingers cupping your jaw while his other hand rested on your lower back and he stared into your eyes, flicking between them both to see if he could read you, you felt a swell of pride that you of all people had made Herald Elrond of Lindon speechless.

“Do I what?” you asked, as gently as you could. The hand you had rested on his shoulder was now toying with a strand of hair that curled under his ear against his neck, your other braced on his chest (which you were just now remembering was unclothed), and a small smile was on your face. You knew that he knew the truth now - how could he not? But he wanted to hear it, as did you, because the fear that he might be wrong was lingering and if he was wrong, he might hurt you, which was the last thing Elrond ever wanted to do.

“Do you feel it?” he whispered, eyes similar to that of a wolf cub you had once seen, wide and innocent, but entirely Elrond in the blown out pupils and spark of knowing that he carried. His nose was brushing yours, breath fanning over your face, and now it was your turn to tilt your head back to meet him. “Do you feel that whenever we are apart… your heart aches for the space where I should be stood? That whenever we are together I am complete because you are there and you are so bright and wonderful that you take my breath away more often than I would care to admit - do you feel that too?”

“How could I not, Elrond? How could I not feel that?” You felt the tension dissipate from his shoulders, his body sagging forwards into yours just a little, the action causing his face to come even closer to yours, angled slightly upwards from where he was an inch lower than you sat on the cabinet.

You couldn’t breathe again, but this time it was because Elrond had pressed his lips to yours so cautiously that you thought you might melt into him. His fingers on your jaw were warm, not urging you one way or the other but just anchoring you, as he always had done from the moment you had met, letting you decide what happened next. You broke off first, resting your forehead against his and catching your breath, and he swallowed thickly, moving to place tiny kisses against your jawline and cheek, pausing only to murmur your name into your skin. Your hand buried itself in his hair, fingers tangling in the curls and knocking out the dust and dirt that had stuck there. It had long since dried of sweat, but the strands were greasy and needed washing, and that thought combined with the memory that he had a wound in his side were enough to make you pull back even further. “You should have a bath,” you said when he looked up at you with adoring but concerned eyes. He paused for a moment, frozen in place while he contemplated what you had said, and then he chuckled, the sound low in his throat.

“Are you saying I smell, melethel?”

“Yes. Come, I’ll get a bath ready for you.”

“And if I would rather stay here?” His fingers had started lightly stroking your jaw, and with the way he was looking at you it was becoming harder and harder to leave his embrace. You managed to wrinkle your nose and step back, a strength you hadn’t known you possessed taking over and making you move.

“I’m not kissing you again until you have bathed, Elrond.” He sighed dramatically, retracting his arms and standing up, wincing slightly and favouring his non-injured side while you started transporting water from over the fire.

“Truly? You really would leave me here?”

“If it gets you over here faster, then I shall get in with you.” You had never seen the elf move so quickly before, pulling off his boots and drawing out towels for when the bath was finished with. He hesitated with his trousers, then decided to keep them on, glancing at you to see what you were doing. You were already watching him, making a decision of your own before starting to pull at the strings holding your robes together.

“You don’t have to-”

“Oh I’m keeping my underclothes on, but I shall likely sink right to the bottom if I keep these thick robes on.” He looked relieved, and you stifled a laugh as you headed for the dresser where your clothes were kept, pulling out a pair of fresh trousers. “Here, get changed first if you’re keeping trousers on; you’ll dirty the water immediately.”

He complied, heading behind the partition in the corner of the room and re-emerging a few moments later to find you already in the bath, eyes closed in contentment at the feel of the warm water on your skin. Elrond lifted your head, pushing you forward gently so that he could clamber in behind you and settle back against the tub. You heard him grunt when his wound his the water, and turned to see his face scrunched in pain. “Are you alright?”

“I am alright. Just don’t lean on my side.” He helped you turn in the tub so that you were sideways against him, his wound kept out of the danger of being pressed down upon.

You stayed in the bath until it got cold and your fingers wrinkled, having washed the dirt off of each other with one of the towels Elrond had brought over, and then when you got out you dried each other off and redressed in fresh clothes, hanging up the wet fabric and making for the bed, curling up next to each other, your head on his chest. Sleep came easily to you, Elrond’s body creating a warmth under you that made up for the dying fire in the cold room, and at some point your breathing matched his.

For now, you could be content in peace. Another battle would come, the war not yet won, and Sauron’s armies would be at your doors again soon. But not yet. They would need time to gather strength again, to marshal and be ready, and so you had time too before Elrond had to leave again, and time to breathe before you would be sat waiting, and waiting, and take in air before it was stolen from you when he kissed you goodbye.

#elrond peredhel #elrond x reader #elrond rings of power #rop elrond

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storiesforallfandoms · 1 year

Text

sob story ~ hannibal lecter;hannibal

word count: 2292

request?: no

description: in which he takes a liking to one of the new agents, and gets to learn her sad story

pairing: hannibal lecter x female!reader

warnings: swearing, the reader eats food made by hannibal...we all know what that means, mentions of cheating

masterlist (one, two, three)

(Y/N) looked up from her paperwork as a plastic Tupperware container was placed in front of her. Hannibal stood over her, smiling down at her.

“What’s this?” she asked.

“Leftovers from the meal I prepared last night,” he said. “Agent Crawford asked to see me today, so I thought I would drop by your desk to bring you something to eat.”

(Y/N) smiled at him. “You brought this just for me? I must be pretty special.”

But she already knew the answer to that. Hannibal had taken quite the liking to (Y/N) since he first met her only a few weeks ago. She had no idea what it was that drew him to her, and truthfully, neither did Hannibal. She was just a desk agent, not a field agent. She didn’t get to do any of the exciting or impressive stuff. She sat in the FBI offices and waited for paperwork to come in, or brought files to the higher ups, or went to boring meetings that felt like they went on for hours.

That’s how the two of them met, actually. Jack Crawford had asked for a file on a suspect they were looking into for a case. When (Y/N) brought it in to them, Hannibal found himself captivated by her. He introduced himself, taking note of the sweet scent of the perfume she was wearing. When they shook hands, he was almost reluctant to let her go, but he knew he had to let her get back to her job. But ever since that day, whenever Hannibal was at the FBI offices, he made sure he went to speak with (Y/N) even for just a few moments.

Hannibal pulled up a chair next to her desk as (Y/N) opened the plastic container.

“God, it smells so good,” she said. “You have to teach me how to cook sometime. I’m always hearing about your popular dinner parties.”

“I’ve never taught anyone my recipes before. I’m usually a solo cooker.”

“Fine then. Keep your secrets.”

Hannibal chuckled. (Y/N) took a forkful of the food. The minute it touched her tastebuds she couldn’t help the sound that came from her throat. Nearby agents at their own desks looked over at the two of them. (Y/N) covered her face in embarrassment. “I should’ve waited till my break.”

