#it may look kind of simple but do not be fooled. not even i know how much effort went into this anymore Hfbvshf

[keeps-ache]

i'm on some sort of kick lol

[winterarmyy]

Welcome Home, Daddy

The aftermath of when Bucky accidentally relapsed into the Winter Soldier.

Summary: Bucky was over the moon when he discovered that Y/N was pregnant with his child. But, when the danger that lurks in dark threatened to steal his family away, a fellow soldier decided to come home.

Note: Highly recommend to read 《 Welcome Home... Soldat? 》 for backstory. But, you can also read this as a stand alone (though you might miss some call backs on the soldat's behaviour if you skip)

Pairing: winter soldier!bucky x female!reader

Words: 7.1k++ (bare with me, please)

Warnings: graphic violence, torture, blood, gore, deaths, dark undertones, sudden fluff, tiny bit of angst, google translated russian, and just so much detained anger exploding around, soldat is just deadly yet adorable in this one (i can't even handle it, and i'm the author), this event takes place far in the future after what happened in 《 Welcome Home...Soldat? 》

A/N: Looks like we have the winner for the poll 👀 Who's ready for our lovely soldat to make his appearance again? I know I'm not, but here we are. So, strap in and let's do this!

P/S: Also, I might as well make this as my submission for the seven writing event hosted by @nickfowlerrr 💌 Check out the event masterlist and support the writers by reading and reblogging their stories!

Read my other works here: Masterlist

They say the wrath of a fighter may threatened a heinous war but the wrath of a lover will let the earth drenched in bloody gore. And if a fool was daft enough to tore a lover from his other half, then they might just court themselves right into the hands of death.

And this couldn't be more true, especially if we consider the crime that the soldat was currently committing. Surely, the blood pooling on the floor will forever leave a grim mark that'll haunt the people who ever witness it.

"Where is she?" the soldat prompted the frail woman, limping on the chained chair. Despite the horrid situation, he sounded rather calm when he spoke.

How unfortunate it was for Elle to be associated with Hydra yet to also be so exposed to the dangers of the ghost himself, the Winter Soldier. Hydra may have their suspicion about the soldat making a move, but she didn't expect that she would be involved in the mess of this ordeal.

The cold metal of the soldat's vibranium fingers, particularly his index and thumb, latched themselves on another one of her nails. Her mouth slacked open but no sound was able to be formed when the soldat mercilessly ripped her nail right off her finger.

And oh, the pain was beyond any kind of injury that she had ever experienced, not a even a bullet through her flesh could be compared to this agony of a torture.

He harshly grabbed Elle by the back of her neck, forcing her to watch the blood leaking from the reddened flesh of her fingers, "I asked you a simple question, су́ка (bitch). Where the fuck is she?" The soldat's patience had been running thin and rage had clouded his judgements.

He needed to find her. His precious Родная (darling).

No matter whose neck he needed to slay or whose blood that have to be shed dry. He had to bring his darling home; no matter what it takes.

Unfortunately, it had been almost a month since he lost her.

And no one saw it coming.

Who would've thought that the old Hydra compound that the team raided were meant to be a part of a plan to weaken the Avengers. It was just a distraction filled with unexpected traps and triggers. By the time they flew home, the team were already tired and injured as the result of the raid.

So imagine the desperate struggle and utter panic that Bucky had to go through the moment he stepped his foot into the comfort of their home and had to witness Y/N's exhausted figure fighting for her life.

Hers and the baby's inside.

After hitting the 2 months mark of pregnancy, Bucky decided that Y/N shouldn't be involved in any high stake mission anymore. At first, she only laughed to his statement, thinking he was surely joking but when his stern expression didn't flatter, that was when she reliazed Bucky was not open for negotiation.

Y/N knew it was way too early to settle into her maternal leave but after having a long conversation with Bucky, they both agreed to keep her missions strictly on low-risk stakeouts and desk works at the tower.

It was supposedly be some kind of a precaution for her, to keep her and the baby safe, away from any type harm that might come their way. But, that certainly back fired.

When Bucky's burning anger had pumped him full with high stream of adrenaline, it was as if he went into an auto pilot; a murderous one at that. And soon enough he managed to take down half of Hydra's best agents that joined the mission of collecting Y/N from the tower.

For a moment, it seemed like luck was on their side, at least it felt like it.

It lasted only until Bucky saw how harsh the kick of the enemy landed on Y/N's hip, and how she managed to shield her stomach seconds before her body slammed down to the ground.

That was when fear crawled into his pumping nerves and the roots of it ran extremely cold.

And that was all it takes for Hydra to distract Bucky then immobilize him on the spot with a replica of the Sonic Taser developed by Stark Industries a few years back.

Bucky grunted painfully in protest of the high pitched sonic frequency from the device that overloads his nervous system. His body couldn't help but to slowly paralyzed its movements as his skin turned pale and the strain in his blood vessels became visible.

On the opposite side, Y/N could be seen being forcefully dragged away by a few of the Hydra agents that was left. There were couple of nasty injuries torn all over her body yet she was still stubborn on fighting back.

While she was being pulled farther away from him, she shouted his name loud and desprete, "Bucky!" Hot tears broke from the corner of her eyes as she desperately reach out her hand.

It felt as if she was right there when Bucky's hand was reaching back towards her. Like, a little bit of a push would've been enough to catch her but alas fate was not planning to be merciful.

Bucky's menancing eyes never left her wavering ones as Hydra tortured Bucky by stealing a part of his soul from him; and no one really knew how his heart clenched and torn to the fact that he was helplessly useless when Y/N needed him the most.

And when he only managed to scream back Y/N's name, he was forced to watch her wailed as she was unwillingly being taken away.

The moment when Bucky drowned himself in regret and rage, that was when the Winter Soldier took over his consciousness.

Unfortunately for the soldat, his mortal body was already worn out from all the intense fight that happened prior; he was knocked out right after he took over the body.

But in those few seconds before the darkness consumed him, the soldat managed to catch a glimpse of his darling. He saw the image of her; teary and bruised in the hands of those who created him. The very same monsters who uses him for despicable things.

That was all that he needed to see in order to break those chains around the dark pandora residing deep within his being.

The team was absolutely not ready to deal with the soldat again, this time without Y/N to tame him. Especially when his demands were unrealistic for them to fulfill.

It's been nearly 3 weeks since the incident and they had failed to locate Y/N; repeatedly. Even if they did manage to get some kind of an intel, all the of bases they had raided were basically bunch of abandoned spaces that Hydra used to occupy.

So of course the soldat was agitated. He had every right to be, more so when he thought of the increasing risk of his darling getting hurt in the hands of Hydra. And at this point, those scumbags were just messing with their minds. Especially with his.

"Listen, we're doing our best here, soldat." Steve tried to reason with him but it only fueled the burning flames within the soldat, "ты делаешь недостаточно! (You're not doing enough!)" He spat harshly that he didn't even noticed that he uses Russian language. It seemed like the unkempt irritation had conquered the chaos of his mind.

So that very night, the soldat decided to do this on his own; thus he ran away from the tower in search for his darling. He had to. Especially when he knew precisely why the Avenger was not able to find Y/N as quickly as they should be.

It was because they were the good guys. They were the heros, they were the light. And the soldat was not. In fact, he was the very opposite.

Unlike the Avengers, the soldat was not planning to play  nice and soon enough he managed to find a lead.

Which bring us to this very moment in which he successfully snuck into a Hydra agent's home to interrogate her.

But, in contrast of those Hydra troops that attack the Avengers Tower a few weeks ago, Elle was not even involved in the mission of retrieving Y/N. She was actually on a solo mission to infiltrate a certain high school to collect informations on Peter Parker. Hydra suspected that he might be involved with the new hero appearing in Queens.

However, even if she was not a part of the team mission, she knew bits and pieces of the overall plan, especially the whereabout of the main character herself, Y/N.

However, the appearance of the Winter Soldier in her temporary house was completely unexpected.

It felt like it was just few moments ago that the intel on Y/N's location reached her ears. Then, she distinctly remember the glimpse of those murderous eyes glaring into her soul. Next thing she knew was everything went pitch black.

Even if it was temporary, however it felt so surreal.

The darkness surrounding her.

The bone rattling cold.

It felt like death itself.

But unfortunately for her, the soldat was far from stopping.

Elle was fraying at the edges while the soldat crouch to her level. Even if she could barely reconstruct the unclear and blurry images through her dazed eyes, however, that didn't stop the soldat from maiming the dying woman's soul through his unforgiving gaze.

"Wake up..." he growled as he yanked her face upwards, "...we're not done yet."

It took a while for Elle to finally adjust to the light, after being in the dark for – how she felt like – so long.

After the light hits her vision, the striking pain came next. The pulsing pain surrounding of her right eye, her broken nose, her busted lips, her bleeding skin; neck, chest, arms, and almost every part of her limbs.

Everything were – slowly but surely, in each cuts and bruises on her skin – blooming its pain into existence.

How can she skipped all of this when she lost her consciousness?

Perhaps that was how she managed to stay alive as long as she had. By running away from the misery; from her reality.

Elle whined in pain but her voice suggested that she might already torn her throat apart when it sounded more like a broken grunt. Her disoriented gaze fell into her aching fingers, each were missing its nail; the tips of them was where the icky blood trickled from and had shaped a pool of blood on the floor where she rested.

The dim lighting from the room reflected on the surface of the deep-red puddle, revealing the resemblance of it to a mirror. And the blurry image looking back, was the soldat, with a sinister expression on his face.

This game, that they're playing.

It hardly seems fair to one of them. To be tortured if not speaking the truth? That's simply unjust; but if we're talking about fairness, then none of those injuries could ever be compared to the pain Y/N might be going through at this very moment. Every second of Elle's useless stubbornness was costing Y/N's safety.

And the soldat didn't like that. Not one bit.

"You mentioned Spain? Where exactly?" In one swift, harsh motion, the soldat thrust his knife through her thighs, "FUCK!"

The loud scream of pain that tore from Elle's throat was probably the last coherent word that she uttered as the torture continued.

The soldat pulled the knife out and stabbing it into the open wound, he listened to Elle's gasp for a moment, relishing her breathless pleading and the tears now openly streaming down her face.

He stabbed again, twice, each was quick and deep, not caring about the blood that spurted out across his face.

At this point Elle was just a puddle of blabbering mess; streams of saliva pouring out her mouth, sobbing, gasping for air; mixture of grunts, moans and whispers of curses and pleas were all spouted incoherently.

Anger.

Frustration.

Rage.

Wrath.

Even hatred.

The soldat was feeling it all.

It was consuming him, devouring any sanity that was left of Bucky's moral values. The eerie glint in the soldat eyes suggested that he was not planning to stop until she gave him what he wants.

God, if it wasn't for chilling atmosphere around her, Elle might just mistook that she was actually in hell.

"Pyrenees!" She cried out. The soldat instantly stopped when she confessed. He waited for an answer and right on cue, she spoke again, breathless and almost silent as the fear that engulfed her prior refused to release her from its haunting grip. And truthfully she doubt that it will ever let her go, "T-there a secret base n-near the Irati forest."

She exhaled a shaky breath as she pleaded, "S-so please. Please stop this." The was tired of the pain and the numbness that came after. And the soldat knows it.

The room was left silent momentarily, as if he was actually considering her plea but alas he already had plans for her all along, "Shame. You should've killed yourself before I came here."

As he finished the last word, the soldat viciously plunged his knife deep into her neck, digging the sharpness of it through the delicate flesh until it reach the base of the blade.

Elle gasped in response, her hands scrabbling around in effort to break free, to stop all of this. But considering the situation she was in, there was nothing she could do about it other than to take it as it was given to her.

When the motion finally stopped, the soldat simply walked away from the scene as if it was a complete norm for him to behave as he was. He didn't even thought of cleaning the mess he left behind. Or hide the corpse somewhere.

Isn't he afraid that he might leave his tracks for the police to find?

Why would he?

This has been his life for decades on end. His sole purpose of living was to kill. So best believe that the authorities will never be able to link the soldat or Bucky to this crime.

Not today, not ever.

Through the days that Y/N was locked deep within Hydra's base, she hadn't been treated the worst. In fact, the sick and twisted agents and residents in the facility was more than willing to care for her.

This was all because they wanted her baby.

It was always sickening to hear them referring her child as merely a tool for their success. And the way they worship Y/N like she was a gift from God to fulfill their purpose, was beyond insanity.

"Oh, to have the privilage of bearing the offspring of the Winter Soldier. To be able to create the perfect weapon, unlike the father. It is just honorable."

It made her stomach churned with pure disgust whenever she heard those types of comments floating around her.

Besides the eerily digusting behaviour of the agents, there was also the regular check-ups and the lab tests that she needed to attend. Out of all the things she had to endure these past few weeks, the medical check-up has always dreaded her the most.

There was this constant debate within her troubled mind; of the possibility of Hydra manipulating her baby's health and genes by inserting unknown substance into her.

"Come on, mama. On the bed." The doctor said as he patted his rubber gloved hand on the surface of the rigid single bed.

She always found it vile that the people here calling her by that nickname. It tickled her throat in a way that she wanted to puke all the tasteless gunk that they had fed her with.

As she laid on the bed and let the process went on as it usually do, the doctor suddenly stopped everything that he was doing. At first she was weirded out by the irregular act of the man, but when she felt the vibration on the ground and the rushing footsteps from the floor above her, she knew exactly why the doctor suddenly froze on his spot.

And the emergency siren that shortly blared after, had only confirmed her speculation.

But mostly, it was the panic in the doctor's eyes that gave him away; then when Y/N noticed the man scrambled to search the drawers from one of the cabinet, she knew that he was up to no good.

The second that the doctor's hurried his steps towards her with a syringe in his hand, Y/N's body immediately recoiled. She quickly stopped him by grabbing his wrist and twisted it back until the syringe dropped from his hold.

The man cursed under his breath and decided to take her by force when he grabbed a handful of her hair, almost dragging her out of the bed. Y/N shrieked painfully while her hands blindly grabbing the silver tray by the bed next to her.

She then slammed it hard against his head, and watched the contents on the tray fell and scatter onto her. She took quick skim over all the tools and saw a potential weapon for her defence; a scissor.

"Stay still, mama. Or the baby will get hurt." The doctor foolishly threatened.

Maybe it was her defence mechanism or maybe it was just her motherly instinct kicking in but something just snapped inside of her when he said those words. There was this incredibly strong urge to either fight or take flight.

Of course she could easily slipped away and make a run for it but she just couldn't risk it. Especially when her baby's life was currently at stake. So, after a short moment of hesitation, she swiftly grabbed the scissors and surge it through his ribs. The man wailed in pain as he staggered off the bed and fell onto the floor.

You'd thought a single yet firm stab through the guts was enough to quench Y/N's need of fighting back but no. Apparently, the haywire of her nerves had drove her feral and she needed him to be soulless by the time she walk out the room.

That had forced her to nearly jumped on him like a predator pinning on a meek prey and the lack of struggling on the victim's side had only gave her full control to dominate him.

Then all of the sudden, the doctor felt another strike of the pain, digging into the flesh of his chest.

He woefully cried in extreme pain while Y/N did not utter a single word or let out any sound, she stayed silent as she thrusts the scissor in and out his flesh.

Each surge was vicious than the previous. Each stab was gradually speeding up as the motion increases it's number of repetition.

She completely let her emotions took over her sanity.

Until what's left in the room was only the sloshing and splashing sound of blood seeping through every thrust, as she continued to violate the body of the corpse.

Until the calm puddle of blood on floor rippled as the tears that broke from her eyes dropped on it's surface.

And when she realized that the doctor was long dead, that broke Y/N out from her feral state. Realizing what she had done; she shakily loosen her grip on the scissors and scrambled off from the lifeless body.

Her breath was near erratic; it was a chaos of unsteady rhythm as her words was lost at the tip of her tongue. She jolted in shock when the commotion in the facility got louder than before, reminding her that Bucky was there to save her.

Y/N felt a sob choking in her throat as her hands searched her stomach to coax the child in her womb, "It's okay sweet bean, daddy's here for us."

Have you ever heard how ear-ringingly loud it is when it's hailing? How the sounds of the frozen raindrops hitting – the top of your car or the roof of the shades of an outdoor café table – can completely mute your words for anyone to hear?

That has nothing compared to the thundering sounds that echoed throughout the whole facility. The shots were fired from multiple range of stolen guns, all were coming from one moving figure.

The once clean grey and white painted walls of the hallways, were now stained and splattered with the color of crimson. The usually empty hallways, were occupied by the dead bodies of fallen Hydra agents. And the distinct scent of well-kept lair, were effortlessly replaced by the unpleasant and pungent smell; a mixture of blood and sweat.

It was a clear trail of the Winter Soldier's deeds.

This place was supposed to be pristine, but now feels more like how it should be; hell.

While the enemies were roaring into their death, the soldat on the other hand was very much the opposite.

Unlike his foe, it took him very little work from the tips of his tongue and much more on the tips of his gun. When the enemies barked like a dog, the soldat pounced like a wolf; silent and resilient.

By nature, the soldat had never been a patient man, especially when it comes to people harming his darling.

Sure, maybe he can tolerate and play along with people who messed with him, but if one were to touch even a strand of hair of his beloved, then they practically reserving themselves a first class ticket of a one-way trip to hell.

And that unhinged tendencies of his only worsen when wrath was the one reigning his mind while hatred was its ruler. His mind was nothing but a chaos of rampage and vengeance. Seeking nothing but blood and death of his foolish foe.

At this point of time, with the amount of life he had taken from the moment he step foot into the gate of the base, to the very stairs he was currently climbing, one could probably matched his heart rate with the rhythm of the shots formed by the bullets he shot.

Magazine upon magazine he reloaded his gun and waste no less than zero bullet as every shot made was accurately deadly and terrifying fatal to his prey.

As the soldat's feet reached half way up the stairs, a Hydra agent's voice spoke from the lower level, "She's on the LG2, we need a team to come and collect her as soon as poss--" A bullet went straight through the top of his head before he could finish his sentence.

And that was the soldat's last ammo.

While he mentally took note on the intel, his feet was quick to jumped into action and made his way down to LG2. As he entered the hallway, his wild eyes wondered around to steal another gun from a dead man's body.

But he rose into a stand, he felt a tip of a cold steel nudged at the back of his head.

Some would call out the soldat's mistake for letting his guard down in the middle of a battle, but another would definitely ridicule the stupidity of that fool's guts for even thinking that the soldat couldn't counter-attack his weak threats.

However, none of the two man managed to made any move towards each other when there was a faster, more accurate trigger was pulled from someone else, from across the hallway.

And that action left an aftermath of the fool's body to drop flat on the floor, quickly finding it's perfect spot with between the other pile of corpses scattered around.

When the soldat turned around, the sharp of his gaze softened almost immediately.

There she was standing there, in the pastel blue of her 'prison' attire. Her hair was a bit messy even if it was tied, and her complexion looked slightly pale with fatigue but to the soldat, she was glowing like angel; despite the blood on her clothes or the gun in her hand.

She was right there.

His heart.

His love.

His darling.

Her eyes were red and puffy, as if she had been crying for days. Her pouty lips trembled when the soldat stepped closer and closer towards her, tears threatening to fall as if she haven't done that during all the weeks that she had been here.

The soldat's steps grew faster.

So does Y/N's.

Tap taping until they were almost running towards each other.

Until the moment they reunited in the middle.

Catching each other's lips in a desperate and insatiable kiss, the soldat pulled her body tight around the waist as she wrapped her arms around his neck.

Both whimpered in a yearning moan, both still had their guns hanging on one of their hands.

So many feelings at once, relief and grief, with each of them had a different story to tell.

The couple kept breaking and mending the kiss ever-so-passionately as if they weren't in the middle of the grave-less cemetery; as if they weren't in the center of the piling corpses.

Briefly opening his eyes, the soldat could see a shadow running towards them. When Y/N heard the footsteps from her back, she knew they need to pull away, but the soldat was firm and stubborn with his hold.

So instead of letting her break the kiss, he groaned in disapproval and pulled her lips back to his. An angry growl vibrated against her lips as he continued to explore her wet and warm mouth.

Caught off-guard she melted to his silent demand, almost forgot that the enemy was right behind her. But, she should've know better when the soldat loosen one of his arms from the embrace and pointed his gun towards the target.

His finger pulled the trigger almost as easily as his teeth tugging into the bottom of her lips. And suddenly the sound of a body collapsing behind didn't matter anymore.

When the soldat felt that he had enough of the sweetness of her kiss, he finally pulled away, at least for now. He whispered dearly, "Родная (darling)..." he cupped her face in his large hands and rested his forehead on hers.

She thought she heard it wrong, but did he just called her darling? It took her a few second to piece it together and realized that this man was not Bucky, that he had relapsed into the Winter Soldier again, "Soldat?"

The soldat smiled and leaned forward to steal a chaste kiss on her lips, "Yes, it's me, мое Родная (my darling)" he cooed as he swept her by her feet, off the bloody ground and carried her in his arm, "I got you, Куколка (little one). You can rest now."

"We're just wanted make sure she's alright."

"You can follow us if you want so just please--"

"Soldat! You're going to hurt her."

The familiar voices leaked through Y/N's ears as she was drifting through her dreamless slumber. Soon enough, the loud commotion of her surrounding woke her up from the deep sleep.

The words that the Avengers were yelling out became clearer as she gained her consciousness, and the ever-changing movements of the soldat, evading every step the Avengers made to get closer to him, made her aware of the way she was resting in his arms; perfectly cocooned in a form of a bridal carry style.

The soldat halted on his spot when Y/N opened her eyes to see what was going on, "Soldat?" She blinked multiple times as she adjusted to the lights. The menacing frown of the soldat melted into a much softer expression, "Родная(darling), you shouldn't be awake yet." He craddled her closer to him as he cooed.

Where is she? How long was she out? When did she changed her clothes?

"What is happening?" She asked as she peered over his shoulder to see Natasha sighing in relief, "Sweetheart, thank god you're awake."

Y/N then looked over to Steve, "You've been gone for weeks, y/n. We got news about your rescue yesterday, and you guys just arrived home. Now, if we could just to take you to the medbay and get you check-up, that'll be great." He briefly explained.

"Yeah, that's all we want isn't it? But, someone just had to be sappy and refuse to let anyone touch you. You know, how it is with the soldier." Tony quickly intercepted.

The soldat didn't pay them any attention now that his darling was awake. He was merely focusing on whispering the sweetest things as he traces delicate trails of kisses on her forehead, her nose, her cheek, basically all over her face.

Sam took it as opportunity to get closer when the soldat was distracted on suffocating Y/N with kisses. But he should learn by now how alert and agile the soldat can be, especially when he have Y/N close to his proximity.

So, when Sam took a step closer, the soldat recoiled almost immediately, putting quite of a distance between them.

"Man, if Bucky has a staring problem, then the winter soldier over here has a hogging problem." Sam accusingly pointed at the soldat, only getting grunts as a reply.

Looking at the current situation, Y/N pondered for awhile. As much as she wanted to get herself check-up, it was also wise to not pressure the soldat to give her away.

Considering what she witnessed at the Hydra base, Y/N knew the risk that comes when we let the soldat dwell in anger for too long.

So she consulted the rest of the team to back down for now, and let the soldat do what he wants. Y/N promised them that she will conviced the soldat to let her get a check-up as soon as possible. But for now, they really need to trust her words.

At first every one of them was reluctant to let her go but in the end they agreed to her suggestion.

When the team spread out and gave some space for the soldat, he didn't waste any time and marched straight to where their bedroom supposed to be. As soon as they arrived at their safe space, the soldat almost threw Y/N onto the bed and swiftly drew a knife from the holster of his thigh as his predatory eyes searched the room.

He refused to move even an inch away from where he stood and remained close to Y/N; shielding her figure with his own.

It was very faint, but the soldat could sensed that they weren't the only ones in the room.

Y/N eyed him curiously, wondering why the soldat was still on edge when he wasn't supposed to. So, she hopped off from the bed and stood on her feet before reaching out to hug the soldat from behind.

"You can put the knife down, soldat. It's just us here." She coaxed but the soldat refused to believe her. He pulled her by the arms, breaking her hug in the process and hold her close to his chest, "There's someone else here."

His actions was rather rougher than he intended it to be; even Y/N was startled by the sudden movement, "Oooff, careful there, soldat. You might give the little one a fright." She chuckled softly as she give her belly a loving rub.

And suddenly his attention was completely focused on Y/N now. Usually his frown symbolized irritation, but this time there was a clear confusion in his eyes. The amount of appalled blinking of his eyes increases when the puzzle pieces in his head started to merge.

The soldat knew that he heard a third heartbeat in the room; that was why he was on alert for threats but apparently he had been closer to the source than he thought was.

In fact, it was right his arms. Or maybe a little bit lower, somewhere around his torso.

Y/N didn't say anything, she simply nodded and smiled up to him as she continued to rub her belly.

When the conclusion finally hits him, the soldat dropped the knife in his hand at the same time he fell on his knees. His gaze never broke from hers, not even a split second, until he was face to face with her tummy.

The soldat leaned one side of his ear closer to her and the thumping sound of the third heartbeat got louder. The discovery had caused him to jolt away as shock decorated his features. He titled his head upwards to Y/N with the same wide, confused look in his blue eyes.

"It's okay, love." She giggled amusingly when the soldat repeated his previous actions. He leaned in and jolted back again as if he couldn't believe what he just heard was real, "Is it... his?" The soldat asked as he implied his existance to be separated from Bucky.

There was a hint of sadness in Y/N's expression when he said it like that. There's been many long conversations that she and Bucky had about the soldat after his first relapse.

Though Bucky was still unsure of his own dissociating self, Y/N on other hand believed that the soldat, this particular man whose drenched the earth with blood just to save her, the same man whose currently on his knees to hear a heartbeat of an unborn child; he deserved a little kindness in his life.

"Yes..." Y/N answered truthfully before she continued, "...and he's yours too."

And that surely knocked the air out of the soldat's lungs, he couldn't tell if she was telling him the truth or was just trying to kill him; either way the butterflies in his chest was suffocating him from the inside.

The soldat couldn't speak a single word; because he didn't know what to say. But there was this beam on his features, light in his eyes, softness on his smile when he dreamily stared at her growing belly.

Y/N took him by his flesh hand and place his palm on her stomach, then she spoke tenderly to the baby inside her, "Wanna say hi to daddy, sweet bean? Say, 'Welcome home, daddy.' "

She knew it was silly, because obviously the child in her womb shouldn't be able to speak, and he was not yet developed enough to be kicking his feet. Hell, they don't even know his gender yet.

But how could she not say it when the soldat looked so damn happy when she did. He looked so peaceful and has this daze and some of those twinkling hearts in those steel-blue eyes of. The soldat sighed in pure joy before he leaned to kiss her stomach.

And as it turns out that was all she needed to do to persuade the soldat to letting her see the doctors. He was there through the whole process, refusing to let go of her hand. It was such a good news to hear that the baby was healthy and there wasn't any foreign substance that might contaminated her during her times in Hydra.

After getting proper medical care and some food in her system, the soldat immediately carry her back to their room to settle down. While she laid on the bed, making up for the lost time to finally get the mental rest she desperately needed, the soldat on the other hand, had made himself comfortable by lying his head on her stomach.

He just couldn't stop; as if he was hypnotised by the melody of the baby's heartbeat. His hand snuck under her shirt, lifting the fabric up to reveal the belly where their miracle resides.

Y/N's droopy eyes followed his actions as she watched how carefully the soldat approached her. Out of habit, her hands absentmindedly rake through the softness of his hair as she held him by the head.

The soldat dotingly caressed the child's sleeping chambers as he leaned closer to it, "...Hi there, little one." he greeted with a quiet and loving whisper.

Immediately, a smile beamed brightly on Y/N's face when the soldat proceed to pamper her belly with countless of tender kisses, "...it's daddy." he introduced himself, as if the baby was able to understand him.

The silence that came after was so sweet and comfortable. And Y/N knew she wouldn't be able to have this without the soldat. She tucked a piece of his loose strand of hair behind his ear when she spoke gently, "Thank you for saving me, soldat."

He briefly lifted his head and smiled up at her, "You know I can't live without you Родная (darling). I will always need you." He declared a truthful confession before turning his attention away. His lips grazed on the skin of her belly as he mumbled against it, "And you too, little one."

Y/N could burst into tears just from this interaction alone but she try not to. She doesn't want to look back at this moment and remember how much she wept, so she blinked her tears away while she watched the soldat spoiled the little buddle of joy inside her with so much endearments.

Even though it was always a happy memory for the soldat when he spend time with his darling, but this... this was rare. And he wanted to cherish it for as long as he could.

The soldat laid on his ears again when he peered from where he had his head rested, his deep gaze captured her attention, "Has he been taking care of you good, darling?" He asked.

The soldat probably had no idea how Bucky adored her; if anyone paid enough attention they might even caught him worshipping the very ground she stepped on.

A breathy chuckle escaped from her mouth as nodded with a drunken grin, "He's the best." She hummed approvingly, "Best husband, and best daddy too." She exclaimed brightly as she glanced at the ring on her finger; it was barely visible through the thick of the soldat's hair.

Surprisingly, the soldat didn't react negatively to her remarks, instead, a proud smile curved on his lips as the pride in his chest overflowed and leaked all through his very being, "Good." He simply said.

The smile lines on the corner of his eyes didn't flatten even when he closed his eyes. For a moment, he tried to silenced everything else around him and focused on the fluttering sounds of the baby's tiny heart.

It might have been the thick haze of lavender smoke in their head or the swarming butterflies in their chest, that they didn't even notice the fatigue that had been slowly taking over them, until the tenderness of their caresses were barely moving.

When the heaviness of her eyes weighted the lids, she sleepily asked the soldat, "Will you still be here when I wake up?" Truth to be told, she was afraid that all of this was just a dream; an escape from reality of the cruel captivity.

The soldat briefly opened his own tired eyes and cooed softly, "I'm always with you, Родная (darling)." And Y/N took it as a promise for her desprete soul to cling on; a ray of hope for her to hold onto, if she ever wakes up in that cell again.

Not long after, both of them lost to the lure of somnolent and their soul quickly drifted into the peaceful dreamland. Soft snores were filling the quiet of the room as their mortal body continued to entangled themselves with each other.

It was safe to say that if Steve would ever barge into the room, he'd probably maxed the storage of his phone with photos of the soldat smushing his face on Y/N's belly as she perfectly curled around him.

Maybe it was the sunlight leaking through the window or maybe it was the intense gaze she felt burning on the skin of her face. Eitherway, it certainly disturbed her from her sleep.

When her body stirred, Y/N realized that she didn't need to open her eyes to know that last night was not a dream, especially when she can feel a pair of familiar arms wrapping around her waist under her shirt.

Y/N slowly peeled her eyes open to see a recognizable ceiling. Her eyes then trailed to her side and met a pair of blue of eyes staring back at her. Her gaze searched for the soul within him and found the semblance of Bucky reflected in his eyes.

Still dazed from sleep, she continued to watch him blinking at her, slowly and silently, like a cat declaring their love to their human. But even then, he couldn't hide the afterglow of the tears on his face.

"Bucky, honey. Have you been crying?" Her voice rasped from lack of use, yet her tender fingers find themselves crawling across his wet cheeks. 

It was as if her voice was a trigger, and tears quickly reformed in Bucky's eyes again. Y/N gently pulled him to her chest, one hand threading his hair and another rubbing his back as he sobbed in her arms, "It's okay, Bucky. We're okay." She continued to coax him lovingly.

They spend most of the early morning holding each other close and dear. Then when the tears started to lessen, Bucky finally pulled himself away from her. Y/N wiped the excess tears on his cheeks but he caught her hand underneath his; he relished in the relief of her presence when he sighed to her touch.

Bucky's gaze wobbled in the pool of tears in his eyes but he was still determined to speak his mind  "I'm so sorry, doll." He apologized, "I couldn't stop them. Even with this damned serum in me, I still couldn't protect you; both of you." If his defeated voice didn't convey his truth, then the tremble of his touch should be enough.

And Y/N's heart simply shattered for him; what did he meant by that? He did save her though. The winter soldier or Bucky. It didn't matter who but she was here now because of him. She was safe; they both were, "But you saved me, did you not?"

"But, I didn't. The sol--" Before Bucky could even finish his sentence, Y/N quickly cuts in, "The soldat is always going to be a part of you, Bucky. And if he saved me, that means you saved me too." She reassured him.

Seeing the hesitation in his eyes, she continued to persuade him, "And if I could speak for our child, which I absolutely can because I'm his mother, then he would say that he is proud that his strong daddy managed to beat the absolute shit out of those bad guys."

Bucky blurted out a hearty laugh, "I don't think it's good to teach our baby to curse when he is still in your womb, mama." His laugh gradually reduced to a chuckle when he wiped the remaining tears from his eyes.

Y/N simply shrugged to his suggestion, "It's not like he wouldn remember this anyway." She smirked playfully.

Another chuckle managed to slip through Bucky's lips before he lowered his face to her tummy, "And you? How's your play date with Winter, hmm sweet bean?" He mumbled as his lips planted on her skin.

Besides the heartbeat of his child, he could also hear the tiny twitching of the baby's limbs moving ever-so-slightly, "Yeah, I bet he spoiled you with lots of kisses and cuddles, huh? Like he did your mommy?" He continued to coo against her belly, unaware of the shock on his wife's face.

"Winter?" A small smile cracked from the corner of her lips. Yes, she was shocked but that doesn't mean she wasn't pleasantly surprised by it.

Bucky didn't even bother to look up at Y/N's face as he was busy blowing raspberries on her stomach, "If he's going to keep popping up in our lives then we might as well call him something else other than 'soldat', don't you think?" He simply said, marking one last kiss on the small growing bulge on her belly, before working his way back up to her face.

Y/N's heart swelled to his gesture and when he laid his head next to hers, she carefully took him by his cheeks, pulling him in for a gentle kiss, "I think he'd love that, Bucky." She whispered against his lips, feeling his smile in return.

Bucky nudges forward to catch her lips again; kissing her slow and sweet as if his whole world has been waiting for this moment. And when the kiss naturally broke, he tempted her with something he knew she couldn't resist, "Now, how about we grab you both something to bite, hmm?"

End.

Read my other works here: Masterlist

A/N: The use of the title in the fic is suprisingly wholesome despite the insinuation of it, don't you think? Lol. Btw, thank you so much for stopping by and read my work. Leave your thoughts behind for me, I'd love to hear from you!

[liaswills]

Pick a card: Does your crush like you back?

Today we are asking 4 seperate energies what they think of you! It's important to know that any pick a card's are general energies and some messages are resonant to your crush and others might just be for other people. Generally this is my first pick a card on Tumblr but I've been in the tarot community for longer than today, since 2017 I read tarot.

Disclaimer: I haven't used any tarot cards for this reading, ironically. I'm channelling the messages instead.

Take a moment, I understand crushes on anyone can be mind whirling and obsessive at times. But well I'm here to feed your obsession, aren't I? I will take the opportunity to channel their messages so every reply is written in the voice of your crush (general) and I'll give all four groups some extra information too!

Pick one of these four sentences from my favourite tommy shelby quotes!

1. "Why not?" — Thomas Shelby

2. "Do I look like a man who wants a simple life?" — Thomas Shelby

3. “We used to come here; she’d wait for hours for me when I couldn’t make it. And I’d wait for her if her family kept her in.” — Thomas Shelby

4. “A man needs to prove he is better than me, rather than show me his birth certificate.” — Thomas Shelby

All readings are channelled letters from your crush s/o. Hope you enjoy these and follow my account for more tarot posts!

Pile 1: "Why not?"

First of all this is a person that thinks softly of you. They have kind eyes, might be more of an effeminate person. May have a beard, or look like a gentle giant. I'm also getting blonde/brown hair or shoulder length blonde hair. They have dazzling eyes.

My darling,

I have never called you that before. But why not, eh? Or maybe I do enjoy calling you that in my mind. You are like a fond thought my mind wanders to when I am sitting in the train or my car. Or when I walk or am riding my bike. I think of you softly. I'm secretly afraid, that whilst I think of you softly, you don't think of me that way. I might just be a hopeless fool thinking you'd be interested in myself. Or perhaps I am not a fool?

I kind of want to do fun things together. Take it slow. There are some people I think of. Some other people that might be interesting to me as well. I know you didn't expect to hear that but I'm sometimes too stuck in my daydreams that I wished I was anyone's person. I just want to think of love. I like to imagine my closest friends think me an idiot everytime I say I met someone because how could they not? I sort of just 'love' being in love, right there, in my head.

Telling you how I feel makes me question whether it's worth it. Should I take that step to ask you how you're doing? To ask you whether you'd like to walk with me? Get an icecream? I don't know how to date to be honest. I read often, I just thought that thinking of you in my mind would be easier than thinking of you and I actually going someplace to do fun things together.

I specically like your legs, your smile, your hair. I think you look like my dream person. I may not smile in person, or I may not say these things in person, or I may not even let you know how HOT I think you are but you really are my type. I just don't know whether you'd think of me as 'your' type.

Sometimes I fantasize too much. I think it all out. Us, together, marriage, maybe even normal things like grocery shopping together or finding out what kind of candy you eat or don't eat. I kind of want to know how you live your life. I really admire how you come off to me as a person and I just think that we could 'be' something. If only my mind wasn't so easy to wander to other scenario's and people and friends who could possibly become my person too.

If you like me, just tell me. Right now. I beg of you. It would make my day. It would be recipocrated, I already have chosen you in my heart but I can't keep my mind collected. I can't stop thinking about work or about how busy I actually am when in truth, I just want to get to know you better.

Don't be sad. I don't want you to be sad. Was I an asshole? I never meant to be one. Trust me.

Do you trust me?

Yours Forever,

Your hopeless romantic

Pile 2: "Do I look like a man who wants a simple life?"

This is someone who has dark features. Might have brown hair. They come off as someone who has dazzling green/hazel or brown eyes. They are HANDSOME. You think of them in a handsome light. Their dress style might enchant you daily. Everytime you receive pictures of them or see them you might just think highly of their aesthetic. They're giving stronger masculine vibes or someone who has a dominant personality.

Babes,

Look I never meant to fall for you. I think my guides never saw 'me' falling for you. But I did. I was thrown into this abyss of feelings that I had long forgotten or long thought I could not feel anymore. I keep being disappointed in life but you have never disappointed me. I like that. I like that about you.

You and I talk or we don't. It's like that. I know it is. Because I keep you far away from me when I need time to make a decision. When I need to fix my shit. When I need to fix my issues. I have many of them. I don't need an angel like you to come into that mess. I don't want you to see a mess or see me as a mess. I need you to understand that I'm getting better. Really, I am. I thought I told you that, before, didn't I?

My life can never be just us. It's everything. It's mostly my family, my job, my friends. It's everything. I am always at the center of it and sometimes that makes me anxious. My friends drag me into shit you may not like. I might hurt your ideas about me when I do stuff like that, or I might be repugnant but it's just who I am, all right?

I can't be with someone who will hold me back. I am not saying you do this, but I hope that you will understand I don't really know how to be in a relationship that isn't going to end in destruction so I will put this lightly: don't give me the steer. I need you to say what you need to say and be as expressive as possible to keep me there with you. Maybe I like you, maybe I don't, I don't even know this myself.

See my guides want me to stop questioning my life. They want me to stop being such a fuck, maybe I do too. When I talk to you or when I think of you, I think of what of a redemption arc that would be for me? I know that sounds weird, but I think of how I could do 'right' by you.

So, technically, no, I don't want you to crush on me because I would not deserve you. But I also want you to be with me because I want to have you. Does that make me an asshole? I suppose it does.

Look, I know how to get you on your knees. I know how to kiss you, I'm experienced, I know. I know where to push your button, what to flirt, what to say, I do this naturally. It's like god gave me one gift and it's flirting without actually intending to flirt.

I get in a lot of trouble for that.

Like you for instance. You're my trouble. You're my death. You are the one person I can't get off my mind and it bothers me because I can't come forward to you and give you this sorry excuse of a person that I am right now. I really can't. Will you forgive me for not saying anything? If you ask me about my feelings, my love, I will most likely just ignore it or just be rude. I know, I can't have you.

You do NOT deserve me. I'm so sorry. I don't want you to want me, yet I do. Yet I thrive on it. Yet I am so sick that I would get off on it. I want you to want me, it's a game, alright? It's a game. I thrive on the thrill. I thrive on chasing. I thrive on flirting. This is a mad world and you're making it worse.

If you'd give me a chance, if by some miracle you'd be able to tame the fucktard that I am, would you be able to put up with my non-commital energy? Would you? See, you don't want this. I know you do.

My guides don't want this for you.

I'm sorry,

Your idiot.

Pile 3: “We used to come here; she’d wait for hours for me when I couldn’t make it. And I’d wait for her if her family kept her in.”

Your person is very feminine. I see someone who is shy, gives off introverted vibes or might just be a person who doesn't express what's going on with them all the time. They have a hard time texting others first, they might wait on texts instead. I feel like they are someone who thinks fondly of you.

Mr/Mrs *insert your name*,

I didn't know it could feel like this. Ha, who would've thought that, ME of all people would like you like some childish crush, though, the child in me still dreams of my shining knight. Are you that person? My shining hero, you might think I read too much fantasy novels or that I'm too obsessed with that one band, haha, I know, I am. I may talk too much about my one interest because It's all I think of. It's where I want to be, want to dream of, it's where my mind wanders and what keeps me occupied. I know you're not like that, or maybe you are, but you don't show it that easily.

I do like you. There, I said it. I want to be polite. I want to court you properly, when I do gather the courage to actually do that. I feel like somehow you might be the one person for me. Therefore, I find you irresistable. Because of that connection between us. We might already be friends, or well, we hang around one another, but I think you and I could be something more.

It had to be you. It just had to be you. That's what Barbra Streisand sings in the song "It had to be you" with Michael Bublé. I am on a cloud. Because I dream too much, I might seem like I am zoning out at times. That's what you do to me. You make me zone out and dream of many things. Sometimes my mind wanders back to those idols though, haha, or my favourite celebrities or games or book characters. But it mostly is you.

I would like to tell you how you inspire me. I am not an artistic person, but if I was, I would draw you. I would paint you. I would want to paint your soul. Does that sound too weird? Probably. See, when I think of you, I think of how you would be the most perfect thing to be laying beside me. To be holding hands with as we walk through an autumn world forest, to get a hot drink with in the cold winter, to meet up with for lunch or dinner. I think of you kindly, admiring and I hope you don't think I'm coming off too strongly on you because yes, I recipocrate this crush you have on me.

Even if you're not sure if you crush on me, I would not mind. Technically, I'm yours. I want to be yours. I might not be too responsible sometimes, I might not take the lead in things but I promise you that I can do that if you allowed me the time to adjust to you, to being around you, and not just you in my head.

I could ramble on and on about you in my head. I don't have many friends and the people I talk to I do mention you. Sometimes when I see something that reminds me of you, like something I see in a store window and I am like, you would like that shit, I'm almost tempted to buy it as a gift. I like gift giving. But I am bad with receiving it. I would really like if we could give each other book or song recommendations, maybe exchange poems. I secretly would give you a poem that explains my feelings for you, not going to lie about that.

Yeah, that's what it is. I sometimes feel like I have no appetite. I don't want to eat when I think of you. I can't get my head straight some days. And then I just focus only on stories. Books. My interests. I would like to get to know your interests too. Sometimes I worry that I am not good enough for you. Or that you would not want me. It keeps me silent. Truly.

It's stupid, I know. I might not come from a good background. My family life was not something that brought me joy and that kept me in my books and my internal world. Or it was my school but I hope that you might want to be my family.

Or is that too much? I'll convince you of how great that would be. :)

Yours truly,

*insert their name*

Pile 4: “A man needs to prove he is better than me, rather than show me his birth certificate.”

This is a soft masculine energy. He comes off hard on the outside. I am getting a definite 'he' but it could also be someone that is considered a butch energy, has macho energy or a person with very masculine energy. Technically it doesn't matter but this person has a message for you and it's coming. :) They're a bit mysterious.

My Destiny.

You feel like my destiny. You know I am a religious person, I think a certain way about life that might be philosophical, it might be faith, it just is my faith. I want you to know that when you're not around, I think of you as special. The song, I am a Creep, by radiohead, you like that one don't you?

Why do I have the feeling that you're after the bad guy. That you're after someone who looks dangerous, could be dangerous and that I would be that person for you. Why do you give me those eyes? That stare? That smirk? You're playing coy but I know that you fantasize about me like I am some devil in the sheets.

I really am not. *Snort*. Truly, you'll think of me less than that. Sometimes I worry that you think of me in a way where you're making this up. About me, information just gets distorted or you make something up in your mind that doesn't truly fit my personality. I would say that I don't mind you doing this, I think it's kind off cute. I think you're cute.

Some days, I wonder what you're doing. Only some days. Like those moments when it's night, you're sitting on the couch or in the tub and I am contemplating what to do now that my phone died (I might just be addicted to my phone) and I think of you in those moments of disconnect. I can watch the moon or I can look up at the nightsky and wonder if you're my person.

I like witches. Eh, did I say that? Yep. You're like a witch to me. Not in a bad way, more like in the way that "I know my girlfirend is a witch" vibe. You are mysterious to me. Something about you that I can't pinpoint my finger on. Something mysterious. It draws me in, but at the same time I don't want to be drawn in by you.

It's a push and pull with my feelings of my heart and my body and my mind. It's like this, I don't think you fit in my ordinairy life. You should do something with someone that fits your life. We might just be dating other people or you might feel unavailable emotionally to me, which is something I can't help but only you can, truly.

Still... I do think of you softly. In the quiet moments. My mind lingers on you. You're my favourite happy place where my thoughts can wander to. My favourite thing to relax, I don't know maybe your body is too. You know how I would love to relax with you, sweaty, together and being intimate in a way that makes you blush if I would ever talk about it nonchalantly in public day light.

I'd like to take you to a restaurant. You'd like that, huh? I know, I am smug when I think I know something about you but truly, i'm just a clueless fool wanting your attention when all but nothing you're just this goddess that could ruin me if you tried.

You don't even have to try, truly. I'm already broken, that's my secret.

I don't fear breaking my heart. So, if you do want to chase this? Chase me, darling.

I am ready.

But, let me say one more thing before I end this message. That dress, those trousers, that favourite clothing item you own, the one that looks comfortable, but isn't? Ehm, yeah, I have thought about you in that exact piece and eh- shamefully have fantasies about you wearing that fucking thing. Sorry, I get carried away when it's you, I really do.

You didn't expect this, did you? I know you think me the person you'd think is your type but you might need to re-arrange your expectations about me. I will disappoint you, I know that I will, I can't do nothing right in my life, why would I do right by you?

I sound like I hate myself. Perhaps I do.

Will you love me then, honey?

You know who I am.

Thankyou for reading this pick a card! I hope the message resonates and that you're able to enjoy this little crush reveal or did not enjoy this crush disappointment. The energies were very different and some messages aren't entirely the same but take whatever resonates, not what doesn't, if your gut feeling says those words weren't from your crush or s/o then they're not.

All the love, elias.

[midnightmoonkiss]

Sweet Dreams.

Wednesday Addams X GN! Reader

Word Count: 1.2k+

“Why are you awake.”

Her deadpanned voice suddenly appearing behind you in the dead of night made you jolt in bed with a shrill gasp.

You were quick to lean up and look behind you, shoulders sagging when you saw it was just her.

Wednesday.

Dissatisfied with your lack of a quick response, she prodded, “Well?”

“‘Well,’ why are you in my room in the dead of night,” You fully flipped your body around to give her your utmost attention, and to tease her properly, “Come to give me a kiss goodnight?”

She was definitely not wearing pajamas. Why was she in her normal attire this late at night? The clock read 2:12AM, clearly you both would be going to classes this morning with bags under your eyes.

Oh, matching with your beloved was always so sweet, wasn’t it?

“Don’t be greedy,” She chastised, “I already gave you one before I left for my dorm.”

Huffing, you crossed your arms, phone completely disregarded on your pillow, “Well, I’ll always accept more.”

She acknowledged you with a single blink before eyeing your sleepwear, fingers slipping behind her to the cold glass of the window that she crawled through to shut it with a thump.