They fell into silence as (Y/N) continued to eat. Hannibal watched her as she would take a bite and continue to work on her paperwork as she chewed. She was wearing a new perfume. It had a more prominent vanilla scent instead of a fruity scent like her last one. She always looked beautiful, but Hannibal found she looked especially so when she was focused on her work. It was when she seemed to be at her most vulnerable, when she wasn’t putting on an act for those around her, that he found she was the most beautiful.

Her phone was placed face up on the desk next to her. It lit up as a message came in. (Y/N) looked over at her phone for a moment before making a face and flipping the phone so the screen was face down on her desk. She turned back to the paperwork in front of her, but Hannibal could tell she wasn’t actually focusing on it.

“Everything alright?” he asked.

It took (Y/N) a moment to realize Hannibal had spoken. She looked up at him and halfheartedly smiled. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

“You sure? It seems like whatever message you just received wasn’t a good one.”

“Don’t therapist me, Lecter,” (Y/N) said, playfully, as she pointed her fork at him. “It was jut an old friend that I asked not to message me anymore, but they seem very persistent on going against what I want.”

“The friendship didn’t end well, I’d assume.”

(Y/N) shook her head but didn’t elaborate further. She stabbed at the food and pushed it around the container. Hannibal didn’t want to pry. It was his job to get people to tell him their problems, so he could’ve easily gotten (Y/N) to talk if he wanted to. But he decided not to, and that (Y/N) would tell him what was going on if she wanted to.

His ears perked up when she sighed and put the fork down again. “It’s a long story, and I don’t want to bother you with my sob story.”

Hannibal raised an eyebrow at her. “My job is listening to other people’s sob stories.”

She chuckled. “Fair point, but I’m not one of your clients.”

“You’re my friend, and it is to my understanding that friends talk to friends about things that are bothering them.”

(Y/N) nodded and sighed again. “Okay, well...the person who is messaging me stopped being my friend because my ex-boyfriend told her and all our other friends that I was crazy and a shitty girlfriend, so they all stopped being friends with me.”

Hannibal didn’t say anything. He gestured for her to continue, so she did.

“I was in a relationship for a long time,” she explained. “Like four or five years I think? It was a while ago so I don’t completely remember. Anyways, we were living together, we were so in love, we were talking about getting engaged and everything. And then, one night, he had left his phone open and I glanced down to see a text from another woman saying she was excited to see him, followed by a picture of her in lingerie.” She took a deep breath to try and stop the tears that were forming in her eyes from falling. “Turns out he had been cheating on me for months. Almost a year, actually.”

Hannibal’s hands clenched in his lap. Anger rose from deep inside of him. He was tempted to ask for her ex’s name so he could track the bastard down. How could someone have such a beautiful woman’s heart in his hand and completely crush it like that? He could’ve put a ring on her finger and gotten to call her his for the rest of their lives.

Maybe I shall invite her over for dinner soon, Hannibal thought to himself.

“How did that result in your friends no longer speaking to you?” he asked instead. “I’m not sure I see how he flipped this to be in his favor.”

(Y/N) laughed, humorlessly. “Never underestimate the power a man has over a woman he’s already hurt. Obviously, I was upset, so I acted kind of irrationally. I yelled, I cried, I screamed at him to leave the house, and when he refused, I started throwing his stuff out onto the front step. He told our friends I went through his phone and misinterpreted a message between him and ‘a coworker’. He told them I was crazy and went extra hysterical over nothing. I didn’t know until after, but he took a video of me throwing his stuff out, so he showed them that as proof. So, they all turned their backs on me.”

(Y/N) wiped her eyes quickly when she felt a tear run down her cheek. She let out a pitiful laugh and added, “And the icing on top is then he kicked me out. He put his name only on the lease, so there was no chance of fighting for the place. So, I was single, alone, and homeless in one fell swoop. He quite literally took everything from me.”

She looked down at her lap to try and hide her tears from anyone around them. There was no use pretending in front of Hannibal now. He had seen her break, but she didn’t want her coworkers to see it as well.

It had been many years since what happened with her ex. (Y/N) had gone through years of therapy to try and move on, and was still actively going when she had the time. There were days when she felt like she had moved on, and there were other days where all she could think about was the absolute heartbreak she felt when she saw those messages on her ex’s phone. She would sometimes see something that would remind her of their old friend group, and she’d remember how none of them spoke to her anymore. At first, she was sad about that, but after a while she got angry. She had tried to tell one of them, the one who was messaging her again now actually, that her ex cheated, but none of them would hear it. They just thought it proved even more that she was “the crazy ex-girlfriend”. She was angry that none of them would even listen to her, so it made it easier to get over them cutting her out.

Until a few days ago when that same ex-friend messaged (Y/N) asking if they could talk. When (Y/N) left the message on read, the friend tried again, explaining that her ex had finally come clean that he had cheated on (Y/N) after getting a little too drunk and someone asking him how he and his fiancée - the woman he cheated on (Y/N) with (that was a stab in the heart to read) - met. The friend begged for forgiveness and asked if they could talk, but (Y/N) told her that she didn’t want to be friends with any of them and not to contact her ever again.

It brought up so many old wounds - ones that were both partially and entirely healed. (Y/N) felt like she was back to those days of being a sad, young adult who was kicked out of her home, her relationship, and her friendships, all because of the actions of a dickhead like her ex. She had been trying to mask her upset while at work, but some days it was tougher than others.

But seeing Hannibal made it easier to forget.

She had really hoped that his surprise visit would bring her out of her mood. It almost had, if it wasn’t for that ex-friend messaging her yet again to try and beg for forgiveness.

(Y/N) jumped when Hannibal reached out for her hand. He took it in his and held it tightly. When she looked up, she realized how close he was leaning towards her.

“You should not let a man like that ruin you,” he told her. “You are a bright, beautiful woman, with a great job and I am assuming a fantastic family and new friends. He lost something great when he chose that other woman over you, and one of these days he will pay for making that decision.”

(Y/N) tried to smile. “I didn’t think someone like you would believe in karma.”

Not unless I’m the one inflicting it. “I can on occasions.”

She looked down at their connected hands. His was so much bigger than hers, so much cooler against her clammy skin. She suddenly felt self-conscious about the fact that her palm was so sweaty. She hoped he couldn’t feel it against his own palm.

“It’s not easy to just let go of a five year relationship that ends so suddenly like that,” she said, her voice small. “I haven’t dated anyone since because it’s just too hard to trust.”

“You must take things at your own pace,” Hannibal told her. “You can’t rush yourself into a new relationship if you’re not ready. There is nothing wrong with taking care of yourself first.”