“A shame you won’t be getting anymore.”

“Don’t be like that..” You pouted.

“You didn’t answer my question, why are you awake.”

Sighing, you uncrossed your arms, “Alright, I’ll answer your question if you answer mine, okay?”

Begrudgingly, she agreed with a short nod.

“I can’t sleep.” You smiled at her, the most simple answer in the world.

That forbidden nap you took earlier fucked up your sleep, and now here you were hours later and barely even tired.

You knew you needed more rest to get through the day and yet… here you were, still awake.

Woe is you.

“I want a better answer.”

“Too bad, that’s all you’re getting.”

She glares at you, and had you been anyone else, you probably would have been scared shitless. For the most part, when it comes to you, she was more bark than she was bite.

That’s not to say she hasn’t bitten you before, of course, she was just more flexible when it came to your antics.

She looks away when she sees the question in your own eyes, why was she there?

Truth be told, and she see’s no point in lying, “I come here when I can’t sleep.”

Oh.

That caught you off guard.

“You come here?”

“Yes.”

“And how often is that?” You’ve never noticed her before.. granted, you were usually asleep at this hour.

“Twice a week.”

Sometimes you wondered if she was comfortable standing straight as a board all the time.

“Huh.. and why’s that?” Maybe you should be creeped out, but if anything it was flattering that she’d visit you.

Even if you weren’t awake.

“You look at ease in your sleep, as still and lifeless as a doll. It,” Discomfort crosses her face, and she’s left staring out the window to avoid the eye contact she typically didn’t care about, “It brings me peace.”

You kind of felt like Bella, but Wednesday was less creepy than Edward. Or maybe she was just as creepy, if not more so, only you didn’t mind it because you loved her.

To know you bring someone you care deeply for peace just by sleeping.. it makes your heart swell.

But..

“Why do you need to come here for peace? Are you alright?”

You knew about what was going on in her more,, crazy life. She had a stalker, and all that happened last year combined with this might make her uneasy.

She may be Wednesday Addams, but try as she might to fool everyone, she was still just a human with emotions.

Thoughts like that always creep up at night, and maybe even Wednesday herself needed comfort every once in a while. There was no shame in it, and certainly no shame from you.

She never even disturbed your roommate in all this time she’s been doing it, she was being beyond respectful. They’re even dead asleep now as you both talk quietly.

“Of course.”

And of course she wouldn’t admit to anything, her pride would be praiseworthy if it didn’t irritate you sometimes.

Rolling your eyes, you smiled once more at her.

“Well if you can’t sleep, and I can’t sleep, why don’t we try sleeping together?”

Though contemplation crosses her face, she turns, “No. I can sleep fine by myself.”

Stubborn as always.

And maybe that was the truth, but there’s no harm in indulging in something alongside of it.

“Well,” You shoved yourself back into bed, “I don’t think I’ll be sleeping then. Are you heading back?”

Once again, her glaring eyes are on you, you always felt so giddy under he gaze. To know you annoyed her enough to strike an emotion.. oh, surely it was love?

“Are you trying to guilt me into staying by saying you won’t sleep? It’s not going to work.”

You nodded in understanding, pulling the covers back over you, “Then it won’t work. I loved seeing you, safe travels, fruit bat.”

The air was still as you went back on your phone, endlessly scrolling through social media apps.

Four minutes had passed and you could still feel her unwavering stare on you.

She was in disbelief no doubt, or maybe further contemplating your offer, or your murder.

Whatever happens, you’re still sure to get a good morning kiss, it will just either be accompanied with bad breath or mint.

Another six minutes had passed when you finally heard the floorboards squeak and a shit eating grin appeared on your face when she yanked the covers off of you,

“You’re unbelievable.”

“And I’m also cold, so either get in or cover me back up, please.”

The bed dipped as she wordlessly sat on it, her boots thumping to the ground as she took them off, soon followed by the sound of rustling clothes.

She pulled opened your drawer, no doubt taking and putting on the pair of black pajama pants you kept specifically for her in there should she ever wish to stay.

At the time it seemed foolish, but now you were more than happy you did it.

How she knew they were there.. well, who cares.

Not you. Especially not now that she has slid in and threw the covers over your face.

You could almost squeal with elation.

“Do not cuddle me, I will skin you and use it as a pillowcase.”

“No doubt,” You agreed, finally turning your phone off.

Just being in the same bed as her.. you felt content.

Even if she was like a black hole that sucked all the heat out of you and your warm cave while still remaining cold to the touch.

With a sigh, her arms crossed over her chest as she laid on her back, eyelids finally slipping shut.

Flipping over, you faced your girlfriend as your own eyes shut, fully ready for sleep to take you to the trial of death once more.

And..

You wouldn’t know this, of course.. but

Wednesday was glad you asked her to stay. Deep down, she wanted you to say that.

Your presence.. she didn’t like how easily she relaxed around you.

She’d never admit it, but waking up beside you filled her with enough joy that she briefly smiled.

[viviennevermillion]

ᴘʟᴇᴀꜱᴇ ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ ꜱᴄᴀʀ ᴛʜɪꜱ ʏᴏᴜɴɢ ʜᴇᴀʀᴛ, ᴊᴜꜱᴛ ᴛᴀᴋᴇ ᴍʏ ʜᴀɴᴅ...

❝ I was made for loving you, even though we may be hopeless hearts just passing through; every bone screaming, I don't know what we should do ❞ — tori kelly

prompt: affection they crave but don't dare to ask for

character included: ei, wanderer, pantalone, baizhu

contains: character x gn!reader, established relationship

warnings: descriptions of suffering and chronic illness in baizhu's part

✧ holding your hand — Ei is touch starved after the centuries she has spent locking herself away in the Plane of Euthymia. She's used to people respecting her and even fearing her, but few actually treat her as an equal. How could they after all? She was an archon and she had ruled Inazuma with an iron fist for quite a while. So something as simple as you taking her hand into yours just as she remembers her friends doing ages ago.... it's hardly something self-evident to her. She has a lot to learn about how the world has changed during her absence. Sometimes she may be confused or have this serious, slightly intimidating look on her face. Nothing better in this moment than her beloved taking her hand, which instantly brings a smile to her face. Ei doesn't ask you to hold her hand, she doesn't want to come off as clingy, but everytime the two of you are out on a date she's silently hoping you'll do this small gesture again that makes her heart skip a beat.

✧ leaning your forehead against hers — Even an archon like the Raiden Shogun is not without troubles. Quite on the contrary, Ei has a lot of them after all that has happened. When her doubts and grief creep up on her, a gesture such as leaning your forehead against hers is like a silent promise to her that you'll be there even as the storm rages on in her mind. Your touch is soothing to her restless soul and as she feels your kindness and the extent of your love, she understands what it means to find her beloved eternity in something as simple as a fleeting moment with you.

✧ kissing her neck — Ei, when she appears in public, represents eternity both as an archon and a person. She's solid and radiates an aura of untouchability. Who could have thought that someone as her was incredibly ticklish? She likes the sensation of your lips against her neck, but it also tickles her sensitive skin, so you can hear a giggle escaping her that you might not have heard otherwise. If you're planning to tease her and fool around, a giggle might turn into a hearty laugh. You'd be sure to earn the respect of Inazuma's citizens if they were to learn that you could draw a laugh like that out of the woman who once watched these lands with such a cold gaze.

✧ letting her rest her head on your shoulder — Ei doesn't technically need to sleep. But the duties of the Shogun can be quite taxing. As such, she appreciates the opportunity to wind down in your presence and take some deep breaths after a stressful day. You can always tell when she's tired. She tends to close her eyes and let the cool wind hit her face. If you offer her to rest her head on your shoulder, she'll happily take you up on it. She'll keep her eyes shut, enjoying the closeness to you as she mumbles a quiet "thank you". She loves to sit idly like this for a while, simply relishing in the love you give her each day.

✧ sharing things with her — There's just something so intimate about doing things together and sharing what you enjoy with each other. At first, Ei found the idea of sharing a can of dango milk with two straws or an ice cream cup a little silly, not understanding how it could be any different from each of you getting your own food and drinks, but after trying it she really felt like she bonded with you over it.

✧ letting him sit on your lap — This is something he would never ask for over his dead body unless you tease the hell out of him repeatedly but he's been thinking about it ever since getting together with you. He's all too familiar with bickering and pushing you away, even when he doesn't want to; because he's scared of what would become of him; were he to face another devastating betrayal. He craves your affection but he spends his days waiting.... yearning for it. For how foolish would it look if you were to mock him and abandon him for craving something as cheesy and human as this? So he pushes down his feelings and just settles for whatever affection you decide to give him. Until one day there's no seating spot left for him and you grab his waist, gently pulling him onto your lap. You had no idea up to that point that your lover was capable of blushing. But he's silent and doesn't dare to move, lest you might push him off with a joking comment. As you pull him closer to your chest, he relaxes into your embrace and closes his eyes. Your lips find the soft skin of his neck and place a couple of appreciative kisses on it. Wanderer lets out a relaxed sigh and turns his head to you to press a kiss to your lips. "You seem to enjoy this", you remarked with a smile on your face. "I'm simply making sure you don't cry about not getting enough affection later. That'd be a bother", he huffs and you can't help but let out a chuckle, knowing him well enough by now to see through his facade. You make a note to do this more often.

✧ playing with his hair — This one is in your favor because he has really, really soft hair. You don't even remember when it happened but at some point, laying his head in your lap and letting you card your fingers through the dark strands has become his way of unwinding after a long day. He loved the experience of finally feeling safe and cared for in someone else's presence after he had been surrounded by people he was more than justified to distrust for the past centuries. Your touch was soothing, like a gentle breeze inviting him to a place far away from his troubles and doubts. Never did Wanderer believe that anything in his life could be considered "a blessing from the gods", but with you? Well, he wouldn't be surprised. Or maybe it was simply what you were like; giving your love to him in this often cold and cruel world without expecting anything in return; your care for him blossoming and persisting in this reality despite all odds.

✧ squeezing his thigh — He loves when you do this, whether it be when you have to get up and leave to attend some business or whether it's in reassurance; despite how he'd claim that he doesn't need your support and encouragement about anything. He'd feel much more lost without it. He also enjoys simply having you rest your hand on his thigh while you're sitting idly on the couch or a picnic blanket, each of you tending to your own matters and interests but always enjoying being together like this. It reminds him that you're there, something he needs when the thoughts of his past and the uncertainty about his future start to creep up on him.

✧ kissing his shoulders — He's very weak for this. He has no idea what the point was; for a puppet to have any sensitive spots. Wouldn't he have been more efficient if he could feel no affection or pain? After all, wouldn't life have been less hurtful like this? But in those moments; feeling your lips trail soft kisses along his shoulders; he was, for the first time, glad that he was like that. He closes his eyes and focuses solely on the pleasant tickle your pecks left on his skin.

✧ holding him in your arms — Pantalone may seem like a cold and serious business man on the outside, but he can't fool his beloved. That man is a hopeless romantic once you get him to trust you and he's clingy as hell. He's a little spoon and he loves when you hold him in your arms after a long day of work that you sometimes even have to coax him away from. He'll rest his head against your chest as you do him the favor of gently removing his glasses that he forgot he even still had on because of how tired he was. He lets out a happy sigh as you run your fingers through his dark locks and press a kiss to his forehead. He may not ask you to do this, but he always makes sure to express his gratitude to you for the love you give him. "Thank you for always taking care of me like this, my dearest", he mumbles and nuzzles your neck, "and getting me to sleep on time... I had no idea it was already midnight." He let out of chuckle and you shake your head with a disappointed sigh. Not a week went by where you didn't find him nodding off at his desk at least once; struggling to keep his eyes open and accidentally misspelling or repeating words on the report drafts he made. "You need to take some more time off", you whisper, gently caressing his cheeks. "The work of a Fatui Harbinger is tedious", he simply states. But if you could convince him to take breaks and get enough rest with your love and affection? Well, that was enough for now.

✧ listing the reasons you love him — This is something he needs from time to time. He vividly remembers his youth where he used to search for coins in the streets to buy himself a meal and was politely told to exit restaurants as his shabby looks might have a negative impact on the establishments' reputation if wealthy customers saw him like this, sitting alone at the table with half a meal because that was all he could afford. His popularity and desirability skyrocketed when he became a wealthy business man and the 9th harbinger. What could you love about him, if not his material possessions? There are moment, especially in the beginning of the relationship, where nothing helps him get over his doubts more than you holding him close and reminding him of how beautiful he was in your eyes; how you'd love him with every fiber of your being even if he had not a single coin to spare. That you adored how thoughtful, intelligent, ambitious and passionate he was. You loved the light-hearted moments in which Pantalone would joke around with you and attempt to tease you; as well as the quiet nights where he just couldn't help but to kiss you over and over again because his love for you was too much to just keep in his heart. You felt the same. That's why you let him know how much he means to you and all the little things you've grown to love about him.

✧ shoulder massages — He needs those because he has so much muscle tension, you weren't sure how his back didn't hurt every minute of the day. There's few things Pantalone appreciates more than having you massage his shoulders and help his muscles relax when he pulls what you had come to refer to as another "desk work marathon". Again, he doesn't ask for this but he makes sure to thank you, interrupting his work for a moment to give you a loving kiss and look into your eyes as he tells you that he loves you.

✧ holding his hand when he's sick — We all know Baizhu has some days where his ailment gets so bad that he has to stay in bed and can't go to work. It took him a long, long time to even let you see him during those moments of weakness. Usually he'd just lock himself in his bedroom with only Changsheng for company as he tried to get through his pain on his own. After all, to him, it seemed as though it probably would be burden enough for you to love a man you knew was slowly dying. You didn't need to see him suffer like this. Only after you insisted several times that you want to be there for him when he has a bad day; that it would worry you way less if you could support him and comfort him; he let you in. Baizhu feels bad for relying on your help when he's in this state, but simultaneously your presence soon becomes a remedy he wouldn't want to miss out on. When the pain makes his whole body sore and the dizziness and nausea makes him feel like he's never going to get up again and the temperature of his body feels as though the gods of cryo and pyro were having a brutal war in his quarters; there's also, through all the hurt, the feeling of your hand holding his. The sound of your voice reassuring him that he was going to be okay and that you were right there with him. "Just focus on my hand", you tell him with a gentle voice as you run your fingertips over his palm as you see him shiver in the bed next to you. "I'm sorry that-", he croaks out but you interrupt him. "There's nothing you need to apologize for, my love", you reassure him and press a kiss to his forehead.

✧ helping him during bad days — Similarly, it also takes Baizhu a while to warm up to the idea of letting you assist him when he's feeling sick; be it making him tea or soup, taking care of some of his documents or wrapping his calves in wet cloths to help with the fever. You can only shake your head upon learning that he used to try and do these things himself while in this state. Changsheng is more than grateful that she doesn't have to fuss over the doctor as much as she used to now that you're here. Despite his initial protests, Baizhu has to admit that getting through one of those days had become way easier with someone around who actually had arms. Changsheng could try to ease his pain and comfort him with words but carrying a plate of soup was outside of the realm of possibility for the white snake.

✧ braiding his hair — As much as you love to see your lover with his hair down, there's many situations in his profession where a braid is more hygienic and comfortable to have. So he appreciates just being able to relax and talk with you about anything that crosses your minds while you braid his hair. If you keep commenting on how soft it is and how beautiful you think Baizhu is, you're sure to get a blush out of the physician. "You're adorable when you're flustered", you tease and Baizhu is glad that you're braiding his hair so he doesn't have to make eye contact with you. Oftentimes, doing this will have you press a kiss or two to his neck to remind him of your love for him while you tend to his long hair.

✧ deep and loving kisses — Baizhu loves when you take the initiative and just hold him in your arms while kissing him slowly and repeatedly. He appreciates to just be able to forget about his quest for immortality and his illness like this for a while, simply focusing on the feeling of your lips on his and your tongue circling around his, pouring all your love for him into the gesture and mumbling a quiet "I love you" in-between them. He knew very well that humans had a habit of living fast and the days going by faster than you'd think they would, so he adores just being able to indulge you and focus on your touch as if time had frozen for just a moment. He lets you pull him into another kiss as many times as you like to, simply grateful to be loved like this by someone he treasures as much as you.

[gatitties]

Mute: O1. Flowers

─Tendou Satori x fem!reader

─Sinopsis: where Tendou seems to perfectly understand a girl who is mute without the need to make gestures.

─Warnings: none

O1. Flowers / O2. Friends! / O3. Study / O4. Ice-cream / O5. Sick / O6. Locked up / O7. Fight / O8. Friends? / O9. Grateful / 1O. Wishes

The whistling of the birds relaxed you as you walked around the Shiratorizawa campus, you were drowning in your thoughts and you had only been there a week. But it was normal, in just seven miserable days you had already earned those looks; pity, intrigue, fear...

Thanks to?

You are mute, you do not have the ability to speak and that causes many problems when it comes to relating to people, you should always carry your charged phone or a small notebook; without that you were totally out of it, although you certainly mostly wandered alone, were it not for the two girls who desperately offered you to be part of the gardening club. They were the only ones who treated you as if you were a normal girl and not the most delicate person in the world, as if you were going to break at any moment.

But now none of that mattered, with the battery dead and without your notebook you were really lost, you only had one mission, to buy fertilizer at the store near the campus. Being you, nothing could go well for you and you confused the directions they gave you, you were still close to Shiratorizawa but you shouldn't come back without your purchases, you didn't want to disappoint the two girls and have them look at you with pity like everyone else.

So you saw them.

Your last resort, there were a couple of guys wearing the school uniform, hopefully they could understand some gestures so you could communicate. When you caught his eye your mouth dropped slightly at his height, one was quite muscular while the other was slimmer and walked a bit hunched over. They were both like giants. You stayed a few long seconds looking without doing anything, until you realized that you were making a fool of yourself as usual.

"Do you need something?"

Awkwardly you nodded, you made a couple of simple signs not very complicated but when you saw the boy's stoic face you sighed pulling some of your locks back. You looked at his redheaded companion, he was so quiet looking at you that it scared you a little; his eyes with slightly closed eyelids watched you as if he were seeing your soul.

«They really don't understand me»

"Yes, I understand you, I can go with you to buy, I also go there."

You widened your eyes in surprise, thinking that he had read your mind or maybe he understood your signs, but you were grateful so you nodded, excited to be able to fulfill your task.

"Tendou, we have to go back to the gym."

The redhead sweated, he really didn't have to go to a flower shop but you made him curious.

"Yeah, well, you know Ushiwaka, I have to go buy something."

"Okay, don't be late."

Relieved he looked where you were only to see how you looked at him with admiration? Yes, it may have been a coincidence that he could have understood you but he said exactly what you thought and you thought it was amazing.

"Come on."

He began to walk with great strides leaving you behind, you had to jog a little to be able to look him directly in the eye

«Can you understand me?»

"What kind of question is that? Obvious."

You opened your eyes even more, you hadn't even made a gesture. How could he understand you?

"Although it may not seem like it, the way you move or how you look at people are gestures that speak for themselves."

Your mouth opened when you heard him, he really was someone strange, however you liked 'talking' with him on the way to the store, you thought it was funny because of the expressions he made when he commented on something he didn't like.

«So what do you need to buy?»

You noticed how he got nervous, he smiled saying that he needed some flowers for his mother's birthday. You nodded at his message, clarifying that you were going to look after yourself while he chose the flowers. You caught him glancing at you nervously, he went back to looking at some random flowers not knowing what to buy because it definitely wasn't his mom's birthday and he didn't need those flowers. You approached lightly hitting his shoulder making him shudder at your touch.

«A yellow poppy will be fine»

Despite not understanding much about that language of plants that they told you about, you learned enough to know that those poppies meant success and health, something suitable for a mother. When you two paid you arrived at the main entrance where you said goodbye, with a feeling of happiness in the chest, you felt that you had met someone different.

[ghost-proofbaby]

SO SCARLET (IT WAS MAROON)

CHAPTER FIVE: HOLY GROUND

I LEFT A NOTE ON THE DOOR WITH THE JOKE WE MADE, AND THAT WAS THE FIRST DAY. AND DARLING, IT WAS GOOD NEVER LOOKING DOWN.

☆ pairings: rockstar!eddie munson x fem!reader

☆ warnings: no use of y/n, strong language, angst, minors dni

☆ WC: 8K+

☆ A/N: trying something new in the formating here amongst the chapter - please bear with me <3

thank you to my love @hellfire--cult for the divider!

masterlist

“I’m sure you’ll find a way.” 

Oh, how you realize you’ll come to regret that taunt. 

The first week of working on organizing Corroded Coffin’s single release party is easy enough. Most of the communication is restricted to Matt and vendors, beginning the process of assessing venues as you start your list of all that will be needed for the party. An actual location, an open bar, entire stage crews. Matt is able to provide a few connections here and there, people in the live music industry that owe him a favor as he had so kindly put it. You had your spreadsheet of contacts that was growing with each passing day, you had several venues that looked as though they would work well for the occasion — the only thing you had yet to do was go over options with the band or properly reach out for their list of requirements for their night of celebration. 

You had tried to be sneaky about it. Get around asking for any of their emails, continue living comfortably in the radio silence of not hearing from Eddie. And then you’d made the fatal mistake of asking Matt if he could gather the list of things the boys may want.

And of course, as any sane person would do, he had only forwarded the email to all of the boys’ professional emails and replied: I’ve CC’d our rockstars. I’ve instructed them to personally send you any requests they may have.

Fuck.

Eddie’s email sat at the lead of the list of CC’d emails, almost teasing you as it stared back at you from your laptop screen. A full week, you had avoided this. Even if he could have gotten your email from Matt, he hadn’t, and like a fool, you’d assumed that meant you were in the clear. 

So much for that.

You compose and erase multiple emails until you decide that if the boys want to reach out, they can. There was no need for you to make first contact; they now had your email, a bait set for them to initiate a conversation by sending you their lists. If Eddie wanted to reach out to you, he had the perfect excuse to do so. 

For a few hours, you don’t hear anything, and instead of sighing in relief, it only puts you further on edge. You want him to just get it over with. To send you an email, preferably an impersonal list that allows you to continue your job. No relations, no interferences. You didn’t know it, but the Universe was already laughing in your face. 

The first email from any of the boys comes from Jeff.

A simple list, just as you’d requested. There was nothing outrageous; he’d recommended an open bar, asked for a specific brand of whiskey if possible, and thanked you for all you were doing. Simple, kind, appreciative. Jeff, it seemed, had stayed as humble as you remembered him. 

The next email came from Gareth. Less simple, but still just as expected.

Nerds (the CANDY) of any kind. That vodka infused whipped cream (does it even get you drunk?), the softest robe money can buy. Actually, can I get matching house shoes with that robe? Can we also have some cigars in the dressing room? (We are getting a dressing room… right?) 

You’re so busy snorting at his requests, rolling your eyes but also losing yourself in the warmth to know he also hadn’t changed much, you don’t see the next email come through.

It was comforting. You knew Eddie had changed — more than you could ever wrap your head around — but these boys you once knew seemed to still be connected to their roots. You read the requests and recall the times you’d spent in Gareth’s hot garage over the summer, sitting on warm concrete as you cheered overly excited, even occasionally standing up to jokingly mosh to their rehearsals. Sweltering summer nights between friends and beers that lost their chill far too quickly, laughter that echoed down the driveway and out into the empty streets of Hawkins. Nostalgia burns away at you, sitting restlessly in your chest as you let yourself simmer in it for the first time since…. since moving to New York, really. Even in that first year, life had moved so quickly, you and Eddie never took the time to ruminate in your past too often. If you did, it had caught you off guard, always fleeting to make room for the next uncertain experience. 

You two had been so busy running away from your hometown, you’d never stopped to consider what you had given up in the process. 

A soft sigh escapes your lips, and you swear you can still taste the shitty Miller Lite, the only brand that seemed to occupy the Emerson’s fridge, on your tongue as you exit the email and scribble on the notepad before you. Even if Gareth had been joking around with some of his requests, you’d take them seriously — besides, the mental image of Gareth in a plush robe and fluffy slippers to match made you laugh. You were thinking about your past, and for once, you were laughing. This part wasn’t a stain, wasn’t something you had scrubbed away at in a haste to make it fade from your ledger. This was the part you should have been lingering on. 

And linger you did until you glanced up to find the next unread email.

Eddie. 

EDDIETHEBANISHED@gmail.com. You could fool yourself, tell yourself that email is from anyone else, but you know it isn’t. It isn’t even the email that had been CC’d. It’s his personal email. 

Your mouse hovers over the highlighted and unopened message, heart dropping with each passing second. There’s a small preview of his message, but your vision blurs just enough that you can’t make out the small words. 

Is this how you were always doomed to live out the rest of your days? To freeze, to panic, to malfunction at every slightest thing that has to do with the man you left to begin with? Would he always pull such visceral reactions from you? 

In an act of bravery, you press the tip of your finger against the smooth mouse pad, a muted click that doesn’t reach your ears signaling the official opening of the email. All of your hopes are shattered as you realize it’s clearly too short to be a list similar to the other boys, a simple response that you could acknowledge and move on from. 

No, he sends something that specifically calls for you to play with him. To reply and interact, to give him what he wants. To talk. 

Two fucking words. Two loaded, vexing, provocative words that call to you with the titillating grin you imagine he wore as he typed them. 

Your fingers work faster than your brain, slamming away at the keys hurriedly without thought as you type your least professional email to date. 

The bottom of the email is automatically signed off with your work signature, including your direct personal line. If you had half the mind, you would have erased that bit of information to keep it from Eddie. It even has your actual signature, a mature one that differs from how you used to scrawl your name atop of schoolwork in high school, that you had scanned into your computer after having gone through the painful process of rewriting it what must have been a thousand times. No one had let you in on the fact that most other corporate monsters and coworkers just used one of the sloping fonts available to them. No one had shown you the ropes – you’d just assumed that it was the normal, to go so above and beyond. 

Another brick in the foundation you’d built for yourself, separate from Eddie. Another attempt to change from the girl he’d once loved. 

You’re shocked when a reply comes very quickly. You hadn’t even clicked out of the thread before it entered your inbox.

You try to channel fury, years of irritation and calluses you’d built up against him. But your chest has been weakened by that brief moment of nostalgia that Jeff and Gareth had triggered, and it’s a fruitless battle when he sends another message rapidly. He’s treating it like casual texting rather than stiff business interactions. 

Your entire body flushes, a shock to your system coming that brings you out of the allusive hypnosis easily. 

My emails are monitored. They’re going to see that we know each other. I’m going to get fucking fired. 

You steady your breathing and try to stave off the anxiety. It’ll be fine; Lydia has no reason to comb through your emails at this time. Nothing said would trigger any bells or whistles to cause concern. It’s fine. It’ll be fine. It has to be. 

You wish you had it in you to see red. He had an incomprehensible amount of nerve to be asking for your personal email all because he refused to use his professional email. 

Soft. You’d worked on becoming a hardened version of your old self for two years, and all hard work was quickly going down the drain as you remained too soft for him. It was easy, too. All the rough edges had melted so discreetly somewhere amongst the in between. 

You think he’s dropped the topic of your personal email, but you should know better. Not even mere seconds after you receive the first email, brimming with nonchalance and a teasing tone that has no room between the two of you, another message comes through.

Good to see he’s still annoying and persistent as ever, I suppose. 

He’s all bark, no bite. That’s what you convince yourself. There’s no way he could find your personal email, a plethora of power and connections at his fingertips or not. Even if he could, it would take him ages and more effort than it would be worth. 

All bark. No bite.

You hadn’t realized just how quick and consistent his replies had maintained until you’re met with silence. You wait impatiently, biting at your fingernails as you await for another one of his responses. The more the time passes, the excessive minutes piling up in the quiet midday hum of your midtown apartment, the more noticeable Eddie’s online silence becomes.

No, you think suddenly and strongly. No, I am not doing this. 

You refuse to sit around like this and succumb so easily. All your half-healed scars thrum with aches deep-rooted within the skin you’ve grown over the last two years, screaming out in phantom pains with a reminder of what happened to you the last time you’d let yourself sit around and wait on the boy on the end of the line. Every lonely night, every tear shed, every beat of your bleeding heart — you cannot be doing this again, and not so soon. 

Quickly, you click out of your email tab and back onto the list of vendors you needed to contact for the bar commodities. Distract, distract, distract. You comb through your list. Some vendors seemed to hold more potential than others, more attainable in the grand scheme of it all. For the first time ever in your very short career of event planning, budget wasn’t the issue.

Eddie’s reputation was.

But you’re not thinking about Eddie. No, your focus was anywhere but him right now. You weren’t thinking about him, or his new cologne, or his new rings, or his new life-

Just as you pick up your cell phone to start your calls down the list, a notification pings.

Only seven minutes had passed. Seven minutes, and your phone is suddenly alight with a small but terrifying notification from your personal email.

New email from EDDIETHEBANISHED@gmail.com!

Oh, fuck.

Your thumb hesitates over the tiny banner before you release the breath you were sure you’d been holding the entire seven minutes. It shouldn’t have taken him such little time. You expected it to realistically take him a few hours, all your anxious waiting aside. 

There had been only one fatal flaw in your taunting — well, technically there were several becoming more apparent as the seconds ticked by, but only one so glaringly obvious. Your personal email address. You had forgotten.

You hadn’t changed it since high school, since moving to New York, since meeting and since leaving Eddie. 

CORRODEDSUGAR@gmail.com. 

The stupid inside joke haunts you. 

“Why does your email even matter?” Eddie huffed from where he was sprawled out on your bed, tossing around some bouncy ball he’d acquired a few nights before during dinner at a local pizza joint, “No one even uses email anymore.” 

He tossed the ball of rubber into the air once more, a blur of the rainbow swirl pattern whirring too close to your ceiling for comfort. Your focus waned from your laptop for just a moment as you suddenly shot out a hand, attempting to intercept the ball. 

No use. Eddie used one hand to swat yours away, the other happily capturing the toy in his palm with a muted thud. 

“Nuh, uh, uh,” he drawled as he looked at you with his boyish grin, eyes sparkling as his fingers closed loosely around his prize, “If you wanted one so badly the other night, you should have also coughed up a quarter.” 

You snorted, “Are you really proud of that? You spent a whole twenty five cents on a hunk of rubber, Rockstar.” 

“A hunk of rubber you’re now trying to steal from me.”

“I’m not trying to steal it,” you scowled, “I’m trying to focus here. Emails are important, despite your pessimism. Something my English teacher said about professionalism.” 

“You’re really going to listen to that dinosaur? The old O’Donnel-saurus?” Eddie mused, chuckling beneath his breath at his own joke.

You refused to crack a smile in return, or show any recognition at the awful joke, but your chest still warmed. The smoke of your affection for the boy in front of you unfurled, thick enough to choke you up a few extra seconds but thin enough to not suffocate. Never suffocate — it was a time in which you could never imagine your love for Eddie Munson being your downfall. It was a wispy and adaptable type of adoration, just like the smoke that flows off of the end of the incense you’d taken to burning in your room lately in lieu of candles. 

“It’d do you well to also come up with a professional sounding email, you know,” you hummed. You were mere seconds away from shoving your laptop away and joining Eddie in his relaxed position, maybe even laying your head on his chest or shoulder and bringing up the idea of a late afternoon nap you knew he’d never turn down, “Can’t go around emailing important people when you’re a rockstar with your Dungeons & Dragons nickname.” 

“One,” he held up a stern finger, “Like I said — I don’t use email. And two, I’m very happy with my email, sweetheart. I’ll probably email the damn President with that name. Life’s too short and we’re too young to get a stick up our ass about shit like that.” 

You reached out and wrapped your palm around his finger, tugging it down. Unlike with the ball, he let you capture him in your grasp, “I don’t have a stick up my ass about it.” 

“Yes, you do.”

“No, I don’t.” 

“Then make it something funny,” he wiggled his brows, “Make your email something stupid and live a little.” 

“A little?” you scoffed, “I think I live plenty for the both of us. You’ve put me through at least three lifetimes worth of stress before I’ve hit twenty. I probably have grey hairs already.” 

Your hand curled around his pointer finger drops to your thigh, but doesn’t release him. The touch remained, ever constant, now more for comfort rather than defiance. And he let you continue to hold him, as if your touch was a luxury he was indulging in just as much as you were his. 

“Wanna check?” he taunted. He lifted up off his back for a microsecond, tugging your arm with his before the roll of your eyes had him falling back flat once more.

It was a losing battle, arguing with Eddie.

Your conjoined hands settled back atop your thigh as you sighed. Maybe Eddie had been right, and you were stressing out too much about this. He was right; you were young, and having a dumb email was a right of passage. Something to giggle at in your maturity when you’d provide it later down the road, a flash of your youth to keep close. 

Fuck professionalism, or whatever high horse O’Donnel had been on.

“Fine,” you huffed, “What do you suggest?” 

“… To check for grey hairs?”

“For my email, you idiot.” 

A bit more back and forth, a bit too raunchy of ideas that passed Eddie’s lips only to be rejected quickly with rough shakes of your head. His finger remained locked in your palm, at some point his knuckle wiggling between suggestions to stroke at your skin. 

“Sweetheart, you’re being too picky,” Eddie finally whined as you shot down yet another one of his ideas, “At this point, just make it something related to the band. You’ll probably be Corroded Coffin’s manager when we make it big, anyways.” 

“That sounds like a nightmare,” you murmured, even if you enjoyed the thought. You already had started to get a hang of wrangling the boys in your small town for menial tasks and day-to-day activities. But on a wider, professional scale? You could already feel the headache pressing into your temples. If they ever offered you the proposition, you wouldn’t have said no, but you certainly would have complained to no end. And definitely got grey hairs.

“Sweetheart.”

The repetition of the nickname froze you. Your eyebrows furrowed as the wheels in your brain turned and you looked down at your boy, the formulation of an idea that was combining both of Eddie’s suggestions suddenly.

“Why do you call me sweetheart?” 

Eddie was taken back by your question, face crumpling with confusion, “What?”

“Why do you call me sweetheart?” you repeated yourself as you finally let go of his finger and twisted to face him fully, laptop momentarily forgotten as your legs folded beneath you and pressed into your worn mattress, “Like, I call you Rockstar because I know you’ll be a rockstar someday. Already are technically, to me, but don’t let that go to your head,” you explained, smiling shyly as Eddie narrowed his eyes and shined his dimples at you, “So why do you call me sweetheart?”

He hardly had to think about it, although his answer came out as more of a question, “Because you’re my sweetheart?”

“That’s all?”

“Is this a trick question?” 

You nearly cackled at his hesitation, “It isn’t, I swear. Just… humor me.” 

This time, he took his time to carefully deliberate his answer, “Well, I guess because it just fits,” he paused, wide eyes catching yours as you lifted your brows in question, “You know? Cause you’re sweet like sugar, and you’ve got a heart of gold,” he grabbed up the hand that once held him and drew it into his lips, peppering kisses across your knuckles and fingertips, fighting a grin as he groveled, “There. Is that romantic enough to humor you?” 

“Almost.” 

You pulled your hand away despite the fact that you wanted to let him continue his display of affection. You would have laid around all day, letting Eddie Munson shower you in all the affection he had to give. But you really needed to create this email.

And now, you had the perfect name.

CORRODEDSUGAR.

You created the account quickly. Set everything up with ease before you proudly turned your screen to Eddie. 

“Corroded sugar?” he read outloud in a murmur as a smile twitched at the corner of his mouth, “Cute. But also, very metal. Very badass. I approve, Sugar.” 

A new nickname was born that day, to haunt you and taunt you at every corner. In soft mornings when he woke before you, his voice softly cooing ‘wake up, Sugar’ as he’d brush his nose along your jaw and attempt to awaken you with needy nuzzling. Amidst heated and passionate arguments had all in good fun while out with friends, where he knew you were right but the closest he’d come to admitting it would simply be ‘whatever you say, Sugar!’. He’d even once weaponized it against you during sacred moments, where his lips worshiped you as they trailed leisurely down the skin of your torso until he’d settled between your thighs, humming as he wrapped ringed fingers around your hips and whispered nothing more than the nickname. ‘Sugar’. He had sighed as if he were a starving man, and you were the plate of sweetness that would bring him back to life.

Sugar. A prayer, a promise, a reminder. 

You couldn’t remember the last time he’d called you that. Until now.

When you’d tried to reset, rebuild, remake yourself, it had been hard to figure out a new email address. Amongst all the changes and all the decisions to be made, choosing a new email just felt overwhelming. And you’d been foolish, clung to one last relic of your past like an estranged child fisting a blanket to sleep. 

The seven minutes suddenly makes crystal clear sense. 

Whether it had really been Eddie’s rockstar connections from his fame, or simply recalling a far away memory, you hadn’t made yourself a very hard person to find. And you never considered that your laziness would have a consequence like this. 

You don’t know what else to say. Your mind keeps reading over that silly five letter word, the bold lettering jumping off the page at you. All recollections of every time he’d ever called you that slip into the forefront of your brain, slapping away any concentrated thought. 

You’d had dreams of him calling you that again. A mixture of memories and fantasies that would wake you up in the months following your departure. Compared to the other dreams you’d had amongst those, they had been a sweet reprieve. Not a nightmare of Eddie with his lips pressed to another, or mournful dreams where you reached out to him only for him to become intangible smoke where your hand should have connected with his torso. They were one of your only dreams you had awoken from without immediate tears. 

They were the type of dreams where you’d awake, and for just a moment, you’d forgotten all that had happened. They’d twist you up in a blissful blanket of delusion that he was still yours, that you were still laying in a shared bed in that small apartment, that there was still a calendar on the wall with the date of his return marked with a scarlet heart. 

The tears would come later. Once the dreamy fog cleared, and your eyes opened up to see the unfamiliar space you had taken to calling home instead.

The two of you should be discussing the release party. He should be handing over a list of requests and you should be adding them to the same page that you’d copied down Gareth’s. 

You shouldn’t be doing this. 

Talking, like nothing happened. Having a playful conversation over email that reeked of the same make-believe that had clung to your dreams of Sugar. 

He won’t break the illusion, so you do.

Messaging him from this contact only reminds you of all that could have been. All the joking conversations back in Hawkins of your involvement with the band once they inevitably blew up, all the late nights where you’d been privy to a private show as he hunched over his guitar and hummed out melodies to new songs, all the bruises those once familiar hands had left and then caressed in the afterglow. 

For just a moment, you miss it all. 

For only a second, you wish he wore the same cologne and you wish you still signed your name as you had when you first met him. You wish for days of instability and the solid touch of his shoulders beneath your palms as you convince him to take a leap of faith on himself and the band. Dancing in a small apartment, falling asleep on the phone while he was a world away, quiet confessions of love to soothe the wound that distance made grow larger — for just a moment, you want it all back. Even the pain. Even the hurt you’d been burying alive for years.

Silence. Once again, he’s left you with static lines as the minutes pass and no new message is received. 

You think you liked it better when he was being inappropriately playful. 

At least then, he was saying something. Now, as he says nothing, you have to resort back to doing your job. You bring up a knee to rest your chin on as you adjust in your home office chair, clicking over to tabs of information on a physically small but well-known venue that had several different capacity options. Ranging from a small room that could hardly fit twenty five people to a rooftop set up with the ability to entertain several hundred people. Something about it had felt very Eddie to you; reclusive, with opportunity for an afterparty. Some odd mixture of who you once knew and who you’d seen flashes of through headlines and brief encounters. You hadn’t been given many guidelines from Matt to go off of, and when you’d questioned capacity size, he’d only brushed it off.

Just something smaller than the venues they play on tour.

Would Eddie even want this small of a venue? Looking over the venue’s website, you catch sight of the approximate occupancy limit for the “largest” stage room — 750 standing. What was Corroded Coffin’s new normal? Once upon a time, you were amongst a crowd that couldn’t even break double digits. But now, a show like this might sell out for them in five minutes flat. Hell, they could probably even sell out a thousand person capacity room. 

A ding sounds to signify a new email. 

For a second, you’re nonsensically relieved when you see it’s from Eddie. You find yourself blindly hopeful for a continuation of banter, another message solely trying to get on your nerves – something to satiate that stubborn need to slip back into old habits, even if for only just today. 

It’s not. It’s a stale list of requests. Sent to your work email, this time.

No sight of his playfulness between the words. No beckoning of him taunting you, teasing you, whispering for you to just give in and play pretend with him one last time. 

It’s probably for the best. 

—

Have Mondays always been this hectic? 

Week two of working on Corroded Coffin’s album release was starting off very differently from the first week. It seemed every corner you turned, you were faced with a new challenge that only made the headache behind your temples pound more relentlessly. Denial from venues, cold calls being forwarded to voicemail when you’d reach out to vendors, and Matt being impossibly busy with the band to get back to any of your emails in a timely manner. 

If you had to hear one more venue representative turn down your business proposition with a “Sorry, but we’ve heard about Eddie’s reputation…”, you might make a detour to go jump off the Empire State Building. 

Had he really been that awful to venue properties? 

“You look stressed,” Romina notes when you hang up on your third unsuccessful call of the day, slamming the phone down more violently than you should. 

“Who, me?” you bitterly reply, looking over your shoulder to where she leans in her chair, turned entirely from her desk to watch you with gentle amusement, “Never. I have never been stressed a day in my life.” 

She quirks an eyebrow, “And before this new secret project of yours, I would have agreed.” 

“Every venue is shooting me down.”

“It happens,” you yearn to feel the nonchalance that flows through the shrug of her shoulders, as if she’s now the one without a worry in the world, “Are they giving reasons?” 

You open your mouth, but your tongue stops short. Because yes, they were each giving the same resounding, completely valid reason. But to admit this is to inform Romina what your secret project really is – something that a certain NDA strictly prohibits for the time being. 

“Conflict of schedules,” you tightly lie as your glare diverts to your computer screen, still open on a mostly empty inbox. 

Eddie hadn’t emailed you since last week. 

Somewhere amongst your frustration, there was a sore disappointment lying in patient wait. You have not a single doubt that once the storm of the task at hand passes, once you finally secure a venue, that you’ll be forced to deal with it. But for now, a boy not emailing you after being so insistent for your personal contact was the least of your worries. 

Romina’s voice draws you back in, “Really? How far out are you trying to book for?”

“Three months.” 

The squeak of her chair pauses abruptly. Your eyes shift and you catch the way all her mindless swaying has ceased, mouth flat with eyes widened in disbelief. 

“Three months?”

“What?” you finally spin your chair to face her, playing off nonchalance. You know why she’s reacting so dramatically, “Should I not be booking that far in advan-”

“I- No, no. You absolutely should be. It should actually be making it easier to book,” she leans forward in her seat, squinting at you, “Is that really the only reason they’re giving?” 

You get it. Because she’s right; giving such fair notice should be making your job easier. But you can’t defend yourself and explain how the client you’re representing is the real issue. 

“Yeah,” you force a forlorn sigh.

“Jesus,” she whistles out, “Well, that’s just… Fuck. I’m sorry, babe. That’s rough. What types of venues are you even trying for? Wait - didn’t you say you were arranging for a grand opening of a bakery? Wouldn’t they already have their shop set up-”

“Hello ladies.” 

Thank fucking God for Lydia. 

“Lydia!” you sit up just a little bit straighter, nearly leaping out of your seat with relief as your boss approaches. You knew exactly where Romina’s train of thought was heading, and you wouldn’t have been able to come up with a single pitiful excuse to keep up with your little white lie, “How are you today?” 

Romina is still perched in her chair with a confused look, but Lydia doesn’t even glance her way, looking just as concerned as she looks down at you, “I’m… fine. There’s a client for you in the conference room.” 

Straight to the point. Except, you didn’t have a meeting scheduled today. 

“A client?” you echo, shrinking down a bit. You only have one client, technically, at this moment, “I didn’t have anything on my calendar.” 

“Apparently, they were just on this side of town. Said you’d left a few voicemails and he thought it’d be easier to just pop in to discuss things.” 

It had to be Matt. He must have gotten one of your frantic voicemails you’d left over the weekend, the ones you’d instantly regretted and worried had lacked in professionalism. 

It has to be Matt. 

“Oh,” Romina’s eyes are burning holes in the back of your chair as you fumble to lock your computer screen, scrambling to gather anything you might need. The notebook you’d been using to keep track of the entire ordeal crinkles slightly in your grip, “Yeah, of course, that- I’ll go straight there. Are they in one of the smaller conference rooms or the-”

“The main one,” Lydia interrupts you, and her tone makes you pause. 

She sounds as if Matt’s arrival is the largest inconvenience she had experienced in the last month. 

Why would Matt popping in to talk to me be such a big deal? 

She’s clearly not in the mood for questions, so you only nod as you stand up, “Got it.”

And then she’s gone. No interest in joining you, or to question what could be going wrong. No sign of involvement like the day you’d originally met with the band and Matt to sign all documentation. 

Your gut twists in knots that not even boy scout’s have discovered yet. 

And they only worsen when Romina calls after your retreating figure, “Good luck with your baker!” 

You’re kind of fucked. It’s clear she’s no longer buying into your lie of your client, and the thought of facing her after Matt is nausea-inducing. What if you just came clean? Would they sue you for telling Romina? Would Romina tell anyone else if you confided in her? Your thoughts race with question after question as you quickly make your way through the maze of cubicles, taking lefts and rights far too fast as you worry about making Matt wait much longer. 

It was just stupid. Because amongst the questions, one rings out that’s insane enough to make the rest of them actually sound reasonable.

If you did manage to fuck this up in any way, would Eddie protect you?

Whether it be because you couldn’t complete the task at hand that was beginning to look impossible, or if it was because you couldn’t keep your mouth shut, would he defend you? 

You’d figured you’d lost his servitude and protection long ago, back when you’d first left that apartment and ignored every attempt at contact. But if it came down to it, would he offer you one last privilege of his defense? Probably not. Which — fair enough. You hadn’t done anything in the last week to have already earned that back. You hadn’t wanted to earn that privilege back, either. No matter how badly you found yourself wanting a new email from him in your inbox, there was a clear line in the sand drawn by your own stick, and you had to stay to your side of it. 

You were a big girl. You could handle it.

Just as you finally approach the conference room, eyes trained to the ground and brows tightly furrowed in careful consideration (definitely not frustration, because the thought of Eddie surely couldn’t frustrate you), you make a fatal mistake. It’s a small detail you’d never paid much mind to prior — a stain on the carpet just outside the doorway, subtle yet large once the shadowy shifting of the carpet’s color caught your eyes. You’re so busy letting your eyes trail the perimeter of it, trying to focus on the threaded shades rather than the shade of Eddie’s dark eyes in the hallway the week before, that you aren’t prepared when the toe of your shoe catches against the said carpet. 

You should have ate shit, to put it plainly.

One quick fumble, and you’re flying forward, hardly thinking as you throw out your hands to brace for impact. Foolish, considering the fall would have left you with severely aching wrists, or a bruised face. But it never arrives. 

Large hands suddenly appear to grab you, catching you halfway through the sudden fall, and the unfamiliar cologne that’s plagued your waking thoughts for a week now overtakes your senses. 

You thought it was Matt waiting for you.

“Woah!” his voice echoes easily in the empty hallway, “Shit, are you okay?”

You swore it was Matt waiting for you. 

“Fine,” you strangle out, pulling away from that touch as quickly as possible. Like he’s burned you. Like those hands that once knew you all too well held your entire demise in their palms.

 And they might. 

It wasn’t Matt waiting for you.

Eddie doesn’t seem shocked by your retreat, only watching with a blank face as you regain your balance on your own and avoid eye contact. He looks nice – a leather jacket too shiny to be the one he wore when you wore together, a faded band t-shirt beneath you can’t fully see the logo of but know was bought that distressed just for looks due to the familiar unfamiliarity that has begun to cloud around the man you once knew, heavy boots planted right on the stain in the carpet that had distracted you. 

“What did you even trip on?” he finally questions, looking curiously behind you as he retraces your path, “Was it-”

“Air,” you cut him off, “Save me the embarrassment, but I tripped on air.” 

If you had half a mind, you would have interrupted with something more useful. Maybe demanded to know why he was here in your office. Questioned his intentions of showing up unannounced. Asked why he never emailed again. 