When she looked up at him again, (Y/N) felt compelled to close the distance between herself and Hannibal. She wanted to kiss him more than anything. She wanted to feel more of him against her - his lips against hers, his hands on her body, his body against hers. She wanted to feel it all. But obviously, that would be a very inappropriate thing to happen in the workplace. Not to mention she wasn’t sure if Hannibal would really reciprocate to any of the things she wanted.

“Thank you,” she said, finally.

“It’s just the therapist in me.”

When she laughed this time, it was real. His heart fluttered at the sound. “I know, but it still means a lot. The fact that you come see me so often, that you brought me food today. It all means a lot to me. More than I think you could ever know.”

She didn’t want to let go of his hand, but she knew she couldn’t sit there like that all day. She was already well aware of how everyone was looking at them. She was sure she’d be mentioned at the coffee machine gossip session the next morning. So, (Y/N) reluctantly took her hand from Hannibal’s and reached for her pen instead.

“I really should try to finish this before Jack comes looking for it,” she said.

“Do you mind if I stay?” Hannibal asked.

“You don’t have anything else going on today?”

“Not until you’re finished.”

She raised an eyebrow at him. “What are we doing when I finish my work?”

“I’m going to teach you how to cook.”

Her face lit up like a Christmas tree. Hannibal couldn’t help but smile back at her.

And so they did sit like that for the rest of the day; (Y/N) working and eating while Hannibal just kept her company. The conversation had died down a bit so she could actually work, but that only aided her in finishing her paperwork early and being allowed to clock out an hour earlier, too. She happily pulled on her coat and followed Hannibal to the elevator, where he reached out and took her hand again as the doors closed.

#hannibal lecter #hannibal lecter imagine #hannibal lecter x reader #mads mikkelsen #mads mikkelsen x reader #mads mikkelsen imagine #hannibal nbc #hannibal netflix #imagine #one shot #fanfiction #fanfic #fandom

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bits-and-babs · 2 years

Note

Hey darling! Finally sending an ask, that link list inspired me haha. Pretty please can I have Din Djarin x mirror sex but specifically the mirror being a reflection from a piece of his armour across the room👀

Thanks in advance, love you long time 💕

𝐍𝐀𝐑𝐂𝐈𝐒𝐒𝐔𝐒 — 𝐃𝐈𝐍 𝐃𝐉𝐀𝐑𝐈𝐍

» PAIRING : The Mandalorian x f!Reader

» CONTENTS : Sexy reflections, p in v sex, cream pie (wrap it, guys, I mean it), overstimulation, filthy Mando talk, use of Mando’a. 18+, ya nasties.

» DIN MASTERLIST : here || MAIN MASTERLIST : here

You know he can see you, that he’s noticed exactly what occupies your attention. Perhaps it’s shallow of you that you continue to have such an affinity for the armour even after all this time. His smooth, reflective breastplate gleams in the twin sunlight of Tatooine like a polished jewel, your face projected back to you on the surface.

The Mandalorian is observant. You are confident he’s twigged the way you never quite look into his visor, instead occupied by your own face staring back at you in the gouged ‘cheekbones’ of his helmet. He would often clear his throat to recapture your attention when you found yourself momentarily distracted by the mirror image in his chest plate.

Yes, you were aware of how it looked. It appeared self-obsessed, narcissistic even, but you couldn’t shake the vivid daydream that occupied your mind, rattling around while Mando spoke and drowning out his soft, husky voice.

Stars, you wanted to fuck him. Every waking moment of the day, you were consumed by your own arousal for The Mandalorian, all triggered by one solitary thought a few weeks ago when you had caught your reflection in his pauldron.

‘I’d be able to watch him fuck me’.

The salacious thought, previously only an intrusive yet fleeting imaginary scenario, had grown into a devastatingly consuming addiction. You imagined it, his chest plate reflecting his thick, ruddy cock spearing into you, your thighs slick with your own cum and glistening on the surface of the armour. How you’d see your own body tremble and writhe against the hangar floor, overcome by the arousal he drew from you and arching your ba-

“Hey,” Mando’s ever so slightly frustrated tone rips you from your scandalous daydream, rocking you back into reality. Overcome with embarrassment, you feel your skin burn hot under his questioning gaze. “You’re not listening.”

“I’m so sorry,” you speak quietly, and stars you mean it. It’s mortifying, being caught out like this. It’s easy to wonder if Mando thinks you consider yourself an Alderani princess, contemplating all the ways you can style your hair to be the most eligible at the Festival of Light ball.

“Do you-… Do you want to explain what the problem is?” He dares to ask, The Mandalorian’s voice lilting with mild concern, as though he’s concerned you may request to take his armour for yourself.

If only it were that simple.

“… It’s the reflection.” Your admittance makes Mando stop, his immovable helmet expression staring blankly at you in question. It was agonising. He wants you to spell it out to him.

You sigh heavily.

“I want-“

His cock splits you open, sinking deep inside of you and forcing you open around his girth. You sob out, arousal blooming through your nervous system as you watch the tears drip down your cheeks.

Mando had heard your ridiculous admittance with an open mind, answering simply by removing his breastplate. The click of the latch unlocking made your hairs stand on end, helplessly watching as he stood the armour up at the head of the tiny cot.

“Eyes on your reflection.”

He has you on your hands and knees, his gloves nipping at the skin of your bare hips. Mando hadn’t removed any other item of clothing, pulling his cock out of his flight-suit pants and immediately pushing inside of you.

“Ohhhfuck!” You squeak, his length sinking inside of you almost too easily, considering how little prep you’d been granted. The ridges of his cock push up against the sensitive spots inside of you, and you watch as your jaw drops at the overwhelming sensation.

“So wet. Do you walk around like this for me all the time?” He speaks. The modulator does little to hide the strain in his voice when your walls clamp down on him, desperate for more. “Leaking down your thighs for me, Sarad.”

You wail softly, staring at the reflection of The Mandalorian as his hips begin to rock forward and into you. His undulating body looks long and broad in the mirror image of the beskar armour. The rippling muscles of his abdomen flex and curl underneath the thin canvas of his black flight suit.

“Stars,” you wheeze as he suddenly picks up the pace, your fingers gripping tightly onto the bed sheets on the cot. Mando’s tentative testing seems to end, his hips picking up speed and force when he finds the confidence he will not hurt you.

Arching your back, you push your hips back into his thrusts. It sets off a string of grunts and groans from The Mandalorian. “Fuck- you’re so tight around me, Sarad. So tight and f-fucking wet.”

It’s so unusual for him; words usually buried deep unless absolutely necessary. You’re unsure you’ve ever heard him talk so much, his voice growing louder with each slap of his skin against the curve of your ass.

“Fuck- I’d… I’d let you ruin my armour with this pretty pussy,” he rambles, hands squeezing at every handful of flesh he can; your hips, your ass, your waist and breasts. “You can gr-hngg grind against it, mark it up with how wet you are. Make you lick it off-“

“Mando!” You choke out, each syllable of his utterly filthy words pulsing through you and blurring your vision of the chest plate with the tears that well in your eyes.

“Stars, just- Just mark me up with that pretty cunt. Stain my tassets. You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Get to watch as you drag it over my beskar-“

You’re seeing double, the vision of Mando fucking into you at a mind-numbing pace making you light-headed. You can feel it build, feel it grow and tease at the edges of your body.

“I-I’m gunna c-ughhhh!”

Mando simply reaches around you, pushing the leather-clad pad of his thumb against your clit.

The supernova that blasts through you burns your muscles as they clamp down around him, sobbing loudly and forcing your eyes open to witness your writhing body in the outline of the armour.

Mando’s hips stutter in the image projected back to you, and you both watch and feel him bury deep inside you, cumming with a trembling groan. His palm splays across your lower back, pressing your upper body down against the mattress and continuing to fuck you through the obliterating overstimulation that follows.

Credits:

— Gif Credits unknown- let me know so I can tag you!

— Mandalorian divider created by me using Picsart stickers.

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whumpsday · 5 months

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Kane & Jim AU: Mermay Special

Chronological masterlist / Writing order masterlist

content: mer/vampire whumper, mer/vampire whumpee, whumper-turned-whumpee, dehydration, claustrophobia, starvation, torture, brief death wish, recovery, caretaking

have something special for mermay :) inspired by this fanart my friend lostie drew 2 years ago!!

It hadn’t rained in a week, Jim’s freshwater had run out the day before, and he was going to die.

He knew he was going to die. Kane would come back to feed, and his body wouldn’t be able to hold up anymore, and he would die. Either with Kane’s jaws clamped around him, or later, alone in the damp cold sand.

He wasn’t thirsty enough to be desperate yet, not desperate enough to drink the abundant saltwater taunting him from his prison’s little beach. He knew it would only make him die faster. It was poison.

It hardly mattered at this point. Months with no rescue likely meant no rescue at all, and this was hardly a life. Still, something cried out in him, wanting to live.

Jim scrambled against the rock as he saw that telltale fin start to poke out of the water, more and more until the vampire revealed himself in full, the head and torso of a man and the tail-end of a shark. Not that there was anywhere for Jim to use his worthless legs to run to.

“Food.” Kane slung half a seal onto the surface, raw yet unbloodied.

Jim cautiously crept forward. “I need water.”

Kane raised an eyebrow at him, then splashed him, leaving him soaked.

“Fresh water,” he pressed, pointing up to the clear sky. “Rainwater. I need it or I’ll die. Please, just take me back to the beach, any beach where there’s humans. I won’t be any use to you dead. You’re not some animal, you know this isn’t right, please!”

“Human mine,” Kane dismissed firmly.

Jim sobbed drily. “I can’t. I can’t. You’re going to kill me.”

“Eat.” Kane shoved the meat toward him, making him flinch back. “Then I eat.”

Jim looked to the sky, Kane’s hungry eyes never leaving him as he devoured the vampire’s leftovers. If it didn’t rain tomorrow, he wouldn’t make it another day.

“Human.” Kane gestured him forward as soon as he finished.

“No, no, I don’t want to!” Jim backed up to the rock again, even knowing it was useless.

Kane huffed, climbing up onto the sand. “Food,” he called him now, a warning tone to his voice, piercing red eyes growing angry.

“Stop,” Jim insisted, squeezing his eyes shut. “No!”

A clawed hand grabbed his leg, any attempt to kick him away futile. He couldn’t match a vampire’s strength on his best day, and this was not his best day.

He cried out as sharp teeth dug into flesh once again, feeling much like the seal in his stomach.

Kane whined softly, squirming against the glass.

The fishers had put him in a smaller tank again. He couldn’t be sure–though he learned more of their language every awful day, there were still gaps–but he was near-certain it was a game to them, at this point, how small of a space they could force him to live in. He didn’t need to know their language to see their smirks.

He hadn’t even meant to break the last one. He had been trying so hard this time, and he’d been asleep when it happened. Even so, the fishers left him gasping on the floor in a pile of broken glass for hours. Even the tiny tank was better than none at all. How far he’d fallen, that he could consider this lucky.

Kane wished he could go back to complaining about not having room to swim. He would do anything to go back to the first tank. This one hardly afforded him room to move, to breathe. No matter how he tried to position himself, he always ended up touching the walls, his tail bunched up uncomfortably.

The water was too salty, burning his gills with every breath. He didn’t dare complain about that again. Last time, they left him in that horrible freshwater humans love so much until he screamed and bled to the point where any other fish would die.

But he was a vampire, and there was no driftwood here.

Every time a fisher walked past, Kane tensed. Some carried cruel metal tools, meant for fish already dead, though he’d already known their sting far more than he’d like. Some carried cruel metal tools and looked at him, making him wish he had anywhere to hide.

“Comfy?” a fisher mocked, tapping the glass with the end of his fishing stick, the unavoidable vibrations reverberating wherever he touched it.

Kane shook his head, hoping the answer was acceptable.

“Good. �̴̢̛̙̃̎̀̏͌�̶͙̪̉̃̐͋̈̈́̉͝�̵̛̹̪̳̾́̏̂̏̊͊�̴̤̬͖͖̬̹̣̏�̴̧̹͓͒̋͝�̸͎̝̂̅͋�̴̧͚͍̼̠͌�̵̤̜̻̦̬̄͒̏̃ little display case, leech. �̸͖̞̩̳̒̿͐̚͝ͅ�̴̢̫̺̟̺̬̯͔̋̄�̶̧̺̯͚̳͎͉̆͆̀̉̍�̵͚͈͛̌̑̚�̷̰͝͝�̴̢̡̯̗̖̥̈́̑̄̅̃̀̎̕ feed you this week.”

He perked up at the mention of food, whining louder this time.

The fisher laughed, flicking one of those foul little ash-and-paper cylinders into his tank. “Eat it.”

It would make him sick, but far worse would come of disobeying orders. Maybe the fisher would allow him some food if he obeyed. Kane wriggled until he could position himself enough to reach the bottom of the tank, scooped it up, and swallowed it down.

Another fisher joined him, saying something he couldn’t understand and nodding at his tank before approaching.

Nothing good ever happened when he was taken from his tank.

“No, no, no!” he wailed as his head breached the surface, his salt-lined gills burning all the more against unforgiving air.

Jim didn’t go to the beach anymore.

After months stranded and years after living in fear, he never thought he’d get even ten miles near a coastline. Not even twenty. Yet here he was, getting within two, just to see the damn vampire. Just to confirm it’s him.

The scars on his arms and legs floated the vague line between hurt and not, leaving him unsure if it was in his head.

The smell of distant saltwater made him want to vomit.