Okay, maybe not that last one. 

He lets out a short chuckle, more a breath than anything else as his face finally cracks and he almost grins, “I see. To be fair, it’s an easy thing to trip on. Very hard to see. Almost as if it’s invisible.” 

He gauges your reaction, but you don’t let yourself so much as smile at his awkward attempt at a joke. 

You can’t. You can’t casually joke with him, you can’t laugh and pretend like there isn’t an elephant sitting on your chest every time you occupy the same space as him. There’s no magic eraser to everything between you two; no amount of emails, no amount of bad jokes that can vanish all that has transpired. Your past and the carpet, it seems, have something in common.

Never thought you’d say that about the ugly threads you only look at to disassociate during particularly long days. 

“What are you doing here?” you finally whisper out the right question, and internally cringe as your mouth keeps moving only to tack on a completely unnecessary addition of, “I didn’t receive any emails about a meeting-”

“Matt sent me,” Eddie shrugs. You watch the way the leather creases and fits his wide shoulders, catch yourself studying to see if there’s any new muscle beneath the layers to further estrange you further from him, “He’s been stuck in meetings for the album and single, and said you’d left him a few voice mails so… I’m the rescue team, I guess.” 

You finally look him in his eyes, jaw dropping ever so slightly, “You?”

“What about me?”

“You’re my ‘rescue team’?” the words are bitter on your tongue, his presence anything but a relief of rescue, “No offense, but how can you possibly help me?” 

And then he smiles. And, oh Lord, you’ve forgotten how nice of a smile he has. It’s painful – a sharp reminder of the past that you just can’t shake. He’s an old photograph that never quite burns, a stain on your favorite article of clothing you’ll never wear again. For a moment, it doesn’t matter how many parts of him he’s replaced, how many pieces of him have been turned over brand new and unfamiliar, because he looks just like the boy you left behind. A relic you can mourn for once you return to your apartment all alone. A whisper you’ll exchange with your children about someday, as you tell them all about the boy who changed you for the worse. 

“You’d be surprised,” he muses, reaching a hand up to drag over a chin shadowed over in faint facial hair, “Apparently, once you make it big, you have to learn about more things than just how to play an A chord on a guitar or sing in tune. Business, for example. That’s what you’ve been struggling with, yeah? The business aspect of it all?” 

You kind of want to walk away from him. To go and eat shit in a different hallway, on your way to tell Lydia you can’t do this anymore. 

“I’m not struggling,” you snap. 

He’s quick to lift his hands in surrender, “Don’t shoot the messenger. Those were Matt’s words, not mine.”

“Yeah, well, tell Matt I’m fine,” you huff indignantly, “I’m a professional who can handle myself. I can figure this out on my own.” 

You’re turning your back to him, ready to storm off dramatically for your own sanity, when he clears his throat. 

You pause. You don’t turn to look, but you halt mid-step. 

“Humor me, for a second,” he begins, “What exactly are you fully capable of figuring out on your own?” 

“The planning,” you state the obvious, staring at an odd piece of art on the office wall to your left. Not quite turning your head to him, but angling so your voice carries. 

“Yeah, no shit,” his words spark a little more anger, a little more rage, “I mean what part of the planning? You’ve left Matt at least two voicemails. Probably more, if he’s resorted to sending me.” 

More like five. Possibly seven, but you’d indulged in more wine than would be wise to admitting this weekend after receiving your third venue rejection. 

“Maybe he just got tired of babysitting you. Decided to make you someone else’s problem.” 

“Maybe,” Eddie hums, and you can hear his slow footsteps as he slowly walks to block your vision of the abstract artwork. Your gaze is cut off from the silvery lines splattered across a black background and forced upon brown eyes that are more lively than you remember from the previous week, “But I already made the trip all the way down here. Might as well make myself useful to you.” 

He’s still wearing that smile. The one that belongs captured in a polaroid at the back of your closet. The one frozen in a time that was so much simpler than this. 

The kind that leaves a mark – a stain. 

“You want to make yourself useful to me?” you narrow your eyes, straighten your shoulders, prepare for battle, “Then leave. That is the most useful thing you can do for me right now – walk out of this building, and leave me to figure this out without being a pest.” 

Your words should hurt him, but they only seem to fuel him. It’s the exact same reaction you’d imagined on the other side of all the emails. A pep to his step and a perk in his posture that elicits unhinged annoyance from deep within you. 

“No can do,” he smirks, “Sorry, I’m on Matt’s orders to not leave until we figure this out. Together.” 

You don’t care how nice Matt is – you decidedly hate him at this moment. 

“Eddie,” you don’t notice the way his chest catches when you say his name, even in your defiant tone, “I am telling you right now, there is nothing you can do to help.”

And then he takes you off guard, breathing still not quite steady as he breathes out, “Let’s go get coffee.”

“I already told you, I have no interest in getting coffee or lunch with yo-”

“Not like that,” he waves off, finally slipping back into his casual demeanor, “Just- throw me a bone here, Sugar. We don’t even have to talk. You can bring your laptop and phone, focus on work and pretend I don’t exist the entire time. But I have to stick around long enough to get Matt off my ass, and you clearly have been stuck in this stuffy ass building for too long.” 

Sugar.

Your breath catches at the nickname, just as his had when you said his name. 

Shakily, you exhale, “No, I-”

“Funny thing,” he shoves both hands in the pockets of his jeans. Well-fitted, fairly new. No signs of distress like he preferred in his youth. Just starch black that clings to skin you once knew, “I’m not asking. Technically, I’m your boss. And as your boss, I’m instructing you to join me for nothing more than a free coffee and change of scenery. Like I said, it’ll be as if I’m not even there. I’ll keep my mouth shut the entire time – strictly business.” 

You nearly slip up and inform him that it doesn’t matter if he doesn’t talk – if he’s near you, your body always seems to know. Your body, your senses, your soul. Any time he occupies the same room as you, his vicinity lights something in you impossible to ignore. It had been that way since the first day you met him. And would probably continue to be that way until the day you were buried six feet under. 

Even in death, his soul would probably haunt yours. You would never know another day of peace since meeting Eddie Munson. 

“You’re not my boss,” you argue, crossing your arms, “You’re my client. Lydia is my boss.” 

“And would Lydia appreciate you arguing with a client like this?” 

“What do you want from me?”

The question falls from your lips with unexpected weight and exasperation. 

Your arms fall down from your chest just as quickly as they’d risen, the two of you encased in silence as you both realize the implication behind the question. It’s about more than just the coffee, more than just his impromptu visit to your work. It’s the heaviest question you could have asked at this moment; and one that neither of you were ready to hear the answer to quite yet. 

There’s a million unsaid words swirling behind whiskey irises. A hundred and one conversations never had, a thousand and one battles never witnessed on both ends of this war. Something in them whispers you might not be the only one haunted. 

Maybe, just maybe, his soul will only haunt yours for as long as yours haunts his. A haunted house, a ghastly gallery. Two ghosts always meant to hang up parallel to each other in crooked frames, in an empty hallway. 

“Just a coffee,” he whispers, and something in you cracks quietly, “Just one cup of coffee, for now.” 

With all things considered, it’s not asking that much of you. 

You don’t have any fight left in you. Whether he’s here, whether he’s a world away, you’re still destined to be stuck across from him in the damn hallway. Always staring, always drawn. There might not be a single corner of this world far enough away to break whatever thread ties you to the man before you, whether you still know him or not. 

After a pregnant pause, you sigh, “Let me grab my purse.”

With all things considered, he probably should be asking more of you. 

But you’re grateful he isn’t as you retreat and do exactly as promised, not looking Romina in her eyes before you begin your doomsday march for just one cup of coffee. 

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[ultralightpoe]

And Let the Blood Bind You- Aemond Targaryen

Authors Note: I reallllllllyyyyyy hope you guys enjoy this one..........

Word Count: 4667

Warnings: abuse, suicidal thoughts, murder, smut, Aemond 

Description: Aemond won’t let you marry an old man

Part One here: Salt the earth behind you

            The dinner, that was planned for the queen to get to know your betrothed better, had been postponed for two days now. Due to the queen falling ill, a fact you knew to be false for she had been just fine to call you in and sit with her in the mornings. 

          Just as you did today, the third day in a row. 

             You sat just as you had the days before, across from her, head laid low as you stitched quietly. The veil you wore covering your boredness well. 

             “My lady,” You begin quietly, her head snapping up instantly. Something you had noticed the past couple days was no matter what she was doing she never seemed to be paying attention to it. Instead she watched around her, fearful and distraught. “I was going to inquire about dinner. It has been a couple nights and I fear my betrothed wishes to return home soon-” 

               “We shall see to it when I feel better.” She admonishes, not meeting your eye. Not that she could through the veil, but whenever she lied she refused to look at you at all. 

               “I just noticed that you are in high spirits today, so I was-” You are cut off by the sound of her door barging open, hands shaking as the anxiety eased. You were about to prompt her whether or not she was sick, how foolish of you. She could have your head.

                “Mother,-” The sound of Aemonds voice has your anxiety leaping once more, refusing to turn. 

                  “Aemond. How many times have we discussed entering a room properly?” Alicent sighs, allowing you to risk a look at the male who seems to be embarrassed. 

               “Helaena wishes to see you.” He states, a bite to his tone. As if he was irritated that he was getting yelled at even though he is here on his sisters business. “A problem with the babe she fears.”

              Alicent looks shocked a moment before standing and turning to you, a skeptical look. “My dearest Y/n, I must-”

               “Please. Go attend to your family.” You say softly, trying not to sound as irritated as you felt. “I can make my way back to my roo-”

               “Aemond.” She interrupts, her son stepping closer instantly. “I insist you take Lady Y/n for a walk around the gardens. Helaenas health issues shouldn’t be the reason she locks herself up.”

                You always appreciated the way the queen gave backhanded remarks, making the person feel foolish without inciting a fight. 

               You watch as she leaves, her personal guard following her, at a glacial pace you note. 

             “Lady Y/n-” Aemond begins though you stand up quickly and he silences himself.

              “Your mother is far from a good actor. I should not recommend her to the plays in the village.” You snipe, moving to walk with him.

                 “What could you possibly mean?”

           “If there were an actual issue with your sister's babe you would be a lot meaner, and she would be a lot quicker.” You remark, pretending not to see his outstretched hand as you pass him to the door. “Though I do appreciate you both trying to play me for a fool.”

              “Aemond…..dearest.” The queen says faintly, casting a look to your small figure before avoiding your eyes. “I am feeling faint and Helaena has lessons this afternoon, would you be so kind as to take Lady Y/n around on a walk?”

              Aemond was quick to jump up, nodding his head as he bid his mother goodbye. You watched in utter embarrassment as she giggled with her guard and left. Oh how foolish the queen must have thought her, to have such a big love for her son that she pretended to be ill so you may spend time with him.

              And how foolish you felt at his mother having to be ill for him to notice you.

                 “I heard the septa received a bundle of books from Dorne this morn, would you like to go see?” Aemond offers, walking beside you. 

               “I do not wish to waste your time Prince Aemond.” You say softly, although you definitely did. You wished to spend time with him every single day. “If you are too busy I can simpl-”

               “Don’t be foolish. I wish to find a book on dragons while I am there.” He mumbles quickly, snatching your hand and holding it tightly. 

               He held your hand all through the library as you searched for something to read, finally settling on an old historic book about the first king of the world. You settle onto the floors of the library and open the book, him settling right beside you.  “I thought you were going to find your book-”

              “It’ll still be here later, won’t it?” He laughs and settles his head on your lap, staring up at you with gleaming purple eyes. “I like when you read to me anyways. No matter how boring the book is. Besides, my mother didn’t fake an illness for me just to abandon you in the books.”

               You blush, fearing that he was making fun. “I’m sorry-”

              “What are YOU sorry for?” He laughs, reaching up to open the book. “Now tell me all about this old man.”

               You both walked in silence, your hands pinned to your stomach as you stared blankly ahead, the silence beginning to eat at your anxiousness. 

              He walks beside you, bumping your shoulder with his own every once in awhile, though you could not tell if it was accidental or not. 

             “So you were always aware when she faked an illness growing up?” He finally stops the silence, pretending to be really interested in the courtyard below. He circles one of his ringers between his fingers, an anxious tell of his. “Here I was thinking we were quite brilliant…”

            You catch that wording quite quickly, confusion crossing you as you try and put two and two together. “Should you mean-”

             “That I asked my mother to fake a handful of illnesses to spend time with you?” He chuckles, avoiding your gaze. “Never.”

            “You’re a terrible liar.” You murmur, and he looks to you once more, standing straighter. 

“And you’re prettier without that fucking cloth covering your face.” He snipes, reaching forward to snatch it.

           You lean back  before he can and slap his hand away, moving further into the hall so no one would see the two of you. “I wear it out of respect for my betr-”

            “So no one will try to steal you away?”

            “So he doesn’t have to look upon my plainess!” You snap, heat filling your body. 

              Aemond watches you with a stillness, eye narrowing a bit and you are quick to try and amend the situation. “I’m sorry if I offended you, My Prince. I should fix my tone next time-”

              Then, faster than you can register, he is snatching the veil off of your head with a victorious smile. You panic and rush to grab it, only for him to snatch your arm and spin you until your back was to the wall and he was in front of you.

             “This is indecent- If anyone were to see-” You rush, heat filling your body as you try to push him away.

              “Don’t tell me, you’re afraid your grandfather won’t want to marry you anymore?” He laughs and you fill your eyes well with tears.  He bites his lip while he watches you, head tilting as he awaits your response. But nothing comes, and he looks utterly disappointed. “I made a vow to you……long ago….do you remember?”

              “You made many vows-” You begin, trying to escape from his hold once more before he grabs your chin softly. 

             “I vowed we would find you someone that isn’t two steps from death-”

              “I’m out of options.” You admonish, pushing him off of you and rushing off. 

               Your first week back home was filled with tears, a fact your father didn’t really appreciate. 

             “YOU PLAIN FOOL!” He screamed, his hands whipping across your face making you fall to the floor. “You’ve ruined everything!”

              “I TRIED!” You sobbed, hand coming up to stop the blood pouring from your nose. “I swear it-”

             “You ran away like a coward!”

              “HE SAID I WAS A FUCKTOY!” The second those words leave your mouth your father is snatching your throat, the air being cut off completely as he tightens his hold. You tried scratching at his arm but his hold stayed, tears pouring from your eyes as you fought.

            “If the fucking prince wanted to make you his fucktoy then you should have just shut your mouth. It’s what your mother did.” He sneers before dropping you on the floor. “Once people find out the queen sent you back no one will want you. No. One.”

Your fathers words had been truth that day.

             Once you came back home you were looked down upon, the ward the queen couldn’t fix. The ward even the queen could not marry off. 

              It took you years. You dropped the books, dropped the weight even though you were starving all the time. You began braiding your hair up instead of the braids you saw the Targaryens often wore, and you even learned to stay quiet. Just as your mother had done. 

               Now you sat across from a man willing to marry you, after years of trying to find someone you managed to find him. So why were you so disgusted?

              You tried imagining kids with this man, how you would love them even if their father was a pig. But you couldn’t imagine one. You could only imagine jumping from a window just as Aemond said. That thought brought tears to your eyes as you tried ignoring the man.

              “What happened to your veil? Why am I having to watch you cry?” Verlain snaps, slamming his glass down as he stands. 

               “I’m sorry my lord- I shall go find anoth-” You move to stand and go find another veil, but his hand clamps around your throat as you do, shoving you back down. 

              Fear claims you as you cry out, trying to shove him off you. He presses down on your throat while leaning in. “I’m beginning to lose my patience-”

              He’s whipped off you in an instant and you fall to the ground trying to regain your breath. Your gasping roughly as your vision spots, hands clenched to your dress. 

                “Lady Y/n.” Someone calls, moving to get to your level. You see a white cape and a white beard fill your vision as the person grabs your shoulders gently. “Lady Y/n, are you alright?”

                       “I-I’m fine.” You wheeze, hand gripping onto his armor.  “I just need a moment.”

                   “I was sent to come get you-” Ser Harrold says softly, scooping his arms under yours to help you up. You risk a glance to your right, finding your betrothed standing there angrily, glaring. “I will take you to the queen.”

              “No. No I should stay here with-”

             “I apologize, my lady.” He sighs, “It was not a question.” 

             “Do you realize what we could do if I had a dragon?” Aemond asks, excitement filling his tone as he holds the wooden sword against yours. He had demanded you learn to sword fight with him while his mother thought you were speaking with Helaena like a good young lady.

             Your friend used this time to collect bugs while her brother trained you.

               “We could…. Start a fire?”

             “We could runaway.” He laughs and you reel back, blushing. “We could leave so that you would never have to get married.”

              “Prince Aemond-”

             “Find an island and live there for the rest of our lives-”

              “My prince that would never work-”

              “We could marry!” He laughs and your blush deepens. “No one would ever know.”

             “Why would people not know we are married?” Your heartbeat fastens as embarrassment hits. He always loved teasing you, you often wondered if he knew of your crush and liked making fun of it. 

               “Because they would never be able to tear us apart.” He smiles, not taking any hint of your saddened state, instead just swinging the wooden sword at you. 

               Ser Harrold kept an arm around you even after you insisted you were fine, his cape thrown over your shoulder to keep you warm even though the heavy furs of the winterfell fashion were already hot enough, feeling like you were about to pass out. 

                 “Ser Harrold-” You mumble, swallowing down the urge to get sick as you got closer to the royal hallway. “I swear to you I am-”

              “WHAT HAPPENED?!” Aemond roars, spotting you down the hallway and rushing forward. 

                   His hands find your waist the second he reaches you, gripping tightly as he searches for injuries. Your own hands find themselves gripping onto his upper arms as Ser Harrold lets you go. “My prince I am fine-”

                “I was sent to retrieve Lady Y/n.” Ser Harrold explains, and for a moment you think he is going to keep your secret, but the man has never been one for secrets. “I found Lord Verlain atop of her with his hands around her ne-”

             “Ser Harrold exaggerates…” You lie, looking away from Aemond. The blonde begins to lead you away, walking to his room quickly and leaving the guard behind. 

           “This is unseemly-”

             “I am not going to defile you.” He snaps as he leads you in before whirling you around and ripping at your dress.

“AEMOND!” 

                “YOU LOOK TWO MOMENTS AWAY FROM PASSING OUT!” He yells, ripping at the collar of the dress until it tears, revealing the bruising on your neck. Your hand flies up to stop him from seeing, embarrassment clinging to you. 

“It’s not how it looks-”

                  “I take it that today has not been the first incident of his anger.” He snaps, taking a step back and breathing in. 

               “Prince-”

                  “Enough with the prince! It’s Aemond! You call me Aemond.” He sighs, stepping closer. “I do not wish to fight you on this-”

              “Then please do not tell your mother, she will refuse the engagement-”

                “I refuse the engagement-”

             “You do not have that power-”

             “Then I say I defiled you.” You take a large step back, eyes wild with shock as he processes his own words. 

                “You risk my reputation?! Do you truly hate me that much?”

              “Hate you? Is that what you think? That I hate you?” He looks hurt at the thought, and that pulls a laugh from your lips. 

            “You proved as much the last time I saw you.”

             “You never let me explain. Please just- Please give me a moment to-”

                 “You would tell the world you defiled me and now you want me to give you a moment to explain why you hate me-” His hands come up to grab at your jaw, you flinch back until you realize his touch is gentler than ever, moving your head to look at him.

             “I will give you anything for just five minutes. Five minutes and then I will let you walk out of this room and stop prolonging this engagement to that fucking corpse. Please….” He begs, bringing your foreheads together. “I beg of you Y/n. You have done nothing but plague my mind, body and soul. I am a man possessed with no actual lifeline without you near.  My lungs are filled with smoke when you do not speak to me and my heart bleeds when you are gone. Please-”

             “Fine.” You whisper, clutching his own arms as you let the tears fall. “But after this you tell your mother you approve and you let me do my job.”

            Aemond Targaryen never understood why people didn’t just say what they thought. 

              He hated when his mother made snide comments that you had to think about before understanding she was mocking you, he hated how you had to deriddle everything his sister said just to understand what she was trying to say. That’s one of the rare things he liked about his brother Aegon, how Aegon always spoke his mind and refused to be treated like an idiot. 

          Though Aemond didn’t realize that no females in his life absolutely hated his brother, Aemond didn’t see his mothers sickness for her eldest son. 

             But Aemond also didn’t realize how twisted words could be when one was angry or hurt. A dragon backed into a corner was destructive to everything near it, including itself. 

            He remembers your face as he angrily repeated the words his brother had said to him hours before, as he called you a fucktoy. A lowborn, boring fucktoy, to be exact. 

             He remembers how his lungs constricted on your first sob, and the bile that rose in his throat when pushed past him to run away. 

           He remembers puking on the floor, both eyes watering with tears, his left eye leaking blood with the salty drops. 

              He remembers being a coward for the week after, and not being able to look at you. You, the girl he had loved. You, the one who took a knife to the arm for him. The one that listened to him and let him practice kissing you when he claimed Aegon made fun of him for it. 

               When he finally built up the courage to apologize you were always just out of reach, running away. 

           He remembers throwing a fit the day his mother told him you were in a carriage going back home. He also remembers how they locked Vhagar up so he couldn’t fly to get you.  

            He sits you on one of the chairs in his room, kneeling before you with his hands in your lap as he talks, tears falling freely from both of you as you listen intently. 

               Panic claims him, fearing that you would still leave after this, after finding out what he has done. As he explains he silently begs you to just stay, looking up at your face and trying to memorize every beautiful detail he can before you disappear.

                  His mother says he is a monster. 

                 She claims to hate how emotionless he has become and begs him to talk to her. She wants to fix the problem, he knows this, but how does he tell his mother he misses his childhood companion he has not seen in 2 years. 

               How does he tell his mother he feels empty and disgusting, that he sees your hurt expression every night before bed, hearing the words he spoke over and over until the son comes up. 

             Instead, he asks about you. “Have you heard from Lady Y/n?”

           A look of sadness crosses his mothers face as she sits before him, realization setting in. “You can miss her, you know? It’s very common. I miss my best friend.”

             “You don’t understand. I ruined it. I made her hate me.” He snaps, looking away. Her hand grabs his chin and forces his eye back to hers. 

              “And you think she would care for you becoming a monster? Look at your sister and I, so you want to turn out like us?”

               No. The thought of hurting her again kills him. 

                “Think upon it, think about being the man she deserves.”

               So he did. 

                He read the books he was sure you would like, and he learned to braid hair the way his sister always did for you. He trained Vhagar and thought of your reaction. 

               He also……… might have scared off any suitors you would have for years. 

                That was until his mother received the news of Lord Verlain. 

                 Aemond was shocked, he hadn’t even known Verlain was meeting you as a suitor, so he had his spies send a report. 

                 Your father had set up a hasty arrangement with the old man so that no one would argue it, planning on marrying you off before the word got out. Aemond sent his own raven the day he found out, claiming the queen wanted an audience to approve of the marriage herself. 

           In the week before you arrived he made his case to his mother, telling her of the lord's gambling debts and how his third wife was killed in order to pay. He told her of the second  wives suicide and his anger issues. 

             He begged and pleaded with her. She finally ended up asking “When I say no what will she do? Her life will be ruined.”

              Aemond did not hesitate in his response, telling his mother “I would marry her. If she will have me I will marry her in an instant.”

                  So they made a plan, she would postpone it as long as she could while he found a way to talk to you. 

               But then he saw you in the throne room that day, and his entire being fell. He was back to that weak boy that broke your heart, the weak boy who was so sure you didn’t love him that he refused to think of telling you how he felt. 

           “This….entire time…. You have been messing up my chances of-”

            “I’m sorry.” He whispers, forehead landing on your knee as he clings to you. “I need you. I cannot lose you-”

           “My father has already paid the dowry of the engagement, I’m to be married-”

            “I will pay your father back.” Aemond states, finally looking up.

              “We would have no money for your dowry. We could give you nothing.”

               “I don’t want it. I don’t need it. I need you.” He smiles, leaning up until your foreheads were once again touching. “I was an angry fool-”

                “Aemond, please.” You cry, hands clinging to his own that were now sitting on your jaw. “This is cruel. You do not want me, you can’t.”