Jim greeted the fishers in a daze, letting them lead him to the vampire that might be his.

And there he was.

Kane looked worse for wear. He was littered with more scars than Jim was, trapped in a tank barely wider than his body, and even his body looked near-emaciated. His wide eyes locked onto Jim with sudden, harsh terror, and he squirmed as if to try to get away.

“Why’s he… in there?” he asked dumbly.

“Gotta keep a vampire reeeal secure, you of all people know you can’t trust the fuckers. Give ‘em an inch and they’ll take a mile. Can’t move around, don’t have the energy to fight, knows it’s got hurt coming if it tries, that’s the safe way to keep ‘em,” the fisher explained.

Jim couldn’t look him in the eyes after that, so he looked at the tank instead.

“Kane?”

Kane whimpered, pressed against the back of the tank, though that only left him what looked like a couple inches away from the front of it. Jim felt claustrophobic just looking at it.

“So?” the fisher prompted.

“This is him.” Jim took a step forward, hesitantly pressing a hand to the glass. He was really here, powerless to hurt him again.

But Kane was hurt, and terrified, and trapped somewhere small and uncomfortable. There was no way he could leave him here.

“Do you think… I could take him?”

Every day, humans came to the aquarium in droves. As an unending mercy, Kane’s tank here was large, with ample places to hide. He never came out while the humans were visiting.

No one hurt him at the aquarium. He always had enough to eat at the aquarium. The workers always smiled at him when he surfaced for his meals. Not the malicious smiles of the fishers, but real ones, like they were friends. They talked to him like he was a person, and he was getting better at talking back, and they didn’t even get mad at him when he wouldn’t come out for the guests. Bellamy slipped him an extra fish and told him he deserved it for being a trooper. He didn’t know what a trooper was, but it sounded good when he said it.

Maybe he would start showing himself, one day, just to make them happy. Maybe if it ever stopped being scary.

As it stood, there was only one guest Kane would leave his hidey-hole for. Thankfully, they allowed him to come just after closing, away from the crowds.

“Hey,” Jim greeted. “Just came to, uh, check up on you. Make sure you’re still doing alright.”

Kane couldn’t speak underwater, and Jim was nowhere close to the top of the roomy tank, so he nodded. He looked at his hand, trying to remember the sign for a second, before making a ‘thumbs-up’.

“You’re okay? You’re happy? No one’s hurting you? They’re feeding you good? Helping you with medical stuff?” Jim asked.

Kane nodded again, smiling this time. He tried not to show his teeth.

Jim sat by the tank. “That’s good. I’m happy for you, man. You know how long ‘til the doc clears you to go home?”

It wouldn’t be long, now. He was gaining the weight back, his injuries had healed, and the exercises he’d been given were helping him learn to swim normally again. Soon, he would be able to survive in the ocean, just like before any of this nightmare had ever happened.

Bellamy said they could do a program together, if he wanted, where guests would come to learn about vampires and ask him questions. He said Kane didn’t have to if he didn’t want to, but winked and promised him some of his blood if he gave it a try.

No fisher could catch him again if he stayed at the aquarium. People would protect him at the aquarium.

Kane shrugged, not sure he would ever leave.

sorry all i can write are AUs lol <3 they're warming me up for the main series i prommy

taglist in reblogs!

#kane and jim au #whump #mer whumper #mer whumpee #vampire whumpee #vampire whumper #vampire whump #mer whump #whumper turned whumpee #dehydration #claustrophobia

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intromortal · 6 months

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sacrifice (eat me up)

vampire prince!p.sh x f!reader wc: 946

cw: smut, blood, sacrifices, main character death, some gore, hoonie is vampire royalty and huh... cannibalism?

"My love", Sunghoon whispers against your temple as he keeps thrusting inside you with your knees spread open on his and his chest to your back, seated right on the altar you're supposed to get bitten and feasted on the following day. That same altar used to worship your malevolent deities was being repurposed as it now was you Sunghoon was worshipping. "Do not worry that pretty little head of yours, I will take care of this".

His brothers had warned him that falling in love so deeply with a mortal was a grave mistake. But he couldn't help how his heart swelled and his head felt lighter every time he saw you outside his royal palace, on his strolls down to the town. He knew in the end nothing good could come out of this, but he also didn't expect you to be chosen among the humans the princes had to sacrifice every year to the gods of the undead, to keep them from unleashing their wrath on the already weak and thinning population they were tasked to protect all those centuries ago.

It's not like he could do anything to change your fate, the gods chose the subjects themselves and any harm brought to them would cause a catastrophe of unseen magnitude.

Once selected the thirteen unlucky humans would be taken to the palace, held away from everyone else, with enough commodities to pretend they were somewhat free but also with no freedom at all, until the day of the ritual where the princes had to inject them with their powerful venom and leave them on the altar they had built as an offering for the deities to descend and feast on. Other than the intoxicating feeling of savouring flesh infused with powerful vampire royalty blood probably induced, Sunghoon truly could not understand what this ritual accomplished anyway.

He kept thinking about how the deities were toying with them all, princes and population alike, as he let his hand travel down your body to your cunt, starting to toy with your bundle of nerves, eliciting sweet sounds of pleasure and desperation from you.

He thought about how you must be so scared, even with the brave face you put up in front of everyone, even when you sweetly asked him to make you his one more time before the ritual after he snuck you out of the chambers you were being kept in. You were probably thinking about all the rumours that spread like wildfire among the peasants: how there had to be reasons to leaving such a bloody mess after every session the gods required, entire chunks of flesh still hanging from the corpses, sometimes leaving one martyr miraculously but barely alive, entire limbs and organs missing, indicating that they were alive while being eaten.

He thought they probably drew more pleasure from inflicting this psychological pain on the princes and the landsmen than anything. Not that Sunghoon was particularly affected by this: his brothers cared a lot more, sweet Jay and Sunoo in particular, the most devoted to their mission among all of them.

He keeps thinking and thinking and thinking as he fucks you towards your orgasm, small tears trailing down his cheeks at the devastating feeling of having to give you up.

"Hoonie", you sob out as you come around him, leaning your head against his shoulder as tears and other broken sobs start to spill out of you. Sunghoon suspects he might be crazy as he feels his heart hurt, even though he knows it stopped beating aeons ago. It's then that he makes up his mind.

He lowers his head, starting to trail kisses down your neck as you sigh fondly, head still cloudy from your high. "My dearest, I will love you until the end of times with my entire being, but think it's time to go", he whispers against your skin before revealing his sharp canines and biting down without waiting for your response, your sweet taste invading his senses. You uselessly struggle against him, so he sneaks his arms around your body, securing them against your middle and pinning you closer to his chest as he keeps feeding off of you. His mouth is so full of your blood, and he doesn't think he could stop even if he wanted to, so he keeps gurgling down whatever your body manages to give him.

You're barely conscious as he starts ripping away the flesh from the junction of your neck and shoulders, savouring and relishing in your flavour as he questions how he could have ever lived without this bliss all his life. He spins you around as he keeps gnawing at any inch of skin he can manage before your body goes cold. His mind is far gone at that point, intoxicated by you at the point of no return, and even if he knows he just sentenced an entire population to eradication he can't bring himself to care. Why would he want anyone to live after losing you? He thinks if you don't get to live then no one else should. His lovely angel. So he laughs. He laughs so hard and so loud and maniacally as he holds whatever's left of you close, bloody chunks of flesh all over his clothes and his eyes blown out with lust still as his brothers barge in the room, horrified looks dawning on their faces when they take in the gruesome scene in front of their eyes.

Sunghoon feels his throat flood with bile as his crazed laughs turn into painful sobs, his whole being shaking as he slowly sobers up. "Don't worry my love, I will be seeing you soon", he whispers against your mutilated corpse. "We all will".

a/n: idk y'all i was feeling a little quirky

#i just adore vamp!hoon #enhypen sunghoon #enhypen smut #park sunghoon x reader #sunghoon x reader #enhypen hard thoughts #enhypen fanfic #sunghoon smut #sunghoon hard hours #sunghoon hard thoughts #enhypen drabble #;hoonie #;hard hours #;angst

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sarawritestories · 5 months

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Love Story (All Too Well Chapter 1 Pt 2)

Cassian X OC, Eris X OC

Summary: Under the Mountain, Estella, have flash backs to her 50 years in captivity, and losing hope she will ever see her lover. That is until a human girl shows up and give her and her brother Rhysand something they lost decades ago...Hope and in a matter of mere months she is reunited with the love of her life. The General of the Night Court Armies.

Content Warnings: MINORS DNI 18+ Torture, Dub con, Physical abuse, Under the mountain trials

A/N: Special Thanks to @milswrites and @eve175 for keeping me sane when I wrote this and honestly prevented me from scraping and starting over again!

Also Two post in one day from me! I am on a roll! And probably will be taking a small break 😅😅

All Too Well Master List ACOTAR Masterlist

The sound of Amarantha’s screams was like music to Eris Vanserra’s ears. He watched as Tamlin ripped her to shreds, glancing over to see Estella holding Feyre’s body close to her murmuring something to herself that his fae hearing couldn’t pick up on. The screams ceased and Tamlin walked back to where the young fae princess and the human cursebreaker.

Eris watched as Estella a tear-streaked face looked up at the High Lord of Spring her laced covered chest heaving, “I’m so sorry Tamlin.” She lowered her head in shame, as if this was her fault.

Tamlin lifted Estella’s face to meet his eyes, “This wasn’t your fault. Okay?”

Eris moved toward Amarantha’s mutilated body as he heard Estella let out a sob, “You asked me to protect her I failed.” Eris closed his eyes and rubbed at his chest hoping the ache would dissipate.

Eris looked over at Amarantha’s remains that were mostly ribbons of flesh and found what he was looking for as Tamlin hushed the Princess of Night. “You did no such thing, Stella, now please give her to me.” Tamlin’s voice was tender as he knelt in front of the female holding his love’s corpse. “Come on, Flower.”

Romeo Save Me Somewhere We Can Be Alone

Eris looked over at the dais to see Estella, half of her pinned to the back of her head, the rest of her hair had fallen past her breast in soft curls. Clad in a sheer orange gown, the fabric barely covering anything, especially how his high queen had her positioned on Tamlin’s lap. Her legs spread by his thighs, her back pressed against his chest. The Princess placed her hand over the Lord of Spring and Eris noticed his thumb moved over hers and began swiping periodically. As if he was trying to bring her comfort. The heir of Autumn knew those two were friends just never realized how close the pair was.

The red-haired male moved his gaze to the rest of the ballroom, fighting the urge to clench his fist, he caught his brother’s attention. His russet eyes met with a similar pair of Lucien, his metal eye zeroing in on him. The young Emissary of the spring court’s face was impassive though his eyes, held pure resentment. Lucien didn’t let his stare linger on his brother rather it moved to his two friends at the front of the room. Guilt threatened to take hold, but the eldest Vanserra brother forced it down in a box where he kept most of his emotions shutting the lid tight. Another person that he had let down.

“Estella, darling be a dear and entertain us.” Amarantha’s voice drew Eris his attention back to the princess of night. “Dance.”

Estella froze, “Your Majesty?”

Amarantha pinched her chin, “I said dance, has whoring you around my court made you dumb.” Eris gripped the side of his leg tightly as he glanced over to the High Lord of Night, his tanned face a mask of cool indifference, Eris gazed lowered to Rhysand’s hands to find his knuckles were white as a result of gripping the arms of his chair tightly.

“No, Your Majesty,” Estella responded. “Or perhaps you would prefer to give a dance to one person.”

Rhysand cleared his throat, “Your majesty, I would be-“

Amarantha whipped her head, “No.” She looked out to the assembly in the hall. “I will accept volunteers from anyone that is not related to her.”

Eris’s feet moved of his own accord and managed to reach the dais before Lucien could. As he bowed lowed, “Your majesty. Though I have no need for a dance, I would be honored.”

Amarantha’s voice had a jovial lilt to it, “Ah Eris Vanserra. Yes, you have my permission to use her, however, you please. Rise. Claim your whore.”

Eris rose to his full height and walked up to the young heiress. He held out a hand for her, “Come now, Viper.” Estella curled her mouth in a small snarl, though her eyes were vacant, hallow as if she mentally went somewhere else. Though she gripped his hand all the same. He yanked her off Tamlin’s lap and pressed her chest to his. His arm snaked around her waist, his fingertips grazing the bare skin of her hip. Electricity bolted up his arm at the contact though he easily ignored it.

“Estella, how do you thank Eris, for claiming you this evening.” Amarantha prodded; Eris didn’t miss her face contorted in a grimace. Before she looked up her ice blue eyes meeting his warm copper ones, life had returned to her, but Eris could feel her dread, it emulated around her like a shield. Though that didn’t stop her from lifting her hand sliding it up the red velvet embroidered vest he was wearing. Or when her soft, gentle fingers slid up his neck and through the silken strands of his long hair.

She rose on her tippy toes her plump lips inches away from his own, “Thank you, Prince Eris,” Estella closed the distance kissed him. Eris slid his hand up her back, lightly grazing her spine as his hand wrapped around her raven-colored locks and yanked her back hard enough to cause a gasp from the princess’ mouth, giving the Autumn Court Heir access to slide his tongue against her. She tasted as sweet as he hoped she would. His tongue clashing with hers he could have sworn a small moan escaped her throat.