            “If you dare tell me you are plain, I will rip out your fathers tongue and feed it to a horse.” He snaps, drawing a laugh from you. 

             “There is no way of ending this engagement.” You sniffle, face blotchy from all the tears. “I am sorry but-”

                 “There is one way….” 

                    Aemond Targaryen split his hand open on the great hills of westeros, allowing you to do the same before pressing the bloodied palms together and tying a cloth around the conjoined hands. 

                  His sister stood behind as a witness as well as your maid, both watching silently as Aemond pressed some of this blood onto his thumb and smeared it on your forehead. “One flesh, one heart, one soul, bound together by the old gods and the new.”

                You repeat his movements and words, leaning up to bump noses as the wind picks up. “Bound together by the old gods and the new.” 

             The dinner arrives the next day, as requested by the queen. 

               You walk in beside Aemond and allow him to pull out a seat before taking the one next to yours, a smirk upon his features as your nerves begin to set in. He reaches to hold your hand, his thumb rubbing up the scar from that night. 

           You look to Lord Verlain, a glare already laced onto his features as your father clears his throat. “My Queen…. I was hoping we could finally discuss my daughter's engagement.”

           “It has been handled,  Lord Y/L/N,” Aemond sneers, leaning forward. “We shall make sure to pay you back for her dowry-”

            “I was talking to the queen.” You father snaps, confusion taking over his features. 

           “As my son was saying,” She sighs, glaring at the man. “The crown will pay for Y/ns dowry that you paid Lord Verlain all too quickly.”

            “WHAT OF MY MARRIAGE?!” Verlain yells, standing up and slamming his fist on the table. 

              “My my, I think that’s the quickest I’ve seen the old man move.” Aemond snarks as both his siblings laugh, a faint laugh coming from you. 

             “I know what you are planning boy. And I will not have it.” He snaps, turning his sharp gaze to you. “Lady Y/n has already been taken by me. She has been-”

          It’s Aemonds turn to slam his hands on the table, sneering. “Say one word about defiling my wife and I will rip out your fucking tongue.”

                “Wife? By what means?” Your father snaps, hand flying to his sword.

             “Yesterday, under the means of a priest and the old gods and new. We consummated last night, the priest bearing witness to Lady Y/ns chasity for we knew this old fraud would lie-”

             You scream as Verlain unsheathes his sword, hand flying to grab Aemonds arm and pull him away, but your husband beat the fool to the punch and drove his own sword through his chest. He tears it out as the blood sprays before looking around the room. “Anyone else?”

               He kisses your scar that night, tracing his lips up your arm and kissing each it over and over while you lay beneath him. 

                “My love, bleeding for me before I deserved it-”

           “Oh stop. The blade barely touched me-” You begin to argue before he is leaning down to kiss you, one hand holding him up while the other tugs at the strings of the robe you were wearing. 

            You get embarrassed and try to hide your body, but he is having none of that, pulling your hands to your sides as he admires you. “Let me have you…. With no witnesses here this time. Let me pleasure you. Just as I have been wanting to for years.”

             You don’t say anything, instead just nodding as he lowers himself down to kiss you slowly, his hand leaving yours as he moves to rub your center slowly. 

             His smile is evil as you moan, kissing along your jaw as he works his fingers against you before dipping them in. He spreads them out for a moment, nipping at your throat as he works, thumb rubbing your folds while his fingers begin to thrust. 

                 You’re moaning softly, arms wrapping around his shoulders as he watches you. “Isn’t this so much better than having your husband have a stroke atop you?”

                 A small laugh escapes you before he speeds up his fingers, a moan replacing it. “Yes…..”

             “I would have never let that happen, even if you hadn’t married me I would never let that man ruin you.” He admits watching as your breath begins to catch and your back arches, knowing you are close. “Don’t fight it, let it go.”

              And you do, your eyes shut tightly as your things clench around his arm, your body shaking as you come undone on his fingers. “I’m sorry.”

                He laughs, bringing his fingers up to his mouth to suck them clean, licking them as much as he can. “Why are you sorry? It’s my job….”

              You look at him curiously, still shaking from your orgasm as he removes his pants, crawling between your legs. Just as you did the night before you widened your legs for him and clutched his shoulders, this time you didn’t have to feel ashamed by an old man watching from the corner. 

            This time Aemond didn’t feel the need to cover you from the witness, he could just simply enjoy you.

“What do you mean your job?”

             He enters you slowly, lips against yours as your breath hitches, hands digging into his shoulders. “I am to be your fucktoy, Princess. That is my job.”

         He takes you to the library the next morning, and then takes you against a shelf in the library, before sitting with you while you read.

             He lays his head on your lap just like he used to and enjoys your presence, letting you remove his eyepatch when you’re sure no one could see either of you. 

             “Y/n…” He whispers, making you stop reading aloud and look down to where he is already staring up at you. “I never got to say it-”

              “I love you too.” You smile, leaning down to kiss his forehead. “But I am not getting of Vhagar-”

            “You haven’t even given her a chance!” He laughs.

(I really hope you enjoyed! I actually got a hateful message and have been concerned about the ending since so please tell me what you thought. I have also been debating whether or not to post the inbox message. Let me know. I also know I am better at writing angst then happy endings so if anyone has something they liked or didn’t like please let me know and I will add you to the taglist!)

AEMOND TAGLIST

@Schniiipsel

@Sluttyaemond

@Lovelynerdytraveler

@Rosaryos

@Bbyhangman

@Winxschester

@Neenieweenie

@anthonys-viscountess​

@Ggglitch-exe

@Shnadaidas

@Gaisse-blog

@Dudfahsn

@Afro-hispwriter

@Ghosstbb

@Nerdy4itall

@Gawabby

@Abrielleholland

@Chevyharvelle

@Gloryekaterina

@Immyowndefender

@Ichanelvxgue

@Dangerousbluebirdpoetry

@Destroyingdestiny

@Minaxcarter

@Lawlerek

@Tivedetek4869

@Shawin02

@Maplumebleue-blog-blog

@Applepyesworld

@Solacestyles

@Xinsonyax

@Crazylokonugget

@Mrswhitethornbelikov

@Yu3kkii

@Mell-bell

@Justsumtuffstuff

@Icarusignite

@Nellanottevedote

@Princessmiaelicia

@Ciaraguy9

@m1ndbrand

[dulcewrites]

Fire & Desire

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x reader (mentioned) , Aegon ii Targaryen x reader (wc: 2.2k)

Summary: Many sacrifices have been made to get Aegon on the throne. Including ones made by you

A/N: this had been sitting in my drafts for sooo long. I thought I’d revise it a bit, give me a bit of a break from fool me once. Hope y’all like it 🫶🏽🫶🏽. Sorry if there is lots of typos this was sort of posted on a whim

When Aegon becomes King, it is up to us to guild him in the right direction. To have the ear of your husband is ever important…. That may mean giving things up in return.

The words had been ringing in your head all night. Along with the image of Alicent’s uncomfortable grimace. Your instinct was the ask her what she meant by that; play silly and confused. Easily moldable and docile, the way most people like.

But you know your good mother too well for that. She knows all. You should have seen this moment coming.

The next thing you wanted to do was apologize. Tell her that you do not know how you got yourself in this predicament. But Aegon has never been one to apologize for his indiscretions, so why should you. All you can give her a curt nod.

You know she advices you without any malice. The bolstering hate you sometimes saw in Queen Alicent, the kind you see in all her children in different dosages, had cooled to a melancholy resentment over the years. She’s grown older, a bit wiser. Or maybe she is just tired.

The type of debilitating exhaustion that only women would get. Women forced to do the bidding of those around them.

It was never going to be simple. It is never easy with this family. An heir that is never around, a dead King that was never suited from the job, and a circle of scheming noblemen. Recipe for chaos and destruction.

Alicent does not have the hope to be disappointed anymore. Everything is for survival now. So much has been given up for this, and now comes your time to pay the price. Just like Alicent has.

If she knows, you can assume that means Aegon does too. He is more observant than anyone would give him for.

There are days he looks at you, and you think he can tell what you have been up to. He can look right through you and see what his brother did to you that morning, or late the night before.

Does he wonder where you run off to, the way you did with him at the beginning of your marriage. When there was a blinding and painful need to make it work. If he does know, you are surprised he has not said anything to do… or to Aemond. Aegon’s emotions flow hot and wild. Being on the opposite end of it is a sight. But then he levels off, normally numbs whatever he feels with wine or whores. He is simple in a complicated way.

If he has any inkling about what you have been doing, he has not made it known. You don’t know if that is a relief or if it hurts. None of that Targaryen madness dealt out for his wife.

Your thoughts are broken when he stalks in. Freshly washed, slight bruises on his face, and wrapped in despair.

He does now acknowledge for presence, just climbs into bed after blowing out the few candles on his side of the room. The two of you lay in silence before you feel like you will crawl out of your skin if you do not say anything.

“I will stop seeing him… in that way,” you say into the darkness, voice stronger than you thought it would be. “If that pleases you.”

You turn from your back to your side to face him; you are greeted with a eyeful of silvery hair that seems to glow in the dark. His back facing you, rigid and uncomfortable.

“Aegon, did yo-“

“I heard you the first time,” he sighs, interrupting you.

There is more silence. You continue to stare at his back, till he slowly turns to face you. Even in the dark you can see the frown on his face. The moonlight illuminating him It is like speaking with his mother all over again. Does Alicent look at Aegon and get frightened? To give birth to someone who looks so much like you but disappoints you so deeply must be haunting. A terrible mirror to have.

“I am surprised you are even admitting it,” he mutters.

You decide not to tell him that the admission comes at the behest of his mother. There is no need to add to the list of things that splitter that relationship.

“We are going to need each other, now more than never. I am willing to admit… wrongdoing and repent for it. But we both have to do that for it to work.”

Your tongue feels heavy calling whatever Aemond, and you have wrongdoing. The proper term for it does not come because you don’t know what you two are. Lovers, confidants, prisoners. It’s all the same.

The frown deep softens a bit.

“Aenar is mine.”

It comes out like statement, but you suppose it is meant to be a question. Aenar is all Aegon is best and worst ways. Sweet cherubic features and a rambunctious spirit. They even pout in the same way when they do not get what they want. They are so alike that it stupidly makes you wonder at what age he will let you down. The way his father has before him.

“He is yours,” you whisper. “A tiny terror.”

Aegon lets out a short fit of playful laughter. The affection Aegon has towards the kids is something you were constantly taken aback by. When he was around, and in his right mind, he is electric with them. It made you a bit jealous. You pushed your body to the max, and Aenar follows him like he is a god. A Targaryen God.

“But Valaena…” he trials off bitterly.

You do not answer immediately. While Aemond barely even looked at you by the time you became pregnant with Aenar, things were different by the time you had your little girl. Your relationship with Aemond sweet and syrupy. The glow of intimacy neither of you had experienced before.

“No, she is yours.”

It is easier to say that, her features still soft and indiscernible. You think she is his. You hope for his sake she is. Aegon becomes extra warm around her. Baby talk and soft looks of love.

Perhaps you hope he is for her sake as well. If Aemond thinks Valaena is his daughter, he makes no effort to show it. At first, you thought it was him being smart. Knowing that taking too much of a liking would be suspicious. Then you quickly learned he just has no interest in that part of you. Sometimes you fear he sees that extension of you, your kids, as obstacles instead.

Living and breathing embodiments of the duty you put first.

“You would really stop,” Aegon rips you from his thoughts. “Tell Aemond that it is done?”

His voice lifts intrigued. A different conversation you had with Alicent floats in your mind.

Their want for different things keeps them from expressing their love, but it is there.

“Will you stop fathering flea bottom bastards?”

Aegon scoffs at your question, but nonetheless shuffles closer to you. He smells like lemon and roses.

“This is going to be so bad,” his voice wobbles a bit.

You want to agree, because it will; it is going to be blood spilling amounts of terrible. Instead of expressing that you lean forward too.

It is how the two of you fall asleep. Foreheads pressed together, noses brushing, and slow breathes mangled together.

Is that what having your husband’s ear is like?

You know you are staring, unabashedly and grotesquely.

The only saving grace being that you are not the only one. Everyone in the dragon pit has their gaze on Aegon. Small folk watch on in confusion or admiration. Everyone on the stage hold more somber or stoic faces. Everyone accept Otto that is, who looks as pleased as you have ever seen him.

Alicent’s face is serenely flat. Helaena cannot look at her brother for too long, looking away at times. You do not dare turn to see Aemond’s reaction. Especially not after avoiding him all morning. There was a sinking feeling you got when your lady in waiting told he was outside of the door. Cowardly, you told her to tell him you were occupied. You did not know what to say to him yet.

Now all you can do if stare, and fiddle with the crisp fabric of your mute pink and gardenia dress.

It is terribly quiet in the pit. It only makes the affair even more uneasy.

There is something so devastatingly beautiful about his tear-stained face. You enjoy Aegon like this. Needy, helpless, and metaphorically flat on his back with shock and despair.

When he finally rises, Conqueror’s crown on his head, his eyes darts to everyone on stage. When his large, watery eyes finally get to you, you try to give him an encouraging smile. You are sure it reads more painful than reassuring or comforting. You bow your head expectedly.

King Aegon, Second of His Name. Gods helps you all.

The tides change once he turns to face the crowd. When the cheers start, there goes your meek Aegon. He lifts Blackfyre with a vigor you have never seen from your husband. There is a satisfaction that radiates off him. It’s stunning and terrifying to watch.

Despite everything, your eyes tear themselves away long enough to briefly glance at Aemond. If Aegon’s feeling burn fast and dissipate to light fizzles of hate, then Aemond’s resentment simmers for years, and flares when the flames are fanned.

His eyes never leave his brother’s back. Everyone enraptured by Aegon’s attitude change for different reasons.

The cheers reach their peak, and foolishly you think maybe things will be alright.

Then everything goes black.

This is going to be so bad

It is only in the comfort of his own chambers, where Aemond feels like he can finally let out the breath he has been holding in for days.

His stomach has been in knots for days, waves nausea fluttering in certain moments. It reminds him of after he first lost his eye. He would get such painful headaches that it made sick. 

Now it is not his lack of an eye ailing him, it is you.

He should have known something was wrong when you would not allow him to see you. The necklace was missing too. The sterling silver locket with a sparkling sapphire in the middle of it. You had not taken it off since he gifted it to you… till today.

Aemond knows what it means.

You could barely meet his eye, as if you think your rejection would break him. He would rather gouge his other eye out than give Aegon the satisfaction of that.

The only time you seemed aware of his presence is when you squeezed his arm when they were all face to face with Meleys. The squeeze was surprisingly strong. Though it was not a scared squeeze, it was almost reassuring. You were ready to die. You had told him one night; whispered it in the dark. You knew it would be coming, and sooner than you wanted.

“Of course, we are going to die young,” you smile with little mirth. “Think of family we are in.” 

You had only expressed sadness for your children. That you hope when that time comes someone kind will take care of them and prayed, they would remember you as a gentle mother.

What a way it would’ve been to die at the fire of dragon. You, him, his siblings, and his mother… one big happy family.

Aemond decides not to tell you that sometimes he goes in Valaena’s room and just looks. He waits for the paternal instincts to kick in. One day he expects to look and see flashes of himself. As of now all he sees is your eyes. He supposes that is the next best thing. He already must see his brother, and mini version of him that hides behind your skirts.

He has no desire to take care a child right now, and he is not even sure she is his. But to be bound to you another way would be so lovely. So many parts of him are now yours, and vice versa. What is one more?

Aemond is not mad. He finds the whole idea of a mad Targaryen a bit macabre, even for his taste.

But he sees visions of Aegon sitting the throne with you at his side as queen and thinks it would be ok to see King’s Landing up in flames. Even better if he is the one to light the fire.

He saw the way your demeanor instantly shifted. Tending to hurt small folk, telling guards where to go and what to do. There was not a lick of fear in your eyes when someone addressed you as the queen. In fact, Aemond was sure he saw a flicker of glee run through your eyes. He cannot fault the self-serving side of you. He wishes to devour it the way he wishes to devour every other part of you.

You would have never agreed to marry Aegon if this outcome was not a possibility. Giving up a chance to have your name in the history books as Queen and your son as future heir is not an opportunity you would give up. Certainly not for him. Aemond knows Rhaenyra is coming. If not his half-sister, then his uncle will be plotting and planning. So, he will do what he always does. Sit and wait. One eye firmly on his clever girl.

When the spark is finally set, he hopes you two will burn together.

[thewulf]

For That Long? || Aragorn

Summary: Request -Hello! 👋 Your work is absolutely amazing! Especially your Aragorn fics (My King! 🗡️👑❤️) In fact, whenever works best for you, here’s an idea: During the victory celebration at Helm’s Deep, the reader (also a Dunedain Ranger) offers a quick dance lesson for Aragorn to a) enjoy the celebration with him and.... Read Rest Here

A/N: Thank you for the sweetest little request anon! I had too much fun writing this one. I love trying to get into his head. Keep sending amazing requests my way! And thank you for you kind comments!

Pairing: Aragorn x Reader

Word Count: 3.5k +

TW: fluff?

“Not like that, Strider.” You giggled something fierce as he tripped over his own feet for the umpteenth time that night. Somehow you had convinced him to dance with you after quite literally decades of trying to get him as your partner.

“Have I not already told you how hopeless this is, Callia?” He asked you by your chosen Ranger name. You had to abandon Y/N when you left home all those years ago. If you were captured you must never give up your true name for your family could bear danger to your chosen work.

“You just need to relax yourself. Your mind.” You poked his forehead while grinning from ear to ear.

He sighed, “I cannot keep making a fool of myself in front of…”

You stopped him by placing his hand on your hip catching him most off guard, “My King overthinks.” You whispered as you took a soft step towards him. He smelled good. Like of the woody scent he naturally had but even better.

“I am no King.”

You smiled more to yourself than him, “Not yet. But the people have decided. It be but a mere month and you shall be.”

“It does not feel right hearing you call me that, my lady.” He countered while raising his eyebrows right up waiting for your retaliation.

Trying your best, but failing, you made a face in reaction, “You know I am hardly a lady.”

He hummed. Not even realizing you had begun to lead him you kept talking trying to rid his mind of the thoughts that plagued him. For if there was anybody who knew Strider better than himself it was you. Time had a way of making your heart the softest for him and truly only him. Countless sleepless nights of diving into your worst nightmares and trauma would find a way to bond the two seemingly hopeless souls.

“The opposite is true.” He smiled down at you with a look you had rarely seen from the hardened leader. You had been away from him longer than you wished. He had told you to go to Minas Tirith after getting orders from Gandalf to help the Hobbits of the Shire. You had heard the story of the great Bilbo Baggins and now apparently Strider had to accompany his nephew, Frodo. He had told you to go to Minas Tirith and wait for his word.

That had been six months ago. You had gotten used to life without him how odd it may seem. You had made a few friends that you probably never would have had Strider joined you. It was terribly uncomfortable. Your simple life changed when you had gotten word from him asking you to join him in Rohan. He knew something was coming and needed all the help he could get.

“A lady does not count her kills.” You spoke breaking the comfortable silence between the two of you. A shift occurred as he had taken control of the dancing now. Your easy banter all but freeing his mind from his thoughts. Dancing wasn’t so bad. Especially if he got to hold you like this.

“By your definition.” He smirked down but dared not look into your eyes for he knew he would cave to any of your demands, “Not by mine. And did you not say I was to be King?”

You fought every urge in you not to pinch his side, “You are impossible.”

“Do you not refute, my lady?” His smirk only grew as he noticed your face fighting the urge to react. It was amusing watching you try and stay neutral. For he had missed this. Sure, it was not only the two of you dancing but it had felt like it. You had a way of taking his mind off of whatever he needed. You had always seemed to have known what he may have needed.

“It is no use in arguing with you, Aragorn.” You gave him the eye letting him know you were not over the little secret he had kept from you for so long. You had only found out of the name when Legolas shouted it on the battlefield almost costing you your life. It had left you stunned. Who was Aragorn and why had Strider reacted as if it was his name.

Because it was. He had apologized profusely before you finally gave in. Leading you to this moment with him. You had finally convinced him he needed to learn how to properly dance since he was to be the king. And lucky for him you so happened to know many dances as your mother had insisted a girl your age to learn them all those years ago in Dúnedain.

An amused smile crossed his features as he led you across the dance floor. Maybe he was not so pathetic after all, “It is not like you, Callia, to bite your tongue.”

“Hush you.” A laugh escaped you. It was no use trying to hide your own amusement. Yes, he pushed you, but it had also shown you how much he too cared for you.

He slowly stopped the two of you from your dance before replying, “You are most fortunate the music has ended."

A quick nod left you head as it spun out of control by his soft touch and daring words, “Most fortunate indeed.” Begrudgingly you took a step back knowing the moment between the two of you had ended.

But his words had stopped you from turning all the way around, “I will stop teasing you if you lead me in another dance. For I must learn. I do not wish to embarrass you.”

You only grinned before stepping back into his hands, “You could never embarrass me Strider.”

Your eyes glistened with unshed tears as you took in the breathtaking room before you. Stifling a laugh, you couldn’t truly believe you had made it here with him, alive and in one piece. Your truest and oldest friend crowned the King of Gondor. How you would never have believed this only three years prior. You watched as royalty and common people alike danced with joy and glee for their newfound leader. Aragorn. It felt the most surreal as you watched him mingle with people that mattered. A King. Who would’ve thought. Glancing down at your nearly empty glass you sighed knowing you had to make the walk back to get another drink.

But you never made it as you were intercepted by nonother the man you were watching far too often that night, “Strider!” You smiled trying to play it off as nothing as his broad hands covered the length of your forearm with ease, “You best get dancing. You have many eyes on you, my King.” You grinned with ease knowing calling him such made him uncomfortable. You truly had known him as Strider for as long as you could remember. You’d met as teenagers in your youth, kids from Dúnedain.

Your fathers were friends keeping you close together often until he went off on his own. When it came time to leave you had heard Strider was a Ranger. Having a feeling you’d run into him again you weren’t surprised you were assigned to his company not long after you left home to find a purpose. Just like him. In a lot of ways, you were the same. But in so many different.

For the last sixty or so years the two of you became something of a menace in the North. Something to be feared. Always working as a team, the two of you always seemed to come out of battles unscathed.

He grumbled in response to the title name you had used on him, “I have told you not to call me that. It does not feel right hearing those words from you. Strider will do.”

You smiled seeing how you managed to get under his skin with such ease, “Strider is too informal. May I call you Aragorn at least?”

“I think Strider is perfectly formal. But you may call me as you see fit. So long as it is not, my King.” He smiled right back at you. Even he had to admit how nice it was seeing you so at ease. He had roamed the North for nearly sixty years with you. He had never seen you so relaxed. He was sure he had seen you smiling more tonight than he had in the past sixty combined. You smiled like that bright eyed teenager who had an obvious crush on the older teen. It was times like these that made him wish he had told you how he had felt the same. He had longed for you for so long in silence. He had a duty to uphold. But now? Time was different. He needed somebody on his side. He had always known that somebody was you.

You bowed just knowing it would push his nerves further, “As my King wishes, I shall only refer to him as Aragorn.”

His mouth dropped at your brazenness, but he should have known better. He was convinced you were placed with him was to keep hm grounded. You had a certain way about you that had him acting his very best, “Y/N.” He let out an audible sigh letting you know he was annoyed.

“Strider.” You raised an eyebrow as if to challenge him knowing that name was now obsolete in your vocabulary. He was Aragorn now. You could get used to it.

He looked to the dance floor before turning back to you, “Would you join me in a dance?” He held his hand out for you to take giving you your favorite impatient face. It was your favorite thing to do after all, push his buttons.

Your smirk turned up into a genuine smile, “This is a pleasant change. I would be honored to join you in a dance, Aragorn.”

“Are you going to choose a name Callia?” He grumbled as you placed your hand in his. His smile never faltered even though he pretended to be most annoyed by you. It wasn’t lost on your how gently he wrapped his hand around yours before nodding his head to the nearly empty ballroom floor.

You giggled more to yourself knowing how annoyed he was with you. Maybe you should stop winding him up. It was almost too much fun to stop though, “Am I not allowed to interchange two of your many names?” You followed along his lead down to the center of the empty floor.