The need for oxygen and knowing that the two had put on enough of a show for their audience, Eris pulled away, with a smirk as Estella opened her eyes her pupils blissed out from their moment. Before he could ask, Amarantha, was waving her hand, “Eris you and your pet are dismissed for the evening.”

Eris bowed, and Estella followed suit, aware that it would expose her backside to the fae standing behind them. Eris placed a hand on the small of her back and led her out into the hall. The two had walked down for a few moments the sound of Estella’s skirt swishing against her skin, her hands clasped in front of her, when she asked, “What do you plan on doing with me, Princeling?”

Exhaustion weighed heavily on the prince’s body, as he sighed, “Sleep, My Little Viper. We’re going to sleep.”

This Love Is Difficult, But It's Real

The whole court ogled around and watched as the High Lords of Prythian dropped a kernel of power on the human girl that saved them all. Eris Vanserra on the other hand watched as his brother held onto the Princess of Night as her sobs softened. He could see Lucien whispering in her ear though from where he stood even his fae hearing wouldn’t be able to decipher. Ignoring the spectacle Eris walked over to one his handmaidens.

She bowed when he approached, saying nothing, he gripped the plump woman’s sleeve and began wiping the blood of the Tiara he grabbed. Once he was satisfied, he turned and walked over to Lucien and Estella. The youngest Vanserra son tightened his hold on Estella when Eris approached. “Relax, brother, today is a joyous day. We can put aside our differences for now.” Lucien growled, “Feel free to hate me again tomorrow.”

Estella’s eyes pierced the Autumn Prince’s and Eris presents the tiara glancing down at the lace covered bodice of her dress that dipped down to her stomach, “I believe this belongs to you, Little Viper.” He smirked as he met her eyes again. She glanced at his hands and reached out to grab the accessory from him, tearing herself from Lucien’s arms as she did so. Eris took a step back and dangled the tiara above her head, “Allow me.” He motions for his index finger to spin around. She obeyed and crossed her arms, the dark red silk of her dress swirling as she did. Her scent of Ocean mist and Jasmine invaded his nose he fought the notion to bask in her scent, as he placed the tiara on top of her head. Stepped closer and noticed the sharp breath she took as his nose brushed against her ear, “There now you look fit to rule a kingdom, Princess.”

He could hear her heartrate quicken as he took a step away and once more as cheers erupted through the cave. The three of them turned to find Feyre embraced in Tamlin’s arms, ears pointed heartbeat strong and steady. “By the Cauldron.” Lucien whispered and ran up to his friends. Leaving the two alone.

“I have to thank you, Princeling.” Estella’s voice broke the tension.

“For?”

“Giving me brief little moments of reprieve from this nightmare.” Her piercing eyes met his, “I am in your debt.”

Eris was about to dispute it when in a flash arm wrapped around Estella pulling her into a tight embrace, had he not seen the matching raven-colored hair, the heir of Autumn would have prepared for an attack. Rhysand pulled away as if remembering where he had put his hands in his pockets assessed his sister. “Are you hurt?”

Estella turned to Eris only to find he was already gone. She sighed and looked back at her brother. “I’m fine, Rhys.”

He nodded and, in her mind said, The High Lords are meeting to figure out the next steps. I don’t know how long that will take. Then out loud he said, “As your High Lord, I’m demanding you head home immediately and make sure our court held up in our absence.” Estella noticed the hint of a smirk on his face, Tell Cassian hello for me, and that I’ll be home soon.

Estella’s face lit up, she kissed her brother on the cheek, “Thank you, High Lord.” She took a step, looked back toward Lucien and Tamlin. Both males embracing Feyre. Green eyes met hers and with a dip of his chin she bolted and winnowed home.

I’ll Be Waiting

The Summer night breeze kissed her skin as she arrived in front of the town home. Home. She was home. Picking up her skirts she bolted through the front door of the town home. She could hear laughter in the dining room pause when the door slammed shut. Before anyone could get up, she ran into the room. Gasp and fallen utensils were the only thing she heard before, Morrigan her hair in perfect waves and dressed in her signature red gown rose from her seat, her eyes turning glassy. “So, it’s true? It’s over?” She asked.

Estella wiped the stray tears that had begun to fall, “Yeah. Its over.” She croaked as Mor pulled her into a bone crushing hug. “Fuck, I have missed you guys.”

A pair of scarred calloused hands tugged at her bare shoulders, “Don’t hog her, Mor.” Azriel’s deep voice joked as he pulled her into an embrace of his own. He pulled away and she felt the cool kiss of his shadows up and around her body, checking for injuries. He pressed his forehead to hers, “Its good to have your home.” He pressed his lips to her forehead and guided her to a chair. He began to make her a plate of food, as he asked, “Where’s Rhys?”

Estella eyes grew wide with the spread Azriel placed before her. Taking a heaping bite before she answered, she couldn’t help but moan as the warm food met her mouth. The bountiful flavor bursting on her tongue. She looked at Mor, and Az as she swallowed her food and said, “He said there would be a meeting with the High Lord’s about what is going to happen next, no doubt trying to get Amarantha’s” She fought the cringe at the sound of the female’s name coming out of her mouth, “men collected and figuring out what to do with them.”

Amren’s cold calculating voice was a welcome reprieve, “Why didn’t you stay with him?”

Estella turned her head to the female and smiled, “He wanted me to come home, let you know he would be back soon.” Estella, smiled and looked at the table, acutely aware of the empty missing, “Where is he?”

Azriel gave her a warm smile and placed his hand on top of her own his hazel eyes ablaze with warmth and happiness, “He went to the Illyrian camps a few weeks ago. He has been spending a lot of time up there to personally train his soldiers. He says its to make sure they have the best training we can offer.”

Estella felt guilt bubble in her stomach, “But?”

Azriel’s face fell slightly, his shadows curling around him as a form of comfort, “He had been struggling staying in Velaris for too long. It Reminded him of you and the future you two were planning. He missed you.”

“We all did, Girl.” Amren corrected. Estella’s blue eyes met her swirling silver ones, “Don’t look so surprised. Your quick wit against these overgrown bats was impressive. It was nice to not be the only one with a silver tongue.”

Estella blinked; she couldn’t remember a time when Amren had outwardly complimented her. Though she wasn’t about to question the tiny one’s motives, she went back to shoveling food in her mouth. She went for seconds and cleaned that plate too, Azriel grabbed her plate when she attempted to go for more, “Pace yourself, you’ll make yourself sick.”

“The food was awful down there.” If she got any that was. She didn’t miss the concerned glances from her friends when she arrived. She hadn’t looked in a mirror in 50 years and she was afraid to, terrified at what her reflection might reveal. How badly Amarantha’s abuse taken a toll on her physically as it had emotionally. Estella met Azriel’s gaze and he gave her a smile, kissing the side of her head. Estella cleared her throat, “Um, I am going to go upstairs and wash up.”

Mor gave her a warm smile, one she never thought she would see again, “Your room has not been touched, your clothes have been routinely cleaned.”

Estella rubbed her chest and the base of her throat fighting the emotion threatening to come up. “Thank you.”

Azriel cupped her cheek. Stroking his thumb against her cheek, “Welcome home, Princess.”

She wrapped her arms around Az and squeezed him tightly. “I missed you. I never thought I would see you again.”

“Likewise.” He pressed his hand on the back of her head holding her close. “Fuck.” She pulled away at the Shadow Singer’s expletive and saw that his eyes lined with silver. “I’m just..” He took a deep breath, “I’m just happy to see you.”

“Me too, Az. I missed your face.” He laughed wiping his eyes, as she looked to all three of her friends, “Not a day went by that I didn’t think about you.” The two females rose from their seats and as if they were reading each other’s thoughts smothered the young female into a tight embrace, where she let her tears flow freely.

Home. She was finally, Home.

On The Balcony In Summer Air

The cool night air kissed Estella's skin for the first time in fifty years as she leaned against the balcony the silk of her red night gown doing nothing to prevent the chill, but the female couldn’t bring herself to care. Looking up at the night sky. She couldn't help but smile as tears pickled her pale blue eyes. This is what it felt like:

To be free

"Hello, Sweetheart." The low timbre of a familiar voice elicited a sob to escape her throat. Turning from the view of the city, she met glassy hazel eyes, bruises darkening his tanned skin under them. His wings were tucked back, but his siphons glowed.

She gave him a watery smile, "Hello, General." She covered her mouth to stifle the sobbed. Not being able to contain herself, she leaped into his awaiting arms and legs wrapping around his waist. Burying her face in the crook of his neck.

Cassian's arm held her up by her waist, his free hand pressing the back of her head holding her close, tears streaming down his own face. Estella pulled away and pressed her lips to his.

Cassian pulled away, pressing his forehead to hers, "Welcome home, Estella." And his lips reattached to hers as he took her to their shared bed. Plopping her down on the bed his hazel eyes met her blue ones he swiped a strand of hair from her face.

She cupped her hands against his face, and took a moment to look at him, his eyes had dark circles under them, as if he hadn’t had a good night’s rest in the last fifty years. He had grown out a beard the scruff rough against her skin. “Tell me what you’re thinking.” She whispered.

Cassian cupped his hand against her cheek, tears spilling down his face. “I’m thinking that you are just as beautiful as the last time I saw you.” He kissed her forehead, “I’m thinking that I can’t believe that you are right here in my arms.” She closed her eyes as he pressed his lips to her cheek. “I’m thinking…” He took a deep breath, and she opened her eyes. “I’m thinking, how I never thought I would see you again. And yet here you are.”

Estella smiled, “Here I am.” She took his hand and placed it over her heart and he closed his eyes as he felt its steady beat. “Cassian, not a day went by where I didn’t wish to be with you. To be in your arms.” Tears threatened to fall but she forced it down. “I missed you so much.”

Cassian shushed her and placed his lips on to hers in a gentle kiss, “It’s okay, Sweetheart, I know. I missed you. More than you could ever know.” He kissed her again, “And just so we’re clear when your brother comes home. I am beating the shit out of him.”

“Cass?”

“Hmm?” He smirked.

She gripped the collar of his leathers and pulled him closer to him, he growled in approval as she whispered on his lips, “Do not say my brother’s name while you’re in my bed.” And she clashed her lips onto his.

Estella ran her fingers through Cassian’s curls as the General was fast asleep on his stomach. Sliding out of her bed, she opened the drawer of her nightstand, grabbed a piece of parchment, and walked back out onto her balcony. Looking back once more she made sure that Cassian remained asleep as she turned back to the parchment in her hands. Opening the parchment thinking about the author of the note.

Estella awoke back in her cell. The memory of Autumn leaves and cinnamon returning to her. She adjusted to a sitting position her brows furrowing as she felt something in her palm. Opening the note, her breath quickened as bile threatened to rise as the question, she asked the night before came to the forefront of her mind:

“Then what do you want with me, Princeling?”

One sentence gave her his answer in perfectly neat handwriting.

I want you, My Little Viper.

Estella folded the paper and threw it on the opposite side of the cell. Pulling her knees up to her chest she had to question just how far the Prince of Autumn would go to get what he wants.

Estella sighed, staring down at the swirls of Eris’ handwriting, questions swirling in her mind. As if she summoned him with her thoughts; a note appeared in front of her. Grabbing the parchment, she unfolded it.

Will you ever truly be free, Little Viper?

Estella glared at the parchment hoping it would erupt into flames. Folding both notes, she walked into her room, placed the notes in her nightstand, and went back to bed. The General of the Night Court’s armies arm pulling her against his chest. Though luscious red hair and russet eyes plagued her dreams.

You’ll Be The Prince and I’ll Be the Princess

After fifty long years Eris, stepped into the familiar room of orange, red and gold hues of his study. Twelve heads perked up as they saw Eris step in. The familiar dark eyes of his hounds perked up and all of them ran to their owner’s side. He bent down on a knee and allowed each of them a total of one lick per dog. Unable to fight the smile from his features of reuniting with his companions. “Hello dear Friends. I have missed you dearly.” They all swished their tails at the sound of their master’s voice.

Home after Amarantha’s fall, the High Lords met for two days in a row and after sitting in a room with massive egos, it was nice to return home to the quiet of his study. He walked over to his desk the mountain of paperwork there. He sighed and leaned against his chair closing his eyes, only for the ice blue eyes and raven-black hair plagued his brain. He pressed his hands to his eyes and groaned.

He sat up and removed his hands from his eyes, as an idea began to form. Opening his drawer to find his favorite quill and ink pots right where he left them. Pulling them out along with the stack of parchment. Eris began to write, as soft pink lips and the scent of Ocean Mist and Jasmine lingered in his mind as his quill began swirling across the parchment:

My Sweet Little Viper. My Beautiful Mate.

It’s A Love Story, Baby, Just Say Yes

To Be Continued...

Story tags: @milswrites @eve175 @melsunshine @believinghurts @awkardnerd @historygeekqueen @mischiefmanagers @mybestfriendmademe @cauldronboilmetakemetovelaris @glitterypirateduck @littlestw01f @mal-adaptive-dreams @lilah-asteria @hellodarling1357 @shadowdaddies @bxm-1012 @inkyvelvet @chasing-autumns-chill @ghostwritermia @esposadomd @anuttellaa @slytherintaco @marigold-morelli @saltedcoffeescotch

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#cassian x reader #cassian acotar #acotar fanfiction #acotar #cassian imagine #eris imagine #eris x oc #eris x reader #eris vanserra x oc #eris vanserra #eris acosf #eris acotar

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