He stopped once he had found a place good enough. Placed one hand over your hip and one behind your back, “Hands on my shoulders.” His voice dropped nearly an octave as he gave you a simple order. A shiver ran down your side at his touch. This was new for you as well. Sure, you had found him ever so attractive, but he hadn’t the slightest interest in you. Everything was platonic as could be between the two of you. So, you had backed off and kept it cool knowing nothing was ever going to happen.

You did as he wished and wrapped your hands around his neck, far more intimate than you had intended but you were committed now. It would be almost more embarrassing to unwrap yourself from him, “You did not answer my question.” You spoke trying to rid your mind of overthinking this situation you had seemed to find yourself in.

He gave you a grin as his eyes trailed all over your face, “I was only playing with you. You may call me as you please.”

Before you could answer the music started forcing your concentration of following his lead. It was impressive how quickly he had picked up on the steps of the dances you had only taught him only a few times a month ago. It had been a little over a month after the Celebration of Helm’s Deep after the hell that was the battle.

You were almost upset when the music had stopped knowing his hands would soon leave you. It was not right to have these feelings for such a longtime friend. Let alone the King of Gondor. But how could you not? He was Strider the great Ranger of the North. He was Aragorn the leader of the Fellowship. He was the King of Gondor. He was everything.

Fortunate for you he hadn’t move his hands from your waist even as the music stopped, “I do think I should call you Aragorn. It suits your stature. You have outgrown Strider.”

He bowed his head before slowly bringing his eyes up to yours, “Then Aragorn I shall be, my lady.” He was smirking now knowing how much you too loathed the high title he had seemed to start calling you.

With a frustrated breath your eyes narrowed at his, “If you shall call me my lady, then I will call you my King.” You too didn’t enjoy how the high title rolled off his lips. You were anything but a lady even in the dress you protested but had been convinced of.

He let out a breathy chuckle as he finally came back to his senses and let his hands go of your waist. You feared to admit how much you had enjoyed his touch and closeness, “I suppose that is fair, Callia.”

Stepping forward to straighten his collar you could only smile up at him in adoration, “You look very handsome tonight. Who knew you cleaned up so well?”

He took your hand in his once more, “It took a fair bit of work. But I must say, it is you who shines the brightest tonight.”

He had never complimented you so forthright before it drew a small gasp out of your very own mouth, “You are most kind to me. Thank you Aragorn.” You were suddenly thankful you had put some makeup on. You were praying it was covering up the sure-fire pink tint that was bound to be covering your cheeks.

He watched as you turned away from him, “You must get back to your advisor. He looks very weary over in the corner.” You tried a good excuse to walk away from him. He was suddenly becoming too much even for you.

“Wait,” You stopped and turned back to him with that subtle blush coating your face. When you stopped he continued, “Come take a walk with me. I wish to talk with just you.” His darting eyes let you know people were listening, always listening in now that he had such a high title.

“As you wish.” You followed him as he left the hall as discretely as he could.

The two of you had made it all the way to the gardens before he had spoken once more, “I want to thank you, Y/N.” By speaking your true born name, you knew this was serious. There was no playfulness of my lady or the knowing name of Callie. Y/N.

You had no clue where this was coming from. Truly, you rattled your mind for further thoughts before you gave in, “Whatever for?”

He smiled as he led you down the path of roses he had grown fond of in his short time here, “For always being there for me. You have shown up for me time and time yet again.” He paused taking your hand in his before placing a gentle kiss on the back of it. Had he no idea what he was doing to you?

“You are my truest friend.” You answered honestly after a few long moments of trying your hardest not to cave into whatever was taking over your mind. He was your friend! Only a friend. That is all he had ever wanted. He was simply thanking you for the journey. That was all. One chapter of your lives had closed and the next was to begin. You had to wonder where you would end up. In the capital being a guard? Roaming the woodland realms for danger? Head home and care for your aging parents? The choices were endless for your new life.

He let out a short laugh, “For that you are. May I tell you something?”

“Anything.” The response was so automatic it almost took you by surprise.

“If not for you, I would not be here.” He spoke quickly.

It took you much longer to process those words, “What do you mean?”

“If I had not known you would always be there I would not be king.” He smiled as his eyes traced your nervous face. You were truly the most beautiful woman he had ever known. How had he gotten so lucky with you? And by any other stroke of luck, you would accept his next question that had been weighing heavily on his mind.

“I am not sure what you mean Aragorn.” Your heart rate sped up just a tad as he stepped back from you. He fished something out of his robe pocked. Your eyes went wide as he held an old relic. A beautiful ring covered in gemstones.

“You have always been there for me Y/N. I fear nobody could ever take that place. I wish nobody to take that place. For I am the happiest when I am with you. Those last six months have not been good for me. But now that I am back with you I feel whole once again. There is no lady that could take your place Y/N. For your place is next to me.” The last words to come out of his mouth almost came out as a whisper for even he was nervous. The mighty King of Gondor afraid of some feelings he had almost his entire life. Oh, how his father would be laughing now.

Your heart rate kicked it up another notch. It felt like you had been training it was racing so fast, “Forgive me, I fear I am not enough…”

He stopped you this time though by placing a gentle finger on your lips, “I wish to not hear you speak poorly of yourself. For I do not respect those words. I will never believe them. I do know your entirely Y/N. Please, do me the honor of letting me court you.”

Your breath had been taken from you now, “You like me?” You had managed to get out feeling oddly faint.

“I love you.” He said so effortlessly you weren’t sure you had him quite right.

Your eyes turned up to his as he stepped closer to you, “You love me?”

A quick nod came from his head as his eyes bore right into yours, “I do.”

“I love you, too.” You spoke back before you could let your thoughts get the better of you.

His hands moved to your cheeks as he held you in his own, “For nearly seventy years I have yearned to hear those words from your lips.”

“For that long?” You asked in bewilderment to his statement. How had he kept it from you with such ease? It amazed you he had managed to be so stoic when you had been so obvious. Why had he fought it for so long?

He did what you least expected and bowed down to you, slowly. He had made sure you knew his intention, “I may not have always been wise to it but indeed. I have always loved you.”

You nodded quickly, your smile beaming brighter than ever before. He was sure that was his new favorite look on you, “Yea.”

“Yea?” He asked you as confirmation.

“I accept. I would be honored to stand by your side Aragorn.” Before you could bow to him he caught your chin in his hand shaking his hand to let you know that would be most unnecessary.

“You are doing me the honor.” He fastened the necklace with the ring on your neck tucking it underneath the top of your dress. His hands trailed down your sides resting on your hip for longer than he should have. He needed to take a step back or he would kiss you. Not that you wouldn’t let him, no. He was sure you would be more than happy about it. He simply wanted to charm you before he kissed you. He would not rush into this with you. For he had taken nearly seventy years to admit how he had felt. What was a little longer?

“You made it, Strider. You did it.” You brushed his wavy hair away from his face knowing that would be the last time you referred to him as such. From here forth he would be Aragorn. And you would wed him. How a life you dreamed of had come to fruition was beyond you.

He shook his head grabbing at your hands once more, “We made it. We did it.” He spoke of all the wishes the two of you spoke about in your many long nights. The dreams had seemed to come truer than either of you could have imagined. It almost didn’t feel real.

You nodded with nothing but love in your eyes, “Indeed, we did it.”

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[siilvan]

soap headcanons

characters: johnny “soap” mactavish

summary: general/romantic headcanons!

genre: fluff, gn!reader (no desc.)

warnings: none! :)

note: been dealing with a lot recently, so here’s a low effort fluffy headcanon post with one of my favorite boys— i know it’s bad, but i just threw it together while fighting off sleep and didn’t bother to proofread it </3

his love languages are physical touch and acts of service.

⋆ as i’ve said before, it’s no secret that soap is a touchy guy, especially with the people he likes.

⋆ that being said, a casual high-five or side hug is vastly different from the way he touches you. instead of friendly taps and sarcastic banter, there’s a certain fondness in his gaze whenever he reaches for you.

⋆ doesn’t bother hiding his favoritism. if you or anyone else comments on it, he simply shrugs off the claim and drapes an arm across your shoulders. "i think you’re just jealous of 'em," is what most people hear after bringing it up.

⋆ big on acts of service as well!! soap loves doing things for you, no matter how big or small it may be. never demands acknowledgement or repayment for his acts, either - your comfort and happiness are his top priorities.

⋆ getting up early to surprise you with breakfast in bed, running to the store when you need something, handling the household chores so you can sleep in… soap takes every chance he can get to help out.

⋆ if you’re both in the 141, he revels in getting to do things for you while in the field, even after price and ghost chastise him for focusing on you too much. if you’re a civilian, however, soap can’t help but feel guilty every time he leaves you. knowing that you’ll potentially be without him for months, worrying and wondering when he’ll return, having to do everything on your own; the mere thought of it makes him hold you that much tighter every single night.

when he loves, he loves hard.

⋆ soap is a passionate guy, both at work and in his personal life. when he loves someone, he does it with his whole heart and soul. his love is all-consuming and full of warmth, just like the man himself.

⋆ there were plenty of sleepless nights before he confessed to you, hours spent obsessing over what to say and what to do, desperately trying to figure out how to express his feelings. drawings of you filled the pages of his journal– some were more refined, with great care put into each detail, while others were sketches that he snuck in after assignments, when you were too exhausted to notice his eyes flicking between you and the charcoal-covered page.

⋆ if you’re ever in danger, pity the fool that put you there. this man would move heaven and earth for you without a second thought or a single complaint, and there is nothing on this planet that could possibly prevent him from doing so.

⋆ leading off of that– soap is very protective. not unbearably so, he’s not the type of guy to control you or treat you like some kind of property, but he will take any opportunity he can to care for and protect you. he basically appoints himself as your personal bodyguard, regardless of how capable you may be.

⋆ simple things like holding your hand, guiding you through crowds, walking on the outside of the sidewalk, giving you his jacket, and calling or texting you to check in is his bread and butter. if he can’t physically be with you, chances are you’ll end up with someone he trusts by your side. he knows first-hand how dangerous the world is, and soap has no plans of letting you be put in harm’s way.

he is a massive flirt.

⋆ look me in the eyes and tell me he doesn’t know how attractive he is. i’m not saying that soap is a cocky bastard - far from it, in fact - but he’s well aware of the effect he has on people.

⋆ once he discovers something you like, he utterly abuses it. your eyes linger on him whenever he braces himself against the doorframe? well, suddenly it’s the most comfortable way to stand! your mind wanders off to a certain place when he speaks to you in a low voice? my, my… he just remembered another story that he simply must tell.

⋆ once he’s sure that the feelings are mutual, soap is bold. cornering you just to whisper sweet nothings in your ear, placing a hand on your knee or thigh just to watch you squirm, casually slipping cheeky remarks and subtle innuendos into your conversations in front of the team. if you respond in kind? even better. he’d love to go back and forth, to challenge you and see who breaks first.

⋆ unsurprisingly, his resolve crumbles first. despite his confidence and desperate attempts to break you, all it takes is a single ghosting of your lips against his to send him over the edge.

⋆ it’s nigh-impossible to not be confident while in this relationship. soap loves, loves, loves complimenting you at every chance. it doesn’t matter how you look or how you feel; you’re always attractive in his eyes. if you ever try to disagree with him, he’ll just grin and shake his head with a simple, "none o' that, love. you’re perfect just like this."

taglist: @sofasoap , @rohansregret

[redheadspark]

Hawuuuuu can I request 9. pressing their foreheads together with Druig

Thank you

A/N - HAWUU! I love this! Thanks for requesting this, friend!

Strong

Summary - Druig reminds you of your strength

Warnings - Just some fluff :)

“Ya seem glum today,”

“I don’t wanna talk about it, Druig,”

Druig hummed, seeing you hold your knees to your chest and look out the window of your room on the Domo, seeing the raindrops hit the window in a thunderous rhythm as a clap of thunder was over the ship.  He cocked his head at you while he stood in the doorway of your room, not wishing to intrude without your permission.  He knew your room was a sacred place for you, a retreat when things were stressful or tough out in the field or against Deviants.  Druig was the same with his own space, though his room had fewer things and was more bare.  Not your room, filled with small trinkets and homemade gifts from humans that brought a coziness to your space.

“I have a hunch it has something to do with Ikaris,” Druig said, though mentioning the second in command made him squirm for a brief second.  Of course, it was well known that Ikaris and Druig were not the best of friends, nor would they ever be.  Ikaris, though a great leader and fighter, sometimes didn’t catch social cues and was subtle on certain topics. Although it was fun for Druig to see Ikaris make himself comical and almost a fool, he also hated it when that would affect others whom he admired.  Sometimes it was Sersi, sometimes it would be Kingo or even Phastos.

And now it was you.

You said nothing when he mentioned Ikaris, which was enough for Druig to know that he was right.  He then gestured to the doorway into your room, “May I come in?”

You nodded, still watching the window and the raindrops falling down on the window while Druig made his way over to you to sit across from you on the window still.  He felt it in the air as your bright eyes that reminded him of the fresh grass in spring stayed on the glass of the window.

“Ya shouldn’t take anything that Ikaris says to heart, half of it is basically him filled with hot air,” Druig explained as he cocked his head at you.

“He thinks I’m a weak fighter,” You mumbled, Druig paused as he heard the bitterness in your tone while you hugged your knees tighter to yourself and rested your chin on the top of your knees.  It seemed so silly to be wallowing over a simple comment, especially from Ikaris since you too knew of him being a bit too pompous at times.  But that day, after taking on a Deviant on your own and barely driving the assault, Ikaris made the side comment as you walked up to the Domo doused in Deviant blood.  

You walked past him, trying not to bite back at him or punch him across the face from the comment.  But you could hear Thena scolding him as you made your way to your room to cry in the hot shower.

“He’s a liar,” Druig stated, no longer sounding light or aloof like he did moments before.  You finally looked away from the window and over at Druig, seeing him across from you and giving you a sincere gaze that was both truthful and with a hint of anger.  You knew that look on him, it was a look that was laced with truth and in being stubborn in his ways as he then softly smiled.  Something about that smile on his face, it made your stomach flip and flutter.  It didn’t help that he was close enough for you to see how blue his eyes were and how his hair delicately swept over his forehead.  

“You’re one of the strongest fighters we have,” He explained, though you rolled your eyes and was about to look away.  He reached over to take a hand in his, lacing your fingers together to have you look at your connected hands with your breath floating away, “Your strength comes from within.  Something Ikaris can never have himself, or a lot of us for that matter.  I don’t think I have that kind of strength either, and I wish I did.  It’s one of the greatest things I admire about ya.”

Hearing this from Druig, from the Mind Controller himself, made your heart beat a little bit faster.  Feeling his hand in your hand, seeing his eyes pouring into yours to show you that he wasn’t lying, He gave the sensation of being safe, of being important to him, and most of all, being home.  Even after being on the planet for some time and having a strong bond with all the Eternals around you, there was never a time you felt like you were home.  Not until now.

Druig leaned forward, touching his head with yours as he was still pouring his eyes into yours and you were stricken in shock.  He was so close to you, you breathing in his unique scent that was on his skin and seeing his handsome face right there.  How close he was, how intimate it felt between the pair of you, it made you dizzy and yet strong at the same time.  Everything else faded away like the mist, and you were suddenly falling harder and harder for him with each passing second.

“You’re stronger than ya know,” He whispered to him, the soft tremble of his voice made you shiver, “If ya don’t believe, I’ll make ya believe it,”

As he kissed you for the first time in your room, you felt like you had enough strength to take on Ikaris tenfold. 

The End

February Prompt Session

[ghulehunknown]

Creature Comforts - Copia X GN Reader

Photo credit

Rated PG: This fic is purely fluff and comfort; no mature themes aside from discussions about mental health.

Written for my Twitter friend <3

Summary: Papa treats you to a nice spa day after you’ve been dealing with some mental health issues.

CW/Tags: character depression, self deprecation, established relationship

Word Count: 2K

Author’s Note: Better days are ahead, my loves

Hey you busy?

Bloop, goes the familiar whoosh of the sent text message. You sigh, wondering when he’ll be able to respond. You know how busy he’s been lately.

Your phone buzzes almost immediately, to your surprise. You exhale a snort of laughter. A bunch of indecipherable, poorly strung together emojis - and finally, a response.

Never too busy for you, amore. Do you need something?

I’ve had a rough day

I’m exhausted

Can I come to your room tonight?

Oh. You mean our room?

“Our room?” you wonder. Your heart lifts for just a moment before falling back into the sinkhole of your chest as you remember what prompted these feelings that made you so desperate to hear from him in the first place. But you know you could hold it together so long as you had the promise of seeing him tonight. If you could just hold yourself together…

Your fingernails clack together on the screen as you type a response, backspace backspace, type type type.

Yes you old fool

I guess that’s what we’re calling it

In that case…yes, you may. And bring some of your belongings. I have a drawer for you. See you soon, my love. XOXO.

He even includes a little rat emoji.

You heart-react the message as you finish up work for the day. Afterwards you retreat back to your room and slump over your mattress, giving yourself some time to decompress before going to Papa’s - well, your shared room.

You gather some belongings in a tote bag and make your way down the long corridor, finally stopping at the familiar wooden door. You knock, then suddenly feel self-conscious. Should you have just walked in? What if he was undressing? Well, nothing you haven’t already seen -

“Amore,” he says, a pleasant smile on his face as he opens the door for you, gesturing with his arm for you to enter.

“Hey,” you respond quietly, leaning into him and wrapping your arms around his upper half.

He seems slightly taken aback by your very sudden display of affection but quickly reciprocates, enveloping you in his embrace and gently holding the back of your head and kissing the top of it.

The two of you stand there in silence, holding onto one another. You inhale the familiar scent of his cologne as your hands clutch around the soft cotton of his hoodie. Your fingertips rub the cloth fibers, grounding you and giving you comfort before breaking away after a few moments.

“I, eh, didn’t have much time to prepare. But, ah!” He scratches his head as he speaks then leads you into the bathroom.

As you walk into his bathroom your mouth falls open and you drop your tote bag to your side. Illuminated only by candlelight, you find the bathtub filled with warm, soapy water and a mug of tea on a tray resting over the tub.

“Is this…for me?” you ask, turning to look at him.

“Sì, it is. I wasn’t sure when you would arrive so I kept adding more hot water when it got cold. I poured some Epsom salts in to help with your backache, but you can add more if you need it.” He walks over and shows you the taps and bag of bath salts as if you didn’t know how it all worked.

You marvel at the simple act of kindness he offers you. No one had ever done this for you before. “I…I don’t know what to say.”

“Say nothing, but please - enjoy. I have some… business I must attend to, but I will be back soon, I promise.”

“Business? This late?”

“Sì tesoro, but it will only take a moment. Please,” he repeats, gesturing towards the bath again then clasping his hands together again and awkwardly shuffling backwards.

When you glance behind your shoulder again, he’s gone, having gently closed the door behind him. You undress and tie your hair up, then slowly dip your feet in. He had kept the water very warm, but not hot. You ease yourself in all the way, relaxing and feeling your back crack against the tub.

You lean forward to grab the mug of tea. It smells vaguely floral and sweet. You sip and smile; he had remembered just how strong you like your tea.

You close your eyes as your mind starts to wander. All the stress from the week runs through your mind, the fog of depression lifting but still present. The fog had become too familiar and some days all you could see was mist. But some days - the days you spent with Papa - you saw sunshine peek through the clouds.

It hardly seems like any time passes before you hear a knock and a timid opening of the door, just a crack of light shining from his bedroom into the bathroom. His nose pokes through the crack of the door as he clears his throat. “Eh, tesoro? Is it alright if I come in?”

“Of course,” you call, eyes still closed until you hear his footsteps get closer to you. You turn your head and look up at him. In his hands he’s holding a small bouquet of flowers in a vase and a box of your favorite sweets. His hair is ruffled and his cheeks look flushed.

“I didn’t have time to get these before you came over, I hope that’s okay,” he says almost out of breath, sheepishly looking away from your body.

“Okay?” you ask almost confused, but by his next sentence you can tell he does not understand.

“Ah sì, I should have prepared better…and not interrupted your alone time. Mi dispiace, tesoro mio,” he says, setting the items down on the vanity.

“No, Papa, please don’t apologize. It’s just…I…” Your voice begins to falter as your eyes well with tears.

“Oh shit, now I have made you cry.” He looks around for some tissue, muttering incoherently, and decides on balling up some toilet paper and offers it to you.

You shake your head and hide your face in your hands. You don’t want him to see you cry, but you can’t help the tears from flowing.

“I will leave you alone tesoro, I did not mean to upset you.”

“No,” you mumble through your hands.

“Hm?” You hear his knees crack as he groans the same way he does when he gets out of bed in the morning. Now his voice is practically in your ear. “What did you say, my honey?”

“Don’t go,” you say quietly.

“Okie dokie. I can stay here as long as you want me to.” He groans again as he shifts on the balls of his feet and his ankles crack. “Did I upset you, amore?”

You shake your head, finally taking the wadded up toilet paper from his hand and dabbing at your eyes.

He tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “Hmm, okay,” he says matter-of-factly. “Did someone upset you today?”

You shake your head again as you blow your nose into the toilet paper blob.

“Did something happen?” he continues asking.

“Not really,” you respond, turning your tear-stained face to look at him. He looks distressed, his brows furrowed.

He nods, and strokes your temple where he tucked your hair. You shiver and he dips his fingers in the water. He runs the hot water tap for a few seconds then swishes the water around. He wipes his hand off on the towel on the floor then continues stroking your face, his hand still a little damp.

“Why are you sad?” he asks.

“I…I don’t deserve any of this.”

“What do you mean ‘don’t deserve’?”

You gesture around vaguely at your surroundings. “This.” You pause before continuing, then look at him. “You.”

“Oh cara mia, no,” he says, wrapping his arms around your shoulders and kissing the side of your face. He caresses the back of your head, the ends of your hair damp from when you leaned back against the tub earlier.

He pulls back to look you in the eyes, holding your chin in his hand. His red hoodie has several damp spots across the chest. “Listen to me, amore. You deserve everything in this world and more. Much more than this aging fool can give you.”

You give a pathetic little laugh and close your eyes, crying silent tears. His black gloved thumbs wipe them away as he kisses your forehead. “Thank you, Copia. I almost believe it when you say it,” you say.

“Believe it, tesoro. Per me, sei perfetto. Sì?” He looks at you earnestly, his usually intimidating gaze softened under concerned eyebrows.

You nod, your face enveloped in his warm palms.

“How about you change into your pajamas so I can show you which drawer is yours, mm?” he continues, standing up. “I’ll give you a few moments.”

“That sounds good,” you respond with a small smile. Once he steps back out and closes the door behind him, you unplug the drain of the tub and slowly get up.

Your body feels immensely heavy, the water falling off you weighing you down compounded by your aches and pains. But overall you think the Epsom salts did some good because your shoulders feel looser.

You towel off using one of his maroon towels monogrammed with a gold IV and step into your comfortable pajamas. You step over to the sink and complete your nighttime skincare regimen before opening the door back into his room.

Of course, he’s playing a game on his NES and looking very invested in whatever it is. “Oh - eh - ah, there we go,” he says, pausing the game and getting up from his bed. “If you brought some things to keep here, I left…this drawer,” he continues, moving across the room to his dresser and opening one.

“Thank you…does this mean what I think it means?” you ask.

“Well if you think it means you’ll be staying over more often, then yes. I sure hope so.”

You smile at him and start to empty the contents of your bag into the vacant drawer. Some pajamas, a couple of habits, socks, leggings, a sweater, a bra, and underwear. His eyes get wide when he sees your racy red lace thong get tossed into the mix.

“And by staying over, I hope this also means more occasions where I can see you in those,” he says in a lower voice.

“Now Papa, what kind of Sibling do you take me for?” You turn around to face him, placing your hand on his chest.

“The slutty kind?” he blurts out. “Er -”

You burst out laughing, the first time you have actually felt joy all day. “Well, that’s not what I came here for this time.”

“I know, tesoro,” he says, pulling you into a hug. “I know. You know I never expect it, sì? Just because I am Papa does not mean I expect those things, or anything for that matter.”

“Of course,” you respond, squeezing around his torso tighter until he makes a small squeak and clears his throat. You let your arms slack around his trunk.

“Actually I had some very fun other kind of plans for us this evening,” he says slyly.

“What movie are we watching tonight?” you ask, looking up at him.

“Eh - how did you know?”

Sometimes Copia could be a very predictable man, but you liked that about him. “Lucky guess,” you respond, staring at the popcorn bucket and snacks spread across his bed.

“Well don’t just stand around here, go, get in bed!” He pulls away and gestures for you to hop in bed with him.

You cuddle up together, your head resting on his shoulder as he changes the input on his TV and scrolls through the home screen.

“Did you get a new TV?” you ask, not used to seeing the larger size screen. And it was a flatscreen. Wait, was it a smart TV too?

“Sì, I did. It just seemed time to let the old one go.”

“The old one wasn’t even big enough for you to play games on.”

“It did just fine! But, admittedly, the video quality was not so good for movie nights with you.”

“Copia?” you ask.

“Mm?”

“Did you buy the TV for me?”

“..You were a contributing factor,” he half-admits.

You settle back down on his chest and reach for the popcorn, smiling. “You bought it for me.”

Although he never confirms, you’re almost sure you can hear him smile back, if that’s even possible.

English to Italian Translation

Mi dispiace (I’m sorry)

Per me, sei perfetto (To me, you are perfect)

[gyutarling]

CHASING THAT FUZZY FEELING

txt as my favourite shoegaze songs

♯ — txt x gn!reader ⋆ fluff ⋆ angst ⋆ blurbs

warnings! — cringe, cheesy, not proofread, lowercase intended, extremely corny

note — i'm not completely satisfied w soob's n tyun's T-T notes, reblogs, feedback always appreciated!

YEONJUN — lovely crawl by fleeting joys

"i’m looking for something that’s lost in the light"

yeonjun can be considered what some would call a hedonist. always looking for cheap thrills, things that numb and burn, that die out just as quickly as he does come morning time. everyone knows it, they pity him, and they pity you. you, who despite being aware of yeonjun’s ways, fell victim to his never-ending pursuit of pleasure. he’s here for a good time, you’re here for a long time. you thought you’d be content with the superficial affection he provides, but alas, you long for substance. constantly teetering on the edge of nothing and something, yeonjun only wants you at your best, and your best is when you’re igniting his flame of hedonism. it drowns you— the noise, the strobelights, the waiting. you’re always waiting for more, for something. but on fleeting occasions, when yeonjun’s not even conscious, passed out on the floor from the highs of self-indulgence from the night before, when it’s quiet. that’s when you can crawl up next to him, the physical closeness aids in the illusion of there being something more.

SOOBIN — bloom by glare

"your smile blooms one on me"

to say that soobin is the embodiment of a first love is like saying the sky is blue. but it’s not the exciting, puppy love type that people always say it is. falling for him is a slow descend, that budding feeling that grows, a kind of affection that’s been there all along, it just needed to sprout. soobin is a flower. a flower that opens up when the time is right, and when it is, he brings a soft hue of salvation to your bleak world. you may be fooled, because a beautiful flower can be admired by many, but you know that the blossoming emotions that soobin feels are true to only you. delicate but strong, he can withstand all the harsh conditions that the world rains down on him because you’re here, it’s a mutual assurance. it’s a love that’s gentle and nurturing, in the way that he makes you want to grow and become beautiful just like him. he supports you in every step of the way, with a smile, and it’s all you need, really.

BEOMGYU - mellow by whirr

"always between me and you"

beomgyu is aware of the ephemerality of life. he thinks there’s a certain beauty to it, honestly, how nothing lasts forever. that’s why he would consider himself a simple person, taking pleasure in the little things that make up the transience called happiness. but deep down, beomgyu is afraid. he has been loved before, and he has loved, too. he has loved too much, too intensely— but unfortunately, love is not an exception, regardless of how much beomgyu wished otherwise. so when you came into his life, beomgyu desperately hoped that nothing would take you away, that you’re not just a fleeting moment. no one gets him like you do, the way you just know. beomgyu thinks that you might just actually be his soulmate, because your connection transcends anything words can describe. he’s convinced that he must've been surrounded by cardboard cutouts his whole life, as no one but you has ever conveyed so much depth with their existence alone. monotony is beautiful with you— in fact, he would be content with just laying on the floor in your presence for eternity. so just this once, he wishes for you to be the exception.

TAEHYUN — angel by drop nineteens

"and i believe that dreams come true, cause you came when i wished for you"

“larger than life” is a phrase that would encompass taehyun’s existence perfectly. his genuine love for this cruel world impresses many, as if he knows of a transformative secret that is the key to living his life to the fullest. maybe it’s his vast curiosity, to want to know not only of the wonders of life, but also how he can get back up even after it knocks him down. taehyun believes that negativity is too draining, because of that, being with him is like a transformative experience in and of itself. he must be a higher being, an angel, 'cause even at your lowest, just one hint of a smile from him is enough for you to ascend to the clouds. that floating feeling never leaves you when you’re with him, it swallows you whole, and it makes you wonder how you could feel sad ever again. even when the clouds clear, when you two are at your most vulnerable, under the gaze of the stars, you’ll watch the skies in taehyun’s eyes instead, they shine brighter in there anyway.

HUENINGKAI — how fast can you love by pia fraus

"tomorrow, please love me"

kai has been patient his whole life. his passion drives him, he’s been walking a lonely road to achieve his dreams. he had always thought that he grew up too fast, no time for insignificant matters, kai’s world is a world in which he has to fight to survive. of course, that doesn’t mean that he’s completely immune to youthful desires, and kai wishes for nothing more than to turn back time so he could feel like a real person again, even just for a little while. and when you came into his life— a force to be reckoned with, you are, he thinks that letting himself indulge for once wouldn’t hurt. so he lets his passion consume him this time, and only then does he realise how lonely he has been all along. kai is tired of being patient, and it shows through his complete vulnerability when he’s with you. even though it’s hard, he’s so used to locking his emotions away in his heart-shaped box, you can tell he’s really trying. kai puts every ounce of himself in the potential of your love, because then he would finally have something to hope for, no matter how unsure he may be.

[razorblade180]

Farewell

Neuvillette:*writing*

knock knock knock

Neuvillette:It’s open.

Furina:Wow, look at you. Hard at work as ever.

The man’s pen froze. He quickly looked up to see his old boss walking in with a nervous and sheepish smile. He rose to his feet.

Neuvillette:Lady Furina.

Furina:Please, you can just call me Furina. I’m just a normal actress after all

Neuvillette:Ah, yes. I do apologize but I think you know better than anyone breaking a habit after centuries isn’t a simple thing to do.

Furina:Heh, fair enough. I suppose keeping it is fine, since it’s you. I hope the workload is manageable?

Neuvillette:There’s an adjustment period, but everyone’s hard work has made it easier. Anyways, I’m sure my work isn’t what brought you here after all this time? Is everything okay? Do you need-

Furina:I’m fine haha. Dear Iudex, I am fine. I came here to tell you something in person I thought you should know. I’m…leaving Fontaine for awhile.

Neuvillette:Oh. I…I see.

Furina:Not for any bad reason, mind you. Sure some people aren’t exactly warm to me still but that’s perfectly fine. I just….There’s so much out there. Five hundred years of informants and change. Now that I’m free to do so much, staying here feels a little silly.

Neuvillette:I understand. It’s a freedom you earned. You should enjoy it. But I have to ask, do you actually have a plan?

Furina:Ha! Still you doubt me? I believe it was you who said “I am no fool.” *smiles* Yes, I have money, previsions, and a route. Aether is going to escort me through the desert and Sumeru’s jungle until arriving at Port Ormos. I do enjoy a scenic route and a little adventure. He’ll be on his way after that but he’s given me an impressive list of people to see and locations to go if I come across any really difficulties. Eventually I’ll head east and see other lands as well.

Neuvillette:Sounds like your networking shall expand tenfold.

Furina:What can I say? I’m a people person. Anyways, I head out in a days time. I should’ve said something sooner but….

Neuvillette:No need to explain. Somethings are simply better when the time comes. I will say it does make me happy that you chose to see me personally. May the world greet you as openly as your home back here always will.

Furina felt a warmth hearing that. Her gaze glanced to the window behind the man, the glass graced with light rain. Furina couldn’t help but give him a gentle smile as she exhaled.

Furina:Aww, Neuvillette. It’s okay. I promise you I’ll be back with a stories grander than any play. I might even gain wonderful inspiration to liven up Fontaine. I do have a talent for that.

Neuvillette:Heh, yes, you do. *smiles* I admit it. I will miss you, but I am nevertheless truly happy for you as well. Stay safe, Furina.

He gave her a bow, one that she returned in kind before making her exit quietly. That went well. She felt as if she wasn’t breathing in the beginning but things turned out well. Furina walked outside and stared at the rain silently. Little by little, the sound of thousands of droplets grew louder than crashing waves. Louder than her own beating heart. Furina took a sharp breath, sprinting back inside, ignoring all onlookers and running back into Neuvillette’s office with one mighty push of the doors

Clearly he wasn’t expecting her return, gasping at the sight of her as hadn’t budged an inch; tears visibly running down his face that mirrored her own. Without a second thought, Furina’s tears grew stronger as she ran to him, jumping into a hug he instinctively caught. His arms wrapped tightly around her while she did the same.

Furina:Hydro Dragon, Hydro Dragon, we’re okay. We’re going to be okay. Thank you. Thank you for everything you’ve done for me.

Neuvillette:I should be the one thanking you. Lady Furina, thank you for your service, for this experience. You performed perfectly. Please, take your rest.

She could no longer speak. All she could do his cry with the rain, until sunny skies would eventually come again.

xxxxxx

Back near the Opera House, a certain boy say near the fountain and let the downpour resonate with him, stirring his own emotions until they overflowed.

Paimon:H-Hey! Are you okay.

Aether:I’m fine Paimon. For once…the water feels good.

[hxnbi]

「 CURSED 」

synopsis: love is a beautiful thing, but so too can it bring indescribable pain

— pairings: fushiguro megumi x gn reader

— disclaimers: profanity, angst, death, no comfort, gn reader

— word count: 2.9k

gojo version | masterlist

— Fushiguro Megumi

Megumi knew that his life was at risk each and every second he was out on the field. He knew what he was doing would potentially kill him one day. He was a jujutsu sorcerer. This was what he signed up for the moment he agreed to that idiot Gojo's offer.

But he didn't think that you would be involved as well…

"Huh?"

There was no way he heard correctly.

That's right, this must all just be one sick joke.

"...C-Cursed?" Megumi repeated.

No… he had to make sure. His ears were just fooling him, right? Right?

Ichiji nodded. "I-It appears so…"

Hah. Of course not. Life was never on his side. It may as well just be mocking him at that point.

Yuji, seeing Megumi's unusual silence, decided to chime in. "Is it the same one from Yasohachi Bridge? In that case, we can just go, find the source, and then do the same with the one from the bridge, right?"

"I'm afraid it's not that simple," Ijichi interjected in his typical fragile tone of voice. "Unlike with your sister Tsumiki, we don't know what exactly Ms. [L/n] is cursed with…"

"Hah?" Megumi scrunched his eyes. "You're telling me that even the school doesn't have a single fucking clue about what happened?!"

"Fushiguro," Nobara reprimanded, her arms crossed over each other. "Calm down. We’re in a public place here"

"Tch… How exactly can I calm down when [Y/n] is at risk of dying?! Huh?! Has that thought crossed any of your minds!? You're telling me that I should just stay here and do nothing and wait for… for whatever fucking thing to take them away from me!?!"

Ijichi, Nobara, and Yuji all exchanged silent looks. They had never seen Megumi like this—not even during the exchange event—with that level of pure anger and rage.

When it came to you, nothing was "too much."

You were everything to him—his other half.

So, to have that other half practically ripped away from him… was unbearable. The void that would be left by your absence seemed almost insurmountable. That thought alone was enough to swallow him whole.

“F-Fushiguro,” Yuji scampered. "[Y/n] might be able to hear you.” 

Your hospital room wasn't far from where the four were discussing—or arguing, by that point.

"I don't fucking care. I'll do what I want—"

"Fushiguro," Nobara snapped, interrupting with more force, making even Megumi stumble backward. "You stay with them and protect them. That's… all we can do right now. For their sake," she said in a softer tone.

"....."

"Tch."

He walked away, bumping shoulders with the poor, confused Yuji.

"Fushiguro! Wai—"

"Itadori, let him be. He needs some time to himself to think," Nobara interjected, making Yuji stop in his tracks. "This kind of news can be hard for anybody to accept. What we can do for him right now is give him space."

Yuji solemnly nodded his head. "I hope he'll be okay…"

This time, Nobara was the one who agreed. "Yeah," allowing their gazes to rest on where Megumi had just stormed off.

Everything felt muted outside the hospital rooms in the dimly lit hallways. It was painfully silent, broken only by the faint murmur of distant voices and the soft shuffle of footsteps. Megumi angrily slammed his arm against the wall, almost certainly bruising his hand, but he didn't care. 

You were dying—you could be killed at any time, and there was nothing he could do to stop it. A sense of helplessness like never before, all too familiar. Why were people leaving him again, one by one?

…Does no one want him to be happy? 

Was he just doomed to live in a world of black?

What would it take until he was finally free from the shackles of faith? Was he just condemned to wander through life, forever haunted by the ghosts of loss?

Only when he inhaled a breath did Megumi's gaze finally fall on his arm, and the crimson stain blossomed on his sleeve. You wouldn't want to see him like this. So he wasn't going to allow you to, and instead, he pulled up his sleeve, concealing the evidence of his pain beneath the fabric.

He needed to see you again, to be by your side while he still had the chance...

With each step back towards your hospital room, his heart hammered in his chest. What if you were gone? What if it already took you? What if—

"Megumi?" you asked in your sweet tone, but it was weaker, much weaker, barely more than a whisper.

His breath caught in his throat.

Megumi's heart couldn't take this. It hurt. It pained him to see you like this, so frail and fragile, robbed of the life that once defined you. His heart clenched in anguish.

You weren't a jujutsu sorcerer. Hell, you didn't even have the ability to see what cursed spirits were. But you accepted every part of him—his flaws, quirks, and demons. But all that love you had for him would be for naught, and here you were, cursed with the exact type of curse, except no one had a clue what was the cause of it or who was the one who never did it. You weren't able to handle the curse as well as Tsumiki could.

Even still, you would put up with it "for him," as you would tell him, reminding him and yourself as well... 

"Megumi," you said, resting on your hospital bed, your voice hardly audible from all the machinery attached to you. It was disgusting—all this to supposedly "save you." A fever dream. 

"Can you come closer for a second? I want to see you."

But without hesitation, he answered your call without a second thought. You cupped his cheek, your eyes locking onto his.

"Look at you… You look horrible."

Indeed, he did look awful. He hadn't slept in days, nor did he get many chances to eat or drink. The toll of sleepless nights and neglected meals etched shadows beneath his eyes, starkly contrasting the rigid routine he would follow before your curse. Each passing day seemed to weigh heavier on him, dragging him further into the dark, empty chasm of exhaustion and despair.

You gripped at your covers, feeling the weight of your words, and Megumi's anguish settled heavily on you. "I know that I'm not going to live…"

"Don't say that!" Megumi interrupted, his voice fraught with emotion as he sank back, his eyes reflecting that of desperation and fear. "I'm sorry… I don't like it when you say shit like that."

"Fushiguro Megumi," you whispered, reaching out a hand towards him and feeling a deep ache right in your chest.

All this was so unlike the stern, aloof, almost borderline arrogant boy you have grown to love. So seeing that facade shatter, all because of you… felt awful.

He avoided your gaze, his fingers tracing invisible patterns on the hospital bedsheet. "I can't lose you, too," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.

There was then silence, interrupted only by the noises of the medical equipment on your bedsheet.

You mustered up all the strength you had left, and with a smile, "I'm still here, Gumi," you said softly, your voice barely audible over the beeping monitors. "And I'm not giving up without a fight."

Megumi finally met your gaze. "I know," he whispered hoarsely. "But… I can't lose you. I won't…"

"....."

You squeezed his hand, a silent promise passing between you.

"You… should go home."

"But—!"

"I'll be fine, 'gumi. Don't worry about me."

"..."

He could never find it in himself to argue with you. So he did what you asked and walked home by himself in the dark.

Alone in your shared home, the emptiness in the walls, the decor, and all the photos of you and Megumi reminded him every day of the future—and once you did pass, so too would the void also be stretched—left in your forever absence.

He dreaded every bit of this moment—every aspect of this fact. Because every moment that you weren't here confirmed an even bigger reality. That, someday, this will be the new norm. 

His home… not, your home, never felt so lonely. 

Only when he was watching you would he actually put something in his mouth after you told him off and heard the silent insistence of your gaze.

"You have to eat something," you scolded before coughing once again, the pain lingering without a moment of respite. 

'Hah…'

Even in your own sorry state, you were worrying about someone else… 

Megumi knew what he was doing was unhealthy, borderline self-destructive even, but that was of little concern when you were slowly losing your own life.

And you saw that. You saw that he was neglecting himself, and you would scold him for it. 

"I'll be okay, Megumi. You know that."

'No…' he thought. 'I don't.'

You always said that. 

Days passed, and all Megumi wanted to do was stay with you. Nobara, Yuji, and Gojo even visited you more times than once, and you all ate hotpot together. Yuji even brought a plate of his famous meatball recipe that you asked him to make "before you die," which made Megumi crook a smile the best he could. 

It terrified him that you would even joke about a topic like that, but it was your own way of coping—he knew just from the fragile facade you would put up.

These small things kept both you and Megumi's minds off things.

…And perhaps a little too much.

"Gumi… I can get it myself."

You tried standing up, only for your legs to give and collapse right into Megumi's arms, which he held out in case such a scenario happened.

"Please… [Y/n], I'll get it for you. Please just rest."

It wasn't just Megumi anymore, but you had gotten much weaker, both physically and mentally.

The toll of your curse had left its mark, etching lines of exhaustion and pain upon your once vibrant pupils. Your once lively spirit now seemed dimmed, overshadowed by the weight of whatever was breaking you apart, one day at a time…

You found yourself unable to walk or to properly eat. It was almost like you were beseeching for all this pain to end. And it hurt him more than you could ever think—that his selfishness to keep you alive and just hold on was keeping you in despair.

Together in the hospital room, Megumi was brewing the tea you always drank alongside the so-called medications the hospital would provide.

That is, until Megumi eyed something on the countertop. A glass bottle collected dust with all the other useless medications that the hospital provided. 'What was that?' He didn't remember that bottle being there the last time he came—

No.

"...[Y/n]?"

Nothing.

"[Y/n]?" he tried again. And once again, no response.

'No…'

Turning around, he confronted the harsh reality of the circumstances. The air seemed to thicken around him as he dropped the plate to the ground, the clatter of ceramic shattering the oppressive silence. He dropped the plate to the ground. 

It couldn't have been today, right? He immediately rushed to your bedside, your eyes now closed shut. His trembling hand sought out your pulse, but it came as nothing but a futile attempt to deny the truth. 

'"No…"

The word escaped his lips in a whispered plea.

This couldn't be real… But it was. This was it. Today was the day.

But why was he so shocked? Didn't he prepare for this moment? He had known this day would come and had braced himself for the inevitable farewell, and yet… even he was unprepared for the magnitude of his grief.

Several hospital personnel burst into the room, only to be met with a sea of red, their faces contorted in horror.

It was a sight akin to a scene in a tragic drama, but this was no drama, nor was it a fantasy. This was no scripted fantasy—it was a stark, harrowing reality.

The sight of your lifeless corpse lay before them.

There was only the raw, unfiltered agony of loss, embodied in the form of your lifeless body cradled in Megumi's trembling arms, his cries echoing through the sterile walls of the hospital room. Megumi held you deathly close to his chest and his arms. 

He didn't want to admit it, but he was horrified. That if he let go, that final fire of warmth in your body would disappear forever.

"S-Sir," one hospital personnel tried reaching his arm. "They're—"

"GET AWAY FROM ME!"

This was where you belonged. Yes. Right in his arms. With your head on his lap and his hand over your cold hand. You already looked to be deathly and inhumanly cold.

Despite everything happening around him, Megumi's focus remained solely on you, his grip tightening on your hand as if trying to defy the inevitable.

The hospital personnel persisted in their attempts to pry you away, but Megumi's resistance only grew stronger, his voice echoing through the sterile walls of the hospital room for them to leave.

Blaring lights and noises came from all directions, but Megumi couldn't hear them anymore nor see the person he cherished and loved with all his heart in front of him. Several figures were all crowded around, ripping him away from your corpse.

"Sir, please!" the staff tried again, this time with more force. "You need to calm down…"

"SHUT THE FUCK UP!"

His voice broke. "How can I calm down?! You’re taking them away from me! They're…" He choked back a sob, hiding away how he really felt—pure desperation. 

His arms ever so tightened on you as the hospital staff all exchanged looks; the question of whether they should intervene or give him a moment of privacy lingered in the air.

Because you were everything to him…

"We understand, sir, but we need to first—”

Megumi's protests grow louder, bordering on hysteria. "You don't fucking understand! How can you possibly understand?! She's…" Again, his voice broke. His mind raced, overwhelmed with grief and disbelief.

But how could he calm down when the very essence of his world was being torn away from him? How could anyone expect him to just stand there when the love of his life was lying there, cold and lifeless? How could he remain composed when his heart was shattering into a million irreparable pieces? How could he ever even begin to forgive himself if he were to just stand here and watch them take you away?!

But that was the inevitable, and it was all happening in front of his very eyes. 

Megumi's heart sank as he saw you being pulled away from him by the hospital employees. His hands clenched into fists.

His words broke up, and all he could say were stuttering sounds. Hot tears streamed down his face, and he squeezed his eyelids shut in the hope his tears would stop. His choppy breathing and watery eyes remained unmoving for quite some time, and he stood there.

He had time. All the time in the world to take it in…

At that moment, a flurry of footsteps came from outside, in the hallways. Yuji, Nobara, and Nitta rushed in. 

"Fushiguro! We heard what happened! Is it true that—"

Yuji didn't finish that sentence. Oh. 

Their voices trailed off as they noticed Megumi with no expression, his gaze fixed ahead as he walked out of the hospital room.

“...Fushiguro?”

Nothing.

With his usual stoic facade, the boy continued to walk out of the hospital room without a word, leaving his friends bewildered.

"Wait! Where are you going?!" Yuji called out, his voice tinged with urgency.

"Away from here," Megumi responded curtly, his tone brooking no argument.

Only then did either of them truly get a look at Megumi's face. He looked close to tears, if not already.

Yuji physically stepped back. “...U-Uh.”

"....." Silence fell over the room as they watched him leave, his figure disappearing into the bustling hospital corridor.

But the second he was alone, without a soul in sight, he broke down. Every ounce of pent-up emotion surged forth, manifesting in sobs that wracked his body uncontrollably. 

Once that first tear broke free, the rest followed in an unbroken stream. Megumi bent forward as he stood against the hospital walls. Pressing his fist against the solid white wall, he began to tense. Just the pure and utter weight of everything—the loss, the emptiness, that final look in your eyes—all of it crashed down on him like a relentless tidal wave, leaving him shattered and raw, like a corpse with no spirit.

He couldn't cry again. You would never like that…

Whether he liked it or not, time would continue its march forward. It didn't stop—it never could—nor could it go back into the past—as much as Megumi wished it could...

Time after time, the people he loved would disappear. Always.

His parents, Tsumiki being cursed, and now, you. His one and eternal love. And no one could ever replace you—and definitely not that hole now in his heart, left by the loss of you.

Megumi clenched his fists tightly, the pressure enough to draw blood.

"I'm sorry."

But all the apologies in the world could do jackshit. It would never bring you back.

Megumi would never know what kind of being snuffed out your life…. It could've been a cursed spirit whose identity was never found by Jujutsu Tech.

And that angered him to no end. To be so useless, to never find out what creature poisoned and took away the only thing he ever wanted and needed in his life.

He had you, but there was no longer a spark, no sign of that vibrant life you once possessed.

For you were long gone—your body beyond cold.

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